Dead Aim

by Iris Johansen

  10

  On the way back to the motel, the adrenaline was draining out of Alex and she had to clasp her hands tightly in her lap to keep from shaking. She'd been bombarded by too many sensations tonight. She couldn't forget the vision of Powers with his chest torn by that hideous knife wound and Morgan kneeling above him, tense, relentless, completely without pity.

  But why should anyone pity Powers? He'd not taken pity on Ken that night he'd brought down the helicopter. Still, Morgan's hardness had managed to shock her again.

  Morgan glanced sideways at her as they neared the motel.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “What do you think happened to Powers's wife? She looked . . .”

  “Like an animal had torn her throat apart,” he finished. “I've heard Runne is usually much cleaner. I'd say that something went wrong with his plan and Powers managed to hurt him. He ran out to lick his wounds and she was in his way. He was hurting too much to be neat. He just wanted to get rid of her.”

  “You seem to understand him.”

  “Oh, yes.” He stopped the car in the parking space in front of the motel and opened the door. “I'm leaving the car running. Don't be neat. Just bundle everything in your duffel. I'll give Galen a quick call, but I want to be out of this motel in five minutes and out of this town in twenty.”

  She nodded jerkily. “I won't be long.” She left her camera in the car and moved toward the door. “What did Powers tell you?”

  “I'll tell you when we get on the road.” He had the door open and was grabbing his duffel and throwing everything into it. “Be sure to take the computer.”

  “Roadblock.”

  Morgan turned left at the first corner when he saw the string of cars stretching two blocks ahead. He parked the car in a Target parking lot. “Come on, get out. We're on foot until we're out of town. Grab your camera bag. I'll get your duffel.”

  “Right.” She fell into step with him. “I suppose you know how we're going to get out of this town?”

  “I called Galen when you were packing. He has a man with a moving truck coming from Fort Wayne. We'll meet him at the rest stop five miles out of town.”

  “A moving truck?”

  “It will be easy to hide among the furniture if we're stopped. The driver will have documents that say his load is being delivered to Charleston, West Virginia, from a house in Fort Wayne. Most cops don't want to climb around in the back if the paperwork looks okay. It's too much work.” He turned right, his pace quickening. “We should be out of the city in about five blocks, and then we cut into the woods.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  “It will be safer.”

  “I'm not arguing. I'm only asking one thing.”

  “What's that?”

  “If I'm going to be doing all this walking, can I take this damn pebble out of my shoe?”

  The name of the driver of the moving van was Chuck Fondren, and he was distinctly nervous. “Get in.” He jerked open the back of the truck. “I was stopped once already on the way here, but that doesn't mean I'm out of hot water. Climb over that mattress and hunker down behind that couch.”

  The door slammed behind them as soon as Morgan and Alex climbed into the van.

  Darkness.

  Morgan tossed the duffels across the van, behind the couch. “Come on. Let's ‘hunker down.'” He climbed over the mattress to the couch and then reached out a hand to help her over the back of the couch. He followed and settled down beside her.

  She felt the throbbing vibration as the truck pulled out of the rest stop, and she leaned back against the wall. She should have felt safer than she had when they were running through the woods, but she didn't. The darkness was claustrophobic and she felt . . . helpless.

  “Like being sealed up in a metal box,” Morgan said quietly. “But a box isn't a coffin. There's always something you can do.”

  She should have known he'd realize what she was feeling. He seemed to have the knack. “Like what?”

  He chuckled. “Damn if I know. I just thought I'd make you feel better. I should have known you'd call me on it.”

  She smiled. She did feel better. His honesty made her feel a sense of companionship and she was no longer alone. “Are you saying you'd be stumped if we had to get out of here?”

  “No. I'm saying I'd have to stretch my capabilities and borrow some of yours.” He leaned back beside her. “So let's hope nothing happens and try to get our minds off it. Want to have sex?”

  She went rigid.

  “No, I didn't think so.”

  “And you thought it safe to offer since you knew this wasn't the time or place I'd take you up on it.”

  “Oh, I don't know. And neither do you.” He reached over to her duffel, pulled out the laptop, and gave it to her. “I'm going to go over my conversation with Powers before he died. I've been trained to remember details, but I want them down in black and white.” He flipped open the laptop, and a gray glow lit the darkness. “You type them as I give them to you, word for word. Here we go.”

  He closed his eyes and said, “The first thing he said to me was ‘Save me. . . . Don't let me die.' ”

  For the next five minutes Alex typed quickly, occasionally asking a question, but Morgan's memory was amazing. He remembered everything, including pauses and breaks in the flow of conversation.

  When he stopped, she looked up at him. “Is that all?”

  He made a face. “Not much, is it?”

  “More than we had.” She saved the document. “So that's why we're going to West Virginia. You think something's going to happen there.”

  “I don't know. Powers seemed to think that whatever was going to happen wasn't nearly as important as Z-3. He said it was bunk. But Powers doesn't give a shit. Arapahoe Junction was only a mistake to him.”

  “So West Virginia could be another Arapahoe Junction.”

  “And if Arapahoe Junction was only a minor mistake, it makes you wonder what Z-3 is going to be. . . .” He closed his eyes. “It's a long way to West Virginia. Think about it. Vents. Lontana. Z-2 . . .”

  There was no question she'd think about it. Her head was awhirl with information and the ugliness of Powers even at his death. She closed the computer, and the dim glow of the screen disappeared.

  Suffocating darkness.

  Morgan's arm suddenly went around her, and he pulled her close so that her head rested on his shoulder. “Shh, you're not alone. I'm here. I'm not going away.”

  Comforting words, but not true. It didn't matter. In the darkness she could pretend they were true. In the darkness she could take comfort and healing.

  After all, in this day and age nothing was permanent. Fire came from the sky and quakes ripped the ground from beneath your feet.

  And always was only a word.

  “We've closed all the roads,” Jurgens said. “And we've run fingerprints in the Powers house. Morgan was there and I'm betting so was Graham. We found a knife under Powers's wife's body. But it's not Morgan's prints that are on the knife.”

  “Runne.”

  “Yes. Morgan must have come before or after.”

  “If he'd come before, those would have been his prints on the knife: He wouldn't have let Powers live. The question is, how much later? Could Powers have been alive to talk?”

  “It's doubtful. The wound was—”

  “I need more than doubtful. I need to know.”

  “Then you'd better ask Runne, don't you think?”

  Hell, yes, if he could get in touch with the bastard. As usual, Runne hadn't answered his phone. “As soon as I make contact with him.”

  There was a pause. “There was blood on the front porch. Neither Powers nor his wife could have been out there.”

  “You think Runne was wounded?”

  “The police say a local intern, Richard Dawson, has been reported missing from a hospital a few miles from the Powers house. His car is in the parking lot, but he never showed up for his shift.” Another pause.
“So maybe Runne isn't as good as you thought he was.”

  “And maybe he is.” Betworth wasn't going to admit his own doubts to Jurgens. “He didn't get Morgan, but he managed to rid us of Powers. And you haven't gotten Morgan yet either.”

  “If you'd let us spring the trap, there wouldn't have been this problem.”

  “I needed Runne to spring it. I needed him to owe me.”

  “You believed he'd keep his word?”

  “The psychological profile I have on him indicates that he'd rather be burned alive than break his word. It's part of the brainwashing he underwent in the camps. And it's a job he's been trained to do every minute since he was fourteen.”

  “Even if he has the will, he may not have the skill. He screwed up this job.”

  “Drop it. I'll make that determination.” He managed to keep the edge from his tone. “Or are you volunteering to take over Runne's job at Z-3?”

  “No way,” Jurgens said. “I'll let you know when we catch Morgan.” He hung up.

  No, Jurgens didn't want any part of it. Betworth didn't blame him. Only an obsessive son of a bitch like Runne would take on that job. Providing Betworth remained convinced he could do it. The Powers disposal had not been clean, and that's what he must have at Z-3.

  Clean and deadly.

  Clean. It had to be clean.

  Runne rolled the young intern's corpse into the hole he'd dug and began to shovel in dirt. Christ, his face hurt. He'd take some of the painkillers the doctor had given him after he finished, but the pain reminded him of his failure. And he had to remember so that he wouldn't repeat the mistake. Mistakes weren't tolerated. Carelessness was a cardinal sin. The shame of not being able to claim a clean kill with Powers was almost unbearable. It must never happen again, and no one must know he'd failed.

  This kill had been clean. No one had seen him take the young intern at the hospital. No one had seen the death. Now he must smooth the grave and cover it with leaves.

  The damn doctor had been too slow. Runne had threatened him, but his hands had been too shaky to hurry. Now it was too late to go back to Powers's house and hope to catch Morgan. But if he could keep Betworth from knowing of his shame, then he would be given another chance.

  Ignore the pain. He deserved it.

  Bury him deep. Smooth the earth. Cover it with leaves. . . .

  “Out,” Chuck Fondren said as he opened the door of the truck. “I want to get away from here.”

  “Where are we?” Alex asked as Morgan helped her from the van.

  “Prescott, West Virginia. It's forty miles from Huntington.” The driver nodded at a rickety cedar house down the road. “That's your destination. This is where I was told to bring you.” He threw the duffels to the ground. “Good luck. I'm out of here.”

  “Thank you,” Alex said. She couldn't blame him for being glad to be rid of them. He'd risked a good deal driving them here. But when Galen called, his people seemed to jump to it. She gazed ruefully at the ramshackle farmhouse as the moving van roared off down the road. “Have you noticed our abodes have been going downhill lately? You must have a talk with Galen.”

  “It's hard to get good help these days.” He started down the road. “Personally, I'm just happy if there's no welcoming committee.” He stiffened, grabbed her arm, and pulled her into the bushes. “I spoke too soon. Who the hell is—”

  Her gaze followed his to the man who'd come out onto the porch. She sighed with relief. “It's Logan. Don't you recognize him?”

  “I've talked to him on the phone, but I've never met him in person.” His body language was still tense. “And I'm not sure I like him dropping in. He looks pretty grim.” He moved out of the bushes. “But we may as well find out what he wants. I doubt if he's brought the gendarmes.” His gaze held Logan's as he strode toward him. “This is a surprise, Logan,” he called as he neared the house. “And I thought you'd abandoned us.”

  “I'd like nothing better.” Logan's glance shifted to Alex. “Are you okay? Galen said you'd had an accident.”

  “It's getting better. How's Sarah?”

  “Furious. Ready to do battle with the FBI and the media.” He grimaced. “And me. Particularly me. After this idiocy came out about you belonging to a terrorist group, I had to confess and reassure her you were being cared for.” He looked back at Morgan. “Though I wasn't sure it was true.”

  “I kept her alive. That's what you asked me to do.” Morgan stopped in front of him. “Now, are you going to stand here sniping at me or are you going to help? Something very nasty is in the works.”

  “So I gathered from Galen. Why the hell do you think I'm here? We have to sort this out, and I couldn't do it long distance.” He turned on his heel and headed for the screened front door. “You'll be sorry to know that the interior of this hog pen is worse than the outside. But come inside and we'll talk.”

  “Betworth?” Logan repeated slowly. “Powers mentioned Betworth?”

  “You know him?” Alex asked.

  “Charles Betworth. Congressman from Texas. He's been in Congress for the last fifteen years.”

  “Then he's not been very visible,” Alex said. “I don't remember ever hearing about him.”

  “He prefers to work behind the scenes these days. He pushes nice noncontroversial bills on the environment and public health. He was the Democratic Party's great hope about thirteen years ago, but he got caught up in a campaign-finance scandal. It says a lot about his personal charisma that he was able to overcome the stigma and get reelected twice.” Logan's lips twisted. “But there's no way the party would ever nominate him for President with that dirty laundry in his background. I'm sure it's a bitter pill for him to swallow.”

  “Bitter enough for him to engineer the incident at Arapahoe Junction?”

  “Not unless it would give him something besides revenge. Betworth is consumed with ambition.”

  “Not money?”

  Logan shook his head. “I think that campaign scandal was more about manipulation and power plays than cash. He comes from oil money. That's how he was able to gloss over the smears at the polls.” He paused. “No, it has to be ambition.”

  “To what aim?”

  “I've no idea. But I guess I'd better find out.” He stood up. “I'll go to Washington and see what I can dig up. You're right, something nasty is going down.” His lips tightened. “And it makes me mad as hell that the threat is coming from our own people. It's not enough we have to worry about the nutcases from outside our borders.”

  “You believe that Jurgens and some people in the CIA are involved?” Morgan asked. “I thought you'd balk at that. Alex did.”

  “I believe anyone involved in a power play on this scale would have wooed law enforcement. I believe that it takes only a few key people to lead a battalion where they want them to go. It's getting the key people and controlling them. I'm very uneasy that Betworth's in the picture.”

  “You seem to know a lot about him.”

  “He interested me. I could tell there was a hell of a lot going on beneath that schmooze. I've seen him come into a room at a party and immediately start working at attracting everyone with whom he comes in contact. He almost hypnotizes them. It may be calculated, but it never appears that way. He's bigger than life.” He moved toward the door. “But then, so was Stalin.” He paused as he opened the door. “I brought a box of groceries and a couple blankets for you. They're over there by the window. Galen said you'd need them here.”

  “Probably not for long. Powers said Z-2 was already in place. I hope to hell we can find out where it is before—” Morgan shrugged. “We've got to find it. No option.”

  “I'll call when I find out something,” Logan said. “Try to keep from getting killed, Alex. It would upset Sarah.”

  “God forbid we upset Sarah,” Morgan murmured.

  Logan nodded. “Exactly.”

  Alex followed him as he walked around the house to a beige Saturn parked in back.

  “Logan.”
/>   He paused, looking at her.

  “Tell Sarah that I'm well. Tell her everything's going to turn out fine.”

  “Everything's got to turn out fine. My ass is on the line.” He searched her face. “And are you well? Morgan is more of a rough diamond than I bargained for. He's treated you decently?”

  She nodded. “But that's a bad analogy. There's nothing rough about him. He's pure Toledo steel.” She tried to smile. “But as long as he's in my camp I've no quarrel with that. And, yes, he's treated me decently.” She turned to go back inside. “Give my love to Sarah.”

  He hesitated before he said, “I had to do it, Alex. And I'm not sorry.”

  “I didn't think you would be. Just keep Sarah out of this mess.”

  “It's difficult. The only way I managed to leave her at home this time was because I told her I'd let her talk to you on the phone after security makes sure the line's safe.”

  “Don't have her phone me. I don't want to take the chance. Sarah mustn't be drawn into my troubles.”

  “I believe that's what I said. But it didn't do me any good.” He smiled. “So I guess we'd better just get this over with in a hurry so Sarah doesn't come barging into the situation.” He got into the driver's seat and waved as he drove past her toward the road.

  She shivered as she watched his taillights disappear around the curve. Logan was no friend to her, but he'd been a comforting presence nevertheless. He exuded confidence and power, and in his presence for a brief moment she'd felt safe.

  “I was hoping you'd go with him.”

  She turned to see Morgan standing in the doorway. She shook her head. “My place is here.”

  “The hell it is,” he said roughly. “Your place is behind walls, with an army of security to take care of you.”

  “That's what you were hired to do.” She smiled faintly. “Remember?”

  “I remember everything.” He looked away from her. “Enough to know you were lying through your teeth when you told Logan I'd treated you decently.”

  “You shouldn't eavesdrop.”

  “It's one of my minor sins. You're already familiar with the big ones.”