-2-

            A friend of a friend had made contact with Morgan, as usual.  The go-between was a well-known sub-contractor named Stone.  Morgan had arranged a meeting, but still he had circled the little bungalow on the outskirts of Brussels four times before going to the door.  On the last and closest circle, he noticed a Renault parked across the street and three houses down.  The man inside it puffed on a cigarette and read the paper as if he were merely waiting for someone.  Maybe he was.

            Morgan pulled a map out of his pocket, and walked to the car with a confused look on his face.  In bomber jacket and aviator sunglasses, he hoped that he looked like a befuddled tourist.  The driver, a small dark man with a thick Gallic nose, looked up as he approached.  Morgan saw him start to reach under his seat, but he withdrew his hand as if reconsidering something.

            Once beside the car, Morgan began to gesture and mutter at the map.  At first the driver stared straight ahead.  When Morgan stared at him helplessly, the driver released an exaggerated sigh and rolled down his window.  Morgan mumbled helplessly.

            “Pardon moi, monsieur, ou est le palais?  Je suis... oh hell, je ne parle pas francais tres bien.”

            “My English is better,” the driver said in an exasperated tone.  “You are looking for the Royal Palace?”

            “Not really.”  Morgan leaned close.  “Just half wit lookouts.”

            His left hand shot inside the car, clamping onto the driver’s throat.  When both the driver’s hands locked onto Morgan’s arm, Morgan pulled his right hand back, and then snapped it forward.  The heel of his palm thumped against the driver’s temple, and the man slumped over, unconscious.

            Jogging across the street, Morgan leaned into the bungalow’s door as he rang the bell.  He waited a long ten seconds before locks began to turn inside.  The door opened, and Morgan followed it in.

            The parlor was empty except for four chairs around a small table.  The house was cool, but it carried the musty smell of vacancy.  Morgan assumed it was only used for meetings like this one.  A coffeepot sat on the table, along with two cups and a creamer.  Two sugar cubes and a wafer rested on the edge of each saucer.  There was also a note pad at each place, with a ballpoint pen.  A telephone rested on a scrambler near one end of the table. 

            The man who had admitted Morgan sat at the opposite end of the table.  He was a good two inches taller than Morgan but thin enough to imply frailty.  A full shock of white hair made him appear older than he really was.  His eyes did not quite match his hair, but Morgan had to strain to see the hint of blue there.

“I told you not to post anyone, Stone.  You put an armed man out front.  May as well put up a sign saying there’s some kind of clandestine business going on in here.  I took him out before I came in.  You’re lucky I didn’t kill him.”

            “Standard procedure.”  Stone’s voice was so controlled.  “I hope you didn’t hurt him too badly.”

            “He’s okay, but he’ll have a hell of a headache when he wakes up.  Now, why am I here?”

            “Coffee?”  Stone reached for the pot.

            “No.  You got work for me or what?”

            Stone poured the thick, dark brew into his small cup as if he had nothing else to do that day.  “Yes,” he said, adding a sugar cube to his cup with no greater haste.  “A brief job in Belize.  You know the place?”

            “An American ally on the Caribbean,” Morgan said.  “Good game preserves.  Great scuba spots.  Nothing going on down there right now.”

            “So it would appear.  Someone doesn’t like the direction in which that little nation is going.”  Stone’s voice was almost hypnotic, and Morgan made a serious effort to stay alert while listening to him.

            “Someone.  Your principal.  Who shall remain nameless?”

            “Of course, for your protection as well as his.  There is a man named Carlos Abrigo.  I won’t bore you with the details, but he is a very influential man in the Belize national assembly, the head of their committee controlling exports.  And he is leaning heavily to the left.”

            Morgan nodded.  The target was a commie and that was all he needed to know.  Cuba was sufficient proof that communism was not a dead philosophy, or a defeated enemy in the Western Hemisphere.

            “So?  You want this guy to disappear?  Not my thing.  I’m a soldier.”

            “What I need is a professional who can carry out a raid on a well defended compound,” Stone replied, unruffled.  “Abrigo lives in a rural area, some distance east of Belmopan, the capital city, in a veritable fortress of a forgotten mission.  He maintains a staff that includes some thirty armed guards.  They are labeled law enforcement, but are in fact military personnel.”

            “So you want me to kill him?”

            “We need his influence terminated permanently.”

            Morgan almost laughed at Stone’s subtlety.  “Fine.  Sounds like a simple enough assignment.  I won’t know how simple until I’ve had a chance to do a thorough recon.”

            “I can provide you with maps and details of the target’s defenses.  You see, this must take place within the next thirty days.  My research tells me you’re the best professional available for the job.  Will you take it?”

            “I’d have to assemble a team.  Equip and train them.  Plan for identity concealment afterward.  And of course I’d have to see the defenses before I gave you a firm estimate.  Based on what you’ve said, I figure I can handle what you require for a total cost of, say, two hundred fifty thousand American dollars.  Plus expenses.”

            Stone picked up the telephone.  He pushed one button and waited for the speed dial to go through its motions.  After a few seconds it was clear that a connection was made, but Stone didn’t say hello or begin a conversation.  He simply said Morgan’s last name and the amount he had mentioned.  He listened for a moment, his face impassive, and nodded once before resting the telephone in its cradle.  Stone had an excellent poker face, and Morgan could not predict the answer.

            “This amount is acceptable,” Stone said, his words falling like ice crystals.  “My client will supply advance intelligence and transportation to and from the site.  You will of course deal only with me in this matter.”
            “Naturally.”