Termination Orders(8)
“It’s a sensitive matter that I’d rather not discuss here,” said Plante. Morgan shot him a look of incredulity, but he continued. “I’d like you to come with me down to Langley. There’s a helicopter about ten minutes away that can take us there, and if everything goes smoothly, I promise I’ll have you home in time for dinner.”
“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Plante. You’re here for my help, so as I see it, you’re not in any position to bargain.” Morgan leaned forward for emphasis. “Tell me what you need, or get out of my house.”
Plante was apologetic. “Come on, Cobra, be reasonable here. My hands are tied, and I need your help. I wish I could be straight with you, but the order came from above.”
“Then forget it.” Morgan got up and started for the door.
“Cobra . . .” said Plante, getting up as well.
Morgan stood face-to-face with the man and spoke in a low voice. “I mean it, Plante. I’m done with that life, done lying”—he looked around to make sure Alex wasn’t within earshot, and his voice sank to a rumbling whisper—“to my family. Done putting my life on the line for a bunch of spineless politicos and backstabbers.”
“If you won’t do it for me, do it for Cougar,” said Plante.
Morgan feinted a lunge at Plante, who flinched in response. “Don’t you dare! You have no right to use his memory to get me to do what you want.”
Plante seemed to make an effort to gloss over being intimidated and to assert himself, but his speech still had a slight tremble. “What about what he wanted, Cobra?” he asked. “Have you considered that?”
Morgan stepped back. “What are you talking about?”
Plante hesitated, looking down.
“Don’t pull this crap on me, Plante,” said Morgan. “You’re not getting anywhere with this cryptic bullshit.”
Plante considered that for a moment. “He sent us a last message before he died. I can tell you that much.”
“What did it say?”
Plante just stared back at him.
“That’s it, we’re done.”
“Stop!” Plante’s voice took on a new urgency. “Look, Cobra, truth is, we don’t know. It’s in some kind of code, a code that we’ve had little luck breaking. And we suspect we’re running out of time.”
“Why are you asking me about this? What makes you think I’ll do any better than the pros over at the Agency?”
“Because there is only one thing that’s perfectly clear.”
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“It’s addressed to you.”
Morgan faltered. “Come again?”
“‘For Cobra’s Eyes Only.’ That’s how it starts. In plain English. The rest of it seems to be in a kind of code, but the words don’t match up with any of ours. We can only conclude that it’s actually meant for you and that you’re the only one who can tell us what it means.”
Morgan frowned, deep in thought. He didn’t know what it could be about. There was a time in his life when coded messages from Cougar would have been business as usual. Just another day on the job. But that time was gone, long gone. Their interactions these days were limited to exchanging cards on Christmas and the occasional afternoon spent over beers, reminiscing about all the times they’d cheated death together. It was so implausible, all he could manage to say to Plante was an incredulous, “Why?”
“Your guess is as good as ours.”
He thought for a moment. Knowing Cougar, it had to be important. And in this line of work, important could mean urgent and life threatening. Suddenly, Morgan felt as if he had a mission again. He didn’t waste any time. “Do you have it?”
“Have what?”
“What do you think? The message. Do you have it?”
Plante seemed taken aback by Morgan’s sudden intensity. “Sorry, Cobra. I’m not authorized to take it out of headquarters.”
“You’re kidding me,” said Morgan. “What if it’s too late by the time we get there?”
“I’m sorry, I just don’t have the authority,” said Plante, shrugging.
“Then talk to someone who does have the damn authority!” Morgan exclaimed, exasperated.
“I already did. Kline said specifically—”
“Kline?” asked Morgan, his eyes narrowing. “You mean Harold Kline? What’s he got to do with it?”
Plante hesitated. “He’s Deputy Director of the Clandestine Service.”
“Boyle made that worthless, spineless little pencil pusher Deputy Director of the NCS?”