Piranha Assignment

by Austin Camacho

  “Barton?”

  “Asleep,” Felicity said, crouching on her haunches in front of him with her arms crossed on her knees. Morgan lost control and his laugh began to bubble forth. Felicity blushed, then looked down. In a moment, she began shaking her head back and forth. Her own laugh started as she saw the silliness of the situation. Soon they were both fairly roaring, and Felicity fell back on her rear end, with her arms out behind her, propping her up.

  “Okay,” Morgan said, removing his shoulder holster. “Now. Tell me what happened.”

  “Somebody’s getting serious,” she said, watching him unbutton his shirt.

  “Clearly not you.”

  “Glory, would you be giving a body a break,” Felicity said as Morgan handed her his shirt. That burst of American slang, delivered in her strong Irish Brogue that came out when she got upset, was enough to start Morgan chuckling again.

  “Seriously,” she continued, “I know I’ve been playing instead of working, but there is an opposition and they’re not playing. Somebody put a time bomb in our boat. We barely escaped with our lives and I dragged Barton to this little island across quite a stretch of water. I take it you picked up my distress.”

  “Yeah. It brought me straight here. So, what about what happened on the beach?”

  “That was after,” she said, turning away. “The tension, you know? One of those things.”

  “Right. So we know there’s a legitimate threat to the project. Who’s the enemy?”

  “Don’t really know,” Felicity said, standing. “I think Barton might have a theory.”

  “So let’s go ask sleeping beauty.”

  “Let me go alone,” Felicity said. “Just to let him know someone else is here. Give me a three minute lead. Please?”

  “Of course, Red.” Morgan held her arm and placed a light kiss on her cheek. “You’re a grown-up and I’m not getting in your personal business. I just don’t want you to get killed because you don’t have your head about you.”

  “I know,” Felicity said, frowning. “I deserved that remark and worse. I was stupid. It won’t be happening again, not on a case. I mean it.” She felt Morgan’s eyes on her as she walked away, holding her head high, in her form fitting jeans and a shirt three sizes too big.

  Back on the beach, she knelt beside Barton and kissed his mouth. His eyes fluttered open, and she straightened.

  “Time to get up, lover,” she said, rubbing his chest. “We’ve had our fun, but its time for business now.”

  “It wasn’t a dream,” Barton said, propping himself on his elbows. “But let’s be real, here. You’re going to come over here, this close, bouncing around inside that oversized shirt like that and tell me it’s time for business?”

  “That’s right. It’s Morgan’s shirt.”

  That was enough to shake Barton into action. Looking around, he stood up and arranged himself inside what remained of his jeans. The zipper up and snap closed, they looked like fringed cutoff shorts. He was still trying to clear the last of the cobwebs from his head when Morgan stepped onto the beach.

  “I think this is a bad place to be,” Morgan said. “I’ve got a boat on the other side of the island. There’s a couple of blankets you can wrap yourselves in and if we hurry, we could be back in time for dinner.”

  “Let’s not hurry,” Felicity said, already heading for the boat. “I want time to think, and to talk this out with both of you.”

  The sun was a deep red ball about to dip into the water on their right. Morgan steered the boat in the general direction of the looming figure of The Piranha. None of the other boats appeared to be moving out of their usual patrol pattern. No one appeared to have gone looking for him, or Barton for that matter.

  Morgan had asked Barton to sit beside him. He had not met Morgan’s eyes since their meeting on the beach. That was bad news if they were to work as a team, and Morgan had to get rid of the problem. So he had asked Felicity, wrapped in an army blanket, to sit at the rear of the boat. His problem with Barton was not something he thought a woman would understand.

  “How do you feel?” Morgan asked.

  “I’m okay,” Barton said. “My head’s too hard to be bothered by a little exploding boat.”

  “No, I mean about Felicity.”

  “Well, my ego took a bruise or two,” Barton said with an ironic grin. “Imagine being rescued at sea by a girl. She got me breathing again after she dragged my ass halfway across the bay.”

  “No, I mean what happened on the beach,” Morgan’s voice was relaxed and neutral. Barton turned and faced him for the first time.

  “The truth?”

  “Please.” Morgan said it with a smile.

  “I feel like I did when I got laid on prom night,” Barton said. “Then I had to face the girl’s big brother in class Monday morning.”

  Morgan laughed. “Get rid of that. She may have described me that way, but this big brother knows little sister can take care of herself. We’re going to have to work together if we’re all going to come out of this with a whole skin. We’ve got to think and work as three people who like each other, with no bullshit in between. Right?”

  “Right,” Barton said, clasping Morgan’s shoulder with genuine relief.

  “Okay, Red,” Morgan called. “We need you over here.” Felicity stood and joined the boys. She put a hand on Barton’s shoulder, but she leaned on Morgan. They all understood one another.

  “Brother Barton here was just about to tell us his theory about the bomb,” Morgan said.

  “Well, this’ll sound kind of silly to you,” Barton said. “I think we’re all three targets. See, I don’t think that sub’s headed for the U.S.” Barton checked their faces. Neither Morgan nor Felicity laughed.

  “Care to elaborate on that?” Morgan turned their boat into the waning sun, casting a red glow on Barton’s face.

  “I don’t trust Varilla. He’s a weasel, and I know the type. I overheard him on the phone one day, and I think he was talking to someone in Havana. Maybe he’s sold the sub to the Russians.”

  “Don’t you think that’s a little far fetched?” Felicity asked. “I mean, the Russians?”

  “The Romans thought Hannibal’s elephants were far fetched,” Morgan said. “Truman thought planes bombing Pearl Harbor was far fetched. Kennedy thought atomic missiles in Cuba was far fetched. I think we need to exchange everything we’ve got, pool our info and see how many absurd ideas we can put together.”

  -20-

  The smoking room was a frozen tableau when Morgan pushed the doors open. The tasteful décor was dominated by plush leather chairs and sofas. A drink sat on each small table. Every member of Bastidas’ inner circle was present, except for Herrera. They were reading, or writing, or just enjoying cigars. A card game was going on at one side of the room. Bastidas and Varilla were playing backgammon. They all looked up and locked into position for a precious six seconds when the trio entered.

  “You guys wouldn’t believe the day we’ve had,” Barton said, snatching a glass from a butler’s tray. He rattled on, high speed and high energy, while Morgan and Felicity watched faces for reactions. “Miss O’Brian and I just went out for a little lunch. We looked around the area for a while, and decided to take a little boat ride. And would you believe it? The damned boat capsized. We were floating around out there for the longest time. Just lucky Mister Stark here decided to check on the patrol boats off shore. We could have died out there.”

  Barton threw back the rum in two gulps and asked for another. While he was talking, Felicity focused on the group’s leader.

  “You seem to have survived it well,” Bastidas said. “May I suggest you get into some clean, dry clothes and let Doctor Nunez take a look at you?” He seemed a little puzzled, but not surprised. It was a normal reaction under the circumstances.

  Varilla, on the other hand, looked as if he just confirmed his first poltergeist. His eyes showed white all around and his lower lip was shaking. Felicity was sure he never
expected to see her or Barton again. She and Morgan got all they wanted from their entrance.

  Felicity followed Barton’s and Morgan’s example and had a rum for her nerves. She stuck to monosyllabic comments, and all three of them left the room before too many questions could be asked.

  As prearranged, they moved to Felicity’s room for a conference. Morgan and Felicity naturally fell into step together, with Barton trailing. As they entered the room, Morgan held a finger to his lips. Barton nodded. The signal wasn’t necessary. He was, after all, a pro.

  Felicity opened a drawer in the locked desk. Beneath charts and dividers she had hidden her electronic scanner. She checked her room again, and again found no listening devices. With a nod she signaled that the room was clean.

  “Well, that either says they don’t suspect you, or…” Barton began.

  “Or they didn’t think I’d be back,” Felicity said. “Now, who do we suspect downstairs?”

  “Varilla,” Morgan said.

  “No question about it,” Barton said. “That boy looked like he was going to drop his teeth when we walked in. He set us up. But we still don’t know why.”

  Felicity plopped down on her bed. “We can’t be grilling him as long as he’s in Bastidas’ good graces, that’s for sure. We need a way to cut him out of the group. But we’ll have to deal with that tomorrow. I need a shower.” Morgan’s shirt was so big on her that she was able to slip it over her head and off without touching the buttons. She dropped it on the floor in front of him on her way to the bathroom.

  Not knowing how close his new friends were, Barton did a double take from Felicity to Morgan and back. Morgan paid no attention. He was staring out the window. No, Barton concluded, he was staring at something outside the window. He sighted over Morgan’s shoulder, but could not see anything.

  As the bathroom door clicked closed, Morgan picked up the charts and the dividers and sat at the desk. He began a close examination of the charts, following compass marks on them. Every few seconds he would furrow his brow and look out the window. Barton, used to working alone, was starting to feel left out.

  “What’d you find?”

  “Not sure,” Morgan said, resting his chin on a fist. “Listen, why don’t you run upstairs, get us each a shirt, and grab my bathrobe?” Morgan tossed Barton his key without looking up. He caught them in a tight fist. At first, he bristled at Morgan’s arrogance. Morgan seemed oblivious to Barton’s irritation and that made it worse, but after a moment’s silence he realized Morgan was preoccupied with the detailed ocean maps to the exclusion of everything else. He moved the dividers over one chart, then another. He picked up a pencil, put it between his teeth, and rummaged in the desk for a straight edge. Finally Barton shrugged and headed upstairs. These two worked in their own world, he thought, and needed a certain amount of space to function.

  When Barton returned he had on a tee shirt, since it was still warm. He dropped the robe on the bed and held a short sleeved shirt out to Morgan. After a brief pause, Morgan reached out for it and began putting it on without looking up.

  “Okay, what you got?” Barton asked, trying to keep it light.

  “A clue,” Morgan said, still looking down at the maps. “The late Mister Matthews marked this chart with an azimuth. This line right here goes straight out to that island we were on today. Odd coincidence, huh?”

  “You might be able to see it from here during the day,” Barton said. “Of course, you can’t see it now. Too dark. But, wait a minute, Morgan. How can you be so sure that line goes to that particular island. I mean, even if you were off by one degree, you’d miss that little rock by a mile.”

  “He’s not,” Felicity said, sticking her head out the bathroom door.

  “Want a robe?” Morgan asked without turning around.

  “Um, yeah,” Felicity said. “Thanks, love.”

  “She travels light,” Morgan said. Barton passed Felicity the robe through the door. She came out seconds later. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and her face glowed from scrubbing. Even wrapped in terry cloth she was a princess.

  “You’ve got to learn to trust,” she said, touching Barton’s face with a gentle palm. “Morgan’s sense of direction is uncanny. If he looks at that chart and points to a spot and says the island’s there, you can bet your paycheck on it.”

  “I’m not putting him down, doll, but really, nobody’s that good.”

  “Okay,” Felicity said, moving to stand behind Morgan. “You don’t have to believe it. I do.”

  Morgan seemed oblivious to their conversation. “Matthews saw something out there. But what? What’s special about that island?”

  “Well, it is on a direct line from the other side of the bay,” Barton said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

  “That’s the spirit,” Felicity said, hopping over and kissing his cheek. “It’s a good place to wait to come here. Or see here. Now, who was it?” She began to pace the floor of her little room. Her right hand was in the crook of her left elbow. Her left pointer finger tapped her lips. She wandered around the room in no particular pattern.

  “Let’s say someone wanted to watch the sub being built,” Morgan said, pulling out a piece of paper. He took notes in pencil as their conversation continued.

  “Aliens from space,” Felicity said, straight faced. Barton looked at her, then at Morgan for a clue.

  “Not likely,” Morgan said, equally serious. He turned to wink at Barton. “What use would they have for a submarine?”

  “Right,” Felicity said. “Well then, how about drug dealers. They might want to steal a sub, and use it to smuggle large quantities of cocaine, undetected. Or maybe some Middle Eastern shah wants it to protect his oil.”

  Barton sat on the bed with legs crossed. This was a pure brainstorming session, and as tempted as he was to participate, he held back, preferring to get a look at how this woman’s mind worked.

  “I found evidence of visitors on the island,” Morgan said. “They left the remains of a fire, and I found food containers, but they were the remains of military rations, not civilian food.”

  “Aha! Okay.” Felicity’s eyes brushed Barton’s face on her circuit and she blew him a kiss. “What about Chuck’s theory? Russian soldiers. They were here to check out the sub before taking delivery. When it sails out they’ll overcome the crew with nerve gas and drive it to the Russia.”

  Barton couldn’t resist this time. “No good, babe. If they were Russians they’d be Spetznatz. Special Forces. No way you’d find their junk. They’d bury the trash three feet deep and disperse the evidence of a fire completely.”

  “Good point,” Morgan said, spinning around in his chair. “The best of the Russians are unbelievably good. But Cuban soldiers…”

  “Sloppy,” Barton said, nodding. “Very sloppy, even their elite. Yeah Cubans…what am I saying?”

  “It makes sense to me.” Felicity bounced onto the bed next to Barton. “It’s nearby. Castro’s pretty much broken with the Russians anyway, being just about the last of the serious communists, aside from that nutter in North Korea. He’d die for a submarine like this. He was known to consort with Noriega before his fall, so he’s probably still got good ties within Panama. I’m thinking it’s a workable theory.”

  “Sounds like just the kind of thing they sent us here to look for,” Morgan said. “All we need is to know where The Piranha’s going on her maiden voyage and feed that to Roberts with our other evidence.”

  “I’ve got an idea for that,” Felicity said. “Let’s plan to get into Panama City tomorrow. No offense, Chuck, but your safe house might not be real safe anymore.”

  “No argument from me, sweetheart.”

  “Well, I think this calls for a celebration,” Felicity said. “Morgan, pick up that phone over there and get us some lemonade.”

  “Sure, and I’ll order something a little more bracing for us grown-ups.”

  -21-

  It was the ghosts that sent Morgan padding quietly d
own the carpeted halls after midnight. He moved slowly through the darkness, but with a sureness of tread born of a hundred night operations. Moonlight filtered through an occasional window, deepening his somber mood. He did not like running away.

  Sometimes, during a lull in an assignment, he slept too lightly. Sometimes, at those times, they would visit. The ghosts of past campaigns would wander through his half awake mind. He could count every soul he had hurried on its way to the next plane during his long career as a soldier. He knew his personal body count. He carried no regrets, but the dreams always shook him.

  Only Claudette, lover and long time friend, had ever helped him through one of those nightmares. She was an industrial spy he had met on mercenary business years ago. Now that he was a legitimate business man, he had occasional thoughts of making an honest woman of her someday. If only she was in Panama now, instead of working in Brussels. She could hold him close and get him through the night.

  For now, he had another solution in mind. He headed for the gym downstairs in shorts and a tee shirt. He planned to stage a marathon workout, drive himself to exhaustion, and collapse into a deep sleep.

  At the bottom of the stairs he turned left, feeling for the soundproof gymnasium door. As his fingers wrapped around the handle, Morgan felt a familiar tingle at the back of his neck. His instincts were warning him of impending danger. He froze for a moment, debating whether to follow his instincts or satisfy his curiosity. What danger could be waiting for him in a gym?

  Morgan didn’t know he had made a decision until his hand turned the lever and eased the door open a crack. The odor of sweat rushed out at him.

  Without overhead lights on, the heavy bag threw eerie shadows across the center of the room. Ropes hung from the ceiling like huge snakes waiting for a passerby to happen into them. Massive nautilus machines stood lined up against the gym’s walls like bulky guards. Morgan suspected Doctor Nunez kept them for testing Herrera’s strength. The set of free weights now arranged in the middle of the room had to be Herrera’s real training equipment.