Ice Woman Assignment

by Austin Camacho

  “Gave him something to relax him,” Roberts said with a smile.

  “Right,” Morgan said. Then he walked over to face Jorge. His pupils were dilated, his stare a bit vacant, but Morgan saw no signs indicating physical abuse. “You okay?” he asked.

  “As you promised,” Jorge said. “With a whole skin.”

  “I know your interests aren’t the same as ours,” Felicity said, pulling a chair out from the table and dropping into it, “but did you get a layout of the grounds?”

  “Our resident artist is putting it into scale right now, based on topographic landmarks,” Roberts said. “We have the shape and size of all buildings, guard positions, roads, the works.”

  “I thought these people were so tough.”

  “Felicity, we couldn’t have gotten anything out of this guy in three weeks of physical persuasion,” Roberts said. “Water boarding is for the military. We’re a little more sophisticated than that.”

  “These new pentothol derivatives are amazing,” Morgan said, pulling off his suit coat. His gun and knife were in full view, over a white dress shirt which somehow accented the weapons. “If you can keep the subject alive, you can coax him into telling you things he didn’t know he knew.” Then he turned to Roberts “Get all you wanted?”

  “Well, this guy’s pretty low on the totem pole,” Roberts said. “He doesn’t know that much we didn’t already have. It’s just an exercise anyway. You know we can’t take any legal action. And the president doesn’t want any real action taken down here anyway.”

  “No big surprise there,” Morgan said. “They hate the drugs, but not enough to take action to fix the problem.”

  “Let’s not get into a political thing,” Felicity said. “Mark, do you mind if we ask him a few questions?” Roberts waved a hand as if to say “help yourself.”

  “Thanks. First thing, I’m wanting to know about the mutant dogs.” Morgan and Roberts looked at her dubiously. “Really. I saw them behind the fence, Morgan. Big dogs, but with horses’ manes and giraffes’ legs.”

  “Oh, you mean the maned wolves,” Jorge said.

  Morgan chuckled. “They’re not mutations, Red, just one of the unusual animals that grow in South America, although I didn’t know they had them in Colombia.”

  “We don’t,” Jorge said. “We chased all over to get them: Brazil, Argentina, Paraguay, Bolivia, even down to Peru. Just because Anaconda thinks weird animals look dangerous.”

  “That’s a laugh,” Morgan said. “They eat small animals, like guinea pigs and such. “They may look funny, but not particularly dangerous.”

  “That’s what you think,” Jorge said, listing a bit to the right. “Anaconda, she’s conditioned them. That electrified fence keeps them in, even with their long legs. By controlling their food and feeding them drugs, she’s made them all really vicious.”

  “Why are they there?” Felicity asked.

  Jorge chuckled. “Don’t you see? They are her last line of defense. See, Anaconda’s house sits in the middle of about an acre and a half of rolling grass land up in those mountains. That fence surrounds the whole area, and those wolves live in there. They make a hell of a racket if anybody gets inside, and they’d probably eat up an intruder anyway.”

  “How does she get in and out?” Morgan asked.

  “Oh, they’re too skittish to attack you if you’re in a crowd.,” Jorge said. “Now, one or two men they might jump, especially if they got spooked.”

  “You said last line of defense,” Felicity said. “What else? I mean, infrared beams, motion sensors, pressure alarms?”

  “You Anglos. You just don’t get it,” Jorge said, reaching for water. “Out where we are, all the power’s from a generator. Anaconda, she likes her television, her DVD movies, her stereo music, her computer. There’s not much electricity left for alarms and such. She figures a couple dozen trigger men and the maned wolves ought to protect her.”

  “I see,” Felicity said. She stood and crossed to the window, her mind wandering to the task ahead, entering this mountain fortress. “And no sign of Frederico, eh?”

  “That boy has a spirit inside him,” Jorge said with a sudden shiver. “Anaconda has not let him step out of the house since he returned.” A curtain of silence settled over the room, its inhabitants paralyzed. Felicity’s stomach turned to ice and breathing became difficult. She moved first, turning slowly from the window to stare into Jorge’s wide, vacant eyes.

  “He’s there?” she croaked out. “Alive?”

  “Not for long,” Jorge answered. “Anaconda’s anger, it was great. For days she’s insulted and abused the boy, shaming him publicly, not allowing him to see the sun. Some of us, we thought it was a bad idea. Spirits commune with the boy. If she angers them enough, they might decide to take action against the Escorpionistas. I think she’s started to see the fear in her followers. She might not be able to keep control if it keeps up. So, she’s going to kill him. It will be a spectacular death, to prove her power’s greater than any spirit.”

  “Kill him?” Felicity said, snapping forward, stopping inches away from Jorge’s face. “When?” She put her hands flat on the table and held her breath.

  “When? Well, let’s see. What’s today? Wednesday? Yeah, well she’s going to do him Sunday morning. Death at dawn. Drop him from a copter, I think.”

  “Four days,” Morgan whispered. “No, three, really, if she’s talking about dawn. Jesus.” Felicity could see his mind was running down a predetermined past. It seemed that Roberts’ mind was on the same path, but unhampered by excessive imagination, his reached the road’s end faster.

  “No way to stop it,” Mark said. “You couldn’t possibly get a team here and together in that time. And the political repercussions of getting anybody CIA involved would be excessive.”

  “Excessive? What’s excessive is letting him die,” Felicity said, straightening. “Saved our skin, he did. That’s how he got in this mess. He’s counting on us to get him out of it.”

  “Felicity, how can we…”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know, but we will. I’ll just figure out how I’d rob the place, and substitute Frederico for a set of Van Gogh’s. You just be ready to go in there and get him.” When the door closed behind Felicity, Roberts looked at Morgan, mystified.

  “What’ll she do?” he asked.

  “Well, I’ll tell you,” Morgan answered. “She’ll go for a long walk. She’ll go to the hotel and do some writing, maybe make some drawings. Then she’ll come up with a plan. It’ll be impractical, maybe impossible. And you and I won’t be able to see any way it can work. But it will work and we’ll do it.”

  “Why do I get the feeling if that woman asked you to walk into hell through the front door…”

  “I’d go get me some fireproof boots,” Morgan said.

  At the table, Jorge went on staring straight ahead while his body slowly chased the synthetic drugs out of his system.

  -41-

  Agent Isaacs pushed the small Robin Dr 400 Regent down through the last cloud layer, turning away from the approaching sunset. He had flown this four-seater propeller plane for the agency before, but never with passengers as intense as those two behind him. Even with their breathing apparatus off, they spoke little, and when they did, it was in a kind of shorthand he seldom completely understood. He was used to flying missions he knew nothing about, and he clearly did not have a need to know this time.

  Over Anaconda’s estate, Morgan had examined the area carefully through borrowed binoculars. Mostly, he was judging distances between landmarks and comparing likely wind directions with topographic factors. He was about to hand off the glasses when he saw movement below.

  A group of human figures was leaving the house, and he was just close enough to distinguish Anaconda among them. They walked past the helicopter, attracting the attention of several maned wolves. Growling, baring their teeth, these animals circled the group. When they got too close, Anaconda and her escor
ts pulled out cattle prods. Morgan watched as they jabbed at the wolves, and then pitched what looked like steaks into the woods. The wolves ran off after the easy food. He lowered the glasses as the plane pulled away from the mountain estate.

  “Pick out a good drop zone?” Felicity asked.

  “Looks pretty level just south of the copter pad,” Morgan replied. “There’s a pretty good dead zone in case the wind picks up. It’s still a dumb idea. No reception committee to sterilize the area. No easy place to hide a parachute.”

  Agent Isaacs brought the small single engine plane in for a smooth landing, coasting down the runway toward the farthest hangar. Morgan liked this minor private airfield, and wished he had known about it on previous South American missions. When the plane eased to a stop, Mark Roberts stood at the hangar door.

  “See what you wanted to see?” Roberts asked while helping Felicity down from the plane.

  “Morgan says there’s a decent drop zone. Been over the plan a dozen times, we have, debugging it. An `insertion’ Morgan calls it, but I’m not too comfortable with that term as I guess you can understand.”

  “Actually it’s an extraction,” Morgan said, stepping down to the tarmac, “but that always makes me think of pulling teeth. I hope that’s not what this is like.”

  “What do you think of Isaacs?” Roberts asked, ushering them to his car.

  “Damn good pilot,” Morgan said, settling into Roberts’ back seat. “He’s not happy about what he’s got to do, but I think he’ll do as he’s told.”

  “Hey, can we continue this over some dinner?” Felicity asked, as Roberts started the car. “It’s going to be a long night, and I’m needing some sustenance.”

  Since they were casually dressed they settled on a small local restaurant. Besides, Felicity wanted to try ajiaco prepared by a local cook. She found it even better, although she did not say so. Lighting was pleasingly low, and the trio sat in low wooden chairs at a round table adorned with a natural color tablecloth. The aroma of the soups and stews so popular in Colombia filled the dining room. It was a dense mixture of onions, garlic, cumin, bay leaves, chile peppers, and cilantro that tickled the nose and augmented the appetite.

  “I know it was only yesterday we planned this deal, but were you able to get everything on our equipment list?” Morgan asked between mouthfuls.

  “Either got it, or got it lined up,” Roberts replied. “I still don’t see it. I mean, a night HALO jump into an unfamiliar LZ?”

  “Morgan doesn’t get it either but really, we’ve got no choice,” Felicity said. “There’s no walking in undetected, and hang time in a normal jump practically guarantees our being spotted. And we’ll have to fly in high enough so the plane won’t be seen or heard from the ground.”

  “Not the point,” Roberts said. “It’s just too dangerous, even with these rectangular aerofoil canopies.”

  “Not for us. We’ve jumped together before. It’s just a matter of popping the silk at the right altitude, right? Morgan watches the wrist altimeter, and when he reaches for his cord, I’ll know it. You know how close we are.”

  “Indeed,” Roberts replied. Just months ago, he had stood in their private underground gun range and seen Morgan shoot at targets blindfolded. As long as Felicity could see them, Morgan could hit them. Their psychic rapport was that strong. “Okay, let’s say you make the jump, within spitting distance of a densely wooded area, and come up with no broken bones. How you going to get at this kid?”

  “If you get us the guns before we take off day after tomorrow, it’ll be easy,” Felicity said, switching from her soup to a rice dish she did not recognize. It was spicy and sweet in a way foreign to her tongue, but good. “We stop the wolves with tranquilizer darts, break into the house, knock out the guards, grab the boy and get out of the house. Then we just steal her bird and scamper. We ditch the copter a couple of miles from town and hike on in.”

  “Yeah,” Roberts said grimly, “real simple. You been awful quiet here, Morgan.”

  “I’m eating,” Morgan replied.

  “Think it can work?”

  “If everything goes right,” Morgan said. “If it don’t, I think I can fight my way out and level the place with the C4. With a fire like that to deal with, they’ll be too busy to go chasing after us.”

  “You guys do understand it’ll just be the two of you, right?” Mark repeated for the umpteenth time. “I can’t give you any support if it all goes tits up. Oh, Sorry Felicity.” Despite Roberts’ natural darkness, Felicity could detect a definite blush.

  “No offense taken,” she said with a smile. “I know that military phrase from hanging out with this animal. Besides, this particular plan starts with just that situation, eh? Mine will be up about twenty-four thousand feet.”

  -42-

  Twenty-four hours after that dinner, Morgan and Felicity were walking down one of the less tourist-friendly streets of Bogota, Colombia. Felicity was familiar with the trendier sections of the city with their nightclubs and cafes haunted by Bogota’s jet set. She had found abundant targets for her special skills there, back when she made her living as a thief.

  But this was San Victorino, a neighborhood right in the middle of Bogota not recommended by the guide books. They were crossing a plaza surrounded by pastel colored buildings reminiscent of Miami. She saw all kinds of cheap stores selling a variety of goods, everything from clothes to food and pets, but none of it aimed at tourists. She thought this might be the most colorful part of the city, and maybe the most characteristically Colombian as well. It was Times Square with llamas, where break dancers seemed right at home but the one McDonalds seemed completely out of place.

  Felicity’s instincts told her that gringos were not well received there, but she was confident that Morgan’s darker skin and broad shoulders would keep petty thieves and muggers at a distance. Bigger fish might be a different story. Felicity took Morgan’s arm, cuddled close and whispered.

  “You still feel them back there?”

  “Oh, yeah,” he said softly, smiling down at her as if she were his date. “And I’m still not getting a real danger zing off them.”

  Felicity stopped them in front of a shop to admire the hand woven blankets and check out their followers in the window pane reflection.

  “They can’t be Escorpionistas. Think the Agency put a tail on us?”

  “They wouldn’t dare,” Morgan said. “Local hustlers?”

  “Unlikely,” Felicity said, resuming their walk across a brick street. “To good at tailing, they are. These aren’t the boys who do the rough stuff. Or if they are, they’re part of an elite group.”

  Morgan nodded. “Just wish they’d make their move, whatever it is. I’m getting bored.”

  “You know, Mark would say we’re crazy for staying out here. As soon as we picked up the tail we should have gone back to the hotel and called in reinforcements.”

  “And then we’d never know who they were or why they’re on us,” Morgan said. “I figured if we just walked on a predictable trajectory they’d make contact or tip their hands some kind of way.”

  They turned down a narrower street, too close for motor traffic. Felicity looked up to enjoy the glow of the stars she so missed back in California. Bogota was nearly as big as New York or Mexico City, and yet it managed to keep its skies clear. Drug manufacture was not an industry with a large carbon footprint.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by two men approaching. Their shoulders were so broad that walking side by side they cut off the breeze blowing up the street. Morgan stopped and eased Felicity behind him.

  “Okay, I think these are the boys who do the rough stuff,” he said. “At least they sent the A team.”

  From behind him a voice said, “We would not insult you by underestimating you, Mr. Stark.”

  Morgan made a slow ninety degree turn and checked out the speaker. Of the two men who had been following them he was the shorter, but also the better dressed.

  “You know me?�
� Morgan asked.

  “By reputation,” the shorter Colombian said. “And we don’t want any trouble with you. I was just told to ask you to come with us to meet my chief, Senor Pulido.”

  Morgan’s eyes returned to the men in front of him. “And what if we don’t want to meet your chief?”

  “Then we will go on our way.”

  “And we never know what this was about,” Felicity said. “He’s being safe, but respectful. We should be equally polite.”

  Morgan checked Felicity’s eyes, nodded and turned back to the group’s spokesman. “Walking distance?”

  “We have a car.” As he spoke the two larger men flattened against opposite walls to allow an ancient but well maintained white Mercedes Benz enter the street.

  As they pulled up in front of the tan brick house Felicity turned to Morgan and said, “Rather a dump, eh?”

  “Yeah, won’t win any Home and Garden awards.” The house could have been mistaken for any middle class urban home in American, with an enclosed front garden tucked inside a gated community. Of course, American gated communities don’t generally have armed guards and if they do, they aren’t armed with Uzis. Still, the air of familiarity relaxed Felicity. This didn’t figure to be the home of some high ranking master criminal.

  As they climbed the outside stairs to the front door, white security bars on the front window came into full view. They were rusted at the points where they disappeared into the bricks but they were still holding fast when Morgan reached out to yank on one.

  Their lead escort knocked on the door. It swung inward, and another edgy sentinel eyed them suspiciously before letting them pass. They stepped into a small hallway that opened into a massive living space, forcing an audible gasp from Felicity’s lips.

  “What bloody hell?” she said in a hoarse whisper.

  A life-sized statue of the Colombian president dominated what she could only assume was the living room. Granted it was a plaster figure, but it moved her to see it standing in a room filled with the most expensive furniture money could buy, especially knowing where that money came from.