Ice Woman Assignment

by Austin Camacho

  Morgan suddenly spun to face her, his face alight. “Hold on. There is a way for the government to put us on a plane that’s totally safe and under the good guys’ control. Let me get back down to that payphone. Mark’s going to love this.”

  That call to Mark Roberts had led them to the edge of that airstrip on Naval Air Station Corpus Christi. Just a six mile cab ride from the city, NAS Corpus Christi was the home of Naval pilot training since before World War II. Uniformed men and women hurried here and there without sparing Morgan and Felicity a glance. The odor of jet fuel competed with the smell of sun baked asphalt. The tarmac was littered with small training aircraft but Morgan didn’t see the transport he was looking for.

  Within two minutes of them stepping out of their cab a tall black man in fatigues marched up to them. He made eye contact with both of them before speaking.

  “Mr. Stark? Ms. O’Brien? Master Sergeant Kevin Buckler. I’ve been instructed to escort you to your hop.”

  “Lead on, Master Sergeant,” Morgan said. He suspected this man had more important things to do, but orders had come down and he would follow them. Morgan wanted to be as small an interruption to the NCO’s day as possible. Buckler turned and walked toward one of the low buildings with Morgan and Felicity in his wake. Morgan fell into step with their escort, while Felicity looked around.

  “A lot of uniforms,” she said. “Similar, but not the same. Now why would your Air Force have so many variations? Not exactly uniform in their uniforms.”

  Before Morgan could respond, Buckler spoke over his shoulder. “Not all Air Force, ma’am. This is a Navy facility, but Navy, Marine Corps, Air Force and even foreign student pilots earn their wings here. There’s also an Army Depot on base and the aviation component of Coast Guard Sector Corpus Christi. This is one of the most purple military installations in the world.”

  She stepped closer to Morgan and asked, “Purple?” in a low voice.

  “Just what we call it when all the services’ uniform colors are combined,” Morgan replied.

  Buckler walked them into a barely air conditioned waiting area, handed them each a sack lunch, collected their bags and walked off toward the runway.

  “Well, he’s kind of intense,” Felicity said.

  “He’s a senior NCO tasked with babysitting a pair of civilians with no good reason to be here as far as he knows. He’s really being pretty good about this. Trust me, nobody in uniform likes the way the CIA does business.”

  Buckler was back within five minutes and with a wave guided them to the runway. As soon as they were on the other side of the building Morgan saw what he had been waiting for.

  “Yeah, this is the way you do a military hop, Red. You’ll never forget your first ride on the big bird. And yeah, the C-5 Galaxy is one of the biggest planes in the world. “

  Felicity stared up at the plane that seemed to get bigger as they got closer to it. Her green eyes took in the high T-shaped tail, the sharply angled sweep of the wings, and the four goliath turbofan engines hanging under those wings. Buckler turned to face them and almost smiled.

  “First military hop?”

  “Hers, not mine,” Morgan said. “But most of my flights on a C-5 were as part of a fully equipped combat-ready Army unit. It was me, about 35 pallets of gear and 80 of my closest friends.”

  “I get that it’s a giant transport plane,” Felicity said, “But what’s this about a hop? You’ve said it a couple of times.”

  “A military hop is what they call space available travel,” Buckler said. “If there’s a military plane going where you need to be, and if there’s an empty seat, you can hop on and fly for just a couple bucks. It’s a perk for military folks and their families, retirees, and, er… special guests.”

  Buckler stopped at the edge of the aft door, which was dropped open. Morgan and Felicity thanked him for his time and walked up the ramp into the belly of the gray steel whale. Morgan quickly got comfortable in a seat but Felicity was slow to settle in next to him.

  “Well this is a bit of a surprise. Whose idea was it for the seats to face the back of the plane? That’s going to feel a bit odd.”

  “Just strap yourself in, Red,” Morgan said with a grin. “And pop in these ear plugs. Even with them, the noise of the flight will distract you from the weird seats.”

  A dun colored Humvee stopped just outside the main gate of Travis Air Force Base. Morgan stepped out first, thanked the driver, and offered his seatmate a hand. Felicity’s legs were shaky but she moved quickly away from the military vehicle.

  “Lord, that thing rides almost as rough as the bloody plane we just got out of.”

  Four hours in the C-5 had rattled Felicity’s brain but it had also given her plenty of time to think. During the ride from the landing strip to the gate she had filled Morgan in on her thoughts and he had agreed with all she told him.

  As soon as the Humvee had disappeared back into the base a Mercedes limousine pulled up in front of the two travelers. Felicity broke into a huge grin as Paul popped out of the front passenger door.

  “Sure and you’re a sight for sore eyes,” she said. “Are you holding things together in the office?”

  “Hopefully we’ve handled the business well,” Paul said. “It is good to see you both uninjured. I imagine you have quite a story to tell.” His face betrayed little emotion, but his ice blue eyes spoke volumes.

  “Well we’ll have plenty of time to catch up,” Morgan said, pulling the back door open. “I’m glad the time zones bought us a couple hours, because we’re probably more than six hours from home.”

  “A long drive for sure,” Felicity said, “But I still want to talk to senior staff tonight. It’s a little after one o’clock here, so let’s plan for a late supper around the conference table.”

  Felicity thought that if anyone had been able to look in on their conference room at 8:15 that evening they would have learned a great deal about their company and the people who run it.

  First, the table was cluttered with Chinese food take out containers. Five people sat around the table, side by side despite the wealth of empty chairs, all using chopsticks to fish food out of cartons. Morgan, like Felicity, wore jeans and a tee shirt. Sandy Fox was still in her office skirt suit. Paul wore something from his seemingly endless collection of blue suits. The other three men, Paul’s hand-picked lieutenants, wore ties but no jackets and had rolled up their shirt sleeves. Neither Paul nor Morgan seemed to mind the differences.

  “Let’s keep this brief,” Felicity said, pacing at the front of the room, occasionally seizing a piece of bourbon chicken. “We had plenty of time on the drive up from Travis Air Force Base, down by Fairfield to fill Paul in on where we’ve been and what’s happened in the last few days. He can back-brief you later.”

  She recalled how little reaction they saw on Paul’s face as they recounted their running conflict with the Escorpionistas. Even without any reference to Felicity’s knife wound it was a harrowing tale which he simply took in. His reaction stood in sharp contrast to her responses hearing how Paul had single-handedly hurt the criminal organization there in California.

  Morgan cleared his throat, glanced at Felicity, then turned to the others. “The bottom line of what you guys all need to know is that you’re going to have to run your divisions on your own for the next three weeks or so. Ms. O’Brien and I will be out of the net entirely during that time. We got faith in you guys to run the business in our absence.”

  “I would submit that you could use some backup on that mission,” Paul said. Morgan smiled.

  “Yeah, I know you want to get in it, buddy, but I need you here to make the tough decisions while we’re gone.”

  “You are going into battle against serious opposition,” Paul said.

  Morgan’s smile dropped. “We’re going to war against a huge, well organized criminal enterprise in a foreign country. I know what that means. We’re ready, and we need to keep the element of surprise on our side, but we can’t be di
stracted wondering what’s going on back here. That’s why you stay here.”

  Paul nodded and sat back. That was the end of that, Felicity thought.

  “Before we go we’ll need your help, Sandy,” Felicity said. “Don’t book flights, but we need an itinerary that will get us where we need to be without the chance of being noticed or tracked. And we’ll need cash drawn from different accounts that will get us the distance.”

  Fox looked up from her notes. “Ma’am, please don’t take this the wrong way, but might you be biting off a bit more than you can chew?”

  Felicity allowed ten seconds of silence and when she answered she was addressing the room.

  “We’ve got a score to settle that simply cannot be set aside. You deserve to know that we have very good support on this from the U.S. government. And trust me, they won’t even see us coming.”

  -38-

  “When I was a child, we made rock candy just like this,” Felicity said. Brushing long brown hair out of her temporarily brown eyes, she watched the white crystal grow in a beaker filled with liquid. The atmosphere was not of a warm family kitchen, but rather the cold, technical ambiance of a chemistry lab. The little man in a white lab coat removed safety goggles, looking at Felicity with an odd tilt to his head.

  “Smoking this rock would keep you awake for forty-eight hours,” he said.

  “So that’s all there is to it?” Morgan asked. “A few simple, commonly found chemicals?”

  “Ingenious in its simplicity isn’t it?” the chemist asked. “This simple process turns the rock into liquid. The Filipinos call it `batu’, their word for rock. Anyway, then they just open up the books and soak the pages. When they dry, they pack them and ship them. At the other end, they just soak the books in the same chemicals, and when they add this stuff, the crystals re-form and distill out.”

  “It’s so simple,” Morgan said.

  “Yeah, but nobody ever thought of it before,” Roberts said from across the room. He was a very dark black man, six feet tall and wiry. He wore a lightweight suit and tie. Felicity had had to wait until they reached his, actually the CIA’s, laboratory in Colombia to test her theory. It turned out to be correct.

  “How do you know?” Felicity asked. She and Morgan wore identical corduroy pants and nylon jackets. “There’s no telling how much of this crap is coming into your country. Could be others doing the same thing.”

  “I just care about this Anaconda bitch’s operation,” Morgan said, staring out a window at the tropical growth outside. “So, armed with this knowledge, you can grab that ship and shut down the import at Corpus Christi, right?”

  “Well, we’ll stop the ship and raid the warehouse, but it’s probably pointless,” Roberts answered. “Once they found their man dead inside, I’ll bet the Escorpionistas folded that operation anyway. The good news is, they’ll lose millions of dollars while they’re setting up a new system for getting that shit into the country.”

  “The time lapse,” Felicity said, shaking her head.

  “Was necessary,” Morgan added.

  Roberts thanked his chemist and ushered his visitors out of the hangar. They filed into his Volvo and strapped in for the long drive in from Bogota’s outskirts to the city’s center where Roberts kept his office, on a floor above the American embassy. The highway carried them between dense tropical forests. Just outside the city, they passed a loading point for one of the cable cars that haul sightseers up into the steep Andes Mountains. The view, Felicity reflected, must be spectacular.

  “I guess you guys are serious about this blood feud with Anaconda, but I’m not really sure why, you know.” Roberts spoke as if he did not require an answer, but would very much like one.

  “I owe her something personal,” Felicity said, unzipping her windbreaker now that the heat was coming on. “And there’s Chuck, of course. Morgan has his own reasons.”

  “Unnecessary roughness,” Morgan said, watching the jungle phase into a modern city.

  “We play rough games,” Roberts said.

  “Sure, guys like you and me, we get what we get. Chuck was a player. Frederico was probably a volunteer. But there’s a forgotten girl named Mary Carter. I want the boys who did her. But if I just took them down, then it’d be hit for hit with Anaconda, not exactly a safe position to be in. So we take her down first. Then I can take the hitters.”

  “Well, I guess you know what you want,” Roberts said. “I can’t stop you. You’re just a pair of private citizens. But if I can help, after all you’ve done, you know I will.”

  “Come on, Mark,” Felicity said, “We’re not stupid. You’ve got to see us as a gift from heaven. Nothing we do can come back on the CIA, but you know we’re as good as anybody you’ve got.”

  “And we’re happy to take your help. To start, we need maps and surveys,” Morgan said. “After so much careful preparation it’s like a little too much foreplay. I want to get started.”

  Sitting back, Felicity reflected on how much planning had already gone into this mission. Their long drive back to California, making only food, fuel and rest stops. Staff meetings at their security company for their projected three week absence. Clearance, thanks to Roberts, for equipment and weapons no tourist would carry. Packing for the cooler climate in Colombia’s higher elevation. Reservations made in false names. And for Felicity, hair dye and contact lenses to conceal her most obvious identifying characteristics.

  “I know you want to spy on the Escorpionistas,” Roberts said as they approached their hotel. “But are you sure they’re not following you?”

  “No chance,” Morgan said. “They lost interest in us when they got Frederico. Even if they figured us for the Texas problem, they had to track us down again. We were in and out of L.A. in forty-eight hours.”

  “Besides, we drove up to Seattle to fly out,” Felicity added. “I doubt they keep anybody on that airport. We flew to New York, to Brussels, down to Dakar, Senegal, then over to Natal, Brazil and then to Panama City before finally landing in Colombia. Nobody could have followed. Cash all the way, so no paper trail.” She did not say it, but any loyal Escorpionista would present a clear danger at this point, surely setting off their highly developed danger senses.

  “Well, I think I got everything you need,” Roberts said when he pulled up in front of the hotel. “That attache case in the back is the total of our intelligence, and some other things you might find interesting.”

  “Right,” Morgan said, opening his door. “And thanks. We’ll keep contact to a minimum until we’re ready to move.” Morgan picked up the case and headed for his room. Roberts drove around the block before letting Felicity out. She entered ten minutes after Morgan, through a different door.

  Thirty minutes later they were on the floor in Morgan’s room, staring at a four foot square map and several 8 X 10 photographs.

  “I can’t believe how much these satellite photos have improved,” Morgan said, sitting at one edge of the map, holding a cup of coffee. “Here’s Anaconda’s base, in this little basin about a hundred and fifty miles south west of here.”

  “I can’t believe she’s still there,” Felicity said, on her stomach at the map’s opposite edge. “Lord, the Escorpionistas have practically declared war on the States, and the CIA knows exactly where she is. Why haven’t they just dropped a bomb or something?”

  “You know the political B.S. they have to deal with. Look here, they’ve got the primary production facility marked off. Jesus, it looks like a regular Dupont chemical plant. And look at these barracks huts. Must be close to fifty guys living on site.”

  “Her house is almost a mansion. Two stories, nearly flat roof. Perched right on top of this steep hill, between the helicopter landing circle and, what’s that? A satellite television dish. Can you get to her house, here, without dealing with those guys?”

  “I can see a probable access right through these mountains, here. With a good squad of men we can slip in and make the snatch without facing a serious firef
ight.”

  “You sure you just want to pull her out?” Felicity asked.

  Despite some other opinions, I ain’t no hired killer,” Morgan said. “I’ve killed a lot of commies, and a healthy handful of terrorists, but that was war. Besides, if she goes on trial in the U.S. it’ll have more of an impact than if she just disappears. Now all we need to do is survey the area in person. I can pin down the assault path and have the rest of my team down here in a week, ready to go.”

  “Okay, partner,” Felicity said, smiling. “Before we head for this great camping trip, there’re a couple of snapshots here that Mark threw in. I think you’ll want to take a good close look.”

  -39-

  A hearty aroma bubbling up from a unique stew pulled Felicity’s head out of her sleeping bag. It meant good and bad news. A hot meal after two days eating packaged Army rations would be a pleasure. Morgan called them MRE’s, for Meals Ready to Eat. Felicity suspected this bland fare would be Meals Rejected by starving Ethiopians. It was filling and nutritious, but what did that have to do with dining?

  The down side was, Morgan would not start a fire unless there was a strong enough breeze to quickly disperse any smoke, masking their presence.

  Climbing out of her bag, Felicity had to admit the last two days had been relaxing, alone with Morgan away from civilization. True, the hike into the mountains had been a killer, even though he carried most of the gear. Living in a tent would be better if everything was not always wet, and at this elevation the temperature hovered around fifty degrees year round. Yet it was so peaceful in this unspoiled mountainous countryside she found a peculiar sort of tranquility.

  “What is that delicious smell?” Felicity asked, crawling across their narrow landing. Their tent stood against a cliff face. The landing, twelve feet across, had tall bushes rising at its edge, obscuring them from below. Morgan sat on a folded blanket, stirring a potful of something.