Morgan's Wife by Lindsay McKenna Read Free Book Online

one afternoon."
    Smiling, Pepper nodded. "You both look very happy."
    "We were…." Shaking his head, he muttered, "Come on, we're going to the photo lab. Those pictures of Garcia's fortress are available. Ready?"
    "Sure." Pepper followed him out of the office. They walked, it seemed, forever, taking an elevator two floors down and into a more dimly lighted area. The photo laboratory had a small sign on its door. Jim ushered her in. The place smelled of chemicals. Without preamble, he led her into a smaller niche where several black-and-white photos lay on a hardwood table covered by thick glass. A naval-intelligence officer waited for them. She was dressed in a dark blue wool uniform with a white blouse and a black tie at the throat. Her black hair was neatly coiffed, barely touching the collar of her jacket.
    Jim introduced Berenice Romero, a woman in her early thirties, to Pepper and immediately asked, "What have you got for us, Berenice ?"
    "Garcia's mansion, Colonel." Berenice smiled a hello at Pepper as she responded, then used a pencil to outline the shape of the main house and grounds on one of the photos. "This is his fortress. Garcia's got a ten-foot-high wrought-iron fence surrounding the main compound. Guards are posted every quarter mile, and Doberman pinschers walk the fence line, too. Take a look at this."
    Leaning over the photo, Jim squinted through the film magnifier she handed to him. "Oh, yeah…big, black Dobermans. You can even see their teeth, can't you?" He smiled a little and handed the magnifier to Pepper, who also took a look. When she straightened, he said, "Still want to go, knowing those dogs are more than willing to rip us apart and call us breakfast?"
    "Dogs like me."
    "Those dogs don't like anybody."
    Berenice chuckled. "Colonel, by accident, our flyby caught something else interesting." She brought out another picture and laid it on the table. "It's a jeep. I think you'll be interested to see who's in it."
    Jim took the magnifier and leaned over the photo. He choked back a gasp. "Laura Trayhern …"
    "Yes, sir." Berenice beamed triumphantly at Pepper. "We had no way to know for sure if Garcia had her, but for once we got lucky. I'm sure they didn't expect a flyby or they wouldn't have transported her during daylight in an open jeep like that."
    Pepper nodded, noting the strained expression on Woodward's face as he handed her the magnifier. He had paled considerably, obviously shaken by the photo. She leaned over to study the minutely detailed photo, focusing on the jeep. Laura, her blond hair streaming behind her, sat in the passenger seat next to a driver dressed in battle fatigues. A handgun of some sort was pressed against the back of her neck by a soldier sitting directly behind her, and his hand gripped her shoulder.
    "How awful for her," Pepper whispered as she returned the magnifier to Berenice . She glanced at Jim, who immediately turned and walked a few steps away. Sensing his anguish, Pepper said nothing more, but when he returned to the table, his eyes were suspiciously bright.
    "We've got a mission report on Garcia for you, too," Berenice said, noting Woodward's reaction. "Come with me, sir."
    Pepper remained at a distance as they moved to a small, comfortable office, where four steel gray chairs were arranged before a desk. Berenice moved behind the desk and sat down. She handed them each a sheaf of papers and gestured for them to sit.
    "Guillermo Garcia is the top drug lord in the Windward Islands ," she began. "This is a color photo of him. You can see he's short and overweight. His most distinguishing feature is his face, pockmarked with deep scars. He's fifty years old—an autocratic tyrant as murderous as his boss, Enrique Ramirez, of Lima , Peru .
    "Garcia has been a pain in the neck to us since the early eighties. The FBI infiltrated his organization in Florida and Texas and managed to collar most of the U.S. bosses, but Colombia refused to extradite Garcia. However, it