Piranha Assignment

by Austin Camacho

  A long bench stood at the other side of the room, nearly fifty feet away. Nunez sat beside it in the light of a single lamp. Herrera lay face down on a nautilus bench, his legs curling, lifting weights in a slow, steady rhythm. A tube connected his right arm to a bottle hanging from a stand. Nunez, in his long lab coat, and Herrera, one with the bench, cast their own monstrous shadow figures in the gloom.

  The bench squeaked and weights clanked in rhythm as they moved up and down. Morgan could not resist a closer look. He slid into the room along the floor. Semi-darkness and the echoed clanking of the weight bench covered him. Silently he crept through the thick shadows thrown against the wall by the nautilus gear until he was within twenty feet of the room’s other occupants. He crouched with his back against the wall and drew his aura in, assuming a stone like rigidity and sending out no energy for anyone to detect. He became part of the darkness, and focused on the other men’s voices.

  “How much longer must I lie here?” Herrera asked, glaring at Nunez.

  “You know I must monitor you carefully,” Nunez said, flicking a finger at a long syringe. “I must document your reactions carefully if my research is to be accepted.”

  “I care nothing about your research, only that my endurance and strength remain at their peak.”

  “Of course, my friend,” Nunez said, trying to pacify his muscular patient. “But it was easier when we only used your own stored blood. Now that we’re adding red blood cells from other donors we must be very cautious. I’ve cross matched the blood types a dozen ways, but you could still reject it. Remember, no one else on earth is doing this right now.”

  Morgan’s eyes widened in the darkness. Blood doping! That hanging bag was adding to Herrera’s blood supply. He had read about this. Doctors would store a couple of pints of an athlete’s blood. After their bodies created enough blood to replace what was taken, the athletes would get the red cells from the stored blood transfused back into their bodies. The athletes experienced a short term increase in aerobic capacity, and more oxygen in their blood translated into greater endurance.

  So Herrera’s amazing stamina was artificially boosted. He, or Doctor Nunez, had come up with a new twist on vampirism. He used other people’s blood to increase his own vitality. Had Nunez found a solution to the increased risk of clotting and heart failure? If so, his technique really was a breakthrough.

  Morgan relaxed the cramp beginning in the small of his back and wondered what other surprises Herrera’s bulk hid. While he watched, Nunez reached over and slid the long needle into Herrera’s shoulder. The big man did not seem to notice, and went right on with his leg curls.

  “You should take a break from these soon,” Nunez said as he withdrew the needle. “Even with the megavitamin and mineral supplements, Even with human growth hormone enhancement, there are side effects that…”

  “No!” Herrera’s head snapped around, teeth bared beneath the long mustache.

  “But the Olympic committee…”

  “Fears the competitor who will do anything to win,” Herrera said. “Maybe a lesser man’s body, or will, can’t handle the steroids, but I can.”

  Morgan was shaking his head in silence. He should have guessed. The red eyes were a dead giveaway. And the man’s muscular bulk, so angular and chunky, so atypical of Hispanic men. Herrera showed all the signs of the effects of anabolic steroids, including his emotional state. Morgan guessed that he was pretty aggressive before he ever heard of chemical enhancements. Steroids would increase his strength and toughness, but they would also make him more violent, more volatile, and even more aggressive. In any competition, he would keep going until he won. In a fight he would lose touch with reality and focus on the fight until it was all he knew.

  This, Morgan reflected, would be a very tough animal to kill..

  “I don’t think you realize how fortunate you are to be involved in such ground breaking research,” Nunez told Herrera. “Your genetic makeup made you a perfect candidate for my experiments, giving you an unparalleled chance to contribute to mankind.”

  Herrera grunted.

  Nunez rambled on. “My work in blood enrichment alone will one day aid deep sea divers, jet pilots, astronauts. And the parallel chemical enhancement work is equally valuable. In combining the testosterone, erythropoietin and human growth hormone, I’ve just about found the synergistic peak. Imagine a new world of physical fitness for the handicapped, for accident victims, for recovering coma patients.” When his words drew no response, Nunez sighed and said, “All right. The waiting period is over.”

  Herrera’s legs continued their rhythmic pumping. Frozen in the shadows behind the machines, Morgan could feel Nunez’s disappointment and Herrera’s boredom. Nunez began storing his lab equipment in the locked cabinets. While he did, Herrera stood and performed a series of stretching exercises. Then he turned off the lamp and led Nunez across the pitch black room and out of the gym.

  The door thudded home, reverberations filling the high-ceilinged room. Morgan released his last held breath through puffed cheeks. He rose to his full height, shaking the kinks out of his back, his legs, his mind. He switched on the bench lamp, and then wandered over to a bench set up for presses.

  So Herrera was not a natural athlete. No, Morgan corrected himself as his hand rested on the weights up on the stand, he probably was in the usual sense. His natural gifts were probably remarkable. And it was obvious that he worked hard with consistent dedication to build himself and improve his performance. He was just a natural athlete who used the latest technology to amplify the gain he worked for.

  Anabolic steroids and blood doping would let Herrera train longer and harder, to speed the muscle building process. Testosterone too would offer him greater strength, more endurance, and faster recovery. Erythropoietin did the same things blood doping did. Human growth hormone did it all, increasing muscle mass, aerobic capacity and recovery speed, and thickened your bones in the process. Sure, all these things had side effects but nothing that will kill you as far as Morgan knew. Was it worth it?

  Morgan stretched out on the bench and stared up at the bar, considering the side affects nobody ever talked about. He had seen an analogous situation in Vietnam. Primitive men in black pajamas had outfought American soldiers. One reason was that the Americans depended on their advanced weapons and equipment instead of their own natural abilities.

  Hard work and dedication did not erase the fact that Herrera was leaning on artificial aids. Morgan preferred to remain a natural man. He raised the bar from the stand above him, and then lowered it to his chest. It was more weight than he usually used. More, in fact, than he weighed. Oh, well. He would have to work hard to stay even with the competition. Some people would do anything to slant things in their favor.

  Morgan threw himself into his workout as if he had something to prove.

  -22-

  At ten minutes before eight the next morning, Felicity O’Brian opened her room door, stepped into the hall, and held out her elbow. Without breaking stride, Morgan Stark slid his arm through hers and they moved down the hall toward the stairs.

  “I’ve stopped wondering how I know when you’re there,” Felicity said. “I just enjoy the comfort of knowing.”

  “You look lovely this morning,” Morgan said. “Do I detect a certain glow?”

  “Not the glow you mean. I sent Chuck away as soon as you left. I needed time to think about today.”

  Felicity wore a bright, rainbow striped skirt that fell just above her knees. Her blouse was white with French ruffled cuffs. Her hair was down, held at her neck with a wide green ribbon that exactly matched her eyes. She grinned into Morgan’s face, and he wondered if she had formulated her lipstick herself, as it was just the right shade. Plus, she wore a scent that was chemically designed to make a man say yes to anything.

  “New perfume?” Morgan asked.

  “Like it? It’s called ‘Trouble.’”

  “Figures,” Morgan said. “So what do you think a
bout today?”

  “I think I know just what our friends back home would want most, and I can get it this morning.”

  “Wonderful,” Morgan said. “I’ve decided how best to get the message to them. I hope you agree.”

  They made detailed plans in the scant minutes before they reached the dining room. Morgan and Felicity spoke in a peculiar shorthand consisting of partial sentences and incomplete ideas, as if they could read each other’s thoughts.

  They almost could.

  The breakfast table was the usual mealtime tableau. Bastidas held court with his close cabinet. Navigational questions and weather updates occupied one side of the table. Bastidas’ scientists and guards all dressed for meals in a standard fashion. Morgan would have stood out in his khaki safari outfit, if not for Barton who appeared in jeans and a Hawaiian shirt. They and Felicity discussed the base’s security, which was satisfactory on all points. At the right time, Felicity made a smooth transition to another subject.

  “How do these people tolerate the boredom here? Isn’t there any kind of activity nearby to divert your mind from all this?”

  Morgan was just about to suggest a short trip to the big city when Bastidas cleared his throat and spoke across both conversations.

  “Miss O’Brian has raised an interesting point,” Bastidas said, flipping his cape wide and raising his arms like a monarch making a proclamation. “I believe my loyal staff deserves a break from all their hard labor. Shop talk at the table is not only bad manners, it is also a sign of overwork. Why don’t we take a drive into Panama City and enjoy civilization for a few hours? I say we meet at the garages in an hour and take off for some relaxation.”

  Morgan and Felicity looked at each other as if they had won the lottery. Everyone else lit up with broad smiles and two men actually applauded. Bastidas was a hit. Morgan appreciated how easy Bastidas had made his life, but he wondered if Bastidas might also be pursuing some hidden agenda.

  Meanwhile, they had to advance the other parts of their plan. As the breakfast club broke up, Felicity would focus on her next target, Franciscus, the navigator, while Barton struck up a conversation with Morgan.

  “So, what do you think you’ll want to do in the big town, Morgan?” Chuck asked. “I figure to do some sightseeing, and I was kind of hoping you two would come along.”

  “You hardly need my company,” Morgan replied, prodding Barton’s ribs with an elbow. “To tell you the truth, I’ll split from the pack as soon as we’re there. I figure to find myself a decent hotel room and some company that isn’t necessarily a rocket scientist, if you know what I mean.”

  While he kidded with his new friend, Morgan watched Felicity out the corner of his eye. He saw her step into the midst of the small knot of scientists as they headed for the door. He saw her turn to tell Bastidas how much she enjoyed breakfast. He saw her foot catch on something, and watched her stumble against Franciscus. She twisted so that his rising right hand pressed against her left breast as he reflexively tried to catch her. She righted herself and apologized immediately.

  “It was surely the high point of my day,” Franciscus said through an embarrassed smile. He blushed, and Felicity giggled.

  Lord, she was good. Morgan never saw the dip, but he had no doubt she made it.

  Then everyone scattered to handle last minute preparations. Morgan returned to his room to reconfirm that he had secured everything. After changing into a light blue suit he took his chair to the window to relax and spend some time staring out at the clouds racing across the sky.

  Ten minutes before departure time, he was back at Felicity’s door. She popped out to walk with him to the vehicles waiting outside.

  “You do good work,” Morgan said as they walked, “But won’t Franciscus miss his little book?”

  “Just like a man with his wallet, the poor guy won’t miss it because it’s always in his pocket. I’ve memorized the navigational notes. They don’t really mean anything to me but it’s all here, for you to get it to our friends up north.” She handed him a small piece of paper.

  “So you’re finished with the notebook,” Morgan said as they approached the door.

  “Oh yes. Now all I have to do is return it.” Then she opened the door and the sun blinded them for a moment. Morgan whispered, “Good luck” as they split up.

  “Hey, I’ll drive one of those things,” Morgan said, climbing into the driver’s seat of one of the khaki colored Land Rovers. He got no argument from anyone, as expected. Felicity shared a bright smile with each man in turn, although Varilla and Herrera declined to return them. Then, taking Barton’s arm, she maneuvered herself so she was seated in the back seat of one of the vehicles between him and the blushing, flustered Franciscus.

  Bastidas stood in the front seat of the one white Land Rover, with Herrera at the wheel. Glowing in a ruffled white suit complete with wide slouch hat, he waved an arm like the wagon master in an old Western movie, and the three car column lurched forward.

  Morgan drove behind him, wondering for the hundredth time just what went on in the little long haired, earless man’s mind. Morgan was now certain he was driven by a fanatical patriotism, and he knew what that could do to a man. He had seen patriotism gone wrong plenty of times before. As a mercenary he had fought against any number of terrorists who saw themselves as freedom fighter trying to preserve their nation or their way of life. Was there really a conspiracy here, and if so, did Bastidas know about it? Morgan was not sure. Had he and his partner put the clues together to get the right answer, or were they a hundred and eighty degrees off base?

  Maybe this team of scientists and technicians was just paranoid. Maybe Felicity and Barton were attacked because someone believed one of them was a danger to the Piranha project. Perception was a funny thing. Herrera, under the emotional influence of steroids, could be seeing spies under the bed. Maybe one of the boys killed Matthews, unauthorized, because he mistook him for a threat. Herrera might have killed the killer to cover the murder.

  Lost in thought, Morgan didn’t come out of his reverie until the group was well into the jungle. Again Panama’s raw beauty struck him. He was at home in the rain forest, and seemed to draw energy from the lush variety of color, the constant flow of life pulsing beneath the underbrush.

  Of course, he could not see any of it. Dense tropical foliage concealed a world of activity, all the complexities of life. Just as he suspected flashy clothes, long hair and a dashing manner concealed a world of mental activity behind Bastidas’ blinding smile.

  As they drove into Panama’s central mountain ridge, Morgan didn’t see any of the bystanders or field workers he had spotted on the way in. This time he drove all the way to the Pan American Highway without seeing a soul. Had Bastidas sent men ahead to secure their path into the city? Or, did Bastidas inspire such fear that the local population didn’t even want him to see them? Either way, maybe there was such a thing as too much security.

  Then Herrera hit the accelerator and they were highballing it due west on the long asphalt ribbon toward Panama City. Morgan had the pedal on the floor most of the way, trying to keep the lead vehicle in sight. Exhaust fumes replaced the sweet jungle scent, and the ride became less bumpy and more of a steady vibration. Tires designed for off-road work whined against the smooth pavement.

  After a less than exciting drive with an old sailor and a young physicist, the tall palms gave way and Morgan cruised into Panama City in the middle of the three part convoy. Bastidas pulled them over in the heart of the city, before the ancient seat of the new government, the massive presidential palace. Morgan jumped down to the street and went forward to lean on the side of the lead vehicle. He thrust his face into the window, to within inches of Bastidas’ glowing smile. He looked at the twisted bottom teeth, then up into the crazed eyes.

  “I’m traveling solo. I stay at the Ambassador when I’m here, and in an hour I won’t be alone. Get it?”

  “All right,” Bastidas said after a moment. “We’ll meet
here at seven p.m. and find a nice place to dine together.”

  “No thanks. I can find my way home.” Morgan was still looking at Bastidas, but he heard a low rumbling from the other side of the car. Herrera was tensing, ready to put Morgan in his place. Morgan’s fingers dug into the back of Bastidas’ seat, but he controlled himself. This was neither the place nor the time for a confrontation.

  “Okay, you’re signing the paychecks,” Morgan said, forcing a smile. “I’ll see you at seven.” He pushed off from the side of the vehicle, walking away without a backward glance. The sun remained bright, but with an edge of black cloud on the western horizon. That told him that some weather was coming in. He felt some discomfort at leaving Felicity, but a quick glance at her reassured him that she was in no danger.

  After a wink at Morgan as he left, Felicity spun onto the sidewalk like a spring breeze, capturing all the men’s attention. “Well, gentlemen, where shall we go first? I’ve never seen the canal. And I understand there’s a historical area on the southern peninsula.”

  Barton wasn’t quite comfortable with Felicity’s scheme, but he thought she might pull it off. Felicity wanted to keep them all together, to make sure no one followed Morgan. Barton took her arm, trying to join in her holiday mood. Varilla, Herrera and the scientists gathered around Bastidas.

  “I have some financial business to attend to,” Bastidas said, then looked at Felicity and smiled. “Oh please don’t pout, my dear child. You are right, it is too fine a day to devote to business. I shall go alone, but for Herrera of course, and meet you in two hours. Do you know the place that bears Herrera’s name?”

  “Herrera Plaza,” Barton said, squinting against the sun and Bastidas’ suit. “Near the ruins of the original city. I know it.”

  “Then please start there. Show these overworked scientists, Miss O’Brien and Mister Varilla here, the city.”

  Herrera drove off with Bastidas. The others, more talkative than usual, split into the remaining Land Rovers. Varilla drove one, while Barton took the wheel in the other. He turned to his lovely passenger, now in the front seat.