Line of Fire (24 page)

She returned to the stream. Girding herself for the iodine taste of the water, she drank down the contents of the whole canteen. She refilled the container and put another tablet in it. By the time she got back to Tex, the water would be ready to drink.

She headed off through the trees. The sun was setting and long shadows filled the jungle. Everything looked different than it had an hour ago.

She frowned, squinting at the tree trunks, trying to ascertain her position. She wasn’t lost. She wasn’t!

Stay calm. Breathe. Keep your wits about you.
She’d work her way through this. She’d headed east, away from Tex’s position. If she followed the setting sun—that meant toward the bases of the shadows—that would take her west. Toward Tex.

She tried to move as quietly as he did, but that just wasn’t possible. She eased forward, an ominous sensation tickling the back of her neck. She ought to be getting close to the rebel training facility. Very close.

She slowed down even more.
If
she was right and
if
she wasn’t lost, Tex ought to be just ahead. A big tree with a forked trunk should be on her right and a clump of banana trees should be on the left.

A clump of banana trees loomed straight ahead of her. She slid off to the right, searching for a tree with a forked trunk.

There! In the darkening shadows. She’d found it. Relief flooded her, almost knocking her to her knees.

She practically stepped on Tex when she finally found him. He’d apparently decided to adorn himself with the latest in black dirt cosmetics.

“Get down,” he hissed.

It dawned on her that if she was standing on top of Tex, then the rebel camp was only a few yards ahead of her.

“Slow. Move slow,” Tex ordered in a bare whisper.

She schooled herself not to drop to the ground like a rock. Rather she eased her body down until she stretched out at full-length beside Tex. She passed him the canteen and he took a long pull from it.

“Any luck with the phone?” he asked.

“Nope. Sorry.” In the abruptly heavy silence, she inquired, “See anything interesting this afternoon?”

“Not really. More orientation. They’re definitely planning on having five or six snipers shoot from various positions across the mall.”

They’d guessed that already. She supposed it was good to have confirmed it. Now she could only hope that Tex didn’t see the RITA rifle anytime soon. Maybe then she could talk him into leaving with their information regarding the impending assassination attempt on the president.

Tension rolled off Tex in palpable waves as she stretched out on the ground beside him. He snacked absently on the food, not even reacting to the violently sour green berries. Was he that worried? Or had he gone into some sort of work mode where he was blocking everything else out?

“Tex?” she murmured.

“Hmm?” he murmured back.

“Everything okay?”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Peachy keen. Why?”

She frowned. “Whenever you start tossing around homespun expressions like that, I get worried.”

She had his full attention now. She persisted. “So, what’s going on? You’re wired tighter than you’ve ever been around me.”

“Finding out that someone’s trying to murder my president does that to me,” he replied shortly.

She’d forgotten for a minute. He believed he could single-handedly save the world from the forces of evil. She refrained from going back over that well-worn argument.

Tex resumed observing the rebels, most of whom sat around fires eating their suppers, at the moment.

She lay there beside Tex for a long time. Night fell and the usual cacophony of noises commenced. She and Tex could probably have a shouting match right now and the rebels wouldn’t hear them over the din of insects, frogs and assorted screeching things.

And then it began to rain. Nothing torrential, just a steady, slow drip that turned their resting spot into a black morass of cold and wet. Tex didn’t budge. She wasn’t entirely sure he even noticed it was raining.

But then he reached up, plucked a good-size leaf and covered the firing portion of his AK-47. Okay, he knew it was raining. Why didn’t he take cover?

The temperature began to drop and their surveillance went from uncomfortable to downright miserable.

Tex remained completely focused on the rebels, clearly thinking intently. But what about? You could only stare at a bunch of guys huddled in tents, drinking, for so long.

Her fingers were starting to ache with the cold. She flexed the stiffness away, but it returned in a few seconds. Her curiosity won out over her desire to stay out of Tex’s way. “What are you mulling over so seriously?”

She felt his head turn toward her. It was too dark under the ferns to make out his expression, though.

“I’m considering scenarios.”

She frowned. “What kinds of scenarios?”

“A ‘what if the rifle’s in that big main tent over there’ scenario. ‘What if the rifle’s in the commander’s tent on the left edge of the clearing? What if the rifle’s inside the mock-up of the White House?’”

“Come up with anything interesting?” She asked more to distract herself from the water running down the back of her neck.

“Yeah. The rifle’s not here yet.”

She lurched in the dark. “What?” she exclaimed.

“Hush,” he ordered sharply.

“What do you mean, it’s not here yet?” she whispered.

“I think it’s still getting modified. The rebels don’t have a facility here to fabricate the replacement clip. It’ll take a metal-working shop to do the job.”

“Then why in the world are we lying here in the mud watching these idiots play soldier?” she demanded.

“Because if we’d tried to follow the rifle to wherever it’s getting worked on, we’d have lost its trail or been caught. Based on this setup, we know the rifle’s going to end up here.”

“Why?” she interjected.

“The snipers will have to practice firing at the mock-up with it. They’ll need to figure out how to use it and get comfortable with it before they try it out on the president.”

“Then why aren’t we well away from here in a safe, dry little camp with your ankle propped up and a nice shelter overhead?”

“Because anything we learn might be the one tidbit that saves the president’s life.”

She harrumphed. “All the rebels are safely drunk in their tents. They’re not going anywhere as long as it keeps raining. Let’s call it a night, and go somewhere to light a fire and get dry and warm.”

She made out a glimmer of white as he smiled at her. “I agree. We’ll sleep until it quits raining.”

Then, to her confusion, he picked up a hefty stick and began digging a small trench around them. He spoke over his shoulder. “Help me dig. It’ll go faster if we both do it.”

She picked up a stick and began gouging at the soft dirt. “And I’m doing this why?”

“It’ll channel the water away from our position.”

Dawning suspicion made her ask slowly, “And?”

“Do you want to get completely soaked in your sleep?” he asked.

“I don’t follow you,” she mumbled.

“We’re sleeping here,” he explained.

“What about getting dry? And warm? Having a fire?” she demanded.

“Sorry. No comforts of home when we’re doing tight surveillance.”

“So we’re going to lay here in the rain and mud and cold all night, like a couple of dogs?”

“That’d be the gist of it,” he replied.

“That’s ridiculous. The rebels aren’t going anywhere. We’re not going to miss a thing.”

He rounded on her, abruptly looming over her, a dark, dangerous shadow. “Do you mean to tell me that your comfort for one night is more important than the life of the president of the United States and potentially dozens of his Secret Service agents?”

She sighed heavily. “Of course not.”

“Help me spread out the space blanket.” He passed her a corner of the mylar sheeting, its dull, black side facing up and its shiny silver side facing down. “Put rocks or a log over the edges of it to hold it in place. But make sure they’re inside the perimeter of the trench.”

She did as he directed.

“Tell me why we’re not getting out of here and heading for the nearest phone to call the Secret Service?”

“No time,” he replied shortly. “By the time someone else found this place, the RITA could be long gone and on its way to kill the president or someone else.”

In a matter of moments, she was encased in an uncomfortable plastic shell. Then the large sheet began to rise slowly away from her. Tex had wrapped the end of a stick in leaves and used it to hoist the space blanket off them, forming a tiny pup tent.

Lying half on top of her, he reached down by their feet and propped up another padded stick. They didn’t have much room, but it was enough to maneuver a little bit.

“Take off your clothes,” he murmured.

“I beg your pardon!” She reared back as much as she could in the confined space, offended by the boldness of his proposition.

His answering grin was visible in the near total dark. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, darlin’. I’m only looking out for your comfort and welfare. You’ll catch a chill if you stay in those wet clothes all night.”

She subsided, only partially mollified.

He explained further. “I’m going to take mine off, too, if that makes you feel better. Our body heat will build up in here over the next few hours and will dry out our clothes some. It won’t be like hanging them by a fire, of course. But we’ll be reasonably dry and warm tonight, and our clothes will be mostly dry tomorrow morning when we put them back on.”

She didn’t see where all this excess body heat was going to come from, but she did as Tex requested. It was a royal pain peeling out of wet, cloying clothes with barely inches of room to maneuver. But with Tex’s help and a lot of wriggling and squirming, she managed to get her clothes off.

By the time Tex had finished wrestling out of his clothes, her naked skin had dried and she did feel warmer. He gathered her close in his arms, and she snuggled against his steamy body. Given what he had to work with, she was impressed at how comfortable he’d managed to make her.

Then his mouth descended toward hers and he swept her away from their wet, cold bivouac in the jungle.

* * *

A gunshot tore apart the silence of the early morning. Tex froze as he’d been conditioned to by years of training, even though adrenaline screamed through his system.

Several more shots rang out and Kimberly lurched against his chest violently at each one. He held her tightly and rolled partially on top of her, using the weight of his body to hold her still. Abrupt movements like a person jumping at a noise could draw attention to their position.

“Good grief, what’s happened?” she whispered frantically.

“Our girl’s arrived,” he murmured back. He’d know the unusual, singsong pitch of the RITA rifle anywhere.

“Now what?” Kimberly mumbled against his chest.

“Now we watch and wait for an opportunity to steal the rifle back.”

“Sounds easy when you put it like that,” she rumbled.

He grunted. “It’ll be anything but easy, darlin’. Every bit of security these bozos have is going to be centered around that gun if they know what’s smart.”

Kimberly tensed against him.

“Good news is,” he continued, “the bastards don’t know we’re here. We’ll have the element of surprise working for us.”

That was about the only advantage they’d have over the rebels, but he wasn’t fool enough to mention that part to Kimberly. She was opposed to the idea of him snatching the rifle back already.

They watched a half dozen men spend all day firing the RITA rifle. Tex couldn’t help wincing each time the gun jammed. And it did about every tenth shot. The clip the rebels were using didn’t fit just right and it wasn’t feeding the rounds cleanly into the firing chamber. Of course, he wasn’t going to volunteer that information to the Gavronese.

In the early evening the snipers took a last few shots through the windows of the fake Oval Office, but finally the echoing blasts of gunfire ceased.

Dark approached gently and the verdant hues of the jungle softened to gray. Tex strained to watch where the rifle went. He tracked it as one of the snipers carried it across the compound to a fire and laid it on the ground beside his hip. The guy ate supper and chatted with his buddies, but Tex’s gaze never left the bulky rifle.

The hour grew late and the night air grew cold. Colder than usual. His breath puffed in front of his face, threatening to obscure his view of RITA. He exhaled out the side of his mouth.

He grew vaguely aware of Kimberly’s lips moving against his ear. With difficulty he focused on her words.

“You’ve got to have something to eat, or at least drink,” she murmured.

Irritation swirled below the smooth surface of his concentration. She was right, but still the interruption bugged him. Absently he popped a handful of sour berries and drank a canteen of water.

There.

The sniper picked up the gun and walked toward the White House. What in the hell was the guy doing? Checking the targets inside the windows of the mock Oval Office one last time? Tex strained to keep the soldier in sight as he moved in the dark across the wide clearing.

The man disappeared into the White House.

Tex watched intently as several more men slowly made their way toward the white facade. There must be some rooms built into the backside of the structure. Given the chill of the night, they must be moving inside the solid rooms for extra warmth.

And RITA was in one of them. Along with a hefty phalanx of guards, some of whom were highly competent snipers, and one of whom wielded an unstoppable gun.

He rolled over on his back, stretching out the knots of having lain motionless for hours.

Kimberly’s hands were there immediately, kneading out the kinks in his shoulders. The incongruity of getting a massage from a gorgeous blonde in the middle of a dangerous mission almost made him laugh out loud.

“There’s nothing we can do about the gun tonight,” she murmured. “Let’s get some sleep.”

“Sorry, no sleep tonight, darlin’.”