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

by Austin S. Camacho

  Morgan did not appear at all surprised when the roof doors hissed open. She was glad he didn’t embarrass her by gushing with praise, but as he stepped in he wore a smile that spoke volumes. She tossed her full red hair in a gesture of triumph, pushed a button, and returned them to the floor she had just left.

  “We should search the offices first, on the floor below the apartment,” she said. “He might be keeping a safe down here, and it’s the safest place for us to start anyway. The business should be all shut down for the night.”

  Nonetheless, the two intruders walked along the walls. Felicity pulled on a pair of surgical rubber gloves and tested doorknobs. The first two doors were unlocked. In each case, Morgan stood at the door prepared for trouble while Felicity searched the small offices with swift, thorough efficiency. Using a penlight barely larger than a pair of AAA batteries she moved every object in the room, yet she left everything exactly as it was before she came. No valuables came into view in either room, although she did find some interesting files in the second office.

  “This looks shadier by the minute,” she told Morgan when she left the room. “For an import company, they sure don’t import much, but the company does seem to move a great deal of money in the commodities market. I think our boy spends his time influencing the market for profit.”

  Morgan shrugged. “We’re talking about a guy who’d see a piece of jewelry he wants and then just steal it. That kind of person would do anything.”

  “You think so, eh?” Felicity said. When Morgan didn’t respond she returned to the elevator and pushed the up button.

  When the doors slid open Felicity froze. She hastened to the double doors on the other side of the hall. Leaning forward, she could hear voices. She eased the knob around a quarter turn and pushed the door open a quarter inch. A bright beam of light stabbed out through the crack. With her left eye, she scanned the long meeting room, past the reception area, up to the conference table. Two well-dressed men sat at each side of it. Behind each of them stood a larger, yet also well-dressed man. At the near end of the table a thin, gray haired man drew on a long cigarette. But at the far end, there sat the man from the newspaper report.

  “It’s him!” she hissed. As she stared into Adrian Seagrave’s pockmarked face, something snapped inside her. Being so easily swindled and so carelessly disregarded had stung her pride. It short-circuited her brain. At that moment the brooch lost all meaning for her. The money was no longer the issue. Her professional pride demanded justice. It screamed in her head that Seagrave must be made to treat her with respect. Her reputation, her pride, her professional standing were her most precious possessions. Before Morgan could react, she burst through the door, hearing it slam against the wall behind her as she stalked forward.

  “Seagrave!” she shouted, teeth bared. “My names O’Brian. Do you know the name? You owe me!”

  Ignoring the two football player types pulling snub nosed thirty-eights from under their jackets, she surged forward into the late business meeting, carried along by her indignation.

  -28-

  Just when he thought he was getting to know Felicity, Morgan watched her do something totally irrational. The door she had burst through hit the wall with so much force it bounced back toward him. He shoved the door wide again and drew his pistol as Stone stood, stopping Felicity’s charge with a hand on her stomach. Her eyes were locked on Seagrave’s. He and she were in their own world, with her launching ice darts from her eyes. Judging from Seagrave’s face, he had no idea who she was or why she had invaded his meeting with talk of some forgotten debt.

  Morgan had drawn Stone’s attention away from that conflict when he entered behind the girl. His gun was drawn but he was out in the open, facing two pistols. He had to protect Felicity, yet he knew it was impossible. His only hope was that Stone would stop the other two from opening fire.

  “Tell your boys to drop their guns,” Morgan snarled with all the arrogance he could muster. “You’re the only one here who knows what I can do, Stone. We can avoid a bloodbath if you stop them now.”

  “Is he mad?” Seagrave broke away from Felicity’s gaze to find Stone’s face.

  Stone’s eyes shone with fear, but his voice was tightly controlled. “I assure you he is sane, but not rational. No doubt if one of these men were to open fire, he would fight. Based on his previous record, he could well take out the whole room full of us, and to hell with himself when he finally went down.”

  “I’m getting nervous over here.” Morgan stepped closer, madness in his eyes. “I might start shooting anyway if they don’t drop those pieces.”

  “Please don’t,” Stone said firmly. “There is a third gun on your back. You must surrender.”

  Stone’s limpid blue eyes and hypnotists voice had been just enough of a distraction. Before he could react, Morgan felt two fleshy vices clamp onto his upper arms. The grating voice behind him said, “I don’t need my gun.”

  Morgan’s hands went numb and his pistol dropped with a muted clunk into the carpet. Monk’s fingers bit into his biceps, cutting off the circulation. Monk lifted him off the floor, holding him at arms’ length. Morgan swung a booted heel into one of the brute’s thighs with no visible effect. He hung helplessly in the air as Stone stepped majestically toward him.

  “I believe some introductions are in order,” Stone began, picking up Morgan’s automatic. “The lovely lady with the rather confused expression on her face is Miss Felicity O’Brian, jewel thief extraordinaire, obviously quite skilled in breaking and entering. The black gentleman is Morgan Stark, the mercenary soldier we’ve discussed before. Our business companions at the table and their protectors had best remain nameless. Paul?”

  Another tall, neatly dressed man stepped from behind the desk to Morgan’s left. He expertly searched Morgan, removing all three of his knives in the process. His ice blue eyes stared into Morgan’s appraisingly.

  “So you’re Stark. No surprises.”

  “This gentleman is Paul,” Stone continued. “He and Miss O’Brian have met.”

  “I’d guess you set up that ambush in the Bronx,” Morgan said. “Very professional.”

  While Morgan spoke, Paul body searched Felicity as well. He nodded acknowledgment of Morgan’s remarks while, in a cool, detached manner, he removed her tools and explored her entire body for weapons.

  “Just two days ago,” Stone went on, “Mister Stark escaped a trap rather carefully laid on by Paul, killing two of his closer associates in the process. Oh, and the genetic anomaly which stepped from behind the bar to detain Mister Stark is known as Monk. You may put him down now, Monk.”

  Monk tossed his captive to the floor as if he were a broken doll. Morgan sprang to his feet immediately and Felicity moved to his side. They both followed Stone’s gaze across the room.

  “And this gentleman, whom you have both dealt with but never met, is Adrian Seagrave.”

  Seagrave stood, and Morgan stared hard into that face of granite. Yes, the body was soft, but the eyes were as hard as marble. In that face, he could see the strength and ruthlessness a man needs to be a dictator. Behind Seagrave’s eyes he saw the coldness of a man who would kill casually for what he wanted, a man completely devoid of conscience. A man strong enough to control a huge financial empire, control a man like Stone, and even the apelike man now guarding the door.

  Morgan had been momentarily captivated by Seagrave’s ugly aura. Felicity broke the silence and the spell.

  “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” she snapped, her accent drifting to a stronger brogue. “I want that brooch and I want it now. And I want the money you owe me to cover for the mess your boys made in my home before Morgan took care of them. We had a deal, damn it, a contract. And you just plain cheated me. You can’t just go around doing stuff like that and expect to be getting away with it.”

  “She’s right about one thing,” Morgan added, his calm tones standing out in sharp contrast to Felicity’s anger. “You can’t keep d
oing business this way. Stone must have told you that. Without a reputation to lean on, nobody worth having will work for you for long. And someone will bring you down. If not me, then somebody like me later on.”

  “You’re out of your league, boy,” Seagrave said with a smirk. “I have broken most of the men who have stood in my way. The others I have had killed.”

  “Maybe,” Morgan said, sneering back. “But I’ve killed every man who’s crossed me. And I did it with my own hands. Face to face.”

  “I suggest we handcuff this dangerous pair,” Stone said. “They can be placed in the detention room until our meeting is completed, then Monk can have his fun with them.”

  “Why wait?” Morgan asked, turning to face the giant. “Put the guns away and let the girl go, and gruesome and I can settle this thing right here and now.” He dropped into a low fighting stance and put on his best hard look. Felicity just stared at him. Everything about him, body language, facial expression, vocal tone, said he really believed he could take this monster. He projected his confidence purposely at Monk, who hesitated for a moment, and Morgan saw a wave of doubt pass ever-so-briefly across his simian face.

  Stone had seen it too. “No!” he snapped. “Later. Paul, handcuff these intruders.”

  Looking at two pistols focused on his head, Morgan consciously relaxed, and slowly moved his hands behind his back. He decided he had judged this Paul correctly. The man was a pro. He held his pistol close to his right side, and expertly locked the cuffs around Morgan’s wrists with his left hand. As he reached for Felicity, she turned defiantly, jabbing her index finger into Paul’s face.

  “I told your little helper Paco he was a dead man the day he slapped me,” Felicity said through clenched teeth. “You ought to know we left him lying in a vacant lot in the Bronx. And I’m willing to bet that your other chubby friend is up in a certain tenement building up there with one of my partner’s bullets in his head. And now I’m telling you, mister, you’re going down next. You won’t hold me.”

  She sprang for the door like a scalded cat, diving into space as if she might clear the human wall blocking her way. Her agility startled even Morgan. The sole of her left foot hit Monk’s chest, her right landed on his shoulder and it looked as if she would simply climb over him until Monk grasped her lower legs. For a moment Morgan thought she might squirm free, but Monk’s grip was just too strong.

  Monk dragged her back over his shoulder, hand over hand, reaching higher on her leg each time. Felicity clawed and pounded madly at Monk’s face and chest in apparent desperation. Monk merely grinned at the assault and tossed the girl casually to the floor. Felicity’s face was pressed into the carpet as Paul’s knee dropped into the small of her back. He had handcuffs locked on her wrists before she could move.

  “I do remember some of what Stone told me about you, girl,” Seagrave said. “I must say, you failed to live up to your reputation. That was stupid. Monk, get them out of here. But return immediately. We have business to conclude, and I need you here.”

  Monk grabbed each of his charges by an arm and tossed them roughly into the hall. The jarring impact with the wall stunned them both. Unasked, Paul followed into the hall, his pistol held close, but always on Morgan. When the elevator came, Felicity followed Morgan’s lead and remained docile as she entered. He was sure they were in no immediate danger, and attacking Monk while his hands were locked behind his back would be sure suicide. Paul slipped into the elevator just before the doors closed.

  “What’s the matter,” Felicity asked. “Don’t you trust the ape here to handle us?”

  “I just don’t want you taking off in different directions when the doors slide open.”

  Morgan nodded at the compliment and stayed relaxed as he stepped out of the elevator. Monk opened a door across from the elevator. Morgan grimaced and approached the door with caution until a hulking arm shoved him and Felicity unceremoniously into the small room and slammed the door.

  Morgan rolled forward and sat up on the cold cement floor, scanning his surroundings. One naked light bulb cast crude shadows against the cinder block walls, and in its pale light, he saw nothing he liked. The room was about fifteen by twenty feet. Big for a bedroom, maybe, but it didn’t offer much space to maneuver and nowhere to hide. In other words, Monk’s perfect fighting environment. The faint smell of dried blood told him that past fights in this room had gotten ugly. There was no window, no furniture, not even a molding along the ceiling or baseboards. He saw nothing that he could turn into a makeshift weapon. There was no inside door handle. And on the far wall, he spotted the ominous down-swinging door of an incinerator. Disgusted, he turned and looked into Felicity’s face, shaking his head.

  “Before I die, would you please share with me just why you decided to charge into the enemy camp, unarmed and outnumbered. I hate being handcuffed.”

  “I guess I got carried away,” Felicity said. He could see that she was chilled by the room’s temperature and maybe by the coolness of his anger as well. “I can’t very well take it back now, can I? The cuffs, on the other hand, we can do something about.” With a short hop, she pulled her legs up and swung her arms forward, so her feet slipped through her arms. Now her hands were in front of her. From her hair band she pulled a small slip of spring steel. With casual ease she used it to remove first her shackles, then his. “Better?”

  “Better.” He rubbed his wrists to regain circulation. “Now at least we have a chance. Sure hate to fight that monster in here, that’s for sure. It’s too close.”

  “You’re thinking of fighting that fellow?”

  Morgan nodded, his hands on his hips. “I’ll have to hit him as soon as he opens the door and hope for the best. I think I can maybe bowl him over. He’ll expect us to be handcuffed and helpless. If we can get past him, we can get out.”

  “Could be. But we’re not going to play it that way. I got us into this, after all, and I’ll get us out.”

  “Yeah? How?” Morgan asked. “With no weapons, locked in here...”

  “Slow down,” Felicity said in a soothing tone. From under her shirt she produced a small revolver.

  “Where did you...?”

  “Remember when I made that `stupid’ attack on Monk?” Felicity asked. “I could have taken that clod’s boxers and he’d never have known it. He said he didn’t need his gun, but I figured you could use it. It is a wee thing, but I’m hoping it’s enough if we meet him in the hall.”

  “It’s only a thirty-two,” Morgan said, accepting the revolver. “But I can kill any man with a thirty-two. You just have to hit the right spot.”

  “Good,” Felicity said with a smile. “Now for the door.” She crouched in front of the door for a closer examination. Morgan stood behind her, hands on knees, watching her work. A steel plate had been screwed on where a lock and doorknob would normally be. There was a slot for a coded card like the one on the elevator door on the roof.

  Felicity’s hair band yielded a flat steel rectangle, one inch by two inches, about as thick as a dime. She used this as a screwdriver and seconds later the plate was gone. Next Felicity chose two springy lock picks, one slightly longer than the other. It required exactly twelve seconds for her to open the door.

  Morgan held the gun forward in a two-handed grip as they stepped out of the room. A menacing gesture, he figured, but unnecessary. The hallway was vacant. It seemed too easy to simply push the button and summon the elevator. In fact, he was just wondering if his luck could get any better when the elevator doors slid open.

  There stood one of the bodyguards from the conference room, all alone, holding Morgan’s big fighting knife. He stared down the barrel of Morgan’s pistol, actually following the sights in reverse until he was looked up into Morgan’s laughing eyes. Slowly he licked his lips and extended his arm, presenting the knife like a peace offering. A few drops of sweat slid down his forehead making him blink when they hit his eyes.

  Morgan accepted the knife. He and Felicity stepped into
the elevator and Morgan pushed the “one” button. Felicity crossed her arms and stared up at the guard.

  “So where’s my tool belt?” she asked. “And his gun?”

  “Upstairs, somewhere,” the prisoner said. His eyes never left the handgun pointing at him. “Stone gave me this knife as a gift.”

  “So you came from upstairs?” Morgan asked. When the man nodded Morgan added, “He’s just the advance man. He’s supposed to make sure the coast is clear before the big wigs come down.”

  The trio rode the elevator to the bottom of its shaft, disembarking on the level below Seagrave’s lowest floor. Felicity reached to ring for the other elevator and turned back just in time to see Morgan bring the gun down across the captive bodyguard’s head. Grinning, Morgan reached under the guard’s sport coat to pull his gun from its holster before stepping over the broad shouldered form into their escape car.

  The skies were dark with thick clouds the color of dirty paste when the two black clad escapees left the building in silence and briskly trotted three blocks to Felicity’s black Corvette. Felicity roughly threw the heavy-duty synchromesh transmission into gear and shot into traffic, heading for home. Morgan turned in his seat to face her. A soft smile lit his face. He was looking at the stern expression that his lovely driver wore. How familiar it was from his own past. He listened to the engine’s purr, settling into the plush emerald seat. She was taking an indirect route, weaving down small streets, likely trying to get some of the emotion out in her driving. He hoped conversation would wait until they reached her apartment.

  “Sure and the girl can certainly be an arse, can’t she?” Felicity asked without preamble.

  “Before you say anything else,” he began, “I want you to listen, okay? You’re frustrated. You’re disappointed. You set out to achieve a goal and you failed. And you’re not used to failure, are you?”