Ice Woman Assignment

by Austin Camacho

  “Guess I’m just paranoid,” Morgan said with a half smile. “But I did notice that half the faces I’ve seen in this town were Mexican.” He settled on the sofa and pulled off his boots.

  “So, we need a plan for tomorrow,” Felicity said, sitting at the table. “Chuck, you checked the area, right?”

  “I told you, I looked it over.” He pulled a chair up next to Felicity’s. “Look, that mercy ship follows a predictable path every month. It always leaves here loaded with food, clothing, books, sometimes with seeds. It always docks in Cartagena. Its cargo is unloaded, then it turns around and comes right back here.”

  “What comes off the ship here?” Felicity asked, leaning toward Barton and swaying just a little.

  “Not much,” Barton answered, starting to rub her foot with his own. “Golden Heart Shipping has a major warehouse downtown. I was there yesterday when the ship, El Corazon de Hielo, docked. I guess some books were sent back. No surprise there. These people want food, not literature. They emptied the hold, then loaded up with the usual powdered milk, clothing and more bibles.”

  “El Corazon de Hielo,” Felicity repeated. “The Heart of Ice. They’re bringing it in, all right, and laughing at us all the way.”

  “But how?” Barton asked, stroking Felicity’s arm. “We’ve been all over that warehouse, opened any number of crates. Nothing.”

  “We need to look it over in the morning,” Morgan said, hanging his shoulder holster over a chair.

  “Yes, I’m thinking that’s tomorrow’s job,” Felicity said, yawning. “I am so tired. I think tequila wears me out. I’ll think better after some sleep.”

  Felicity stood, Barton stood, and Frederico rose as well, watching his mistress’ face. Glances were exchanged all around. Morgan studied his feet.

  “Let’s go get some rest,” Chuck said, taking Felicity’s hand. Her eyes widened, just for an instant, then narrowed to slits.

  “Chuck, I don’t think…”

  “I must stay with my mistress,” Frederico put in.

  “Not tonight, kid,” Barton said, smiling and shaking his head.

  “Chuck, I do need some privacy tonight,” Felicity said. Barton looked at her as if he had not heard correctly. “And I’d feel pretty uncomfortable sleeping with you with Frederico looking on.”

  “Then we put him out. Right?” Chuck said, his smile a little smaller.

  “This is kind of delicate,” Felicity said, taking a step backward. “I’ll explain it tomorrow, honest. For right now, just let me go in the bedroom…”

  “With him?” Barton’s smile had become a stern straight line.

  “You can’t be thinking that I’m sleeping with him,” Felicity said, putting an indignant cutting edge into her voice. “Look, I don’t have to explain myself to you and you don’t own me. I said we’d talk about it in the morning. I’ll be going to bed now.”

  Felicity tossed Morgan a terse good night and went through the bedroom door with Frederico at her heels. Barton stood with his mouth open for a moment, then cast a bewildered glance around the room. Morgan stood up, stretched, and moved to the love seat. He lay down with his legs up on one arm, as if he were settling in for the night. Barton staggered over and plopped onto the sofa.

  “What happened between L.A. and here?” Barton asked himself aloud.

  “Wish I knew,” Morgan said, his eyes closed. “I don’t think she’s doing anything with the kid. He’s just a boy and she feels responsible for him is all.”

  “Yeah, she told me, remember?” Barton answered, squirming around, trying to get comfortable. “He saved your lives with his psychic mumbo jumbo. I get that bit, but what’s it got to do with her and me?” Morgan sat back up, turning to face Barton. His lips curled in.

  “Chuck, something happened to her in Anaconda’s moving office,” Morgan said. “I don’t know. Maybe this woman really scared her. Anyway, something’s different. A little less confidence, maybe? Something dulling her edge.”

  “What are you talking about?” Chuck said. “She’s just doing one of those woman things nobody understands.” The words came out rough. Maybe, Chuck realized, a little rougher than he intended.

  “Yeah, well maybe so. Just don’t push her, and keep your eyes open for clues.”

  “Right now, I’m just going to keep my eyes shut,” Chuck said. “I got a feeling I’m going to need my rest for tomorrow’s fun and games.”

  Morgan’s head moved as if he was about to rise. Frederico came through the bedroom door as if on cue and turned off the light.

  -25-

  Gulls screamed in the early morning light. Through an open window, Morgan watched one trace a wide invisible circle against a cloud. After five circuits, it seemed to see what it wanted and steered into a power dive. Inches from crashing into the surf it pulled up, touched the water with its talons and stroked hard, driving back into the air. Its talons now grasped a small, wriggling fish.

  That’s how it happens, Morgan thought. Just like that. He filled his lungs with salt air and turned to the bed. Felicity’s long red hair coated her pillow, a white sheet covering her to her chin. Like a faithful guard dog, Frederico slept on the floor on the other side of the bed. Morgan reached down, gently touching her shoulder. Her eyes snapped open. She smiled up at him for an instant, until she focused on him. Then her smile faded. His face was tense, carved from stone.

  “We have to talk,” he whispered. As she sat up, he stiffened for a moment. She had on a tee shirt with a print of a dragon on the front. Morgan had never known Felicity to sleep any way but nude. He knew this because she had never been modest about her body, at least not around him. He turned and went to the table in the great room, sitting in one of the straight chairs. Seconds later, Felicity followed, having pulled on a pair of shorts.

  Gulls’ calls seemed shrill in the early silence. Waves slapped the beach violently, almost callously. Barton’s light snoring filled the otherwise silent room. He lay on the sofa, sleeping more heavily than a professional should. Felicity stood beside Morgan, a hand on his shoulder.

  “Been out already?” she asked in hushed tones.

  “I woke up, so I walked down to the 7-11. Picked up some donuts and the paper.”

  “And?” She must have known something was up, but it was not her way to guess. Morgan appreciated her trust.

  “Sit down. Take a look.”

  Felicity sat behind a cup of coffee Morgan had poured for her. She felt the morning was already off to a shaky start, but she wanted to force it in a better direction. She knew that was not going to happen when Morgan pushed the paper toward her. She sipped her coffee, scanning the page Morgan indicated. A small fire. Local politician says he will not seek reelection. New statistics on wind surfing accidents. She took a bite of her doughnut. Then she saw it.

  Felicity’s stomach clenched tight and her breath caught in her chest. It was an auto accident. One passenger, female, average build. Rolled the car on I-5, near Gila Bend, Arizona. Trapped inside, she died in the fire caused when the gas tank ruptured. Must have been driving at a high rate of speed to leave the road on that shallow bend and flip the car. Old model Buick Lesabre. Paint down to the gray primer. Passenger as yet unidentified. If you have any information, please contact…

  “Oh Lord.” Felicity squeezed her eyes shut, then forced herself to look up at Morgan.

  “I killed her,” he said.

  “Nonsense,” she snapped, still in a whisper. “They killed her. They were mad when they figured out they followed the wrong car. Instead of just leaving it, those sadistic bastards ran her off the road. Nothing to gain, just being bastards.”

  “I knew better,” Morgan said, fingering his cup’s handle, but never quite picking it up. “You never get amateurs involved in this kind of thing. She had no way to know. Poor kid never did anything to anybody. She just wanted to get to California.”

  “Well, aren’t we the early birds?” Barton sat up, stretched, and stood.

  “Chan
ge your clothes and get some breakfast,” Morgan said, closing the paper. “We need to see this warehouse. I want to finish this business, now.”

  After looking at his friends’ faces, Barton chose to say nothing. He simply went to the bedroom to shower and dress. Morgan, restless, explored the small refrigerator. Inside he found frozen orange juice and a dozen eggs.

  When Barton returned from the bedroom, Frederico followed him. Morgan was busying himself at the two burner electric stove, scrambling eggs. On the table were juice, coffee and the two dozen donuts Morgan had bought earlier. Felicity had not moved. She gazed out the window the way people do when they see a bad storm approaching from far away.

  “Morgan do all this?” Barton asked, dropping into a chair and sipping some juice.

  “Yeah,” Felicity answered. “Good thing, too. I can’t cook worth a darn.”

  Breakfast was a sullen affair. Felicity filled Barton in about the news story while they ate. As she spoke, Frederico’s eyes grew wider and flashed from her to Morgan and back.

  “Hey, I think wonder boy here is getting the idea.”

  “I trust that you and my mistress can keep us all safe,” Frederico said. “It is just that…”

  “Yeah,” Morgan said. “You’ve figured out that the danger didn’t end when we left the hotel. Good. Hang onto that lesson. It might keep you alive.”

  “I am sorry about your friend,” Barton said. “I know it won’t undo what’s done, but the Company might be able to work some kind of compensation for her next of kin.”

  “Appreciate the thought,” Felicity said.

  Barton let a moment of silence pass before pushing into business again. “I know this is a tragedy, but it sure looks like your strategy worked. This death might not be in vain if it gives us the chance to stop Anaconda’s ice from destroying more lives.”

  When the meal was finished Felicity cleared the table and cleaned up, despite Frederico’s protests and assistance. Morgan checked his pistol again and looked over his knives. Barton also performed a final check on his gun.

  “What do you carry these days?” Morgan asked.

  “The Agency’s been hot on these for a while,” Barton said, offering Morgan his pistol. “Glock 20. 10 millimeter’s got to be half again as effective as the nine or the thirty-eight specials we used to get issued. Packs 15 in the clip, but still pretty light.”

  “You using an issue gun?” Morgan asked, turning it in his hand. “Very nice. Quite a handful, though. I mean, it’s a good fit for me but I hope you don’t have any women in the field trying to hold this thing. Anyway, my old Hi-power’s always put them down to stay.”

  “Still loading those hollow points with the explosive tips?” Barton asked, accepting his gun back.

  “Yeah,” Morgan said, sliding a full magazine into his weapon. “I found some commercial exploder ammo, but it turned out to be kind of erratic. My stuff just performs better. Besides, it’s more personal that way.”

  When they stood ready to go, they made an odd picture. Felicity, in her shorts and tee shirt looked appropriate, but her two escorts wore sport coats over their tee shirts, and long pants. Morgan still wore boots. Frederico headed for Felicity’s side, but Morgan stepped in front of him and planted his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

  “Listen very closely,” Morgan said in a voice no one could ignore. “No one knows you’re here. A woman who didn’t even know you paid for that with her life. We’re not about to parade you all over the city. There’s food in the fridge and a radio in the bedroom. Now you stay in this little cottage and you don’t poke your nose out that door until we get back. Don’t even unlock the door.” His powerful hands tightened on the youth’s shoulders and pain sprang up in Frederico’s eyes. “Do you understand what I’m saying?” Frederico nodded. “Okay. Now lock it behind us.”

  Outside, the sun was a fierce spotlight. Barton burst into sweat immediately. Heat never seemed to bother Morgan. It did not matter. They decided to take Barton’s car, a modest gray Chevrolet sedan. Before he put his seat belt on or turned on the radio, Barton started the air conditioning and pushed the fan to high.

  Corpus Christi is a wide, city with bright streets and natives who are aggressively Texan. Barton took them to the heart of the business district for a look at the corporate headquarters of the nonprofit organization known as Gold Heart Limited. Barton put the car in park but Felicity dropped a hand on his thigh.

  “I’d love to do a site survey, but we’re not about to underestimate these people again. Someone inside might recognize me or Morgan from a description. I’m thinking we stay in the car. Besides, I’m not thinking these people would keep anything like drugs in their offices.”

  “They might have records worth looking at,” Morgan said.

  “Yes, but I’m still liking the better part of valor here.”

  Gold Heart’s offices filled the fifth floor in a modern, glass fronted office building. The trio circled the block, examining access. Behind the building was a large parking lot and at the back, a loading dock.

  “This is where charitable donations get converted to goods. Everything is crated up right here to be trucked out to the warehouse, then loaded onto El Corazon de Hielo,” Barton said.

  From the back seat, Morgan said, “I bet powdered milk is great for smuggling drugs in.”

  “Maybe,” Felicity commented. “But this stuff’s going out. I’m betting that not much that’s edible gets sent back.”

  “You got that right,” Barton said. “Not much ever comes back, except the propaganda that goes with the handout.”

  “Right. Let’s follow the trail, lover.”

  Traffic got heavy and they wasted most of an hour getting across town. Streets got narrower and darker and suddenly they were in what appeared to be a separate city.

  “This must be the part of town the locals call The Docks,” Barton said.

  “Reminds me of when I was a kid and I’d go down to the Brooklyn shipyards,” Morgan said. Dark, narrow streets alternated with vast wide driving areas for prehistoric looking tractor trailers to maneuver their wide doors up to loading bays.

  “It’s a lot bigger than I thought,” Morgan said. “I always thought this was mainly a resort town.”

  “You kidding?” Barton said, swerving around a long trailer. “Corpus Christie’s a major seaport. Handles about fifty million tons of cargo a year. That’s why it would be so easy to hide stuff here. Now let’s take a look down warehouse row.”

  They parked in front of a vast building, reminiscent of an old airplane hangar. Giant doors on the front had man size doors cut into them. A ring of windows ran around the top of the warehouse, fifteen feet up the walls. The walls were painted a dull gray, like every other structure in the area. The men walking these streets were mostly dull, mostly black, and all big.

  Facing the warehouse, Felicity’s back was to the ocean. The air seemed saltier here than in the cottage on the same ocean’s edge. Loud voices bounced off her ears, with violent and abrasive profanity. She heard heavy machinery grinding along and the clatter of wooden crates being manhandled into position. Her attention was drawn to a four by eight foot sheet of plywood leaning against a hydrant in front of the warehouse. Some crude artist had outlined a human form on it in grease pencil.

  “This is Gold Star’s warehouse, I take it,” Felicity said. “Contributions must be good to warrant a place this size. Sure would like a look around inside, without their knowing about it.”

  “You can get inside, can’t you?” Morgan asked, examining the doors. “I mean, there’s nowhere you can’t get in.”

  “I need my gear,” Felicity said, leaning back against the car. “There could be motion detectors, infrared or microwave beam sensor nets, hidden micro cameras. Without electronic detection equipment or extensive research, I wouldn’t even be trying it.”

  “And I thought it was all about picking locks and using glass cutters,” Barton said, hugging Felicity. “Guess I’d nev
er made a decent thief.” Felicity’s response was friendly, but not warm. If Barton heard the difference, he gave her no clue.

  “If they really do smuggle through this place, I’m surprised we don’t see guards posted,” Morgan said.

  As if on cue, one of the small doors opened. A man in canvas pants, a sleeveless shirt and heavy work boots walked out. A chain belt hugged his waist. He was heavy for a Mexican, average height with small hands.

  “You want something?” the guard asked in a heavy accent.

  “Just looking around,” Barton said, smiling.

  “Tomas don’t like it Anglos looking around here,” the guard replied. When he saw Morgan he added, “Tomas don’t like nobody looking around here. Is bad luck.”

  “Really?” Morgan said. “For who?”

  “Bad luck for lookers,” Tomas said. He turned to face the drawing on the plywood sheet, twenty feet away. Then Morgan saw that the chain around his waist was in fact a bandoleer of some kind. Double edged knives surrounded him. Each was not much more than three inches long including a short handle.

  Tomas glanced at his audience, slipped one of the knives out of his belt, and tossed it. The blade thudded into the plywood man’s right biceps. Morgan maintained a bored expression.

  Tomas pulled a knife with his left hand. This one he sent into the drawing’s left arm, and now Morgan thought he might be hitting where he was aiming. Felicity looked at Morgan when Tomas pulled a third blade from his belt. This one flew into the plywood man’s left thigh. Now Barton looked uncertain. Tomas turned his left side to the target, drew a fourth blade and flipped it behind his back. The action was all wrist, but the knife flew true into the target’s right thigh. Finally he pulled a knife with his left hand and turned to face his watchers.

  “Looking around can be dangerous,” Tomas said. Without losing eye contact with Felicity, he brought his arm down. The final knife landed in the target’s throat. When Tomas grinned, he revealed a gold tooth on the right side of his mouth.

  -26-