by Chuck Holton
So when he had tired of living among them, he simply slipped away from the work camp and melted into the trackless jungle. It was no different from the deepest reaches of the Darién, where his people had lived since the dawn of time and from where he had been taken all those years ago, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
He took advantage of the racket to slither silently from his hiding place and find another, closer to where the men had hacked out a small opening in the banana palms and stockpiled their crates before the plane came. No one was in the area now. They were all straining to roll the loaded aircraft into position for takeoff.
He looked over the boxes that had not gone onto the plane. Nothing practical in them as far as he could tell. A machete lay atop one of the crates, along with a bag of some sort.
The bolsa will be useful for keeping food from the rodents. And the machete for killing them.
He quickly stole from his hiding place and took both items, then slipped back into the anonymity of the jungle just as one of the men was returning.
It was the younger one he had seen before. As he watched, the man picked up one of the weapons—a rifle similar to those the prison guards had often beaten the inmates with. He had no use for them.
As the young man fiddled with the rifle, the man again left his hiding place, his mud-encrusted hands finding at his side the one thing he’d taken when he left the camp those many years ago. A knife. It slid easily from its sheath as he moved up behind the pirate without a sound.
The only noise was a gurgle as the young man’s lifeblood drained onto the freshly cut banana leaves. His rifle dropped to the earth with a thud. The man had not suffered.
He eased the lifeless body to the ground and felt no remorse. He had done this one a favor, as he had for the others through the years.
He spoke a greeting to the spirits on the man’s behalf, then stepped over his body and melted into the jungle once again.
The young man was now free of the island.
Isla Coiba. 0100 hours
An otherworldly shriek jerked Fernanda from a fitful sleep. She lay unmoving in her jungle hammock, immobilized by fear, her heart beating like that of a hummingbird.
What … was … that?
When the screech came again, right above her head this time, she would have screamed herself—if she’d been able to breathe. The darkness under the canopy of trees sheltering their camp was so complete that even if the nylon rain fly hadn’t been covering her jungle hammock, the view from her mesh-enclosed cocoon wouldn’t have been any different.
Not that she really wanted to see what was making the horrendous noise. She was trying to convince herself that it was just a bird, since the racket was coming from high in the trees.
An enormous pterodactyl of a bird maybe.
Or perhaps a really angry monkey.
She had been sleeping—or more precisely hiding—in her hammock since just after dark around 7 p.m. That must have been hours ago, but she didn’t want to illuminate the dial on her watch to find out, because that would entail moving.
Breathe, girl. Breathe. Whatever it is probably doesn’t want to eat you.
At this rate, she’d be lucky to get an hour of sleep all night. She could never get over how noisy the jungle became after dark. The first night was always like this for her. She recognized the whirr of cicadas and rhythmic bass melody of frogs. But the rest of the hoots, screeches, thuds, and cries of predators and prey mixed into a noisy blur. Fernanda didn’t think she would feel any better to know what they were, anyway.
And was that an airplane I heard?
She shivered. The small fleece airline blanket she’d brought along was about as useful as flip-flops in the Arctic. She should have listened to her instincts when she was packing. Alex’s list hadn’t included a sleeping bag, but she always got cold when she slept anyway. She hadn’t been sure what to expect here.
The last field study she’d participated in was the Nymphalis quinterus study on what had been Fort Sherman, and they returned at night to men’s and women’s dorms in former US Army barracks. This was much different, especially when the temps dropped thirty degrees after you had been hiking through hot rain forest all day, sweating as if it were a competition to see who could die of heatstroke first.
Note to self: Next time, bring warm clothes, despite the added weight, and earplugs.
She couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to move. The hammock creaked as she rolled to her side. From the soft snores coming from the other hammocks nearby, nobody else gave the screaming bird from Hades a second thought.
Why did she come on this trip? It wasn’t just because she had a crush on Alex. Okay, there. I admitted it. There had to be a deeper reason. She wouldn’t willingly suffer like this for any man alive.
An image of a little girl she’d seen when they first rolled into Santa Catalina appeared in her exhaustion-clouded mind. It seemed like weeks ago. The girl’s dark skin offset the faded pink of her dirty summer dress. Her beautiful smile was like sunshine on the dirt path that led from a cluster of corrugated metal shacks.
As Fernanda watched the girl walk along, chewing a stalk of sugarcane, she pitied her for being born in such a place. The Lerida estate had animals that lived better than these campesinos. Yet in a way, she resented the girl because she was content with so little. And just knowing that she existed made Fernanda feel guilty for having so much.
Why would God give luxury to some and crushing poverty to others? It couldn’t possibly be fair.
Maybe that had something to do with why she came. Maybe somewhere deep inside, Fernanda wanted to choose suffering to assuage her guilt.
Well, that’s stupid.
Whatever the reason, the trip so far had been like a master’s level study in human misery. When they first arrived on the beach at Playa Brava, she had been captivated by the island’s tropical beauty. They unloaded their gear onto the beach, and Alex showed them the proposed route on his map. They would hike inland toward the tallest peak, a mist-shrouded mountain he called Cerro Torre, and make camp at its base. The area he wanted to collect samples from lay just on the other side of the ridge.
In the hours since they first embarked on their trek inland from the beach, she’d exerted herself like never before in her life; hurt in places she hadn’t known existed; and encountered every biting, stinging, thorny plant known to man. Now she was cocooned in what amounted to a suspended body bag, somewhere in the land before time, freezing to death and hoping to survive the prehistoric birds until morning so she could get up and do it all over again.
Hedi was so lucky to get sick.
The screech came again. But now it was more annoying than scary. What in the world could make such an awful noise?
The next scream came from her right at ground level. That was human! Adrenaline shot through her again. She tried to peer out of the mesh of her cocoon but saw nothing.
“Carlos? You okay?” Alex’s voice sounded groggy but unfazed.
“Yeah. Sorry. I woke up and something was sniffing at my leg. I think I scared it away, though.”
Alex yawned. “It was probably just a neque. They’re like big mice. Don’t worry. They’re harmless.”
“Uh … okay.” Carlos didn’t sound the slightest bit convinced.
Fernanda wasn’t excited about the thought of giant mice roaming their campsite either, but Carlos had been whining about one thing or another almost since they landed at Playa Brava.
And he was worried about Hedi being the weak link!
But if the professor wasn’t worried, then maybe she could relax enough to get some rest. The jungle had quieted with their talking. Perhaps she could fall asleep before the din got up to full volume once again.
She had no choice but to buck up and make the best of it. It was time to exhibit that trait her father always insisted was the duty of a Lerida. In Spanish, he called it valor familiar. Family courage.
She wrapped her exhaust
ed body tightly in the fleece blanket and prayed for the sun.
Send me some of your courage, Papa.
Euro Hotel, Panama City. 0630 hours
THE HOTEL LOBBY was nearly empty when Rip stepped out of the tiny elevator. He’d already gone for a swim in the pool, showered, shaved, and dressed in khaki painter’s pants and a blue Under Armour shirt.
Guess the tourists decided to sleep in.
He got the once-over and a coy smile from the young woman behind the check-in desk. He acknowledged her with a simple nod and kept moving. Not that she wasn’t cute, but he’d committed to sit out the gender games for a play or two, and that’s what he intended to do.
If he never had another blowup like the one the other night, it would be too soon. It made him feel bad, because Chelsea really was a sincere, straightforward woman. But that was part of the problem. Chelsea knew what she wanted—and it was more than he had to give.
He walked by the bank of computers that lined one wall. One of them was occupied by Agent Mary Walker. The other by John Cooper, who looked comical as he furiously hunt-and-pecked the keyboard.
“Now, Coop, I never thought I’d see you checking e-mail on a deployment.”
John never looked up, only smiled and kept pecking. “Hey, man. Love will do funny things to a guy.”
“After seeing you, I believe it. Say hi to Liz for me.”
“Will do.”
Rip crouched by Mary’s chair. “Hey, Phoenix. Chatting with your love interest as well?”
She looked up from her e-mail with a sarcastic grin. “I wish. Will you wait for me? I’ll just be a minute.”
Rip pointed to the door that led to the hotel’s restaurant. “Tell you what, I’ll get us some coffee. How do you take it?”
“I’ve already had some, but you go ahead.”
Rip nodded and pushed through the door into the restaurant. A bar with stools separated the dining area from the kitchen, and booths lined the opposite wall under windows that looked out onto the busy Via Espana, where traffic was already thicker than the humidity.
He slid into a swivel chair at the bar and smiled at the middle-aged waitress, who looked like she’d been on duty all night.
“Buenos días, señora.”
“Buenos días. ¿Algo para tomar?”
“Café negro, por favor.”
She nodded. “Como no.”
Five minutes later he paid for his coffee and a banana and was climbing into a taxi with Phoenix. “US embassy, por favor,” she told the driver.
Mary turned to Rip. “Our friend rented us an economy car. It’ll be waiting for us there.”
“No problem. What’s the name of the place where we’re going?”
“Let’s talk about that when we get to the embassy, shall we?” Phoenix shot a glance at the taxi driver, who appeared to be listening only to the blaring Reggaeton emanating from the car’s sound system.
“Oh, right. Sorry.” Guess I just failed Espionage 101.
She smiled. “Don’t worry about it.”
Rip didn’t ask any more questions as they rode to the embassy, which was located on what had once been Fort Clayton in the canal zone. Nowadays, Phoenix explained, it had been renamed ciudad de saber, a sort of “gated community” for artists, scientists, and other foreigners coming to Panama for various projects.
“The former embassy was downtown and right on the street. This one is well off the road, much less vulnerable.”
When they neared their destination, Rip could see what she meant. The embassy didn’t exactly say “Welcome to America.” Instead, it looked like a maximum-security prison, several stories tall and set on the side of a hill at the end of a long, winding driveway.
“Tell him to let us out here,” Phoenix told Rip, who relayed the command to the driver. They stepped onto the curb near the first guardhouse, staffed by rent-a-cop Panamanian security guards.
After paying the driver, she and Rip walked to the guardhouse and showed their government IDs. A moment later, the young guard waved them through.
“That was easy,” Rip commented.
Marcel was waiting for them in the marble lobby, looking nervous as he had the night before.
“Here are your car keys. And I received this intel when I arrived this morning.” He handed Phoenix a manila folder. “Our analysts at Langley found the information on the rest of the Invincible’s cargo when she disappeared. It appears the main cargo was lumber, but there were several containers aboard as well, mostly filled with consumer goods.”
Phoenix looked frustrated. “Doesn’t sound like much of a break.”
“Well, maybe this will. It took me more man-hours than I had to spare, but some of my people were able to dig up this PDA with a Compact Flash card RFID reader, then program it with the codes of the products you’re looking for.” He handed her the small gizmo, which looked like Rip’s own handheld computer with a flat plastic antenna sticking out of the top of the unit.
“How does that work?” Rip asked.
Marcel sighed. “RFID readers send out an electronic signal that causes any radio frequency ID chips nearby to send back their data.” His nasally voice took on a tinge of annoyance. “If you two get within range of any of the products you’re looking for, the PDA is set to alert you.”
“What’s the range like?” Phoenix turned the unit over in her hands.
“With this antenna, not very far. You’ll have to be within maybe twenty-five meters.”
“I’d like to get at our pallets, if possible. Phoenix said last night that you have them here?”
Even more annoyed, Marcel looked at Rip. “What for?”
Rip shrugged. “I figure if we’re going to Colón, it won’t hurt to at least have a handgun.”
Marcel shook his head vigorously. “No way. No weapons. Langley would have my hide if anything happened.”
Rip shot back. “Oh? But they won’t mind if we come back in a box because we got attacked and couldn’t defend ourselves?”
Marcel reddened. “I am not having this conversation.” He turned on his heel and strode off down the hall.
Phoenix looked up at Rip with a grin. The girl was unshakeable. “I should have warned you. Agent Bucard didn’t score high on the personality test.”
Rip tried to bore holes in the man’s retreating back with his stare. “He must have ruined the curve on the ‘cover your behind’ exam.”
She laughed. “Probably. I’ve seen lots of people like him in this business. There aren’t a lot of risk takers out there anymore, you know?” She turned and exited the building.
Rip followed. “How about you? Are you a risk taker?”
She pretended to be insulted. “Sergeant Rubio, are you flirting with me?”
“Er, no, ma’am. I just wanted to know if you were okay doing this mission unarmed.”
“I’m fine with it,” she said, the playful look still in place. “People go shopping in Colón every day without a handgun. What makes you think we need one?”
He frowned. “Just to be prepared. You never know what will happen.”
She put on a no-nonsense look that Rip found strangely attractive.
“It doesn’t always take a gun to be prepared.” She headed down the steps. “Stay here; I’ll bring the car around.”
Rip was officially freaked out. He really wasn’t trying to, but it was almost like he couldn’t help flirting with Phoenix. He didn’t want to be attracted to her, but he was all the same.
Ack! I can’t turn it off!
It wasn’t that she was unattractive. Quite the contrary, actually. She was smoking hot, like a red-headed, Scotch-Irish version of Angelina Jolie. And from what he’d heard, Phoenix didn’t need to carry a gun. Somebody said she’d been a champion kickboxer.
Some guys might not find that attractive in a girl, but Rip liked the confidence it had obviously given her. She carried herself in a way that screamed “capable” without making her seem mannish or intimidating.
He wasn’t going to think about this right now. Romance existed in a different room of his brain, and he had a lock on that room at the moment. He would relate to her as a person if it killed him.
Phoenix drove up and hit the button to roll down the passenger window. “You ready?”
“Yep. You want me to drive?”
“Sure, go ahead.” She put the car in neutral and set the hand brake, then slid nimbly across to the passenger side. “But it’s a stick.”
“No problem.” He walked around to the driver’s door.
Ten minutes later they were on the main north-south highway that ran from Panama City to Colón. Rip tuned the radio to one of the ubiquitous salsa stations, and for a while they rode in silence.
Once they got out of town, the countryside opened up to rugged mountains covered with flowering trees, palms, and tall grass. In between, campesinos living in small pueblos went about the chores of daily life—washing, working, and walking—without paying much attention to the two lanes of heavy traffic that rumbled past their simple concrete-and-thatch homes.
A lot of trucks were on the road, hauling everything from pineapples to ponies to people. The only thing they seemed to have in common was a lack of proper emissions. By the time they reached the outskirts of Colón, Rip’s eyes were burning from the lingering clouds of diesel smoke that hung over the entire route.
“The Zona Libre should be coming up on our right.” Phoenix consulted her map. “At seventy acres, I’d think it will be hard to miss.”
Rip turned down the radio. “Okay.” He swerved to miss a huge pothole. “What are we looking for exactly?”
“Only information, really. If we can find something else that was on that ship, maybe we can trace it back to the ship’s location now.”
“I see. Find the ship, find the ITEB.”
“In theory. It’ll put us one step closer anyway.”
As they neared the city center, the traffic and roads continued to get worse. “I think I see the cranes from the port up ahead.” Rip pointed to the angular structures jutting above the ramshackle rooftops of businesses lining the road. “The free zone has to be close to that.”
