Dangerous Secrets (41 page)

He stopped suddenly. Morgan ran into him, but
he kept them balanced. He placed his finger to his lips to keep her quiet. Then
he listened again for voices. He could hear tree branches and leaves being
beaten aside. They were gaining on them. He wondered what happened to the
helicopter. He no longer heard the sound of the rotor blades. It could have
left, but he doubted it. Jack hated being blind to all the possibilities of
failure. And he didn′t like surprises. But they had no choice but to keep
going forward.

He signaled Morgan to follow him. They made it
to the edge of the trees. They were ahead of the Jeep. The chopper sat on the
blacktop, facing the burning hunk of metal, big and imposing and as nonchalant
as if it knew there was nothing to worry about. Jack smiled. This was at least
a bit of luck.

‶
Stay here,″ Jack told
Morgan.

She grabbed his arm.
‶
What are you going
to do?″

‶
I′m going to get us a
ride.″

Morgan looked back toward the charred Jeep
they′d traveled in and then at the helicopter sitting as new and polished
as the day it left the hangar.
‶
How?″

‶
I′m going to steal
it.″

‶
Jack, there′s someone in
that helicopter.″

‶
I know.″ He patted her
arm.
‶
Trust
me.″

He left her, crouching close to the ground and
moving like a sand crab. The pilot in the helicopter wasn′t looking his
way. He was facing the opposite direction, and unlike road vehicles,
helicopters had no need for outside mirrors. Unless the pilot turned around,
he′d never see Jack.

And Jack was counting on that.

***

Morgan watched with her heart in her mouth. The
voices behind her were getting closer. She hid behind a tree, but kept Jack in
sight. She was going to have to move soon or die right here. Jack was still
hugging the ground and the man in the helicopter cabin glanced every so often
toward the trees. Morgan′s heart thumped in her chest. She prayed to
herself, asking God, once her only friend, to please keep him safe and let his
plan work.

Jack scuttled along until he would be in the
line of the pilot′s vision should the man turn his head. Jack waited.
Morgan calculated the rhythm of the pilot′s movements. It was basic human
nature. People moved repetitiously, especially when they were waiting.
Unconsciously they created a method of doing something. In this case, for the
pilot, it was glancing at the crop of trees. He did it in forty-second
intervals. Just sitting made active people bored. She thought the pilot was
either bored or keyed up. He′d been throwing bombs, shooting at the Jeep
and hanging over the field trying to do aerial reconnaissance. She was sure it
took Adrenaline to kill people. He was probably on his way down now. She hoped
Jack knew that and that Jack was also reading his rhythms.

The pilot glanced at the trees, then turned
back. He looked down and bit a fingernail. Jack moved then, skirting behind the
helicopter and stopping on the balls of his feet. He waited a while, longer
than Morgan thought she could stand. Her heart was in her mouth and the sounds
behind her, sounds that meant instant death, were closer. She froze, her heart
thumping in her throat. She wasn′t even sure she could move when it was
time. Then Jack disappeared. She could only see his feet.

Morgan prayed again. The sound behind her grew
louder. They were close, too close. In a moment they would be on her. She had
to move. She looked back. Jack′s feet had disappeared. Her glance flew to
the pilot. He was gone too. Then a body fell onto the ground. It was on the
opposite side of the helicopter. She couldn′t see who it was and she
couldn′t wait any longer. Jumping up, she rushed for the helicopter,
going toward the side where the pilot had been. Whatever was about to happen
would be done now. Maybe if he had knocked Jack down, she could surprise him
and give Jack enough time to recover. Before she reached the door, Jack jumped
in the pilot′s seat. Morgan′s heart burst and her step faltered. A
second later a man broke through the perimeter of the trees. Morgan felt him
more than saw him. He shouted for her to stop. Her feet took off and she ran
for the cabin door. He shot at her. The bullet came close. Too close. The sound
took her back to the prison, and the fear of being killed welled up inside her
like a monstrous weight that slowed her ability to lift her feet and run. She
trained her gaze on the helicopter, making it her goal, and continued as fast
as the nightmare would allow her. Another bullet came close enough to her feet
to spike the ground, shattering the blacktop into pieces of tar as dangerous as
an exploding grenade. A clump of pavement hit her leg. She stumbled at the
impact, fighting to maintain balance. She kept going, her eyes still trained on
the helicopter. She couldn′t stop. She was too afraid. She felt the
burning gravel raining against her pants legs.

Jack swung the door open. She jumped into the
passenger seat and he took off. Shots rang out as they ascended straight up.
Jack worked the controls, expertly getting them away from the bullets that
sounded more like popping corn than the elements of death. Morgan strapped
herself in, then hunched in the seat, expecting one of the pellets to burn
through the cushioning and into her back any second now. It took moments, but
felt like hours, before they were out of range.

‶
They can′t hit us
now,″ Jack said.
‶
Not without a rocket launcher.″

She let out a breath and slumped forward,
closing her eyes and trying desperately to abate the fear that lodged in every
cell of her body.

‶
Are you all right?″ Jack
asked.

She looked at him.
‶
I′m
fine,″ she panted, completely out of breath. She′d only been this
scared one other time in her life and it was for the same reason--bullets bent
on killing her.
‶
My
leg burns a little.″ She reached down. Her hand touched something wet.
She pulled it back. Blood covered her palm.

‶
I′ve been shot.″

Chapter 9

‶
Jan, will you stop that?
It′s getting on my nerves.″ Allie snapped at her friend. Allie sat
on the bed in the two-room safe house playing solitaire. She was as bored and
frustrated at being cooped up as Jan, but she was more used to waiting. Her
profession often called for the hurry-up-and-wait method of working.
Jan′s however, was made up of constant activity. When Jan wasn′t
teaching, she was stretching or creating routines, going over the new or
changed rules of the Olympic committee, doing books or ordering new equipment.
Twenty-four hours a day her life was filled with activity.

‶
Stop doing what?″

‶
Pacing. That constant walking
up and down. If you have to do it, go in the other room.″

‶
I don′t want to go in the
other room. I don′t want to talk to Agent Burton or Agent Tilden.″
She′d steadfastly refused to call them by their first names.
‶
It′s
been two days. They virtually snatch us off the street, bring us here to the
middle of nowhere, tell us Morgan is alive and that they′re protecting us
for our own good. Well I don′t believe it for a second.″

Allie got up and walked to the window. There
were no bars on it, but they were so far away from anything that running was a
useless endeavor. Allie hated being confined, but Jan was paranoid about it.

‶
Why don′t we go for a
walk or a run. We could both use the exercise.″

‶
You know they′ll follow
us.″

‶
Yes, but it will get us out of
here.″ Allie hated rooms where the only place to sit was on the bed. She
liked sleeping in beds, but sitting on them for long periods was uncomfortable.

She opened the door. The two men in the other
room came instantly to their feet.

‶
We′re going for a
walk,″ she announced in her official actress-playing-goddess voice.
Neither of them contradicted her. They reached for their jackets, which covered
the gun harnesses each wore. Jan and Allie both had on T-shirts and shorts,
clothes from the suitcases the agents had acquired when they checked them out
of their hotel rooms and, according to Jan, imprisoned them here.

The foursome left the building. It was a
beautiful ranch house in the shade of huge trees. The air outside was warm and
comfortable.

‶
Has there been anything more
from Morgan?″ Jan turned suddenly and spoke directly to Max Tilden.

‶
No, ma′am.″

‶
When do you expect to hear
something? I mean don′t you agents have to check in regularly?″

‶
I can′t say when
we′ll hear anything. And yes, we do check in regularly.″ His voice
was startled and formal. Jan loved that she could get on their nerves. She was
usually a very nice person, but they′d taken her freedom and she was
irritated by it.

Jan cursed to herself and walked away. Agent
Burton followed her. She took off in a jog. He had to run to keep up with her
and Jan knew he looked silly jogging in a suit and tie.

‶
She isn′t always like
this,″ Allie explained.
‶
She′s just a little. . .concerned.″

‶
I understand. Your friend is in
good hands. Jack Temple is the best. He won′t let anything happen to
her.″

Allie smiled quickly, using every ounce of her
acting ability not to let on that the name set off church bells in her brain.

She turned to continue walking, and so Agent
Burton didn′t have a full view of her face.

Temple!
That
was his name.
Jack Temple!
She had
once known a Jack Temple and so had Morgan. It couldn′t be the same man.
Morgan had been attracted to him, although she thought no one knew it. Allie
and Jan knew it, but neither spoke of it to Morgan. They′d learned the
boundaries of their friendship and unless Morgan brought up his name, neither
Jan nor Allie would introduce it. Yet they had discussed him without Morgan.
Allie shook her head. Jack Temple was a swim coach in Seoul and now he was an
agent protecting Morgan.

This couldn′t be the same guy. But
suppose it was? A sneaky smile crossed her face and Allie took off jogging.

***

There is always more blood than the wound calls
for, Jack told himself as he looked at the widening stain on Morgan′s
leg. She might only have been grazed, but she could have a hole in her leg.
Jack′s hand shook on the stick he held controlling the chopper. The bird
dipped slightly before he compensated. He had to land.

Morgan suddenly unstrapped her belt. With bloody
hands, she pulled her shoes off and undid the zipper to her pants.

‶
What are you
doing?′′ Jack shouted over the noise. Morgan hadn′t put on
her earphones. She lifted herself from the seat and started pulling at her
jeans.

‶
Taking off my pants.″

‶
Why?″

‶
I need something to stop the
blood and I need to know how bad it is.″ She continued to struggle in the
confined space.
‶
God,
it hurts.″ She bit her bottom lip, holding herself still for a moment.

Jack tried to concentrate.
‶
How
much pain are you in?″

‶
It burns.″ She frowned,
pulling the word out, making it two syllables.

Morgan peeled her jeans over lace panties. On
the outside she might be all practical with black jeans and T-shirts, but
underneath, hidden from everyone′s view, burned the hot pink lace of the
real Morgan. Jack turned his attention back to the operation of the whirlybird.
Moments later he asked,
‶
How are you?″

‶
I think it′s only a flesh
wound.″ She pulled her leg up, twisting it into a position that should
have hurt, but he′d seen evidence of her flexibility before. He
remembered her climbing both the rope in her basement and the tree not far from
her house.

She went to press the denim into her leg.
‶
Don′t
do that.″ Jack stopped her.
‶
There′s a first-aid kit
somewhere.″ Morgan looked behind him and found it. She had to twist her
body to reach it. Her breasts grazed his shoulder. Jack could have been an
intake valve if the amount of air he took into his lungs was any evidence of
the blatant desire that seized him when Morgan′s body touched his.
‶
You
should find something in there to clean it with,″ he suggested, unable to
keep from glancing at the long length of creamy legs that stretched the small
length of the cabin. She smelled wonderful and Jack took a breath trying to
hold onto the soft scent. She took a sterile gauze from the white metal case
and cleaned the wound. Accidentally she brushed it across her leg. Pain seized
her suck her teeth.

‶
What′s wrong?″ Jack
asked. She could hear the concern in his voice.

‶
Nothing.″ She spoke
through clenched teeth, but continued cleaning the wound until she could see
the skin. It wasn′t as bad as she thought. The bullet had ripped the
skin, but it had not lodged in her leg.
‶
I′ll be all right,″
she said.

‶
It didn′t
penetrate?″

‶
It′s a flesh wound, but
it stings like the devil.″ She′d had a flesh wound before. That one
had barely ripped the fabric of her shirt. This one would leave a scar.

‶
Wrap it with one of those gauze
bandages and take a couple of the pain killers.″

Morgan did as she was told, swallowing two of
the pills without water. She put her bloodstained pants back on, strapped her
belt and put on the earphones. The sound of the rotors was muffled and she
could hear Jack clearly.

‶
This isn′t the first time
you′ve dealt with a gunshot wound, is it?″

She glanced at him, then went back to scanning
the ground below them.
‶
No,″ she said in monosyllable.

‶
Have you been shot
before?″

She had. At least the clothing she was wearing
had been burned by a bullet. Her arm had stung, and a layer of skin had been removed.

‶
It was one of my
friends.″ She hesitated.
‶
I′d been on the streets a while when it
happened. Before I learned not to make friends. You know people out there, but
you don′t know them. We have our own code, an etiquette of life without
boundaries.″ She spoke as if she was still one of them.
‶
If
anyone comes looking for you, nobody knows your name and nobody has ever seen
you before. If you get sick or hurt, we′ll all pull together to do what
we can, but when we see you again, we won′t even acknowledge familiarity.
I had friends before this. We were the same, rejects of society, people no one
wanted. Her name was Jean.″

She stopped, remembering the young face of her
friend. Often dirty, but always smiling, Jean should have been a him or a
nurse. All she wanted to do was help people. The fact that they would smack her
aside didn′t seem to penetrate her young mind.

‶
What happened to her?″
Jack asked.

‶
She died.″ Morgan
didn′t want to remember the night Jean died. She didn′t want to
talk about it, but Jack pushed on.

‶
How did she die?″

‶
She went for a catsup.″

‶
Wrong timing?″ Jack
understood.

‶
Wrong timing,″ she
confirmed.
‶
We
hadn′t had anything to eat the whole day. We were hungry and had gone out
to scavenge garbage cans. It was dark and late and children our ages should
have been home snug in their beds.″ She delivered the last line with
sarcasm.
‶
We
came down an alley and saw a couple arguing on the street. The man held a
McDonald′s bag in his hand. The woman suddenly walked off and the man
threw the bag down in anger. When he stalked off, we ran and grabbed the bag.
It was full and something fell out before we got back. When we opened it we
gorged ourselves fast, eating with both hands, stuffing food into our mouths.
We ate like it was our last meal, and it was since we didn′t know where
the next one would come from.″

Each time Jack thought of her eating other
people′s garbage, his heart hurt. How could anyone let a child stay on
the street?

‶
When our stomachs were full we
started to joke. Jean said she wanted some catsup for her fries. We′d
dropped it on the sidewalk as we ran away. She got up and shouted she′d
go get it. I stayed where I was. A moment later I heard the shots. Someone
screamed. I screamed. I got up and started running for the end of the alley. I
got to the street. Jean hobbled toward me. She had a bullet in her leg. Blood
ran into her shoes. She collapsed on me. I wanted to run for help, but she
stopped me. I tore her clothes away, looking for the wound. The bullet had gone
right through her leg. She refused to let me call the policemen who were
arriving only a few yards away from us. She said they would send her home, call
her father and he′d kill her or do something worse. So I tried to stop
the bleeding.″

Jack noticed her chin trembling. He′d
never seen her do that before. Even when he knew she was scared, she always
held her emotions so tightly there was no outward show of what was going on
inside her. She must have really loved Jean.

‶
I got her back to our place.
That′s what we called it,
‵
our place.′ It was a
bunch of rags we spread out each night and slept on in a back alley in
Southeast.″ Morgan stopped, taking a long breath. Jack knew she was
fighting emotion, but it wasn′t evident in the voice that continued.
‶
Jean
was delirious for three days. I was so scared I didn′t know what to do.
She got worse and worse each day. Finally, I couldn′t wait any longer. No
matter how bad it was for her at home, I had to tell someone, get her some
help.″ Morgan stopped and swallowed.
‶
I left her, went to the social
worker, Sharon Peters, who′d been nice to me. I told her about Jean. She
came immediately, calling a doctor from her car and telling him to meet us at
our place with an ambulance.″

Jack saw Morgan′s eyes glistening, but
there was no sign of tears in her voice.

‶
It was too late when we got
back. Jean was already dead.″

***

Morgan remained quiet after she finished her
story. She hadn′t relived that story in decades. Yet she felt as if it
was always with her, that just as easily she could have been the one to go for
the catsup and end up dead in that dark alley with no one to care.

After Jean died, Morgan never lived on the
streets again. Sharon Peters took her home with her and Morgan stayed there
until Sharon died of cancer just before Morgan′s eighteenth birthday.
Before she had the meeting in the big conference room at the CIA.

At Jean′s funeral, her father stood by
her casket and cried. He looked grieved and tired. Morgan should have felt
sorry for him. What she felt was anger. People shook his hand and said kind
words in soft tones. Morgan glared. She knew it was all an act. Behind closed
doors, out of sight of the world, he′d abused his daughter. Jean hated
him. She would rather die in a dirty alley, taking her chances on the mean
streets and back alleys of a world that no child should ever see, than stay in
his warm, comfortable home in Richmond, Virginia.

Sharon Peters had taken her to the funeral and
afterward returned her to her own house. She bought her new clothes and let her
sit for hours in a bathtub full of sweet-smelling bubbles. She′d fed her
huge meals and given her pocket money. Morgan accepted it all, squirreling it
away for the day when she was back on the streets.