Kathleen Creighton - Secret Agent Sam

Sam had gone way past angry. What she was feeling now was…well, she didn’t know what to call it-fatalistic disgust, maybe?

Dammit, she’d done her best. Done everything she was supposed to do. If everybody else involved had done the same, Fahad al-Rami would be dead or in the hands of Philippine forces-maybe on his way to United States custody-by now, his organization in disarray. Cory would be on his way back to Manila with one hell of an interview, Tony with some really great pictures, and the Lundquists…Well, she didn’t really want to think about the Lundquists, because if everybody had done what they were supposed to, they’d probably still be in that hut back there, and subject to whatever reprisals the remnants of his organization might choose to take for the loss of Fahad al-Rami.

Still, this morning was the last straw. Really. Dammit, she’d thought long and hard before sending that signal, wondering if she dared risk another screwup. Finally, she’d gone with her orders and sent the damn message-the same as last time: Target located. Stand by. And not half an hour later…

In fact…now she thought about it, half an hour wasn’t really enough time for her message to have made it to Will, then through all the layers of command, down to the special ops forces here on the island. More likely, then, the government troops had tracked them through the jungle from the ravine camp. Or, maybe it was just happenstance-this particular village hideout had been the object of a random raid.

Either way, the damage was done. God only knew where Fahad al-Rami was now; the quarry had flown, slipped through the net yet again. She had another job to concentrate on now. She still had to get four civilians, including the man she loved-yes, loved, dammit!-off this wretched island alive and in one piece.

They’d left the noise of battle far behind them when the rain came again. It fell hard and straight, with a rush that drowned all other sounds, and shrouded the jungle and everything in it in a veil of silver.

Ahead, through the curtain of water, Cory could see the Lundquists veering suddenly off the rough trail they’d been following to take shelter among the roots of an enormous tree-a banyan, he thought, or a strangler fig. He’d never really been sure which was which, but it had roots running like pillars from its huge spreading branches to the jungle floor.

“Come on in, make yourselves comfortable,” Esther called as they caught up with her, peering between the roots like a gracious hostess in a frilly apron inviting visitors onto her front porch. “It’s all right-we should be past the booby traps here.”

Cory would have been happier without that equivocal should, but with rain sluicing down the back of his neck and dripping off the end of his nose, he decided he was willing to take the chance.

“Find yourselves a dry spot,” Esther went cheerfully on. “Just poke around a bit before you settle in, to chase away any snakes that might be in residence.”

“Great,” Tony muttered, wiping water from his face with a swipe of his hand as he edged nervously between the roots. “Do you know how much I hate snakes?”

Howard Lundquist was still out in the downpour; having broken off a dishpan-sized leaf from a nearby plant roughly the size of a minivan, he was laying it out on the ground, turned upside-down to catch the rain. Esther, meanwhile, had unwrapped her leaf bundle and was taking out a section of bamboo that Cory could see had been fashioned into a cup.

“You must be thirsty,” she said kindly, offering the cup to Sam, with a gesture toward the rapidly filling leaf-basin. “Please-help yourself to a drink of water.”

The reporter in Cory was fascinated, thinking of all the questions he wanted to ask, eager to explore more of the contents of those intriguing bundles, wanting to find out how, exactly, these two middle-aged people had managed to survive in these conditions for nearly a year and keep not only their sanity but their humanity and good humor as well. He actually envied Tony, who had already taken a camera from its waterproof bag and was clicking avidly away.

But Cory had other questions more urgently in need of answers. Life-and-death questions. His journalist’s curiosity would have to wait.

Though-still thinking like a journalist for the moment-“You still got the tapes?” he asked Tony in an undertone.

“Yep-safe and sound.” Tony lowered his camera long enough to pat the camera case hanging at his side. “Got ’em right in here.”

His mind relieved on one score, at least, Cory nodded and made his way over rain-slippery roots to where Sam was sitting with her back against a section of smooth tree trunk. She seemed relaxed and at ease, for once, and was holding one of the giant leaves over her head like an umbrella.

“You look like an illustration for a book on elves and fairies,” he said. “All you need is a toadstool to sit on.”

“Hal gave it to me,” she explained with a shrug. “You should get yourself one-it does help a little. Here-have a drink.” She smiled as she offered him the bamboo cup. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

He took the cup from her and settled onto another jutting root, at an angle to Sam’s so that he could see her face. Her eyes. Then he simply sat for a moment, holding the length of bamboo in his hands, stroking its glossy surface with his fingertips…not drinking, although he was thirsty. Strange to be thirsty, he thought, when the world seemed filled with water. It took up all the space around him, occupied all his senses. The rain noise filled his ears; the smell and taste of it was on his tongue and in his nostrils; the wetness clung to his skin like cloth. The curtain of it enveloped him, shrinking around him so that he and Sam seemed in that moment like the only two people alive in a world of water.

The moment stretched. Sam stirred restlessly under his gaze, her smile fading.

“If you’re not gonna drink that, give it back.” She sounded testy, the way he knew she did when she was feeling ill at ease.

Silently, he drank the tepid water and handed her the cup. He wasn’t playing psychological games; he truly did not know where or how to begin. His suspicions quivered and knotted and lashed at his insides, and at the same time he felt weighed down with the knowledge-the certainty-he carried, and the dread that it was about to be confirmed.

She settled back against the tree trunk again, wiggling her shoulders as though she had an itchy spot there. “Wonder where al-Rami’s gone to earth this time,” she said, her relaxed mood gone, her tone sardonic now, and a little breathy, making nervous conversation, he thought. “Wonder why they didn’t take us along this time.”

“Last thing al-Rami wants is us anywhere near where he is,” Cory muttered.

Sam’s eyes snapped toward him. “What?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” But that was cowardice. He leveled a look straight at her, took a breath and said, in a voice only a little less quiet than hers, “We’d all better hope they don’t come back looking for us.”

“Why?” But her body was still, no longer restless, and her eyes were watchful.

“You know why,” he said flatly. “Because if they find us they’ll kill us. Probably on sight.” God, at least he hoped so. The alternative didn’t bear thinking about.

Sam’s eyes widened with innocence. “Why would they kill us? Al-Rami’s been nothing if not cordial and cooperative up to now. I thought you and he had things all worked out.”

He had to admire her poise. He went on looking at her for a moment longer, then let out a breath and wiped moisture from his face with his shoulder. He leaned forward, staring at his hands, which were clasped between his knees. He noted the knuckles had gone white, and made an effort to relax them.

“A few years ago,” he said, in a conversational tone she would have to strain to hear above the rain, “I did a story on the latest in surveillance technology. Miniature bugs…tracking devices, cameras-things like that. Real fly-on-the-wall, sci-fi stuff, some of it.” He’d lifted his eyes and was watching her closely now. Her eyes didn’t flicker. He cleared his throat and plowed on. “One of the things they showed me was an implantable satellite tracking device. One that could be surgically imbedded in the body, becoming completely undetectable by any known scanners.”

“Oh, heck-” she made a dismissive motion with her hand “-they’ve had those for years. You can even put ’em in your pets so they won’t get lost.”

“Yeah,” he said, relentlessly holding her eyes, “but these could be used, not just as locators, but to send and receive coded messages.” He paused, waiting.

“Cool,” was all she said. And she lifted the bamboo cup to her lips, though he could have sworn the thing was empty.

When she lowered the cup again, he saw her throat ripple with a hard swallow. He had to hand it to her, though; her gaze didn’t waver, not even a little.

“That scar behind your ear-” She made a scoffing noise and rocked back as if in protest. He held up a hand to stop the denial he could see poised on her lips. “Don’t, Sam. Don’t.” He waited, expecting her eyes to come back to his, hot with defiance, chin upthrust. But instead she turned her face away.

Anger boiled up inside him. Anger, disappointment-disappointment so acute it felt like physical pain. He didn’t know why-it was no more than he’d suspected. No more than he’d known.

“My God,” he burst out, in a harsh and tearing voice, “what were you thinking? They’d have killed us all, still might, if they catch us. You said it yourself-they were suspicious of us to begin with. Did you think they wouldn’t figure it out that it had to be one of us giving away their location? If I figured it out, they sure as hell can. And let me tell you something-al-Rami’s no fool; he’d figured it out already. Did you see the look he gave us just before he fled? He’d have killed us then, if he’d had the means at hand, and if he hadn’t been more preoccupied with saving his own skin. You can bet we won’t be getting a second chance.”