Piranha Assignment (25 page)

Morgan was sure the torture had driven him over the edge. Anyone could see he was insane. Why wasn't he wandering the jungle babbling?

“How did you survive?” Felicity almost whispered.

“How?” Bastidas repeated, drawing on the cigar. “The greatest irony of all. The Americans found me. My guard released me to go into the woods to go to the bathroom, you see. He was carrying a gun and I think they were really taking me out to kill me. I was too weak to resist them. Then gunfire came out of the woods from everywhere. I
scrambled for the main tent in the compound. If I had a choice I didn't want to die naked. Isn't that stupid? But then I heard the American voices approaching, and a different idea came to me.”

“From here it's obvious, even to me,” Barton said. “A real soldier would've grabbed a gun and gone down fighting. Being a coward, I figure you got yourself into an American officer's uniform, grabbed a set of dog tags that had a Latin name on them, and played dumb.”

Bastidas swung a booted foot across Barton's face. Barton shook his head to clear it, and spit blood on the carpet. His act drew encouraging smiles from Morgan and Felicity. Bastidas spoke as he walked away.

“I was not thinking of myself. I wanted to place myself in a position to do more than kill one or two Yankee soldiers.” He spun, grinning at them. “The Americans were so stupid. I couldn't answer any of their questions so I just kept saying I don't remember. An American Army doctor actually came up with the amnesia story. I just spoke little and looked around. I was a hero, after all, and they treated me very well. Once taken to safety I studied the real Bastidas' records and slowly recovered. As it turned out, he was only a part time soldier in the California National Guard. In his normal life he was a college professor. I imagine he ended up on duty in Panama just because he spoke the language.”

“And I found papers in his personal effects. Notes. Things no one had ever seen. Once out of the army I reestablished contact with my Cuban friends. I showed them these mysterious notes. They told me my new identity was a genius of an engineer and a pretty good physicist. He had some exciting new ideas and he was going to turn them all over to the Army. Can you imagine it? I made millions of dollars with his notes and some hidden assistance from
Castro's people.”

“Okay, I still don't see it.” Morgan spoke partly to get a break from Bastidas' maddening squealing. “You found notes that, with Uncle Fidel's financing, lead to a fusion reactor. I assume you only revealed bits and pieces to the Pentagon, but you got them to finance The Piranha. You took money, men and material assistance from the Cubans. They must want The Piranha but, you're not giving it to them?”

“Those idiots think I'm a loyal communist. In fact, my goal is loftier than just overthrowing the government here or even laying the groundwork for Pan-American socialism. I've realized the reason every other nation wants to rule my people. With this atomic bullet, I can remove that reason, and the Panamanian people will at last be free to truly rule themselves.”

During ten seconds of silence, Felicity's face slowly phased from confusion to realization. She turned to Morgan with shock in her eyes.

“Okay, Red. Why don't I see it?”

“You'd never see it,” she said. “You and Barton are mercenaries, essentially logical men whose basic motivation concerns what you've got to gain. You deal with cold hard realities. Bastidas, on the other hand, is insane.” Then she turned to face her captor.

“It's the canal, right?” she asked. “You figure Panama's history of subjugation stems from everyone wanting to control the strategically placed isthmus. Take out the canal, you take out the reason for anyone to be wanting to control Panama. That's it, isn't it?”

“That's nuts,” Morgan said.

“Only to a narrow minded fool,” Bastidas shouted. “Why do you think I went to the city yesterday? I withdrew all my liquid assets and transferred everything to my Swiss
account. With the power of The Piranha, I'll destroy the cursed canal and render the whole area unusable. Then Panama will be able to find her own destiny.”

Keeping her voice calm, Felicity said, “You're certifiable, you know. Your paranoid delusions extend to your whole country. That canal keeps your economy alive, it…” A knock at the door interrupted her. Chief Pizarro's face poked in.

“There are preparations, Captain,” he said. “You're needed.”

Bastidas headed for the door, talking over his shoulder. “Yes, there is more to be done, but I think all the players should be a part of the big finish. I've decided you three must be on that historic journey,” “You can go out in…what do the Americans say?” Bastidas stopped at the door and turned to face them. “Oh, yes. A blaze of glory.”

The smoking room was silent for nearly five minutes after Bastidas left. A crack had appeared in the sky's gray shell. Felicity watched dust floating in a long column of sunlight connecting a window with the floor. She used the light beam as a meditative focal point. When she returned to herself, she was again ready for action. There was a lot to do and little time for doing it. Barton's face hung vacantly. He looked beaten.

“Doesn't he know if he torpedoes the canal he'll be the most hunted man since Hitler?”

“He won't use a torpedo,” Morgan said, twisting to face him. “He said the area will be unusable. He's talking radiation. I figure he'll jam the sub into the canal and set off the reactor. The Piranha is the atomic bullet he was talking about. We're talking the world's biggest fusion bomb here. Then the canal's wrecked, and the radiation prevents a new one for a lot of years, maybe decades. The world economy will be crippled if everything has to go down around the cape.”

“A lot of his countrymen will die,” Barton said.

“Not just them.” Morgan tried to wipe the sweat from his face with his shoulder. “Panama's one of the world's top places to retire to, and a world class tourist location. There's likely twenty thousand Americans in Panama City alone. Not a big deal maybe if he comes in from the north, but a southern approach, blowing out the Mira Flores
Locks, will put Panama City in the kill zone.”

“What about the army?” Felicity asked, “Or the navy, I guess. Won't they stop him?”

Barton shook his head. “The Army? Navy? Girl there ain't no army or navy. After we came in and yanked Noriega out, in '89, Panama abolished its military completely, and the Panamanian Public Forces are a joke.”

Felicity faced Morgan. He gave her an expectant stare, waiting for her to come out of her reverie.

“So, how do we get out of these things?” he asked with a half smile.

“Take me a while,” she answered. “Once my legs are free I can shake the jacket.”

“Oh, you're a magician too?” Barton asked sarcastically.

“Escape is one of my special skills, yeah,” she said.

“Ignore him,” Morgan said. “How can I help?”

“Aren't you guys even scared?” Barton sounded a little hysterical. “They've got us cold. We can't even move.”

Morgan looked over Felicity's head, still smiling. “Be quiet friend, or I shall have to chastise you.” The smile dropped, and a truly intimidating hard look replaced it.

“Don't worry about him,” Felicity said. “People get claustrophobic in these jackets. Can you get the hair band out of my hair?” She twisted so the back of her head brushed his face. After a brief hesitation, Morgan grasped her hair band in his teeth. Felicity leaned forward as he pulled back. Hairs popped and small whimpering sounds escaped from Felicity's throat. She flinched, but did not complain.

At last Felicity's hair came free of the elastic band. She sat back against the wall and said “On my knees.” Morgan hopped to his left. His upper body fell forward into her lap. The hair band fell across her taped knees. He tried to sit back up, crashing his right shoulder into her breasts on the
way.

“Watch it, buster. That hurts.”

“Sorry, Red,” Morgan said after regaining his balance.

Barton looked on, astonished.

“How can you joke around at a time like this? And what are you doing?” A sharp look from Morgan silenced him. He watched in silence as Felicity took three deep breaths.

With a final exhalation she bent forward, putting her mouth on the hair band. Strapped inside of it were various spring steel lock picks. Ignoring the canvas cutting into her waist, she sorted through them with her tongue. It was delicate, painstaking work, but she soon pulled out a particular shiny metal bit.

The pick she laid on top of the hair band was an inch and a half long and three-quarters of an inch wide over half its length. The rest was only a quarter of an inch across, ending in a slight hook. She sat up, relieving the stress on her shoulders and sucking in a deep breath. Flipping her head got her long red hair out of her eyes.

“That's the best one,” she said, not looking to either side. “If you can get a grip on it with your teeth, I think the edge is sharp enough to cut the tape with.” She looked at the ceiling and sighed. “With my legs free I'm thinking I can wiggle out of this damned straightjacket.” Then under her breath, “I hate doing straightjackets.” With that, she started a series of breathing exercises.

“Well, I'm not too sure about this,” Morgan said, “but I'll give it a shot.” It always seemed that when the action started one of them naturally took charge and the other fell into step. This time, Felicity was driving and he had to play his role.

She did not react when his chest crashed onto her thighs. With a little experimenting, he found his best grip on the pick was with the handle clenched between his left molars.
A fair amount of squirming brought his face to her ankles. Everything between his waist and neck hurt. Coarse canvas cut into every crevice of him, and breathing was strained.

“If crazy people got to try this for a while,” Morgan said through clenched teeth, “they'd go sane and stay that way.” Then he started slitting the tape between Felicity's ankles. It was slow work, ripping a few fibers at a time, and he knew they had no guarantee no one would come to check on them. Time lost its meaning soon and his world was reduced to a few inches of leg and tape, the ripping sound of tape fibers and a cramp in his neck that got more painful by the second.

Felicity's perfume wafted into his nostrils as he neared the top of her shins. Where would she put…ah! He remembered seeing Claudette dab scent behind her knees. A smile relaxed his face for a moment, and the pick snagged in the material under him. A wrong twist, and the fatigued steel snapped.

“Damn,” Morgan said into Felicity's legs.

“What happened?”

“I broke the lock pick,” Morgan said.

“Shit!” Felicity slammed her head back into the wall, her lips curled in and clenched tight, her green eyes misted with water. “How the bloody hell'd you manage that? Tis the holy all of it now.” Her voice shook with frustration and her brogue came out in force. Now what? That was her only plan. No one else there could escape a straight jacket, of that she was certain. But even she couldn't do it without her legs free.

“Jesus, girl, it wasn't his fault.” It was Barton, sounding startled by the first really crude language he had heard Felicity use. “He couldn't see anyway. The damn thing got hung up in the skirt material.”

“Shut your gob you…what?” Felicity cut herself off. She
had almost responded too soon.

“He cut high enough to reach your skirt,” Barton said. “The material hung up that little blade he had. I saw it.” Morgan had just managed to flip himself upright. As Barton's words sank in he sighed with relief. Felicity began to chuckle.

“You mean these idiots didn't strip me? Well, hell.” Felicity lay back and started dragging herself across the floor by her heels. This was no time for modesty. Slowly her skirt, wrapped with tape, rode up over her hips. In moments her legs were completely free. She stopped for a brief moment to rest, sitting up.

“Now for the fun part,” she said.

“You got any slack in that jacket?” Morgan asked.

“A little. Unlike yourself, I was awake when they were putting it on me, so I expanded my chest as much as I could. Now's when we find out how much of an escape artist I am. How's this thing attached in back? They're not all the same.”

“It looks like there's straps at the ends of the sleeves,” Morgan said. “They kind of buckle together. Tricky using two hands, I'd guess. Impossible with your teeth.”

Felicity only nodded and laid back with her knees up. Morgan smiled at Barton. Barton did not mirror his confidence. Felicity didn't take it personally. Barton didn't know her nearly as well.

Slowly she began to roll from left to right. At the apex of each roll there was a short pause and a rather unladylike grunt. When she had gained sufficient give in the jacket, she started pushing herself around the floor head first. She had to keep her behind slightly raised to avoid pulling the skirt back down.

It felt like forever, but six minutes after starting, Felicity stood up. The crossed sleeves were now wrapped around
her hips instead of her waist. Strain showed on her face and she was dripping with perspiration. Her eyes seemed glazed over when she said “Going to have to pop one” to herself.

“Point your feet back,” Felicity said in a distant tone. Morgan didn't realize who she was talking to until she stepped over and he found himself staring into the crotch of her bikini panties.

Felicity lowered herself until she was seated on her partner's booted ankles. A tight smile showed she understood the absurdity of her position.

“What are you doing,” Morgan asked, “besides giving Chuck here one hell of a show?”

“I'm hooking these damned sleeves on your toes,” she answered. She felt a slight blush on her cheeks, even at this tense moment. “Then I'll be pushing off from your chest. I've got this jacket loose enough to slide the sleeves past my hips.”