Instead he willfully held her, even strengthened his grasp.
His stubbornness gave Dana the strength she needed, and her anger surfaced. He obviously wanted to show her that he was in control, that he could handle her, overpower her. But she wouldn’t let him. Acting instinctively, Dana kicked out sideways and connected with his ankle.
He gave a gasp but held on. “I’ll let you go when I think it’s safe.” His mouth was still close to hers; he hadn’t given up his intent to kiss her, only postponed it.
Dana tried to twist her head away from him, but Alex held fast. “I can tell when it’s safe as well as you.”
“Maybe so, but you’re the one who telegraphed our presence in the first place by knocking into the table.”
Her lips tightened. “Why is everything with you a battle?”
“Because you make everything so damned difficult.”
She bit back an angry retort. “Can we just get out of here?” Dana gritted her teeth when his answer didn’t come immediately. Why did he insist on that take-charge attitude?
Finally, he dropped his arms. “Let’s go.”
She stepped out of the closet, but he held her back.
“I’ll lead the way. After all, this is my hotel, and I know it best.”
Instead of calling him the name he justly deserved and telling him what she thought about his arrogance, which was out of place in this situation, she censored her words and answered sweetly, if sarcastically. “Of course, Alex. I’m sure you always know best.”
Inside she continued to seethe, not only at his high-handed behavior but at her inability to control her feelings about him. How much simpler it would be if she could only keep thinking of him as a liar, even a murderer, and hate him. But even though her feelings included distrust and fear, they also included emotions that had almost gotten out of control. It wouldn’t happen again, she swore.
* * *
BY THE TIME they reached the Stanley Hotel’s main staircase and began to creep silently down the steps, Dana was glad that Alex led the way, carrying her backpack. She followed, her hand on his shoulder, and prayed she wouldn’t take a misstep in the dark. Anger at him aside, she realized they’d been within a hairbreadth of discovery by Betty and Yassif, and if that had happened...
She shuddered to think of herself back in that tiny, filthy cell. She would do anything to keep that from happening. She’d even follow Alex into the jungle.
Her foot came to rest on the last step, but before she could breath a sigh of relief, it creaked loudly. She froze and heard Alex mutter a curse. As if his hotel’s squeaking stair was her fault!
After an interminable wait, he seemed to decide they were safe and moved toward the back of the hotel, across the kitchen and out into the night air, which was cool on their faces. Night birds called out from the trees, the sound of a million insects vibrated on the breeze, and Dana relaxed as they made their way toward the Jeep, hidden in the shadows.
Then Alex stopped short. “Merde,” he muttered. “That damned Longongo is out for a midnight walk.”
He pulled her behind a palm tree, and from there they watched in frustration as Longongo strolled back and forth, almost aimlessly, his face turned upward, seemingly surveying the heavens, its stars large and improbably close.
Alex cursed again. “A damned stargazer,” he whispered.
“Maybe he’ll go back in soon,” she offered.
“Soon? We have to get out of here now,” he said in an angry whisper. “We can’t wait. He has to be taken care of. When I get out of sight, make some noise, not too loud. And don’t let him see you.”
With that curt command, Alex merged into the shadows. Dana took a deep breath. He was an expert at giving orders, but when it came to adding details, he obviously lost interest. So there she was, alone in the Congo night, with orders to make noise.
She looked around and then picked up the backpack that he’d dropped silently at her feet. She closed her eyes, counted to three, threw it into the night and ducked back behind the tree.
Longongo stopped his stargazing and turned toward the sound while Dana froze behind the tree.
“Qu’est-ce que c’est? Who is there?”
Longongo moved toward the spot where the backpack had landed just as Alex emerged from the shadows behind him.
Dana heard a soft noise, a kind of sickening clunk. The little man slid soundlessly to the ground with Alex standing over him. He gestured to Dana, and she rushed out of hiding, stopping to pick up the pack.
“Is he—did you kill him?” she sputtered.
“I should have, but I didn’t. Just a karate chop to the right spot. He’s not seriously hurt, but he’ll be out for a long time. Let’s get moving.”
They climbed into the Jeep, and Alex drove swiftly, without lights, depending on the light of the moon.
They reached the outskirts of Porte Ivoire, took a side road and picked up speed, skittering along, bumping over ruts, taking turns wildly as Dana held on for dear life.
“We’re going away from the river,” she called out finally as they careened along.
Alex didn’t slow down as he explained. “The Congo makes a big loop here. We’re heading for one of its tributaries, the Lomami.”
“Is the Jeep amphibious?”
Alex glanced at her, registering surprise at her joke, just as they hit a bump.
She held on tight and added, “Or maybe you have a boat in your backpack?”
Alex laughed aloud. “You’ve got a sense of humor, but not a lot of respect, Dana. You should know that I have a plan. We’re picking up a canoe at the next village.”
“Then I’ll just sit back and enjoy the ride,” she said as they hit another pothole—whether accidentally or on purpose Dana couldn’t be sure. His arrogance knew no bounds, but there was nothing she could do about it except hang on for the ride. She had to trust Alex. With her life in his hands, she had to depend on him. But how could she possibly depend on a man whom all of her instincts warned her not to trust?
As they bounced along, Dana thought about the warnings she’d gotten from Millicent and the others on the Queen. They’d told her that Alex was a ne’er-do-well living on the edge of the law. But according to the story he told her, he was the antithesis of those accusations—an upright man on a government mission of some kind, maybe even a professional agent. And the way he’d handled her jailbreak, taken care of the guard and Longongo with such dispatch, did have a professionalism about it.
But Dana had a much easier time thinking of him as a criminal. There was still the haunting memory of Louis’s murder. Alex swore he was innocent, but what else could he say?
The Jeep hit another bump, and Dana grimaced at the jolt that shook her but said nothing. She’d wanted adventure when she came to the Congo. Now she was getting it—big time.
* * *
THEY DROVE into the village just ahead of the dawn. From the distance, Dana had a quick impression of sunbaked mud houses with thatched roofs, women in bright dresses bent over cooking pots and men carrying their fishing nets to the river. A sleepy village waking with the morning sun. Under different circumstances, she would have been thrilled to be here—an American tourist getting an inside look at an authentic African village.
Alex pulled the Jeep into a thatched palm shed behind an abandoned hut. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Out of the way and quiet. I’m going to find my friend Gabriel. He has a boat ready for me.”
“Why can’t I get out?” she questioned. “I need to stretch my legs.”
“The wrong person might see you,” he commented flatly.
“Who? I don’t know anyone here.”
“Let’s keep it that way.” He looked at her critically in the faint light of the approaching dawn. Her hair hung limply around her face; her eyes were glazed from lack of sleep; her clothes were wrinkled. Disheveled and obviously exhausted, she was far different from the cool, elegant blonde who’d stepped off the Congo Queen just the day before.
“Okay,” he agreed.
She started to step out of the Jeep.
“But wait. Do you have a kerchief—a scarf?”
“No. I have a hat—one of those crumpled khaki things.”
“Does it cover your hair?”
“Well, yeah,” she said, adding, “just about.”
“Put it on and you can get out and walk around, but on the other side of the Jeep. And don’t call attention to yourself. American blondes aren’t an everyday occurrence around here, and the less of a trail we leave the better. I’ll be back.”
With that he strode off, making his way quickly down the hard-packed dirt road toward the village where Gabriel Butumo lived with his wife in one of the larger village huts. As Alex walked along, an occasional villager called out, and he waved a casual greeting. His presence here wasn’t that unusual. Everyone knew that he and Gabriel were old friends. Alone, without Dana, he wasn’t an oddity.
But she was here. And he wasn’t sure whether that was a stroke of brilliance—or the worst move he’d ever made. He had no idea how much she really knew about the Mgembe. She might not even be able to make herself understood to them. Then what?
He shook away that thought. She knew enough, surely, to get them safely through Pygmy territory. He could do the rest; he could get them across the border. But to be certain, he needed something else. He needed Lady Luck firmly on his side.
That Lady had been playing tag with him from the beginning of this little episode, when Dana stepped off the boat with her precious notes on the Pygmies, which finally ended up in his hands. Now all he needed was for the Lady to stay by him, for his luck to hold out just a little while longer....
“Hey, Jourdan. What the hell are you doing out here so damned early?”
Alex grimaced at the sound of the Irish accent, not at all lilting in the early morning air. The voice belonged to Mac McQuire, and the sound of it could very well mean that his luck was running out.
“You’re up early yourself, Mac,” Alex replied without answering the question.
“Too damned hot to sleep.” The Irishman left the shade of the porch where he’d been drinking his first whiskey of the morning and joined Alex. The guide’s graying blond hair was pulled back in an untidy ponytail. His face was red from the sun, and his arms and hands were covered with freckles. He was stocky and well built, a real bull of a man. Alex knew from personal experience that Mac was tough as nails—and nobody’s fool. That was necessary for a man if he was going to make a living in the Congo.
Mac repeated his question. “So what are you doing here this early?”
“A little business with Gabriel. Which I wanted to get over and done before the heat of the day.”
Mac took off his wide-brimmed hat and wiped his forehead with a none too clean handkerchief. “I never knew you to get down to business so early.” His icy blue eyes were speculative.
Alex managed an easy laugh. “You don’t know all my habits, Mac. Believe it or not. I’d stay and explain them to you, but I’m in a hurry.”
Mac wasn’t ready to end the conversation. He walked along beside Alex. “I hear you’ve got a hotel full of guests. Any of them interested in a tour? The usual, you know, crocs, hippos. Maybe a visit to a quaint native village.”
“Their time is all scheduled,” Alex lied. He didn’t want the guide involved in any of the events at Porte Ivoire—and certainly not in what happened yesterday, neither the murder nor the arrest. But news traveled fast in the jungle, and within another day, possibly another hour, everything would be known. He had to get out of here—and fast—there was no time for explanation to the Irish guide.
“See you around, pal.”
Alex started on his way, Mac’s voice trailing after him. “I might drive over anyway. Check it out. Maybe drum up a little business.”
Alex kept walking, his lips closed in a hard line as he considered a possible predicament. Mac McQuire, despite his occasional drunken spree, was one of the best trackers in the Congo. Damned if he wanted the man on his trail. But what could he do?
Alex hesitated for a minute and looked back. There was a way to silence Mac, and he considered it briefly. An hour earlier, it might have been possible, but now the place was coming alive, and there were too many witnesses. His only choice was to trust Lady Luck and get the hell upriver.
* * *
“HERE,” Alex said gruffly to Dana. “My friend opened this coconut for you.”
She took the coconut from him eagerly.
“And his wife sent freshly baked bread and fruit.”
Dana was attempting to drink from the coconut without much success. “I guess there’re no straws.”
“Darn,” Alex said with a sarcastic laugh. “I forgot to add them to our supplies. You’ll just have to make do.”
Shooting him a withering look, she turned the coconut upside down, attempting to get a few sips of milk, half of which dribbled down her chin. Alex refrained from comment as he pulled off a hunk of bread for her. “Here, try this. The combination is great.” He swung into the Jeep. “I’ll crack open the coconut and cut off some meat for you when we get to the boat.”
“Where is it?” Dana asked as she chomped down on the soft, still-warm bread.
“A few miles upriver. We’ll hide the Jeep by the bank and Gabriel will pick it up later.
“Can he be trusted?”
Alex shrugged as he maneuvered the Jeep onto the road. “As much as anyone. Better than most. He worked for me at the hotel for a while until he decided to come back here to his village to teach.”
“There’s a school here?” Dana couldn’t mask her disbelief. “It’s so remote.”
“Doesn’t matter. Schools in the Congo are commonplace. The children here are always eager to learn, and the literacy rate is eighty-five percent, something our own countries could aspire to.”
“Sorry. I shouldn’t judge by appearances. I’m sure your friend is a good person and won’t tell Kantana about us,” she said.
“But you’re not convinced? Well, I can vouch for him. He’ll pick up the Jeep when the heat is off, as the Americans say. Then the vehicle is his. It’s a good trade. A boat to get us out of here for a Jeep that’s worth nothing to us. Considering our situation,” he added wryly.
As they bounced along the road, Alex made another dour comment. “There could be a problem, though.”
“What?” She felt her heart sink. Didn’t they have worries enough?
“You.”
She bristled. “What now?”
“Can you paddle a canoe?”
She smiled and tried not to look too superior. “As a matter of fact, I’ve been canoeing since I was five. My two older brothers taught me everything about water sports—kayaking, white-water rafting—I can do it all because I learned from experts,” she said smugly.
“Those were sports, as you say. This will be different.”
“I can hold my own.” Dana raised her chin defensively as she answered. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
“C’est bon,” he told her. “Good. I don’t intend to.”
* * *
HOURS LATER—Dana wasn’t sure how many; it seemed like an eternity—she regretted bragging. Her ideas of prowess in a canoe didn’t include anything like this.
“This isn’t a canoe!” was her first comment. As they got it out on the river, she saw how right she’d been. A hollowed-out log, it rode low in the water and was hard as hell to steer. It was nothing like the light fiberglass canoes she’d used in Colorado. A challenge, Alex had called out as he’d settled her in the bow and packed their supplies and tents around her.
The Lomami River was another challenge. It appeared sluggish and slow-moving, but the current was deceptive, Dana realized quickly, as it swirled unpredictably around them. Fighting off the current took all of her strength as well as her total concentration, and it immediately took its toll. After only a few miles of steady, hard paddling, sharp pains beg
an to shoot across her shoulders and down her arms. Her palms were already blistered and raw from grasping the rough paddle. Now and then she stole a glance at the impenetrable green walls of vegetation along the banks. But this was no tour, and she wasn’t a tourist; she was a fugitive. Even a short break in concentration could mean disaster.
To Alex’s credit, she admitted grudgingly, he didn’t criticize her. He didn’t complain about her problems of adjusting to the canoe or the river. He gave her the benefit of the doubt and then let her prove herself. Which she did quickly. Only now and then did he have to call out for her to back paddle to avoid an impending sandbar—and there were plenty of those, insidious, snaky spits of land that appeared out of nowhere—or a tree limb lurking just beneath the surface, or a floating log that seemed to take deadly aim for the canoe.
She managed to pass all the tests. Even the crocodiles, although there was a moment when she almost lost it over the scaly reptiles. The first one she saw looked just like a log—until it opened its mouth in a wide yawn to reveal rows of huge, sharp teeth. She let out a yell and doubled her paddling speed.
The croc turned away disinterestedly, and as they sped by Dana tried not to think about what would have happened if the canoe had overturned, tried not to think about thrashing tails and slashing teeth. She focused only on the rhythm of her paddle cutting through the water—again and again and again.
The sun sank lower behind the trees as they moved on, sending golden shards of light across the river. By this time, Dana was barely aware of the primitive beauty of the scene. No longer an avid sightseer, she was consumed not by the scene but by the pain. Her shoulders ached and her hands were almost numb as they grasped the paddle. She paddled in a trance, barely noticing when the river widened into a brown, muddy pool. She was driven by the need to keep moving. And Alex’s urging.
All she wanted was to get to a stopping place, to rest at last. She didn’t believe anything could attract her attention. Then she saw something move near the bank. She cringed, expecting to see a scaly croc snout, wondering if she could speed up her paddling again. Then wide nostrils appeared, dark protruding eyes, round ears. She skipped a beat in her paddling and watched, mesmerized by the enormous, slow-moving creature.
Tall, Dark and Deadly Page 7
