River of Desire: A Romantic Action Adventure/Thriller

by Winn, J. K.

  “Heliconia. Sometimes called ‘lobster-claws’. Hummingbirds pollinate it. Beautiful is it not?”

  She had the urge to tell him that all lives were equally beautiful. “Spectacular.”

  “And good.” He plucked a dead leaf off a nearby vine. “Plants are more than pleasing to eye. They nourish environment. Vhat vould planet be vithout them?”

  “Dull, I imagine.”

  “More like dead. Air ve breathe, earth beneath our feet, animal life around us all to depend on our fine flowering friends.”

  Kruger was such an paradox. One day he was telling her about his Nazi past and the next he was extolling the importance of plant life to the planet. She wouldn’t be surprised if he launched into a spiel about saving the rain forest. Categorizing him seemed out of the question. “How did you learn to love plants so much?”

  Pinching another dead leaf took priority over her question. “This might be hard to understand for you, but it vas in camp. Behind my quarters I grew small garden vhere I planted roses and lilies. They gave me peace and helped me to believe in beauty of life.” He disentangled a creeper strangling a Bird-of-Paradise. “Since then I have garden always.”

  She imagined the concentration camp in the black and white of newsreel footage. Emaciated people in striped uniforms shuffling past bright scarlet and coral colored roses. In her vision, the beauty of the flowers contrasted with the surrounding deprivation and intensified the horror. “Tell me more of your life in Berlin.”

  “My father vas bureaucrat and my mother at home stayed with four children. There vas never money enough for frivolous things.” He paused to pick a weed. “Ve always had roof over heads and food in bellies, but ve had to make due with hand me-down-clothes and second hand books like many in Germany at time.”

  She jotted down notes, listening for anything that might explain this man’s behavior.

  “My parents vere proud. If they struggled, they vould never let us know. Ve vere made to believe always everything vould be fine. Only time it upset me vas at school. Because of our grades, my sister and I vere as charity students, accepted at prestigious private academy. We vere laughed at, or scorned, but our heads ve held high and dismissed insults. Ve vere taught to be proud.”

  She fingered the delicate orchid he had given her. “If you were the underdog growing up, why were you not more sympathetic to the suffering of others?”

  He solemnly nodded. “I am, mein kinder. I am.”

  “It’s hard to believe that, after what you’ve told me.”

  He picked up clippers and pointed them at her. “You judge me, but only those vith clear conscience to judge others have right.”

  How had he found her out? How could he possibly know she hadn’t always acted in an upstanding way herself? Like the time she took advantage of Gary Jacobs’ illness and wormed her way into his genome assignment. And the late lunches she’d take from the Times to attend a Nordstrom’s sale. But while she wrestled with the implication of his argument, she knew her indiscretions hardly equaled his. “None of us are perfect, but it sounds like you might have outdone yourself in that department.”

  He turned back to his pruning. “Things are not always vhat they appear.”

  Putting down her pen, she stared at his stooped back. “So what are you saying?”

  He trimmed a long, leafless stem. “Choices ve make are rarely clear cut, black or vhite. Often there are...vhat vould you to call it...extenuating circumstances.” He turned again and looked at her. “Vhat if I turn out different than you believe? How vould you to handle that?

  The thought grated against her like sandpaper against skin. What if he was right and she allowed herself to know him in a different way? How would that affect everything she held dear? Her every perception? Her every conviction? She had held onto her beliefs too long, especially those regarding the moral rightness of certain behavior. They defined who she was. She could not simply abandon or dismiss them now.

  She glanced down at her pad. The word Nazi jumped out at her. “I really don’t know.”

  * * *

  Von Schotten pointed the gun directly at Dylan’s head. “Vhat a surprise, Herr Hart. I never expected to see you again. And in laboratory, no less. I vill have to have vord vith Xikxu.”

  Dylan patted the test tubes in his pocket. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble,” he said, backing away, “but I must take the vaccine to Kruger’s granddaughter.”

  Von Schotten frowned. “Too late for that. Since Xikxu did not eliminate you, I vill have to in my own vay.”

  At his words, a vice tightly gripped Dylan’s chest. He could hardly breathe thinking of the diabolical significance behind Von Schotten’s words. “How do you plan to do that?”

  Von Schotten made a jittery flick of the gun sideways. “Sit! And you vill soon see.”

  Dylan eyed the raised firearm, aware that this may be his last chance to escape. “Okay. Okay!”

  He began to turn toward the chair to throw Von Schotten off-base, then twirled back around and lunged for the gun. Knocked off balance, Von Schotten stumbled backwards, accidentally flinging the gun over his shoulder. It came to a resounding halt at the feet of the guard Dylan had seen through the bedroom window. The guard picked up the gun and leveled it at Dylan. Dylan raised his arms and opened his empty hands for the guard to see. “Okay...I quit...don’t shoot.”

  For an elderly man, Von Schotten recovered quickly. He brushed off his jacket and straightened his shirt collar. “Sit!” he demanded again.

  Dylan had no choice but do what the doctor ordered.

  Von Schotten barked a command to the guard, who handed the gun over to him. He held it pointed at Dylan while the guard left the room and returned with a piece of rope that he used to roughly tie Dylan’s hands together behind his back.

  “Now Herr Hart, relax,” Von Schotten said. “I vill shortly be back.”

  The last thing in the world Dylan could do was relax. He could only imagine what Von Schotten was planning for him.

  In Von Schotten’s absence, the guard stood sentinel by the door with a level eye on Dylan. Every now and then, he would peer out into the yard as if searching for someone. While he was distracted, Dylan tried to maneuver his hands free. Even though his shoulder ached with even a minor move, he rubbed the rope against the rung of the chair, frustrated each time nothing happened. At one point he accidentally grunted and the guard stared at him with suspicion. He ceased all activity and remained still, but as soon as the guard looked away, he went back to work. Unwilling to give up, he continued to try and ply loose the rope’s grip on him, but it held fast. A chronic throb in his shoulder was wearing him down.

  Then he remembered the lighter in his back pocket.

  He waited until the guard had once again stuck his head out of the door before making an effort to retrieve the lighter. To remove it from his pants, he wormed two fingers into the left rear pocket of his jeans. Pain radiated down his arm, but he gritted his teeth and persisted.

  Finally, he touched the lighter’s cool metal surface. Pressing a finger beneath it, he pried the lighter upward a couple of inches before it slipped through his fingers and slid back into the deep recesses of the pocket. He made another stab at lifting the lighter and this time raised it enough to firmly roll it into his palm.

  While doing this, he shifted the chair, scraping it along the floor. The sound brought the guard instantly to his side. The short, but buff man kept a steady eye on him, causing the sweat to bead his skin and dribble into his eyes. He prayed that didn’t make him look too suspicious. To his relief, the guard soon lost interest and returned to glance out the door.

  A competing sound from outside caused the guard to poke his head through the doorway. Dylan immediately flicked at the lighter behind his back. The errant flame seared his skin. He stifled a yelp before shifting ever so slightly, to hold the lighter away from his body and angle the flame at the rope. When the smell of burning rope reached him, he tugged at the twine, h
oping to sever the strands before the guard caught on to what he was doing.

  He glanced up to see the guard in the doorway chatting with Sawa. So she was the person he had been waiting for. Seizing the opportunity, Dylan worked the rope with flame and chair. It began to give.

  He startled at a raised voice. Sawa instantly disappeared from the doorway and Von Schotten entered the room, syringe in hand. Dylan’s gut sank at the sight. He desperately tugged at the rope, but it still held. All hope fled.

  Von Schotten placed the syringe on the tabletop and turned to the guard with harsh words. The guard seemed to shrivel beneath the tirade which went on and on. The diversion allowed Dylan time to yank at the twine. To his surprise, on the third try it ripped loose and his hands were freed. He reached down quickly, palmed the knife from his sock and hid his hands behind his back.

  Von Schotten turned away from the forlorn-looking guard toward the lab table, extracted a vial from the refrigerator and filled the syringe with an unsteady hand. “Any last vords, Herr Hart?”

  Adrenaline kept Dylan on edge. “Not that I’ll share with you.”

  The doctor approached, raising the syringe above Dylan’s arm. “Then auf viedersehen.”

  Dylan tensed, eyes fixed on the syringe. The moment it started its downward plunge toward him, he twisted out of its path and buried the knife deep in Von Schotten’s gut. With every ounce of his remaining strength, he pulled the knife upward, accompanied by a ripping sound, and filleted the doctor like a fish. Skin flapped open, spilling blood mixed with guts. The syringe stopped in mid-air. The doctor bellowed and stumbled backwards.

  Von Schotten stared down at the knife open-mouthed. Rage and surprise flickered across his features. He grasped the knife, but his knees buckled and he fell flat on his face.

  Dylan and the startled guard stared at the fallen doctor. The guard recovered his wits first and rushed at Dylan, who scrambled behind the lab table for protection. Instead of pursuing him, the guard stopped before Von Schotten’s body and hovered over it for a moment. Every fiber of Dylan’s being anticipated the ensuing fight.

  The guard straightened and pointed toward the door. “Agro.”

  Stunned and confused, Dylan didn’t move.

  “Agro!” The guard motioned more emphatically.

  That was all the invitation Dylan required. He hoped this wasn’t a trap, but he had to take his chance. He clutched the vials in his shirt pocket to make certain they remained intact and backed around the lab table with a watchful eye on the guard until he could safely sprint from the room.

  He jogged across the yard, dived under the fence and dashed down to the dock. His boat had taken on so much water all he could see was the rope that tied it to the dock. Another motorboat bobbed nearby, tethered to the same post. If it belonged to Von Schotten, he would no longer need it. Dylan cast the line into the craft and hopped in.

  He pushed away from land and fired the engine, the roar never sounded so sweet. The boat rumbled when he pivoted it and headed downstream. Far enough from shore to finally feel safe, he took a deep breath of pure relief.

  His encounter with Von Schotten had cost him valuable time. Leah’s clock was ticking away, he couldn’t waste another second. All he could do now was pray Leah had not already succumbed to the illness. Worried he would let her down as he had Jason, his gut wrenched. The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint her... or worse. He loved her too much for that.

  With the throttle at full power, he allowed himself to picture her next to him, wind streaming through hair, dappled with sunlight. He yearned to enclose her in his arms again. But what if he was too late? Funny, he had known her for such a short time, yet had trouble imagining life without her. True love knew no time or space. It existed apart from the mundane. It was like a miracle. The thought caused his throat to constrict.

  A few miles downriver, the engine began to sputter. He tried slowing to conserve fuel, but it didn’t help. Neither did the suspicion he’d never make it back to Leah in time. Then the engine died. Frustrated, he pounded the prow. He had pushed the motorboat to its limit, and now it had run out of gas.

  There might be an extra can aboard. A search of the seat compartment turned up a single gas can. It would have to do for now. Luckily he was heading downstream and could coast part of the way if he kept the boat in the river’s fast flow.

  While he was at it, Dylan foraged for food, but only found a canteen of water stored next the gas can in the seat compartment. Von Schotten had obviously not been planning any long trips. Thank heavens he could recognize the jungle’s edible fruit and survive on what he found.

  He stopped and filled the engine with the remaining gasoline. Normally he could slow down and conserve fuel, but he had to continue at an accelerated clip. Leah needed him. Time was of the essence.

  His stomach growled. He would have to pull over as soon as possible to find food. At an isolated inlet, he found a place where he could moor the boat to a tree.

  Woozy from hunger and pain, he had trouble getting to his feet. His knees were weak. He could no longer touch his shoulder without a violent reaction. Heat rose from the surface of his skin and a swelling stretched his shirt taut. He was glad Kruger would be there to treat the infection as soon as he reached the compound.

  Only a few more hours and he would be in Leah’s arms once again. The thought galvanized him and gave him the strength to go on.

  He finally made it onto shore and his foraging turned up bananas and mangoes, and a confrontation with two dusty colored Titi monkeys with tails intertwined on a mango tree branch who resented sharing.

  A light drizzle had begun to fall and cooled his burning flesh. Beneath an adjacent Copal tree for shelter, he gulped down fruit. The sweet juice ran down the back of his throat and the firm pulp assuaged his hunger. With no time to lose, he finished his meal and dragged himself back toward the boat.

  Feet from the boat, he heard a shout from behind the trees and spun around to see two heavily armed Peruvian army officers emerge from the thick foliage and rush toward him.

  Dylan turned and lunged for the boat, the spasm from his shoulder nearly knocking him out. By the time he had shaken off his dizziness, rough hands encircled his arms, cold steel pressed against his temple and a voice shouted into his ear, “Alto, señor, you are a prisoner of Peru.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kruger hobbled across the study. “I graduated University of Vienna Medical College and vent to vork at University hospital as assistant to Dr. Klaus Bueler.” He sat at his desk, across from her. “Dr. Bueler vas vell known as expert on inherited disorders. Quite important position.”

  Leah glanced up from her notes. “How did you get such an eminent position right out of medical school?”

  A grin lit up Kruger’s face. “He my teacher vas, nicht? For research project I studied Tay-Sacks Disease, a central nervous system disorder only found in children of Eastern European Jewish descent. My research to him vas of interest.” He shook a finger at her. “He vas as demanding as you, mein taskmaster, who all morning has vorked me. I am old man. Time to take mid-day meal?”

  Leah put down her pen. “I want to know more about your research.”

  “Ve talk over meal, but first ve must to spread our own table. I sent Kimo vith short wave radio into Iquitos. It should be repaired in veeks time.”

  She groaned. A week was too long a time to be of any benefit to her. The wait for a cure was becoming intolerable. “Not in time to do me much good.”

  He rose and walked around the desk, patted her shoulder. “Now, now, mein kinder, fret not. Help vill in time arrive.”

  “I sure hope so.” She thought of Dylan and her stomach knotted.

  “I vant you should take rest, too. Food vill comfort you. Let us to kitchen go.”

  She started to rise but he stopped her, took her hand in his and raised her arm. “How long for this mark?”

  Shocked by his sudden concern, Leah glanced down at a red, irregul
ar spot on her wrist, shaped like the state of California. Relief replaced fear. “Oh, that. It came from a spill on the Maranon.”

  She tried to pull her arm away, but he held onto her hand and turned it over. “You have many such bruises.”

  “It was a rough trip,” she quipped, trying to sound unworried. “Why bother with them now?” She waited for the answer she dreaded, but expected. That time was running out for her. That he anticipated the tell-tale pox to appear at any moment. That she was a dead woman. If only she could see Dylan one more time.

  “Only checking.” He patted her hand and released it. “My job as doctor.” He half bowed.

  Nervously, she asked, “See anything unusual?”

  “Ach, nein. You look fine.”

  She hoped he hadn’t just said that to make her feel better, but it did relieve the stress. She wiped the sweat beading her brow with the back of her palm. Now she needed the break more than he did. “Time for lunch?”

  He motioned her to stay put. “Before ve adjourn for mid-day meal, I say one more thing.”

  Now what? In response to her concern, a muscle in her cheek twitched. “Yes?”

  “You are prisoner no more. You may stay and vait for gentleman friend, but you are free at any time to leave.”

  “Aren’t you afraid of my reporting what I know?”

  He took her hand and helped her rise. “I vas concerned, but no more. You must follow your conscience as I follow mine. You are my kin. It is not right against your vill to hold you.”

  She accompanied him to the kitchen. His gait labored due to his skewed torso, bent like a human question mark. His show of benevolence took her aback and left her facing a dilemma. Should she stay or should she go? Would Dylan make it back in time to save her life or would she be better off taking her chance on finding the vaccine in Iquitas? “I think I better stay put.”

  A smile lifted the corners of his mouth and she thought how pleasant it made him look.