“Yes, I believe that sums up what you’re dreaming about quite nicely.”
“I’m sorry,” Sam said quietly. “I can’t help what I dream. If I could, I’d stop. I swear to you, I have not been unfaithful since that day we agreed to get married.”
“She’s black,” Mary Lou said.
And Alyssa, who’d been about to back away from the door after hearing that Sam called out for her in his sleep, froze. She waited to hear what he would say in response to that.
“She’s at least part African-American, yes.” Sam’s voice was a little less quiet now. “Why, is that some kind of problem for you?”
“I can’t believe it wasn’t a problem for you,” Mary Lou countered. “Unless it was just about the sex.” She must’ve seen something on Sam’s face, because she added, “Oh, my dear Lord, what did you think—that you were going to marry her? You actually think that would’ve worked? A white man and a black woman? You know, a woman like her never would’ve married someone like you! And even if she did—where would you live? Can you imagine her living on our street? Or maybe you’d prefer living in one of the black neighborhoods across town?” Her voice rose. “Don’t you walk away from me!”
“What do you want from me?” Sam asked, his voice low, intense. “How can you be so angry with me for something that never happened—something that’s only a might-have-been? I didn’t marry Alyssa. I married you. I come home to you and Haley every night. I’m working my ass off to pay for that house and the things you want to put inside it. What else do you want?”
Alyssa felt like crying. She knew she should close the door and plug her ears so she didn’t hear any of this. This was private between Sam and his wife. She shouldn’t be listening. But she couldn’t make herself stop.
“She wouldn’t have married you,” Mary Lou told Sam. She was really upset. She wasn’t the only one. “She was just playing you, Sam. You really think you meant anything more to her than a good-looking man with a big—”
Sam cut her off, from the sound of his voice, he was walking away. “I’ve got to go. Take care of the baby—and yourself, too, while I’m gone.”
“I’m not finished here!”
“Well I fucking am!” He took a deep breath, spoke more quietly. “I don’t want to fight with you. Especially not here. Jesus, Mary Lou.”
“Instead you’re going to go off and save the world—with her, right? She’s going, too. And I’m supposed to be okay with that?”
“Don’t let this craziness make you start drinking again,” Sam said. “Call your AA sponsor when you get home, okay? Promise me. Tell her I’m out of town for the next few weeks at the least.”
Mary Lou followed him. “Maybe you should take advantage of seeing her again,” she said shrilly. “Maybe you should go to her and finish what you started. That way when she drops you, it can really be over. That way you don’t have to spend the rest of your life wondering about those might-have-beens.”
Sam turned to face her. “Are you telling me to go have an affair with Alyssa Locke? Because if that’s really what you want, I will gladly—”
“Of course that’s not what I want!” Mary Lou was in tears now.
“Then tell me what you want,” he said again. “Do I need to open a vein and bleed for you? Will that help, Mary Lou? Because, frankly, I don’t know what the fuck else to do.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, and Alyssa peeked around the doorway to see her clinging to him. “I know you’re trying, I do. I’m sorry I got so upset. I was just so jealous and . . . and . . .”
And a mean-spirited racist bitch.
“And shocked when I saw her. She’s so beautiful and I’m fat.”
“You’re not fat,” Sam said tiredly as if they’d had this conversation too many times before. “You just had a baby. Give yourself a break.”
“I don’t want you to open a vein, Sam,” Mary Lou told him softly. “I want you to open your heart. You loved me once. Couldn’t you love me again?”
“Jesus, I’m trying my best,” he said, as if this were killing him.
And Alyssa knew. Whatever he’d once felt for Mary Lou, it hadn’t been love. And it would never be love as long as he was still dreaming about what he’d found with Alyssa.
She knew what she had to do. She had to talk to Sam.
Lucky for her—yeah, right, her luck was really holding here—they were both about to leave for Jakarta.
When Kenny had been gone for three hours, Savannah ate both the power bars, one right after the other.
She’d done as he’d asked and carefully used his knife to make the pants she was wearing into shorts. She’d sewn up the ends of the cutoff legs and made odd-looking sacks large enough to carry the dynamite, feeling vaguely like the Martha Stewart of the jungle as she worked.
Ken’s undershirt, which had been holding the dynamite up to now, was badly stretched out of shape. She tried it on—wearing it was as good as going naked. The armholes were too large, the cotton awfully thin. But if Kenny came back—when not if. When. He’d need to wear the shirt he’d first given her or else risk getting more rope burns from the vines—
Savannah dug through her purse and found her extra pair of pantyhose. God, why didn’t she think of this yesterday? Martha Stewart, indeed. Uses for pantyhose number 43,516. It wouldn’t take the attaché case’s full weight, but they could use it along with the vines to tie the case to his back. It would certainly help so that he could—as he continued to insist was vitally important—keep his hands free and his Uzi at the ready.
She glanced at the gun that he’d left behind; it had been her sole companion for all of the hours he’d been gone. She knew Ken had left it so she’d feel more secure, but in truth it made her uneasy. She didn’t want to shoot anyone. She wasn’t going to touch it. He should have just taken it with him.
Thoughts of the Uzi invariably led back to thoughts of the way Ken had kissed her right before he’d left. For the past four hours, everything she’d done had led to thoughts of that kiss.
What did it mean?
She honestly didn’t know. Ever since he’d shown up at the airport he’d alternated between icy silence and rude disdain.
And yes, okay, to be fair, there had been plenty of moments when he’d laughed or been impossibly kind, and he’d turned back into the man she’d found so irresistible that night at his house. That night she’d broken all of her personal rules and slept with him.
He’d kissed her on the helo, but that had only been to shut her up. She knew that.
Was that kiss he’d given her this morning more of the same?
She would ask him. She’d just look him in the eye and confront him, right when he got back.
Until then, there was nothing to do but drowse in the heat. Or finally read her grandmother’s book.
What would Rose do? It was the question she’d asked herself repeatedly, ever since this fiasco began.
According to family legend—and God knows she’d heard the story so many times she really didn’t need to read about it in a book—Rose was just one step down from Superwoman. Because, of course, she couldn’t fly. But aside from that, she was strong and unstoppable. Determined and invincible.
Rose would eat bugs if she had to. Rose wouldn’t complain about covering herself with slime. Rose would refuse to believe that Alex was dead, would find him and bring him to safety. And everyone—both good guys and bad—would fall completely in love with her along the way.
Those were pretty intense footsteps to follow. And so far Savannah was failing miserably. She’d managed to make Kenny dislike her. She was a pain in his butt, a problem that needed taking care of, someone to slow him down.
He’d probably kissed her because he knew she’d obsess about it. No doubt he’d figured it would keep her occupied until he got back.
Savannah opened Rose’s book to a chapter in the middle, determined not to think about Kenny Karmody for at least the next fifteen minutes.
Oka
y, five minutes. She’d start small.
“I need to borrow some money.”
“Of course.” Evelyn Fielding set down her cup of tea and reached for her pocketbook.
“No, Evelyn.” I stopped her with a hand upon her arm. “I need to borrow eight thousand dollars. I can’t tell you why. And it might take me years—decades—before I can pay you back.”
She laughed, but her eyes were dead serious. “Well, when you put it that way, how could I possibly refuse? Can I write you a check?”
She was going to lend me the money! Elation didn’t keep me from being cautious. “No, you better not.” In case something went wrong, I didn’t want my name showing up on one of Evelyn’s bank checks. “Thank you so much.”
“I’ll get you the cash right now if you want to take a ride to the bank.”
I nodded. “Please.”
We gathered up our coats and she didn’t say another word until we were in a taxi and heading across town.
Then she turned to me and said, “If you’re in some kind of trouble, Rose, I might be able to help. And if you don’t want to talk to me, there’s always Jon—”
“I know.”
“He told me you’ve asked for the next two weeks off—emergency medical leave.”
The words hung between us. She knew that was the code we used when I had to give one hundred percent of my attention to my FBI job.
“Yes,” I finally said. I coughed and tried to make it sound good.
Evelyn laughed softly. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
The taxi pulled up in front of her bank, and she got out. “Wait here,” she ordered us both—the driver and me.
I hoped I knew what I was doing, too.
I’d gone to the FBI early that same morning and announced that I’d been contacted by someone I’d met while in Berlin. That got me in to see not just my immediate superior, Anson Faulkner, but his bosses, and their bosses, too.
They brought me coffee, and, still dressed in my evening gown, I told them that this man was a high-level Nazi, and that if he so much as suspected he was being investigated, he’d vanish. But he wouldn’t suspect me. I told them that he thought I was in love with him.
I didn’t tell them he was right.
I sketched out my plan to play along, to gain access to his room and his personal papers, to meet everyone he talked to and find out who was working for him. I told Anson and the others that I didn’t just want to bring this man down, I wanted to take out his entire network of spies.
They seemed to think this was a good idea, but they weren’t so keen that I should be the one to do it.
I tried to convince them otherwise. I told them all I would need to pull this off was some of that money I’d given back to the war effort. I told them I wanted eight thousand dollars to make this man believe that I’d been working for the Nazis for years.
They didn’t like that very much at all.
It was then that I told them Hank’s name was Dieter Mannheim. That was, of course, a lie, but I was convinced if they knew his real name, they would start following him, he’d become aware of it, and run.
They told me I’d done my part. Now I was to play it safe, to let them run an initial investigation. I was to make myself scarce, to take several weeks off from work, to make it hard for Mannheim to find me.
I demurely agreed. They weren’t going to give me the help that I needed, but despite what I told them, I would go through with my plan. I’d borrow the money from Evelyn.
Before I left the building, Anson Faulkner pulled me aside to say, “Don’t do anything stupid.”
“I won’t,” I said, and he knew I was lying. He was a young man, and he’d later told me that, at the time, he’d fancied himself more than half in love with me.
“You’re willing to take this Nazi as a lover?” he’d asked. “Because that’s what he’ll expect, Rose.”
I’d looked him in the eye, trying my hardest to be cool as that proverbial cucumber. “There are a lot of people making sacrifices to win this war.”
The door opened and Evelyn climbed back inside the cab. She handed me an envelope. “It’s all there.”
I hugged her. “I’ll pay you back.”
“I know,” she said. “I have faith in you.” She paused. “Are you sure you can’t tell me what this is about?”
I nodded. “I’m sure.” What could I say? I’m about to attempt to pull off the impossible. I’m about to take the biggest risk of my life, to try to win a no-win situation. I don’t have a clue how I’m going to manage this, and I’ve never been so terrified in all of my life. I’ve been alternating between feeling sick to my stomach and wanting to burst into tears. If I tell you what I’m going to do, you’ll try to talk me out of it, and I can’t risk being swayed from this path. “Wish me luck,” I said instead.
“Women make their own good luck,” Evelyn hugged me, too, “by being smart and careful. And unafraid to ask for help. I’m here if you need me. For anything. No questions asked.”
Well, that was it for me. We just sat there then, hugging each other and crying.
I have faith in you.
I realized in that cab that I had faith in me, too. I would do this. I would not back down. I would not quit.
I would not fail.
I hoped.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twelve
The three men in camouflage gear took forever, but finally made their way back to a camp where about eight other men were gathered.
Ken watched from the cover of the jungle as his three guys checked in and gave some kind of report to a man who was wearing a black beret. A frickin’ wool beret in this heat.
He didn’t even come close to speaking their language, but he listened to the tone of their voices and read their body language. His guys didn’t have any good news for Beret, who was clearly their boss. Beret wasn’t happy, but he sent them over to another man who gave them something to eat from a pack.
Holy shit, they actually had U.S. issued MRE’s—Meals, Ready to Eat, food rations given out to soldiers during times of war or conflict.
Ken’s stomach rumbled. Imagine that. He actually longed for an MRE.
Beret paced, hands behind his back, deep in thought, as Ken checked out the rest of the camp. It was a temporary resting place, that much was obvious. There was a single tent—for Beret, no doubt. The rest of the men slept in the open. There was no fire lit, and no sign that there had been one last night, either. Obviously these guys didn’t want to draw any attention to themselves.
There were at least two guards hiding in the brush, watching the camp’s perimeter. Ken had spotted them right away, and it had been ridiculously easy to keep them from seeing him. He suspected there were at least two others, maybe more, on the opposite side of the camp.
Beret had the military leader walk down pat. He paced back and forth with just the right amount of revolutionary swagger. But his troops left something to be desired. They wore the right clothes and carried big weapons, but clothes and arms didn’t an army make.
Whoever they were, they weren’t the ABRI, the Indonesian armed forces. They had no flags, no identifying insignia of any kind. When Ken had first started following them, he’d guessed they were part of some rival gun runner’s staff. Or maybe hired guns brought in by the men in the helo.
But Beret didn’t have the look of a man who was in this for the money. This group was political or maybe religious. Or both.
Ken wished he were wrong. He could handle gun and drug runners scampering around the jungle. He understood their bottom line: money, revenge, power. He could predict their response in most situations. But religious or political zealots weren’t quite so easy to second guess. They were often willing or even eager to die for their cause.
As Ken moved even closer, he saw that these men had had some training of some kind. But that almost made them even more ineffective than people with
no training at all. These soldiers thought they were hot shit. They thought they had things under control. And maybe, if their targets were civilians, they did. But pit ’em against the SEALs or the guys from Delta . . .
They made the same mistake that people who had guards with big weapons stationed around the perimeter of their camp usually made. They assumed that as long as they weren’t on guard duty, they could relax. Close their eyes. Drowse in the afternoon heat.
Because of this, Ken waltzed right up to the bag with the MRE’s and helped himself to about a half a dozen of the packets and a canteen filled with some kind of liquid before blending silently back into the underbrush.
Troubleshooters 04 Out of Control Page 30
