Orchids to Die For (Jim Morgan Adventure Series) (16 page)

Catherine removed her pants and went to the desk in her white cotton, Jockey briefs and bra. She put her hands on her hips and looked down at the Beretta, “Is this loaded?”

“No. The bullets are in those two clips.” He pointed to them; “There’s fifteen bullets in each one. The CIA gave it to me for our protection. I’m not expected to use it. It’s for... A last resort, self-defense.” And Morgan wondered just how good a job Interpol was even doing since they hadn’t arrested Margolova when she came to the hotel asking about him?

“I’ve never fired a gun, Jim. You’d better show me how it works. Just in case. Okay?”

“That’s why it’s out there. Ready for, Guns 101?”

“I’m ready, teach.” She turned toward Morgan, “Is there a dress code?”

“Yes. And you’ve just exceeded it.”

Catherine became serious and sat down on the sofa, “I want to learn, Jim.”

“Yeah. I think you need to know this,” and the class began.

“You just slide this clip into the grip until it clicks. Then... Pull back on this -- it’s called the slide. When you do that, it’s called jacking one into the chamber. Then, undo this -- it’s the safety. After that...just aim and pull the trigger.”

She watched with a studious look on her face. When he had finished, she asked to try it out.

Morgan removed the clip and made sure the safety was engaged. He handed her the weapon, “It’s a Beretta, a Marine standard issue. It weighs just over two pounds, loaded.”

Catherine took it and was surprised at how heavy it felt. She pushed the clip into the grip, but didn’t shove it all the way in, to have it -- snap in. She did a second try and it locked into position. She pulled back the slide and let it snap back.

Morgan then elaborated, “Now you’re loaded. Just flip the safety off and you’re ready to shoot.”

Catherine handed it back to him, “Well, let’s hope we don’t need it, Jim. I’m going to shower.”

“Would you like a back wash?”

“Absolutely.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Margolova finished her business with the Brazilian small arms smugglers. It was almost midnight. She pulled out of the warehouse and headed for the Prince Valiant Hotel and a quick meeting with, Sir Morgan. A meeting that would last about a three seconds in her thinking.

She parked her rental car on a side street one block away, checked her Lugar to insure that one was in the chamber and that the safety was released. She placed the black weapon in her bag with the muzzle down so it could be withdrawn easily with a flip of her recently turned arthritic wrist.

As Margolova approached the hotel lobby she pegged an Interpol cruiser parked across the street with two men sitting in the front seat. Smelling a rat she walked past the lobby and crossed to the side of the road where she saw the cruiser on its stakeout.

She walked rapidly up to the passenger’s window and placed the Lugar’s barrel flush against the glass and pulled the trigger. The policeman behind the glass collapsed along with the shattered window. She fired four more rounds into the driver and two more into the passenger. She put the gun back into her purse and walked casually around the murder scene and J-walked between traffic and went into the lobby of the Prince Valiant.

She asked the desk clerk if Mister Morgan had checked in, yet, “I’m so happy he made it in. What room is he in?”

“Room number 917. Do you want me to ring them?”

“No. No. I want to surprise them. You’re so kind. Thank you.”

The clerk watched Margo walk toward the elevators and press the call button. He picked up the house phone and dialed 917, “Mister Morgan, you have a guest on her way up.”

“Thank you,” Morgan’s heart began to pound. It was the moment of truth. He grabbed up the Beretta and slammed in the clip. He pulled back the slide and released it forcing a bullet up from the clip and into the chamber where it would be ready to fire and released the safety all within about nine seconds flat.

He opened the bathroom door, “Lock yourself in here and stay put, Margolova is on her way up,” he pulled the bathroom door shut and ran out of the room wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and carrying the Berretta.

The elevator bell dinged a stop as he arrived. He held up the gun and watched it shake violently in his hand. Morgan was going to open fire as soon as the doors began to open. And when they did open there wasn’t anyone in the car, the elevator was empty. Morgan lowered the weapon to his side but remained tensed to react.

Margolova was running up the stairs from the eighth floor, as she ran, taking two steps at a time, she reached for her Lugar. When her hand reached the grip she dug her forefinger into the trigger-guard and the Lugar fired. The bullet ripped through the bottom of her purse and entered her left thigh.

Morgan heard the shot echo around the stairwell. His legs began to buckle, fear entrenched his very being and he fell to one knee and leveled the Beretta at the fire door. His entire body began shaking uncontrollably.

The fire door began to open. Morgan fired three rounds into the door and it closed.

Catherine opened the door of room 917 and looked down the hallway where she heard the three shots. She saw Morgan holding the smoking gun, “Jim!”

“Get dressed, we’ve got to get out of here.”

Catherine closed and locked the door. She was shaking from the inside out. She looked at her suitcase, went to it and dumped it out on the bed. She pulled on a pair of white socks and then shimmied into a pair of snug Levis. She grabbed a yellow top and slipped it on over her wet hair. She looked for her tennis shoes and they weren’t packed... Three more shots erupted from out in the hall. She began weeping with fear and scrambled around the floor looking for the heels she had on earlier.

Morgan had fired the three following shots into the fire door leading to the stairs. Like the first shots, they didn’t penetrate the thick door. He went up to it and listened for any hint of Margolova on the other side. Hearing nothing, he pulled it open using it as a shield. No shots came forth.

Morgan followed the barrel of the Beretta around the door and immediately saw the trail of blood leading down the stairs. He started to follow it, looking ahead as far as he could see. He then got dizzy and had to sit down...

A second later everything went black inside of Morgan’s over stressed brain.

A swirling fog formed in his mind and Sophie appeared in the hazy roil. Sophie pushed away the mist with her hands to expose her presence fully into Morgan’s psyche, “Jim? Jim Morgan?”

“Sophie?”

“Yes Jim. It’s me. I was just talking with my dad. He’s in a coma right now. He told me about the plot to avenge my death. It seems to be going badly at the moment.” 

“Yeah, that’s an understatement, Soph.” Morgan’s mind focused to a surreal clarity, Sophie was standing over his slumped form dabbing his bloodied forehead with a cold damp towel.

“You’re going to be okay, Jim. The bullet just grazed you. An ambulance is on the way. Margolova is dead. We can get married now. We can live happily ever after. I’m ready to give up the spy business. Daddy said I could work as his campaign manager. How about that?”

“Is Catherine okay?” Where’s Catherine, Soph?” And then everything began to fade, and then the entire world went solid black inside of Morgan’s mind.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Eunice was trying to sleep; it was way after eleven P.M., yet she felt wide-awake. The Institute was still under protective custody by the CIA. Which was something that she personally thought was quite unnecessary. The phone on her nightstand rang and it startled her horribly. It was Lisa, the ESP mom of her peers, “Eunice? I have Tonya here. She says Morgan and Margolova are both dead. I can’t get her to calm down. She’s... Near hysterical. Can you come over?”

“Yes, of course, Lisa. I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Eunice grabbed her robe and a put a bottle of Valium that she kept on her nightstand into the robe’s pocket. On her way down the stairs she decided to tell Annerson and Ames the bad news. She poked her head in the kitchen, “Excuse me guys, Morgan and Margolova are dead. That’s unconfirmed, it’s from the ESP pool.”

Ames and Annerson looked at one another as chills ran up both their spines. Eunice turned and left for Lisa’s campus cottage.

* * *

Morgan woke up in the ambulance with Catherine riding along beside him. For a split second he thought it was Sophie, but he quickly recognized his love and tried to reach out for her, but found that his arms were tucked tight into the gurney blanket.

The attending medic spoke something in Portuguese and removed the oxygen mask from Morgan’s face. Catherine put her hand on his forehead, “You’re going to be okay, Jim. Lie still, we’re on our way to the hospital. You’ve just got a little nick on your head.” Catherine smiled and made an attempt at levity, “Thirty or forty stitches will have you back together in no time.”

Morgan smiled at her. He was glad she was there, bad jokes and all. He felt sleepy and let his eyes close knowing that Catherine was alive and safe. Although, trying as hard as he might, he couldn’t remember what had happened as he raced down the hotel stairwell.

And then he remembered the bee stinging him on the side of his head. And how Margolova’s angry, contorted face emerged from behind the stair railing. And how the puff of gunfire left the foremost portal of her black Lugar. And how he felt the kick from the bullet’s powder cartridge exploding inside the Beretta’s chamber. And how the 9mm bullet was visible to him as it flew out of his gun and spun its deadly trajectory straight into her horrified face. And with that delayed mental replay, he knew, Margolova was one ugly, dead bitch...

Epilogue

John Alberquist, Senator from Iowa, found the elusive closure he needed with his daughter, Sophie. To everyone’s chagrin, he medically retired back to his manure farm.

Senior CIA Agent Annerson retired to Maui. His protégé, Arnold Ames, was promoted to GS-11 and found a girl his own age to date. His girlfriend, Emily, never returned to work after the “Three Doors Down” concert.

  The three ESP girls, Lisa, Tonya, and Jackie, flew down to White River, Brazil. They stayed there for a month hunting the rare orchid, but never found one.

Eunice continues to study ESP. She is writing a new book on the Nazca Plaines and will expose the Amazon River Valley herbal arrow that points to the ancient carvings in Peru.

Eunice hired a psychiatrist and sees him every Monday. They have been dating on Saturday nights, and she has asked him to join her staff as a Resident Advisor.

Mureatha announced that she would quit the Institute if Eunice’s boyfriend moves in, “He ain’t nice like Mister Mogins is,” was her validating statement to Eunice.

* * *

Morgan was released from the Brazilian hospital on the following Monday, with nothing more serious than a Band-Aid on his forehead. Catherine had packed their bags and rented a convertible to drive up to Rio, which they did. They stayed on the pure white beach at the Hotel Copacabana, very plush and ultra relaxing. And they made love... And they ate dinner by candlelight and sipped on fine wines. Their bodies soaked up the sun and the warm Atlantic water caressed their very souls.

Then, on their tenth day, a Brazilian Detective, in a white suit and a white Panama hat, approached their cabana and graciously returned their passports. The Sao Paulo Police investigation was officially closed. They could now leave Brazil whenever they desired.

Catherine voiced an objection, “Shit! I was really getting into this,” and she waved her arm around, pointing out the surrounding luxury. And she made a pouting grimace, one that made Morgan laugh out loud.

“I’ve got an idea, Priss. Let’s just stay here and co-author a book on this.” His voice grew with anticipation of the idea of working on a book with his beloved. “We could start a new genre, we’ll call it Intrigue Romance. I bet we’d work well together as a team. A great writing team. What do you think?”

“I think I’m in love with you, Jim Morgan.” And she called out for more Mai Tai’s with little umbrellas and orchids. “A book, hmm. What would we call it?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’ll have to be a spy book, okay?”

“No. No. No. A romance my love. We’ll call it, To Rio For Love.”

“No, sweetie... How about... Death of a Spy Bitch.”

Catherine shook her head, “No. She was more of a terrorist than a spy, wasn’t she?”

Morgan became adamant as he wondered would they really be able to work together. “Well, she’s dead and she was a real bitch. How about just… The Death of an Old Bitch.”

“Let’s finish the book before we work on the title. Okay?” Catherine pulled the orchid from the glass, held it in her hand and smiled. “Ah, these are orchids to die for.”

About the Author

James Halon studied English at Chapman College in Orange, California. He studied Mathematics at the University of Hawaii on Oahu and Physics and Engineering (IET) at Purdue University.

While working in the field of Meteorology, James was a tornado chaser between Oklahoma City and Saint Louis. He did wind-diffusion studies in micro-met for toxic fuels dispersion associated with Titan III rocket launches. Then, having worked as a Pilot Weather Briefer and Station Weather Forecaster, he went on to Solar Observing and Solar Flare Forecasting at the Palahua Solar Observatory as an Astrogeophysical Data Analyst. He later worked as a Nuclear Scientist in radiological control associated with the de-activation of Attack Class Submarines for the Department of the Navy in Bremerton, Washington.

James began writing for small Gazettes as early as 1964, where he became known for his political cartoons. In the mid-1980's he began writing for the Ada S. McKinley Foundation where he wrote a weekly radio program called "CRY" Concerns and Resolutions for Youth.

James’ first poetry book, Poetry, a hardback collection of selected works was published in 1992. His first novel, the first in the James Morgan Adventure Series, The Malagasy Tortoise was published in 2002. His second novel, Orchids to Die For, was co-published in 2007. His second poetry book, Expressions of Love, was published in 2008. He is currently working on his next novel, and continues to write poetry.