Passenger 19

FORTY-THREE

McBain was running twenty meters ahead of him, which aggravated Davis to no end. The fact that the DEA man had a runner’s build and was ten years younger meant nothing — it was his daughter less than a mile ahead. He pushed his pace down the dirt road, lungs heaving like twin bellows, and was right on McBain’s heels when he drew to a stop.

He pulled out the phone while Davis doubled over with his hands on his knees.

“You’re getting old, Marine,” McBain taunted.

“I play rugby,” he said, sucking a load of air. “That’s where you don’t bother running past people. It’s a little more direct.”

After a brief conversation, McBain relayed the latest from Jorgensen. “The jeeps are still at the compound, one klick ahead. But we may have lost the element of surprise. The troops dispersed into the jungle a few minutes ago.”

“Dispersed? Like setting up a defensive perimeter?”

“Can’t say for sure,” McBain said. “They fanned out with their weapons and everybody is moving.”

“That sounds more like a search.”

“Could be. You think maybe the VP’s daughter took a runner? Or your daughter?”

Davis considered it. Yes, he thought, if Jen saw a chance to escape she just might try. “Let’s hope so. On the other hand, it’s possible our Caravan pilot sent a warning before we landed. Or maybe there was someone back at that clearing we didn’t spot.”

“In which case,” McBain reasoned, “they’ll know you and I are on the way.”

The two exchanged a look. Both knew the answer. No way to tell.

McBain said, “They’re trying to stretch the fuel burn on the drone, but it’s getting critical. If the operators can approve an alternate recovery airfield it will give us a few more minutes. Jorgensen hasn’t used his emergency authority card yet.”

“Will that work?”

“I don’t know, we’ve never tried it before.” McBain looked up the road. “One thing’s for sure. This road is the only way in or out of the compound, so it’s going to be watched. We’ll have to move into the jungle and make our final approach the hard way. Harder than usual because the red team is already in the bush.”

“True,” said Davis, “but there’s still a chance they don’t know we’re out here. It would mean they’re in the bush looking for Jen or Kristin, maybe both. They’ll be expecting a couple of school-girls — not us.”

This drew a grin from McBain. “Good point.”

Kehoe decided he wasn’t getting paid nearly enough. He was sitting in wet dirt, secured with heavy plastic zip-ties to the bumper of a jeep. The sun was beating down on his black hood, and he was sweating profusely in the equatorial heat. To make his morning complete, he had initially settled right on top of an ant pile, and his right leg was inflamed with at least fifty bites from some kind of stinging Amazonian insect. In spite of his shifting and rubbing, the buggers kept coming to life in his shoes and socks to deliver dying bites. Not for the first time, Kehoe weighed if it might be time to get out of field work. A vanilla consulting gig would be boring, but when nests of stinging insects came into play all you did was call an exterminator to spray the office baseboards.

His musings were cut short: footsteps approaching in the dirt, then pausing at his side.

“We’ve held up our part of the bargain,” Kehoe said. “Can we finish this?”

“Patience,” said the voice he recognized as the leader of this sorry pack. “I’m sure you speak Spanish, so you know the girl is unavailable.”

Kehoe knew all too well. “Unavailable? That’s a hopeful word from your point of view.”

“And from your point of view I would hope she is found soon. Otherwise, my friend, there are few options.”

Only one, Kehoe thought. He’d already made that calculation, and was displeased to find a contingency for which he had no plan. What if the girl escapes? He took a positive tack. “I should help you look. Chances are she’s nearby, and she might respond to me. Call off your men and let me try. If I can collect her I’ll be on my way — everybody wins.”

The commander seemed to consider it. “Yes… but you’ve already been here longer than either of us expected. I don’t think I’m ready to give you that kind of freedom. I’m sure you’ve been briefed to find out all you can about me and my team.”

“Team? Is that what you call them?”

Kehoe heard a shuffle in the dirt and something hard slammed into his head. He saw stars for a moment, then the world slowly righted.

“Even wearing that hood you’ve heard enough to make our life difficult. If this problem is resolved soon, I will consider our business complete. You will be allowed to go, and we will take precautions to avoid reprisal. On the other hand, if these silly girls continue to—”

“Girls?” Kehoe interrupted. “I only paid for one.” The boots shuffled again in the dirt and he braced for another blow. Nothing came, and he sensed he’d scored a victory of some kind. Someone else was being held, another girl. Who it was and why she was here was not formally his concern. All the same, Kehoe was a decent man, not the type to sit by idly and watch the strong prey on the weak. He was filing this all in his newly aching head when the morning calm was broken. He heard a distant whoosh followed by a pyrotechnic pop.

Birds fluttered from the trees, followed by shouts from all around. The voices were blended by the jungle, indistinct and directionless, reminding him of a crowd in a sparsely populated stadium. They all saw what Kehoe heard.

The commander ran off, barking orders as he went.

A second whoosh, perhaps on a slightly different angle, a second pop. This time Kehoe was sure he recognized the sound, at least in a general way. What he didn’t understand was who it could be. The girls would be neither trained nor equipped, and he’d been specifically briefed to expect no help. Which meant the sounds were not the arrival of some kind of U.S. cavalry. And it was definitely not how the Colombian Army would approach things.

Another whoosh. Another pop.

Almost as if they were under attack.

Who the hell is out there? Kehoe wondered.