by Chuck Holton
Her heart was pounding. Something was definitely wrong here. She needed to take another look at those reports.
As quietly as possible, she returned to the front door and eased it open. Tío Edgar was in his office talking on the phone. He seemed angry.
She slipped in the door and, praying that he wouldn’t see her, went right to the printer and retrieved the reports. She stole a glance into his office on the way out, breathing a sigh of relief when his back was to the door.
As she hurried across the parking lot, the sky was much lighter than it had been when she’d entered the office. She hoped Rip would call sometime today, and not only because she wanted to know if they’d found anything that might lead to Carlos and Zack. Actually, she craved the feeling his presence gave, like everything would turn out all right.
As she passed Edgar’s SUV, a flash of red on its grille caught her eye. She stopped. Looking closer, she froze, staring in disbelief.
It can’t be …
Her hands shook as she reached for the small dead butterfly and peeled it from the Toyota’s radiator. There was no mistaking it—she’d spent hours studying the bright red wings edged with an iridescent purple that classified this definitively as belonging to the new species Alex had discovered.
Nymphalis quinterus!
For a moment she almost forgot her exhaustion as a wave of adrenaline surged through her. What is it doing here? Does this mean it exists outside of the habitat where we first discovered it? It was possible, sure, but here? In Paraiso?
Her brain registered for the first time how muddy the vehicle was. Where had her uncle been? He wasn’t the kind of man who would enjoy off roading. In fact, the only reason he drove an SUV was for the added comfort it provided on the poorly maintained roads in the city.
Her head was spinning. Had Edgar been to Fort Sherman?
She remembered the dusty roads they’d traveled to reach the research site. But that had been in the middle of the dry season. Now that it was starting to rain every day, the roads through the jungle would be nothing but mud.
But what would Edgar be doing in the jungle? She ran her finger along the vehicle’s bumper. The mud was caked on top but still gooey underneath.
This is fresh.
She rolled up the reports and put them under one arm, then carefully cupped the little butterfly in her hand and hurried to her car.
Something definitely wasn’t right here.
She just needed time to figure out what it was.
She was almost home before she remembered the inconsistency in the reports. Could it simply be an error? She could check the accounts next time she went to the office and be sure. But what if it wasn’t a mistake? Tío Edgar was the one who made the orders. In fact, he was responsible for most of the day-to-day financial transactions. Could he be siphoning off money for himself?
Mother said that business wasn’t so good this year, but from the number of orders she’d just seen, Lerida Coffee should be having one of its best years ever. Should she call her mother immediately and tell her … what? That she’d gone the entire night without sleep and then gone to the office before dawn and found a slight discrepancy in the records?
Fernanda shook her head. She was going crazy. Edgar had always been a little eccentric, but he wouldn’t steal from the family. But even if he was embezzling money, what did that have to do with the butterfly she’d found? And how could that have anything to do with her friends, who might possibly have perished in the initial attack?
She pulled through the automatic gate behind her apartment building and coasted to a stop in an open parking space. Her heart was beating so fast she couldn’t think. She rolled down the window and forced herself to breathe deeply.
How could Tío Edgar be involved with this? Nothing she could come up with made sense.
She pulled the parking brake and grabbed her purse with the butterfly specimen carefully tucked inside.
Something was up with Tío Edgar. And I’m going to find out what it is.
US Embassy, Panama City. 0800 hours
RIP WINCED AS the medic poked at the Steri-Strips she’d applied to his face the night before. Why looking at them wouldn’t have sufficed, he didn’t know, but he sat bare-chested on the gurney and waited with resigned patience while the embassy’s matronly physician’s assistant examined the wounds on his head.
He wasn’t as sore as he thought he’d be, but with a fairly purple right eye and a nose still swollen from Chombon’s vicious head butt, Rip couldn’t help hoping the pirate leader looked even worse.
The hot shower he’d taken back in his room at the hotel last night had been better than any of the medic’s ministrations, but when he called home to check on Gabi, it felt like he was getting beat up all over again.
Gabi had returned home after two days, his mother said, and then added that she’d promptly kicked the rebellious teenager out of her home. “The way she talks to me, Euripides, I just cannot live with it,” she said through tears.
His family was falling apart, and there was nothing he could do about it.
“Where is Gabi staying now?”
“She went to Tía Teresa’s. But that woman will probably only make things worse.”
Rip’s mother had never gotten along very well with her late husband’s younger sister. “Give me the number, Mama. I’ll see if she’ll talk to me.”
This is loco. What can I do while I’m way down here?
The pain from his recent altercation was nothing compared to the burning in his chest because of Gabi. What surprised him most was the realization that the ache was jealousy. He was resentful of the punk that Gabi was hanging with. Obviously he didn’t feel for her like Chaco did, but he was jealous just the same. He felt the old bitterness creeping into his heart. The two men who should have been there for Rip’s family—his father and his stepfather—had both put their personal pleasure and comfort ahead of the needs of the family.
And what bothered Rip the most was that he could see himself repeating the pattern. Gabi needed a daddy. What would her father think if he saw what his selfishness had done to his family so many years later? Probably nothing.
Rip couldn’t help getting angry when he saw the effect on Gabi. It was clear she was just looking for affection, and the men who should have been there to give it to her, weren’t.
Including me.
What made it worse was that his attitude toward women mimicked his father and stepfather: Women weren’t something to be treasured; they were something to be collected, like cars.
It was no use blaming his actions on his upbringing. If the Army had taught him anything, it was that. You take responsibility for your situation, even if it isn’t your fault.
On a deeper level, something told him that his cavalier attitude toward women would, in the end, bring him neither lasting pleasure nor satisfaction. But neither will taking a lifetime vow of chastity.
“No sign of infection,” the medic said, shifting her poking and probing to his shoulders and back. “You’re going to have a scar though.”
“A real man’s tattoo.” Coop’s voice came from the direction of the door.
Rip turned slightly and saw his team sergeant ambling toward them, grinning.
“Good news,” Coop continued, stopping at Rip’s side. “Buzz’s surgery went well, and they said he’ll make a full recovery.”
Rip exhaled and closed his eyes. “That’s a relief, bro. How long will he be in the hospital?”
“Hold still, Staff Sergeant,” the PA insisted.
Coop shook his head. “Probably about three days. Then they’ll send him back to Bragg. He’ll be on light duty for a week or two.”
Rip flinched again and tried not to glare at the PA. “You know, I really didn’t think it was that bad when I first saw him.”
Coop shrugged. “Doc said the bullet clipped a nerve and came within a hair’s breadth of a major artery. It could have been much worse. You about done here? We have a mee
ting with Marcel in a few minutes.”
The PA nodded. “You can go.”
Rip jumped up and dressed quickly before she changed her mind, then followed Coop out of the infirmary. Outside it was so hot that Rip wondered if someone had left the door to Hades open.
The main embassy building stood on the other side of a small, perfectly manicured flower garden. As the two men worked their way toward the rear door of the embassy building, Coop said, “Feels like it’s going to rain.”
Rip just grunted.
“What’s the story with your little sister? Did you talk to her yet?”
Rip stopped and regarded his friend. “No, I didn’t. How did you know I was thinking about her, bro?”
Coop put a powerful arm around Rip’s shoulder, making him wince again. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks, man! Don’t worry, though. I hear the reenlistment bonuses are going up again. You’ll make out like a bandit when it’s time to re-up.”
“Who says I’m going to re-up?”
Now Coop stopped and stared. “Seriously? You thinking about leaving the team?”
“Thinkin’ about it. Yeah.”
“Because of your sister?”
Rip shrugged. “Not necessarily. A guy’s got to settle down sometime, you know? I’m just thinking how nice it would be to find a good woman, settle down, and actually be there for my family.”
“Don’t you see what we’re doing as being there for your family?”
Rip’s brows furrowed. “No.”
“Look, buddy, you do a job that most people couldn’t do. And you’re good at it. Can you imagine what it would be like if ITEB made it into the States somehow? You’ve got to see the broader picture. You save your sister every day.”
Rip shook his head. “I’d like to believe that, bro. But even if I am, how long does it last? I can’t do this job forever. And while I’m here focusing on the ‘broader picture,’ the narrower one is going to pot. I can’t let that happen.”
“I understand what you’re saying, I really do. But do you seriously think you can give your sister what she needs? Even when kids have their fathers at home, they still rebel at this age.”
“Gabi’s looking for love in all the wrong places, ese.”
“Sounds a little like her brother.”
Rip just stared at him. “I can’t believe you just said that, Coop.”
John raised one hand slightly. “Hey, no offense, buddy. What I’m trying to say is that you—her brother—can’t give Gabi the love she really needs. Only God can do that. And based on the conversation we had at the Waffle House awhile back, you need the same thing: To know that your heavenly Father loves you in spite of everything. To know that you don’t have to earn His love. You can’t give that kind of love to Gabi—or any woman—if you don’t understand it yourself.”
A stab of anger hit Rip in the chest. What right does he have to say that?
Eyes narrowed, he turned on his heel and headed for the guard station at the rear of the building. “I don’t have any choice, Coop. If she doesn’t get it from me, she’ll get it from Chaco. I can’t let that happen.”
Outside Panama City. 1100 hours
THE BLACK TAXI shuddered and jolted along behind a smoke-belching truck loaded down with bananas. Hopefully Zack wouldn’t be mad that they’d taken his car. Actually, Fernanda hoped he would get angry. To do so, he’d have to come home alive. And though she tried not to show it to Hedi, the thread upon which her hope was riding strained a little closer to the breaking point.
She’d doubted her German friend would even agree to go along with this crazy idea. But Hedi was frustrated too, and after what happened the last time Fernanda went off without her, Hedi wasn’t about to let her do this trip alone.
“You’re right, Fernanda. Too many things don’t add up with your uncle. But what does it have to do with Coiba?”
Fernanda shook her head. “All I know is that when I talked to Mother, it seems that things are worse than I thought.”
“How?”
“Well, the numbers she gave me from the company bank account don’t square with what I’m seeing in the database for the last several months. I guess nobody noticed sooner because Tío Edgar takes care of shipping and accounts payable.”
“Didn’t your mom want to know why you were asking?”
“I just told her I was cleaning up the database to get my mind off the last few days. But she knows something’s up. She said that when she noticed a spike in operating overhead several months ago, Edgar blamed it on increased fuel costs.”
But from what Fernanda could see, transport costs couldn’t account for all of the increase. Nor could it account for Edgar spending time in the jungle of what used to be Fort Sherman, now the Fort San Lorenzo protected area near Colón, if in fact that was where he picked up the Nymphalis quinterus. And that appeared to be the case, since he was driving back that way now.
They’d decided to take Zack’s car since Edgar wouldn’t recognize it. Then they sat outside the Lerida Coffee offices for two hours. Hedi watched while Fernanda napped until he came out and got in his SUV.
So here she was, trailing her own uncle in a “borrowed” car, speeding north along the highway to Colón. Her stomach was uneasy, and half a nap gave her that herky-jerky feeling, like her brain was always one step behind. Even driving with the windows down and radio blasting wasn’t helping.
She gave Hedi a grateful smile. “I’m glad you decided to come with me. I don’t think I could have done this by myself.”
Hedi nodded. “I want to do whatever we can to bring Carlos and Zack home. At least this way I feel like we’re trying, even if nothing ever comes of it.”
Fernanda agreed. She wanted to feel like she was contributing to the side of justice, though it might have nothing to do with her friends.
She edged carefully over to the left far enough to confirm Edgar’s SUV was still there, five cars ahead. She’d been hard pressed to keep up with him on the poorly maintained two-lane road. In fact, she’d never driven so fast in her life. By the time they made it to the outskirts of Colón, she was glad for the traffic congestion.
Hedi pointed. “Hey, there he goes!”
Edgar veered to the left near the sign that pointed to the canal crossing at the Gatún locks. Fernanda followed. She knew the road well from the two weeks she’d worked on Alex’s project the previous year.
Traffic was lighter on the road that wound down to the canal crossing. Fernanda hoped that the wait wouldn’t be too long. The crossing was only open between ships, and sometimes it took more than an hour of waiting in line before the metal ramps were lowered in front of the lock’s huge doors to let vehicles pass.
Edgar was really speeding now. His SUV kicked up leaves and gravel as he blasted down the straightaway and careened around each corner. The little taxi strained to keep up but failed. She’d never known Edgar to be so reckless, and if her mother had seen it, she’d have words for her brother-in-law.
They were approaching the Gatún locks. When the road finally straightened out for the last quarter mile before the canal, she saw the small cloud of dust left by the SUV far ahead. The gates must be open, since the line of cars that normally waited on this stretch of road wasn’t here.
Fernanda floored the accelerator to try to close the distance with the Toyota. As she neared the gate, the SUV braked hard before reaching the crossing, then edged onto the metal bridge that crossed the 110-foot lock.
Almost there! She tried to coax more speed out of the whining automobile, already shuddering like a kite.
But it was no use. Before she reached the crossing, the guard was closing the high chain-link gate across the road. She probably said a few words she shouldn’t have as she slammed on the brakes and screeched to a stop just in front of the sign that read Propiedad de la autoridad del Canal de Panama. Prohibido entrar sin autorización.
“Oh no! What do we do now?” Hedi wailed.
The guard eyed t
he girls with interest from his post on the opposite side of the high chain-link fence, which was topped with a tangle of razor wire. Beyond him, her uncle’s SUV powered up the ramp on the far side of the canal, then turned left and disappeared behind the lock.
She smacked the steering wheel. A tirade of Spanish followed.
“What’d you say?”
Fernanda blushed. “Oh … sorry. I’m just frustrated.”
“What’s on the other side of the canal?”
“Really the road only goes to the old base. But once we get through the gate, there are lots of side roads, most of which used to lead to various military training sites, I think. But most of the work we did on the quinterus was at the very end of the road, near the ruins of Fuerte San Lorenzo.
“What’s that?” Hedi asked.
“Oh, it’s an old pirate fort on a bluff overlooking the Caribbean. It’s really neat in a spooky kind of way. There are still old cannons pointing out to sea and ramparts that look down on the mouth of the Chagres River.”
Hedi’s eyes went wide. “A real pirate fort? Wow!”
Fernanda nodded. “Yeah, they say it was conquered by Captain Morgan himself back in the sixteenth century. We’ll have to go see it someday.”
“Do you think that’s where your uncle is headed?”
“I can’t imagine what he’d be doing there, but he must have been close to end up with a specimen of the quinterus in his grille.”
They waited, watching in frustration as a ship nosed its way out of the lock at a snail’s pace and headed for the Caribbean. Fernanda wanted to scream.
A full thirty minutes later, she was beside herself as the gate finally opened. The bored guards looked on as she forced herself to maneuver slowly down the narrow drawbridge. Once clear of the canal, she gunned the engine and sped away.
Three minutes later she passed the guardhouse for the entrance to Fort Sherman. It was empty, and the wooden barrier was propped open. With her anxiety at a rolling boil, she turned left at the sign that said Parque Nacional San Lorenzo.
“How far is it to the fort?” Hedi asked.
