Piranha Assignment (30 page)

The silence lasted for two minutes. Bastidas began to wonder if Morgan would let Barton die. After all, he hardly knew the man. With a shrug he thumbed back his forty-five's hammer. He wanted them all to die on the submarine, it would be more poetic, but if they would not cooperate it would be all right to be rid of this Anglo now.

“Wait.” Bastidas looked up to see Morgan sliding down the dirt embankment twenty meters to his left. He walked slowly across the road with his hands raised and his head low. As he stepped toward Bastidas, Herrera came from between the second and third trucks.

“Where's the gun?” Herrera asked. Reaching slowly to
his holster, Morgan slid his pistol out with two fingers. Herrera accepted it.

“Forty-four caliber?” Herrera said. “This isn't what you were shooting with.”

As if on cue, bullets started bouncing off the truck behind them. Bastidas waved his gun at the cliff in panic. Morgan dived. He slapped the gun from Bastidas' hand and grabbed Barton's arm. With bullets pinging everywhere, he looped around the front of the truck and raced into the strip of jungle on the ocean side of the road.

Felicity had not hit anything, but then she wasn't really trying to. By filling the air with bullets she gave Morgan a chance to grab poor Chuck and disappear. But the magazine ran dry too soon. Frantic, she shoved bullets into her rifle's stock, reloading the magazine while she watched Bastidas rally his men.

“Don't chase them,” he screamed, now on the side of the trucks away from Felicity. “I saw where they went. Use your grenades. There. And there.”

“Grenades?” Morgan looked around at Barton's dazed face. “I didn't know they had grenades.” Felicity's plan depended on a chase. They figured Bastidas, already short sixteen or so crewmen, might let them go rather than risk further losses in the woods.

The jungle erupted to Morgan's left. He shoved Barton down and found himself staring into what looked like a cave. Actually some past storm had nearly uprooted a huge tree. The space under the massive roots was small but dark
enough for two men to hide in. He shoved his semiconscious charge into the dark moldy space.

Then a deafening roar surrounded him and the earth flipped him like a child in the surf. Morgan felt as if he was tumbling in a dryer filled with rocks and when he landed, he landed hard.

Above the road, Felicity sat back on her heels. “Grenades?” she said aloud. “I didn't know they had grenades.” For a moment she froze. Should she keep shooting? Maybe cut their numbers further? No, even if she didn't, Morgan might well get away. If so, she should be moving to their meeting place.

When she realized someone was behind her, it was too late. She spun but Herrera pounced like a hungry cat on a blinded mouse. She fired past his ear and his right arm shot forward, the heel of his palm slamming into her chest. Felicity flew backward over the edge. Her knees and elbows scrapped across the ground as she made a desperate attempt to regain her balance, but when she landed, she landed hard.

When Morgan's eyes fluttered open, Felicity was shaking his shoulders hard enough to rock his entire body. He raised himself off the cot very slowly, rested on his elbows and said, “This is getting old.”

“Getting worried, I was,” Felicity said. “You've been out quite a while, and that's a hell of a goose egg you've got on your head.”

“I'll live. Nice digs. I take it we're on board.” He felt a steady subliminal hum, the sub audio vibrations which were part of submarine life. The room was small, low and gray. Two cots shared the space with two wall lockers and two small desks, each with its own chair. A ventilation duct threw warm air across the already stuffy room.

“A stateroom,” Felicity said, crossing her arms. “I'm guessing that thanks to you and Chuck they've got some extra space.”

“Where is Chuck?”

“They never found him,” Felicity said, pacing the short path between the beds. “There was no time to waste, so they grabbed us up and split.”

“So there's still a chance.” As Morgan spoke, the door latch turned. He sat straighter, slapping his empty holster in frustration. Herrera slid into the room, relaxed but alert. Bastidas came in behind him, gun first. He motioned Morgan and Felicity to the bunks.

“I just wanted to tell you the time.”

“It's two minutes past one in the morning, Panama time, and I haven't eaten since breakfast,” Felicity said. “I always know what time it is.”

“I meant your remaining time,” Bastidas said, unruffled. “You have seven hours left.”

“How come we're alive now?” Morgan asked with infinite calm. “Not that I'm complaining.”

“You have caused me a great deal of inconvenience,” Bastidas said, pulling up a chair. “Because of you, I've had to accelerate my plans. But you have not caused me to fail, and I want you to experience my success first hand. I want you to be here when the mighty Piranha explodes in a nuclear fireball. You'll be at ground zero when the Gatun lock disappears. You won't feel the heat. You won't hear the blast. You'll never feel the fire storm, or the hurricane winds rushing back to fill the vacuum.”

“We get the idea,” Morgan said. “We'll miss it. What about you? Where you going to be?”

“That's right.” Felicity turned to Morgan. “You were out. You didn't see them bring that little copter aboard. I figure this cobber and his close friends will be taking off before we reach the canal.”

“Aerial reconnaissance,” Bastidas said with a chuckle. “The little bird only holds two. My friend here will bring the reactor to meltdown by remote control.”

“Your crew suicidal?” Felicity asked.

“No no, young lady, they are patriots,” Bastidas said, still laughing. Morgan tensed and Bastidas' pistol jerked toward him. “They think we're going through the canal to show off. Then we'll sail around the cape and up to Cuba, to a hero's welcome from Fidel.” He paused for reaction. Morgan and Felicity remained calm in the face of a fiery death. “Thousands of American tourists and ex-patriots will die,” he added.

“And you'll be sacrificing thousands of your Panamanian countrymen,” Felicity said.

“The Navy will stop you,” Morgan said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“They don't even know we're at sea. Even if they did, we're submerged. They couldn't find us. No one can find us in the Piranha.”

“Castro will put a price on your head,” Felicity said. “He has a very long memory.”

“Oh, he's bound to begrudge me his ten million dollars, but he won't bother me. I have a very lucrative offer from some friends in the Middle East to share the plans for this vessel.” Felicity glanced at Morgan. “The capitalist world economy will collapse,” Bastidas almost shouted. Morgan leaned back on the cot. His teeth locked together, Bastidas suddenly snapped to his feet, spinning toward the door. At the threshold he turned, his teeth still clenched. “Enjoy eternity!” he spat out, and stormed away. Herrera followed without comment.

“Well, we didn't give him any satisfaction,” Morgan said after a short pause. “Whatever reaction he was looking for, I don't think he got it.”

“True, but that scum's got to go. You're going to have to top him, partner. Think you can get at him on this tub?”

“Get at him?” Morgan asked, sitting up. “I doubt we can get out of this room. I saw a guard outside when Bastardo' left.”

Felicity could not help but chuckle. Morgan was always finding a humorous variant on someone's name, especially an enemy. Still, the situation was not funny. “If you got to the navigation controls, could you turn this thing around?”

“Maybe,” Morgan said, watching Felicity explore the room. “If we can get past Bastidas' security, and Herrera, and if the controls are laid out fairly simply, I probably
could.”

“Well, okay,” Felicity said, stopping at the radiator. “Say, isn't it always cold in the ocean? How do you suppose they heat this place?”

“Probably hot air forced down a duct from the reactor area,” Morgan replied. “So, how do you plan to get us off the sub?”

“If everything you just said happens, then maybe we can steal the copter,” Felicity answered. She knelt before the duct and reached into her hair band. She produced a piece of steel an inch square and thick as a dime. With it, she worked at the screws holding the screen on the air duct.

“That's a long string of if,” Morgan said, staring at the floor. Felicity froze and turned on him, the tension bursting out all at once.

“What do you want to do? Sit in this little room and wait to be part of a bleeding fireball? We've got to try. How much security can there be with every available man operating the ship? We can't just…” she took a big gulp and Morgan realized she had clamped her eyes shut to stifle tears, “Can't just sit here.” Her fingers were splayed out, her hands held out in front of her. Morgan knelt, his knees almost touching hers, and took her hands in his.

“Scared? That's okay. Me too.”

Felicity shook her head and her voice softened. “We're not going to get out of this alive, are we?” She raised her head, her moist eyes meeting his.

“Don't know, but if I got to die in this stupid sub, I'd sure like to kill Bastidas first. Let's look at our chances again after we're out of this stateroom.”

Morgan's on the wrong side of that door,
Felicity told
herself.
He's counting on me to open it. I can't let him die in a locked room.

With these thoughts, she drove herself on. The duct was tighter than she had expected. Based on the way her hips fit the space, she figured the duct had about a forty inch circumference. At each junction the metal joint pinched her nipples. The dust wasn't thick but it coated the entire length of the air duct she could not avoid inhaling it.

Worst of all was the closeness. After a lifetime of chimney climbing, closet sitting and trunk riding, Felicity thought herself immune to claustrophobia. This time, she figured knowing she was under the ocean heightened her feeling of being entombed.