“That’s cold.”
“But accurate. She did, however, invite me up to her place. She made it clear she had, um, intentions.”
Lisa’s smile evaporated. “Oh, really? Well…”
“This is where you ask if I accepted her offer.”
“That would be impolite.” She picked up her glass of sparkling water and took a long sip.
“Come on. I know you know how to be impolite.”
Lisa snapped her head up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Morgan didn’t reply. He did broaden his grin.
“Okay, okay. I had that coming. So, did you take her up on her offer?”
“Nope. I kissed her on the forehead and ran like a scared Cub Scout.”
“I bet she liked that.”
“Not so much. If looks could kill, you’d be dining with a corpse.”
“Oh, yuck. Woman trying to eat here.” A moment later, she chuckled. “At least you’re not sitting around the house feeling sorry for yourself.” Her own words shocked her. “I didn’t mean—”
“No problem, but who’s to say I’m not sitting around moping?”
“I just assumed…” She pursed her lips. “I don’t know what I assumed.”
“Everyone and their dog is trying to get me back into the dating scene. I was never good at that. I met my wife in college. She’s the only one I’ve dated…well, until Candy.”
“People are really pressing you to date?”
He nodded. “My aunt, three vice presidents, four of their wives, my personal assistant, and my chauffeur.”
“Are you going to see her again? I mean, she did call you.”
“She’s called me a dozen times. Okay, I may be exaggerating, but she has called several times. Apparently my aunt Ida gave Candy my number.”
“Between me and Candy, you may have to get a new phone number.”
“I may do that.”
“So you’re not interested in dating.”
He folded his hands on the table. “What’s the point? I can’t get over my wife, and besides…”
“Besides what?”
“You know. December 21, 2012. Who knows if any of us will be around?”
“And you really believe that?”
Morgan said he did. “Don’t you Christians believe the rapture is coming? You know, that event when believers will be caught up in the air to meet Jesus?”
“Yes, but that’s different.”
He leaned back in the chair. “Not in my eyes.”
Morgan watched her, waiting for a sharp retort. Instead, she looked sad but said nothing.
The waiter appeared and set down a plate of Tandoori chicken in front of Lisa, and a plate of lamb curry before Morgan. The sight and smell revved his appetite. That and two challenging workouts in one afternoon had left him in need of sustenance.
Morgan seized his fork and was about to stab a cube of lamb when he noticed Lisa sitting with her head bowed. His son had started praying over meals a few months before his death. The sight of the silent conversations drew sad memories from the well of his soul. He waited for her to finish. When she raised her head, he took his first bite. The spice made his eyes water and threatened to cause his tongue to combust. He wouldn’t have it any other way.
“How much time do we have left?” Lisa asked as she pulled the chicken from the bone.
He glanced at his watch. “About an hour-fifteen. We have time.” When she had agreed to join him for dinner, he told her that he had to be back home by eight. Jasper Kinkade had sent him a text informing him what time Quetzal would call. He also received an e-mail from Charles Balfour sharing his excitement about the upcoming chat.
“So, how much can I ask you about the video conference?”
“That’s an odd question.”
She shook her head, took a bite, closed her eyes, and moaned with satisfaction. “This is fabulous.” She chewed for a few moments. “I asked the question because I know I’ve pushed the envelope with you. I’m surprised you didn’t leave me standing at your gate.”
“No, you’re not. You’re working me, and I know it.”
“Then why invite me to dinner?”
He shrugged. “I was hungry. I’m not as upset with you as you imagine.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m upset with you, but I believe in new beginnings. That and I want to have dinner with a woman that has a brain.”
“Now, now, Candy has a brain. Let’s not be cruel.”
Morgan shoveled another bite into his mouth. “I’m a cruel man.”
“No you’re not. You’re firm, you’re determined, and you’re your own man, but you’re not cruel. A cruel man would have called the police on me for trespassing and maybe apply for a restraining order.”
“And you’re determined, a tad pushy, overly religious, and results-orientated.”
“Does that mean I can’t ask you about your meeting?”
“Maybe over dessert.”
“Dessert. This day just gets better and better.”
Morgan wondered what he was going to do with the bulldog sitting across the table from him.
Candy Welch—Meredith Roe on her birth certificate—paced her condo. Things hadn’t gone according to plan, and no matter how hard she tried to regain her footing, she couldn’t. Jaz wasn’t happy, and if she couldn’t turn things around, she would be on the bad end of his wrath.
She swore at herself and then at the absent Jaz. She had never failed a mission before. It was why she was the highest paid operative in Jaz’s empire. That, and she was called upon to do what other operatives wouldn’t do. Some were good at surveillance, but she was good at seduction. That is, until Andrew Morgan came along.
Where had she gone wrong? The man was ripe for the picking: a lonely widower with a high-pressure job. She had taken scores of such men to bed.
She stepped into the bedroom and let her eyes drift to the two hidden video cameras.
“What a waste.”
Her cell rang. “Oh great.” She took a deep breath. “Hello, Jaz.”
Jaz tossed the phone onto the front passenger seat. He wanted to throw it through the windshield of his rental car, but that would serve no purpose. He would have to deal with Meredith and her failure later. He had gone through a lot of trouble to orchestrate a plan that would involve Morgan’s aunt. He had drawn several scenarios, but the easiest was to take the real Candy Welch out of the picture. That was easy enough. Aunt Ida was one of the last of Morgan’s family still living. On a hunch, he had placed an operative on her, tapped her phone, and followed her. They hit gold early. His company did all the background checks on anyone who Balfour and Quetzal thought might be interested in their organization.
Sifting through thousands of IP addresses of those who visited the site had been made easier by a custom software application. The website recorded the Internet addresses of everyone who visited the site. A computerized search of the information led to a name and other data. If the physical location was in a wealthy area, that information was gathered and passed to a worker who did additional research. They had been on Morgan’s trail for some time. When he showed up in Roswell, he became a prime target.
Jaz pushed those thoughts to the side. He had another problem. He was tailing a young man and woman. Tailing a car was easier. Following pedestrians while in a car was nearly impossible. It would take only a few moments for the subjects to notice a slow-moving vehicle behind them.
He had let them get a block away before pulling from the curb, but once he was moving, he had to drive past them and turn onto a side street. If he saw that they hadn’t caught a glimpse of him, then he could drive by again. Normally, a successful tail like this required several operatives spread out along the subject’s anticipated path, but he didn’t have the luxury. In fact, he hadn’t anticipated following anyone from the apartment.
He assumed the couple lived nearby; otherwise, they would have driven or taken the bus. Jaz drove down the street, made a
right on a side street, turned around, and pulled back to the intersection. He parked near the corner and raised his binoculars. Wherever the couple was headed, they were in no hurry.
They made a left and continued down the sidewalk. Jaz looked at his GPS unit and identified the street as Beech Avenue. He had done his research. There were no apartments on that street, just older homes that looked as if they had been around for more than fifty years. He pulled into the street and drove a parallel course to the one on which his prey was walking. He felt a wave of anxiety. If he was too slow, and if one of the old homes was their destination, then he would have to stake out the street until they reappeared.
He made the first left he could and drove slowly across the intersection, gazing down Beech. His timing was perfect. He saw the couple walk to an olive green bungalow-style home.
Jaz parked again, giving the couple time to enter the home. Only then would he risk driving down the street to scope out the house.
Garrett returned to his apartment with a bag of burgers and fries in one hand. He also carried a mind full of frustrations. Two days on the job, and so far he had managed to tick off his uncle and watch the reporter who was supposed to be training him fly off to Oklahoma, leaving him to help with obituaries, photocopies, and filing. He was a reporter, not a secretary. He should have been allowed to go with Lisa. How else would he learn?
The apartment was a mess, but Garrett gave it little thought. It was always a mess. Necco hadn’t made it worse, nor had he improved it. He set the burgers down on a battered coffee table, turned on the television, and went to the refrigerator. Necco had nearly cleaned it out. For such a skinny guy, he ate like an alligator. At least he had left a can of Coke. There was no food. Garrett had anticipated that. It was why he had picked up fast food on the way home.
He returned to the living room and glanced at the desk where he and Necco had set up their respective computers. Necco’s laptop was gone. A sticky note hung from the desktop monitor: Thanks for the challenge. You owe me.
Garrett was beat. He had been up all night, worked all day, and now he was too tired to look at Necco’s latest research. He turned to the television and then back to the computer. Snatching up the fast-food bag, he turned off the television and switched on the computer. He had finished the first bacon cheeseburger by the time the machine booted.
After unwrapping the second cheeseburger, Garret studied his desktop. An icon caught his eye: a roll of Neccos. Garrett shook his head. His friend was definitely weird.
He double-clicked on the icon, and a document filled the screen. It was a single page with blue links to web sites, and notes arranged in short sentences. The last note read: I could be wrong, but I think they may have sniffed us out. I cleared your Internet history. Destroy this.
“Oh great, so much for you being Mr. Invisible.”
Someone knocked on his door.
Lisa shifted in the front seat of the Mercedes SLK Roadster and then shifted again. The sleek car looked like it could outrace a missile, but that wasn’t what made her nervous. As sporty and fast as the car appeared, Morgan drove slowly over the surface streets. She couldn’t decide if he was being gentle for her sake or if he was just a cautious driver.
Maybe he just wants to spend a few extra minutes with me. She jerked her head to the side. Where had that thought come from? She wasn’t here for any other reason than to get the interview. She told herself that several times.
“Are you okay? Doze off? I have that effect on people.”
“No. I’m fine. I just…I have no idea what I was doing. Day-dreaming, I guess.”
“About what?”
She looked at him. The sun, which was now low in the sky, nevertheless illuminated his handsome features. Lisa shrugged. “Nothing. My mind tends to run off on its own.”
“I know that feeling. My mind is seldom where my body is.” He exhaled noisily, started to speak, but she cut him off.
“Let me guess—you’re trying to decide whether to give me the interview.”
Their eyes met for a moment. “I don’t see how I can do that.”
“I promise to not make you look like a wacko.”
“Oh, so you plan to lie.”
She grinned. “I’ll have you know, Mr. Morgan, I’m addicted to the truth.”
“Isn’t ‘truthful reporter’ an oxymoron?”
“Watch it.”
“I can’t do the interview.”
She expected that. “What can I do to change your mind? After all, I came a long way.”
“Which was your decision.” He checked the rearview mirror. “In some ways, I’m a public man. I’m not movie-star famous, but I head a publicly held company. That means I have thousands of stockholders to answer to. If the CEO looks flaky—and, let’s face it, believing the world may come to an end in 2012 will strike some people as flaky—they may think I’m unfit for this job.”
This was going badly. Morgan struck her as the kind of man who digs his heels in deeper when pushed to do something he didn’t want to do. “Do you really believe the world will end eighteen months from now?”
“I believe something dramatic—probably catastrophic—will happen.”
“Then what does it matter if some of your stockholders will think you’ve gone ‘round the bend’?”
“It doesn’t mean anything to me personally, but I won’t do anything that will negatively impact the firm. I have a duty to thousands of workers.”
“Okay, how about this: We do the interview, but I never mention your name, Morgan Natural Energy, or even the state you live in. I could just call you a high-ranking executive who wishes to remain anonymous. I don’t know if my editor will go for it, but he might.”
He stared through the window and Lisa felt a moment of hope. At least he was thinking about it.
“Why is this important?”
“Because the 2012 flap is going to increase in the months ahead. It has to. Do you remember all the Y2K hubbub? In the end, a couple of microwaves quit working, but the claims of power outages, loss of personal information, the digital crash of hospital electronics, the suspension of credit, and cars no longer able to start turned out to be nothing but the fruit of imagination.”
“I remember. It might interest you that I thought all that was nonsense.”
“You see, that’s what I want to write about. Why do you believe the 2012 theorists now, but before the year 2000, you dismissed the doomsayers then?”
She caught him glancing at the clock on the dash. She felt the car speed up.
“I’ve done my research. Let’s just leave it at that.”
War broke out in Lisa’s mind. Her impulse was to tell him that she couldn’t leave it at that, but the thinking part of her brain reminded her that the night had gone a long way to heal the rift between them. To spout off now could upend the progress.
She spoke softly. “I might as well lay it all on the line. I know you’re thinking of dropping me off at my car, but I’m going to risk being forward. I want to go back to your place.”
He turned to her, his forehead furrowed with confusion. “Are you going Candy on me?”
“Going Candy—no. Not at all.” She felt her face warm. “I didn’t meant that. Boy, do I need to rephrase that.”
Morgan laughed. “Okay. Rephrase.”
“I want to listen in on your video conference.”
“Well, that was straightforward.”
“I’m running out of road. We’ll be to your place in minutes. I can’t think of a clever way to ask.”
He drummed his finger on the steering wheel. “You know, it’s supposed to be a private meeting.”
“Listen, Andrew. I’m sensing a strong disconnect between what you say you believe and how you act about your belief. It’s confusing.”
Too direct?
“Confusing how?”
“If you truly believe the world is going to be negatively impacted in December of 2012 and that lives will be lost, then I’d th
ink you’d want to do something about it. Save whomever you could.”
“Maybe I’m a selfish jerk. Maybe I’m out only to save myself.”
Lisa shook her head. “You told me earlier that you’re a good judge of character. Well, so am I. It’s a required skill in my profession. I need to be able to judge if someone is jerking me around. My gut tells me you’re one of the good guys.”
“You could be wrong.”
“Of course I could, but I’m not.”
Morgan slowed the car as they approached his home. Lisa felt a moment of hope.
“I don’t have time to give this proper consideration.” He pulled into the drive but stopped at the closed gate. He parked the car and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Lisa let him think, fighting the swelling urge to pressure him to acquiesce.
“You said you were addicted to the truth. Is that the truth, or just Christian hyperbole?”
“I meant it. For me, it’s part of my faith. I let my yes mean yes and my no mean no.”
Morgan turned in his seat. “I don’t have time to debate this. I’m cutting it thin as it is. Here’s the deal: You can listen in. You will say nothing. You will stay out of sight. You will publish nothing without my permission. I will give you the interview, but my name, position, firm, and location will not be revealed.”
“No reporter makes her article contingent on the approval of anyone but her editor—”
Morgan dropped the car into reverse and began to back onto the street.
“Wait.”
He stopped.
Lisa stared at the dashboard, but her mind churned with other images, primarily those of an angry editor. “Maybe we could—”
“No. That’s my deal. It’s my way or nothing.”
“But—”
“No. Is it a deal?”
“I need a minute.”
“I don’t have a minute.” Again, he put the Mercedes in reverse.
“Okay. Deal.”
“You sure?”
She frowned. “What alternative do I have?”
“Go home and forget the whole thing.”
She shook her head and wondered if it was really the story driving her decision.
The Mayan Apocalypse Page 15
