More Than Paradise (13 page)

“My end is Þ fty?” Even a pain in the butt part-time gig like this one would normally only net half of that. Ash gave Tubby a suspicious look.

He beamed sickly, like he’d just won a hot dog eating competition.

“I’m being generous.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

“Okay, there’s some Þ ne print.” He peered longingly at the women by the pool.

They had Þ nally squeezed the air out of the beach ball and were reclining on loungers. Around them a squadron of mosquito zappers crackled. The women looked young, like only a few years ago they would have been in bed by now after drinking the hot chocolate their moms made. Ash wondered how they’d ended up doing what they did.

“What’s the real deal?” she asked.

Tubby gave a theatrical sigh. “Well, see, we got a lead on the Roo.

Motherfucking sonofabitch is in there scaring the natives with the usual crapola about resettlement and there’s some talk about an attack on the scientists.”

• 89 •

JENNIFER FULTON

“Which makes the client unhappy,” Ash concluded.

“They want him taken care of.”

“I’m not an assassin,” Ash reminded him. There was no way she would take the Roo out. She half liked the guy and he was good for business.

“No one’s asking you to pull the bloody trigger. Just Þ nd this idiot and bring him in. He’s been yanking too many chains for too long and they’ve voted him off the fucking island, if you take my meaning.”

“Jesus, Tubby. You’re not going to clip the guy, are you?” She appealed to his baser instincts. “He’s money in the bank. You mightn’t give a shit about that, but I do.”

He gave it a moment. Ash could see him processing the idea that one of his best pilots might not be happy missing out on the Roo bonus hereafter. What if that was the Þ nal straw that sent her to Spicer’s side of the fence?

“Okay, point taken,” he said magnanimously. “We’ll have a conversation.”

Ash Þ nished her whiskey. “Activists don’t usually sell out. They have that conscience thing going on.”

“Every man has his price.”

“Here’s the deal,” Ash said. “If I bring him in, he walks out of here alive.”

Tubby rolled his eyes. “If he signs on the dotted line, he’ll walk out of here a rich man. The Indonesians want him gone. No questions asked. And as for our clients, I can write my own fucking check. He’ll take the money.”

“Like I said. No accidents, no faked suicide.”

“Bloody hell. All right. He walks. But if he shows his fucking kangaroo teeth around here again, I’m not responsible.”

Ash stretched out her hand. “Fifty for the job and Þ fty for bringing him in.”

Tubby went through the motions of sucking his plump lips as if he hadn’t anticipated the signiÞ cant counteroffer. Finally he shook hands.

“Like I said, every man has his price.”

“I’m a woman.”

Tubby grinned. “Balls are balls. I don’t care who’s wearing them.”

• 90 •

MORE THAN PARADISE

Dr. Lascelles, I presume.”

Charlotte spun around at the sound of a deep soft voice she knew immediately. “You!” She glared at the pilot they’d been waiting for since nine that morning.

“As luck would have it.” Her one-time rescuer ß ashed some identiÞ cation around the Þ eld party. She looked like she’d slept in her clothes. “Good morning, folks. Ash Evans. Nagle Global Diligence.”

The guys shook Ash’s hand eagerly, as if they didn’t notice anything wrong with her crumpled appearance and wandering speech.

Ash consulted the brooding sky. “Foja expedition, huh? You picked the right day for it.”

She and the team proceeded to exchange comments on the weather and the importance of bug repellent for when the rain stopped and the mosquitoes smelled blood. She didn’t look Charlotte’s way once.

Simon Flight, a baby-faced British entomologist on the team to catalog butterß ies, was the only one willing to draw attention to the pervasive aura of alcohol. “I say, old thing,” he remarked with polite consternation. “A little early, isn’t it?”

Ash slapped him on the shoulder. “No worries, pal. Round here, whiskey’s a navigation aid.”

Appalled, Charlotte said, “We are not ß ying anywhere with a drunk pilot.”

“The lady makes an important point.” Ash waved a hand in the direction of a lanky blond man loading supplies onto the helicopter parked nearby. “Which is why you will all be happy to know Klaus over there is ß ying us today. He needs to learn the West Papua routes.”

“Wonderful, a newbie,” Charlotte replied tartly.

• 91 •

JENNIFER FULTON

Their team leader, Harvard professor Miles Hogan, touched her arm as if to reassure her. Addressing Ash, he said dryly, “Your pal is sober, right?”

“Klaus only does hallucinogens, and never on the job. He’s South African. They’re reliable about that type of thing.” To prove her point, Ash called out, “Hey, Klaus. Are you straight, man?”

The South African yelled back, “I thought you’d never ask.”

At least half the team found that hilarious. Apparently,
they
had been able to Þ gure out right away that Ash was both female and probably a lesbian.

When they were done with their frat-house hooting, Miles gave Charlotte a patronizing smile and said, “You have nothing to worry about, Charlotte. Nagle are the best in the business. If you’d be more comfortable, we can delay the shuttle for an hour or two.”

And have the entire Þ eld party kicking their heels in the long, leaky shack that passed for a hangar, because she was having a girly ß utter. Charlotte could tell her feminine presence was already a focus for some of the team. Delaying their travel would cement her unpopularity.

“There’s no need for that,” she said. “If you’re satisÞ ed, let’s get going.”

Ash was apparently sober enough to have noticed this exchange, because she immediately started sorting the Þ eld party into smaller groups for the shuttle trips into Kwerba, the foothill village that was to be their staging area in the Sarmi regency. Today they would travel in with some Þ ve hundred pounds of supplies. Tomorrow, they would begin their long trek into the uplands, assuming they had a guide who could Þ nd the way to their target zone. So far Charlotte was not impressed. She’d been told their logistical support was being handled by highly paid experts. If this was it, they were in trouble.

“Want to ß y with the Þ rst group?” Miles offered. “Give you a chance to get yourself settled properly at base camp.”

Like she would need any more time than a man. Irritated, Charlotte said, “I have a few notes to sort, so I don’t mind waiting my turn.”

“That’s the spirit.” He said it like he coached the special team and she was the one who would never hit the ball.

Charlotte produced a saccharine smile and he excused himself, claiming he needed to go check on the supplies being loaded.

• 92 •

MORE THAN PARADISE

Once he was out of earshot, Ash strolled over and said, with one of her shameless grins, “What an unexpected pleasure.”

“It’s not mutual.”

“I’m wounded.”

Charlotte lowered her voice. “Look, I know you think this is funny.

But I consider it highly unprofessional for you to have shown up here when you’ve been drinking.”

“I tried to dump the job on someone else.”

“Not on my account, I trust?”

“Your presence was not a factor. For the record, I had no idea the Dr. Zelda Lascelles on my documentation was you.”

“Zelda is my Þ rst name. I assume they took that off my passport when they did the paperwork. It happens all the time.”

“And there I was, thinking you were getting the hang of things in PNG, using a fake name among strangers.”

“Charlotte is my middle name. I’ve been using it since I was seven.” She had no idea why she felt the need to explain herself. She wasn’t sure if she felt chagrin or disappointment that Ash hadn’t been expecting her. Did she want to think Ash had chosen the job after recognizing her name on the passenger list? How absurd.

Ash stepped farther inside the hangar and sat down on one of several rickety deck chairs arranged in a line beneath the tin roof.

Charlotte took the seat a couple down from her and they both stared out at the increasing rain. The other members of the team milled about as Klaus briefed passengers for the Þ rst shuttle.

“How was the Kokoda Trail?” Ash asked after a few moments of taut silence.

“Hard work. How was your week?”

“My sister died, so I had to go back home for a few days.”

Shocked by the toneless reply and the horrible fact of her loss, Charlotte said, “I’m very sorry.”

“Shit happens.”

The response would have seemed ß ippant but for the bitter edge.

Charlotte recalled Ash mentioning that she ß ew back to see her sister several times a year. They were close, she suspected, more so than Ash wanted to let on.

Gently, she said, “I’m really surprised you’re here. Maybe you should be taking some time out.”

• 93 •

JENNIFER FULTON

Ash read between the lines. “So I can drown my sorrows on my own dime?”

“That isn’t what I meant.”

“Yes, it is.” Ash Þ nally met her eyes. “Try not to worry that pretty head of yours. I can ß y a Huey in my sleep, but I’m not taking her up today. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“I don’t know why you need to be here at all if you’re not ß ying,”

Charlotte said. “Under the circumstances, surely your boss would give you time off.”

“Someone has to walk you beetle hunters into the highlands,” Ash informed her laconically. “The pay is good and apart from the local tribes, no one knows this area like I do.”

“Once you take us in there, what then?”

“We have a security roster. I’ll be with you for a week until you’re settled into the campsite, then Klaus will ß y my bird in with extra supplies and my replacement.”

Charlotte cast a glance toward a Jeep that bounced across the uneven tarmac and jerked to halt a few yards from the helicopter. Four men jumped out and hauled large backpacks after them. They were wearing beige uniforms, complete with black berets. To Charlotte’s astonishment, after throwing their gear into the helicopter, they went back to the Jeep and began unloading an arsenal of weapons.

“Are we Þ ghting a war or something?” she asked. “The Fojas are uninhabited. Who do they think they’re going to be shooting at?”

“It’s a deterrent. News travels in this place. You never know who might think a team of scientists would be worth robbing.”

Charlotte pictured a group of Rambos blundering around in a world untouched by humans, trampling important specimens and scaring shy animals. “I think it’s ridiculous. I wonder if the expedition organizers knew it was going to be like this.”

Ash shrugged. “They hired us.”

Charlotte looked her over a little more intently. She was a mess.

Her eyes were shadowed with sorrow, the crinkles that fanned from each corner more pronounced. Her frown seemed perpetual and her corn blond hair needed a cut. The waves were more like curls across her brow and the back of her neck. Even her body language spelled weariness. She was slouched in the deck chair, her legs extended carelessly in front of her. Her arms were loosely draped over the rests,

• 94 •

MORE THAN PARADISE

and she looked like she could fall asleep in short order if Charlotte wasn’t talking to her.

Bothered by what had transpired in her hotel bedroom ten days earlier, she said, “Well, since we’re going to be stuck with each other for the next week, there’s something I’d like to clear up. What you said in my hotel room when—”

“There’s nothing to clear up,” Ash cut across her blandly. “We both had a lot to drink that night.”

“You know, alcohol isn’t an excuse for everything a person does and says. I happen to take responsibility for myself when I drink.”

Ash’s expression altered. “Sounds like you’re saying I don’t.”

“I can’t speak for you. I don’t know you. But I think it’s fairly obvious from your appearance today that you have a problem.”

“A drinking problem?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Let me see. When you’re drinking you say things you later want to retract. You show up for work unable to ß y your plane. You had such a hard night you didn’t even change your clothes this morning.”

“I’m unclear why this is any of your business.”

“I don’t like alcoholics.”

“I’m not an alcoholic.”

“Oh, please. I know the signs. Just listen to yourself. You’re totally in denial.”

“You know the signs,” Ash repeated thoughtfully. “Who was it?

An ex? A parent?”

“That’s not relevant.”

“It is when it impairs your judgment.”

“My judgment isn’t impaired. I know your type at a hundred paces.”

“My type?” Ash’s expression shifted from annoyance to incredulity. “Why am I sitting here listening to my character being assassinated?”

“Because you’re too hungover to get up and walk away?” Charlotte suggested.

“Well, this has been educational.” Ash brushed her clothes off.

“For the record, I haven’t slept in Þ fty hours. I’ve had a rough week and I came straight here from another assignment.”

“Oh, right. A date with a whiskey bottle.”

• 95 •

JENNIFER FULTON

Ash studied her with aggravating calm. “What’s your problem with me, Charlotte?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

This earned a lazy, maddening smile. “You’re behaving like a woman scorned. Are you pissed that I didn’t stay with you that night?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. That’s some ego you have.”

“I’ve seen the symptoms often enough to recognize them.”

“Well, don’t give up your day job to become a shrink. You’re way off base.”

“That’s a relief,” Ash said glibly. “Because I’d sure hate to disappoint a woman as pretty, and charming, as you.”

Charlotte choked. “Oh, please. Where do you get lines like that?

The loser’s guide to chatting up women?”

“You can’t blame a butch for trying.”

Charlotte couldn’t tell if she was being mocked or if Ash was serious and just happened to be a throwback to the Brylcreem era.