Termination Orders(58)

He stepped behind a tree and listened intently until he heard footsteps. Someone was running around him on his left. He stepped out from behind the tree and, aiming to the extent that he could, fired. The boom of the rifle echoed in the silent woods and left Morgan’s ears ringing. He tried and failed to listen for the footsteps, until he heard, behind him, the click of a flashlight. The sudden light projected his own shadow, huge and ominous, onto the trees in front of him.

“Drop the rifle,” said a harsh, accented male voice from behind him, “or I will make you drop it. And I promise that if I do, you will be dead before it hits the ground.”

The man could have been lying for all Morgan knew, but this wasn’t a time for taking chances. Not when he was the last line of defense for his wife and daughter. He tossed the rifle aside, and it made only the slightest noise when it fell on the soft forest ground.

“Cobra,” the man said. “How nice to make your acquaintance.” Morgan turned around. In the pale reflection of the flashlight, he could just make out that the man’s face had a crooked ugliness, and its cause was a diagonal scar that ran from his cheek to his forehead. It was a face he knew from photographs, and he also knew the reputation that went with it.

“You’re Wagner, aren’t you?”

The man only offered him a lurid grin in response. “That is your family in there, is it not? Your wife and daughter?”

Morgan didn’t respond. But of course, he didn’t have to.

“Come on,” the man said, motioning toward the cabin. “Let’s have a chat together, all of us, shall we?”

Having no choice, Morgan started walking toward the door. It felt like marching to his own execution.





CHAPTER 28


Morgan trudged heavily into the cabin, with the killer named Wagner holding the gun on him from behind. The assassin was holding, Morgan now saw, not a firearm but a tranquilizer gun. But what really caught his eye was the man’s face. The scar, though long healed, was deep and disfiguring. It started on his left cheek, swept up to take a chunk from his nose, seemed to pull up his right eyelid by an unseen string, and ended in a diagonal slash through his right eyebrow, giving him the appearance of a permanent scowl. His face was sunken, and he had tiny eyes and a thin nose, which made him look ratlike, despite his solid build.

Morgan knew the man, Ingolf Wagner, by reputation. He was an East German defector, ruthless and cruel by all accounts, who took pleasure in killing his marks. His brutality, it was said, was matched only by his skill with a bowie knife. And this man was going into a cabin where Morgan’s wife and daughter waited. It was, for Morgan, the stuff his worst nightmares were made of.

As they entered, Morgan scanned the room for a way to turn the tables on the assailant, for any potential weapon; but there was nothing he could have reached fast enough. He wasn’t going to risk the man opening fire with Jenny and Alex in here, even with just a tranquilizer gun. He had to bide his time and look for an opening.

“Stand up,” said Wagner to Jenny and Alex, who were still huddled under the table. They emerged slowly, nervously. Alex was trembling, and tears were streaming down her face. Jenny put her arms around her daughter and held her tightly, staring at Wagner protectively, waxing with aggressive hostility. Alex, on the other hand, seemed far diminished. Despite her sinewy strength, the girl now appeared small and fragile. Morgan caught the assassin leering momentarily at Alex before averting his eyes.

Bastard.

“Sit down. You first, Cobra. Hands flat on the table. Move a finger, and I’ll cut it off.” He bent over, his eyes mere slits, and whispered, “Try anything funny, and your wife and daughter will not be so pretty anymore.”

Keeping an eye on them, Wagner began examining the cabin. He picked up the suitcases one by one, opening them and spilling their contents onto the floor. Morgan’s blood boiled at seeing the man paw through his wife’s and daughter’s underwear, his beady eyes lingering just a second too long on a lacy pair that must have belonged to Alex. Murderous thoughts welled up in Morgan’s mind. Stay cool, he thought. Make a move now, and we’re all dead.

“Can I help you find anything?” asked Morgan, with mock solicitousness.

“Shut your mouth,” Wagner said gruffly, barely looking up from his search. He proceeded to pour out the contents of Morgan’s duffel. He quickly rifled through the various items and then walked over to where Morgan was sitting.

“You know who I am, don’t you?” His voice was a cool, menacing growl.

Morgan stared him in the face. “Yeah, I know who you are.”