“Until I was crazy with lust and not thinking too clearly.”
“I lied to you, yes!” she cried. She feared the seductiveness of his words and had to stop them. “I tricked and deceived you, yes. Suffered your insufferable embraces. I’d do it again if that’s what it took to get these children to safety.”
“Remember me in your prayers tonight, Sister Kerry,” he growled. “I sure as hell need them.”
He quickly tossed the dregs of his coffee into the fire. The live coals hissed like a serpent. A cloud of smoke rose up between them, symbolic of the hell he was going through to keep himself from touching her.
Chapter 4
They came out of nowhere. The brush on either side of the road shifted and moved; suddenly, the truck was surrounded by guerrilla fighters who seemed to have sprouted from the trees.
Linc stamped on the brakes. They squealed as the truck skidded to a halt on the narrow gravel road. The children screamed in fright. Kerry, her screams mingling with the others, pulled little Lisa closer.
When the dust settled, everything was as motionless as a photograph. No one moved. Even the jungle birds sensed impending danger and were silent in their hideouts overhead.
The band of rebel fighters held M-16s and Uzis at their hips. The automatic weapons were, without exception, aimed at the truck and its terrified occupants. The guerrillas’ faces were young, but sinister. Some had yet to grow their first whiskers, but they had the implacable eyes of men who weren’t afraid either to kill or be killed.
From the looks of their clothing, they had been living in the jungle for a long time. What hadn’t been purposely streaked with mud for camouflage was stained with sweat and dirt and blood. Their muscles rippled. The glaring sunlight was reflected off their sweat-oiled skin. Their bodies were lean, hard, as unyielding as their menacing expressions.
Linc, having been in every war zone since Vietnam, recognized the unchanging, uncompromising expression of men who had been killing for too long. These men were inured to death. A human life, even their own, held little value for them.
He knew better than to do anything stupid in the name of heroism. He kept both hands on the steering wheel where they could easily see them. About the only thing he, Kerry and the children had going for them was that they obviously weren’t part of El Presidente’s army. If they had been, the truck wouldn’t have been stopped, it would have been destroyed and they would be jungle fodder by now.
“Kerry,” Linc called back to her, “stay where you are. I’ll handle this. Keep the children as calm and quiet as possible. Tell the guerrillas that I’m going to open the door and get out.”
She delivered Linc’s message in Spanish. There was no response from the ring of hostile faces. Linc took that to mean that there was no argument. He slowly lowered his left hand. Several of the soldiers reacted instantly.
“No, no!” Kerry shouted. Rapidly she begged them to hold their fire and explained that Senor O’Neal only wanted to talk to them. Bravely Linc lowered his hand again and pulled on the door handle. Warily he stepped out. With his hands raised above his head, he moved away from the truck.
Kerry gasped inaudibly when one of the guerrillas lunged forward and snatched the pistol out of his belt. He was told to unholster the machete and, even though he wasn’t fluent in Spanish, he understood the threat underlying the barked order and complied without hesitation.
“We’re taking the children to a town near the border,” he said in a loud, clear voice, “where there’s food and shelter for them. They’re orphans. We’re not your enemy. Let us—”
Linc’s explanation was brought to a violent halt when one of the guerrillas stepped forward and backhanded him across the mouth. His head snapped around, following the impetus behind the blow. Linc, who had mastered street fighting before he had cut all his molars, came back with his fist clenched and his teeth bared. Before he could launch a counterattack, however, the soldier punched him in the stomach. Linc went down in the dusty road. The corner of his lip was dripping blood.
Kerry vaulted over the side of the pickup and ran to where Linc was lying, clutching his bruised ribs. She ignored the automatic rifles pointed at her and faced the guerrilla.
“Por favor señor, let us talk to you,” she said hurriedly.
“I told you to stay out of this,” Linc growled, coming up on one knee. “Get back in the truck.”
“And let you get beaten to death?” she hissed down at him. Swinging her long braid over her shoulder she faced the man who had hit Linc. The insignia on his beret designated him the highest ranking rebel in the group. “What Mr. O’Neal told you is true,” she told him in Spanish. “We’re only taking the children to a safer place.”
“You’re in a truck belonging to El Presidente.” He spat in the road near her feet. Kerry held her ground and prayed that Linc would.
“That’s right. I stole it from El Presidente’s army.”
One of the soldiers roughly hauled Joe out of the cab and conducted a search of it. He came back to his leader, carrying the uniform jacket and cap. The leader thrust them at Kerry accusingly.
She said, “The careless officer left them in the truck when he went inside a tavern to drink and enjoy the women.” That produced a stir of resentment among the guerrillas.
“What’s going on?” Linc asked. He was standing beside her now. A thin trickle of blood was oozing down his chin, and he was subconsciously rubbing his left ribs. Otherwise he seemed unharmed. Just virulently angry.
“He asked me why we were driving an army truck. I had to explain about the uniform.”
Lisa began to cry. A few of the other children were whimpering in fright. The captain of the band was getting nervous. He glanced up and down the stretch of road. He rarely exposed his men to snipers for this long.
He rattled off a series of terse commands. One of his men jumped into the cab of the truck, ordering Joe into the back with the rest of the children.