The Orion Assignment by Austin S. Camacho Page A

set up like cafes, with multicolored umbrellas standing over the tables. On their left, more than two hundred and thirty working combat aircraft awaited inspection. The airplanes and helicopters were strewn across acres of runway like toys left behind by a haphazard giant. Visitors wandered about in this circus atmosphere, many in the uniforms of the world’s armed forces. Bombs, missiles, and automatic weapons stood row on row within easy view of the “chalets” lining the main runway. This was the Paris Air Show. For ten days every other year it is the weaponry and war machine capital of the world.
    Tall and willowy, Claudette Christophe had a dark chocolate complexion and eyes that shined like polished ebony. She was a little thinner than the American ideal but Morgan always favored tight hips and upturned breasts, voting for quality over quantity. Her hair was jet black, straight and full. Her teeth were perfect and almost too white to look at, but her smile forced you to pay attention. Her cheekbones were high, and if not for the accent, most people would have difficulty placing her. Nothing, however, sounds like the lilting melodic language that is the French the Haitians speak.
    Morgan slowed his pace to watch her walk for a few steps. She wore tall white boots that flashed with each step, thanks to the slit that reached almost to the waistband of her long, sky blue skirt. Her hat and vestwere also the height of Paris fashion. Claudette was made for this kind of carnival atmosphere, but Morgan reflected that the outfit she chose for that day was quite different from the jeans, black leather boots and wool sweater she had on when she met him at the airport.
    She had been waiting there, the day before when he had climbed off the jet at Orly Airport just before one o’clock. The crowd was thicker than Maureen’s stew and everyone seemed to be talking at once, in a wide variety of languages. He had stepped into the waiting area, pushed his way through the forest of rudeness and fallen into her arms.
    â€œSo happy to see you, mon chere,” Claudette said. “But why are you looking so grim? Don’t you like what you see?” She backed up to display her trim figure.
    â€œNothing wrong I can see,” Morgan said. “I guess after Dublin, the noise level here is kind of deafening.”
    â€œI think I have the solution to that problem,” she whispered in his ear, “but it will cost you a kiss.”
    Morgan was happy to pay the required toll in return for escape from the noise. Claudette’s solution was to take him away from Paris’ major airport as quickly as possible. They rode in her black BMW to a quiet cafe at the southern edge of Paris and enjoyed a light lunch while Morgan readjusted to the grime, the noise and the hustle of the “City of Lights.” At the same time, he was readjusting to the joy of this woman’s company.
    Morgan had known Claudette since his days as a corporate bodyguard. He was still wandering in those days, but she had already found her calling as an industrial spy. They met as respectful rivals. Later they became lovers. After that, they became close friends.
    After lunch they walked the three blocks to Claudette’s apartment to pull the shades for the afternoon and remind themselves what made them such perfect partners in the past. Years before Morgan had learned that Claudette gave of herself in a free and open way, more than any other woman he had everslept with. Her body told him that this was no one-sided exchange. At a quiet moment she had once told him out loud that no man she had met could keep her in the throes of ecstasy for as long as he did. He chose to believe her, not that this alone was enough to bring him back to Paris now and again. Even more important than their physical compatibility was the fact that she was not at all possessive. This was so important because Morgan was not yet ready to settle down. These