Читать книгу Silent Enemy - Lois Richer - Страница 11

Forcing her eyelids apart, Samantha peeked out from under them and winced at the bright sunlight splashing on her face. She slipped her tongue over her dry, cracked lips, felt a hand slide under her neck.

“You are safe,” a gentle voice murmured. “Sleep now.”

When she woke up the second time, Sam was lying on a woven mat in some kind of hut made of huge leaves and poles. Her sandals sat against the wall. A girl appeared, touched her forehead and then smiled.

“Nonee,” she said, pointing at herself.

“Hello, Nonee.” Sam introduced herself. She followed the girl’s bidding, sat up and chewed on the bit of breadlike food she was given while Nonee combed her hair, tenderly washed her face, then left. She returned with a big, burly man—like a teddy bear with a smile. He wore a crudely carved wooden cross on a leather cord around his neck.

“Hello.”

She recognized the voice from earlier. “You’re the padre Ramon told me about,” Sam blurted out.

“Yes, I am the padre. Are you all right?” His concerned gaze took in her tattered clothes, her hair tumbling about her shoulders. “Nothing broken?”

Sam wiggled a bit, winced when her body protested. “Fine, I think. Just a little sore. I hit my head.” She was drawn in by his eyes—kind, gentle eyes that promised understanding. “I’m sorry if I gate-crashed your compound. I—I was running away.”

“There has been unrest in the jungle today. Things are not as they seem.”

“Then I should go.” She tried to get up and felt his big hand under her elbow, supporting her until she could stand on her own. “Thank you for helping me.”

“My dear, we are all God’s children. It is our duty to help one another.” Again he smiled and Sam could not look away from the peace she glimpsed in his face. She found herself longing to experience it personally.

A few moments later a gunshot broke the silence of the place. Birds squawked, children cried, a woman thrust her head into the hut and, in a frightened whisper, muttered, “El Señor.” The padre’s face tightened, but otherwise he gave nothing away, merely touched her hand to calm her and murmured a few indistinguishable words. Then he handed Sam her sandals.

“You are not safe here. Put on your shoes and then go with Nonee. Hide until I have dealt with this. Do not give yourself away. A man with evil in his heart is near. He will hurt you. Be very careful.” He touched her cheek then left.

Nonee bent and pointed to a small hole in the wall of the hut. Samantha began to crawl through the opening. At the last moment she saw her cell phone lying on the ground and snatched it up.

They emerged at the back of a group of huts, behind most of the furor. Nonee led the way upward, darting from dense thickets of eucalyptus trees through waist-high ferns, past huts where women ushered their little ones inside. Sam was so busy looking she almost bumped into Nonee, who had stopped abruptly and was now clearing away some limbs and debris from the base of a huge tree. After a moment a carved-out spot appeared in the trunk. This was the hiding place?

Nonee allowed no time for examination. She crawled in, and yanked on Samantha’s hand for her to follow. Once they were both inside, she pulled back the branches and arranged them so that they had only the smallest peephole to see through.

Nonee looked through it just once. Apparently she didn’t like what she saw, for she crossed her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, eyes closed, lips moving. At first Sam thought she was praying, until Nonee held out her palm, offering some of the raw white paste lying on it.

“Bazuko,” she offered, her voice hoarse. The word was familiar. A by-product of the cocaine-making process, bazuko was often used as a tranquilizer by the natives. Sam shook her head, turned back to watch.

Sounds from the camp were dimmer inside this secret cave. Voices raised loud in argument echoed toward them in fits and bursts. She could see two men standing on either side of the padre. They shook their fists, demanded something. The padre shook his head, and glared at a man dressed in tall boots and khakis who stood to one side. This was clearly the boss. Perhaps this was the el Zopilote she’d heard about.

Whoever he was, he said something Samantha couldn’t hear. This time the priest waved his hand, encompassing the compound as he shook his head vehemently. El Zopilote or whatever his name was snapped out a command, ending the argument. Two men grabbed the padre and dragged him into the center of the camp where they bound him to a tree. The man she’d named el Zopilote stood with his back to Sam. In loud, clear Spanish he told the entire group that what had been stolen must be returned; he asked them to find it.

Furious and indignant, the padre insisted he leave, that they had nothing that belonged to him. The khaki man sneered, said something Sam didn’t catch. Moments later the sound of a gunshot rang through the forest. The padre’s head sank to his chest as the light in his eyes faded to nothing.

“No, oh no,” she breathed, flinching but unable to tear her gaze from the horrible sight. When the murderer turned, she saw his face head-on, felt the pierce of his stare as if he could see through the trees and branches to the very spot where she hid. 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.”

Daniel ripped it open. Inside he found a wad of newspaper and a small bag of coffee beans. He poured them onto his desk and stared.

“What is that?” Shelby stepped forward. “Daniel? Don’t you have—”

“Yes.” He lifted up a small golden coin, turned on a light and began to examine it under a magnifying glass. Using his fingernail, he scraped away a layer of sedimentary remains covering the gold. Identical.

“Is there a note?” Shelby rifled through the box and paper but found nothing. “What does it mean?” she asked.

“It means that Sam’s on the trail of something.” Daniel rose, holding the coin between his fingertips. “I’m not doing anything until tomorrow. If I don’t hear from her at the appointed time, then we’ll act.”

Shelby left, grumbling about stubbornness. Daniel placed the coin under his microscope and studied it, compared it with the one he wore. He analyzed the two for a long time, barely noticed when his secretary left, when the whole floor went dark. Finally he leaned back, closed his eyes and whispered.

“Come on, Sam. Phone me!”

Daniel sat on, waited until security did their eleven-o’clock rounds, while the clock in the hall chimed midnight, still waited when the one-thirty red-eye to Seattle roared overhead.

He’d just closed his eyes to rest them when the phone rang.

He grabbed it, held it to his ear. “Sam?”

“Daniel?” The static covered most of her voice. “…coin. Something…wrong. No statue just…. Think—”

“Think what? Sam, are you in trouble?” A pause made the hairs on his arm rise. Why didn’t she answer? “Do you need help?”

Static. Then one word penetrated.

“Yes.”

“I sent her there, Shelby. I’ll be the one who goes to find her.”

“I thought you said Samantha was capable, that she knew her job.”

“She does. But anyone can run into trouble.” Daniel shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking, Shel.”

“Oh, what’s that?” She sat watching him toss things into his briefcase.

“That I feel guilty or something for denying her that promotion. But you’re wrong. This isn’t personal.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Okay.” He stopped fiddling and looked her straight in the eye. “We went out once. I thought it might go further but she didn’t want that. Fine. But that had nothing to do with my decision not to promote her. There wasn’t anything between us. Nothing serious.”

She had that knowing look on her face. Daniel ignored it.

“We argued right before she left.” It was more than an argument and he knew it. He bit his lip, admitted what Shelby already knew. “She’s the only person around here who can make me say things I shouldn’t. I let her go without straightening things out. I should have told her she merits promotion. It’s just that I felt she needed more experience. Now she needs help and—”

“Daniel?”

“Yes?” He glanced up.

“Go.”

“You really think—”

“You think—that’s what is important here. Go to Peru or wherever she is. Find her.” She rose, grinning. “You even have my blessing if that’s what you want. Now what are you waiting for?”

“Nothing.” He snapped the lid closed, swung the briefcase to his side and stepped around the desk. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Let me know if you need help and I’ll send someone down. I’d prefer Callie, but—” She shrugged. “I’ll find someone else if you need them.”

He leaned over, hugged her and brushed a kiss against her cheek.

“My dear Shelby, did I ever tell you that the thing I like most about you is that you don’t ask questions?”

She sniffed. “Not when I already know the answers. Be safe, Daniel.”

He nodded and left, almost racing to the elevator. At the last moment before the doors closed, his secretary shoved a paper at him. Boarding at two in the afternoon. It was going to be tight, but he would be on that plane.

And he was.

As he pulled out his laptop and began to study the files he’d downloaded, Daniel was grateful he had the extra room first class provided. He began with the Finders file on the statue. Inca period. Held by a private collector for many years, the owner had a valuation certificate. He’d willed the statue to a museum in Brazil. Two emissaries from a delivery service had picked it up for transport, but the statue had been stolen while in their possession. Finders job was to find the statue and get it to the museum.

The authenticity of that valuation certificate was still unverified and Tim’s notes indicated he had questions regarding the theft. He used the onboard phone to call Shelby to see if there was any news.

“There was a message from Sam on the service telling you where to stay. She’ll contact you.”

He plugged the location into his laptop, grimaced at the hotel description. “This place looks pretty grungy. Couldn’t Finders, Inc. spring for something a little more upscale?”

“Maybe she doesn’t want to be noticed. You’re too pampered, sitting in that office, rich boy.”

Daniel detested being reminded of his father’s wealth, money that was now his even if it was safely locked away in some bank gathering interest, and Shelby knew it. One of the reasons he stayed at Finders was that few people there knew or cared how much he was worth. They saw him as an ordinary guy, one of them. Well, everyone but Sam.

“Touché. I’m being a snob. I’ll rough it.” He looked at his notes. “Ask Tim to take another look at the pictures of the statue, will you?”

“Sure, but I should tell you he’s more focused on the theft.”

“Why?”

“He believes an art thief would have gone about things with more finesse. He’s got someone checking with the police about it. I’ll let you know.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. McCullough.” The attendant motioned to the tray and the phone. “We’ll be landing in Lima in fifteen minutes. Please shut down your computer and end your call.”

“Certainly.” He nodded. “We’re landing soon, Shel. I have to go.”

“I’ll keep digging. You find Sam.”

“Count on it.”

Daniel rubbed his fingers over the golden disk Samantha had sent. By the time he stepped onto Peruvian soil, the hairs on his neck were upright—never a good sign.

Evelyn had ordered a car to take him to the hotel. In his room, Daniel flopped across the bed to think. Like some people assembled a puzzle, his brain began to sort bits of information, trying to create order from chaos.

One problem ate at him. If the statue had been stolen for an art collector, why was it still floating around? The answer wasn’t one he liked and once more warning signals went off.

Daniel sincerely hoped his instincts were wrong this time. Otherwise Sam was in deeper trouble than she knew.