Ice Woman Assignment (9 page)

When Morgan returned to pick them up, Felicity knew he had found it. The sedan he pulled up in was nothing she
would have driven except in the most dire circumstances.

“I give up,” she had said. “What is it?”

“This, my spoiled young passenger, is a nine year old Buick LeSabre. The finest automotive transportation you can buy for forty-seven hundred dollars. After three phone calls, he was willing to take a check. Don't you like it?”

“What? Primer gray with a taupe interior?” Felicity said, climbing in. “What's not to like?”

They abandoned Felicity's Corvette where it stood, moving to step two, preparing for their trip and making their charge harder to spot. This resulted in Morgan outfitting him in a department store, while Frederico looked in awe at the simplest things.

Despite being annoyed, Morgan had to admit he also felt sorry for the kid. Frederico obviously grew up in a very limited corner of the world. He was stunned when Morgan simply purchased a change of clothes and travel items for himself and Felicity, and a suitcase to put them in. Morgan figured Anaconda must have kept him as segregated as possible from other people to maintain his mystique.

From there Felicity drove them to a small gas station. Morgan filled the tank, bought and filled an emergency five gallon gas can, and bought five quarts of oil, just in case. He filled a second emergency can with water. Finally, he bought a map. When he returned to the car, he opened the driver's side door.

“I'll drive,” he said. “You slide over and get some rest.”

“How long?” Felicity asked, rolling her window down.

“Looks like about thirteen hundred miles, with a couple of jogs around the Mexican border,” Morgan said, opening the map. “Maybe eighteen road hours if this thing will hold the speed limit all the way. And if we don't have to stop too often for gas, and food, and bathroom breaks.” Then he folded the map carefully, put the Buick in gear, and pulled
into traffic.

They drove with all four windows down because the air conditioning did not work. The radio did, but with such tinny sound that it soon became nerve wracking. The springs in the seats were shot, the shocks nonexistent.

“Got to admit, you were spot on about one thing,” Felicity said. “No one who knew anything about me would ever suspect I'd be travelling anywhere in anything like this.”

Thirty minutes down I-5 they stopped at another filling station on the outskirts of Santa Ana to deal with the final detail before they could really get underway. While Morgan and Frederico parked in the shade of a giant Texaco sign, Felicity dropped coins into a telephone for a long distance call to Texas. A clerk answered at the other end, then transferred the call into a certain bungalow.

“Yes?” It seemed the standard CIA telephone response.

“Chuck? Felicity. Pay phone. Unsecured line, but outside of Los Angeles. Okay?”

“Felicity. Thank God,” Chuck said, sending a loud sigh of relief bursting through the phone. “Mark called. Tried to tell me you had some trouble but it got kind of garbled. What's going on? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine. Morgan took a couple of bruises. Is it okay to talk on this…”

“Fuck security,” Chuck snapped. “My phone's clear. Damn it, I should have been there. No, I should have never gotten you into this.”

“Chuck, I'm fine. No need to worry about me at all. Morgan's the best protection a girl could have.”

“Yeah,” Chuck said. “Thanks. You getting out, or digging in or what?”

Felicity hesitated only a second, and then decided Chuck, being CIA, was someone whose judgment she could trust on a security matter. “We're heading your way.
See you tomorrow, midafternoon. And we've got one of Anaconda's boys.”

“What? A prisoner? If Anaconda spotted you, why are you still mixed up in this? You sure as hell can't go undercover to get any information now.”

“It's the kid. Did Mark tell you about Frederico?”

“He said something about a boy who talked some psychic mumbo jumbo to keep Anaconda's men in line. Is it true she would have killed you if this boy said you were too dangerous?”

“Aye, that's the long and short of it,” Felicity said. “He could have spiked us but he didn't.”

“And you're saying that now he's with you and Morgan?”

Yes. He wants out of the Escorpionistas, Chuck. He's important to their boss and even if he wasn't they don't like traitors much.”

Chuck took a deep breath. “If they want him you're putting yourself at risk, girl. Why should you…”

“He's got intel we need. He can help us find the drugs. Says they come in on the ships for sure. But we've got to protect him.”

“Jesus, do you know what you're doing?” Over the phone, she could almost hear him sweat.

“We're not safe here. Just hold the fort until we can join you. I promise to be careful. Got to go, lover. See you soon.” Felicity blew a kiss into the phone. After a brief pause, the line disconnected from the other end. Felicity cursed under her breath. What a caper. Here they were on the run, with excess baggage, ill equipped. The enemy had the advantage in manpower, intelligence, and resources. And now, her man was pissed off at her.

“Life was sure easier when I was a thief,” she told herself.

“Yes sir, I'll make sure Ms. O'Brien is in touch with you as soon as she returns,” Sandy Fox told the telephone. Whenever that is, she added silently. As she hung up the phone, Paul came into the office.

“Have you seen Mister Stark?” he asked in his cool, accent free voice. “I expected to meet him in his office five minutes ago, but he hasn't arrived.”

“Neither of them is here,” Sandy answered. Looking up at him, she brushed her hair back with her hand and pushed her glasses up from her pert button nose. Then she realized she was showing all her nervous habits and ordered herself to stop. “Ms. O'Brien called to say they were on a job, some kind of hush hush thing,” she continued. “You're supposed to go pick up her car.”

“I see. What was Ms. O'Brien driving today?”

“The Corvette,” Sandy said. “The keys are in a magnet box stuck to the muffler.” She liked Paul well enough, but he always made her nervous. She thought it must be his eyes, ice blue like the Alaskan malamute puppy her father gave her when she was ten.

“Right,” Paul said. “Give me the location and I'll take a taxi over.”

“Don't you think this is a little funny?” Sandy asked. “I mean, it just feels…I don't know. Anyway, I hope this doesn't mean she's in any kind of trouble.” She looked up at the tall man, hoping for reassurance.

“Yes, I like her too,” Paul said. “However, if she has
Mister Stark with her I'm sure there's nothing to worry about.”

After tossing his jacket into the back seat and rolling up his sleeves, Morgan settled into the serious business of driving. Despite wearing dark glasses, he battled a merciless sun. Heat mirages laid silver sheets on the asphalt ribbon ahead, like shallow pools that were forever out of reach. On either side of the road, scrub grass and sand stretched out to the horizon. The car soon filled with dust, which Morgan washed from his throat with black coffee from Styrofoam cups.

A little after noon they rolled into a roadside truck stop. All three riders climbed out and stood to stretch and work out the kinks that accumulate on a long ride.

“I'll get us some food,” Morgan said. “The boy stays here.”

“Don't you think that's being a little paranoid?”

“Are you so sure he won't get spotted, even out here?” Morgan asked over the car's roof. Felicity glanced around, showing a flash of uncertainty.

“I guess you're right. But he's going to have to at least get to the loo.”

Nodding, Morgan walked Frederico to the men's room on the side of the building. Then, while Felicity took her rest stop, he pulled his jacket back on and went inside to buy lunch to go. Outside he filled the gas tank, and within ten minutes they were travelling again. Felicity unwrapped her food, muttering under her breath.

“I should have gone in to order,” she said, balancing
greasy French fries and a Jumbo burger on her lap. At Morgan's sharp stare she took a long drink from her large Coke. Behind her, Frederico was enjoying this American luncheon like any teenager in a mall food court. Looking at his calm, relaxed face made her smile.

“Lad, I don't see how you can be so confident,” she said.

“I am safe now,” he said. “Don't worry. The vision was clear. You will destroy Anaconda and I will be free of her. As long as my new mistress is happy, I am happy.”

Conversation dwindled to a minimum. Morgan focused on the road while his two passengers dozed on and off. He had bought four coffees, which he drank at about one hour intervals. His mind soon began to turn his present situation over. With one bold move they had escaped Anaconda's surveillance, but what else?

Corpus Christi remained a mystery, complete with a smuggling scheme no one had been able to figure. Beyond that, what happened to Frederico when it was all over? Even if they succeeded in breaking Anaconda's drug operation, what would prevent a vengeance strike from the Escorpionistas? All in all, he did not like his present position.

Five hours after the first stop, Morgan pulled into another truck stop. A tiny building, it grew up out of the desert floor like a lone cactus, not far from the corner where New Mexico and Arizona met at Mexico's border. Before getting out of the car, he reached back and began struggling into his jacket.

“Wouldn't it be easier to just take off your shoulder holster?” Felicity asked.

“Easier. Not safer.”

“Okay,” she said. “Still, if you'll wait until I go to the bathroom I'll get the food.” Morgan nodded, and his passengers bolted for the rest rooms as if they might soon explode. He pumped the gas, letting Felicity pay for it
inside. They were using cash because like cell phone transmissions, credit card purchases can be traced and they still had no idea of the limits of Anaconda's resources.

Fifteen minutes later their LeSabre was speeding down the freeway. Silence ruled until just after eight-thirty. Felicity broke the stillness with a tentative request.

“Morgan? Do you suppose we could stop soon?”

“Well, I kind of wanted to make El Paso before we stopped for the night, Red.”

“Where are we? I haven't seen a sign in a while.”

“Well, over there, that's the Florida mountain range,” Morgan said.

“Obviously misplaced.”

“Yes, well the Texas border's a good seventy-five miles away,” Morgan said. “It's not that much longer. Are you okay?”

“Honestly my bum just can't take it,” she said with a pleading smile. “I simply cannot sit on a car seat another five minutes.”

Morgan nodded, said, “Okay,” and pulled off I-5. They were near Deming, New Mexico. He drove south, away from the city. A few minutes into the mountain range Morgan found a small town called San Simon. Hanging onto the town's perimeter, standing all alone, he found a small hotel called The Wagon Wheel Inn. He drove past a large standing half wagon wheel in front, around to a parking area in back. A puzzled look on Felicity's face caught Morgan's attention.

“What's the matter, Red?” he asked. “Are we being followed?”

“No chance. I've been watching. Besides, I'd sense it.”

“Not if they were just watching,” Morgan reminded her. “If they meant us no harm, presented no danger, I wouldn't get a warning, and I think you're the same. But something's bothering you.”

“No, it's just…didn't we pass this town before?”

Morgan grinned, pulling his jacket back on. “We passed a San Simon in Arizona, not far past Bowie. It's not so uncommon for a town name. I think there's one in California too.” When they all got out, Morgan grabbed the suitcase. They breathed dry, and thanks to the elevation, somewhat cooler air now than when their trip began.

The Inn, all white with black shutters, looked like it belonged in Georgia or Alabama, rather than a good fast ball's flight from the Mexican border. Instead of the expected Spanish influence, it showed almost Victorian styling. A staircase wound up to a second floor entrance. A row of seven columns supported big porches on the second and third stories which were surrounded by banisters.

Inside, the wide reception room had flowered wallpaper and that beige carpet only hotels and motels ever use. Morgan stepped to the counter just as a young woman in a gingham shirt, jeans and cowboy boots came from a back room to meet them.

“Welcome to the Wagon Wheel Inn,” she said. “How may I help you?”

Morgan made a quick appraisal. Mexican with a little Caucasian blood, medium build, a little heavy in the chest. Straight black hair, parted down the middle, dark eyes, very prominent cheekbones. Small, pointed nose. About thirty years old. Her Spanish accent was slight but clear, her smile warm and genuine.

“We need a couple of rooms, just for the night,” he said, matching her smile. “On our way East for a little vacation.”

“We're happy to have you,” the clerk responded. “I can give you two adjoining rooms right down the hallway.” She reached for keys on a board behind her. Morgan couldn't remember the last time he had used an actual key in a hotel instead of a plastic card.

“Nothing upstairs?” Morgan asked, leaning an elbow
on the counter. “I'd be more comfortable. Especially if the room all the way in the back happens to be empty.”

“I think I can take care of you,” she said, switching keys.

“I'm sure you can, Mrs…”

“Miss,” she said, quickly correcting him. “Miss Mary Carter.” That answered Morgan's questions.

“Thanks, Mary. And is it too late for us to get something from the kitchen?” Morgan asked, accepting keys. “A sandwich and maybe some iced tea or something?”