Silent Enemy. Lois Richer

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СКАЧАТЬ the phone back into the pocket of her jeans, leaned against some boxes, constantly scanning the area. Every pore of her body sensed a threat—silent for now, but present nonetheless.

      Ramon shared his bread and cheese with her, assured her they were on the right path to this el Padre’s place. Five hours later they finished the last of his sodas. What seemed like aeons after that the motor began to sputter. Sam’s misgivings escalated when her phone showed no signal. She had no means of telling anyone exactly where she was.

      When the sputtering grew worse, Ramon steered toward shore and shut the motor off. She could hear the steady put-putting of the other boat not far ahead. At least she hadn’t lost them. Yet.

      “What’s wrong?”

      Ramon poked and probed the motor. “El carburador.” Carburetor. He grinned when the engine coughed to life.

      Given the amount of black smoke they were spewing, Sam worried the other boat would come back to investigate, but as their boat limped along, hugging the shoreline, she caught glimpses of the other craft. Forest-green turned to gray, then brown, then purple as the sunlight faded.

      “Can’t you do something?” she begged, peering through the binoculars. She couldn’t see or hear Varga’s boat.

      “I’m sorry, señorita. It is an old boat and we must go slowly. Perhaps when we get to el Padre’s camp, he will help us.”

      El Padre Dulce. That name again. Sweet Father—an odd title certainly. But Sam wasn’t looking to find a priest. She wanted to know why Varga had come here with the statue.

      “El Padre Dulce is a good man. All the people here love him very much.” Ramon patted the engine with pride. “He helped me buy this boat. He helps many people. Today I am bringing him gifts.”

      “I’m sure he’s wonderful,” she agreed. “But I was hoping we would catch up with the other boat.”

      “All will be well, señorita. God cares for his children. Do not worry.”

      How did you argue with that? As the muddy water slid past, Samantha gave up pretending she was in control. Here on the river she was exposed, vulnerable. Using her GPS, she quickly sent the coordinates to Finders’ satellite—just in case. Maybe it was those fingers of dusk creeping down the banks like a stalker, or maybe it was the cackling sound emanating from the forest that freaked her, but her internal radar now switched to high.

      The motor coughed, wheezed and then stopped again. Ramon paddled toward the bank.

      “Señorita, I must work on this motor. It is not much farther. Perhaps you wish to walk on shore while I work?” Clearly he didn’t want her bugging him while he fiddled with the motor.

      Since Sam desperately needed some privacy and a bush, she left her backpack on the bench of the boat, climbed over the hull and jumped onto the beach. Ramon watched her for a moment, and then began to quietly hum as he unveiled the inner workings of his machine. Sam chose a secluded area. Five minutes later she emerged from the grove of trees and froze.

      The boat was gone. Poor Ramon floated facedown in the water, a knife sticking out of his back.

      Sam swallowed her cry, aware that the killer could be very close, waiting for her. Where was Ramon’s God now? She’d never believed all that stuff about God loving everyone anyway. She didn’t need Him now, either. She’d manage on her own. She was used to that.

      Varga, or one of his cohorts must have done this. Ramon had told her the jungle natives of this area were friendly, especially to el Padre Dulce’s friends. Ramon had even waved to a tribal group who stood solemnly on shore, watching as they moved past.

      Sam listened for several moments. No motor sounds, no laughing voices, nothing but the soft lap of water against the shore. She inventoried her surroundings and made a decision. Without a boat, climbing uphill was the only way to scout out the land. Trampling through the thick ferny undergrowth proved how quickly the light was fading. She reached the uppermost ridge and looked around. Varga’s boat lay in a little cove several hundred yards downstream. Ramon’s boat was there, too, but the crates and boxes he’d so carefully loaded were missing. She turned around.

      A flash of light flickered through the trees. Perhaps the padre’s camp was nearer than she thought. Perhaps Varga was already there, exchanging the statue.

      Going forward could be dangerous, but going back was impossible. She walked toward the light. Progress through the damp, slippery forest was difficult in loose sandals, but her sneakers were in her backpack, on the boat. She moved carefully, deliberately choosing each step. Five hundred feet along the ridge Samantha suddenly lost her footing and tumbled down the embankment. The world spun round like a crazy kaleidoscope, punctuated by stabs of bright light and darkness. Her head smacked against a rock at the same time that her ribs met resistance against the forest’s bulging roots.

      Samantha fought to stop herself, but the vines were too slippery. She tumbled farther into the impenetrable darkness until at last she came to rest against something big and hard and damp. Pain rolled in waves over her body. She opened her mouth to cry out, then shut it, remembering Ramon’s spread-eagled body floating facedown. A black cloud hovered just above her. She tried to remain awake but her brain wouldn’t obey.

      With a little sigh, Sam closed her eyes as the truth hit.

      Daniel was right. She wasn’t ready for promotion.

      Something was wrong.

      Daniel McCullough had built his career around his intuition, had escaped death more than once because he followed his instinct. At the moment it was screaming a warning, but this warning had nothing to do with him.

      Samantha.

      He jumped as the phone squawked its summons, told himself to get a grip. “Yes?”

      “It’s Miss Henderson, Daniel. They’ve tracked her cell. She’s called us a number of times. Communications has found messages and some GPS coordinates.”

      “Let me hear the messages, Evelyn.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      A moment later Sam’s voice filled the room, quiet, steady, determined. If he closed his eyes, Daniel could see her standing there, her shawl of raven black hair cascading down to her waist, emerald eyes bright, focused and unafraid.

      “Sir?”

      Daniel blinked, realized his assistant had been waiting for several minutes. “Tape it and bring me a copy. I want someone in communications working on her reports full-time. Investigations should check out this el Zopilote. I want to know who he is, what his interest in the statue is. Make a copy of the tape for them. Ask the lab to distinguish some of the background sounds. And have her GPS signal mapped, will you? If anyone hears anything from Samantha Henderson they are to report immediately to me.”

      “Yes, sir.” Not long after that his assistant returned, placed the tape on his desk, then left.

      Daniel picked up the tape, the same old nerve rat-tatting its warning. Over and over he listened to her voice, each time telling himself he was a fool to have let her go, each time wondering if he’d ever get a chance to apologize. He waited impatiently for the first report to arrive and then pored over the map. “You’re sure this is right?”

      “As СКАЧАТЬ