Orchids to Die For (Jim Morgan Adventure Series) by Catherine Burr, James Halon

Bradley, “Oscar, are you up for a trip to Brazil?”
    “Yes. When do we leave?”
    “Tomorrow morning. We’ll fly to D.C., and spend two days at the Institute of Intuitive Thought. Then, we fly to Sao Paulo on Saturday morning. I’m guessing a week. Maybe two.”
    “You got it, pal. I want a grand a day plus expenses. I’ll fly to D.C. tonight and meet your plane. Your back’s covered.”
    They talked a few minutes on details and Morgan okayed a 25 large advance on his American Express card. They agreed to have a few drinks together when the trip was over.
    He turned off his cell and the desk lamp and slipped quietly into the king-sized bed next to Catherine and fell asleep with her pleasant scent caressing his senses.

Chapter Twelve
     
    Abdul prevailed the mad moment. His youth and tenacity allowed him to withstand the demands of the demented terrorist, Margolova. She used him like a prop in an illicit sexual sideshow, ordering him about with vicious demands and all the while she never let go of the empty Lugar. After satiating her foul need, she strode off to the shower leaving her clothes and Abdul behind like so many spent shell-casings after a shootout.
    Abdul watched her exit the bedroom. She was no longer a fine piece of ass. Her breasts were sagging pathetically and the sweat odor that enveloped her was reminiscent of the garbage dump down the road from where he grew up. And he thought that he would rather touch a dead fish than to ever touch her aged flesh ever again.
    When the bathroom door closed, he dressed hurriedly; his T-shirt was on inside out, as was one of his socks. He snuck into Joseffie’s room and pried the .38 Special from his friend’s dead fingers. He stuck the gun in his waistband and then took a wad of cash that sat loose on the bed and stuffed it in his pockets, some of it fell to the floor in his haste but he didn’t bother picking it up. He walked rapidly and as quietly as he could to the condo’s door and left the building -- with his life intact. Once out on the street he felt a deep consoling relief. Allah had indeed blessed his corrupted soul.
    Abdul felt a sharp pain in his back and his body was propelled forward slightly in his escaping jog. And he lost his motor control and saw the ground rising up to his face as he stumbled and fell. And when he recovered his fall to a sitting position he looked back down the street at where he had escaped and saw a naked woman holding an AK-47 rifle aimed at his head. A tiny puff of smoke left the barrel of her weapon about the same time that the bullet causing the puff reached the middle of his forehead.
    Margolova fired two more rounds into the fallen Iraqi Arab before she tiptoed back into her condo careful not to step on any errant pebbles along her return path. Once inside, she set the rifle against the alcove wall and went to her room to dress and pack an extended overnight bag. It was time to leave Tehran, Iran, and to leave it fast.
     
    * * *
     
    A sleepy eyed Ames finished copying the unread four- hundred-page portfolio on the mysterious Catherine Harris and pouched it over to Senator Alberquist’s office. It was going on two in the afternoon and he hadn’t had time to read more than the first five pages. He needed help, he needed an assistant, and he wanted his boss back in his office. But more importantly, to himself, he needed to succeed with this operation, on his own. Returning to his cubicle he tossed the fat Harris packet on his desk. It caught the edge and teetered once before it fell to the floor and scattered all over the highly polished tiles.
    Ames got down on his hands and knees and began gathering up the now un-collated pages. His girlfriend Emily, a GS-3 clerk, looked in while passing, “What are you doing, Arnold? I thought you got promoted? Did you get the concert tickets?”
    “No. I’ll call for them in a minute.” He didn’t look up at her and continued pulling the pages into small piles.
    Emily was a