The Orion Assignment (16 page)

“Tell me lad,” Sean asked, leaning back, “were you sweating like mad in those London banks?”

“Nah. Red's a master at this. Her scams never fail. I had complete confidence. Besides, I could always run for it if anything went haywire.” Morgan ducked a backhand slap from the driver.

“I just hope the risks you both took turn out to be worth it,” Sean said.

“What'd we get, Morgan?” Felicity asked.

“All told, I count a hundred thousand pounds, even. My calculator says that's around a hundred and seventy-two thousand dollars American. Either way, a good chunk of his reserves.”

“Good,” Felicity said, nodding and smiling. “He can't have enough left to juggle with. He'll have to curtail terrorist activity now. He can't support the payroll.” She pulled out around a farm cart and continued. “That'll be enough to attract his financiers' attention. He'll never convince them he was robbed. They'll shut him down.”

“I still don't understand,” Sean said. “You'd think with his wealth that such a sum would be just a drop in the bucket.”

“I understand your confusion, Uncle Sean,” Felicity said, slowing to let a dog cross in front of her. He does handle huge sums. But he's already overspent himself. He's taking the operating funds from one operation to finance another. That's what Morgan meant by robbing Peter to pay Paul. All in all, his outgo exceeds his income right now. All we needed to do, you see, was to leave him with too little to juggle with.”

“I guess I understand that much,” Sean said. “But won't you two be wanted for passing bad checks? Not to mention myself.”

“You?” Felicity's laugh was tainted by a slight American lilt. “Nobody could recognize you from the description. Not with that ridiculous mustache. As for us, we're playing a time game here. It'll take six business days for the checks to bounce, be redeposited, and bounce again. Then they'll trace the business back to the States eventually, but you'd be surprised how low a priority this kind of crime gets. And countries don't cooperate with each other very well on this kind of thing.”

“Meantime, O'Ryan's accounts are attached for the missing amounts,” Morgan said, picking up the narrative. “Of course, when it finally does catch up to us, we'll deny that either of us ever wrote the checks. Eventually, we'll go to civil court and end up paying back the missing amounts. But this will all take weeks to work out. O'Ryan'll be out of business long before then.”

“So what's the next step?” Sean asked, lighting his pipe.

“Well, we've got one more big job ahead of us,” Felicity said. “And by us, I mean me and Morgan. We need to stop that shipment of weapons from getting into the country. With them he could continue the violence for a while. Without them, he's stopped cold. And he
can't afford to replace them now.”

“And you think you can separate the man from these guns?”

“Morgan says we can disrupt and abort the deliver,” Felicity said.

“I know when they're coming,” Morgan said, rolling down his window. “Felicity's friend Raoul told me that much over a cup of coffee last night, but he didn't know the location. I'm hoping somewhere in those records Red photographed we'll find a clue to the place. Then we can shut this creep down for good.”

“There's no flavor on this earth as fine in the morning as Dundee Marmalade,” Felicity declared. Morgan glared at her out of the corner of his eye. The noise from her crunching on that toasted English muffin was piercing, but while he watched her she wiped orange jelly from the edge of her mouth and he couldn't conceal a smile. Eight by ten photographs of bank records, notes, letters, newspaper clippings and business ledgers covered the table. Across from Morgan, Sean sorted pictures from one pile to another. Morgan did the same.

“If you drip one drop of that stuff on even one of these pages, I will personally make you eat it.”

“Uh huh. You and what army, pea brain?”

Morgan snarled. “Keep it up, Red. I think you'll find celluloid to be an acquired taste.”

Sean was getting used to them talking to each other this way and had already learned not to interfere. It was harmless byplay and served to vent their frustration. He already sensed that in a crunch, they were ready and willing to die for one another. But he also understood how frustration could make the closest of friends snipe at one another.

It had been a long day for Morgan already. He was out at first light, sighting in his new rifle, setting the zero for long distances. For the last two hours they had looked over these documents. Now all three of them had coffee and the men had finished their breakfasts.

Sean started with one huge stack of pictures. He read each one to himself, translating aloud any Irish idioms, slang or place names into American equivalents whenever possible. Then the sheet went into Morgan's
pile. He searched for any coded phrases or terrorist jargon. He highlighted any significant data with a yellow marker.

When a sheet passed to Felicity it got a third close inspection. Then she loaded whatever seemed important into her photographic memory.

Morgan stopped on a particular sheet. Although he held a perfect poker face, Sean noticed that he read it through twice. Then he picked up his mug and tipped its base to the ceiling.

“Say, Felicity, how about a refill? This is a coffee-intensive job.”

“Well, boyo, since you asked me so nicely…” She collected his mug and Sean's and headed for the coffee pot, but Sean kept his eyes on Morgan. While she was faced away, Morgan leaned forward. In a smooth double shuffle he took his next page while sliding the other back into Sean's pile. The priest scanned it again, noted what he had overlooked, and put it at the bottom. He looked up in time to see Morgan's eyebrows rise as he stared at his new page.

“Hey Red, I think I've got something.”

“Like what?” Felicity asked, returning to look over his shoulder. “It looks like another delivery authorization. See?” She pointed at a line on the sheet. “Hardware. They're never very specific.”

“This one's more detailed,” Morgan pointed out. “Look here.”

“What're those numbers?”

“If I'm not mistaken, this is a longitude and that's a latitude,” Morgan said. “You wouldn't use them for normal land travel.”

“No. Only for planes or ocean going vessels. Uncle Sean, have you got a map of the island?”

Sean spread a large map of Ireland on the table. Morgan took a moment to orient himself, then dropped the point of his Parker onto a spot on Ireland's south western coast, in County Cork.

“How close is that to the spot?” Sean asked.

“Morgan can hit any place on a map with pinpoint accuracy, Uncle Sean,” Felicity said. “If he says so, that
is
the spot. It's a function of his sense of distance and direction.”

“You're joking.”

“Really spooky, it is,” Felicity said. “I've spun him around blindfolded, indoors, and he's pointed to magnetic north as accurately as any compass.”

“Okay, so we know where,” Morgan said. “This isolated bit of rocky coastline is a smuggler's dream. And thanks to Raoul we know when. Dawn, tomorrow. So now what? There are a dozen places just as good for what they'll be doing. I can probably stop the drop, but alone I'd never keep them from simply moving the goods back out to sea. They'd just come back in another place, at another time.”

“Don't worry,” Felicity said. “I know people out there who might be persuaded to give us a hand.”

“Don't be silly, girl,” her uncle said. “Nobody lives out there except…” He paused as worry tightened his lips.

“That's right Uncle Sean, the wanderers. I'm going to pack a change of clothes. If we head out right away I think we can make the connections.”

Felicity moved off but Morgan stayed behind. He looked at Sean and his smile faded like the Irish mist.

“Uncle Sean, could I ask a favor?”

“What is it on your mind, lad?” Sean asked, startled by Morgan's serious tone.

“Would you please not tell Felicity about what was in that newspaper article?”

“Oh, yes.” Sean nodded. “I see your intentions, son. You want to protect her from a hurt. But you can't keep such a thing from her forever. It just wouldn't be right.”

“Not forever,” Morgan replied. “I'll tell her. Right after I send Ian O'Ryan to hell.”

“Morgan.” Felicity's voice came from the other room. “Are you getting packed? We need to get moving if
we're to get there today.”

To Morgan, it seemed a fantasy landscape where the earth met the moon.

The long drive west had convinced Morgan that all of Ireland looked the same. A huge flat rock covered with a thick green carpet. Some giant prankster had pulled up all the trees and stuck them back into the ground close together in clumps for easy accounting. The dense grassy foliage covered the island like a verdant tablecloth. The Irish cut small holes into it to grow food.

But Sean had dropped them off near the coast in the southwestern corner of Ireland, leaving Morgan and Felicity to walk farther toward the edge. In hiking boots and backpacks filled with camping gear, they invaded this foreign Ireland. It felt different there. This was true desolation. The air was crisper, sharper, and slightly scented by the distinct odor of the ocean.

They stopped on a hilltop, where Morgan could look down on breakers rolling into the coast. The salt spray leaped and clawed at the sky. Here the velvet carpet came to a sudden end, its edges ragged and frayed. It was pulled back away from the jagged edges of the huge rocks that grew up like rotten teeth along the coastline. Here, where the ocean attacked the land, was a natural fury he had not suspected of this fairy tale country. This place was as raw as a panther's snarl, and as barren and dismal as the lunar surface.

Something about the atmosphere prodded the pair to silence. It was as if they didn't want to compete with the crashing surf or the wind that moaned with so human a voice. They hiked nearly two miles following the coastline before the girl made a comment.

“You hear that mournful sound?” Felicity asked,
shifting her rucksack to a more comfortable position on her back. “Years ago, people used to believe that to be the wail of the banshee.”

“Sounds just like the blues to me. Your friends choose to live here? I mean on purpose?”

“No one bothers them here,” Felicity answered. “All the wanderers really want is to be left alone.”

“Well that explains it. I guess we're invading their territory. Whoever's tracking us is real good, and he doesn't want to be seen.”

“I picked him up only ten minutes ago,” Felicity said. “If we just walk a bit more, I think he'll report us to the camp and they'll send out an official welcoming party.” Felicity looked around, staring into a clump of trees where she knew their watcher hid.

To little Timothy, hiding among the trees, this duo was indeed a mystery. They were outlanders, but they seemed at home here. That alone struck him as strange. Both wore stretch corduroys and good hiking boots. Each wore a twill outing jacket, hers a jade that matched her eyes and set off her brilliant red hair. Their rucksacks were full, but the weight hampered neither of them. They were experienced hikers by all appearances. She had the easy gait of a country girl and the skin and cheekbones of an Irish woman.

The man was dark, not like charcoal, but rather with a deeper tan than the boy had ever seen in his twelve years. And his hair was like black sheep's wool. He carried a long canvas case across his back in addition to the ruck, and binoculars around his neck. He had a powerful stride, a city stride, yet it seemed suited to long distances.

Little Timothy was known to his clan as an excellent observer. He would report these two in full detail to Papa. He would know just what to do.