Through the velvet-thick mist, Dr. Vivian Prado could barely make out the figure of her husband where he stood in the waning light, holding her hand under the canopy of the Peruvian rainforest. Still, she could easily perceive the dark stains that pooled like four small ponds and trickled away toward the nearby river like tributaries of damnation. Even after her many years of study, her medical training, and her acclimation to the sometimes-vicious ways of the indigenous peoples of the Amazon, her stomach heaved at the realization of what now lay before her. Like a naïve child, she turned and pressed her face into her husband's shoulder.
“It wasn't the tribes,” Dr. Bernardo Prado insisted. “This is civilized killing.”
“Civilized killing?” Vivian peered up at her husband with incredulity.
“Ironic. We call ourselves civilization, yet when it comes down to it, their spears and knives are no less civilized than ours. Maybe we have to hide our murder more deeply, which I guess is a virtue, but murder still occurs.”
Vivian turned her back completely on the horrific scene. “Why do you say it is not the tribes? I'm sorry – I can't look. Were there gunshots?”
“No gunshots,” Bernardo replied, his accent thickening with emotion. “It's just that the tribes would not leave the bodies here. Every killing by a tribe is for a purpose, and they tend to parade their victims. The killing here -” Bernardo stepped forward, gently nudging the neck of one of the victims with a long branch that he picked up from nearby. “It mimics a tribal method, so whoever did this wanted to throw any investigation off of his trail.”
With a heavy sigh, Vivian moved further back down the path, and she heard Bernardo stand to his feet and follow. “We have to tell the authorities,” she acceded.
“Even though they will shut down the project for months...”
“Would you prefer,” Vivian glanced over at him, “that we continue until someone does this to us?” She saw him shake his head from the corner of her eye.
“We need to call Arthur. The company will want to report it to the authorities.”
“But who would do this?” she wondered, hoping Bernardo could offer some logic from his highly reasonable mind.
“Well,” he began, adopting his analytical tone, “most of the ideas I can construct involve a large measure of conjecture – nigh unto conspiratorial conjecture.”
“So, hypothesize. I'm the only one here.”
He paused to gather his bearings as he broke through into the clearing of their camp. Before he continued, he led Vivian to the tent, opening the flap for her before starting to gather his things into his pack. “Peruvian government, cartels, gangs, business opposition – not local hoodlums. They would not bother mimicking the tribes.”
When Vivian whistled incredulously, Bernardo turned back to her. “You and Elsa take Lily and head back to Iquitos. I'll finish cleaning up here, and you can send Aaron back with the Jeep.”
Even before he could finish, Vivian had begun shaking her head. “I'm not leaving you here alone.”
“I won't be alone. Several of the natives have offered to help; I'll pay them for their aid using the leftover rations from our camp. You have to get Lily out of here. It's five hours until sunset. Aaron can get me out before dark.”
Moving back to the door of her tent, Vivian glanced first out at the sun, gauging its distance from the horizon, then at the native women who milled busily around the courtyard. “If you tell the women, will they bring their men or will they run away and leave you alone?”
“I won't tell them; I'll make up an excuse to get the men here. Whoever killed those men back there want to cover their tracks. The only way they would be able to attack me with all the villagers around would have to make use of heavy artillery, and whoever went to such lengths to mask the other deaths won't risk that. So, you see?” He lifted her heavy pack followed by Elsa's and then Lily's into the back of the Jeep. “I will be fine, and you will get Lily out.”
Vivian sighed but nodded, finally conceding his point. “And you have the sat phone?” she queried. In response, Bernardo reached into his own pack which he had set down on the ground near the tire of the vehicle. “Good,” Vivian pursed her lips. “Please be careful,” she begged.
Somehow suppressing his usual sense of cool rationality, Bernardo reached his hand up to caress his wife's face. “I love you, querida,” he whispered, kissing her gently before helping her into the car. “Please, do not worry over me.”
“I will,” she countered, “but I trust you, so I will see you tonight.”
“Hasta la noche,” Bernardo agreed, and Vivian shifted the car into drive, soon losing sight of her husband through the mists of the Amazon.
+++++++++++
Isaac smiled at the chaos around him. For two years, he had played at analysis, a reprimand for not toeing the line with his superiors once he made it back to the States. Or a favor for being the son of a military commander. Before his desk job, he had scraped through five years of CIA fieldwork, and he had thought he hated it. Problem was, unless he managed to stay in recruitment, the Company would ship him off to some oversees pit – Isaac preferred the good old U. S. of A. He just wished he could figure out how to utilize all the skills he had found at his disposal when he had to worry less about the law.
Still, standing in the middle of a throng of partiers, Isaac remembered how he missed humanity, and he wondered if he should push to get out from behind the desk before he aged out of the possibility. A beach full of imbibing college students brought back pleasant memories from before his time in the field. The men would have proven easily manipulable if he had wished it for some reason. And the women? Scantily clad, chemically altered. He could convince them of pretty much whatever he wanted, and they probably wouldn’t remember in the morning.
No time for distractions on this night, though, no matter how they tugged at him He had a mission – both an immediate mission and the larger mission it fed into. If he took care of the immediate mission – the girl – he could gain some temporary relief for the tension from all the bodies pressing around him at the moment. Then, he could use the girl – as a captive or a convert, he didn’t really care – to lure in his larger prey.
Normally, he wouldn’t waste so much energy on recruiting someone as a favor, but the man Isaac was after had been a particular request by a veterano, a key contact too important to ignore. The cousins. Famous for getting out, for outsmarting the screeners. The older cousin had somehow hidden the younger until the opportunity was missed. Why a cartel cared so much about something that had happened five years before, Isaac didn’t know – he didn’t really care. Curiosity killed the kickbacks.
What he did know was that the younger cousin had moved off to one of the most prestigious schools in the country, well out of the reach of his neighborhood. Then the older cousin had disappeared, only recently to reappear within the Company. Isaac would bring in the younger cousin, too, then conscript the pair to the proper location. After that, Isaac wouldn’t let himself worry overmuch. Even if the higher-ups at the Company claimed to frown upon blurred ethical lines, the guys in the field knew the impossibility of maintaining all the highest principles. This contact was worth some ethical compromises for a variety of reasons.
The fact that Isaac’s current effort involved his favorite form of espionage created a double benefit to himself, and his very sexy target now pressed into the throng before him. He could spot her easily among the crowd, an inch or two taller than most of the girls, but significantly shorter than the guys. Her brown curls framed her face, cascading down and over her arms and chest. A light smattering of freckles brushed across her cheeks, barely visible in the shadow from the afternoon sun at her back, and her pristine alabaster skin stood out among all the fake tans. Of course, her unusually large, lash-framed eyes and the stunning smile she flashed at several fellow partiers as she pressed toward him added to her good looks, but what really gripped him was the curves. She bore an hourglass figure worthy of Marilyn Monroe, and even though she had donned a relatively modest tank top and walking shorts, she couldn’t hide those. The animal in Isaac stirred, and he had to remind himself that he was back in the U.S. If he stepped out of line, he would probably end up out of a job – or in jail. Maybe being overseas wasn’t so bad. He certainly hadn’t had to deal with so many restrictions. People could complain, but authorities bowed to the CIA badge.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
By the time Piper made it to the Bay campus and onto the beaches, the sun streamed from directly overhead. In the south, direct sunlight would have wreaked havoc on comfort, but in Rhode Island, the bright rays proved rather favorable for an outdoor event. She tried not to rejoice that her ex’s professor had changed a test to coincide exactly with the Sci-Fry, but for at least two reasons, she celebrated the fact. First of all, it meant that she got to attend the event without worrying whether he would try to pretend he was still her boyfriend. In the same vein, because he wasn’t there claiming to be her boyfriend, she could seek out the person she really wanted to meet.
As she had the thought, she glanced up at the sound of her name. Butterflies danced in her stomach when she encountered one of the more handsome men she had met in recent months. The sun had lit his copper hair to flame where he stood, and she had to grin – he was adorable in too many ways. Of course, she held the ability to think most people adorable, and she could appreciate all variations of attractiveness. It helped that the man who watched her with a fixed smile stood over six feet tall and wore the broad shoulders of someone who had fully passed boyhood. He must exercise religiously, too, with the clearly defined ridges that showed along his arms and through the chest of his T-shirt.
She, though, was not so shallow as to make her decisions based on superficial good looks. If she were, the chestnut-toned muscles of her ex would have sent her swooning. Certainly, the effect worked on other girls, but she just could not consider going back. For one, Ben came from so much money that the discrepancy between him and herself showed in the very clothes they wore, much less the vehicles they drove and the houses they lived in. He played the playboy at every opportunity – though she would have trusted him for a lot of important responsibilities, her heart was not one of those.
Something about the man she was meeting rang down-to-earth, like he knew the difficulties of life and looked them in the eye. She respected that. Possibly, it was just the difference in the five or so years that this man had grown beyond the frat-boy years
“Got us some ice cream, if that’s okay,” the man offered, handing over a newly served waffle cone and taking her arm as he led her back toward the water.
“Chocolate chip is my favorite,” she smiled, aware of his fingers on her skin. “Great guess.”
Isaac smiled his acknowledgement. You mean great research…
“Did my friend ever contact you about tutoring?” she pressed, adding some space between them at the first opportunity.
“No word from him. Which turned out okay because my schedule really filled up this week, what with the last test before finals about to happen.” So, she didn’t like to be touched by someone she didn’t know. Smart, if inconvenient for Isaac. He would have to work harder for this one. Perhaps some physical abuse in her past? Or just a suspicious, overprotective mother? Likely just a shell, though he couldn’t tell yet how delicate it was. He would have to test to see just how strongly he needed to press to get to the fragile – vulnerable – insides. A little purposeful transgression would tell him what he needed to know.
“Good for you, I imagine,” she offered.
“Good for me.”
For the next two hours, Isaac led the girl through the booths at the events, doing his best to seem interested in the subject material. Besides scientific displays put on by the various departments, they encountered a veritable buffet of sci-fi pop culture, and Isaac made use of more research he had undertaken to discuss the fantasy literature she preferred, Not to seem too coincidental, he peppered some sci-fi interest into his personality, and she seemed interested if not pleased with his company. Most importantly, he pressed her physical boundaries, brushing sand off of her cheek near her mouth after a game of beach ball, letting a minor bump from behind him propel him into her so that their bodies pressed together in the crowd, a chivalric rescue instigated by a near collision that let him wrap his arm around her waist and tug her to his chest.
The techniques always worked. Always. If a woman was interested in men, especially if she didn’t have a boyfriend or husband – though that often didn’t matter – Isaac could lure a woman into his trap. Certainly, he noted Piper’s attraction to him. She didn’t complain about the contact, and she bore all the signs: dilated pupils, rapid breath, flushed cheeks and reddening lips. For some reason, though, she kept bringing the activities back to conversation. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that he hadn’t expected her to hold so much intelligence. Not only that, but she bore a healthier-than-normal skepticism and sense of self-preservation that rendered her difficult to fluster.
She at least needs to give me her number, he complained. He already had her number, of course, but he couldn’t call it or text her until she willingly gave it to him.
When they finally wound up literally falling all over each other after a game of beach volleyball, Isaac saw his first hint of connection with her, the fluttering eyelashes with the shy smile. Thank God, he sighed. He needed to get the ball rolling soon. When he helped her to her feet, their game over, he slid his arm behind her waist and escorted her back to the booth closest to the shore, one that conveniently served mixed drinks.
The soft skin where his fingers brushed the back of her arms had raise bumps against the deepening chill. She felt so nice, and he used the proximity to the booth to shield them from public eyes as he pulled her body against him, preparing to go in for a kiss. Just a few minutes earlier, he had considered the evening a bust, but he just might end up getting everything he wanted out of the night – professionally and personally. His hands clinched against her waist, and he managed to lift the hem of her shirt enough that his fingers brushed the silken skin just above her jeans.
Was she the kind of girl who would try to drive herself to his place? Surely he had managed enough success that he could convince her to leave her car behind. It made a night’s activities much lest subject to frustration. As long as he could find a way to keep the girl off his C.O.’s radar, avoid oversight. He knew they had hesitated to let him out from behind a desk, so he would have to be even more clandestine than usual.
“This has been fun.” Her words interrupted his ever-growing expectations, and when she twisted out of his grasp, he realized that he may have overestimated his prospects. She was about to call it a night…What the hell? What was wrong with this girl? I should have found a way to trick her into drinking.
He was not only going to lose his night; he was going to lose his opportunity to use her against the cousin. If he could have isolated her, gotten her to a remote location, he could have used some more questionable tactics that would have almost guaranteed results. Unfortunately, he couldn’t really justify taking his persuasion to the next level – not home in the states, anyway. He would have to use self-control and let her go. Since he didn’t actually need her beyond her connection to the cousins, he wouldn’t be able to justify any coercive tactics to his supervisor. Shit!
Sliding his hands in his pockets, he leaned back against the side of the booth, determined not to reveal the tension that coiled inside him, ready to spring. Finally, she did offer him one very small boon. “I have to run – I’m taking care of my friends’ kid tonight,” she offered apologetically, “but I just realized that I never sent you my number.” She pulled up her phone, and a couple of seconds later, Isaac’s burner phone vibrated. He raised it to eye level. “Got it,” he grinned. He made a show of saving the number, and she flashed her teeth at him in return. Since she had given him her number, he would eventually figure out how to redeem the night. It certainly made it a lot easier to track her.
“So, next time you come to campus,” she continued, “hopefully when you’re not there to see your ex – we can grab coffee.”
“Sounds like a date,” Isaac agreed, and with a wave of her hand, the girl swung her curves away from him and sauntered off the beach and out of Isaac’s reach. If he could find any way to justify it, Isaac would figure out how to get his hands on her. Even with his more personal ambitions thwarted, the night hadn’t proven entirely useless. She had offered him a few interesting tidbits of information that, by unlikely coincidence, might prove relevant to more than one of his current projects. Blowing out a breath, he lowered her into her car and watched her drive away.
++++++++++
The first thing State Senator Rick Connors became aware of was the wooden arm of the chair poking into his back. As the sensation aroused him from sleep, his sweat stuck the cheap fake leather to every inch of exposed skin, and his left leg had cramped under the weight of his body where it had pressed into the seat.
How hard is it to buy a comfortable recliner, he complained silently. Then the steady beep made its way into his brain, and he turned to take in the recumbent form of his daughter where it lay, frail, upon the hospital bed. How long had he lain in that chair, wedged in like a cat in a bottle? Maybe six hours? Little Charlie had floated in and out of hospitals for the past three of her five years on earth, and no hospital bed could offer much comfort. Add to that the medications and the needles and the cancer itself – Rick only had to make it through the next hour or so until his campaign manager showed up with the reporter for the special interest piece.
Fibrolamellar hepatocellular carcinoma.
It didn't really matter that Charlie wasn't supposed to get the disease until she was at least twelve or thirteen. It didn't really matter that chemotherapy didn't seem to work well on the tumor. It didn't matter that she had endured twelve surgeries to remove portions of the tumor that had metastasized from her liver into other portions of her abdomen. It only mattered that this could not happen to his child – not his. Things like this didn’t happen to him, and he would make sure something good came out of so much difficulty. What would all the pain accomplish if he missed out on all the visions he had held for her when she was born, but then had spent her first five years shut away from?
Though the last bout had proven particularly rough, Charlie had spent most of her childhood in some form of treatment or another. This time, she had lain in her hospital bed for over three weeks, most of the time unable to feed herself or sit up for more than a few minutes. The sparkle had slowly left her eyes, her hair had gradually fallen out, her frame had grown thinner and thinner until the bones stuck out at exaggerated angles. If she had gotten the disease when she was supposed to, she would have been able to come in for treatments, stay for a few hours or days, then go home. At her age, though, and in her already weakened state, she needed round the clock care. Her growth had stunted from all of the drugs and lack of nutrition, and whatever happened, she would grow up petite and diminutive – if she grows up at all, Rick lamented. He pushed the morose thought from his mind.
Charlie Connors would grow up – State Senator Rick Connors would make sure of it. Picking up his phone, he punched in the number of, Darren Bakir, his contact at the DoD.