Ice Woman Assignment (23 page)

Thirty minutes later they were on the floor in Morgan's room, staring at a four foot square map and several 8 X 10 photographs.

“I can't believe how much these satellite photos have improved,” Morgan said, sitting at one edge of the map, holding a cup of coffee. “Here's Anaconda's base, in this little basin about a hundred and fifty miles south west of here.”

“I can't believe she's still there,” Felicity said, on her stomach at the map's opposite edge. “Lord, the Escorpionistas have practically declared war on the States, and the CIA knows exactly where she is. Why haven't they just dropped a bomb or something?”

“You know the political B.S. they have to deal with. Look here, they've got the primary production facility marked off. Jesus, it looks like a regular Dupont chemical plant. And look at these barracks huts. Must be close to fifty guys living on site.”

“Her house is almost a mansion. Two stories, nearly flat roof. Perched right on top of this steep hill, between the helicopter landing circle and, what's that? A satellite television dish. Can you get to her house, here, without dealing with those guys?”

“I can see a probable access right through these mountains, here. With a good squad of men we can slip in and make the snatch without facing a serious firefight.”

“You sure you just want to pull her out?” Felicity asked.

Despite some other opinions, I ain't no hired killer,” Morgan said. “I've killed a lot of commies, and a healthy handful of terrorists, but that was war. Besides, if she goes on trial in the U.S. it'll have more of an impact than if she just disappears. Now all we need to do is survey the area in person. I can pin down the assault path and have the rest of my team down here in a week, ready to go.”

“Okay, partner,” Felicity said, smiling. “Before we head for this great camping trip, there're a couple of snapshots here that Mark threw in. I think you'll want to take a good close look.”

A hearty aroma bubbling up from a unique stew pulled Felicity's head out of her sleeping bag. It meant good and bad news. A hot meal after two days eating packaged Army rations would be a pleasure. Morgan called them MRE's, for Meals Ready to Eat. Felicity suspected this bland fare would be Meals Rejected by starving Ethiopians. It was filling and nutritious, but what did that have to do with dining?

The down side was, Morgan would not start a fire unless there was a strong enough breeze to quickly disperse any smoke, masking their presence.

Climbing out of her bag, Felicity had to admit the last two days had been relaxing, alone with Morgan away from civilization. True, the hike into the mountains had been a killer, even though he carried most of the gear. Living in a tent would be better if everything was not always wet, and at this elevation the temperature hovered around fifty degrees year round. Yet it was so peaceful in this unspoiled mountainous countryside she found a peculiar sort of tranquility.

“What is that delicious smell?” Felicity asked, crawling across their narrow landing. Their tent stood against a cliff face. The landing, twelve feet across, had tall bushes rising at its edge, obscuring them from below. Morgan sat on a folded blanket, stirring a potful of something.

“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 it. 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.