“Damn!” Dropping the submachine gun on the seat next to him, Morgan yanked his Browning Hi-power from its shoulder holster. One bullet smacked the jeep’s hood, just before Morgan fired. The rifleman’s head exploded under his helmet. Morgan pressed the accelerator to the floor, passing the rifleman’s body before his helmet hit the ground.
He kept the jeep rolling unerringly north, a talent having nothing to do with his training, but rather a gift he had possessed since birth. He had an unnatural, uncanny sense of direction and distance. Someone had once told him he was psychic or something, but he couldn’t care less what others called it. All he knew was, he had a grid map in his mind on which he could see himself moving. And he never needed a compass, because he could literally feel magnetic north. For him, getting lost was a complete impossibility.
So he would drive to Mexico. From there he would go on to the United States. He would track down Stone, and through him, his mysterious boss. Someone was going to pay and pay big for cheating him, for stranding him, for getting his men killed. Someone was going to pay, and soon.
6
Jonathan Stahl saw himself as just another wealthy man in a crowd of wealthy men. The Acapulco beach on which he stood was cluttered with the rich and a few of the famous. He considered it a tragic waste to be listening to the surf gently tapping the sand while wearing a tuxedo.
When a woman eyed him, it made him feel as if maybe he wasn’t just one more man on the beach. Looking around, he thought he was perhaps a shade thinner, a bit taller than some of the others, and the gray starting to show at his temples could be seen as distinguished.
For whatever reason, the beauty standing at one of the portable bars was looking him over. What distinguished him from his peers in her eyes? He really did not know or care. All that really mattered right then was that Victoria was off making one of her interminable visits to the ladies’ room. That meant that he could return the beauty’s stare and maybe even risk a smile. Could she possibly be there alone?
This girl apparently took his smile as an invitation. When she stepped away from the bar Stahl’s breath caught in his throat. She was stately, perhaps five feet nine or ten inches, and quite svelte in an emerald gown clinging tenaciously to her hips. She wore no watch, no jewelry of any kind except for one finely cut emerald on her left hand. He knew it was a cliche, but the only phrase he could think of to describe her skin was peaches and cream. Not just her face, but her shoulders and the satin globes bursting from her bodice as well. Her gown was simple, sleeveless and low cut, with a slit up the left side exposing long, well-muscled legs as she walked toward him. Her hair was that deep fiery red that can only be natural, and it hung to the small of her slender back.
Every element of the picture was a point of beauty. Despite all this, her most striking feature was certainly her eyes. Slanted almost like a cat’s, they matched the color of her gown and glinted with life.
“Hello,” she said, stopping just out of reach. Her voice was summer honey with the slightest hint of Irish brogue. “They call me Felicity. And you are…?”
“Stahl. John Stahl.” Although flustered, he recovered quickly. “You’re the first new face I’ve seen in this crowd in quite a while.” He left the obvious question unvoiced.
“Oh, I’m recently widowed,” Felicity said, sipping from a highball glass. “My husband was, well, he was a bit older than I. I’m looking for a way to get rid of some of this money. When I heard about this beach party, it sounded like a good place to start doing that. And I thought I might find some other things I’ve been missing.”
Felicity had stepped closer. While she spoke she ran her free hand down Stahl’s side in a manner that he found quite disconcerting. His voice failed for an instant. Another, shriller voice chimed in from behind him.
“You won’t find them here, missy,” Mrs. Stahl snapped. She was a smart looking blonde, although a bit shorter and somewhat older than Felicity. She wore bright red lipstick and nail polish. Her evening gown was basic black. At her throat sat a brooch holding a brilliant diamond, surrounded by pearls, in a marbled green malachite setting.
“You should be less suspicious, madam,” Felicity responded coolly. “And you should show more appreciation for what you do get from your husband. That single bauble you’re wearing is probably worth something in six figures. A man deserves a little more respect from a woman at those prices.”
After her one stinging remark, Felicity O’Brian turned and walked off across the sand. The outburst had caught the attention of others nearby who were busy looking embarrassed when she passed them. Behind her, Felicity could hear heated words passing between the Stahls as she left. That was good. They would probably argue for an hour. Then they would join the rest of the party when it moved to the rocky lookout at La Quebrada to watch the courageous native divers fly into the air and down into the waves. They would not be headed for home anytime soon.
Felicity went into the hotel, found the ladies’ lounge and walked to the farthest stall. After locking the door she perched carefully on the edge of the seat, not wanting to risk getting her gown wet. She drew an odd looking metal device from her purse. It resembled a tiny waffle iron, with a pattern inside that looked much like a key blank when she opened it. Next she removed a key from a key ring and placed it on top of the blank. She had taken the key ring from John Stahl’s pocket quite easily, without his noticing. In her opinion, a man of Stahl’s financial standing shouldn’t even carry a front door key.
She partially closed the double handled tool she held and turned the tiny screws on one side. The screws moved the cutting blades inside. When they were in place, pressed against the edges of Stahl’s key, she used both hands to squeeze the handles together. After a few seconds of pressure she heard a subtle pop, and tiny bits of metal clattered to the floor. When she opened the odd device, a smile lit her face. Beneath the key she had placed inside lay an exact duplicate. The job was on.
She replaced the original key on its ring. On her way out of the hotel, she dropped the “borrowed” key ring in front of the men’s room door. She was confident that someone would pick it up before long and hand it in to the hotel management. Some ambitious employee, anxious for a fat tip would announce his find and search until he returned the keys to Stahl. He would probably tell them he did not remember dropping his keys, but since he had them back he would think no more about it.
Felicity enjoyed the ocean breeze and the electric scent of the Pacific until the valet brought her car around. She slid down behind the wheel of her jet-black 300 ZX turbo and smoothly moved out onto the wide avenue. Traffic was heavy for ten p.m. She competed for road space mostly with aging Volkswagen Beetles, little Fiats, tiny Renaults, and a variety of other small, older cars whose drivers made liberal use of their horns. Like most of the city’s major streets, this one had a wide median strip, adorned with tall sculptures. She was looking for a particular monument, which was her landmark.
Finally she spotted it. It was some sort of unpronounceable Mexican god, but the body parts matched her memory of the one she was looking for. She cornered sharply, down-shifting and rocketing down the narrow lane, pushing her sleek sports car over ninety miles per hour.
She knew exactly where she was going. She had done her research well, including a lot of surveillance during the last thirty days. The contractor who contacted her more than a month ago was impatient. He had an anxious client who wanted a particular antique jeweled brooch. Apparently the client had tried to purchase this piece through an agent, but to his surprise the present owner refused to sell. So he decided to hire a professional to retrieve it.