No Remorse (23 page)

“Come on, Red!” she screamed, her bright eyes captivated as the yellow leaf flashed past the red one, which was doing circles in a backwater. Red was Cyn’s favorite color. Her long ponytail bounced freely as she trampolined her skinny legs, bouncing up and down trying to dislodge the red leaf.

“Watch out, Cyn. The bank’s going to crumble.”

Lee knew that he’d be the one in trouble if she fell in the drain and got her clothes muddy. But she just laughed and jumped around some more, dangerously close to the edge. “You’ll save me if I fall in, Lee. I know you will.”

The red leaf flipped out of the backwater back into the race, hurtling over rocks and dead branches to make up ground on Yellow.

“Yay!” Cynthia hurried after the colorful little white-water rafters.

He glanced up at the threatening sky. They didn’t have raincoats with them. Still getting used to the Seattle weather after the move from Boston.

Cyn reached down to retrieve victorious Red, almost losing her footing in the process. She held the leaf above her head. “Red wins again! She’s the World Champion racing leaf!”

“Okay, come on. We need to get home before it starts raining.”

“I’m taking her home. Mom said I could keep her in a special book. She’ll never be beaten.”

“A leaf’s not a
her
,
Cyn.”

“She can be, too! Not a
he.
”

He frowned. She needed to learn. “It’s an
it
.”

“You’re just jealous because a girl won. You’ve got that stormy look on your face.” She ran off down the hill towards the narrow road that snaked through the park, kicking piles of dead leaves as she went. The park was deserted, and Lee guessed that the weather was probably to blame. He scrambled back up the slope to retrieve his bag, yelling at Cyn to wait. As he reached the road, a Chevy van sloshed past through puddles, splashing him with muddy water. Now he’d be in trouble.

“Cyn! Wait!” he yelled, his voice muffled by the trees that arched across the road.

Then: “Lee!” It was a frightened shout. He knew immediately something was wrong.

Then she screamed.

He would never forget that sound. Dropping his bag, he sprinted up around the bend. Where was she? The van had stopped up ahead, its side door was open. Maybe Cynthia was ahead of the van and he couldn’t see her? But something inside him was tearing at his gut. A stocky man with shiny black hair was climbing into the back of the van. It was black with no side windows. A Washington plate he told the police later, and although he remembered the number, the van was found empty and burnt out in a dry creekbed in northern Oregon.

The stocky man poked his head out and spoke some words in another language to someone up front. The van started up. Stalled.

“Cyn!” he yelled. He ran.

This time a muffled scream, cut off midstream.

The rain began to sheet down.

He figured he was about thirty yards away when the stocky man slid open the door and pointed a pistol at him. Fired. Missed. Many times since he’d wished that the shot hadn’t missed. Maybe the guy was a crap shot. Or maybe it was because he was trying to hold Cynthia, who was struggling to get out. Later, under hypnosis, he recalled seeing a second child, motionless in the van. Another twelve-year-old girl was reported missing that same day.

The driver shouted something at the shooter, who shifted aim, now pointing the pistol at Cyn’s head. “Stop! Stay back or I kill the girl!” he yelled.

The driver was trying to start the van.
Don’t start, don’t start!
Lee couldn’t shift his gaze from his sister’s tiny face, an ugly pistol shoved against her temple, pleading at him with her eyes. He would never forget that look.

He had failed her. He stopped, his heart pounding, head spinning, gut wanting to explode. It was like his feet were bedded in concrete. Even if he could have moved, he had no idea how he might save Cyn.

The van’s motor turned over and the stocky man laughed. “Hey, kid, you piss your pants. Don’t worry; we take good care of your girl. Now,
vete!
And don’t tell the cops or she dead.” He rammed the door shut and the van drove away.

With the dawn had come a fresh humidity of evaporating dew, the pungent smell of the rainforest, biting insects, the tinnitus of screeching cicadas. And the discomfort of her own sweat. Tally adjusted the straps again. “My neck’s itching like crazy.” She was tired, partly from hiking for six hours, the first three in darkness, and partly because she hadn’t slept a wink after they’d gone back to camp.

Lying awake beside Mac, she’d almost resented his steady breathing. Was she feeling guilty because he now trusted her, and probably shouldn’t? Or because she really wanted to hold him, but knew that her manipulation would feel even more unconscionable if she did. In truth, she was beginning to like what she saw in Mac. She liked his principles. His single-minded determination to do right. His loyalty to his friends. Even his rough streak. And so she had lain awake trying to convince herself that what they were doing was for the greater good. That he would understand, one day when it was all over.

At four a.m., they’d eaten fast, hidden the satphone and her computer, and started off through thick grassland and scrub towards the forbidden zone of Khalid’s land, making good progress despite slowing after sunrise to take photos for their cover story and on one occasion to hide from a passing Army patrol. Mac wanted to find a good observation point above the maintenance compound before sunset.

Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer and gave in to the itch. “Sorry, Mac. I need to rest a minute.” She caught him smiling when she called him Mac, and guessed that this was a good sign.

“I wouldn’t stand there. There’s a fire ant nest behind you. Look how fast they swarm.”

“Holy shit!” She jumped back and watched them from a safe distance as he lifted her pack off.

“You’ve got leeches stuck on your neck.”

“What! Get them off! Quickly!” She pulled a face as her body shuddered.

“Hold still.” Mac lit a match, blew it out then held it against the slugs. He checked the rest of her and brushed several more leeches off her pack. Tally checked Mac, but for some reason, there were none on him.

“God, they’re huge. Looks like they each drank about a pint,” she said, wiping the blood off with her sleeve.

“Obviously you must have sweeter blood.”

They continued past a waterfall and found a position from where they could observe the maintenance compound four hundred yards below. Mac lay down with his binoculars and scanned the ridgeline, almost twelve hundred feet above sea level. He swapped the memory card in his camera and zoomed in for some close-ups. He showed her the photos. There was a pole disguised as a palm tree, with three cameras, several antennae and a satellite dish on top. “That’s the comms tower,” he said. “There’s a security camera on top.”

She ducked down further. “Do you think they can see us?”

“Not here. And if we stay out of the camera’s line of sight, we should be okay. But they might have infrared, which could be a problem at night. That security camera’s going to make it difficult to sneak into the resort grounds without being spotted.”

“Mmm. I’d need to get close enough to pick up their wireless network, if they have one. This crater ridge is a barrier.” She turned her binoculars towards the maintenance compound and counted twenty-one cabins in the western section and four larger buildings in the eastern section. The dhow they’d seen unloading the previous day was gone. A variety of vehicles were parked nearby, and a small motorboat had been pulled up on the beach. A gravel track outside the compound ended at a gate with a sign displaying a lightning bolt; the fence was electrified. A light tower at each corner of the compound had a camera. “It’s like a concentration camp.”

Mac’s jaw seemed to set. “Not for much longer.”

As they watched, two guards with weapons slung over their shoulders strolled out of the larger building. One of them waited while the other disappeared inside the building by the jetty and soon after emerged to continue the rounds. They checked the locks on the external gate and walked through the unlocked gate to the accommodation section. It started to shower, and the men hurried back to the control building.

“They don’t seem to have many guards,” Tally said, pulling the hood of her waterproof jacket over her wet hair. “The accommodation wing looks empty.”

“Maybe Khalid doesn’t want the facility to stand out on satellite photos. Easier to disguise a place if there are only a few armed guards.”

“How do you guys stand this? Lying around for hours looking through binoculars in the rain and heat.”

“Or cold and wind.” Mac looked at her and stifled a laugh. “I guess it’s the thrill of anticipation.”

He was being deliberately suggestive, she decided. Then she considered how she must look to him: wet, tussled and dirty hair, mud on her face and arms. “Well, what did you expect? Mary Poppins?”

“Actually,” he said with a grin, “I think I got Lara Croft.”

“I need to go for a little walk,” she said, after Mac shook her awake from her nap. It had stopped raining. Her quick-dry Columbia pants were soaked, and clung uncomfortably to her legs. She took a pair of dry ones and clean panties from her pack.

He handed her a plastic bag. “Put it in this. We’ll carry it out.”

“Look, there are some things… There’s no way I am shitting into a plastic bag and carrying it around with me. Pass the toilet paper.”

“Toilet paper? Who are you kidding? Use the fern leaves over by the waterfall.”

She shot him a contemptuous look, snatched the bag and scrambled down the slippery slope out of sight. A few minutes later she was struggling halfway back up, holding the bag as far away as physically possible, when she lost her footing. The bag went flying and she tumbled back down the slope. A tree root caught her boot, pulling her up sharply near the base of the falls.

“Ow!” She lay back and closed her eyes as tears welled. She was tired, cranky, and miserable, and now on top of that, her ankle throbbed like hell.

Mac was sliding down. She wiped away the tears. “Crap. It’s my ankle. I’ve always been a klutz. Sorry.” She had to raise her voice above the noise of the cascading water.

Mac carefully extracted her foot from the boot and pulled off the sock. He gently felt around the ankle. She winced at the sharp pain. Already it had started to swell.

“Good news. Nothing broken. Bad news: you won’t be jogging for a couple days.” He picked her up with seeming ease and carried her to the base of the falls. “Put your foot in the cold water. It’ll stop the swelling.”

While she soaked her foot in the icy water, he kept watch. After a few minutes, he began to take a keen interest in the rocks around the waterfall, and wandered off without speaking. He returned with her crap bag and took it back up the hill to their observation post. A few minutes later he appeared with a Maglite. He took off his shirt and trousers and put his sunglasses on a rock.

“What are you doing?”

He didn’t reply, but waded into the pool, through the spray of the falls. He must be having a wash, she thought. She turned her head, taking occasional glances out of curiosity. He finally emerged, drenched, shivering with excitement.

“This waterfall is man-made,” he said, laughing. “Fuck, I can’t believe it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come and take a look.”

“As if I’m not wet enough already,” she grumbled.

She took off the dry trousers she’d changed into and zipped up her waterproof jacket. Mac helped her hobble through the cascade. Behind the falls was a ledge, with a lip that carried excess water along to a grate, where it disappeared into the rock. Definitely man-made.

“Weird! What’s its purpose, do you think?” she shouted above the roar.

“Don’t know. But I’m going to find out!”

Back by the pool, they sat and caught their breath. She took off her jacket and shirt. Water had somehow gotten through the jacket. She glanced over at Mac, who was sitting on a rock in the sun in only his shorts. He caught her looking. Then she realized he’d been checking her out, too.

“I’ll be back soon,” he said, hurrying off before she could say anything.

He reappeared with a stick that she could use as a crutch. Then he climbed up the slope and looped a rope around a tree at the top of the falls. Wearing some kind of gloves, he lowered himself down in the spray, feeling his way with his feet. Halfway down, he began to swing back and forth through the pounding falls, and after a few times he disappeared.

Tally sat up. She had a fleeting surge of terror inside, thinking he must have slipped from the rope. But the rope had gone too. Then, after a few minutes, he reappeared and lowered himself down. He came and sat beside her on the sunny rock. Her shirt was still drying.

“I approve,” he said with a grin.

She pursed her lips and crossed her arms to cover her bra.

“There’s an air vent. The crater must be hollow. There’s some sort of facility inside. Underground.”

“Or maybe a tunnel from the maintenance compound to the resort. Can you get in?”

“Not from here. But there has to be an entry somewhere. I’ll check out the maintenance compound tonight.”

At eleven thirty p.m., with clouds covering the moon, they began their descent down toward the maintenance compound. Carrying both packs while Tally hobbled along, Mac left her in a concealed position west of the perimeter fence, then moved quietly around the fence line to the other side of the compound. It didn’t take long to find some washed-up rubbish he could use for camouflage. An empty ten-gallon plastic container, a piece of foam, and several chunks of driftwood, which he bound together with cable ties into a man-made cluster of jetsam.

With the two-way radio and his camera in a waterproof bag and his knife in an ankle sheath, he swam amid the floating rubbish out beyond the perimeter fence and towards the long jetty. After forty minutes, he allowed himself to drift in towards shore.