FATED TO THE PURPOSE (Richard and Morgana MacKenzie Mysteries Book 2)

by Jack Flanagan

  “So when Foley’s customers find out the truth,” I said, inventorying the mental connections as fast as they came, “that his info was false — ”

  “Fabricated by our government.”

  “His unsavory clients will demand payback and retribution, and destroy Foley’s network . . . and more than likely, permanently retire the network’s employees — ”

  “At no expense to the US taxpayer, I may add. Revenge is a good motivator, Richard. No one likes to be a victim, not individuals nor governments, and especially terrorists.”

  “So, that was the plan.”

  “Yes, that was the plan.“

  “But the storm of the century and Moira nearly sank the entire operation.”

  “Who would have thought that someone who was somehow connected to Foley decades ago would put our scheme in such jeopardy. That poor abused woman purloined the drive, not having a clue what it was. She did it out of revenge — ”

  “Some may say that she did it out of a sense of justice for wrongs done during her childhood.”

  “Be that as it may.”

  “And the storm didn’t help any, either,” I added.

  “We were isolated on a temporary island, without proper communications — what a mess.”

  That was an understatement, I thought.

  “All bets were off until you came to the rescue, Richard. And I thank you again,” said the old woman as she looked at her watch a second time. “Well, I must be off.”

  “Another operation?”

  “Of sorts, I have a performance to do — Lizzy Borden. Remember?”

  “That’s right . . . but I do have some more questions.”

  “Make them quick.”

  “About Williams . . . is he really — ”

  “All I can say is that he works for the Canadian government, in its Department of . . . hum, something to do with railroads, I think. Look him up on the web if you wish.”

  I caught her drift, and so I asked about Bo.

  “How about Agent — ”

  “Boswell? She likes you, you know.”

  “I know,” I said, embarrassed by Prosper’s observation.

  “She . . . will be taking my place soon. And don’t ask what that is,” said Mrs. Prosper. “My usefulness has come to a close . . .‘But this rough magic, I here abjure. I’ll break my staff and bury it certain fathoms in the earth . . . I’ll drown my book.’”

  “The Tempest,” I said. “Prospero’s swan song, as I used to tell my students.”

  “I’m so glad you noticed,” she said — there was a little glow in her cheeks.

  I got out of the car and Phil went back in. But before I shut the door, I said, “I don’t want to sound crazy, but have you ever actually seen — ”

  “Ariel? Oh, yes, Fred and I met her on several occasions. Why I remember there’s this one time, it was during July, maybe seven, no six years ago — ”

  Phil cut the old bird off. “Mrs. Prosper, we must be going.”

  “Quite right, yes, we must get a move on . . . Oh, Richard, would you be so kind to send Agent Boswell back. We must be leaving.”

  “Sure, but just one more question,” I said with some urgency. “Did our charade succeed?”

  “Well,” she said with a steely harshness in her voice, “let’s just say there are many heads rolling around in the sand as we speak. And there will be more to follow in the next few days.”

  That last piece of information sent a shiver down my back, and I was happy to part company with the old woman. Like an obedient child, I shut the door, waved good-bye, and walked over to Bo, who was still chatting with Morgana. “Hey, Mrs. Prosper sent me to get you. She wants to go. And, ah, congratulations on your promotion.”

  “Uh, she told you that? She wasn’t supposed to, but thanks, Old Sport. I’ll see you around. Good-bye, Morgana. It has been a pleasure talking to you behind Richard’s back.” Bo gave me a kiss on the cheek, “Don’t be a stranger,” she said and returned to the car.

  As Morgana and I watched the black SUV reversed its course, we waved. We could not see if anyone inside waved back, but it didn’t matter. For some unknown reason, I felt a little impish when the car had disappeared down the road. I turned to Morgana and suggested, “Why don’t we go back to our place and have some alone time.”

  “Are you feeling frisky because you saw Serena naked.”

  “Wha . . . You know?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you — ”

  “Serena told me.”

  “She told you?”

  “Yes, she told me — but why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Well, I thought . . . well, I wanted to tell you . . . I didn’t intend to see her naked.”

  “I know. She was playing with your head.”

  “And you’re okay with that?”

  “Well, I know you, and I have gotten to know Serena, and nothing happened. Besides, there was nothing she has that you haven’t seen before.”

  “True, but she is well-preserved for her age.”

  “Better than some people I know,” countered Morgana as she looked at my waist.

  “But you are okay about me seeing her . . . ah, naked?”

  “Yah, but don’t make a habit of it, or I will think very differently.”

  “You’re not . . . jealous or threaten?”

  “Of Serena? No. You married me, not her. She is good looking; I will give her that. But I know that I am also pleasing to your eyes. You often tell me so.”

  I gently embrace Morgana. “You are very pleasing to these tired old eyes.”

  “Plus, I have something that Serena Boswell will never have,” answered Morgana, again with a devilish twinkle in her eyes.

  “What’s that, Love?”

  “Youth . . . I am almost six years her junior.”

  “Do you think that I am that shallow?”

  “Well, not terribly shallow,” she said with an impish smile.

  “What! You keep reminding me that beauty is only skin deep.”

  “And we both know how much we enjoy skin diving together.”

  We laughed and held each other close. The two of us mingled a bit more with those who were in attendance before we said our good-byes. Before we knew it, we were home, where we enjoyed a quiet afternoon . . . alone.

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