Iris Johansen - Dead Aim

"And you don't trust him." "Dammit, he kills people." "True."

"Isn't that enough to cause anyone to take a step back?" "In your experience, has he killed anyone who didn't deserve killing?"

"That's not the point."

"If it makes you feel better, he's not in the business any longer. He's retired. He took this job as a favor to me."

"And what else could tempt him to return to the 'business'?"

"I don't know. He's a bit of a puzzle at times."

"My thought exactly. But I can't afford puzzles. I have to know-I have to trust him."

"Then you'll have to make up your own mind."

"But you trust him."

He nodded. "But it's always been instinct. I'd rather have him in my corner than anyone except my wife."

"And he said she wanted to cut his throat."

Galen nodded. "Elena doesn't forgive and forget."

"And she has something to forgive?"

"Oh, yes."

"But you don't agree with her?"

"Not entirely."

"You're not going to talk about it."

"It wouldn't inspire you with confidence." He started the dishwasher. "Suppose I fill you in on all I know about Judd's background instead?"

"I'll take whatever I can get."

He started to wipe off the countertops. "Well, I guess I should start with the North Korea debacle…"

The kitchen was clean and the dishwasher was humming through its cycle when he finished speaking. He gave her a puckish grin. "And that's all you'll get out of me. You can beat me. You can tear out my fingernails, but I won't-"

"Shut up, Galen." She was trying to digest everything he'd told her. "I don't know much more than when I started about how he thinks, do I? You don't know anything else about him?"

"Let's see, he's mentioned he was an Air Force brat and grew up all over the world. He speaks six languages fluently. I guess going into the service was a logical step for him." He turned to face her. "You're right, all this isn't going to help you. You're probably going to have to rely on instinct, like me."

"That's scary."

"It depends on the instinct." He smiled. "I'm going to call Elena and then I'm going to bed. When Judd comes back, tell him I've spilled my guts to you. I wouldn't like him to think I'd go behind his back."

She watched him leave the kitchen and then moved toward the front door. A cold blast of air struck her as she went out on the porch.

"You should put on a coat if you're going to be out here very long." Morgan was moving down the walk toward her. "It's almost freezing."

"I thought you might be lurking on the porch."

"I don't lurk. I did what I told you I'd do. I needed to famil iarize myself with the area." He climbed the steps and opened the front door. "You never know when it might come in handy. Get inside. You're having problems with maintaining body temperature anyway."

"Not anymore. I'm fine." But the warmth of the room felt good as she went inside. "Galen told me to tell you that he spilled his guts to me."

"Not a pretty phrase." He took off his coat and hung it in the closet. "Not a great thing to do. But I expected you to squeeze it out of him." He turned to face her. "He probably knew it wouldn't make any difference in the long run."

"Is that why you left us alone?"

"Yes. Do you feel better now?"

"Why should I feel better? You're already in so much hot water that I have no hold on you." "Sorry." He studied her for a moment. "What can I do to help?" She stared at him and then laughed incredulously. "I be lieve you really mean that."

"I do. I want you comfortable with me."

"Then tell me about that man in the sketch. Tell me about the man who shot Ken down."

He didn't answer her for a moment. "I ran into him several months ago in Fairfax, Texas. I was sent there for a job and I saw him earlier that night."

"You're sure it was him?"

He nodded. "That night is pretty well engraved on my memory."

"Did you see any of the other men?"

"No. But that doesn't mean they weren't there. The place was a beehive of activity."

"What kind of beehive?"

"Labs. I thought it was a damn strange place for Morales to be." "Morales?"

"The target. Juan Morales, big-time narcotics and arms dealer. At the time I speculated that maybe the Fairfax factory was purifying heroin or manufacturing crack or ecstasy."

"At the time? Not now?"

He shook his head. "You want some coffee?"

"Am I going to need it?"

He shook his head again. "Nothing very horrific hap pened that night. Well, I guess it might be to you. My orders were to take out Morales at the hotel in town and retrieve a briefcase he was carrying. It was supposed to be jammed full of money. I couldn't get a shot at the hotel, so I followed Morales to this little textile factory on the outskirts of town. He was met at the gate by your shooter in the sketch. There was lots of security, so I waited outside. When he came out, I followed him back to town, got an opportunity, and took my shot."

"You killed him?"

"I don't miss. Since I didn't get a chance to do the job be fore he went to the factory, I thought I'd better check the briefcase to make sure he didn't give the money to the man who met him at the gate."

"And?"

"No money. Just three sets of engineering plans with interesting notations. Strategic locations where to place explosives to bring down the structure. They even had suggestions as to what kind of explosives would work best."

"What structures?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. There were no names.

The plans were labeled Z-l, Z-2, and Z-3."

"What did you do with them?"

"I did as I was ordered. I took the briefcase to AI Leary, my

CIA contact, and told him the job was done but there was no money, only the plans. I could tell he wasn't pleased that I'd opened the briefcase, but he covered it almost immediately. Two days later I was sent to North Korea. The rest is history. I didn't even connect the two jobs until I saw the story about Arapahoe Dam on the news."

She stiffened. "What?"

"Two of the diagrams were of multistoried structures. But one of the plans was a dam: Z-l."

"Jesus."

"But the report on Arapahoe Dam was that no sabotage had been detected. Particularly no explosives. It could have been coincidental."

"And you did nothing?"

"I'm on the run. Was I supposed to go to Colorado and in vestigate a disaster that was probably natural?"

"You could have told someone, called-"

"Who? The CIA? If Arapahoe Dam was Z-l, then maybe the fact that I had had a look at those plans was the reason I was set up and sanctioned. FBI? Too chancy. They work pretty closely with the CIA these days." He met her gaze. "I decided to preserve my neck. I'm not one of your heroes. I'd spent years doing the dirtiest job on earth to form some sort of barrier between my country and the ugliness out there. All I got for it was a stab in the back. I opted out. If you don't like it, too bad."

"You can't opt out. That doesn't solve anything."

"It solved the question of whether I lived or died."

"Past tense. Does that mean you're not opting out any longer?" "The question is moot. I've been sucked into this and I've got to act or be pulled under." She made a rude noise.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Don't try to give me that guff. You've had choices all along and you know it. You took the job Logan offered because you wanted to find out if Z-l and Arapahoe Dam were the same. You just don't want to admit it to me."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Perhaps you're afraid I'll think you're not as cynical as you claim you are. Don't worry. I'm not about to make that mistake. Everyone has a right to one lapse."

His lips twitched. "I'm glad I haven't ruined my reputation.

You'll tell me if you believe I'm pretending to be heroic like all those role models you grew up with?"