The Payback Assignment (31 page)

           
As the girl had this bit under control, Morgan wandered into the stacks.
 
Of course, that misleading library term really indicates the most orderly arrangement of information humanity has been able to achieve, ruled by the Dewey decimal system.

           
His wanderings took him into the history section.
 
In the narrow aisle between the tall shelves, his hand dragged along the spines of a series of books he wished he had time to read.
 
He was halfway down it when his pulse speeded up, his blood pressure rose slightly, and adrenalin poured out into his bloodstream.
 
Somehow he knew something was about to threaten his life.

           
Keeping his eyes on the books in front of him, he inched forward.
 
The sense of danger increased.
 
He took a few steps back.
 
Same reaction.
 
Whatever the danger was, it waited at both ends of the aisle.

           
Whoever had set these traps was smart enough to track them to the library without him or Felicity noticing.
 
He had to expect professionalism from this crew.
 
To go to either cross aisle would mean unnecessary risk.
 
The best solution was to wait for it.

           
He pulled Jervis Anderson’s “This Was Harlem” off the rack, turned to lean his left shoulder against the shelf and began to turn pages.
 
But he was not reading.
 
His senses were spread like a radio net, waiting for an attack.
 
He did not think even a silenced pistol could be fired in there without being heard, and no one could escape the stacks without being seen.
 
If his enemy wanted to dispatch him quietly, he would have to do it up close and personal.
 
That was the way Morgan wanted things.

           
Two minutes later he could feel the danger getting closer.
 
His attacker was completely silent, which in this case did him little good, but spoke volumes about his ability.
 
Morgan’s mouth went dry while he held still, allowing death to approach.

           
Then, an unexpected distraction gripped him.
 
His teeth began to ache with the intensity of his danger warning.
 
It wasn’t just him.

           
Felicity!

           
“I think we’ve already agreed on the price, Mick.”
 
Felicity’s smile hardened a degree.
 
“Don’t be killing the golden goose now, lad.”

           
“That was before I found out half the city’s been out looking for you, darling.”
 
Mick was a broad, squat man with a ruddy complexion and the wild eyes of his Celtic ancestors.
 
“Don’t I deserve something for the added risk of meeting with you under those circumstances?”

           
“Well, I’m thinking I’m getting hustled here, but...”
 
Felicity’s head suddenly snapped up, her eyes widening.
 
With her gaze focused on an imaginary spot in space, she gently slid the tube out of Mick’s hands.

           
“Mick, do you trust me?” she asked in a whisper.

           
“Well, of course.
 
We’re countrymen, and...”

           
“Fine.”
 
She forced her smile back into place.
 
“Believe me when I say, you’ll get the price you’re asking for the research assistance, but I’ll have to get it to you later.”

           
“Your credit’s good with me.”

           
“Good.”
 
Felicity slid the cardboard tube under her chair.
 
“Now, stand up, and move away from me as quickly as you can.”
 
Mick started to protest, but her eyes focused on him with a new intensity, letting him know that debate would be foolish.
 
With a nod he got to his feet and slipped away.

           
Felicity’s body was vibrating with the drive to take flight.
 
She was in very real danger from something at a distance.
 
Slowly she brought her instinctive sense into focus, narrowing the feeling by direction.
 
Her eyes, glazed over in concentration, slowly focused on the wall straight ahead.
 
Was that the source of her danger?
 
No, it was not the wall of books, but above it.
 
The mezzanine.

           
Just as she brought the man lying on the floor of the mezzanine into focus, her body won control from her mind and flung itself hard left.
 
Before she hit the floor, she heard a sound like a loud cough, and something hard hit and splintered the table where she had been sitting.

           
A woman screamed, but too far away to have been hit.
 
Felicity jumped to her feet and spotted the sniper in less than a second.
 
He had been prone, aiming a long barreled, silenced rifle.
 
Now he was scrambling toward a window.

           
Felicity shouted “Up there!” focusing the whole room on his location.
 
She was about to follow the security guard when a wave of perception sent her reeling.

           
“Morgan!”
 
She turned and ran to the nearest bookshelves.
 
Springing upward, she hooked both arms on the tops of facing shelves and, like a gymnast on the parallel bars, swung herself up to the top.

           
Morgan’s hands were clammy from waiting.
 
He heard what sounded like a silenced rifle shot, but he dared not react.
 
He could see his assailant in his mind’s eye, creeping up on him.
 
He imagined the other man close enough to touch him.
 
When he heard the rustle of an arm being drawn back, he knew it was time to move.

           
The book closed as Morgan spun around to his right.
 
It’s spine cracked into the attacker’s arm just below his elbow.
 
His knife ripped Morgan’s windbreaker as it was slammed into the wall of books.
 
Then Morgan shoved the book forward, jamming its top edge into the other man’s throat.
 
Gagging, he dropped to his knees.
 
Morgan did also, grabbing the man by his shirt.

           
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

           
“Griffith,” the man wheezed.
 
“You killed Griffith.”

           
“Wrong,” Morgan said, “but it hardly matters now.”

           
“True.”
 
The new voice came from the other end of the aisle.
 
The man there barely fit between the bookshelves.
 
He must have decided the chaos in the rest of the library was sufficient to disguise another shot.
 
He held a silenced automatic, its muzzle aimed at Morgan’s head.

           
The man Morgan held passed out, his head dropping backward.
 
He was no shield against nine-millimeter shells.
 
There was no room to dodge left or right, no time to get to the other end of the aisle, or draw a weapon.
 
The man only advanced three steps, still much too far away to dive for.

           
Morgan could see in his enemy’s eyes that he had followed Morgan’s thought process.
 
“You’re all out of options, asshole.”
 
He raised his gun to arm’s length.

           
Felicity’s knees landed on either side of the killer’s neck, her weight slamming him to the floor.
 
She quickly rolled as far to the side as space allowed.
 
A bullet tore into a shelved book’s spine just before Morgan’s foot landed on the shooter’s hand.
 
He kicked forward hard, surely costing the man several teeth and sending him into unconsciousness.

           
“I owe you again, Red,” Morgan said, helping her to her feet.

           
“Later.
 
There’s another one out there and he’s probably getting away.”

           
Felicity pointed out the sniper’s original position, and the window he opened.
 
While both security guards and patrons rushed outside to try to follow him, Morgan led her up to the mezzanine.

“I want a better look at that rifle,” he said.

           
Above the now deserted reading room, he squatted on his haunches to examine the weapon closely.
 
“Very nice.
 
This is a custom job, Red, built on an old Krag action.
 
A very personal piece.
 
Sure must have hurt to leave this beauty behind.”

           
“Maybe he didn’t.”
 
Felicity was looking out the window, watching the crowd down in the park.
 
Morgan joined her at the window.
 
Judging from the confusion below, the sniper had not been found.
 

“How could he make that drop?” Morgan asked.

“I know how I’d have done it,” Felicity said in a soft tone.
 
“It’s easy with a rope and pulley system, but I don’t see any signs of the clamps that would have held the system in place.”

“He could have rappelled” Morgan said.
 
“If you’re good, it can get you down real fast.”

“True enough, but it doesn’t seem likely he could have slipped down from this window without being seen, especially if he took the time to retrieve his rope.”
 
Morgan looked into her eyes and thought for a moment that he could see her mind working the situation.
 
When she took his arm he let her ease him back away from the window.
 
She turned toward him and leaned toward his ear.

           
“You know, if I was stealing something in this kind of situation, I wouldn’t be down there,” she mumbled for his hearing alone.
 
“I’d be up here somewhere.”
 
With a wink, she headed downstairs.

           
Morgan waited a moment before starting down the stairs, to avoid looking like he had a plan.
 
When he reached them he walked down six steps, turned quietly, and lay down on the stairs.
 
He could just see over the top step.

           
He had only a two minute wait before the sniper appeared from his hiding place and looked over the rail to make sure he could leave unseen.
 
He looked at his rifle like it was an old friend, and stared to reach for it.

           
“Don’t try it.”
 
Morgan stood with his gun drawn.
 
The sniper hesitated, then turned and ran for the stairs at the opposite end of the mezzanine.
 
Morgan slid his pistol back into its holster and ran after him.
 
He had hoped to bluff the sniper, but a shot now would surely bring the police and he did not want that kind of involvement.

           
The sniper had a lead, and desperation helped him widen it.
 
Morgan moved as quickly as he could but he was still on the stairs when the sniper reached the bottom and sprinted across the right side of the reading room toward the door.
 
Morgan followed, but he knew he had no chance of catching the sniper before he went out the door and disappeared.

           
Felicity surprised him when she emerged from under the left end of one of the last tables and shoved with all her strength.
 
The table slid out, blocking the path.
 
The sniper, running full tilt, smashed his thighs into the table and flew over it, landing hard on the other side.
 
Morgan leaped over the table and was on him in a second, pressing a knee into his chest.
 
It was unnecessary.
 
He felt a damp spot at the back of the sniper’s head, and his hand came away red.
 
The fall had put his head into the floor hard enough to knock him unconscious.