“Morning, Red. This is ajiaco. Just a kind of a thick soup. Potatoes, corn, cassava and some chicken I brought. Get a couple of bowls.”
“Anything new?” Felicity asked, as Morgan poured their breakfast.
“Their routine is rock solid,” Morgan said.
“So, you can do it?”
“No doubt,” Morgan said, flashing a big smile. “And there’s more. I spotted both Marta and Quesada. They stick close to Anaconda’s house.”
“Mansion, actually. Ooh, this is so good. Are you sure they’re the ones?”
“Roberts’ people tracked them all at the airports. When Anaconda’s travel team returned from the states, they left four heavy hitters behind.” Morgan pulled a set of photographs from under his Gore-tex camouflage jacket. “They got some excellent pictures at the airport. Roberts’ people confirmed which ones never came home. I left two of these guys in my room at the Wagon Wheel Inn. I’m sure the other two, Marta and Quesada, pushed Mary off the road. When they got back in country, they had Frederico in tow. They’re dangerous characters. Real pros.”
Their faces were already burned into his memory. Marta, the darker one, had sharp pronounced teeth and a weasel’s face. Quesada’s hair hung straight down his forehead and a scar on the right side of his face suggested some earlier attacker had just missed costing him an eye. They both had the look. Casual killers.
“Any sign of Frederico?” Felicity asked, finishing her soup.
“Sorry, Red. Only glimpses of Anaconda and not even a hint of the boy. He might already be history.”
Felicity hugged herself against the cold, feeling the rough sweater under her jungle camouflage jacket scratch against her new scar. This was Morgan’s operation, a military strike, but she wanted to stay as close to it as she could. She regarded Anaconda as a dangerous animal, and Morgan as the hunter who would get her into a snare. So she had hiked along, and watched as Morgan observed Escorpionista activity and took notes. She could see his notebook, within reach while he finished his food, but she knew what was written there was a shorthand that only Morgan understood.
“So, based on what we’ve seen so far, can you do this thing?”
“Don’t worry Red,” Morgan said. “Now that I’ve walked it I got a clear plan for access through the jungle and up the mountainside to Anaconda’s house. I can get a team in and we can grab her, just like that, and haul her ass out of here to face what she’s done.”
“Shouldn’t you wait a bit, till she’s forgotten about us? Seems like that would make it easier to take her by surprise.”
Can’t wait,” Morgan said. “Time is critical. Think about it, Red. It’s losing Frederico that has left her vulnerable to surprise. It will take her a while to get used to not having him. Everything we know says the other boy’s not as good, but given time, he might anticipate our attack.”
“I was just thinking of the least risky approach…”
“Red, I need just a little more intelligence,” Morgan said, breaking her concentration. “I think I’ll slip in for a little up close surveillance.”
“Sounds like an excellent way to break the boredom,” Felicity said, standing and stretching. “Lead the way.”
“Just me this time, partner.”
“Why?” Felicity asked. “Afraid I’ll give you away?”
“Red, I never met anybody quieter than you on the move, you know that. It’s just, I might get into something you don’t want to see. You know, like a target of opportunity.”
“Uh-huh,” Felicity said. “Like if you see one of those bent noses, you might want to kill him on the spot. Well, we’re in this together, we are, and it’s time I grew up a little. I promise to turn my head while you do what you got to do.” She met his eyes in a way that told him there was no turning her away. With a sigh, he began clearing away his cooking gear. Felicity fell in, dousing the fire and helping to erase its evidence.
Minutes later they were sliding slowly and carefully down the slope from their landing. Felicity looked back, amazed at how quickly their tent disappeared from sight. Just a few feet away it was invisible. Years ago, she thought camouflage was a myth, just as some people believe knife throwing and ESP are. Now she knew better. Like so many other things, Morgan was a genius at this.
A clear stream trickled through the deep crevice at the bottom of the hill. They crossed, Morgan leading, and started up the slope toward Anaconda’s hidden estate. Felicity found their route a little ironic. Anaconda had put in an excellent road for truck transport of needed chemicals, but of course it was watched too well.
Morgan slipped through the dense, bright green vegetation like some verdant ghost. Felicity followed almost in his footsteps. The ground was soft, and each step raised the sweet smell of rotting vegetation. As always, it seemed perpetual twilight to Felicity in the deep woods. Actually, the sun, unseen, seemed irrelevant. Light was diffused, coming from all directions or none at all. How else could it be this dark with no shadows being cast?
When Morgan froze, Felicity froze. She did not see or hear anyone, but she recognized that tilt to Morgan’s head. It was an unconscious move he made when he encountered something he did not understand. She moved forward silently, until she could see what had stopped him.
The fence was only about three feet high, and looked like chicken wire from back home. The space on the other side looked just like where they were, wildly overgrown with long grass. The fence was invisible from their observation post, embedded in the trees and bushes.
“Why?” Felicity asked.
“Got me,” Morgan whispered. “Not strong enough or high enough to keep anything out. Motion sensor? Some kind of infrared alarm?”
“Not likely,” Felicity said, moving close so she could keep her voice down. “Every small animal or bird would set it off. Or trees waving in the breeze. It’d go off every five minutes.”
“Then, what?” Morgan asked. He reached out, touched the fence, and snapped his hand back. “It’s hot,” he said, shaking his hand.
“Clearly not enough to do any damage,” Felicity whispered. “Think she just wants to keep animals out?”
Morgan shrugged and stepped left. They would skirt this fencing to see how far it went. They kept their movements slow but steady, disturbing their environment as little as possible.
Forty-five minutes later, Morgan and Felicity had moved nearly a quarter of a mile through the woods. The fence curved around Anaconda’s house, separating it from the chemical plant. Morgan assumed they would find a gate further on. They paralleled a dirt road the fence cut across. The road led to the drug factory. This was a low, flat roofed cinder block building, about twice as big as an ordinary ranch style house.
The ground dropped off steeply at the road’s edge. Morgan and Felicity looked up over that edge, clinging to the soft earth. After a few more minutes side stepping brought them even with one side of the factory. The narrow road, about one car wide, wound around behind the building. Hanging onto the edge, Morgan and Felicity were barely a dozen feet from the cinder block wall across the road.
“I’ll be right back,” a voice said in Spanish. A man with a light tread approached. Morgan and Felicity hung lower over the edge, gripping it with their fingertips.
As they watched, a short, dark man in jungle fatigue pants and an olive drab shirt walked toward them. A machete hung at his side. Morgan froze, and Felicity slid down the hill a few inches. The man walked with excessive confidence, staring out into the jungle as if he expected to see an old friend. Then he turned away. Morgan stole a glance over the road’s edge, catching a glimpse of a weasel faced profile.
Marta.
Morgan had told Felicity about “targets of opportunity.” Here was one of the men he wanted, straight ahead, just six feet away, turning to face the wall and reaching for his fly. He was too vulnerable to ignore, but a pistol shot would bring a horde of Escorpionistas down on them. Still, he was right there.
Felicity knew he would go for i
t. She knew before Morgan did. She scanned for other watchers but she knew it would not really matter.
Limbs scrambling wildly, Morgan launched himself forward. Hands, knees, feet hit the narrow dirt road. Morgan’s right hand hooked into Marta’s belt just as he heard a button come open. One good yank sent both men tumbling backward down the slope into the jungle.
Felicity’s alarm went off full blast, and she stared around in all directions. Behind her, Morgan and Marta tumbled toward the valley floor, until a poorly placed tree halted their progress. A sound like a dog barking snapped her head back up.
An animal stared at her through the fence. It looked like…well she was not quite sure. A yellowish German shepherd perhaps, about four feet long, whose legs were stretched out to almost cartoon proportions, with a horse’s mane growing down its neck and back. Breath froze in her chest and she dropped to her arms’ full length. Her body was stretched along the steep incline with her face pressed against the fetid ground.
Only then did she hear the man. He trotted over to the road’s edge, probably thinking his friend had slipped and fallen over. He was laughing gently when he looked over, missing Felicity completely. She saw a flat, broad nose in the middle of a flat, olive skinned face. The man’s laugh vanished when he saw the big black man wrestling with Marta. The short, muscular Escorpionista had managed to get his machete in hand, but Morgan had his wrist. They struggled on the ground, their heads pointing down the steep hill.
The watcher stepped carefully to the very edge of the drop off and pulled a gun from a waistband holster. Felicity clutched a root and a rock in the dirt surface, pulling herself up very slowly. She knew a shot would stop the fight even if he missed Morgan, and it would also certainly bring help. She could allow no shot.
Halfway down the slope, Morgan transferred both hands to Marta’s machete arm. The other man grabbed Morgan’s collar and used it to bang Morgan’s head against the tree that had halted their fall. Morgan pushed the captive arm, then pulled it hard, getting the machete blade embedded in the tree trunk. A hard twist broke Marta’s grip. Marta’s legs locked around Morgan as they slid slowly downward, pushing stones and dirt into a small avalanche.
“Are you crazy coming here?” Marta asked, putting pressure on Morgan’s ribs.
“I come a long way for you,” Morgan said through clenched teeth. Almost black soil rolled up under Morgan’s jacket and shirt. He slammed an elbow down into Marta’s leg, just above the knee, and the pressure eased. Then he pushed out with his feet, forcing the pair toward the bottom of the slope.
Felicity looked up as Flat Nose took aim at Morgan. Reaching up with her left hand, she managed to grab his bloused trouser leg. When he looked down she released her right hand’s grip on the ledge. Her weight dragged the man over the rim. He rolled forward past her, the gun sailing into the air. Twisting, Felicity got her feet under herself in a deep crouch. Flat Nose rolled to a stop not far ahead. He looked up at the girl, then down at the two fighters.
Morgan and Marta had almost reached the bottom, nearly fifty yards away. Flat Nose started down the hill, moving carefully, sliding as much as stepping. When he reached the machete, he freed it from the tree.
Inches from the bottom of the hill, Morgan finally freed his knife from its scabbard. Marta reached behind him to the narrow stream bed for a rock. He swung it at Morgan’s head, but Morgan blocked it. The blow landed on his left hand, numbing his fingers and sending his fighting knife spinning away. An edge of hand blow from Morgan made Marta release the stone. His fingers switched to Morgan’s throat. Damp soil clung to their faces and rolled down their necks as they wrestled for control. The loose, uneven ground made any kind of controlled motion almost impossible.
Felicity watched the Escorpionista receding ahead of her. Morgan had gained the top in his private battle, but he might not have noticed the approaching attacker. If he did, he might be unable do anything about it. She wondered what she could do. Reaching the bottom safely would take her a long time, and Morgan might die before then. She had no weapons or tools to slow the man down with.
Finally, she slid forward just far enough to reach a young but solid tree. She pulled herself up its narrow trunk a few feet, and reached a low hanging branch, maybe seven feet above the ground. Gripping the branch with both hands she swung twice, and let go at her third swing’s apex.
The sensation was frightening and thrilling. She flew perhaps thirty-five yards, dropping through space, while never being more than seven feet from the ground. Blurred fern trees flew past as she twisted her body, weaving between them. Leaves of a bewildering variety of trees slapped at her during her long seconds in flight. Then her knees smacked against Flat Nose’s back. The impact thrust him to his feet, then forward onto his face. A dull thud told her his head had found a stone. He continued to slide forward, out of control. Felicity leaned back on her haunches, pushing him ahead of her.
Morgan and Marta were on their knees on the narrow creek bed’s mud floor like high school wrestlers. Morgan had one arm around Marta’s waist, while the other controlled his support arm. As Felicity watched, Morgan drove forward, forcing Marta into the ground. Marta’s face splashed into the shallow creek, and he struggled like a landed fish. Now Morgan had Marta’s right arm behind him. He held Marta’s collar in his left fist, with his forearm across the man’s neck. Marta was making a bubbling, gurgling sound with his face pressed into the shallow stream. Morgan was gasping in the crisp mountain air, apparently not feeling the cold cutting into his sodden clothes.
“You killed her just to be snotty, didn’t you?” he said through clenched teeth. “Well you’ll die for a reason, asshole. To make the world smell better.”
Felicity had seen men shot, knifed, and killed with various other weapons, but watching Morgan kill a man with his hands, this was something very different. The act’s personal nature made her shudder, but she forced herself to watch. She reminded herself that this man was a purveyor of deadly drugs, that he was a killer who murdered without remorse, that the world would be a better place after he left it. She watched Marta’s final throes, heard his death gurgle, telling herself Morgan was an avenging angel, delivering fair retribution for the death of an innocent.
It didn’t help.
When Marta lay still Morgan stood up, mud dripped from his knees. He drew several deep breaths, trying to regain some self control. He offered Felicity a half smile, and took a few steps uphill to regain his knife. Only then did he see the man with the flat nose, lying spread eagled on the slope. Dead leaves, palm fronds and black dirt were banked up in front of him, indicating a long slide. Morgan turned back to Felicity with new respect.
“Somebody will come looking for these two before too long,” Felicity said. “Shouldn’t we be gone?” Morgan nodded, drawing his pistol. Felicity’s eyes cut to the second man, fear showing on her face.
“Relax, Red,” Morgan said, approaching the prone man. “I’m not looking to finish him off. This is a perfect source of intelligence.” He knelt and slapped the man hard across the face. His eyes snapped open, sagged, then widened again as his brain registered the gun hovering inches from his nose. His gaze quickly left the pistol, focusing on the face of the man holding it.
Another seasoned pro, Morgan thought. His attention is on the man, not the gun. That should make this easier.
“Habla ingles?” Morgan asked. Flat Nose nodded. “Good. Look left.” Flat Nose twisted his head around. The dead man was just in his field of vision. “Marta’s dead,” Morgan continued. “You don’t have to be. If you come with me and tell me a little about your job with Anaconda, I guarantee you’ll get out of this with a whole skin. Now, can you walk?”
Before answering, Flat Nose moved his limbs experimentally. Not enough to make Morgan nervous, just enough to make sure his joints all functioned. Then he nodded.
“Good,” Morgan said, easing the gun back from the man’s face. “What’s your name?”
“Jorge,” Flat Nose
replied.
“Well, Jorge, do you believe I’ll kill you if you give me any shit?”
“Yes,” Jorge answered. His tone was respectful but calm. Morgan helped him stand. Jorge looked quite surprised to find a woman watching all this. Then realization popped onto his face.
“You hit me from behind while I was sliding down the hill.” His face changed to something approximating a smile.
With Felicity behind Morgan and Jorge six feet ahead of him at gunpoint, they moved off toward camp and, Felicity hoped, some more of that ajiaco.
-40-
It was two o’clock before Morgan and Felicity were invited in. Morgan rankled at being separated from a prisoner he felt was his but CIA interrogators wanted him first, and Roberts had been pretty insistent.
The room was warm when they entered. On their left, large square windows offered a panoramic view of downtown Bogota, but the city’s grand setting overshadowed it. Bogota sits on a plateau surrounded by the towering Andes Mountains. The city’s many high rise buildings are all dwarfed by the height of those peaks. And the mountains host some impressive adornments. Felicity stared up at the huge figure of Christ atop the mountain directly ahead of her. She knew from another room she would see the giant cross on a different peak, or the lovely white convent on yet another mountain at the city’s edge. It was a struggle to force her attention to events inside the room.
Roberts sat at one end of a long table, his hands folded before him. Jorge sat at the other end. A wire trailed from a microphone which sat up, like a begging dog, in front of Jorge. The wire disappeared into a hole in the table. Felicity guessed the wire would go to some sort of recording device and maybe machinery designed to judge from the man’s tone of voice whether or not he was telling the truth. Beside the mike sat a water pitcher with four paper cups, three of which remained unused. Two men in short haircuts and identical gray suits stood as Morgan and Felicity entered. After one replaced a syringe in a black leather attaché case, they both left without a word. Morgan looked a question at Roberts.
Ice Woman Assignment Page 18
