“I want him now.”
“But it's no longer about what you want, Runne,” he said softly. “I gave you an opportunity to kill Morgan and you screwed up. Now you're working on my schedule.”
Rage flowed through him. “I can find him on my own.”
“You haven't found him yet. And I can't give you free rein any longer. He's become too dangerous. I'll have to turn Jurgens and his men loose.”
“No! He'll get in my way. You promised me Morgan.” He drew a deep breath. “Don't send Jurgens after him and I'll wait until after the Z-3 job.”
“How patient of you. But you won't have that long to wait.”
“How long?”
“Eight days. If all goes well.” Betworth added, “But I can't tolerate this lack of communication, Runne. The time's getting too short. If you fail to answer my calls, I'll be forced to reconsider my decision.” He hung up.
Bastard. He was robbing Runne of his independence, making him another one of his puppets.
He could stand it. It would only be for another eight days.
One more job and Betworth would give him Morgan.
And then he'd go after Betworth.
But he might not have to rely on Betworth to find Morgan. Betworth had said the woman was still with him, and she had to be easier prey than Morgan.
He pulled out Alex Graham's photo and the dossier Betworth had sent him. She was soft, weak, a bleeding heart who wanted to change the world. He would study her background more carefully and then he might be able to predict what her next moves might be.
Would Morgan step into the trap if Runne captured and tortured the woman? Runne would not make that mistake, but Morgan had grown up in a puny, sickly culture and might not be able to overcome his ingrained weakness.
Runne would have to see. First things first.
Find the woman.
“You look excited.”
Alex looked up from the laptop to see Morgan in the doorway. “It's too early to be excited, but I think I may be on the right track.”
“Z-2?”
She shook her head. “I have no idea where Z-2 could be.” She rubbed the back of her neck. She'd been hunched over this computer for hours and every muscle was complaining. “Vents. I kept thinking of those deep holes in the basement at Fairfax. They have to have some connection with what Powers was muttering. So what kind of vents are there? Mechanical, metal, air-conditioning vents . . .” She looked back at the computer screen. “But there's another kind of vent. A thermal vent.”
“What's that?”
“It's a fissure in the earth's crust that allows the heat and steam from the earth's core to surface. You find it most often in the ocean and volcanic regions. In the case of a volcano, it also releases melted rock that vents as lava. The core holds temperatures that near five thousand degrees centigrade.”
Morgan gave a low whistle. “Hot stuff.”
“Powerful stuff. But we've never been able to tap either the core or the pressure to any great extent. We've used natural geothermal energy in limited situations throughout history. The Romans, Icelanders, some North American tribes used them for baths, heat, or food preparations, but they were exploiting natural geothermal vents. Today we also have some plants that use the energy to generate steam that heats homes and turns turbines. The environmental groups are loving the possibilities of using geothermal power to heat and cool, because it's clean as well as cheap.”
“So how does it connect with Arapahoe Junction?”
“I don't know. I'm still searching. Go away and let me work. I think I'm getting there.”
“Anything I can do?”
“He kept saying Lontana, didn't he? They lost Lontana and everything went wrong.”
Morgan nodded. “And he may have been referring to him as the Brazilian. I've already given the name to Galen to run a check on.”
“I'm running my own check. If he was connected to Fairfax and Arapahoe Junction, then he should have something to do with vents. I'll cross-reference and see what I come up with. . . .” She frowned as the results came on the screen. “Nothing. I'll try a new search engine. . . .”
Morgan watched her for a few minutes longer, but he knew she'd forgotten he was in the room. He moved out onto the porch again and sat down, his gaze on the road. It was irritating that his part in this was a passive one. He wanted to do something.
But it would come. He could feel it coming.
And until then he'd watch and wait . . . and protect.
“Logan is in town,” Betworth said as he walked with Ben Danley toward the Capitol building. “He's asking questions. Nothing aggressive, Danley. But naturally we have to keep our eye on him. What Logan does on the surface is usually only the tip of the iceberg.”