Silent Enemy. Lois Richer

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СКАЧАТЬ The evil in those eyes stabbed through her. Sam knew she’d never forget the feeling.

      He gave an order and men began to tear the camp apart, obviously looking for something. They worked their way up the hill toward her, so close she could have reached out and touched them. Sam crawled backward until she bumped against something. In the gloom of her tree-cave her fingers trailed over the impediment, identified a chest of some sort. She leaned against it, held her breath as the footsteps came ever nearer. Nonee was shaking, sweating. Samantha wrapped an arm around her until the steps moved away.

      After a few moments the dank smell of smoke permeated the air. Sam peeked out, surveyed the devastation. Many of the huts were burning as the natives stood watching, helpless against this onslaught. Children cried, women wept. The men held fisted hands at their sides.

      El Zopilote said one word, then he and his men left. The sound of high-powered boat engines cut through the forest, silencing even the birds. In fact, everything seemed to go still as if mourning the loss of the kindly padre—until the drone of an airplane overhead brought awful reality back.

      Sam would have moved then, but Nonee held her back and pointed. Outside Varga scanned the compound. Sam’s fingers clenched into the dirt, startled at the cool press of metal against her palm. She glanced down, saw a small gold disk half-buried by the earth. As she turned to pick it up, she saw a second, then a third coin lying by the edge of the chest. It was too dark in the cave to examine them so she stuck them in her pocket. Nonee’s hand grabbed her arm. Varga was moving toward them!

      They pressed themselves against the back of the cave as a machete shoved through the branches and plunged into the ground in front of them. He grunted, removed the blade and moved on. A snake slid down a vine less than a foot in front of them, moved through the leaves and disappeared. Sam held her breath to stop the scream.

      They waited for hours.

      Finally Sam heard Varga’s boat chugging back down the river. Through her peephole the compound looked deserted. Dusk dulled the atmosphere and smoke hung like wispy tapestries. El Padre lay where he had died. Though darkness was falling, no one lit a fire or set alight the torches. Murmurs and soft sobs filled the camp. It seemed the world was in mourning.

      Nonee pointed to her sandals, made walking motions with her fingers. Sam nodded, glancing at the chest. Perhaps it had belonged to the padre, the treasure he couldn’t take to heaven. Before she could look inside, Nonee’s grip on her arm cut off all further thought as they slipped out of their hideaway.

      Like thieves, they stole through the jungle, Nonee sure-footed as she found trails in the growing night. Weary, aching and heartsick, all Sam could do was keep following. Finally shards of light began to pierce the forest canopy. Nonee led the way onto a suspended bridge that spanned at least one-third of a mile and rose a hundred feet off the ground. Heights had never been Sam’s forte, but going back wasn’t an option. She gritted her teeth, looked straight ahead and tiptoed until she was sure the fragile construction would hold her weight. Connected by tree platforms, the bridge offered a spectacular view of the rain forest. Given other circumstances and more security, she might have admired the view. Today she could only think of the padre and the way his life had been snuffed out.

      Like a band warming up, a cacophony of barbets, toucans and red-throated caracara joined the morning chorus of birdsong in swelling appreciation of dawn. The jungle steamed in reams of cloud upon the eyelash of the forest, as Peruvians termed it. Odors of decay and exotic floral perfumes mingled now, more pungent as heat mustered strength and crept up on the day. Drops of sweat pearled on Samantha’s body, yet still they pushed on through the jungle.

      She reckoned it was near midmorning before they emerged on a road, at the outskirts of a small settlement. Nonee motioned for her to stay, to wait.

      “Adios, mi amigo,” Nonee whispered in halting Spanish, touching Sam’s cheek with her fingertips. She smiled then she disappeared into the forest.

      “Adios, chiquita. Muchas gracias.”

      Too tired to walk farther and with no idea which way to go, Samantha elected to wait. When she saw a bus trundling toward her, she reached into her pocket, hoping she’d find something to pay her fare. Her fingers closed around the coins and she drew them out to the light.

      “Oh, my.” Her hands shook so badly she could hardly turn them over to examine the other side. Not that she had to. She knew these coins as clearly as she knew her own name.

      They were identical to the one Daniel wore around his neck on a thin gold chain. The coin he’d always refused to talk about.

      Sam pocketed two of them, offered the third to pay her fare. The driver took it, put it between his teeth to check the gold consistency and finally nodded. She took a seat in the half-full bus and closed her eyes, reliving the past few hours as the vehicle bounced and jounced over the rough road.

      Ramon, the poor, dead padre, these coins—whatever she’d stumbled into was about more than a statue gone missing. This was something darker, something more complex. She needed help. But if she asked, Daniel might take that as an admittance that she couldn’t do her job.

      They went through several small villages, dropping off or picking up passengers. At every stop Sam watched the driver speak to someone, show them the coin, jerk a thumb toward the bus. She knew he was talking about her but what could she do. She needed a ride.

      The long, hot day stretched ahead. Sam laid her head back and shut her eyes as the bus bumped over potholes and stones. Sometime later she felt a hand on her arm and jerked awake. The burly driver told her she’d gone as far as the coin would take her, unless she had another. His suggestive look made her nervous. She shook her head. A moment later she was back on the road in a small peasant town and the bus was driving away.

      Samantha started walking.

      “It’s been several days, Daniel. No contact with anyone—there or here. What could she be doing?”

      He’d asked himself the same question a thousand times over and found no answer. It was pointless trying to fool Shelby that everything was all right. He couldn’t even fool himself. “I don’t know.”

      “There’s a lot of unrest in Lima at the moment. Do you think we should send someone, maybe Callie Merton? Just in case Sam needs help.”

      “Callie’s off on sick leave. She won’t be back for several months.” Privately, Daniel wasn’t so sure Callie would ever be back. But that wasn’t the point. If anyone went, it would be Daniel. He’d been the one to order Sam there; he’d be the one to bring her back. Alive, his brain screamed.

      If I reported in every half hour, would that prove I know what I’m doing, Daniel? Is that what you make the other agents do, or is it only me? Because you don’t trust me?

      “If she’s onto something I don’t want to blow her cover too early.” Or let her think I don’t trust her. “Let’s just wait a bit longer.”

      He stopped speaking when his secretary entered the office carrying a brown battered package addressed to him, marked personal and confidential. He raised one eyebrow, noted that security hadn’t opened the tiny box.

      “It’s been scanned. Security says it’s okay.” Evelyn was good at reading his mind. “Can’t read the postmark, but the initials are clear.”

      “From?” Shelby moved nearer.

      “Samantha Henderson.”

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