Ice Woman Assignment (28 page)

“A nice theory,” Felicity said, “But you must know there's a limit to how many Americans will be stupid enough to use this hateful drug of yours. The market's not as big as Capone's market for liquor was.”

Anaconda nodded, and held up a hand. One of her men filled it with a drink. “Of course I know this. Like your rap stars who call themselves gangsters, I am diversifying. Your Jay-Z used drug money only as seed money, and he did not build his half-billion dollar fortune writing rhymes. He invested wisely and ruthlessly. I will follow that pattern. And when I have enough money, enough influence, I will commandeer the political power in this country.”

“Wait a minute,” Morgan said, ignoring the man bandaging his leg. “Colombia's the longest running democracy in South America. Damned near the only country in this part of the world I never found work in as a
mercenary. You'll never get into power here.”

“Fool.” Anaconda brushed her hair back, letting it sway across her buttocks. “I will soon have the largest payroll in the country. As the Yakuza support Japan's power structure, the Escorpionistas will support mine. Power by intimidation is always possible in a democracy. I'll even get your government's support once I'm in place. Any fascist state is preferable to communism in the eyes of your small minded leaders. Soon, I will be the greatest female criminal on earth, and unstoppable, because I will make the law.”

“You truly are an ice woman,” Felicity said quietly. “Not just the drugs, I mean. Your heart.”

“It is the only way a woman or a person my size can succeed in this world of machismo giants.”

“You're wrong,” Felicity said, standing. She dropped her arms, gaining the immediate attention of every man in the room. “Wrong, because you have no respect for the people you command. Even these superstitious and bloodthirsty killers won't follow you for long. Being around Morgan has taught me that even the worst terrorist has some kind of ideology or purpose. Gang members in the streets of L.A. have a warped sense of loyalty and pride. Yes, even the Chicago gangsters you talked about had some sort of code of honor. That's why we had to come down here after Frederico. A matter of honor, it was. Honor. You're completely without it. Not worth respecting, or following, or fearing. You're nothing. I didn't see it before but now I do. You know, you scarred me.” Felicity pointed out the line on her left breast. “But it's healed now.”

Anaconda stepped forward and looked up, cocking her hand back to slap the other girl. To Morgan's surprise, Felicity stood her ground, her hands balling into fists.

“Come on then, girl,” Felicity said, in the strongest Irish Brogue accent Morgan had ever heard from her. “Do your worst. Give me a fair shot at you, and I'll kick your little
Spanish arse.”

Silver eyes flashed hatred, and were met by pale fire from the deep green orbs staring down into them. Anaconda hesitated, and then stepped back. “Bind them well,” she said at last. “We'll shred them in the trees with the boy in a couple of hours. Two guards at all times. Don't get close enough to touch them, they're too tricky. At dawn, we shall enjoy the last laugh.”

Felicity's voice, small and pale, crawled out of the shadows. “I'm sorry,” she said. She sat on the sofa, shivering. She and Morgan had been allowed to put their nylon shell jumpsuits back on, but with nothing underneath them. Wire held her hands together in her lap, and her ankles were bound the same way. Morgan, in the same condition, leaned against the sofa's other arm. Between them, Frederico tossed in restless sleep.

Two men stood at the other end of the room. They had stood there since Anaconda left. At any time, one of them was always facing the captives. A table lamp kept them well lit, but was positioned to leave Morgan and Felicity in partial darkness.

The guards wore semiautomatic pistols, and held Uzi submachine guns. One of them looked like any Mexican you might see in Southern California. The other had straight hair hanging over his forehead and a scar just outside his right eye. An hour ago, Morgan called to one of them in a voice so friendly, Felicity had shivered.

“Yo, mirar. Habla Ingles?” Morgan's call got a simple shake of the head. No.

“You're Quesada, aren't you?” Morgan asked, switching to English.

“Why?”

“I've heard about you,” Morgan continued. “I hear you're one of the best. Too good for this crowd.”

“So?”

“So, look, you can do better up north,” Morgan said, trying to make eye contact with the killer. “It's worth a million pesos to turn us loose and get us out of here on that helicopter outside. Think about it. A million pesos.”

“Not much more than ten thousand American dollars,” Quesada observed, waving his Uzi in Morgan's direction.

“I can give you that in Bogota, and double it in Los Angeles,” Morgan said. He paused for a moment, then added “She doesn't deserve your loyalty.”

“I am an Escorpionista,” Quesada said, in a low, grating voice. “Since I was a boy, I would die for the Escorpionistas. Through them, I am much man. Even if I was not loyal, it is death to betray Anaconda.”

That closed the conversation. Morgan turned to Felicity, unable to really see her face.

“Got anything useful, like a weapon?”

“Afraid I wasn't able to hide anything in this outfit,” said Felicity, putting on her brave voice.

“Can you get loose?”

“Sure, but to what end?” Felicity answered. “There's no getting you free. And there's no getting out of the room. Even if I could get out, or get to a weapon, you'd die instantly.” She paused, and Morgan heard her voice soften. “Maybe I can get invited out.”

“Quesada,” Felicity called in Spanish. “Could you come over here, please?”

“No closer. You are too tricky. I can hear, and see you, fine from here.”

“Well, you can't see enough,” she said, seduction oozing from her voice. “Look, you did a pretty thorough strip search, so I've got nothing left to hide from you. But I don't want to die like this. Just a room away, we could have…some fun, one last time before I die.”

“You think me fool enough to untie you, just for sex?”

“You…you wouldn't have to,” Felicity said. Her face
showed this was harder than she expected. Mostly, her embarrassment probably stemmed from Morgan's presence. But she continued. “A creative man like you can see a way. I could, well, I can be on my knees and elbows, still tied. A lot of men like to do it that way. And in my experience, many men like their women tied.”

“Getting that close to a captive, physically or emotionally, is the mark of an amateur,” Quesada said. “I am not an amateur.”

That closed that conversation. Their other guard, under Quesada's eye, was unapproachable. Morgan wished Felicity would bolt, even if he died for it, but where could she go? Flight in the jungle, at night, barefoot, in just a thin nylon shell, would be painful at best, dangerous at worst.

Morgan was deep in thought, exploring the situation, looking for an undiscovered winning option when Felicity's voice sneaked up on him in the darkness. “I'm sorry,” was an unexpected remark.

“Yeah, me too,” he said. “But we gave it one hell of a good run, didn't we?”

“No,” Felicity said. “I mean for this whole mess. We'd never gotten into this if I hadn't insisted we go undercover against an unknown enemy. It's all…”

“If I hear the phrase `it's all my fault', I swear…”

“But it is,” Felicity said. “Not just the start. You had better sense than to pick up the kid here and carry him with us. That's what really pissed Anaconda off. If I hadn't made you take us to Texas the girl wouldn't have died. Chuck, dear sweet Chuck wouldn't have died, and we wouldn't be about to die.” Morgan did not think he had ever heard an actual sob, but he was sure he heard one now.

“I'm glad you're willing to take all the blame, Red, but you're wrong,” Morgan said, sitting back in the deep cushions. He was not sure if both their guards understood English, and right then he did not care.

“First of all, we're partners,” he continued, forcing calm into his voice. “We decided to take the job, for money, and to help a friend. Nothing wrong with that. Besides, if you recall, Anaconda fired the first shot in this war with that scorpion gag in your car. No way I'd have ducked out after that. And something else you maybe didn't understand. I didn't want to take Fred here under our wing, but I would have anyway. It was the only honorable option.”

Morgan paused and wet his lips, because the next bit made him uncomfortable. “Now, remember, when those two killers tried to hit us in our hotel rooms, Mary called and warned me. She was the only person who saw them. If they'd got us, they'd have killed her anyway. Standard operating procedure. We didn't cause her death, we just adjusted the place.” He heard her breathing slowing, and knew he was getting through.

“And, for the last time, you didn't kill Chuck Barton,” Morgan said. “He got sloppy, lost his edge and committed suicide by throwing knife. Yeah, I might not be here now if you hadn't pushed me, but I wouldn't like me as much. And while we're on the subject, we ain't dead yet!”

Morgan stopped for breath.

“Red, when you said what you did to Anaconda, when you stood up to her like that, I was cheering for you. You gained a lot of face in the eyes of her followers, and what you gained, she lost.” He chuckled here, drawing stares from their guards. “For a minute there, I thought you really were going to kick her ass. I've never been prouder of anyone I've been to war with, and if it comes to that, I'll be proud to die with you, Felicity O'Brien.”

“I'd hug you if I could, Morgan Stark,” Felicity said. “And you're right about one thing. We're not dead yet.”

Anaconda entered the sitting room with the sun's first rays, accompanied by two men. One was a gunman, the other, Frederico's brother, Anthony. Two guards roughly yanked Morgan and Felicity to their feet. Frederico's eyes fluttered open, but he looked around in horror and kept silent.

While Quesada held his gun on the captives, his partner tied a heavy hemp rope around Morgan's waist, then around Frederico's and Felicity's. They all faced the same way, with Felicity behind Morgan and Frederico behind her. About two inches of slack rope separated them from each other. A guard used wire cutters to free their ankles and pointed them to the sliding glass door. It was dawn in Colombia and the somber mood felt appropriate. They were, after all, going to an execution.

After a slight false start the prisoners fell into step, marching at gunpoint across tall, damp grass. Climbing into a very clear sky, the morning sun warmed them despite a gentle breeze. Morgan heard parrots and, he thought, toucans discussing their day's plans. When Felicity stumbled, he could not help but catch the impression of her nipples, stiffened by morning's coolness, pressed into his back.

Their short walk ended beside Anaconda's helicopter. Morgan could see those controls he had expected to be sitting at by now. Quesada dropped a much longer length of rope at his feet, picking up the end. Before any further
action could take place, a howl got everyone's attention. A lone maned wolf staggered forward, wobbling like a newborn colt on its stilt like legs.

“What is this?” Quesada asked. “It looks like the wolf's been drinking.”

“The drug in the darts must just now be wearing off,” Felicity said. “They'll be groggy for a few minutes after they wake up.”

Laughing, Quesada stepped forward, swinging a booted foot into the wolf's side. The animal fell over, rolled, and scampered away. Then Quesada turned to his prisoners, wrapping the rope around all three of them. He stepped in close to make a knot in the middle of Morgan's chest. He cinched it tight, grinning into Morgan's face.

“You did run Mary off the road, didn't you?” Morgan asked. “Remember? The Mexican girl?” Quesada looked at Morgan, twice bound with his wrists wired together.

“The Mexican girl?” Quesada rubbed at the scar next to his eye. “You mean on the highway in New Mexico. Si, I was driving. That cheap car, it rolled easy. So?”

“It's just nice to be sure,” Morgan replied. Quesada stepped back, and never saw the naked foot snap upward into his crotch. The crunching sound was nearly as loud as Quesada's strangled cry. The killer dropped to his knees, his face to the ground.

Morgan's attack, born of frustration and rage, tipped the tethered group off balance. Morgan fell backward onto Felicity and Frederico, who landed face down on a helicopter runner. Morgan knew his rash attack had probably hurt his allies as much as the enemy. He heard the click of hammers being pulled back and Anaconda shouting “No!” to stop bullets from flying.

“Stand them up,” Anaconda shouted. Rough hands grasped their arms, hauling them forward. Felicity's head smacked the helicopter's frame on her way up.

“That was your final act of defiance,” Anaconda said, red faced. Then, to one of the gunmen, “Get Quesada into the copter. You! Get the rope around the tail. Now!”

A chill rolled down Morgan's spine as he realized what came next. He looked at the knot on his chest, the wire around his wrists, the helicopter, looking for a way out of what seemed a trap too simple to break. Anaconda walked to within a foot of him, then stepped back until she was out of reach.

“Touch me and they will shoot to wound,” she said. “I will decide how you die. I will lift you into the sky, so that all my men can see how helpless you are. Then, we will cruise by, over there.” She pointed a thumb behind herself. “See those tall tree ferns. We will fly over them, very fast. You three will hit the trees. Hard! Again and again, until there is nothing left of you but bloody skeletons. What, no final words of resistance, Miss O'Brien?”