Dead Aim(78)
“That wouldn't take much.”
“But the answer's no?”
She looked back at the island, which was almost out of sight in the distance. She was so tired of fighting, and it would be heaven to find a place like that to rest and heal. The idea was beautiful and tempting . . . and completely out of the question. “The answer's no.”
Galen called Morgan back when they were driving down a dirt road to a private airport on the island of Tobago. “I've found Al Leary.”
“Where is he?”
“Guatemala City.”
“What?”
“He left Washington two days ago and we followed him to Guatemala City. Actually, he's in a small town south of the city. He's staying at the Rio Hotel, a Matanza hangout. One of Juan Cordoba's whores lives there, and he uses her place for his more sensitive meetings.”
Morgan could feel Alex's gaze on him and carefully kept his face expressionless. “You're sure?”
“No doubt about it. And I don't think Leary's down there trying to catch the bad guys. If he were, he'd be dead by now. It looks dirty to me. You're going after him?”
“Yes.”
“You need transport?”
“Of course.”
“You don't want to talk right now, do you?” Galen said. “Call me back as soon as you can. I'll have Marco Salazar pick you up at the airport in Guatemala City. He'll try to help you, but it's really going to be your show. Matanza practically owns the town.” He paused. “And Leary's being pretty brassy. He wasn't as hard to find as he should have been. Be careful.”
“You know it.” He hung up.
“What's happened?” Alex asked.
“Logan is still in Washington, but hasn't found out anything. No other news.” He put his phone away. “There's the airport. I hope this wind dies down. That prop plane doesn't look like it could stand much buffeting around.”
Don Garver, the same pilot who'd flown them from Miami, gave them a sunny smile as he threw open the door for them to board. “Have a good trip? This one may not be so hot. It's going to be a little rough today.”
“Should we be flying?” Alex asked.
“Sure. I wouldn't risk that pretty neck.” He went back to the cockpit. “But I don't promise not to cause your stomach to do a few flip-flops.”
“We'll survive.” Morgan helped Alex into the plane and settled her in her seat. “That's what seat belts are for.”
“Speak for yourself,” Alex said. “I don't travel well in bumpy weather.”
“I promise that you won't even feel it this time.” Morgan smiled down at her. “Trust me.”
“That's a first.” She smiled back at him. “Lately you've been trying to convince me you can't be trusted.”
He put his hand caressingly on the side of her neck. “No one ever said I was consistent.”
“Good, because I do trust—” Her eyes widened. “What are—” She slumped down in the seat.
“You won't trust me when you wake up. Sleep well.” He brushed a kiss on her forehead and turned to Garver, who was staring wide-eyed at him. “Take her to Miami and don't let her leave the plane until Galen gets there.”
“What did you do to her? Hit her?”
“Sort of. And she's going to be mad as hell when she wakes up. If I were you, I'd want to be out of this turbulence before I had to deal with her.” He turned and headed for the door. “Tell her it was necessary. I had no choice. Galen will explain it to her.”
The White House
“I have to talk to you, Mr. President,” Keller said.
“Not now. I'm late.” Andreas moved quickly down the hall. “I was supposed to be at the dedication of that statue at the Pentagon ten min—” He stopped when he saw Keller's face. “My God, what's wrong?”
“Plummock Falls. We believe it's . . . gone.”
Andreas halted in his tracks. “You told me it couldn't happen again. You told me it was safe.”
“That's what I was assured by both the FBI and the CIA.”
“Assurances. God, I'm tired of assurances. Was anyone hurt?”
“You'll be glad to know that, thanks to your orders, our people were not—”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“Unfortunately, the explosion undermined the integrity of the surrounding acreage. Thirty-four miners are buried. We don't know if there are any fatalities yet.”
“Thirty-four—” He felt sick, and he knew that horror must be reflected on his face. He had to get to somewhere less public. He was the President. He mustn't show fear or disgust and most of all he mustn't show despair. He was the icon, the symbol. God, he was tired of that too.