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            Felicity’s eyes popped open at eight-thirteen.  She had slept well.  A bright sun beamed into her room, the sky rinsed clean by night rain.  She got up and stretched her naked form into the sunbeam, absorbing the warmth, absorbing the silence.  Fully stretched, she headed for the door.  She knew before she opened it that Morgan was gone. 

            She had no rational way to know.  They had slept in separate rooms after stopping for some barbecued ribs she found both interesting and delicious.  She remembered that Morgan had made her laugh by painting word pictures of their enemies, turning them into caricatures.  He joked about the trouble they had with “Donkey Kong”, “Stone-face” and their boss, the walking pear man.  He had made her feel confident and relaxed.  She had awakened only briefly in the night, with an uneasy feeling, but it had faded in seconds and she knew he was fine. 

            She treated herself to a hot shower, dried herself with a plush terry cloth towel, and gave her hair a hundred brush strokes.  Halfway through them she knew he was back.  It was eerie in a way, but also very comforting, being able to feel when someone was nearby.  They had not had a chance to talk much about these strange phenomena, but she felt some experimentation would be in order as soon as she had her brooch in hand.

            As she squirmed into her Calvin Kleins, Felicity heard the stereo pop on.  Music filled the apartment, happy but fierce.  A trumpet wandered effortlessly through lilting expository phrases.  Very soothing, she thought as she pulled on a sweatshirt, pushing the sleeves halfway up.  Soothing yet driving. 

            Morgan, standing in the living room, looked up as she approached.  The overstuffed shopping bag at his feet prodded her curiosity almost as much as the man standing beside him.  The stranger was shorter, with curly black hair and an olive complexion.  When he spotted her he took a small step back.

            “What a fox,” the newcomer said, under his breath.

            “I know what you mean,” Morgan said.  “She never just comes into a room.  She always makes an entrance.  I always feel grubby next to her.”  Felicity chuckled at that, since he had on black denims, new black running shoes he had picked up someplace and a charcoal wool blazer over a gray, Italian cut dress shirt.  It was a sharp contrast to her jeans and sweatshirt.  He had clearly been shopping, but the only clothing stores open at dawn were parked at the curb of certain city streets.   

            “Good thing I wasn’t walking around starkers,” she said, stepping forward to offer her hand.  “Who’s your friend?”  She was surprised to find Morgan bringing a guest to the apartment, but figured he must have a good reason.  Besides, the man was handsome in a Middle Eastern way, dressed very nicely in a conservative blue suit of obviously steep price tag.

            “Felicity, this is Aaron Goldsmith.  I met him in Brussels during an arms deal.  Now he sells insurance.”

            “A very pleasant surprise,” she said, smiling at Aaron. 

Your boyfriend here was ringing my doorbell before the sun was up,” Aaron said.  “Believe me, I’m not a morning person.”

“Maybe,” Felicity said with a smile, “but as I’ve learned, Morgan can be a very persuasive person.  Now, Morgan, what else did you bring me?”

            “Assorted pastries for you to pop into the microwave,” Morgan said, lifting a package from the top of the shopping bag.

            “Well, there goes my diet,” she said, accepting the little bundle.   “What else?”

            “Stuff.”

            “What kind of stuff?” she called from the kitchen. 

            “Stuff for tonight.” 

            “Great,” she said.  “Find out what Mr. Goldsmith wants in his coffee.”

            “Aaron, please,” Goldsmith called.  “And I’ll take a little cream and one sugar.”

            Felicity’s coffee maker had automatically ground beans and brewed a fresh pot just minutes before.  She reveled in the tangy aroma of her own personal blend of Costa Rican and Columbian beans while pouring three cups,  Aaron’s she prepared as he requested.  For herself she added two sugars, a little cream, a stick of cinnamon, a drop of vanilla and a little chocolate powder.  Morgan, she knew, took his straight.

            She placed a tray on the oak cube in front of the sofa, next to Morgan’s shopping bag.  With Morgan and Aaron on the couch and Felicity in one of the overstuffed chairs, they ate warm pastries and drank hot coffee and listened serenely to the African rhythms.  The cherry and cheese-filled Danish in her mouth was as sweet and relaxing as the music.

            “You know, this is good stuff.”  She nodded toward the stereo.

            “Yeah.  Miles Davis,” Morgan said, moving his head with the sound.  “The CD is `Bitches Brew’.  The state of the art of jazz in the early seventies, and one of the best albums ever cut.”

            She let the music rule the room, waiting for Morgan to tell her the new scenario.  After a couple of minutes, he glanced at Aaron, who nodded.

            “Aaron wasn’t that anxious to come over until I filled him in on the week we’ve had,” Morgan said.  “And I didn’t drag his ass out this morning to sell me an insurance policy.  He’s also kind of an information broker, too.”

            Felicity’s brows knit accusingly, and Aaron quickly added, “I don’t deal in blackmail, miss.”

            “No, he just makes it a point to know things, and shares that information with interested parties,” Morgan said.  “For a price.”

            “I see,” she said.  “And he knows things we want to know, I take it.  That’s why he’s here.  He knows you, but he wanted to meet me to make sure I was okay.  Well, do I pass?”

            “That’s not it at all,” Aaron said around a mouthful of pastry.  “I know you too, at least by reputation.  I just wanted a chance to meet you in person.”

            “Okay,” Felicity said, turning to Morgan.  “I assume that you didn’t bring Aaron here for a social call.  What is it we’re wanting to know from him?”

            “I thought a little more background about Seagrave was in order.”

            “I checked him out,” she said, sipping her coffee.  “He’s a ruthless businessman, made a lot of enemies, but seems to know how to handle his money.  What else is there to know?”

            “You checked society sources,” Aaron said, leaning back.  “Maybe you got his business background but nothing of the real man.  That’s what Morgan wanted me to give you.”  She sat forward as Aaron spoke.  She really had seen the man from a single point of view, and realized the possible advantage of a different perspective.

            “Adrian Seagrave was born forty-two years ago to a pretty well-to-do family in Bridgeport, Connecticut,” Aaron began.  “His father’s health was poor, and at twenty Adrian was running the family car dealership.  He moved from that into the import export business.  My contacts tell me he was handling contraband by the time he was thirty, but nothing’s been proven and no charges filed, at least so far.  He went into partnership with a Greek shipping man to increase his cash flow.  Two years later the partner disappeared.  There was no will and no family.  His half of the business went to Seagrave.”

            “Gee, things just seem to go this guy’s way, huh?” she commented.

            “It gets better.  I know he’s smuggling, but he’s never been hassled by the police.  He set up in New York about six years ago, same time he married a woman ten years his junior.”

            “I’ve seen this guy,” Felicity said.  “She must have done it for the money.”

            “Right, and he for the status,” Aaron said.  “She was beautiful at the time, a trophy wife.”

            “Sounds like he might have some heavy connections,” Morgan said.  “What’s he into now?  Anything that’ll bring heavy heat if he meets with some bad luck?”

            Aaron gave a short, sharp laugh.  “Just the opposite.  The man’s got no friends.  His latest gig is the commodities market.  He likes to influence the market through political maneuvering.  This, I believe, is how you got involved with him.  He sent you after a guy in Belize, right?  He wanted that man you went after taken out of office so somebody he liked could get in.  I think he’s losing what little respect he ever had for the law.  He’s branched out into outright extortion.”

            “Got a personality profile on this guy?”  Morgan asked.

            “He’s a sadistic, ruthless, manipulative man overcome by greed,” Aaron said, leaning forward for emphasis.  “He’s trying to set himself up as a private Mafia.  Some scattered bits of intel lead me believe he’s looking for a foreign base of operations.  I think he indulges his wife in the hopes of starting a dynasty for himself.  I don’t know all of why you’re having a run in with him, and I’ve no idea how the lady got involved, but I hope you’ve got it in for him bad.”

            “Why?” she asked.

            Aaron leaned back in his seat and locked eyes with Morgan.  “I’ve heard this Seagrave put a price on your head.  Well, that kind of thing works both ways.  It’s worth twenty-five thousand dollars to me to see this man dead.”  Felicity stared at him, trying not to look like she was staring.  When she turned her eyes to Morgan’s face she saw a cold stare there that she recognized.

            “Aaron you’ve known me for years,” Morgan said in a low, guttural voice.  “You know I’m not a hired gun.”

            “Nonsense,” Aaron replied with a lopsided smile.  “In fact, that’s exactly what you are.”

            “You know what I mean,” Morgan said, looking uneasy.  “I’ll shoot in a war situation, but I’m no hit man.  When I fight with a team, there’s a reason besides money.  Generally politics.”

            “What is it this time?”  Aaron asked.  “Besides money.”

            “This time I want to help Felicity get what’s owed her,” Morgan said, his baritone dropping to a deeper register.  “And there’s also a debt involving a few friends of mine.  He’s responsible for their deaths.”  Then, Morgan surprised Felicity by suddenly standing and heading for the door.  “Well, we’ve got some things to take care of, Aaron.”

            Aaron nodded to Felicity, mumbled that it was nice to meet her, and followed Morgan to the door.  Once there he turned to face Morgan, his face twisted with shame.

            “Look, old buddy, I didn’t mean...”

            “I’ll talk to you later,” Morgan said. 

            Felicity barely waited for him to close the door behind Aaron before she spoke.

            “Well, that was rude.”

            “He insulted me,” Morgan said simply, returning to his seat.  “He knows the difference between a mercenary and a murderer.  There are people who take money to drop a civilian.  I don’t do that stuff.”

            Felicity turned her eyes to the floor.  In a soft, almost sympathetic voice she said, “You did for Seagrave.”

            After a pause Morgan said, “That was a mistake.  A mistake I intend to erase.”

            “But don’t you intend to...”

            “Sure.” Morgan took a big swallow of coffee, staring with single point concentration as if he was looking over a battlefield after the action had ended.  “I’ll do it.  For honor.  For your safety.  For my team that got slaughtered in Belize.  Not for Aaron.  Not for money.”  A small smile curled the edges of his mouth.  “And since I won’t do it for him, Aaron’s safer if he didn’t hear me say I intend to do it, anyway.”   

            Felicity felt a need to change the subject, so she returned her attention to the shopping bag that was now between them in front of the sofa.

            “So, my man of mystery, what did you get this morning besides Danishes?”

            “Well, for one thing, this.”  Morgan pulled his jacket aside, revealing a carbon copy of the Browning Hi-power he had left in Seagrave’s office. 

“Should I ask what was wrong with the other one?’

“I knew a guy once who was a chef,” Morgan said.  “He would only use a certain set of knives from a certain company, and nobody else better touch them.”

“I see,” Felicity said.  “Boys with their personal tools.  But this can’t be a big bag of guns.  Can it?”

When Morgan grinned and shrugged, Felicity reached into the bag herself and pulled out a small package wrapped in brown paper.

            “Jewelry?” she asked, shaking the package to see if anything rattled.

            “Actually, it’s about two ounces of C4.  High explosive.” 

            “Oh.”  She gingerly returned it to the bag.

            “Hopefully, I won’t need it.  But since we’re on the subject, let’s talk a little business.  Can you defeat that electronic elevator somehow?”

            “With ease,” she said, stealing furtive glimpses into the bag.  “I just need to have the right tools with me.”

            “Good.  Let’s go back tonight.”

            “You’re serious.”  Felicity said, eyes narrowing.

            “Sure.  They won’t be expecting us, not this soon.  You can go in however you usually would.  I’ll go in on your tail.  If they’re asleep, I should be able to avoid any guards and sign off Seagrave without any gunplay.  If they’re alert, I picked up some unique hand grenades to liven things up.”

            He had said it so calmly she had to replay it in her mind.  Sign him off?  And without gunplay would mean being right up close to Seagrave.  This was the man she had allied herself with.  “Have you ever thought of going legit?” she asked.

            “What?”  Morgan face twisted as if her apparent non sequitur had completely disrupted his thought process.

            “I figure I know as much about security planning and equipment as anybody.  I mean, I know how a thief thinks, you know?”

            “What brought all this up?”  Morgan asked.

            “Well, I was just thinking what great partners we’d make.”  Felicity was on a roll now, using her hands to frame her point.  “You know all about training men for dangerous work.  You know, like bodyguard stuff.” 

            “Slow down, girl,” Morgan said.  “I don’t know if I’m quite ready to settle in one place.  I’ll admit I’ve done some personal protection work, and I have considered starting a business like that from time to time.”

            “Can we talk about it?”

            “After tonight,” Morgan said.  “Now get me that blueprint of the target building you had yesterday.”

            Morgan shuffled over to sit in the center of the sofa with the blueprint spread out in front of him.  Felicity stood by, waiting to hear his plan.  She had done this herself a thousand times, and even laid out capers for a group from time to time, but she had never actually worked with someone this way.  It felt odd.  It felt good.

            “Do you know what a field order is?” he asked, seemingly out of the blue.

            “A what?”

            “It’s the way us military types plan what we’re going to do,” he explained.  “I’ll walk you through it.  First, you clearly define your mission.”

            “Well, that’s easy,” Felicity said, picking up Morgan’s cup and heading for the kitchen.  “Find Seagrave’s safe, nick the brooch and our cash if we see it, and, er, you know.  Deal with the man himself.”

            “Right, eliminate the opposition leadership,” Morgan called behind her while she refilled their coffee cups.  “You’re right.  That’s it.  No side trips.”  She bent to place a fresh cup in front of him.  He stared into her green eyes, causing Felicity an unaccustomed flash of embarrassment.

            “I get the message,” she said.  “I really do.  No side trips and no ego trips.”

            “Right,” he said.  “Thanks for that, Red.  Anyway, next we outline the situation, concentrating on what we know about the enemy and the building, and what we can guess.”  When Felicity lowered herself into a chair he reached into his inside jacket pocket.  “I’ve got another pencil here, and a smaller pad.”

            Felicity waved his offer away.  “Got the memory, remember?  Besides, I won’t be sitting still long.”

            As if to prove her point, Felicity was on her feet within a minute.  As the pair worked through the day, Morgan remained seated on the sofa, hunched over his steno note pad with a mechanical pencil.  Again, Felicity was struck by how differently they worked.  Morgan was a continuous note taker.  He seemed to think best on paper, while Felicity thought best on her feet, walking in free form circles around the oak cube in front of the couch, and wandering around the room, arms crossed, head tilted to one side.

            Morgan went on to outline what he called the execution paragraph of his op order, where the “operational concept” was laid out.  They agreed on the need to carefully arrange how they would maneuver and coordinate with each other.

Planning was one of Felicity’s strong points, and brainstorming was the fun part of that exercise.  She threw out some outrageous ideas, but from her creative mind came daring and workable concepts.  Together they examined obstacles they would likely meet and, one by one, planned their elimination.

            The sun was casting long shadows across the room by the time they had a plan they were both comfortable with.  Morgan sat barefoot with rolled-up sleeves.  Smiling, Felicity squatted in front of the oak cube, tapping her hands on it to the beat of the upbeat rhythms from the CD Morgan was playing, featuring someone called Dave Koz.

“Okay, we’ve got a plan,” she said.  “In fact, a darned good plan.  Simple is always best I say.  Anyway, I think we deserve a break.  Want to slip downstairs for a little dinner?  My treat.”

Morgan leaned back, releasing a long breath.  “Yeah, I could eat.  But we’re not done.  When we get back, I want a briefing on the gear you use.”

“Like what, for instance?”

“Well, remember telling me how you put the dogs out on that job you did in Mexico?” Morgan asked.  “I’d kind of like to know what kind of drugs you keep on hand, and how you use them.  I’m also curious about what’s in your safe cracking kit.  What else might you use in your business?”

Felicity thought for a moment.  “Well, anything and everything, from electronic safe breakers to protective masks to insulated gloves to bug and alarm detectors.  But what’s the point?”

Morgan sat back up, serious again.  “The more I know about the tools you use, the less likely I am to get surprised.  The same reason I’ll tell you all about how those grenades work, and show you the basic workings of my pistol.”

“Whoa,” Felicity backed away, both palms toward Morgan.  “I’m not planning on shooting anybody.”

“And I don’t plan to pick any locks, but you never know what you might have to do in a pinch.  Let’s face facts, Red.  We’re going into a dangerous place, and this time I don’t want any mistakes, any chance of failure.”