The Orion Assignment (20 page)

The woman on horseback identified with the small but defiant caged creature. She suspected that, once released, it would never be caught again.

“I offer you the privilege of releasing the animal and starting the hunt,” O'Ryan said, beaming like a gracious host. Felicity slid from her saddle and knelt next to the
small cage. Having never been caged herself, she looked into the fox's eyes for insight. She saw no hatred there, or rage or even sorrow. The creature's entire being was focused on escape. Felicity slipped the latch and lifted the wire gate. The inmate sprang from its cell, and vanished in seconds into the sparse woods.

“Bon chance,” Felicity whispered. “Go with God.”

“Now the sport begins. Loose the hounds!” O'Ryan said in a harsh roar. His horse reared, his red mane flew, and he waved a short shotgun over his head. For a moment, Felicity could see the image of that other Orion, the legendary hunter. Then the dogs rushed past and all the riders followed them. Felicity looked down to see they each had a gun in a leather scabbard by their saddle. Twenty dogs and half a dozen guns. It seemed to her an awful lot of firepower for one small fox.

Felicity stayed in the middle of the field as they chased their wily quarry across the countryside, over a fence and through a stand of short trees. She stayed in the middle of the field but she noticed that they were leaving Morgan behind. She considered him an adequate amateur but it was clear that she and the other horsemen there outclassed him. The other riders, except for her partner, whooped and hollered, exhibiting the same blood lust the hounds showed.

About ten minutes into the chase, the trail led over a ditch that proved wider than it appeared at a distance. Morgan's horse balked at the jump and it required some effort to regain control. O'Ryan came crashing up behind him and, grinning, slapped Morgan's mount hard on its rump with his riding crop as he passed. He seemed paralyzed with laughter as Morgan's steed bolted off. Verbal commands and hauling on the reins had no effect. He was headed into a dense thicket at a full gallop.

Felicity, fifty yards away, saw the action out of the corner of her eye. She dug her heels into her mount and was charging toward Morgan almost before his horse
bolted.

Morgan knew she saw him but pulled his focus away from her. He couldn't slow his spooked beast, but by yanking hard to one side, he managed to avoid one tall tree in his path. Then he was moving like a train at full steam toward an overhanging limb certain to split his skull, although the horse would slide under it. Jumping at this speed would likely cost him a sprained ankle or worse, but his options seemed limited. He clenched his teeth and tensed for the dive.

He saw a small pale hand with polished nails grasp his reins before he realized he could hear a second set of hooves beside him. Felicity murmured comforting Gaelic words to Morgan's steed and the two animals veered off to the left. A moment later they slowed to a trot and shortly after, came to a stop. Morgan dismounted and wiped his brow with his sleeve.

“Thanks, Red,” he said. “You saved me some lumps for sure. Your friend Ian's got a pretty strange sense of humor.”

“My friend?” Felicity replied. “Like hell. I'm here rooting for the fox. Come on, let's go find the field.”

“We're already in the field.”

She slapped his shoulder, stifling a laugh. “All right then, let's go find that gang of riders chasing the fox. Come on.” She turned her horse and Morgan shook his head. He grabbed the reins again, but as he put his foot into the stirrup, he froze.

“Hold up a minute.” While Felicity sat in wonder, Morgan released his horse, took a dozen paces to a small stream and squatted down on his haunches. He could sense her fascination as she stepped over next to him.

“He's been by here,” Morgan said. “Look.” He watched her green eyes.

“Oh my. I didn't see anything at all at first. But then, as if by magic, those tiny paw prints just appeared in the turf.”

“You just didn't know what you were looking for.”

“Nonsense,” Felicity said. “I had to stare to see them, but you spotted them a dozen yards away.”

“It's just training,” Morgan said. “Now get the horses, girl. Let's follow.”

He may not be much of a horseman, but Morgan considered himself a natural tracker. He knew that if hunting dogs were tracking him, he would follow a stream and move in the direction of the wind. He assumed a fox would do the same.

They stalked in silence for fifteen minutes. The forest was thin and the morning sun beamed in like a spotlight with a yellow gel on it. The air was so sharp and clean it burned the nose, and each step they took released the scent of clover. Crickets and birds harmonized in an impromptu chorale. The atmosphere was soothing, almost hypnotic. The stream dove underground and again Morgan was following almost invisible tracks.

At the edge of a clearing, they saw him. The fox looked over his, or probably her shoulder, sharp snout sniffing the air, sensing no danger. Felicity smiled at the kindred spirit and waved the animal away. With a flip of its bushy tail, it hopped off. Beyond where the fox had stood, lay what looked like a large puddle.

“The spring must resurface right here,” Felicity said. “Let's give the horses a cool drink.”

“Wait!” Morgan shouted, but it was too late. Felicity had already seen what he spotted a second sooner, a human form face down in the water. The body's arms and legs were on dry land, but the rest was in the pool. Dressed in brown trousers and a green flannel shirt he blended in with the environment. The man had been big: big shoulders, big head, big hands. Even at a distance Morgan could see red specks in the thin brown hair.

Felicity's scream echoed across the glen, even as Morgan sprinted to the body. A finger pressed against its throat proved it was too late for a rescue. Morgan got
a firm grip on the corpse's collar and heaved. The mud sucked at the body, then made a kissing sound and let go. After a quick look, Morgan let the man settle back into the pool of water. A shotgun had done its grisly work on that face at close range. Felicity did not need to see this.

“It's him, isn't it?” she asked, her eye clenched tight.

“Yup.”

The other riders galloped to them, homing in on the girl's scream. O'Ryan rode in a slow circle around the clearing before dismounting. He stood at the dead man's feet and removed his cap.

“Poor Max. Looks like we've had a hunting accident, eh?”

“Hunting accident my ass,” Morgan said. “The man's stone cold. He's been dead for hours.”

“Well, you're smart, for a soldier,” O'Ryan said, his fists on his hips. “Now how can we know which of these shotguns, well, missed the fox?”

“Well there's no way to know, is there?” Morgan asked, reaching to his horse. “But I'll bet my life it couldn't have been either of ours.” He snatched his scatter gun from its scabbard and every male fox hunter followed suit except O'Ryan. Morgan pumped the weapon, pointed it skyward and pulled the trigger. There was the loud click of a hammer falling on an empty chamber. “Didn't think you'd have the guts to trust us with that kind of ammo.”

“And can you blame me, lad?” O'Ryan said in a sudden, vicious shout. “You two come at me out of the blue. No declarations of war for you, laddie-buck. Just move in and attack. You've cost me a great deal, you two have. Money. An important delivery, I suspect. Several good workers. A trusted employee there in the bog. Well, the money and the goods I'll have to replace. I'll have to get me some new helpers on the payroll. And once a man betrays me…”

“He never did,” Felicity said through clenched teeth.
“His only crime…”

“Was stupidity, dear lady,” O'Ryan said, cutting her off by slicing the air with the edge of his hand. “More than I can tolerate.”

Felicity O'Brien was shaking with rage. She could not believe that big, harmless, lovable dope was lying dead and disgraced because of this big toothed beast. A single tear slid down her left cheek. Involuntary spasms opened and closed her fists. Her hatred leaped out at O'Ryan like a living thing. When she spoke, her words were as hard and cold as ice crystals.

“I thank God he put me in the right place at the right time to bring you down, O'Ryan. You're not a hunter. You're an animal. The most vicious inhuman beast on this earth.”

“All hunters are animals, lass,” O'Ryan replied. His tone was cool now, on the downhill slide from the manic high. “And you hurt me, but you certainly haven't stopped me anyhow. It ain't over. In three weeks I'll be winning the grand prix at Francorchamps. By having some trusted agents wager what little I have left on the obvious winner I'll be able to recover from me recent setbacks. It'll take me a year to rebuild me fortune, but this'll keep me in business. You see, girl, I can't be stopped.”

“Want to prove that?” Morgan asked. “Want to end this right now?” He stood, hands loose at his sides, staring into Ian O'Ryan's eyes. The black man had a genuine hard look, and there was steel in his voice. Three shotgun barrels pointed in Morgan's direction, yet a brief look of doubt passed over O'Ryan's face. It lasted only a second before he recovered his arrogance.

“No need, lad. You and the wench can go in peace. There lies me retribution.” O'Ryan pointed at Max Grogan's body. “I calls us even up now.”

Felicity paced in her way, which means she walked in aimless circular patterns around the lawn, patterns which always seemed to bring her back to the door. She held her elbows as she walked, as if to hold the tension in. Morgan sat with his feet up in a lawn chair.

Sean had brought a straight backed chair out from the kitchen. He sat in front of his house watching his two visitors, fearing an explosion of violence any minute. He had felt their anger when they returned, only moments ago. While Morgan related the morning's events, Sean's feelings went from worry through horror, rage, fear and grief. Now he sat numb, hoping “the kids” as he now thought of them, would not do anything rash.

“First, we need some answers,” Felicity told no one in particular. “Why didn't he kill us right then and there?”

“No need,” Morgan answered. “Besides, he knew I had a pistol under this blazer, and that I'd have made quite a mess before I went down. Maybe even got lucky and nailed him.”

“You hurt him, lad,” Sean said. “He told you so. And now he's hurt you. This morning was just to show you his power. Can't you just let it lie? Go home before you, or me niece gets hurt worse?”

Morgan looked at Sean with something akin to shock. A glance at Felicity told him she felt the same. Sean probably thought this was his fight and not really theirs. Felicity's mouth opened and closed, as if she couldn't formulate her answer, didn't know how to explain what to her were such obvious feelings. It was a tough concept to verbalize. For her at least, but not for Morgan.

“Father Sullivan, do you like western movies?” Morgan asked.

“Why yes, but…”

“Have you ever seen `The Magnificent Seven'?” Morgan continued.

“Sure I have. Why do you ask?”

“Remember James Coburn's part?” Morgan asked.

“I suppose.”

“Well I'm like that guy.” Morgan looked him dead in the eye with a straight face and said, “Nobody hands me my own gun and tells me to ride on.”

Felicity's tension broke and she could not repress a giggle. In the time it took her to recover enough to take a deep breath, she remembered Steve McQueen's response.

“I've got nothing better to do,” she said in the same dull tone. Morgan had expected her to know it, and rewarded her with a broad smile. It took Sean a moment to catch up.

“Well, that out of the way, what do we need to know next?” Morgan asked.

“I need more information,” Felicity said, staring into the sky. “The next question is, what is Francorchamps?”

“Not, what,” Morgan said, crossing his legs. “Where? Francorchamps is a town in Belgium. In that town is a race course, generally called Spa-Francorchamps. Auto racing is the big thing there, but they do motorcycles too. Three weeks or so from today there's a major motorcycle grand prix. I'm sure O'Ryan intends to win this race and lay enough side bets to get back on his feet.”

“So we've still got him,” Felicity said with a wry smile. “All we have to do is see to it that he loses that race.”

“And just how do you plan to do that?” Sean asked, lighting his pipe. “He's known to be the best.”

“And he's feared by every other biker on the circuit,” Morgan added, heading for the door. “He's known for his ruthless tactics, doing anything for a win.”

“Okay, let's look at our alternatives,” Felicity said. “Perhaps we can get him barred from the race
somehow.”

“Not likely girl,” Sean said. A ring of smoke began to circle his head. “It's a bit late to be putting in protests and the like. You can be sure he'll have all the legal rigmarole nailed down tight.”

“Probably right, Uncle.” Felicity picked up a small stone and began tossing it like a coin. “So what else? Sabotage his cycle maybe?”

“Sounds easier than it is.” Morgan returned carrying a case of stout bottles. “First we'd have to find out where he keeps his bike. Or bikes. Then, of course, he'll have security. There isn't much time to locate and identify the target, examine and breach his security, and then put the fix on the bike.”

“Oh, I think I can get to the machine.”

“Even if you can, Red,” Morgan went on as he handed her a stout, “can you doctor a high tech motorcycle so an expert would start a race with it, yet the thing would break down later?”

Felicity took a long drink before answering. “I'm not a mechanic. And you're not a thief. So what does that leave?”