The Payback Assignment (Stark and O'Brien Thriller Series)

by Austin S. Camacho

  “How can you eat this disgusting, overly spiced slop?” she whispered.

  “Hey, when you’re hungry, food is food,” Morgan said between mouthfuls. He continued in an imitation Massachusetts accent that surprised her. “I suppose you’ve got the cultivated palate of a gourmet. Too bad. I’ve eaten too much mess hall food, in the U.S. and a few other armies. My taste buds retired long ago.”

  Despite her reservations, only seconds passed before the necessity of hunger drove Felicity to taste parts of her meal. Two minutes later she was eating steadily, and soon was devouring her food greedily. She had nearly finished her greasy meal when she suddenly looked up.

  “Do you have any money?”

  “About twenty dollars American,” Morgan said. “More than enough for the meal.”

  “Wait a minute. You travel in a foreign country with just twenty dollars in your pocket?”

  Morgan’s face hardened again. “I didn’t get paid for my last job.”

  “Hm. You know, the men who stranded me also stole something from me,” Felicity said between bites of enchilada. “I’d be willing to pay you a fair amount if you’d help me get it back.”

  “What’s your idea of fair? I’m pretty expensive help. Besides, right now I don’t even know when we’ll get to civilization. Hell, I don’t even know where I’m going next.”

  “Look, I’ve got plenty of money,” Felicity said, pushing the last of her rice onto her fork. “I just don’t have any with me. I lost my purse in the jungle in the dark. As for how we’ll get to civilization, don’t be worrying your little head about it. I spotted an old pickup truck down the road. Nobody will miss it. You said Merida was less than three hundred miles away, right? We can be there tonight. I can wire for cash from there and we can fly to my Los Angeles home.”

  “Hold on!” Morgan said. “You’re moving a little fast here.”

  “I thought you were an adventurer. Besides, do you have anywhere else to go?”

  “Well, I guess not,” Morgan said after a few seconds.

  “Well then, I say let’s be off.”

  They were approaching the end of the road when Morgan finally accepted that this woman was serious. They stopped next to an ancient blue Chevy pickup truck. Dust covered, with just passable tires, it stood like a lonely swayback mare awaiting its rider.

  “You intend to buy this old hulk somehow?” Morgan asked, grinning. “Or maybe talk the owner out of it?”

  “Don’t be silly. We’ll just take it.”

  “Real nice,” Morgan said, trying the door. “Just like that. It’s locked, you know.”

  Felicity shrugged. “So?”

  From her matted hair she drew a small sliver of spring steel, almost like a shiny bobby pin. She slid this into the driver’s side door lock in businesslike manner and opened it. Under the dash, she pulled wires and twisted them carefully. The starter reluctantly turned and the engine leaped to life. Just under seven seconds passed between her sprightly “So?” and her terse “Get in!” They heard loud voices behind them, shouting in Creole and English, but Morgan figured that by the time the locals got another vehicle on their trail, that trail would be cold. The local police force was probably pretty disorganized, so getting into Mexico with this rust machine should prove no problem. All in all, he was impressed.

  “You know, Red, you’re all right,” he said, shaking her head by a handful of hair.

  “Thanks,” Felicity said, “but don’t call me Red, okay? Nobody calls me Red. Hey, this thing’s got a tough clutch. You want to drive?”

  “Sure thing, Red,” he said with a deep laugh. “Pull her over.”

  “No need. Don’t want to give anybody a chance to catch us.” Felicity gripped the wheel tightly and raised herself from the seat. After a couple of seconds she said, “Well, come on. Step on the gas and slide on over here.” Shaking his head, Morgan pushed her foot off the accelerator with his own and pulled himself under her body, so that she was steering from his lap. Once he was in place she nimbly hopped off him to land on the seat to his right. She was giggling a bit, as if they had just performed some schoolyard prank, and Morgan had to admit her relaxed smile was infectious. As the truck, bucking like a rodeo bronco, rolled over the endless treadmill of a road, he thought it was a good chance to take some time to think.

  After a couple of minutes, Morgan asked, “Are you sure this `business acquaintance’ of yours stole something from you? Not that it matters, but it occurs to me that maybe you stole something from him.”

  “Not from him,” Felicity answered. “For him.” After a much longer hesitation she added, “It was a contract job. I’ve a feeling you know about such things. Only, like yourself, I didn’t get paid.”

  “Oh, so you’re for hire, eh?” he asked, grinning.

  “Not usually. I’m self-employed, normally. But this deal looked so good...”

  Felicity stopped as Morgan pulled the pickup around a curve in the narrow dirt road, and then pulled them over to the side.

  “We’re approaching the border,” he said. “I got no problems in Mexico, but the Belize boys might be watching. This is a pretty obscure crossing point, but I want to go up and take a look before we drive on up there.”

  As Felicity watched from the truck, Morgan walked down the road ahead. He looked like a huge man when she was standing beside him, but now he was dwarfed by the tall jungle trees lining the road. The foliage presented a solid wall of green, because tree bark was obscured by vines and moss. The tall, massive trees appeared to be woven together, as if some giant seamstress had pulled her needle in and out between them, a needle threaded with thick, leafy vines.

  Morgan’s uniform matched the jungle perfectly, but she followed his movement at the edge of the road. About twenty meters ahead, he suddenly stepped to the side and vanished into the brush.

  “What a thief this man would make,” she said aloud.

  Felicity sat alone for what felt like an hour, although she knew it was barely ten minutes. As time passed, weariness overwhelmed tension and she began to relax. Just as her eyes were about to slide closed, Morgan silently stepped through the green barrier onto the road. He didn’t look happy, but he wore an expression more of annoyance than actual concern. He didn’t speak until he was right beside the truck again.

  “These bozos have got a pair of kids in uniform up there watching the border.”

  “Okay,” she said. “So can’t you go up there and bop them on the head or something? I don’t feel like driving along the border all day looking for a clear spot.”

  “Sure, Red. You just tell them to put those little rifles down and I’ll do that.”

  “Don’t want to shoot them, huh?” She hoped not.

  “Shoot them?” Morgan said. “Look, I’m a fighter, but I fight soldiers. These are just kids.”

  Felicity smiled and blew a stray stand of hair out of her face. “Well then, I guess I’ll just have to get them to put their guns down.”

  -10-

  The young Belizean border guard turned over his hidden king, raked in a handful of his partner’s coins and inhaled deeply on his cigarette. Victor pushed his cap back on his head, too weary to even be angry about losing.

  Their little shack stood to the side of a road not quite wide enough to allow two vehicles to cross. Not that it mattered, Victor thought. Most of the people they had seen in the last week were riding behind animals, not engines.

  His thoughts were suddenly shattered by a piercing scream. The two guards leaped to their feet, yanking the charging handles of their AKM’s. They looked at each other, their hearts pounding. Victor, the younger man, jerked his head toward the dirt trail that led up to their post next to the border. His nineteen-year-old partner slowly stepped down the path, a little way into Belize. Twenty meters away he turned to face the border, smiling, and waved his partner ahead.

  A tall, fair-skinned woman lay sprawled in the road face down, just around the first narrow bend. One leg was curled up, her r
agged gown almost, but not quite, revealing the tender flesh of her perfectly rounded buttocks.

  The border guards circled their discovery cautiously. The red-haired woman lifted her head, licked her dry lips, and raised one hand in a silent request for help. The two young men broke into broad smiles, but took no action.

  “They, they left me here, all alone,” she said, exhaustion showing on her face. “Please, would you help me up?”

  “Oh, we’ll be glad to help you,” the older guard said, setting his rifle aside. “Keep her covered,” he told his partner. Barely able to keep a straight face, Victor pointed his shaking rifle at her bosom. The other took her arm, drawing her to him. Artlessly, he pressed his mouth to hers. Clearly sensing no resistance, he started trailing sloppy kisses down her throat, headed for her breasts.

  Felicity tolerated the drool on her flesh, keeping her eyes on the other border guard. The little twerp was watching the show with obvious pleasure, until a black man wearing camouflage fatigues took one long step out of the jungle and landed a solid left cross on his jaw. The other guard turned just in time to see his partner collapse like an empty uniform into the sand. Morgan grabbed the second guard’s shoulder, continuing his spin into the stiffened fingers of Morgan’s right hand.

  “And you didn’t think it would work.” She began brushing herself off.

  “I didn’t think anybody could be that dumb.”

  Morgan dragged the unconscious guards into the brush off the side of the road while Felicity brought the truck forward. Morgan got back behind the steering wheel and they continued north.

  Felicity couldn’t say that Mexico looked different from Belize, but she was somehow more comfortable after they crossed the border. Barely out of sight of the little guard shack, Morgan pulled onto a two-lane blacktop. A few minutes later they were on an actual highway. The old truck had more power than she expected, and Morgan kept it moving over sixty miles per hour. The familiar whine of the tires on a real road made her situation seem less foreign. Felicity leaned away from the breeze coming in her open window and her head settled onto Morgan’s shoulder. She was surprised at how natural it seemed. He was whistling a tune she wasn’t sure she recognized.

  “Hey Red, check this out.”

  Felicity’s eyes snapped open and she jerked upright.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  “We’re tooling through the Yucatan, headed north on Route 261,” Morgan said. “Now look out my window quick, or you’ll miss it.”

  Felicity stared past Morgan, but saw only the jungle she had been looking at all day. Then her eyes wandered to the top of the tree line, and she saw what at first looked like a gold tower thrusting up into the clear azure blue of the sky. It was, on closer inspection, a chunky stone structure almost twice as tall as the trees. It resembled a giant layer cake, but with dozens of layers, each one smaller than the one beneath it.

  “Oh, my. What are those? Pyramids?”

  “Very good,” Morgan said. “Those are the ruins of Uxmal, one of the best known Mayan cities. It’s quite the tourist attraction and one good reason to visit the Yucatan. That big one is called the Pyramid of the Magician. If you dig that kind of thing, there’s a hotel right up here on the right.”

  Felicity dragged her fingers through her snarled hair. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll put off sightseeing until we get someplace where I can get some cash in my hand, and after I’ve had a chance to settle into a long, hot bath, okay?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Sure, kid. We’re still a good fifty miles south of Merida. But you’re missing some cool columns, temples, and an ancient cemetery, not to mention the good old temple of the phallus.”

  “You’re making it up, now,” she said, giggling as she craned her neck to watch the ruins pass out the back window.

  “Who’d make up a thing like that?”

  Felicity sat back in her corner of the truck’s dusty cab and pulled her left foot up onto the seat so she could watch Morgan more closely. “So, you fancy yourself a tour guide as well. Well, since you’d never make anything up to fool a poor girl like myself, why don’t you tell me a bit more about this job you were on?”

  “Tell you what,” Morgan said. “I’ll tell you how I ended up in Belize if you’ll tell me a bit more about how you did.”

  “You’ll show me yours if I’ll show you mine, eh? Well, fair’s fair.”

  For the next few minutes they exchanged personal stories, but their conversation did not stray beyond the events that directly led up to their meeting in the jungle.

  About a half- hour after passing Uxmal they came within sight of the Hacienda Yaxcopoil, which Morgan explained was a seventeenth century estate and another popular tourist stop. Not long after that they rolled into recognizable suburbs and appeared to have left the third world far behind. Felicity made it one-forty p.m. when they motored into Merida, the major city in the southeast corner of Mexico complete with wide, clean streets and snarled urban traffic.

  “You know, I love Acapulco,” Felicity said. “People call it the Riviera of Mexico, but there isn’t much there beyond perfect beaches. This place is much bigger and a lot more urban.”

  “Yeah and noisy as hell,” Morgan said. “Now you want to find a hotel?”

  “What I really want is that haven for lost Yank travelers, the American Express office.”

  They had entered the city on a main street and soon spotted an information booth. Felicity jumped out of the truck and in the time it took Morgan to sit through a single streetlight change she was back with good news.

  “The American Express office is dead ahead on Calle 60,” she said as Morgan pulled through the intersection. “It’s at the north end of the city. Let’s get going.”

  But after a morning at highway speeds they seemed to be crawling now, through a city as congested as Paris or London. Most of the cars there were older, but drivers leaned on their horns as much as anyplace she had been. On the way they passed some lovely parks and one impressive church, but Felicity was focused on their objective. She bounced impatiently in her seat and, when traffic stopped them half a block away from the American Express sign, frustration overwhelmed her. Morgan’s jaw dropped when she popped her door open.

  “I’m going on ahead,” Felicity said. “By the time you find a place to park I’ll likely be back.”

  The statuesque redhead drew all eyes when she walked across the lobby. She was relieved to see only a handful of people inside. Their conversations hushed as all turned to stare at her. Despite her discomfort, she maintained her erect carriage and commanding manner. Her practiced eye led her to the manager without her having to ask anyone. She walked up to the slightly built man’s desk and lowered herself into the chair beside it.

  “How can I help you?” he asked hesitantly, pushing his glasses up his nose.

  “My name is Felicity O’Brian and I’m in a bit of a spot Mr…” she looked at the name plate on his desk, “Mr. Marshall. I need some traveler’s checks and probably some cash for local purchases. For that, I’ll need to have some money wired in from L.A.”

  “You are an American?” the manager asked, skepticism fighting with annoyance for display space on his face.

  “U.S. resident, yes,” she answered patiently. She crossed her long, bare legs to make sure she could maintain the man’s attention. “I was robbed, and kidnapped by three men. They took my purse and ditched me in some jungle south of here. Look, I’m registered at the Hyatt Regency Acapulco hotel and my car’s there. That should be easy enough to verify. I just need some funds for traveling.”

  The manager stared at her thighs, and ran a hand up through his short, sandy hair. “Have you a passport?”

  “In my purse of course,” Felicity said.

  “I’m very sorry,” Marshall said, his voice dripping with mock sincerity. “I’d like to help you, really I would but, without positive identification, I’m afraid I’m helpless.”

  “Is that the only problem?
” To the manager’s embarrassment, Felicity slid her fingers inside the top of her left brassiere cup and pulled it forward. From a pocket inside she pulled a titanium American Express card. Here right cup yielded a California driver’s license. In one motion she laid them on his desk and pulled a small note pad toward herself. She wrote a name and telephone number on it and pushed it back toward him. She offered him a demure expression, actually batting her big green eyes for effect.

  “Now call my banker in Los Angeles and get me some money.”

  While she watched, he picked up the telephone and pushed the buttons to call the number in Los Angeles. He glanced at Felicity in surprise when he heard the reaction he got from a mention of her name. When he reached the right person, he handed the telephone to her. She spoke to her American banker in a friendly but businesslike manner, and handed the receiver back to the American Express bank officer when she was finished.

  “Now if you’ll point me to your ladies’ room, I’ll let you work out the details of the transfer with him.”

  After using the facilities and splashing some water on her face and neck, she returned to sit calmly in front of the manager’s desk. She relaxed, determined to show patience with the process while Marshall’s eyes flitted around the room. His nervousness seemed to match her patience.

  Neither Marshall’s nerves nor Felicity’s patience was tested for long. Within fifteen minutes, her bank had telexed expense money to her. The baffled manager went to a cage himself and counted out four thousand American dollars in traveler’s checks and another thousand dollars worth of pesos to a dirty, barefoot girl in half a dress.

  “With your card, there’s really no reason for a lot of cash,” the manager said. “Why carry so much?” the manager asked.

  “Security,” she replied. “I just feel better with the cash in my fist.” She closed her hand around her money and practically skipped back to her stolen vehicle. Morgan had found a space across the street within sight of the door. She raced through the sluggish traffic, bounced into the truck and slammed the door.