Commando

"Welcome home, Jake," Marie said with a smile. Wiping his eyes, Jake Randolph smiled tiredly as he got off the elevator that led directly to the main office of Perseus. "Hi, Marie." He moved slowly across the thick rosecolored carpeting toward her desk. "Got something you've been wanting." With a smile, she took his report. "Handwritten, no doubt?" "Yeah. You know meI can't type to save my soul." He stretched and yawned. "I'm taking that two weeks off. I'm beat." "Not so fast," Marie murmured apologetically. "Morgan left word for you to come directly to him when you came back." "Oh?" "Yes. I'm afraid he's got another assignment, and you're the only person available to take it." Jake frowned. "Listen, I'm wiped out from that Peruvian fiasco." "I know you are. Just go in and talk to Morgan, will you? There's a gentleman in there with him. They've both been waiting for you to show up." Groaning, Jake rubbed his face, which needed a shave. "Okay, but I'm turning it down." Marie smiled understandingly and pressed the button on the intercom that sat on her desk. "Jake is here, Mr. Trayhern. Shall I send him in?"Jake opened the door to Morgan's spacious office and entered. Morgan looked up and nodded to him. "Come in, Jake. Meet Ken Travers. Ken, this is Jake Randolph. Jake's our Brazilian specialist. He knows Portuguese, the language of the country, and he's been there on assignment a number of times in the past few years." Travers leaped from the couch like an overwound spring and held his hand out. "Mr. Randolph." Jake sized up the lean, restlesslooking businessman, taking an immediate dislike to him. It was an intuitive thing, Jake thought as he extended his hand to shake Travers's manicured one. Intuition had saved his life on a number of occasions, and he wasn't about to dismiss a gut feeling. "Mr. Travers." Jake turned to Morgan, whose face showed no expression. Not unusual, Jake thoughtMorgan knew how to keep his feelings hidden until the proper time. Jake noted Travers's expensive suit, his perfect haircut, the gold watch on his wristand his arrogance. Hiding a wry smile at the thought, Jake realized that he must look like a country bumpkin by comparison. He wore jeans, roughout boots and an offwhite fishermanknit sweater. November in Washington, D.C., was cold, and there was a threat of snow today. "Have a seat." Morgan gestured to a wing chair positioned to one side of his desk. Jake nodded, his attention still on Travers. There was a feeling of electricity in the air, and it was coming from him. Jake had learned a long time ago to say little and observe a lot. Travers was pacing like a caged animal, his hands behind his back and his brow furrowed. His full mouth was set in a line of decided aversion. But aversion to whom? Morgan? Him? Probably both of them, he surmised. Marie, dressed in her tasteful and conservative navy suit with white piping, came in moments later bearing a silver tray that contained coffee and a plate of cookies for the three men. She set it on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Please call my wife," Morgan told her, "and tell her I have to cancel my luncheon date with her." "Yes, sir. Shall I order in the usual lunch from the restaurant?" Marie asked. Morgan glanced over at Jake. "Would you like something to eat?" "No, thanks. My stomach's still on Peruvian time." Morgan grinned. "How about you, Ken? Hungry?" "No!" "Just bring me the usual," he told his assistant. "Yes, sir." Marie gave Travers a deadly look, turned and left. Jake was fascinated by Travers's snappish mood. He was like a pit bull waiting to eat someone alive. Fighting jet lag, Jake got up and ambled over to the coffee table, where Morgan was already helping himself to a cup of coffee. He needed help keeping himsMcKenna, Lindsay is the author of 'Commando ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373198771 and ISBN 0373198779.