The Payback Assignment (8 page)

           
“What about you?”
 
Morgan asked.
 
“How did you come to be alone, in the jungles of Belize, miles from civilization, and so, well, inappropriately dressed?”
 
This guy sounded mighty literate for a grunt type field soldier to her.
 
She figured she had best tread lightly.

           
“Well, the truth is, a business associate of mine decided to play a little trick on me.”

           
The two travelers glanced at each other.
 
She decided she liked his smile and got the impression he liked hers.
 
After the brief nonverbal exchange he turned his attention back to driving.
 

“How long you been out here?” Morgan asked.

Felicity looked down, shaking her head in self-mockery.
 
“Gawd, I spent the night in a tree.”

Nodding, Morgan reached up under his seat and presented her with a green plastic canteen.

“You dear, sweet man is that water?”
 
A shake told her that the canteen was about two thirds full.
 
She gratefully accepted it, starting to guzzle greedily.
 
The water was warm, but it was wet and clean, and she hadn’t known how thirsty she was until she tasted the first precious drop.

           
“Slowly,” Morgan said.
 
“If you drink too fast, you’ll give yourself cramps.
 
How long since you’ve had any water?”

           
“I don’t know,” Felicity said between swallows.
 
“Late yesterday afternoon I guess.
 
Is this all we got?”

           
“Afraid so,” Morgan said.
 
“And we won’t have any more for a while.
 
The next safe town is about thirty-five clicks away.
 
I kind of need to stick to small towns until we hit Mexico.”

           
Felicity nodded.
 
“Hey, can I ask you a question?”
 
When Morgan shrugged, she continued.
 
“You sure seem to know this area awfully well.
 
How is it you know which way to go?”

           
“Got a map,” Morgan said.
 
“The next town is almost due north.”

           
“Oh.
 
You’ve got a compass too, then.”

           
“Nope.
 
Don’t need one.
 
Always know where north is.
 
Now, any more questions?”
 
His face flashed defiance, as if he expected an argument.

“Well, yes.
 
What’s a click?”

           
“A kilometer,” Morgan said, flashing a sarcastic smile.
 
“Thirty-five clicks is about...”

           
“I know what a kilometer is.
 
Thirty-five kilometers is a little over twenty miles, I’d guess.
 
Not far, really.”

           
However, fifteen minutes later, their transportation almost vetoed their plan.
 
The jeep slipped completely out of gear.
 
Morgan almost growled, but despite his playing the pedals furiously, it happened again.
 
Noxious fumes belched out of the undercarriage.
 
Morgan’s right arm knotted as he yanked and shoved the gearshift lever. Alternately cursing and pleading, Morgan managed to cajole the vehicle to the edge of a dirt street village in first gear.
   

           
“Any idea what’s wrong?” Felicity asked.
 
Morgan looked at her as if she just asked him what the steering wheel was.

           
“Oh, nothing except a burned out transmission.
 
Probably just hasn’t been serviced right.
 
No big surprise.”

           
“Well, how far are we from any place worth being?” she asked as they descended from the jeep.

           
“About five clicks from the border.”

           
“Three miles,” Felicity said.
 
“Not that bad.
 
How about to a real city?”

           
“Two hundred and seventy miles from Merida.
 
Long walk,” he said.
 
“Especially with...” his voice trailed off.

           
“With what?” she asked.
 
“Excess baggage?”

           
“You said it, I didn’t.”

           
“I’ll try to keep up,” she said.
 
“Now, do you suppose we can get something to eat in this place?”

           
A sharp look told her she might be pushing too hard.
 
Grabbing up the canteen and shoving his submachine gun into a sack from the back seat, Morgan headed toward town.
 
The track they were on slowly swelled to almost twice its width.
 
It appeared to be the village’s main street.
 
In fact, Felicity began to suspect it was the only street.
 
Despite his long, powerful stride, she followed close behind her rescuer.
 
His grim visage would intimidate anyone they encountered, including her.
 
She simply could not understand why some people can’t try to make the best of a bad situation.

           
As they passed a couple of small shacks Felicity got the feeling she had seen this very village in an old spaghetti western.
 
Unwashed children played in the unpaved street, which was lined with wooden buildings.
 
They walked into a small cafe, which also looked like something out of the Old West.
 
A bar counter spanned one wall, in front of shelves crowded with unrecognizable bottles.
 
The rest of the space was cluttered with round wooden tables.
 
Only two of the tables were occupied, in both cases by older couples.
 
The looked fairly clean, despite the fact that it smelled of hot oil and perspiration.

Morgan moved toward a table in the corner, reaching for the chair with the best view of the door.
 
Felicity liked sitting with her back to the corner as well, but settled for the side with her back to the wall.
 
From habit, she stood next to her seat, waiting.
 
Morgan sat down, evidently oblivious to her.
 
With a sigh, she seated herself.
 
She had a good view of both the door, and his face.

           
Surely they made an unusual sight in this rural locale, or in fact anywhere, but the aging proprietor hastened over to them.
 
He seemed to make a point of not noticing anything odd about them, as if he dealt with armed black soldiers and ragged barefoot white women all the time.

           
“Buenos dias,” he said pleasantly.

“English?” Morgan asked, not looking up.

The tavern owner nodded and his smile never changed.
 
“Good morning.
 
Our menu is small, but I can offer you fresh lemonade on this hot day.”

           
“We’ll take a pitcher,” Morgan said.
 
“Strong and sweet.
 
And a fat beef enchilada.
 
Re-fried beans.
 
Small bowl of chili.
 
Twice.”

           
The old man nodded more deeply and moved away.
 
When he was gone, Felicity leaned toward Morgan and said in conspiratorial tones, “He speaks English!”

           
“Of course he does,” Morgan said.
 
“Belize is not Mexico, you know.
 
You’ll hear a lot of Spanish here, and a kind of Cajun dialect, but English is the official language.
 
This little country was a British Crown Colony for a hundred years.
 
Only got its independence in ‘81.”

           
“Oh.”
 
Felicity fell silent.
 
She was sure she must look like a total idiot to him, and did not want to give him any further evidence.
 
His mind seemed light years away anyway, which suited her just fine.
 
It gave her time to think.
 
As always, she had a plan.
 
It percolated in her mind while she excused herself to visit the ladies room.
 
It too proved clean, although she didn’t enjoy washing her face and hands in cold water.

           
When she returned to the table, she saw that Morgan had also washed while she was gone.
 
She found him easier to look at with clean hands and face but she wished he would smile more.
 
Soon after she sat down their food came, on chipped china plates.
 
Morgan fell on his hungrily.
 
Felicity poured and emptied two glasses of lemonade before she even approached the food.
 
She finally lifted a fork full of the beans as if judging their weight, and dropped them back onto her plate.

           
“How can you eat this disgusting, overly spiced slop?” she whispered.

           
“Hey, when you’re hungry, food is food,” Morgan said between mouthfuls.
 
He continued in an imitation Massachusetts accent that surprised her.
 
“I suppose you’ve got the cultivated palate of a gourmet.
 
Too bad.
 
I’ve eaten too much mess hall food, in the U.S. and a few other armies.
 
My taste buds retired long ago.”

           
Despite her reservations, only seconds passed before the necessity of hunger drove Felicity to taste parts of her meal.
 
Two minutes later she was eating steadily, and soon was devouring her food greedily.
 
She had nearly finished her greasy meal when she suddenly looked up.

           
“Do you have any money?”

           
“About twenty dollars American,” Morgan said.
 
“More than enough for the meal.”

           
“Wait a minute.
 
You travel in a foreign country with just twenty dollars in your pocket?”

           
Morgan’s face hardened again.
 
“I didn’t get paid for my last job.”

           
“Hm.
 
You know, the men who stranded me also stole something from me,” Felicity said between bites of enchilada.
 
“I’d be willing to pay you a fair amount if you’d help me get it back.”

           
“What’s your idea of fair?
 
I’m pretty expensive help.
 
Besides, right now I don’t even know when we’ll get to civilization.
 
Hell, I don’t even know where I’m going next.”

           
“Look, I’ve got plenty of money,” Felicity said, pushing the last of her rice onto her fork.
 
“I just don’t have any with me.
 
I lost my purse in the jungle in the dark.
 
As for how we’ll get to civilization, don’t be worrying your little head about it.
 
I spotted an old pickup truck down the road.
 
Nobody will miss it.
 
You said Merida was less than three hundred miles away, right?
 
We can be there tonight.
 
I can wire for cash from there and we can fly to my Los Angeles home.”

           
“Hold on!”
 
Morgan said.
 
“You’re moving a little fast here.”

           
“I thought you were an adventurer.
 
Besides, do you have anywhere else to go?”