Orchids to Die For (Jim Morgan Adventure Series) (15 page)

“You’re now in protective custody by Presidential order. You’re not going.”

She went to rinse out her mouth and yelled out again, “I’m going.”

“Okay.” Morgan gave up, “I’m going down to announce your intentions. There’s coffee in the kitchen.” Morgan didn’t wait for her response.

Annerson listened and, too easily, he said, “Okay. She can go.”

What Annerson didn’t say was that an Arab faction in the USA, one that Margolova had tapped into on behalf of Joseffie, had placed a hit order out on Catherine and Morgan alike. With them both out of the country, the FBI and CIA would, hopefully, be able to close down and oust the active Arab contingency that was actively hunting them.

Morgan went to Eunice in the lounge, the three seers had left, and there were signs of a recent cry showing in her eyes, “Eun, we need to talk.”

“Sure. What do you want, psychological advice on your lover?”

“No. I’m leaving for Sao Paulo. I’ll go get the orchids for you if you tell me where and what I’m looking for.”

“The girls refused to go. They believe you will be murdered...along with Catherine. They see Margolova wearing the orchids as a laurel in her hair ... in Lebanon. She wins, Jim.”

Eunice dabbed at her eyes with a bar napkin, “I must look a sight.”

“I’m going anyway. The Fates could be wrong. John’s plan is solid. I’m just the bait. She’ll be arrested or shot before she gets to me, us. Then we’ll just go get the orchids as planned.”

“Damn it, Jim, I’m so confused. And I think you’re being naïve. Remember what happened up in the Catskills? You’re lucky to be alive.”

“Yeah, well... Sophie. I mean... I’m not worried. John had faith in his plan. It’ll all work out.”

“I’m starting to think you have a death-wish buried in your psyche, Jimbo?”

“I’m thinking I can write another book, based on this... project.”

“What if something should happen to your Catherine? Does she know how dangerous this is? How well does she know you? Has she even read your book?”

“I don’t know. I’m going. If you want the orchids, tell me. If not... Send your three chicken sisters down after I return. They all look like they need to stop and smell some flowers. They didn’t need me as their escort, either. What was I supposed to do, hold their hands? I don’t even speak Portuguese.” Morgan was getting angry and his voice was rising.

“Are you through, Jim?” Eunice looked at him with an anger etching her face, “You’re right. I didn’t need you. The girls were going to go down there by themselves. And yes, the Senator did ask me to set you up as a decoy. I agreed because I still love you and I thought...”

“Yeah, you thought. What did you think Eunice? That I’d just come flying back into your bed and still want to get married?”

Eunice began crying as Morgan continued with his open assessment of her past treatment of him, “I think you just wanted to flaunt your position here, at the Institute. Were you hoping for Margolova to kill me back then? How much did you know? Or was it the Senator back then, too?”

Eunice screamed out, “You were screwing around with Sophie on the first day you came here...last year. How did you think that made me feel?”

“She’s dead now, have a little respect. I’m sorry that I fell in love with her.”

“That makes everything okay, right? Because you said you’re sorry?” Eunice then imitated Morgan, “Oh Eun, I’m so sorry I fell in love with a hot little blonde. Maybe when I’m through with her, I’ll call you.”

Morgan heard her out -- without interrupting. Her words were an eye opening experience as he flashed back to those moments of flirtation and then to the instant when he knew he was in love with Sophie and not Eunice. And he cringed, because Sophie was truly gone and would never be back.

Catherine entered the den carrying a steaming cup coffee, “Am I interrupting?”

“Here comes your Sophie replacement.”

Morgan looked at his watch, “We’re flying out from Andrews Air Force Base. I’d better finish packing.”

“Yeah. Have fun. Send me a postcard.” Eunice began tearing and turned her back on any forthcoming remarks from, Sir Morgan.

But there weren’t any. Morgan placed his arm around Catherine and they walked toward the stairs. “We need to get on the road sweetie. Things are getting a little huffy around here this morning.”

“What was that all about?” Catherine glanced back at Eunice, “Is she all right?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. I’ll tell you all about it on our way down to Brazil. It’s a long story, kiddo.”

“Okay Jim. But what was the remark about me being a Sophie replacement? I did hear her right, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did. She was being mean. Vindictive is a better word choice.” Morgan stopped and looked into Catherine’s pale blue eyes. “Eunice and I dated on and off a few years.”

Catherine’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, “And?”

“Then I met the Senator’s daughter, Sophie.”

“And?”

“I fell for her. I fell in love with her.” Morgan was now holding Catherine to him. He watched her eyes scan his face and he wondered what she was searching for. He was afraid of losing her. Everything was moving so fast, so very fast.

Catherine smiled ever so slightly, and then spoke, “Do you know? That you never even asked me if I were seeing someone. You never even asked if I had a boyfriend, or a lover? You just swept me off my feet. You made me feel so alive that...”

Morgan smiled and pulled her into him, “I love you kiddo. Let’s get out of here.”

“How much time do we have?” Catherine wanted him, right then and there at the top of the stairs. Her feelings for him had grown that strong. He had become her Knight and nothing would shake the magical emotions that she was living.

“We’ve got about ten minutes.” Morgan released her and kissed her deep with a passion that most women will only read about in one of Catherine’s future romance novels. And they packed and they ran down the stairs with an innate knowledge that they’d soon be sharing a bed, and themselves, down below the planet’s equator, and that short wait would damn well be worth it.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Sao Paulo, Brazil is the fourth largest city in the world, according to our CIA’s vigil on such matters. Other sources say it is the second largest city on our earth, and is currently running neck-to-neck with Seoul, Korea for this statistical honor. Its population is expected to exceed ten million inhabitants based on the mathematics of at least one exponential growth graph.

It was ten P.M. when the wheels of the DC-10 entered the massive city and rolled its passengers to an abrupt stop in a quarantine area a thousand yards from the nearest taxiway. A white Mercedes Benz pulled up to the rear ramp and collected two civilian passengers who dashed down the rubber covered steps as if they were on fire. The ramp retracted with a hydraulic groan and as the planes engines began to whine as it rolled away from the luxury station wagon being used as a security patrol car.

The DC-10 disappeared leaving the Mercedes sit idling along the perimeter fence, already forgotten by anyone that may have inadvertently noticed its earlier arrival. The driver, a moonlighting professor from St. Jude’s University, asked for their passports and Jim and Catherine handed them over from the back seat.

“Oh-oh,” said the professor, “Vitem II, this isn’t a standard Visa. I’ve never seen one of these. Very rare to me.”

“Any suggestions?” Morgan looked at Catherine, she was quiet, then calmly said, “Oh well, we only need them if someone should ask us for them, right?”

Catherine smiled, “I’m a good swimmer. That’s the Atlantic Ocean over there, isn’t it?”

Morgan smiled at her, and then wondered how far they actually were from Miami. The professor handed them their passports, and suggested, “Call me in the morning. I’ll find out what we need.” He handed Morgan a business card, “My home phone number is on the back. I’ll come to you. Where are you staying?”

“The Prince Valiant. Do you know it?”

“Yes. Nice place.” He started the engine; “I need to get you out of here now. Can you climb a fence, Miss Harris?”

Catherine looked at Morgan quizzically, then told the professor, “Yes. As long as it wants to be climbed.”

“That’s very philosophical, Miss Harris. I’m glad that you have a sense of humor. It’s becoming a lost art.”

“What, climbing fences?”

The professor laughed, put the car in gear and drove about fifty yards to a locked gate. “I don’t have the key to this exit, it’s only used by the airport fire trucks. When you get on the other side, it’s about fifty meters to an access road. My son is parked there in a black truck. He will drive you to your hotel.

I’m going to let you out now. I will drive up a ways. When I turn on my headlights, start climbing. My son’s name is Roberto. Please give him some reals for the use of his gas?”

“Okay. Is American money okay? I don’t have any reals.”

“Yes, American is fine. Five dollars will be adequate.”

Morgan shook the professor’s hand.

The professor looked out the window at the fence, “It looks like the gate is ready for you Miss Harris, it’s begging to be climbed,” and he laughed at his own joke.

Morgan heaved their bags over the eight-foot chain link fence. He then slid their briefcases under the bottom links. They waited for the professor’s signal and as soon as his lights came on they began their climb.

 Catherine excelled and was over the top before Morgan made his third toe hold. As she came down the other side, she nervously whispered, “I’d jump from here, but I’d probably break a heel.”

Morgan responded, “I think I got the part that didn’t want to be climbed. Be with you in a minute.”

Morgan grabbed up the two heavy bags and Catherine took the briefcases. They jogged away from the perimeter fence all the way to the access road only stopping once to adjust a shoulder strap and when they did, Morgan pointed out the Southern Cross sparkling bright above Brazil.

“I saw it from Australia once. I wrote about it in my first book.” Catherine was breathing heavy. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?     What do you have in here, bricks?”

“Books.”

Under her breath she mumbled, “Jesus Murphy.”

Roberto was standing at the end of the road watching for them. Roberto took the briefcases from Catherine, “What do you have in here, bricks?”

In the truck, Roberto told them to stay off the buses, as the cities gangs blow them up, “The PCC is the worst. Many police have died recently, that’s how my father got the security job.” After that warning, they rode on in a dead silence.

When they arrived at the hotel, Morgan handed the kid a hundred-dollar bill, “Thanks for the tip on the bus bombings.”

The Prince Valiant Hotel is an old Sao Paulo landmark; erected in 1902 it has survived almost all of its previous owners. Today, it is the place to stay where old elegance meets the needs of the modern day jet setter. Most of the staff speaks English, and they do accept American Express. What more could a pair of International decoys want?

The clerk asked for their passports, “Oh, customs forgot to date these. He reached a pen and dated them. Then set them aside. A computer clicked up a printout of their bill as the clerk yawned. “Excuse me,” he proclaimed, as he tore off the bill for Morgan to sign.

“There’s no room service after ten P.M. The restaurant opens at five. “Here’s your keys,” and he returned their passports. “I hope you enjoy your stay with us.”

Morgan handed him five bucks.

“Oh, by the way, a woman was here earlier asking if you’d checked in, fifties, dark hair, had an accent, maybe Russian?”

“About what time was that?” Morgan fished around for another five, but only had twenties.

“Around seven.”

Morgan handed him a twenty, “Let me know if she comes back. Okay?”

“Yes sir, Mister Morgan. I surely will.

Chapter Twenty-Four

There was a complimentary basket of fruit waiting for them in their room. Catherine opened it and began eating one of the apples. She turned on the TV, not bothering to unpack and fell back on Queen sized bed. Her shoes dropped to the floor as she unbuttoned the waistband of her tan designer pants.

“What side of the bed do you want, Cath?”

Morgan was thinking about what Eunice had said about Catherine being a replacement. And he thought how ridiculous that was. No one could ever replace Sophie that he knew of, and that was one thing that he was sure of. But, how he felt about Catherine, well -- that was something still being deciphered. Was it lust, or love? They certainly were on a good start to a loving relationship. Sex with her was fantastic, and that in and of itself was a tremendous start.

But it had been different with Sophie. If he hadn’t been so in love with her, he wouldn’t be here in a hotel room in a foreign country with a women he’d barely met a few days earlier, avenging Sophie’s death by the bitch terrorist Margolova who killed her. No, no one or nothing could ever bring Sophie back. As he glanced at Catherine lying on the bed, he tried to push Eunice’s words of out of his mind. “Sophie’s replacement.” The more he looked at her the more he wondered if Eunice had been correct.

But Catherine was unique; she was nothing like Sophie, at least from what little he knew of her. Sure, there was a resemblance in that they were blonde, perky, cute, and intelligent. But no, she wasn’t a replacement for his Priss. However, once he avenged Sophie’s death, he knew that Sophie herself would want him to move on. Would want him to love again, even if it were -- with a Sophie look-alike.

He smiled at his questioning mind, “Priss, you want first shower?”

“Okay. But give me a minute to veg, it’s been a lot of years since I climbed a wire fence and ran fifty-yards carrying my boyfriend’s books.” Catherine then looked at her pants for signs of a snag or dirt.

Morgan began unpacking his bag. The first thing he pulled out was the Beretta and the two clips. Something he had failed to mention to Catherine since he had first packed it.

Morgan placed the weapon on the desk along with the two loaded clips.