Marauder (Oregon Files 15)

“Renee LaBelle, I’d like you to meet your new friends.”

He introduced each of them, but Renee was more interested in the bandage on his hand.

“What happened to you?”

“Actually, that’s why we’re here. Without my knowing it, I was part of a plan that has made a lot of people ill, and now I’m trying to make amends. There might be a tree nut on Christmas Island that can help cure them, and we need to find it.”

“What is it?”

“Rand’s palm.”

Renee nodded slowly as she was thinking. “It’s endemic to the island. Rather rare. The trees are scattered throughout the national park, but there’s only one large grove I know about.”

“Can you tell us where it is?” Juan asked.

“Even better. I can show you.” She smiled at Parsons. “I took the day off so we could catch up.”

As they walked out to the parking lot, Juan said, “Did you see who got out of that private plane?”

Renee shook her head. “When I got here, I asked if that was your plane, but the security guard said it was government types headed out to the immigration detention center. We get them here from time to time to transport some of the detainees to other locations.” She stopped at a silver Mercedes SUV. “You can borrow my G-Wagen.”

“Is there room for all of us?”

“No. That’s why I had a friend drop it off here for you. Bob and I will drive my other car.”

She pointed behind the SUV to an exquisite Jaguar convertible with burgundy-colored paint, a tan and red leather interior, and wire-spoked wheels.

“Now, that’s a car,” Linc said.

“It’s my toy, a 1955 Jaguar XK140. It has the Special Equipment engine option, which is good for two hundred kilometers per hour. Mostly, I just take it for spins around the island with the top down on nice sunny days like today.”

Parsons leaned over and whispered to Juan. “I didn’t mention that her family is rich, did I?”

“You left that part out.”

“Smart, beautiful, and rich. I was an idiot for letting her get away.”

“I can’t disagree with you on that one.”

“Shall we?” Renee said, hopping into the Jaguar’s driver’s seat.

“We shall,” Parsons said, squeezing into the passenger seat.

The rest of them got in the Mercedes. Juan drove with Eddie beside him and the others in the back.

The Jag took off with a throaty roar, shaking the SUV’s windows with the exhaust note from its twin tailpipes. Juan had to step on it to keep up.

Other than the small town of Flying Fish Cove at the north end, the island was sparsely inhabited. Soon they were driving through a dense tropical rain forest.

According to the research they’d done on the flight in, Christmas Island wasn’t a huge travel destination since there were very few beaches. Most of the shoreline consisted of jagged rocks. Tourists who came were most interested in the biodiversity, including the massive annual red crab migration. Apparently, the Oregon team had missed it by only a couple of weeks.

The only other industries were several phosphate mines, with some quarries dating from the 1800s, and the immigration detention center on the west side of the island.

Renee led them on a winding course through the island until she stopped along the side of the road just past a metal overpass. Juan came to a stop behind her and got out.

“We can leave the cars here. Everyone knows them, so no one will bother them.” She turned and pointed at the overpass behind them. “That’s for the red crabs to cross the road during the migration. Otherwise, they’d get squashed by cars.”

“I’ll try to come back and see it sometime,” Juan said. “How far are we from the grove?”