Where There's Smoke

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.