by Chuck Holton
“He’d have us traveling sometimes four months out of the year.” Zack shook his head. “As we speak, he’s in Darfur giving out medical supplies in the relief camps.”
“What’d you do about school?” Fernanda asked.
“I was homeschooled, so we took it with us.”
“Wow. I’ve never met anyone who was homeschooled before.”
Zack looked at her with raised eyebrows. “Really? Maybe it’s not such a big thing here in Panama.”
David brushed sand from his bare feet. “So what made your father want to do medical missions? Mine was in the foreign legion.”
Zack shrugged. “Dad always said that what you have loses its value if it isn’t shared. I guess he thought that meant vitamins and antibiotics too.”
The moonlight illuminated the path to the cabana, and Fernanda knew she should go straight to bed. But the soft sound of the waves drew her out onto the deserted beach in front of the huts.
The night air smelled salty and fresh, and the tide was in, the soft incessant crashing of the water upon the sand much closer than it had been. She recognized the call of a gray-headed Chachalaca from somewhere up in the palm trees.
After walking over to one of the thatch-roofed umbrellas, she sat on a white plastic lounger facing the ocean and hugged her knees to her chest, thinking about what Zack had said.
“What you have loses its value if it isn’t shared.”
Was that what had been bothering her lately? She’d been the top of her class in prep school and had lots to be proud of … or did she? She and her family had so much, and yet everything she’d done since leaving for college had been to further her own career, to accomplish her goals. It hurt to admit it, but she couldn’t remember a time when she’d made a decision based on something that didn’t personally benefit her.
Fernanda thought of her father. He’d been successful in business, but what did that mean now that he was gone? Whenever people spoke of him, they talked about how kind he was. If the subject of his wealth ever came up, it was only in the context of his generosity.
Now that she was only months away from gaining her postgraduate degree, Fernanda had been having doubts—not whether or not she’d make it, but whether or not, having come so far, the title would be worth the cost. Sure, she was an expert at the classification of birds, bugs, and other jungle life, but would that be a fitting epitaph at the end of her life?
There has to be something more.
Zack’s father had found it. Fernanda was still looking.
She watched the waves crashing on the shore. Each one an individual, its energy expended in a matter of seconds, leaving almost no trace on the black sand.
Something about that gnawed at her gut. She looked up at the stars. Would the wave of her own life leave any mark?
She decided she would pray about it, then it struck her that it had been a long time since she’d done so.
Lord, I’m sorry that I haven’t talked to You much lately … I really don’t know why. Just busy, I guess. But please help me know what my purpose is here. I love my field of study, but if I’m really honest, much of what I’m learning at university—evolution and all that—goes against what I’ve learned at church all my life. I know You are in control, but I need to feel it. Is this where I’m supposed to be? Help me to make sense of it all. Help me to find the life You have for me. I don’t want to waste it.
Her thoughts trailed off, and she sat watching a line of high cirrus clouds scuttle across the rising moon.
“I thought I might find you here.”
Startled, Fernanda turned to the sound of the voice that had intruded on her thoughts. “Oh … Alex. Hi. I guess I should be back in the cabana packing my bags.”
The professor padded across the sand on bare feet, wearing lightweight linen pants and an open-collared, long-sleeved cotton shirt. “Anxious about tomorrow, eh?”
“Um, sort of.”
He sat on the foot of her lounger. His face bore a soft expression with just a hint of a smile. “Don’t worry, Fernanda. I’ll take care of you.”
“No, it’s not—”
“Shhhh.” He held a finger to her lips. “Listen, I’m glad we have a chance to be alone. I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this and haven’t had the opportunity until now.”
Fernanda was still catching up with his train of thought. “What do you mean?”
“Ever since we worked together on the Nymphalis quinterus project, I’ve been unable to stop thinking about you. I’ve never even considered pursuing a relationship with a student before.”
With a student. I guess he’s right. She hadn’t thought of it that way. He would need to be careful if they decided to go any further than harmless flirting.
“To be honest, I’ve always been too wrapped up in my work to even think about anything else.”
She nodded. She could relate to that. Even though plenty of men had pursued her, Fernanda had seen dating as direct competition with her studies. People assumed that just because she was beautiful, she had an endless supply of dates. But the same looks that turned heads all across campus had possibly intimidated most guys from approaching her.
He threaded his fingers into hers. “I can’t help thinking that perhaps we’ll both discover something on this trip—something between us.”
“I-I’m flattered, Alex.” It was all she could think to say, since most of her brain was occupied with a thousand questions assaulting her at once. Did she want this? He was a tenured professor. What would her fellow students say? Did they have to know? Alex was more than twenty years her senior. Was she ready for a relationship?
Before she could make sense of any of this, Alex leaned in and kissed her.
Her eyes went wide, and he pulled back suddenly. It was the first time she’d ever seen him get flustered. “Um, I probably shouldn’t have done that.” His sudden reversal gave her time to recover, and the sheepish look on his face was just so … cute.
She reached out and covered his other hand with hers. She didn’t know if it was right, but she’d worry about that later. “You don’t see me complaining, do you?” she said with a soft smile.
Then he kissed her again, and this time she kissed him back. The goose bumps returned, only they weren’t from the breeze.
Passion welled up, and before she knew it, he’d pushed her back against the reclined lounge chair, his soft goatee tickling her face as he devoured her lips with his own.
When he started fumbling with the buttons on her blouse, the voice of caution inside her head finally became too loud to ignore. She brought her hands up to his chest and pushed.
He sat up, panting, and looked at her. “What?”
“Alex, we need to think this through.”
He glanced around. “You’re right. We should probably go back to my cabana.”
“That’s not what I meant! I mean, this … this is just too … it’s too fast. I’m not going to sleep with you.”
A look of frustration crossed his face. “Come on, dear. We’re both adults.” He tried to kiss her again.
But whatever passion she had felt was gone. She pushed him away and swung her feet off the chair. “Yes we are, which means we shouldn’t act like a couple of hormonal teenagers.” She stood and brushed the wrinkles out of her shirt.
He went into full back-pedal mode. “Fernanda, listen. I’m sorry if—”
“Good night, Alex. I …” Part of her wanted nothing more than to be loved by this man; the rest of her was screaming, “Run!”
She turned and hurried toward the cabanas before the rising moon’s exquisite beauty could convince her to change her mind.
Joint Special Operations Command Headquarters, Fort Bragg, North Carolina. 0900 hours
“Good morning, men. Come right in and take a seat.” Major Louis Williams gestured to the long conference table without letting go of the giant coffee mug that bore the label Caffeine Transfer Unit.
Rip entered the room just behin
d fellow NCOs Bobby Sweeney and Buzz Hogan, who plopped down in the two burgundy leather swivel chairs closest to the screen at the front of the room. Rip sat next to Hogan, and the rest of the team filed in and sat around the highly polished table.
John Cooper slid into the chair at the end farthest from the screen. “We’ve got everybody, sir.”
“Wow, these headquarter Zoomies really have it made.” Buzz gazed around the room. “When do we get a briefing area like this?”
“Yeah.” Sweeney stroked his blond mustache. “We’d better keep Baldwin away from that thar fancy overhead projector, or he might just turn it into a laser cannon or some newfangled weapon of mass destruction.”
Sergeant First Class Frank Baldwin smirked at him. “You are a weapon of mass destruction, Sweeney.”
The blond master sergeant grinned and pulled out a can of Copenhagen. “Why thank you, Frank. That’s the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.”
“Put that fish bait away,” Major Williams growled. “I’m not going to have any half-full spit cans left lying around for the general to find.”
Sweeney frowned and dropped the chewing tobacco back into the arm pocket on his digital-camo uniform. “Speaking of fish bait, you catch anything while you were home on leave, Buzz?”
“Coupla catfish out of the pond at my uncle’s place in East Texas. You?”
“Nah. I was mostly helping my dad build a deck on the back of the house.”
Buzz twirled a finger in the air. “Yee-ha.”
“Tell me about it. His idea of a good time is digging post holes.”
The door burst open, and CIA Special Agent Mary Walker entered carrying a large sheaf of papers. She was wearing a dark blue pinstripe blazer and matching skirt, her long red hair swept up into a tight bun.
“Hey, it’s Agent Crash!” Sweeney drawled. “You pin on your kamikaze wings yet, darlin’?” Laughter and applause rippled through the group.
“Good morning, Sergeant Sweeney.” Mary smiled sweetly as she dropped the foot-thick stack of manila folders into his lap, causing him to gasp and pitch forward in his seat. “Pass these out for me, would you please?”
John chuckled and leaned toward Sweeney. “Must still be a sore subject, Bobby.”
Sweeney grimaced. “It is now.”
More laughter erupted from the group.
“All right.” Major Williams set his mug on the table. “Don’t harass Agent Phoenix here. She saved your behinds in Lebanon. Next time she might just leave you out there.”
African American medic, Sergeant First Class Joe Kelly raised his hand. “Personally, ma’am, I think using an unmanned aerial vehicle as a remote detonator demonstrates brilliant initiative. I just hope they didn’t make you pay for it.”
Phoenix looked genuinely surprised. “Why, thank you, Doc.”
“How much was that little plane worth, anyway?” Rip asked.
Mary’s pale complexion darkened. “Forty-five thousand, three hundred and ninety dollars, not including the commo gear it carried.”
Whistles went up around the group. Coop raised his eyebrows. “Hope you make more than we do.”
The tall CIA agent shrugged. “Well, after I pointed out what a hellfire missile would have cost, they dropped the matter.”
More cheers went up until Major Williams raised a hand for silence. “All right now, at ease so we can get this briefing out of the way. I’ve got places to go.”
Rip figured one of the major’s girls had a soccer game that afternoon.
“Okay,” Phoenix said, her professional demeanor returning. “I trust you all enjoyed your week off. I figured it was the least we could do after ruining your homecoming party with that false alarm. Besides, it’s taken us this long to wade through all of the intel you generated in Lebanon.”
She produced a small thumb drive and plugged it into the rear of the video projector. A moment later, a satellite photo appeared on the screen.
“Hey, that’s Panama,” Frank said.
“I’ll get to that in a moment.” Phoenix held up a folder. “First, let me connect the dots for you on how our intel has led us to where we stand at the moment. The good news is: we are making progress. The bad news is: not fast enough.
“When you guys hit the terrorist compound in southern Lebanon last month, you succeeded in taking out the men responsible for the bombing attack on the Hotel Rowena in February. Some of the documents you recovered from the site showed that Ansar Inshallah had much bigger plans for their stockpile of ITEB. Fortunately, those plans were thwarted.”
“Score one for the homies.” Rip high-fived Sweeney.
Phoenix gave them a sideways look. “Right. She pulled a glossy photograph from her file. Anyway, this is a picture of the type of bottles recovered from the terrorist stronghold. You’ll notice they are clear glass, one-point-five liter bottles.”
“Like a wine bottle,” Coop said.
“Exactly, John. Notice that the bottle has a unique lip with three ridges on it. Other than that, it could be any high-end water bottle on the market. We’re still tracking down where the bottles were made but haven’t had any luck on that yet.”
“Probably from China,” Sweeney said. “Everything else is.”
Phoenix ignored him. “We decided to focus our efforts on finding out how the ITEB got into the country, since you found no evidence of it being manufactured in Lebanon. After doing some more research on the chemical compound itself, we found that Iso-Triethyl Borane is somewhat unstable in its pure form. This means that it would most likely be refrigerated for transport, so we first checked out all of the reefers that had arrived in Sidon in the thirty days before the bombing.”
Doc looked puzzled. “Reefers?”
She nodded. “Refrigerator ships. That brought up nothing, so I expanded the search to all ships that had called there, since it’s a pretty small port. In fact, they had only thirty-nine ships in total arrive in Sidon in the month before the Rowena was hit.
“We checked into all of them, and only one came up suspicious. It’s an old break-bulk ship called the M/V Invincible. What set it apart from the others on our list is that the ship disappeared shortly after the last time it called at Sidon.”
Coop sat forward in his seat. “Disappeared? Where?”
“Just off the coast of Panama.” Phoenix checked her notes. “About a week ago. Now, normally this wouldn’t be much to go on. But we caught a break. I called the Panamanian police headquarters last night, and they told me that two nights ago a ship coming into the Pacific side of the Isthmus rescued one member of the Invincible’s crew. He was hovering near death after days adrift with no food or water.
“He’s now recovering in the hospital in Panama City. Our Panama station chief sent someone to talk to the man this morning. He’s in pretty bad shape and can’t talk much, but he was able to look at some photos you boys took of empty crates of ITEB in Lebanon. He confirmed that they had once been on his ship. We still hope to debrief the crewmember fully, but it appears the ship was stolen by pirates who killed the entire crew except him.”
Rip was incredulous. “How do you steal an entire ship?”
She started to answer, but Frank interrupted. “It’s actually fairly common. I was reading an article about it recently. Happens a lot off the coast of Somalia. Pirates come up in fast boats and board the ship, kill the crew, then repaint the thing at sea and give it a new name. Then they sail the new vessel into some port and sell off its cargo. Once that’s done, they either sink the ship or sell it for scrap.”
“Just like a chop shop back on the block.” Rip had a fleeting thought of Gabi joyriding in a souped-up yellow import but pushed it away.
Major Williams shook his head. “That’s amazing. Some people’s minds are just evil.”
“Preach it, Major.” Doc nodded.
“So where do we come in?” Coop was all business.
Phoenix turned back to the projection screen and aimed a laser pointer at the photo
. “The rescued sailor seemed to indicate that a similar shipment was on board when the Invincible was hijacked, about fifty miles off the Pacific coast, here. If this is the case, that means we have more ITEB now in the hands of murderous criminals.”
Major Williams frowned. “Wonderful.”
“I’m sending you to Panama with your gear so you’ll be ready when we need you. You’ll go in commercial, and your kit will fly separately to be picked up at the embassy in Panama City. Travel details and a more in-depth intel brief are in the folders in front of you. You leave tomorrow afternoon.”
“Er, men, there’s something I need to tell you.” Major Williams’s usual uberconfident stare had been replaced by a sheepish look.
Rip got a strange feeling about what was coming. He’d never known his commander to act uncertain about anything.
Williams hesitated, then continued. “I won’t be with you in Panama. Gonna have to go in for back surgery.”
Frank let out a low whistle, and Coop raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Rip turned to the major. “What did you do to your back?”
The man looked even more sheepish. “Well, um … it was sort of a sports injury. Nothing too serious, but the docs want to fix it so it won’t get any worse. I’m gonna be laid up for three weeks.”
Hogan furrowed his brow. “A sports injury?”
“Yeah, well.” The major put down his mug again. “Okay, listen. I hurt it playing football with my girls.”
Silence reigned for a half second as everyone looked around the room at each other, and then they all burst into laughter.
Williams was laughing too. “I know, I know. It’s crazy, but that Denise is a killer when it comes to anything competitive. And she hits like a truck.”
Phoenix was trying to stifle a smile. “Which one is Denise?”
“My fourteen-year-old.”
This time even Mary couldn’t contain her laughter.
Sweeney wiped the tears from his eyes and cleared his throat. “So Phoenix, will you be our eye in the sky again this time?”
Mary was back to business as she fixed him with her gaze. “Negative. This time, I’m coming with you.”
