Where There's Smoke (54 page)

"Don't sound so superior.
 
Your animal lust' for a married woman got you shot!
 
Besides, that's ancient history.
 
Why bring it up now?"

"Because if I don't make it out of this godforsaken banana republic, I'd like to think I died for a noble cause.
 
I'd like to believe that you were more than a roll in the sack for my horny brother, and that for you he wasn't just a convenient diversion from an unhappy marriage.

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him to go to hell.
 
But, in effect, she had placed her life in his hands.
 
Without him, her chances of surviving this trip were nil.
 
Like it or not, they were comrades with a common goal.
 
Infighting should be kept to a minimum.

"Despite the way our relationship ended, I loved Clark," she said.

"I believe with all my heart that he loved me.
 
Does that make this mission noble enough for you?"

"Was he Ashley's father?"

She hadn't seen that curveball coming.
 
For a moment she was dumbstruck.
 
She had never hinted that Clark had fathered her child.

Not even the news hounds with the sharpest teeth had sunk that particular fang into her.
 
On second thought, she realized, she shouldn't be surprised that Key was the first to raise the question.

It was characteristically shocking.

"I can't answer that."

"You mean you don't know?
 
You were screwing them at the same time?"

"I'll rephrase," Lara said heatedly.
 
"I won't answer.
 
Not until we ve done what we came down here to do."

"What difference does it make?"

"You're the one who asked about Ashley's parentage.
 
You tell me if it makes a difference."

"Oh, I see.
 
You think I might try harder to find her remains if she was a Tackett."
 
He made a disagreeable sound.
 
"Your opinion of me must be even lower than I thought.
 
Exactly where do I rank on your scale of life forms?
 
A notch above pond scum?
 
Or a notch below?"

Anger was a supreme waste of energy considering the ordeal facing them.

"Look, Key, we've certainly had our differences.
 
We've both slung more than our share of mud.
 
Some of it was warranted.
 
Some of it was spiteful.
 
But I trust you.
 
If I didn't, I wouldn't have asked you to bring me down here."

"You had no other options."

"I could have hired a mercenary.

"You couldn't afford the going rate."

"Probably not, but shortage of funds wouldn't have stopped me.

Eventually I would have gotten the money, even if I'd had to wait for my inheritance."

"But you felt that we Tacketts owed you this."

"That wasn't it entirely."
 
She hesitated; he looked over at her.

"True, I came to Eden Pass specifically to coerce you into bringing me down here.
 
But I didn't expect to feel this confident about my Their eyes locked and held for several moments.
 
Finally Lara turned away.

"Once we're safely on our way back home, I promise to tell you anything you want to know.
 
In the meantime, don't throw any more poison darts, okay?
 
I won't throw any either."

He said nothing for several minutes.
 
When he did, he spoke in a gruff voice on a topic unrelated to Ashley's origins.
 
"One way or another, we'll be going down soon."

"One way or another?"

"We'll either reach the coast and find the landing strip, or we'll run out of fuel and ditch into the ocean.
 
In the meantime, why don't you try to get some sleep."

"Is that supposed to be a joke?"

He grinned.
 
"Yes."

"Not funny."

She searched the horizon but didn't see even a seam in the darkness.

Key carefully monitored the instruments.
 
She noticed the decrease in their altitude.

"You're going down?"

"Below five hundred feet, just in case their radar is more sophisticated than you think.
 
You're sure the priest will be there?"

"I don't have an ironclad guarantee."
 
He'd grilled her on this a thousand times.
 
She was as sure as she could be under the circumstances.
 
"He's been given our estimated time of arrival.
 
When he hears the airplane approaching, he's to light torches on the landing strip."

"Torches," he said scoffingly.
 
"Probably tomato soup cans filled with kerosene."

"He'll be there and so will the torches."

"The wind's picked up to twenty knots."

"Is that bad?"

"Less than ten would be ideal.
 
Forty would be impossible.
 
I'll settle for twenty.
 
Crosswinds are always a factor along a seacoast.
 
I wonder how close the jungle is to the shore?"

"Why?"

"This late at night it could produce ground fog, which could mean that we'd miss not only the torches but the mountain.
 
Until we ran into it, of course."

Her palms began to sweat.
 
"Can you think of anything encouraging?"

"Yes."

"What?"

"If I die, Janellen will be doubly rich."

"I thought you were the fearless pilot," she said with exasperation.

"The Sky King of the nineties.
 
You told me you could fly anything, anywhere, anytime."

He wasn't listening.
 
"There's the shore."
 
He checked the loran.

"We're here.
 
Start watching for the lights.
 
It's up to you.

"Why me?"

"Because I've got to keep us from crashing into those goddamn mountains while keeping below five hundred feet.
 
It's dicey.
 
At least there's no fog."

The rocky shore could vaguely be detected on the horizon.
 
Eons ago, a chunk of mountain had broken away from the strip of Central America that is now Montesangre.
 
That chunk had drifted into the Pacific ocean where it became an island three hundred and eighty miles offshore.
 
In a geological time frame, this had been a recent event.
 
The jagged tear in the mountain range hadn't had time to erode into sandy beaches.

Thus, the mountains dominated Montesangre's coast and formed an inhospitable shore.

Consequently, the country had not enjoyed the healthy tourist trade of its more fortunate neighbors who depended on vacationers from North America and Europe to support their national economies.
 
Such economic deprivation had caused more than one armed conflict between Montesangre and surrounding Central American republics.

From the air, the mountain range resembled the letter C, which curved from the interior of the country, forming a northern border with the neighboring nation, then running parallel to the shore for miles before tapering off.
 
In the hollow of that C nestled the capital city, Ciudad Central.
 
Ninety-five percent of Montesangre's population was concentrated in the city proper or in scattered villages surrounding it.

Beyond those villages in all directions stretched miles of dense jungle, populated only by wildlife, vegetation, and several tribes of Indians who lived very much as they had for centuries, without the enlightening, or corrupting, elements of modern civilization.

Lara had flown into Montesangre only once before; after her arrival she hadn't left the country until the day she was transported out, injured and unconscious.
 
As the shore became hastily more distinguishable, she was filled with a sense of dread.
 
She recalled how miserably unhappy she had been when she arrived with Randall.
 
On that day, she'd had only the knowledge of the life growing inside her womb to sustain her and buoy her ravaged spirit.
 
Ashley was the only reason she ever would have returned.

"Also keep an eye out for other aircraft," Key said.
 
"I can't do any sightseeing."

"No one knows we're coming."

"You hope.
 
Just in case, I don't want an army helicopter flying up our ass, do you?"

Lara glanced at him.
 
The cockpit's temperature was comfortable, but a trickle of sweat was running down his bearded cheek.
 
Her skin too was damp with nervous perspiration.

"We've got nowhere else to go but down," he muttered as he read the gauges.
 
I couldn't even make it out of Montesangren airspace.

We're shit-out of fuel.
 
Where're the goddamn torches?"

Frantically Lara leaned forward and scanned the coastline.
 
She saw nothing but a narrow stretch of beach that bled into the tree line.

The mountains loomed darkly above it.

What if Father Geraldo wasn't there?
 
What if he'd been tortured until he divulged information?
 
What if it was known by the rebel commanders that the widow of the late U.S. ambassador was returning?
 
Not only her life but Key's would be in peril.
 
There would be no one to help them.

They would be at the mercy of their captors and, as Lara knew, the Montesangrens were not a merciful people.

Their best hope would be to crash and die instantly.

"Shit!"

"What?"

"I've got to pull her up.
 
Hold on."
 
He pushed forward on the throttle quadrant and the craft went into a hard climb.
 
Lara looked below.

They barely cleared the crest of the mountain.
 
Key banked to the left and skimmed the steep, vegetated walls before swinging back out over the surf.

"Where's the padre, Lara?"

"I don't know."
 
Anxiously she pulled her lower lip through her teeth.

She'd been confident that their escort would be there.

"See anything?"

"Wait!
 
I think I see "Where?"

"Four o'clock."

He executed another drastic maneuver that sent her stomach plunging.

She closed her eyes to regain her equilibrium.
 
When she opened them, the horizon was back in place and three small dots of light were glimmering below and ahead of them.
 
Then a fourth flickered on.

"That's him!"
 
she cried.
 
"He's here.
 
I told you he would be."

"Hang on.
 
We're going in.

He leveled the aircraft and decreased their altitude and air speed.

Sooner than Lara anticipated, the spots of light were rushing toward them.
 
They landed with a hard bump.
 
The plane bounced along the uneven dirt strip.
 
Key put all his strength into pushing the throttle forward.
 
He practically stood on the foot pedals.
 
The landing strip was built on an incline to assist slowing them down and facilitating a short landing.
 
Still, it seemed to take forever to stop.
 
They came breathtakingly close to the trees at the end of the crude runway.

He turned off the motor.
 
They sighed with relief.
 
Key placed his hand on her knee.
 
"Okay?"