Free Piranha Assignment by Austin Camacho

Cutters.”
    â€œI’m not talking about insect repellent,” Roberts said. “The political situation down there isn’t…”
    â€œStable?” Felicity crinkled her nose. “I think a man in your business would know if we’re in for a real revolution or anything.”
    â€œIntelligence can be wrong,” Roberts said. He did not go further, and Felicity remained silent. Yet she looked at him as if there was more to the conversation. True, Morgan was asleep now, and she might be bored with flying. But she did not strike him as the type of woman who would talk just from boredom.
    â€œIs there something else?”
    â€œWell, I wanted to ask you something,” Felicity said, then looked at him as if she expected part of the answer to appear in his eyes. “Did I understand Morgan correctly, thatyou found him thanks to an old military file? From his time in Delta Force?”
    â€œHe told you that?”
    â€œWe have no secrets,” Felicity said, and her smile fell just a little. “Morgan is the most interesting man I’ve ever met, but I just can’t see him as a spy.”
    â€œHe never was, in the way you mean.” Roberts’ gaze wandered far away, as his memories carried him to another time. Not necessarily a better time, but perhaps simpler. “Toward the end of the Vietnam war, the Military Assistance Group, Vietnam, or MAC-V as they were called, created the SOG for special tasks. That stood for Studies and Observation Group officially, but privately they were a Special Operations Group. Anyway, MACVSOG was put together to meet the Viet Cong on their own ground. That meant they had to work efficiently at night. Move silently through narrow underground tunnels. Commit acts of sabotage and assassination several miles from any kind of support. That organization eventually evolved into what we call Delta Force today, but back then it didn’t call for sophisticated James Bond types, Ms. O’Brian. It called for tough, vicious killers. People who could survive under almost impossible conditions.”
    Felicity nodded. “And Morgan fit the bill.” She fell silent for a moment, as if assessing his words, and then said “You’d think after a couple of years of that, he’d want to get back to a normal life. Instead, he became a mercenary.”
    â€œIn my experience,” Roberts said, “you subject a man to enough stress you get one of two products. You either get a broken man, or a man who loves stress. Most Vietnam vets fall into one category or the other. In fact, look at your own life. Why did you keep stealing, Ms. O’Brien? In fact, why are you here now?”
    â€œOkay, that’s enough amateur analysis,” Felicity said.
    â€œAnything else you want?” Roberts asked.
    â€œYes. Call me Felicity, will you?”
    Before long the whine of the big plane’s engines changed, the no smoking light came on, and the pilot asked his charges to put on their seat belts. A moment later, a group of mature adults became a mob of school children shoving their way out of the plane, jostling each other with their carry on luggage. Roberts avoided the rush and left last, separating himself from his friends.
    Moments later, Felicity followed Morgan down the jet’s stairs. They stepped into hot, muggy air and Felicity could already feel perspiration breaking out on her body. It was probably a mild day for the tropics, with temperatures in the mid-eighties. It was not the heat that affected her, but the humidity. Morgan took her arm and led her into the airport.
    Felicity sat in the cafeteria for almost two hours, drinking the best coffee of her life, while Morgan dealt with the long, laborious customs problem. They were traveling as official United States government representatives, but some of the equipment they brought with them was unusual, to say the least.
    After the long wait, Felicity helped Morgan load