“Teaching them. I’ve been here for ten months. Their parents are all dead, or considered so. Their village was burned out a month ago. We’ve been foraging for food and living in temporary shelters while arrangements were being made to get them out of Monterico and into the United States.”
“What arrangements? With whom?”
“The Hendren Foundation, named in honor of Hal Hendren, a missionary who was killed here almost two years ago. His family founded the relief organization soon after his death.”
“And you think they’ll be at that rendezvous point as they said they would?”
“Absolutely.”
“How’d you get your information?”
“By courier.”
He barked a laugh. “Who would sell his sister for a package of Lucky Strikes. Which incidentally I need badly,” he muttered, slapping his pockets until he found a pack. He discovered it was empty. “Got any?”
“No.”
“Figures.” He cursed. A long, disgusted breath filtered through his teeth. “Do you trust this courier?”
“His two sisters are among the orphans. He wants them taken out. His father was shot by the regular army as a spy for the rebels. His mother was...she was killed, too.”
Linc propped himself against the side of the truck and gnawed on his lower lip. He looked down at his film. It was the proverbial spilled milk if he’d ever seen it. Forgiveness would be a long time in coming, but there was nothing he could do to save the film now.
He had only two choices left to him. He could return to the city and beg that despot who called himself a president for mercy. Even if it was granted, he would go home empty-handed. The other choice was equally distasteful. He still wasn’t ready to become an ally of this butterfly cum Mata Hari.
“Why did you have to kidnap me?”
“Would you have come with me if I had said ‘Pretty please’?” She got only a dark scowl for an answer. “I didn’t think so. I didn’t think any mercenary would want to bother with a group of children.”
“You were right. He probably would have taken your advance money, followed you to the hideout, cut the kids’ throats, raped you before killing you, and considered it a good day’s work.”
She turned pale and folded her arms across her middle. “I never thought of that.”
“There’s a lot you haven’t thought of. Like food. And fresh water.”
“I was counting on you...on whomever...to think about all those details.”
“Not details,” he said with aggravation. “Fundamental necessities.” She resented his speaking to her as though she were simpleminded. “I’m not fainthearted, Mr. O’Neal. I’ll suffer any hardship I have to in order to get those children out of the country.”
“They could all die before we cover that fifty miles. Are you prepared for that?”
“If they stay, they’ll perish anyway.”
He pondered her for a moment and decided that she might not be all fluff after all. It had taken considerable grit to do what she had done last night. “Where is the rendezvous point?”
Gladness shone in her face, but she didn’t smile. Instead she turned and rushed to a hollowed-out fallen tree at the edge of the clearing. After poking a stick into it to clean out any snakes that might be harboring there from the heat, she reached in and pulled out a backpack. Unbuckling it as she crossed the clearing, she produced a map as soon as she reached the truck. She spread it out on the sun-baked hood.
“Here,” she said, pointing. “And we’re here.”
Linc had been traveling with rebel guerrillas in recent weeks. He knew where the majority of fighting was concentrated. He looked down at the woman’s expectant face, his golden eyes as hard as stones.
“That’s troop-infested, solid jungle.”
“I know.”
“So why there?”
“Because it is so heavily patrolled. They use the least sophisticated radar equipment along that stretch of the border. The plane will have a better chance to get through without being detected.”