Termination Orders(6)
He scanned the article but he couldn’t concentrate on the words; his heart just wasn’t in national affairs at the moment. Then he looked below the fold to find the smarmy mug of Senator Edgar Nickerson smiling at him. He and McKay were shaking hands at some political event. It made sense, of course, for McKay to be seen with the man widely considered to be the most trusted politician in America. But Morgan’s image of her suffered from the association. Nickerson was one of the top players in DC—an old-money aristocrat who had a way of making people trust him implicitly. But Morgan knew better than to believe his public image: the man knew how to play the political game, with a reputation among insiders for masterful behind-the-scenes manipulations that no one ever dared speak of aloud for fear of reprisal.
Morgan decided he wouldn’t let politics spoil what was already not the most pleasant of days, so he turned to the sports page for a March Madness update and was immersed in reading when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it!” he called out to Alex. He walked to the foyer and opened the front door to find a narrow-shouldered man with thinning blond hair and nervous eyes. It was a familiar face, and one he thought he’d never see again. It fell somewhat short of being a pleasant surprise.
“What the hell are you doing here, Plante?”
“Hello, Cobra. How are you?” said the man softly, with an edge of anxiety to his voice. “It’s been a long time.”
“There’s no Cobra here,” said Morgan. “Not anymore.”
“Would you rather I called you by your civilian name?” Plante asked. “I can do that, if you prefer.”
“I would rather you tell me what the hell you’re doing at my front door,” said Morgan. “Or are you here just to catch up on old times?”
“I need to talk to you,” said Plante, the apprehension obvious in his tone. “Please.”
“Dad, who is it?” called Alex from the kitchen.
“Just a couple of Jehovah’s Witnesses, sweetie,” he yelled to her. Then he turned back to Plante. “You know what? I changed my mind. I don’t care why you’re here. Get the hell off my property before I exercise my right to shoot you as a trespasser.”
“Won’t you—”
“Listen here,” Morgan interrupted, lowering his voice to a growl. “I don’t work for you anymore. Whatever it is, I don’t care. It’s not my problem. It belongs to you and the rest of the clowns at the Agency.”
“What if I told you it’s a matter of life and death? What if I told you no one else could help us?”
“Jesus, it’s always life and death with you people, isn’t it?”
“You know that better than anyone else, don’t you, Cobra?”
Morgan gritted his teeth. “Listen, Plante, my daughter’s here, and she just cooked my breakfast. So I’m going in, and I’m going to sit down with her and eat, and you’re going to get the hell away from me and my family.”
“You won’t even listen to what I have to say?”
“There’s nothing you can say, Plante. Now, go away.” Morgan began to swing the door shut.
“Cobra, it’s Cougar,” said Plante. The name stopped Morgan dead in his tracks. “Your old partner, Peter Conley. He’s been killed. I’m sorry to tell you like this. But now you’re the only one who can help us.”
Morgan looked at Plante in shock, then took a deep breath.
“Fine. You can come in. But if I find out you’re bullshitting me . . .”
Morgan stepped aside to let Plante into his home. And just like that, his past had flooded back to wash away his life of suburban tranquility.
CHAPTER 3
Morgan walked into the kitchen hunched in the posture of apology and found Alex with a plate of eggs and bacon in each hand, ready to walk them into the dining room.
“Who was that, Dad?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Morgan said. “It’s a business associate of mine. He has an urgent issue, and he needs to talk to me about it right away. I’m going to have to take a rain check on breakfast.”
“Oh,” she said, obviously disappointed. Then she asked, scrunching up her brow, “What exactly is an emergency for a classic car broker?”
He chuckled. “There’s a surprise entry at an auction that my client is interested in. Sometimes these things can be extremely time-sensitive.”
“I see,” she said blankly.
“I’m going to try to get rid of him as soon as I can, and then we can spend some time together.”
“Okay, Dad,” she said, with a pride and stoicism that he knew masked some hurt feelings. “You should take your breakfast in with you, at least. You need to eat, and I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”