“No John, I’m a writer now. No politics, but I love Daley and what he does. He’s a good man. How have you been?”
While the men talked, Eunice complimented Catherine on her dress, and then asked, “May I get you a glass of wine? Of course it won’t be a Rothschild ’75, but we do have a nice cellar here.”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having, Eunice. That Rothschild goes right to my head. Besides I think it’s more of a man’s drink. Don’t you?”
Eunice found herself immediately liking what she had considered, up to then, as Jimbo’s fling. She turned to Sam and ordered, “Two glasses of white wine, Sam. The good stuff.”
Sam poured the pre-chilled, breathing, 2001 Chardonnay. A Sonoma Valley, Californian wine that’s a true heavenly treat. It’s made in the tradition of Chablis, fruity and aromatic. And at a mere 25 dollars a bottle, Sam had to agree; it was indeed the good stuff. His occasional sips of it from behind the bar were a solid testimony to Eunice’s claim.
Eunice handed Catherine the lead crystal glass of Chardonnay and made a toast to her, “To finding the Brazilian orchids.” And they both took a deep and pleasurable drink.
“Let’s leave these two alone a minute, I want you to meet the girls you’ll be traveling with. I must warn you, they can read your mind. But you’ll get use to that really quick. It’s very fascinating... Any dark secrets to hide?”
“No. None that I can think of, off hand.”
John Alberquist asked Morgan if he’d join him for a cigarette out by the pool, “There are some important things that I need to confide in you, Jim.”
“I’ll bet it has something to do with this orchid hunt, eh John?”
John looked toward the women, “We have a few minutes, let’s go. Are you still smoking those Camels?”
Flippantly Morgan responded, “Yeah, but not as much. I hear they’re bad for your health.”
The pool was lit from within, the low hum of a filter was the only sound besides the click of Morgan’s Zippo as it opened and he lit their Camels. Tiki torches flamed around the perimeter of the flagstone patio. Morgan recalled that the Senator had just sat in the very chair that Sophie had sat in on the day he had formally met her over a year ago.
“What I’m about to tell you Jim must be kept in a strict confidence between us.” He looked Morgan in the eyes and waited for an acceptance of his terms.
“You have my word, John. Let’s hear it.”
And the Senator began his story of how he vowed to avenge Sophie’s death at the hands of Margolova. He told him about the information he garnered from Arnold Ames. How he tracked her every move through the CIA’s clandestine networks, right up to how he had fed her information on where Morgan might be at a certain time, namely Sao Paulo, Brazil. How he was using Morgan as bait to make her surface in a place where he could have the life ripped out of her, once-and-for-all. And two cigarettes later, he had fully opened up the plot and asked with a shaky tremor in his lowered voice, “Please, help me avenge her, Jim.”
“I’m in with you ... all the way, John.” And then the two avengers shook hands to seal their oath.
They had finished their drinks, but Morgan wanted yet another cigarette. As he lit it, he asked, “How much does Eunice know, Senator?”
“Pretty much everything that I’ve just told you. The orchids are the real deal, Jim.
Margolova has gone after them once already. She went to the wrong village and left empty handed, after killing a dozen of their tribe. The poor bastards didn’t know anything about the orchids. She had missed the right village by a hundred miles.”
“How much danger is there for Catherine? Should I leave her here? Send her home? What do you think, John?”
“Margolova has been asking about her. We think that Margolova believes her to be a CIA spy.
I’ve read the CIA dossier on Catherine. She’s one hell of an exceptional citizen. I’d hate to see anything happen to her.”
“Me too, John. I’ve really fallen for her. She plays golf in the low eighties, too.” They both smiled.
The Senator questioned, “What about you and Eunice? Is that over?”
Morgan stared down at the flagstone, then did a quick survey of the pool area and stopped his blank search at Eunice’s second floor lanai. He had a quick recollection of the two of them commingling in her suite. And a mental image of Sophie flashed up in his mind. “You know I fell in love with your daughter, John. Eunice and I were never the same after that. I’d be with Eunice and the only thing on my mind was Sophie. Eunice became something that just, couldn’t be.” Morgan reached his empty J&B and sipped the melted ice.
“I’m ready for a refill, Jim. How about you?”
“Yeah, we’ve been gone quite a while.” They stood and headed for the mental sanctuary of the Institute’s bar.
The Senator placed his arm around Morgan’s shoulder as they walked to the door, “I loved her too, Jim.”
Chapter Seventeen
Mureatha was announcing, “Dinner is ready to be served,” as the Senator and Morgan entered from the pool area. The girls began to rise and move to the dining room.
Eunice and Catherine made their way to the men. Eunice told Sam to take a break, “There’s a lot of food in the kitchen, Sam. Please help yourself to whatever you want.”
Eunice dragged the Senator off to the dining table. Over her shoulder, she warned, “Don’t dally, Jimbo.”
“Right behind you, Eunice,” as he circled the bar and reached the J&B. “Can I make you anything, Catherine?”
“No, there’s going to be wine on the table. We’re having salmon. I’m starving. How about you?”
“Did you make it through the mind readers?”
“I thought they were nice. I couldn’t tell if they were reading my mind.” Jim filled his glass, not replenishing the ice.
“I guess we’d better get in there.” He took her hand and they headed for the salmon.
“I think you have an admirer in there.” Catherine smiled teasingly, and the entered the forty-by-twenty foot dining area, an area that any one could only described as lavish.
Morgan and Catherine sat across from the three seers; Eunice and the Senator were on the long ends. Eunice was at the head of the table and introduced the girls to him, adding, “He’s my Resident Engineer.”
Morgan had a thought on that one, remembering when she used to call him her – Resident Dick.”
Tonya picked up on his errant thought and nearly spit her, in progress, sip of wine clear across the table. She had found his thought, amusing, but the timing was not in her favor. She grabbed up a linen napkin and began dabbing at the forest-green tablecloth, trying not to laugh aloud.
Morgan suspected that she was reading his mind, and asked out in his mind, “What’s the matter Jackie? Never hear the word dick before?” And he kept a straight face and asked out loud, “Are you okay, sweetie?”
Lisa had heard the entire silent exchange. She was pissed at Morgan, but said nothing. She went to Jackie mentally and suggested she tune out Morgan through the rest of the dinner.
Jackie retorted, “Oh no, Lisa. I thought it was very funny, a little crude... But I can handle it, honest.”
Lisa sat down and gave Morgan a warning glance, a glance that said, “We’re onto to you, buster. Beware!” And Morgan read the glance for what it was meant to state.
He smiled back, and thought out – to all three – “This trip could be fun... Or it could turn into a real nightmare. What’s it going to be?”
The three mind readers looked at each other. They had a quick inner-circle conference and their spokesperson Lisa announced out loud, “Mister Morgan, on behalf of us. I’d like to state openly...that, we believe we can locate these orchids ... With your help, assistance, and a little understanding.” Lisa sat down, turned to Eunice and asked, “Are we still going to Sao Paulo, Eunice?”
The food was being served. Eunice had discussed the alternate plans with the Senator prior to the dinner via phone.
Sao Paulo would not be changed. The route was set in stone. Margolova was secretly fed Morgan’s itinerary a week earlier. The trap was set. The plan would not change for Morgan to be positioned in Sao Paulo. However, the three ESP women would land and then immediately get on another plane, a private plane, and fly to White River, with two local guides to help them. Morgan would join them after Margolova was arrested.
Eunice turned to the Senator. John stood and began a narration on the orchid hunt, “Two students from Brasilia University will guide the girls to White River. They will act as interpreters and they are familiar with the fields you will be hunting in, east of Rio Branco.” The Senator took a sip of wine and pointed to Morgan.
“Mister Morgan, will spend the night in Sao Paulo. He will join you ladies the next day. Miss Harris, I’m sorry, but you will have to...”
The Senator’s outline was horribly interrupted by a loud shout behind him, “Who is Morgan?”
The Senator turned to see a gun aimed at his chest by an Arab looking, teenager that shouted, “In the name of Allah!” And he fired two shots into the Senator’s chest that sent him to the floor, slow -- with an outstretched arm held up in the air like a student wanting to ask a question.
Three more shots rang out... But not from the Arab’s weapon. The Arab kid spun around with his back to the table of stunned and stupefied guests. A dark figure emerged from the den and fired yet two more shots into the still standing Arab who went into a backward stagger and fell dead on top of the dying Senator.
Morgan stood and placed his body in front of Catherine in an effort to protect her. One of the girls screamed. One ducked under the table. Eunice stood up trying to see where the Senator had fallen. The two servers ran to the kitchen dropping the foods they were holding.
“Oscar? Oscar Bradley?” Morgan went to the Senator and threw the dead punk aside like a little piece of garbage that he was. Bradley knelt down beside Morgan on one knee.
The Senator was alive, he looked into Morgan’s eyes, “Get that bitch, Jim...” And he passed out with blood exiting from the side of his lips.
Eunice came over and was hovering above them, “Is he okay? I’ve called 911. I asked for an ambulance.” She knelt down and placed her hands on his face and wiped the blood from his lip, she was sobbing, “John. Oh John, I’m so sorry, John. Can you hear me, John?”
Morgan stood, asking, “Anyone a Doctor, or a nurse?” No one came forth.
Sam entered from the kitchen, “Eunice is a Doctor.”
Mureatha pushed past Sam with a “Humph,” as she came bursting out from the kitchen yelling, “I’s a LPN, almost,” and hurriedly went to Eunice’s side.
“Help him, Mureatha.” Eunice had tears flowing from her eyes.
Catherine came up to see, close up, and took up Morgan’s coat sleeve. She was feeling faint. But didn’t say so, hoping it would pass.
Morgan softly told Catherine that he was going to take Eunice outside for some air, “I’ll be right back, kiddo.”
Catherine nodded out in assent, released his sleeve, and took a step backward. Then fainted dead away – right on top of the profusely bleeding but very dead Arab.
* * *
Catherine awoke in their suite; Morgan was applying a cold towel to her forehead, Eunice was observing with her arms folded in a show of exasperation. If one of the ESP girls were to look into her mind at that moment they would have found themselves swimming in an abyss of nothingness. Literally, Eunice was in shock.
The paramedics arrived, in eleven minutes. The Senator was taken to Bethesda, in Maryland. The Arab was pronounced, D.O.A, dead on arrival. Police, CIA, FBI, and a host of other D.C. dignitaries began sealing off the crime scene.
Catherine came to semi-awareness twice since her faint some twenty-minutes earlier. Morgan carried her to their suite, undressed her and checked to make sure she wasn’t shot. Her dress was matted in Middle Eastern blood and was placed in a plastic bag by Eunice.
A medic came to the suite, directed by the D.C. Medical Examiner fresh on the scene. He sat down his utility bag and produced a smelling salt and held it under Catherine’s nose. It worked instantly. She looked to Morgan and he went to her.
The Medic asked Eunice if she was all right, “Yes. Yes.” She snarled, and then asked with a hint of doubt present in her voice, “Is that normal, to faint for -- twenty minutes?”
“She was obviously drinking, she’ll be fine. Let her rest as long as she wants. She was most likely experiencing some shock. Do you know of any other reason for her to pass-out, faint, is she pregnant?”
“No. Well? I don’t know.” Eunice looked at Morgan, “Jimbo, is she pregnant?” And she emphasized the “Jimbo.”
Morgan asked Catherine, “Are you pregnant, kiddo?”
“Not unless it’s yours.” And then she smiled. And then Morgan smiled. And Catherine sat up, pulling up the sheet and snuggled into his shoulder. Then she began recalling what had happened, “Oh my God, how’s the Senator?”
The medic heard her question, “She’ll be okay now, Miss North,” and he closed his bag and moved to leave. “We’ll be here a while if you need us.” And he closed the door behind himself.
“The Senator is on his way to Bethesda, Cath.” Morgan added, “He’s alive,” and then he looked at Eunice but didn’t say anything. He had only said he was alive because no one had said he was dead.
Eunice, not having anything to add, excused herself, “I’m going downstairs. I’m sure I’m needed there, for something.” And as she pulled the door shut behind her she wondered why she was there with Morgan and not perched at the Senator’s side?
Chapter Eighteen
Private eye, Oscar Bradley, had never shot anyone before that Thursday evening. He had never been to Washington D.C., either. As Oscar waited for the Medics to arrive, he called his office in Chicago and as he punched in the numbers he was amazed at how shaky his hand was responding to the simple task. He made a second call to his attorney whom he kept on a verbal retainer.
“Relax, Oscar.” His attorney friend advised him. “From what you’ve told me, you shouldn’t need council. The shooting of Senator is a Federal Offense. The FBI will have jurisdiction, I suggest you only talk with them. Keep your answers short and sweet. You’ll be okay. If you want me to get you a local attorney, there, just let me know?”
And that was exactly what happened. Everyone wanted to question him. But Oscar stated his right to speak with the FBI, and only the FBI. To Oscar’s dismay, everyone backed off and bowed to the FBI’s authority.
By midnight, the official report read, “Accidental Shooting of the Senator. Mistaken identity by a crazed gunman.” The D.C. Coroner with the FBI’s permission removed the Arab, as yet unidentified, to the local morgue. The band and caterers were released under a gag order to not discuss the case. Sam, who had returned to the bar as the police began to arrive, was considered too intoxicated to give a valid statement.
Eunice had called her lawyer and he was present when she was finally interviewed.
Catherine knew nothing and spoke openly to whoever asked as to what she had observed.
Morgan, who was put under all kinds of duress, said as little as possible. He recalled a couple of the questioning CIA agents that had debriefed him when he had returned from Madagascar. And they had remembered him, also. One even called him, “Sir Morgan.” Everyone was told, “Do not leave town.” The orchid mission was officially on an FBI investigative hold.
* * *
Margolova was escorted out of the Rio airport in a wheelchair guided by two uniformed Brazilian medical attendants. The contagion emblem sitting atop her blanket-covered briefcase insured her delivery into a waiting ambulance. If she were to be challenged on her way out of the concourse, the Lugar held in her covered hand and her instinctive survival wits would give her a fair chance of escaping, without a trace.
They were not stopped. No one questioned her presence. No one even looked in her direction as she was wheele
d through customs and out into the street. She placed the gun back into her briefcase while refusing the actual ambulance ride.
She looked for a cab that was beat-up and abused, knowing that it would be driven by a new hire, or be owned by a gypsy independent. And she found the perfect taxi and driver who negotiated a fair fare, for her evil intent. Then paid him, up-front, to take her all the way up to Sao Paulo, with the promise of a large tip when she made her destination, a tip that would be paid out to him from the barrel of her 9mm Lugar.
Ames woke to a barely audible ringing phone out in the cubes, as the cubicles were called. Had he known it was his old cubicle’s phone ringing? He surely would have made a mad dash out to the floor, to his old cube, to answer it.
Instead, he fluffed up his sports coat that he was using as a pillow and went back into a deep sleep.
* * *
At two in the morning, Morgan and Catherine were excused to retire for the night. They showered together, a quick shower by two mentally exhausted novae lovers. With the lights out and Morgan softly stroking Catherine’s back, came some serious questioning from the Harris court.
“Jim?”
“Yes.”
“Just before the Senator was shot, he was addressing me, saying he was sorry or something.”
“Yes. We had talked about your safety...out by the pool. There’s a lot going on with this trip that I wasn’t aware of, until I talked to him.”
Morgan moved his hand to the small of her back and continued the gentle circular motion of his open hand, “The Senator developed a plot to draw out the terrorists responsible for his daughter’s death.” He paused his gentle rub and then continued, “He’s using me as bait.”
“What?” Catherine exclaimed. “Jesus Murphy! How could he do that? Something sounds very wrong here.”
Morgan went on to tell her everything. He even mentioned the love he had held for Sophie. And then let his hand swipe slow across her ass with deliberate intentions of arousing her.
Catherine rolled onto her side and held up her chin with the palm of her hand and looked at him in the darkened room, “I heard an agent from the FBI call you ‘Sir Morgan’ what was that all about?”
Orchids to Die For (Jim Morgan Adventure Series) Page 10
