Come As You Are. Amy J. Fetzer

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СКАЧАТЬ a Crest boy, who knew,” Max snarled. “Garcia is dead.”

      “But no body,” McGill reminded him. “What if it turns up, no matter how decayed, when Ramos is in his place? It would be a disaster for Venezuela. The country is already polar without the rebels.”

      Add the drug and arms dealers who were locked at the hip with some members of the government and it made the entire concept dicey, but Logan didn’t think that would matter.

      “He sounds convincing,” Sebastian said. Logan had forgotten about him sitting in the corner reading a book. “The thought of helping that bastard for even one second frosts my ass.”

      Logan kept his gaze on McGill. “You’re withholding something, General—what?”

      McGill’s expression didn’t change a fraction as he looked at Logan. “You know what I know.”

      Fine, I’ll play the game for now, Logan thought. “What’s your theory on why there’s been no contact?”

      “It could be any number of things. Found out and held prisoner, joined the dark side.”

      Logan stared him down. “Treason sounds right up his alley.” With the Vice President’s face, Ramos could do anything he wanted. So why wasn’t he contacting McGill?

      McGill understood his misgivings. But Elizabeth Jacobs had to have pressed Ramos long before this happened and did so without authorization. McGill hadn’t been informed of that till his superiors dumped this in his lap. He really hated being CIA, and expected more to come back to bite him when he wasn’t looking.

      “If he’s gone Commie, we have to remove him by force and that’s tricky.” Sebastian unfolded his long frame from the easy chair, leaning forward into the light. “We’d never know if he’s crossed until we got in there.”

      “You’re considering it?” McGill had been prepared to return to Washington without success.

      Logan went to the rear of the house, then pushed through the French doors. The Carolina heat smacked him like a wet towel, the sun sizzling on the stone floor as he stepped onto the covered porch.

      With a precision that cut to his soul, he hated Paul Ramos. Missions go wrong, that’s a given. It wasn’t that Ramos had made a supreme mistake, but that he never owned up to his part, letting Logan take the heat. Ramos’s failure was nothing more than a show-off taking an unnecessary risk. The op was secure, they had the package. Logan stopped his memories cold, slamming a mental block over them. Hashing it over hadn’t changed the fact that lives were lost.

      He felt the general move up beside him and knew that brutal honesty was in order.

      “Ask me to kill him, I’ll do it. Don’t ask me to risk this much to save his life.”

      “Logan,” McGill said softly. “I’ll watch your back, but no government in the world would believe we didn’t have anything to do with this beyond supplying a face on a body.”

      The U.S., and mostly the government, would never survive this defamation, Logan thought, especially from its own people. He looked at the general. “You’re certain that’s all we did there, sir?”

      Joe McGill looked into the eyes of a decorated SEAL veteran, a field surgeon and a man he admired, then he did as ordered.

      He lied.

      Tuvana-i-Tholo, Fiji

      Orion was clear in the midnight sky as Bati warriors cast shadows across the white sand, tall bonfires undulating with the spins of the tribal dance. Tessa was enthralled and until the man at her side spoke, she was trapped in a different time.

      “You know you’re getting me hot all over in that getup.”

      Tessa didn’t bother to look down at herself. She revealed more flesh than she’d shown her last lover, but wearing the traditional costume, a brightly painted sulu skirt, tattered at the hem, endeared her to the natives who weren’t all that friendly to outsiders.

      “It makes my job easier.” She adjusted the material looped around her neck and wrapping her breasts.

      “You just like giving me a hard-on that could crack coconuts.”

      She eyed him and thought, Oh, yeah, I’m ready to strip and jump his bones with that line. “Rein in the testosterone, will you?” Were all baby-faced photographers this horny? Or just the classless ones she got stuck with lately? “Don’t,” she said, putting out a hand when he started to lift his camera to focus. “You want to get us kicked off the island?”

      Andrew frowned, lowering the Nikon, then noticed a few men looking his way. “Fine, love, but if I can’t take pictures, then how are we going to get a film crew in here?”

      “I’m not certain. Their chief is still a little wary. People don’t visit this island except to take pictures and stare. Or for the surfing.”

      “Offer yourself in marriage. Or sacrifice. I promise, I’ll get you out before they swing that hatchet.” He nodded to the man holding the long pole topped with a metal blade so sharp it gleamed in the dark.

      “Oh, Andy,” she said in her best throaty whisper. “You say the sweetest things.”

      He cringed. He hated being called that. But Andrew Chaison Coppethwaite was too snotty British. He was anything but. Cute, in decent shape, he had a dry sense of humor and a nice butt, but off limits. Too young and she never involved herself with a colleague. Not that she had many. As a National Geographic Society location scout, she worked alone. When someone in the headquarters got a keen idea to do a show or a series on some obscure tribe or ruins, Tessa got all the fun. She was the first to arrive and scouted out more than location. She arranged everything from authorization from the local governments to hiring local guides and translators for the actual filming. In between and during, she got to do what she loved: travel, explore, dive, rock climb, even live with a tribe that modern culture just skipped past.

      A mocha latte and i-Pod free zone.

      “Need I remind you, we’re on deadline.”

      “No, you are. Nothing goes ahead till I give the all clear.”

      Tessa understood his impatience. Andrew wanted to get back to his creature comforts—a running toilet, a shower and an occasional cigar. She couldn[‘t care less. Peeing outdoors, showering under a waterfall were just minor inconveniences compared with experiencing cultures that most people never knew existed and were still in the Dark Ages. It was tranquil. Crimes didn’t exist here, no extremists trying to blow themselves up. No murderers or twisted sociopaths. Probably because the chief was the ruler and his justice was swift and very deadly. Then again, the islanders were the descendants of cannibals. Misbehave, and heads would roll, she thought, smiling.

      Cannibalism wasn’t a practice on the remote islands anymore—or so the Fijians told her—but then, most didn’t get this close. She didn’t take her gaze off the dance and the story told in wild gyrations. Acted out by several warriors, it dramatized the arrival of the Europeans and their subsequent deaths.

      Bet they were tasty, too.

      She loved her job. There wasn’t so much as a telephone line on this island, a little difficult when her job required СКАЧАТЬ