Silent Assassin(12)

“I think there’s plenty more you can do,” said Morgan, looking forward, but keeping the corner of his eye firmly fixed on Smith.

“Oh?” Smith asked.

“I have questions.”

“Of course you do,” said Smith. “That’s why you called, after all, isn’t it? It seems like curiosity is at least one weakness of the infamous Cobra.” Morgan’s brow furrowed at the comment. “Well, you know as well as I do that I cannot offer you full disclosure. But I will tell you whatever I can.”

“Oh yeah?” Morgan knew it was never that simple. “What are you getting out of coming down here and answering my questions?”

He looked surprised. “I thought that much was clear. My hope is that you will come to work for us, Mr. Morgan.”

“So this is a kind of job interview, then?”

“Oh, no. We’re very much past that point. I would not be here if I did not already know that I wish you to work for us. There is no point in making you jump through hoops as if you were vying for a position as assistant manager in a pet supply store. No, no. I am here to convince you.”

“All right, I’ll bite,” said Morgan. “You said you have no name. What’s your purpose?”

“We aim to make the world a safer and freer place.”

“What are you, running for president?” said Morgan. “That tells me jack. Are you with the U.S. government? Some kind of international coalition?”

“We are not beholden to the government or anyone else, Mr. Morgan.”

“No oversight?”

“I like to think that we oversee ourselves.”

“And who’s financing this little venture? Who’s calling the shots? And more importantly, who’s benefiting?”

“Our benefactors are of the kind that would rather remain anonymous. As for the benefits . . . we all benefit, Mr. Morgan. But I am aware you cannot take my word for it, and neither will you trust me when I say that our interests are—I won’t say pure, but we are the good guys, Mr. Morgan. Among those who determine our mission are some names you would certainly recognize, and some you would not.” Morgan had some idea, but remained silent. “Of course, I cannot name any of them for you. But what I can tell you is that there is a balance of interests. We have no interest in playing favorites. Just that which makes us all richer. Peace. Prosperity. Freedom.”

“How about truth, justice, and the American way?” Morgan said sarcastically.

“Much in the way that the governmental intelligence and enforcement agencies would consider them, yes.”

“So why not let them take care of it?”

“You cannot leave it all to them, Mr. Morgan. You know that yourself, firsthand. Government agencies are often slow to action, riddled with corruption and petty personal squabbles, and with rewards based on obedience instead of effectiveness. Their work is not without its merit. But their failures can be spectacular.”

“And you?” Morgan asked.

“We step in when governments fail.”

Morgan mulled it over, looking out the window at the quiet rows of houses as they drove, with the sun filtering down the bright green canopies of the elms and sycamores. “How am I supposed to take your word for it, Mr. Smith?” He said the obviously fake name pointedly.

“I do see the conundrum, Mr. Morgan. You don’t know me, much less trust me enough to make a judgment like this. You can contact your old resources, but I can guarantee that none of them have heard of me or the people I represent. But perhaps that will not be an insurmountable problem. Perhaps a solution will present itself in good time.”

As he said this, he pulled into the parking lot of a chain drugstore. And the solution did present itself, six-foot-seven, khaki shorts on skinny legs and dark aviators. There, leaning against a Jeep in a parking space, was his old friend and partner, Peter Conley—known, professionally, as Cougar.

“Go on,” said Smith.

Morgan shot the mysterious man one last glance, then left the car. He couldn’t help but smile as he approached his old friend. Conley smiled broadly in return. “I’ve been hoping you would make the call sooner or later,” he said.

“I guess a normal life doesn’t quite suit me,” said Morgan.

“I could’ve told you that,” said Conley. “It gets to you. Something that wants to get out. You can’t keep a cobra down forever.”

Morgan grinned. “Or a cougar, apparently.”

“True enough,” said Conley.

“So, this Smith guy . . .” said Morgan. “This mysterious organization. Is it what he says it is?”