Boyd Morrison: The Midas Code

None of them had a phone, except for Orr’s, and because of the password protection Tyler couldn’t use it to call out.

While Grant went to find a working phone, Tyler held Stacy in his lap. She was barely conscious. Her face was pale, and she’d lost a lot of blood. They’d bandaged her up as best they could, but the walk had been hard on her. Tyler stroked her hair.

Her eyes fluttered open. For a second, she couldn’t focus, then she recognized Tyler’s face.

“Hey, I thought I was dead for a minute there,” she said weakly. “Is that the moon?”

Tyler looked up and saw a full moon shining brightly through the clear sky. He instinctively inhaled a deep breath of warm night air, but he stopped when pain convulsed his chest.

“That’s the moon,” he said. “We made it out.”

“Good. I hated that place.”

Tyler smiled.

A look of alarm suddenly bloomed on her face. “Where’s Orr?”

Fresh anger welled up, but Tyler tamped it down. “Don’t worry. We’ll track him down.”

Stacy closed her eyes and sobbed. “Carol. Carol’s gone.”

“Shh. Don’t talk. Save your strength.” Tyler was still in a state of disbelief. The first of the five stages of grief. A part of Tyler hated himself for being so analytical, even now.

Not that he lacked emotion. Every time he pictured Orr’s face, pure hatred flowed through him. He didn’t hate many people. Sometimes he hated himself, like now, when he’d failed so totally. But Orr had earned it, and Tyler swore he would track Orr down if it took him the rest of his life.

He completely understood the powerful need for vengeance. It was appropriate that he’d found it in Italy, so famous for its blood-soaked vendettas.

Grant came trotting back toward them with a cell phone triumphantly held in his hand.

“I got emergency services,” he said. “An ambulance is on the way. I told them it was a heart attack so the police wouldn’t come right away.”

“Where’d you get the phone?”

“Some kid on the street. I saw him talking on it. He told me to buzz off until I offered to trade my Rolex for it. He spoke English, so he helped me with the operator.”

He handed the phone to Tyler, who dialed Miles Benson’s number, one of the few he had memorized. He prayed that Miles would answer the unfamiliar number.

He did, on the second ring.

“Miles Benson,” he said in his curt tone.

“Miles, it’s Tyler.” He could hear the exhaustion in his own voice.

“Tyler? I’ve been trying to reach you for hours! Where the hell are you?”

“I’m in Naples with Grant. Stacy’s badly injured, but we’ve got an ambulance coming. Miles, I think my father is dead.”

“Dead? Jesus. Last time I heard, the general was just coming out of surgery at George Washington University Hospital. Doctors said he’d be in critical condition for a while, but they expected him to make a full recovery.”

For the first time in hours, Tyler felt a surge of energy. “He’s not dead? You’re sure?”

“I know what I heard.”

“What about Carol Benedict?”

“Scared, but she didn’t have a scratch on her.”

“Thank God!” Tyler said. He lowered the phone. “Stacy, it’s all right. Carol’s safe.”

“Carol?” she said, her eyes flashing open. “She’s okay?”

Tyler nodded, and this time Stacy wept tears of joy before her eyes closed again. He put the phone back to his ear.

“Miles, Orr is still alive. Did you find the nuclear material?”

“No,” Miles said, “but the FBI confirmed that the site where we found your dad had unusual levels of radioactivity.”

Damn. Sometimes he hated being right. But not often.

“Have you found anything else?”

“No, the investigation is just getting under way.”

“Tell them to keep an eye out for a Giordano Orsini.”

“Orsini? Who the hell is that?”

“I think it’s Jordan Orr’s birth name. Have the FBI flag him in case he tries to get back into the US. And he has an injured right eye.”

“Will do, but they’re pretty fixated on some Muslims for the explosion.”

“What explosion?” Tyler heard sirens wailing, getting closer. “Never mind. You can tell me on the plane. Can you have the pilots fly the Gordian jet down here from Rome? We’ll meet them at the Naples airport.” Tyler and Grant had made the right decision leaving their passports in the plane. The last thing they needed was a hassle getting back into the US.

“Sure. I’ll get on it.” Miles hung up.

The sirens got the attention of the resident priest, who brought Tyler a shirt from the church’s donation pile. A minute later, two EMTs carrying a stretcher came into the cloisters. Grant handled the priest, while Tyler dealt with the EMTs. They didn’t speak much English, but they made it clear that they’d been expecting a heart-attack victim, not somebody with a bleeding wound.

He eased Stacy onto the stretcher with the EMTs’ help. She looked in bad shape, but still beautiful.

As they strapped Stacy down and rebandaged her, the motion woke her.

“What’s happening?” she said.

“You’re going to the hospital.” He held her hand. “We can’t come with you.”

The police might get involved, and then there would be questions and delays. Tyler and Grant needed to get back to the US and help stop whatever Orr had in mind.

“I wish I could go with you,” Stacy said, her voice a thin reed. “You get him for me.”

“We will.”

“Tell my sister I love her.”

“You’ll tell her yourself.”

“Kiss for luck?”

Tyler smiled. He leaned down and kissed her softly. Her lips burned with heat, but they welcomed his touch.

He pulled away and said, “You won’t need luck. You’ll be fine.” Given her condition, he wasn’t sure about that, but what else could he say?

“The luck isn’t for me,” she said. “It’s for you.”

She slipped into unconsciousness. Tyler and Grant followed her to the ambulance and stayed there until she was safely on her way.

Then, before the polizia arrived, they walked to the nearest busy street and hailed a cab. Within two hours, they were winging their way toward Washington, hoping they could find Orr before he detonated his nuclear weapon.

Twelve hours later, Tyler was in his father’s ICU room getting his ribs wrapped by a nurse. He didn’t know if they were broken, because he’d refused an X-ray. His father was still intubated and continued to float in and out of consciousness during his recovery. Even lying there unconscious, with tubes hanging out of him, General Sherman Locke looked powerful, as if he would wake up any moment, rip the sensors off, and take charge.

Tyler had slept fitfully on the plane ride home. He felt guilty about leaving Stacy behind, his father wasn’t out of danger yet, and Orr still preyed on his mind. If Orr got away only to cause a catastrophe on American soil, Tyler would never forgive himself.

Just before the Gordian jet landed in DC, he received an update from Aiden, who had been researching any info he could find on Orr’s birth name. Aiden had discovered a Giordano Orsini from Connecticut who would be the same age as Jordan Orr. Orsini’s parents had been killed in a car wreck when the boy was ten, and the short newspaper article intimated that the crash might have been a murder-suicide. At Tyler’s request, Aiden was following up to see if there was more to the story, but it was really in the FBI’s hands now.

When the nurse was finished, Tyler put his shirt back on. At least on the plane he and Grant had been able to get a fresh change of clothes, but they both still stank. The compression bandage eased the ache in Tyler’s chest, but he’d turned down painkillers. Not only did most meds leave him nauseated, but he didn’t want his senses dulled. He could stand the pain until he was sure they had Orr in custody, assuming the one-eyed wonder was stupid enough to try to get back into the country.