The Orion Assignment (27 page)

“Do you think someone was fooling around with the car,” Felicity asked, “or did another patron just bump up against the door?”

“Who knows?” Morgan replied. “Either way, no harm done. I'm probably just being paranoid.”

“You carrying?” Felicity asked on the way back to the restaurant.

“Of course.”

“You are paranoid,” Felicity said, her eyes laughing at him. She took his arm and hugged herself to him. It had been a long twisted path from her uncle asking for help in her office to the final nail in Ian O'Ryan's coffin just hours ago. She felt a little funny about dragging her only real friend into it all. Now she just wanted to feel close to him for a little while. Then she remembered the people waiting for them.

“She's jealous of me, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” Morgan asked.

“Claudette thinks I'm the competition.”

“Now you're being paranoid,” Morgan said. “She knows the score between us. Maybe she just knows there's a space in me you can reach that nobody else can.”

That comment put Felicity in a pensive mood but as they stepped into the exotic elevator, she adjusted her smile and released Morgan's arm. His expression also became more serious. They stepped out of the elevator as business partners. When they reached the table, only two people were there to greet them.

“Where's Marlene?” Felicity asked.

“Got a message,” Claudette said. “Business. Right after you left.”

Morgan waved the nearest waiter over. “Did you see Madame go to the telephone?”

“Yes sir,” the waiter replied. “Then another gentleman escorted her to the elevator.”

In that instant, the world changed for them. Felicity swallowed hard, but it was Morgan who spoke.

“Damn! Caught us napping.” He took three seconds to think, then locked eyes with Felicity. “Wait three minutes and then follow me. Once you've got my direction, call the police. Stay with Uncle Sean at all times. And don't follow too close.” With that he left.

On the street, Morgan asked himself how he could have been so stupid. Did he really think it would take O'Ryan more than a couple of hours to organize his revenge? Did he think the man rational enough to concern himself with saving his own hide? No, Morgan reminded himself, this guy was a loony tune. He would want to hurt Morgan even more than he wanted to live, and he would not want to wait.

“Over here,” a voice called, and Morgan turned toward it. The man stood under a street light. He had the cold eyes of a street killer, the kind that come twelve for a dime in any European capitol. “Follow me,” he said when Morgan came within range, and the two walked off. After four twisted blocks they came to a narrow alley. Inside, five men stood framed by the harsh light of the street lamp at Morgan's back. He recognized three of them from Orion House. The others, like his guide, were local talent. Marlene Seagrave stood against the left wall. Morgan's mouth set in a grim line.

“You've got me. Now you let the woman go, or it's a blood bath right here and now.”

“We don't want the girl,” the biggest Irishman said. “She was just the bait.”

“Do you remember the way?” Morgan asked Marlene. She nodded her head. “Then go back to the restaurant. Tell Felicity where we are. We'll be gone by then. Tell her not to change plans. Got it? Good. Go.”

Marlene scrambled away as quickly as she could.
Two of the hoods pointed guns at Morgan but nobody spoke until the clicking of her heels was lost in the night. The big man spoke first.

“Now, you take off the coat.”

“Liam, isn't it?” Morgan asked as he obeyed. “Liam McCallister. We met at Orion House. I think I met your brother in an alley not far from here,” Morgan raised his hands without being told. One of the gunmen came close to Morgan's side. From behind him, another man removed the pistol and big knife from their holsters. He carried no other weapons this night, because some idiot convinced him that combat boots were not acceptable in a fancy restaurant, and dress shoes could not hold his other two knives.

“Aye, I remember you,” Liam said. “I wish me brother could be here to see you in our keep. Now we've got a car to put you in, and then we'll take you to the boss.”

“Meaning O'Ryan, right?” Morgan asked with a smirk that flashed arrogance. “Didn't he tell you? I'm the reason your brother can't be here. He was trying to smuggle guns into your country so I put a bullet through his thick head on the Irish coast. I kind of thought you'd want to discuss that issue before we went to talk to O'Ryan. I mean, come on, don't you want to take a shot?”

“The boss said take him straight in,” one of the other Irishmen said, but Morgan knew it didn't matter. He watched rage grow in McCallister's face until it was almost purple and the whites showed all around his eyes. He wanted to take care of this himself. And if a scrap started now, Morgan had a chance to escape. Even if he didn't he could prolong the action there until the police showed up.

Claudette, Sean and Felicity reached the street just in time to see Morgan turn a corner. Felicity hated letting him go off alone, but she knew he had the best idea of how to handle this situation. Their partnership had no real leader. When a situation came up, whichever of them was best qualified to deal with it just took the lead. She had to trust his instincts on this, just as she would trust her own.

“Claudette, could I get you to please go back inside and call the police?” Felicity asked.

“We're not going to just let him go off to the slaughter?”

“He knows what he's doing, lass,” Sean said. “From what I've seen in the last few days, I pity the ones who try to take him anywhere he doesn't want to go.”

“Well, you two can call the police and sit and wait,” Claudette said in a sharp, accusatory tone. “It sounds to me like he's made a bad choice of friends. And partners, if that's what you are. I'm going after him.”

Tossing her head, Claudette started across the street with all the haste that her clinging dress would allow. Felicity shook her head and turned to tell her uncle something. As her head moved, something caught her eye. It was a reflection of some type from the roof to the right across the way. Was that the glint of steel?

“How could I be so stupid?” Felicity said under her breath. It seemed obvious that O'Ryan knew them as a team. He would want revenge on both of them. He wouldn't take the chance that one could escape just because they split up. Did she really believe he would be so disorganized as to lead one of them away and not leave a trap for the other? And would his revenge not
be more thorough if their friends suffered also?

All this flashed through her head in an instant. She might embarrass herself if she took the wrong action, but what was that against a life? Before Sean knew what was happening, Felicity had kicked off her shoes and was sprinting after Claudette. The Haitian girl was almost under the corner street lamp when the redhead hit her cross body. The two women landed in a tangle of long limbs.

Claudette already had a fist balled and aimed at Felicity's head when they heard a sound like a loud cough and a spider web crack grew on the windshield of the car they were leaning against. Felicity looked up and the sound repeated itself. A hole appeared in the car's fender, two inches from her head. Claudette screeched in terror, which seemed normal for a person who realizes that someone is shooting at them. A moment later it must have dawned on her that that Felicity had saved her.

“Merci,” Claudette said. “I guess I owe you my life.”

“Thank me after we're out of this,” Felicity answered. She knew they were on a bull's-eye, as surely as if they were a pair of ducks chatting with a decoy. There was no way for them to get to better cover. And long before any gendarmes could arrive the sniper on the roof would hit one of them, or worse, hit the gas tank of the car they were hiding behind. It would go up and take them with it. Worst of all, if she died who would get after Morgan to save him from that madman who set the traps they had fallen into?

Morgan stepped further into the alley and put his fists up. Everyone shifted positions so that three men stood behind him, including both gunmen. Good. He needed them close together.

McCallister roared like a maddened bull and charged. Morgan ducked under a roundhouse right and snapped two jabs into McCallister's face. This guy would be no trouble if Morgan could keep the other five out of it. Liam put a left and then a right into Morgan's upraised guard. Morgan feinted with his left, then crouched and lifted a right hook into Liam's stomach.

“Is that all you got?” the big Irishman asked. He put it all behind a hard right hand that caught Morgan on the point of his chin. Morgan flew back with the impact, harder than anyone in the alley expected. He crashed into one of the gunmen, sending a pistol sailing through the air.

“Hold him,” McCallister said. The former gun holder grabbed Morgan's left arm and one of the others grabbed his right. Liam stepped in and smashed his jaw with a left. The follow-up right almost took Morgan's head off. He clenched his teeth against the next punch. When it came he yanked his arms into his chest and snapped free of the two men holding him. Now he would see what the competition was.

One of the thugs put an arm around his throat. Morgan pulled him into a shoulder throw that landed him on the only man with a gun out. Now it was a fight.

Morgan dived into the center of the group, knowing he had to use their numbers against them. An edge of the hand chop to the throat put one Irishman down until further notice. He blocked a clumsy punch and snapped
a middle knuckle into a Frenchman's temple. He wouldn't be getting up. A stamp kick to the knee took another out of the fight.

That quickly it became a one on one battle. McCallister saw it all, and now had doubts. Then he spotted Morgan's knife where one of his men had dropped it, and snatched it up.

“This is a fine blade, boy,” McCallister said. “Let's see if it'll carve you up.” He held the knife like a seasoned fighter. The seven inch blade made small circles out in front of him, waiting to slash Morgan's stomach. In response, Morgan unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his slacks. He wrapped each end around a hand and stood with it taut in front of him.

“Come on with it.” Morgan said it softly, smiling. “I think it's about time we ended this.” The pair circled, until Morgan's back was to the rear of the alley. McCallister slashed at his midsection, but he stepped back out of the way. The second slash made Morgan leap back to avoid the blade. Now he stood just inches in front of the wall. This would have to be it.

Sensing victory, Liam McCallister lunged forward. The point of Morgan's Randall Model number one fighting knife arced toward its owner's navel. Morgan's left fist rose, snapping his belt taut and almost vertical. The belt hit the outside of McCallister's wrist and his arm was slipped past Morgan's body, to Morgan's right.

Morgan took a long step forward with his right foot. Now the two men were almost back to back and the belt slipped naturally around McCallister's throat, over Morgan's right shoulder. Morgan crouched and snapped his hips upward. McCallister teetered on the fulcrum of Morgan's back and then flipped through the air. He landed with a thump, face down in front of Morgan, who quickly turned as he planted his right knee high on Liam's back.

“Say hello to your brother for me,” Morgan said. Then he whipped his head back and heaved with all his
strength. The belt slid up to Liam's jaw, and there was a loud crack from the man's neck.

Morgan closed his eyes for an instant when he snapped Liam's spine. When he opened them, he saw a man in the darkness across the alley pointing a gun at him. Morgan had flipped another man into this one, but he appeared to have shaken the cobwebs out of his brain while Morgan was busy killing McCallister. He would have come to, to see his partners scattered around the alley and maybe in time to see McCallister flying over Morgan's back. No doubt he would have concluded that Morgan was too dangerous to take prisoner. That meant Morgan would need to move fast to stay alive. He braced for a sprint out of the alley to the street. There he could lose himself. He stood and launched himself forward.

And his foot slipped.

Damn these slippery soled dress shoes
, Morgan thought as his foot went out from under him. He heard a snub nosed pistol's blast, felt a thirty-eight caliber punch in his left thigh. He fell as the gunman stirred his nearest partner, the one Morgan had thrown. While he held the gun on Morgan, the other man dived on Morgan's back. Morgan felt a cosh or blackjack smack against his head. He managed to bring an elbow up into the hitter's gut before the second blow. Then he lay still.