Piranha Assignment (10 page)

“You notice anything odd about this place?” Morgan asked as he drove across the clearing.

“Are you kidding?” Felicity's eyebrows arched. “Everything about this caper is odd. Roberts Bastidas had sixty men on his payroll, but I see more like a hundred, and they act more like his fans than employees. We haven't
been introduced to any of these loyal followers, but they all sure know us. And I'd like to know how come everyone's speaking English. You'd think Spanish would be the ‘lingua franca' down here. And did you notice that almost all of these Panamanian types have hair down to their shoulders?”

“Probably just want to look like their fearless leader,” Morgan said. “At least, I hope that's all it is. I haven't looked closely enough at any of them to be sure there are ears under there. Speaking of which, I haven't noticed any hearing problem for our boy Bastidas.”

“Didn't you notice?” Felicity asked. “He's got hearing aids stuck in his…holes. I don't think the removal of the exterior part of your ear affects your hearing that much anyway.” A shudder shot through her thinking about it. “So what's your theory on the dead agent and his killer?”

“I think our first guess was probably off base,” Morgan said. “These guys are all pretty intense about this project. I figure one of these high strung Latin lovers really did blow his top and kill agent Matthews. I also think that kind of activity isn't allowed here, and Bastidas sent his boy to punish the killer. Herrera probably aced him. Not nice, but understandable.”

“I'm not quite convinced.” Felicity shook her tresses around her face. “This Bastidas is supposed to be a super patriot, right? But I noticed when he talks about ‘my country' he means Panama.” She imitated Bastidas' squeaky voice for those two words, and Morgan chuckled.

Back at the main house, Latin servants showed Morgan and Felicity to their rooms. His was on the fourth and highest floor, a story above hers. She waved as he climbed
one more flight of stairs, then she entered her room. She was surprised at the comfort of the accommodations. A welcoming bowl of fresh tropical fruit was a nice touch, and she appreciated the bottles of Evian water as less a luxury than a defense against dysentery. Even better, the room had its own full private bath. Her luggage waited in the closet, unopened. She decided that she had time for a quick shower and to dress well for dinner. When she stepped out of her room she was not surprised to find Morgan just reaching the last step coming down to her floor. She smiled and nodded at him.

“Good job. I approve.” She was talking about the charcoal suit and black tie Morgan had changed into.

“This is nothing,” Morgan said. “Look at you.” She wore a strapless dress of aqua taffeta. The bodice was tight, and a knee length skirt overlaid with chiffon layered to create a handkerchief hemline. The wide matching belt carried a square buckle glittering with rhinestones, like the small chandelier earrings that were her only jewelry.

“Shall we go wow them in the dining hall?” Morgan asked. He presented his arm and Felicity took it as they started down the stairs. On the main level a butler waved them through broad double doors into the dining room.

The décor in most of the house seemed rather Spartan but the dining room attempted to make up for it. A long table was set with white tablecloth and linen napkins, along with fine bone china and cut crystal glassware. A large chandelier hung above it. Francisco Bastidas sat at the far end of the table, playing master host. Herrera sat at his right hand in a tailored suit that disguised his muscularity but could not hide his bulk. Four others sat at the table, men Felicity assumed were the most important members of Bastidas' team.

“Is this his cabinet?” Morgan asked under his breath.
One black suited figure stood beside the door and, at the sound of Morgan's voice, he turned toward the newcomers with bulging eyes.

“You!” Varilla shouted. Morgan shoved Felicity away from himself as Varilla reached for his gun. The action that followed was so fast, Felicity had to reconstruct it from memory to know what had happened.

Like a magician's trick cane, a revolver appeared in Varilla's hand. Morgan stepped slightly forward and to his right. When Varilla swung his gun toward his target, Morgan ducked low and swung left. Varilla's point of aim passed over Morgan's head. He swung back quickly, but Morgan had stepped still closer and raised his right arm. The gun thumped into Morgan's ribs below his arm. That arm snapped down, locking the gun hand in place. With his left, Morgan slapped Varilla's elbow, swinging him around. With the pivot, Morgan brought Varilla's face into the wall hard.

Now they were both pressed against the wall, their faces a mere three inches from each other. Varilla's arm was locked solid and as his hand numbed, the gun clattered to the parquet floor. Blood dribbled from Varilla's nose. Morgan bared his teeth and spoke in a hushed, though clipped voice.

“That's twice, asshole. Now hear me good. If you ever decide to pull a gun on me again, it better be made of chocolate because I will damned…sure…make…you… eat it.”

“Bravo,” Bastidas cried, clapping his hands. “I expect Mister Varilla needed to be taught some manners.” Morgan seemed calmed by the sheer absurdity of the situation. He chuckled, released Varilla, straightened his jacket, and moved to the table. Felicity stood before the empty chair on Bastidas' left, as if nothing unusual had happened. Morgan
pulled out her chair and seated her, then sat himself.

“You are very good,” Herrera said as a servant brought salad. Felicity was surprised at his calm and polite voice. “Very quick, strong, and obviously skilled in hand to hand technique. May I ask what style?”

“Wharangdo,” Morgan said. “It's a Korean style. I started studying it in Vietnam when I was a teenager.”

“We shall have to spar sometime. There is a fully equipped gymnasium below us. It's open to you until ten every night. After that it's mine.”

When the entree arrived, Varilla joined the group. Felicity hesitated over her food.

“It's guacho,” Morgan told her, “a real good beans and rice dish. You'll like it. And those are…”

“I recognize tortillas, thanks.”

“I must introduce you around the table,” Bastidas said, opening the dinner conversation. “Mister Herrera you know. Next to him is Doctor Nunez, my personal physician.”

The doctor bowed his head. “How do you do.”

“On his right is Chief Pizarro. He is the trainer of my crew which will take our completed submarine on her maiden voyage.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Pizarro said. He was all smiles.

Bastidas continued. “Next is our chief physicist, Doctor Torrijos. He has turned my theories into reality.” Torrijos had a deep receding hairline, but he still wore his hair shoulder length all around. He bowed in place, then sneezed into his hand.

“Sorry. I'm allergic to something around here.”

Next Bastidas introduced his chief navigator, a Mister Franciscus, who blushed and seemed embarrassed his name was even mentioned. Varilla sat at the end of the line.
Bastidas declared them Panamanians all, or of Panamanian descent, loyal to him and his cause.

Felicity scanned the table from left to right, and raised her hand to cover a small giggle.

“What's funny?” Morgan asked.

She simply said, “Later.”

Dinner passed with minimal polite chatter. Bastidas seemed to enjoy playing host, but Felicity had the feeling he was eager to talk business. As she finished her meal he proved her right.

“So, what is your appraisal of our security measures?” Bastidas asked, as servants cleared the dinner dishes.

“I'm favorably impressed,” Morgan said. “Your guard posts are well concealed, and fields of fire are well laid out. I spotted some excellent trip wires in the right positions. The fence is tall enough and that concertina will discourage any casual intruder. Tomorrow we'll check the sea approach.”

“I was wondering if there's a back up system if anyone does get past the fence,” Felicity said. “Morgan mentioned mines, but I thought an electronic net of sensors would add a measure of confidence.”

“I have taken care of the wooded area of the compound,” Herrera said. “There are animals. Big cats, wild boars, and the like. They pose no threat to us traveling in vehicles but anyone on foot would not last long. We have posted signs that say, in effect, that trespassers will be eaten.”

Everyone at dinner chuckled at that. As the laughter died down, the door flew open. A man rushed in and stopped at the end of the table. Felicity took him in at a glance. His hair was a tousled brown mass. His tropical shirt's sleeves were folded up over arms covered with thick tufts of the same hair that was bursting out of his shirt where the top two buttons were undone. His trousers were denim, his
expression apologetic.

“Sorry I'm late everybody. Got hung up in town.”

“You're just in time for desert,” Bastidas said with ice in his voice. “Mister Stark and Miss O'Brian, may I introduce Mister Charles Barton. He has connections with the local government which have saved me a great deal of trouble.”

“Call me Chuck,” Barton said, plopping down beside Varilla. Felicity looked at his angular face and the pug nose that looked like it had been broken at least once. Then she stared into his dark brown eyes for a moment and without thinking, she licked her lips.

“Down girl,” Morgan said out the corner of his mouth. “You'll drool in your fruit cup.”

Morgan seldom had the chance to see his partner blush, but she did at that moment. While Felicity made a point of regaining her composure, Morgan watched Bastidas slice into a wide piece of pineapple. Could this guy be the hero Roberts painted him to be? He had seemed a childish jerk in California, but in his own environment he was rather different. Dinner was good, and Bastidas was a good host with excellent manners. After his discussion with Morgan and Felicity about security, his dinner conversation touched on the areas of each of the others at the table. He showed amazing expertise in all areas, yet could express matters of physics or navigation in terms they could all understand.

Despite himself, Morgan began to like the man. He was a born leader who dealt with all potential problems with confidence. Morgan decided to forget the affair at the Beverly Wilshire Hotel. He would deal with this man as the creator of an amazing scientific advance, and leader of an inspired project the Pentagon boys could have never pulled off on their own. If Bastidas was a bit eccentric, well, Morgan supposed that was the nature of genius.

Coffee came, along with brandy and cigars. As expected,
the coffee was excellent. Morgan picked up his cigar but watched his host. Bastidas held his gold lighter poised in front of his own cigar and looked at Felicity.

“Excuse us, my dear,” he said. “Do you mind if we smoke?”

“Not at all,” she said with obvious surprise. He smiled at her in a possessive way, but she made it clear she wasn't intimidated. Morgan hoped she remembered what he had said about the macho image in that part of the world. After a small sip of brandy he lit and took a puff from the best cigar he had smoked in several years.

“Well, my dear, you and your partner have seen everything of importance except the reason we are all here,” Bastidas said after lighting up. “Care to take a walk in the twilight? I wish to show you both the culmination of my genius. Soon, the deadliest thing in the water. The Piranha.”

Felicity was still a little disoriented. Standing on the docks she knew she was looking out at the Atlantic Ocean in front of her, yet the sun was half hidden by hills on her left. She whispered to Morgan standing beside her.

“How far?”

“We're about five miles west of the main house,” he said.

“It was a better location,” Bastidas said. “I've purchased much of the bay for my little private enterprise.”

A stiff sea breeze blew her hair back and tickled her neck. They moved forward until she was standing on a loading ramp, leading to the hatch of what she saw as the world's biggest shark. It had a sleek steel body, jet black, with a dorsal fin jutting six stories into the sky. Not the cigar shape she expected, its hull was more like a teardrop, with some odd concave styling near the front. It seemed quite streamlined and she wondered how fast it could go.

The Piranha's sheer size overwhelmed her. It looked almost as long as a football field. It's nose sloped into the black water more than a block away. On her right, even farther away, a tail fin thrust defiantly into the air like a silent steel observer. On top of the conning tower, a half dozen giant hypodermic needles glinted in the giant sun.

“What's all that plumbing on top?” she asked.

“Nothing of importance,” Bastidas said with a flash of impatience.

Morgan took her arm and pointed upward. “The usual stuff, Red. Exhaust mast, snorkel, masts for radar, antennae, electronic warfare and I'd guess a couple of periscopes.”