Piranha Assignment (22 page)

Smiling, he focused on the ceiling. She wanted him to feed her bullet comments, not long sentences or explanations. As he arranged data in his mind, he reflected on what a match they would make.

Then he launched into it, without preamble. He gave her his suspicions about Varilla, about the probable Cuban connection, and a brief account of the boat sabotage. He ran down the details that added up to evidence of something out of kilter, ending with a recommendation to delay the submarine's maiden voyage and consider Navy takeover of the Piranha project. He gave her Mark Roberts' contact telephone number and told her to just say she had a message from Barton. When he said “endit” there was a twenty second gap while she scanned her notes.

“Got it,” Claudette said. He knew she wouldn't ask about the job, although her curiosity must have been peaked. She did have one question. “Are you getting out?”

“Can't bail in the middle,” Morgan said. “But one way or another it will all be over in a week or so. Can you get away? I'm thinking ten days from now. Fly into L.A. for a few.”

“It's a long flight.”

“I'll make it worth your while,” Morgan said. “Meantime, can you make that call for me today?”

“I'll tell you in ten days.”

It was a city of ancient ambitions and continuous conflict, important in an historic sense only because of a bizarre geographic coincidence. Almost five hundred years ago, the Spanish took Panama from the Indians after accidentally tripping over the Pacific Ocean for the first time. Staring up at the gigantic statue of Vasco Nunez de Balboa, Felicity wondered just why these people would so revere their first colonial governor.

With Barton driving beside her and four men following in the other vehicle, Felicity pointed them on a whirlwind tour of Panama City. They ran the gamut, from the breathtaking golden altar in the historical church of San Jose, to the ultramodern legislative palace. She had lost interest in the canal itself, so they avoided it.

“It wasn't that long ago that these streets would have been clogged with people in American military uniforms,” Barton told her. The lack of American troops was lost on Felicity, but she was startled by the broad variety of Panama's different sections. She saw beautiful parks, and tree lined boulevards throughout much of the city. Not content to observe at a distance, they parked the vehicles and strolled the historic section with its narrow streets and buildings left over from the seventeenth century.

Wide walkways extended along the ocean front. Felicity looked out to where sea met sky, watching black storm clouds roll toward her. She had to remind herself that this
was the same salt breeze she felt in Los Angeles, except of course that here the Pacific Ocean was to the south.

After another short drive they parked the twin vehicles at the edge of Herrera Plaza and walked into the nearby ruins. Felicity put her arm around Barton's, letting his warmth blend with the warmth of the sultry sun. She kicked a broken brick ahead of her as they ambled down the cobbled street.

“So this is what's left of the original city,” she said. She kept her voice low, not wanting to disturb whatever conquistadors' ghosts might be listening.

“Ain't it something?” Barton asked. “Pirates wiped out this whole area. I mean, they just sailed up and destroyed it. That's why the Spanish built that settlement five miles back.”

“I kind of like the old Spanish style,” Felicity said. “They liked their streets narrow and their buildings low, and they didn't lay out their roads in straight lines. How much of this is left, guys?” She had turned to the other four wanderers. Nunez shrugged and Pizarro mumbled something unintelligible. Oh, well. She would continue to rely on Barton to be her tour guide.

“There you are.” That high pitched voice presaged two sets of footsteps. Bastidas pushed himself between Barton and Felicity from behind, putting one arm around Barton and the other around Felicity's shoulders. “I trust you are being totally frivolous and enjoying a well earned rest.”

“It's always fun showing a lovely lady a new city,” Barton said, twisting out of Bastidas' grip.

“These guys are party poops,” Felicity said, pointing at the scientists. “Hardly a word to say about their own city.”

“They are just stuffy military men and boring men of science, my dear,” Bastidas said. “No fun at all, despite my efforts to loosen them up.”

Aimless wandering brought them to a small plaza. Felicity perched on the crumbling fountain wishing she had a camera. Bastidas stood with his men.

“Mister Pizarro,” Bastidas called. “Have you made all the preparations I asked you to?”

“Without exception, Captain,” he said.

“Mister Torrijos, did those power cells prove to have the predicted capacity?”

“Precisely to plan, Captain,” Torrijos said.

“Mister Franciscus, did you make the final adjustments for the weather and currents?”

Franciscus fumbled in his inside jacket pocket, and pulled out the small notebook for verification. Bastidas displayed his impatience, tapping a foot while Franciscus turned pages. In the midst of the group of smiles, Herrera's face dropped into a scowl. He stepped closer to Franciscus, his eyes sliding from side to side. The navigator opened the book to point out calculations and currents. Herrera's hand darted out, snaring the book.

Unnoticed for a moment, Felicity slid to her feet and waved Barton toward her.

“What is it?” Bastidas asked as Herrera held the notebook to his face.

“Trouble. I've smelled this scent before. It is the girl.”

“Oh, she just sat next to me in the car,” Franciscus protested with a slight chuckle. Behind him, Felicity stayed quiet and stepped toward one of the side streets. Bastidas opened the book and sniffed at it like a bloodhound.

“No,” he said. “The scent is on the pages. She has opened the book. She has seen the figures.”

“Oh dear,” Bastidas said, a coldness creeping into his smile. “Gentlemen, detain those two.”

Felicity shouted “Scatter!” while kicking off her shoes.

Her words jolted Barton into action. He turned and
started running, but it was clear in seconds that Felicity was faster. A bullet dug into the adobe wall near his head and to Felicity's surprise, he skidded to a halt. Felicity was well ahead, almost out of sight, but she hesitated, wondering what Barton was up to.

Herrera charged after them like a maddened Rhino. To his credit, Barton must have understood the situation, yet he still took courageous action. Shielded from gunfire by Herrera's body, he threw himself in a hockey check at the human freight train barreling his way.

He never stood a chance. Herrera steamrolled over him without a backward glance. Barton flew back, bounced into a wall and collapsed in the ancient street. When his eyes uncrossed, Varilla was standing over him pointing a pistol at his face. Chief Pizarro kicked him in the ribs and yanked his gun out of its holster.

Felicity loved him right then. His noble and painful sacrifice had distracted Herrera and slowed him down just a bit. She figured by keeping her movements random she could lose her tail, and then hitch a ride back to Morgan's hotel. Once reunited with her partner, she was confident she would be safe.

Ten minutes later, Felicity's confidence was waning. She spent that time in evasive maneuvers, doubling back and circled on those twisted streets. Her danger sense, acting as a proximity alarm, told her the direction of the greatest threat and right then it was telling her that the danger was slowly but definitely closing on her. Only Herrera was in pursuit, but how in the world was he tracking her? There was no way he could be keeping her in sight, and her barefoot tread was soundless. Could he be following her by smell?

For the moment none of that mattered. She had been running full out for a while and was running out of breath.
She could not afford to be panting if he was within earshot. But she also could not keep this up, and from all appearances Herrera never got tired. Her heart was playing a hard back beat to her staccato footsteps. The air, thick with humidity, was taking a terrible toll on her body. Her mind would have to carry her past the next toll gate.

Then her surroundings began to change as Felicity appeared to be leaving the ruins. The crumbling buildings were more intact. The glassless windows seemed solid, the Spanish architectural style more recognizable. It looked like the place to make a stand. She scanned the low skyline for a solid roof.

Soon after beginning his pursuit Herrera had shed his suit, revealing his leopard skin training outfit worn in place of underwear. Within five minutes his feeling for his quarry had grown to grudging admiration. He had to admit to himself that he was impressed. The girl had made him really run, and she was quiet as any jungle animal. If not for her perfume, he may have lost her long ago.

A little more than a mile into the chase he did lose her. His senses were confused for a moment, but then he realized the only possibility was that she had turned down an alley to his left. He entered it with the slightest caution. The space was narrow, no more than four feet across. He moved with caution, wary of a possible trap, but when he reached the other end he looked both ways, puzzled. The alley was empty. There was no one in sight and nowhere to hide. The trail was cold. Which way?

A low growl of frustration boiled up from Herrera's throat. In a leonine crouch he walked back halfway out of the alley. He studied the ground for a spoor. His breathing
deepened and his fingers clutched imaginary throats. He roared “No!” in a deep gravelly voice and pounded the wall on his right with a ham-like fist. Dry adobe crumbled and rained down on him.

And a handful of powder dusted down the left wall.

Herrera lifted his gaze. Felicity was suspended above him, her feet braced against one wall, her back against the other. Her head was already at the three story building's roof level. He would have to be fast to catch her now.

Herrera crouched like a jaguar and launched himself into the air. His fingers found a second story window sill. He hauled himself up until he stood in a tall window, preparing for another jump.

Felicity had reached the top at last. Grasping the roofs edge she hung straight down for a second and then curled herself up, back, and onto the roof. She was running to the other side when she heard Herrera hit the roof behind her. At the edge she faced a dead end of open space. The next roof was just too far to jump to. Panting heavily, she turned to face the big mustachioed figure. He approached slowly on the balls of his feet, his hands open and spread to his sides. She was prepared for him to try to crush her, but when he spoke it was with unexpected patience.

“You're good, very good for a girl,” Herrera said. “If you'll come along, I won't hurt you, out of respect. If you keep trying to get away, I'm afraid I'll have to…”

Felicity charged. No warning, no telegraphing, just a dash right at him. He braced for a flying kick, or to reach to whichever side she broke for. Too late he realized his error. She sprang upward. Her left foot pushed off his right shoulder and then she was behind him, moving quicksilver
slick. It was only a long step to the next roof, across the narrow alley. She vaulted, her feet churning in midair.

She had done it. She had eluded him.

Her left foot came down on the roof and with the crackling sound of crushed plaster, it gave way. Felicity's left leg shot down and got wedged between the timbers. When she tried to jerk free she felt the whole roof shift. It would be a three story drop, with rotting wood and masonry tumbling after her.

It was over. Felicity froze, preparing herself mentally and emotionally for what came next.