Dead Aim

by Iris Johansen

  “You did treat me decently . . . in perspective. Galen told me once to go over everything that had happened since Arapahoe and I'd probably find that you weren't as bad as I thought you were.”

  “Yeah, let's go over it. I drugged you, kidnapped you, drove a stake into your shoulder, and then I fucked you.”

  Pain rippled through her. “Did you fuck me? That's an ugly word and I don't think it was ugly at all. Do you?”

  “Everything I touch seems to turn ugly, except my work. I had no right to—” He saw her expression and took an impulsive step forward before he stopped. “No, it wasn't ugly. It was damn beautiful. You were—” He was silent an instant before smiling mockingly. “You're being a little too generous. I'm waiting for the knockout punch.”

  “You'll wait a long time. I'm tired of fighting.” She shook her head wearily. “I had a long time to think while we were in that van. Too much has happened for me to worry about pride or ego. I think maybe you've got a lot of problems, but I can't take them on right now.”

  “I never asked you to take them on.”

  “But I'm not like you. I can't stay at a distance. I have to dive in and start swimming. I . . . liked what we did. You made me feel . . .”

  “Cherished?”

  “I was afraid to say it.” She met his eyes. “And you can mock all you please. But, yes, cherished. And you couldn't have made me feel like that if you hadn't felt something. You're not the man I would have chosen to make me feel that special, but it happened. So I'm having to take a good long look at you.”

  “I wouldn't look too deep. I show well at long range, but close up I've been known to—”

  “Oh, shut up. I'm not even sure you know what kind of man you are.”

  “I know exactly who and what I am.” He smiled. “And it's not a hero. You're not going to find your father in me, Alex.”

  “God, no. But my father wasn't a hero all the time. He couldn't keep his marriage together. He was more a kid than a grown-up. He even forgot my high-school graduation and went to a Mets game.” She swallowed to ease the tightness of her throat. “But he was sweet and kind and that's all that mattered. I knew when it really counted he'd be there for me.” She started past him. “And I'm not sure you're any of those things, but if you're even one of them, watch out. You caught me off guard when you pushed me away. I usually don't discourage easily.”

  “Alex . . . this isn't—”

  “I'm not talking about it any longer. I just had to get it out in the open. I can't live with my whole life in turmoil, and this is the only thing I have any control over.” She patted his arm as she passed him. “Don't worry, you're safe for a while. Where's my duffel? I have to set up my computer. I want to print out your last conversation with Powers and study it.”

  “It's about time you answered, Runne,” Betworth said. “Where the hell have you been?”

  “I had some things to do. I did what you told me. Powers is dead. I couldn't get Morgan. You'll have to help me find him again.”

  “Oh, will I?”

  “You'll help me. You promised you'd help me.”

  “But that was before you made a mess of the Powers job.”

  “I killed him. That's what you wanted.”

  “I wanted a clean death with no loose ends. But I understand Morgan and Alex Graham were in the house that night. Could Powers have told him anything?”

  Shame and guilt rushed over Runne in a hot tide. Betworth mustn't know he'd failed. He was within an inch of discarding him, and Runne couldn't find Morgan without the bastard. “I don't make mistakes. He didn't see him before I got there.”

  “And Powers was dead before you left.”

  “He was dead before I left.”

  “Excellent. Not perfect. But we're able to do damage control.”

  “Tell me where Morgan went.”

  “We haven't discovered that as yet. But there's a good chance that he'll be at Z-3. He's been busy putting pieces together. You may be running into him there.”

  “I want him now.”

  “But it's no longer about what you want, Runne,” he said softly. “I gave you an opportunity to kill Morgan and you screwed up. Now you're working on my schedule.”

  Rage flowed through him. “I can find him on my own.”

  “You haven't found him yet. And I can't give you free rein any longer. He's become too dangerous. I'll have to turn Jurgens and his men loose.”

  “No! He'll get in my way. You promised me Morgan.” He drew a deep breath. “Don't send Jurgens after him and I'll wait until after the Z-3 job.”

  “How patient of you. But you won't have that long to wait.”

  “How long?”

  “Eight days. If all goes well.” Betworth added, “But I can't tolerate this lack of communication, Runne. The time's getting too short. If you fail to answer my calls, I'll be forced to reconsider my decision.” He hung up.

  Bastard. He was robbing Runne of his independence, making him another one of his puppets.

  He could stand it. It would only be for another eight days.

  One more job and Betworth would give him Morgan.

  And then he'd go after Betworth.

  But he might not have to rely on Betworth to find Morgan. Betworth had said the woman was still with him, and she had to be easier prey than Morgan.

  He pulled out Alex Graham's photo and the dossier Betworth had sent him. She was soft, weak, a bleeding heart who wanted to change the world. He would study her background more carefully and then he might be able to predict what her next moves might be.

  Would Morgan step into the trap if Runne captured and tortured the woman? Runne would not make that mistake, but Morgan had grown up in a puny, sickly culture and might not be able to overcome his ingrained weakness.

  Runne would have to see. First things first.

  Find the woman.

  “You look excited.”

  Alex looked up from the laptop to see Morgan in the doorway. “It's too early to be excited, but I think I may be on the right track.”

  “Z-2?”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea where Z-2 could be.” She rubbed the back of her neck. She'd been hunched over this computer for hours and every muscle was complaining. “Vents. I kept thinking of those deep holes in the basement at Fairfax. They have to have some connection with what Powers was muttering. So what kind of vents are there? Mechanical, metal, air-conditioning vents . . .” She looked back at the computer screen. “But there's another kind of vent. A thermal vent.”

  “What's that?”

  “It's a fissure in the earth's crust that allows the heat and steam from the earth's core to surface. You find it most often in the ocean and volcanic regions. In the case of a volcano, it also releases melted rock that vents as lava. The core holds temperatures that near five thousand degrees centigrade.”

  Morgan gave a low whistle. “Hot stuff.”

  “Powerful stuff. But we've never been able to tap either the core or the pressure to any great extent. We've used natural geothermal energy in limited situations throughout history. The Romans, Icelanders, some North American tribes used them for baths, heat, or food preparations, but they were exploiting natural geothermal vents. Today we also have some plants that use the energy to generate steam that heats homes and turns turbines. The environmental groups are loving the possibilities of using geothermal power to heat and cool, because it's clean as well as cheap.”

  “So how does it connect with Arapahoe Junction?”

  “I don't know. I'm still searching. Go away and let me work. I think I'm getting there.”

  “Anything I can do?”

  “He kept saying Lontana, didn't he? They lost Lontana and everything went wrong.”

  Morgan nodded. “And he may have been referring to him as the Brazilian. I've already given the name to Galen to run a check on.”

  “I'm running my own check. If he was connected to Fairfax and Arapahoe Junction, then he should have something
to do with vents. I'll cross-reference and see what I come up with. . . .” She frowned as the results came on the screen. “Nothing. I'll try a new search engine. . . .”

  Morgan watched her for a few minutes longer, but he knew she'd forgotten he was in the room. He moved out onto the porch again and sat down, his gaze on the road. It was irritating that his part in this was a passive one. He wanted to do something.

  But it would come. He could feel it coming.

  And until then he'd watch and wait . . . and protect.

  “Logan is in town,” Betworth said as he walked with Ben Danley toward the Capitol building. “He's asking questions. Nothing aggressive, Danley. But naturally we have to keep our eye on him. What Logan does on the surface is usually only the tip of the iceberg.”

  “What kind of questions?”

  “Don't get nervous. He's asking about the FBI investigation of Alex Graham. It's perfectly logical, since the woman and his wife are such good friends.”

  “He may know something.”

  Betworth shook his head. “He may suspect something. No one knows anything. And in seven days it won't matter anyway. So calm down and just go about your job. I only told you because I didn't want you hearing from someone else and panicking.”

  “I'm not panicking. I'm anxious. You always underestimate me. I'm the one who set up Matanza. I have a right to be anxious.”

  “Of course you do.” Danley's sudden rebellion surprised Betworth. “Anxiety is fine. It keeps the edge. Overconfidence can be fatal. Who's assigned to go down and keep Matanza in line?”

  “I thought I'd go myself.”

  “No, I'll need you at Z-3. Besides, you're too visible. Andreas might miss you and ask questions.”

  “Then I'll send Al Leary. He's competent, and he worked out the deal between Morales and Matanza at Fairfax.”

  “Since Morales was taken down, I wouldn't say that would inspire much faith in the group.”

  “They don't have to have faith. We're giving them what they want and they're giving us what we want. If you don't need me, I'll leave Wednesday for Z-3.”

  Betworth felt a surge of excitement. It was going to happen. For years he'd worked and planned and now it was almost here. “Go ahead. If there's any emergency, I'll be in touch.”

  “There had better not be an emergency.”

  It sounded almost like a threat. Well, he could handle that later. He had plenty of ammunition to keep Danley in line. Right now it was time to use honey. “Everything is going smoothly, thanks to you. It's amazing what one intelligent man can accomplish.” He stopped at the Capitol steps. “Now, smile and wave good-bye. A very casual good-bye.”

  Danley's gaze went to the head of the steps, where Carl Shepard was standing surrounded by congressmen. “What's he doing here?”

  “Trying to swing votes for Andreas on the environmental bill. He probably won't succeed. He's no Andreas.”

  “You can say that again. But I hear he's done well working to improve Homeland Security.”

  “That's a piece of cake. Security is on everyone's mind these days. Environment is much more difficult. I'm the only one who can swing those votes. But I'll shake Shepard's hand and look properly impressed and flattered at the attention of the honorable Vice President. Then I'll fade into the background with my fellow congressmen.”

  “Not much chance of that.” Danley turned and moved toward the parking lot.

  He was right, Betworth thought. His star was ascending, not setting, and there was no way he was going to let it fade away.

  11

  “I found it.” Alex threw the papers down on the table in front of Morgan. “Maybe.”

  “Well, that's definite.” Morgan picked up the sheets. “Lontana?”

  “Philip Lontana. A Brazilian oceanographer. Very well respected in the profession. He's done it all—written reports on the deterioration of the barrier reefs, searched for lost cities, drawn charts of unexplored undersea territory. One of his pet projects was the study of oceanic thermal vents.”

  “And that leads us where?”

  “Two years ago he wrote a paper that was published in Nautilus. It's a fairly obscure professional journal and that's the reason it took me so long to find it. It dealt with the possibility of tapping deep into the earth's core itself, of creating vents that could be controlled by sonic technology. It would take a complicated mathematical formula each time to make the necessary insertion, but he was sure he was on the right track. He was already working on the device.” She shook her head. “He was all excited about the prospect of an unlimited power source that would change the way we live.”

  “Or the way we die. He didn't think of the possibility of using it as a weapon?”

  “He mentioned it but then skimmed right over any disadvantages, stressing an energy source that could save the planet. Let the UN take care of the problems.”

  “Not the Brazilian government?”

  “Evidently he wasn't fond of the Brazilian government. Early in his career he'd located a sunken Spanish galleon and he had to give half his finder's fee to the government. He rambles on quite a bit about salvage rights and the rights of the individual. He sounds like an eccentric.”

  “Or a nut cake?”

  “Maybe a brilliant nut cake. But evidently the scientific community didn't take him seriously. There are several follow-up replies to his report from other oceanographers. They said what he was proposing was impossible, since the earth's core lies nearly six thousand kilometers below the surface.”

  “Anything else?”

  She shook her head. “But if everyone in his little world pooh-poohed his work, isn't it logical he'd try to take it to someone else?”

  “Like Betworth, who's known as one of the shining beacons in U.S. environmental issues? So he set Lontana to work in the labs at Fairfax. Evidently with some success.”

  She frowned. “But Powers said they lost him. Everything went wrong because they lost him.”

  “Then we've got to find him. If he's still alive.” He dialed Galen's number. “I'll see if this new information helps.”

  “It's all guesswork.”

  “That fits together.” He walked out on the porch as he gave Galen a rundown on the computer info. “Have you found out anything else about him yet?”

  “We didn't run across that report in Nautilus. We do know he no longer lives in Rio. He works out of Nassau in the Bahamas. We haven't been able to get in touch with him. I have a man on his way to Nassau now.”

  “He may not be alive. When Powers said they lost him, he might have meant they had to dispose of him.”

  “Stop being a pessimist. It doesn't sound like that to me.”

  “Well, then here's something else you can be optimistic about. I want you to trace Al Leary and see what he's up to.”

  “Leary . . . Oh, your old CIA contact. What do you want to know?”

  “Everything. Including his cell-phone number.”

  “Why?”

  “Powers wasn't as much help as I'd hoped.”

  “But Leary will talk?”

  “Oh, yes. I'm a little irritated with him about setting me up after Fairfax. He'll talk.”

  “Considering he's fully aware of your capabilities, I'd bet on it. What should I know about him?”

  “He's smart, well educated, and gay. He's still in the closet because he thinks it's more politically advantageous for an ambitious man with the CIA.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “Definitely lethal if he's cornered.”

  “Then we'll leave it to you to corner him.” Galen changed the subject. “How did it go with Logan?”

  “As well as could be expected. At least he's moving and shaking. Have you heard from him?”

  “The first night. He said people weren't talking. It could be because there's so much tension about the embassy attacks, but he said he was running up against a blank wall.”

  “Shit.”

  “There's that pessimism again.
Logan doesn't like blank walls. He has a habit of blowing holes in them. He said he'd call you if he heard anything. Expect him to call.” He paused. “Thermal vents. That could be bad stuff to monkey around with.”

  “Not half as bad as trying to access core power. Who the hell knows what that would do? All that magma . . . How's Elena?”

  Galen chuckled. “Melted rock makes you think of Elena?”

  “There are some similarities. But I really wanted to know if you'll be available if I need you.”

  “Maybe. Why don't you come and ask her?”

  “I'm serious. I may want to bring Alex to you. She won't go with Logan, but that's because she knows he'd put walls around her.”

  “I'm not endangering Elena, Morgan.”

  “Ask her. She knows what it's like to be on the run.”

  He was silent. “Alex would come?”

  “Maybe not right away. But there's going to come a time that I'm more danger to her than Jurgens or Betworth. She can't stay with me.”

  “I'll ask her. I don't promise anything.” He hung up.

  No promises, but Galen would do it. Elena was another matter. She was tough, protective of Galen, and she hated Morgan's guts. He would have to wait and see.

  “Lontana's home base is Nassau,” he told Alex when he came back into the house. “Galen's sent a man down to locate him.”

  “That's good.” She looked back at the computer. “I wonder if I should access another site and see if—”

  “No.” His tone was firm. “You've done enough. Why don't you rest?”

  “I'm too wired.”

  “Then I may as well take advantage of you.” He went to the corner and got her duffel bag. “If I set up your developing equipment, will you develop that picture you took of the man running from Powers's place?”

  “But you already think you know who it is, don't you?”

  “I want to be sure. Will you do it?”

  She nodded. “Set it up.”

  “I don't know if you can tell who he is.” Alex wiped her hands on her towel. “There's blood all over his face.”

  Morgan gazed down at the picture. “I know who he is.”