Where There's Smoke

She extended her hand, and he enfolded it in a warm, damp clasp. “You’re looking well,” she said.

“And you.”

“Have you learned anything about where my daughter is buried?”

“I’m afraid not. I’ve made inquiries, but to no avail. I’m sorry.”

The news was disappointing but not surprising. “I knew it wasn’t going to be easy.” Just then Key stepped off the wing. “This is Key Tackett.”

“Father,” he said in a clipped voice. “Thanks for sending those coordinates. Without them, we’d never have found you.”

“I’m glad they were useful.”

“Are you sure you weren’t followed?”

“Reasonably sure.”

Key frowned. “Well, let’s get this baby out of sight before we attract company.”

“I assure you,” the priest said, “for the time being, we’re safe.”

“I don’t like to take chances. Which way?”

“Because of the revolution, the drug traffic has slacked off considerably. The strip hasn’t been used in a while. I brought along a machete, and while I was waiting for you I cleared out some brush.” He indicated what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of jungle.

“Let’s get to it.”

After hacking away some of the densest brush, the three pushed the airplane off the landing strip. They retrieved the few items they’d brought with them, including the hidden rifle, then covered the plane with the brush.

“This is a remote spot,” the priest said to Key, who was surveying the camouflaged aircraft from every angle. “Even in daylight I don’t think it’ll be detected. Allow me, Mrs. Porter.”

He picked up Lara’s duffel and the camera bag and headed for the jeep. Hoisting his own duffel and the rifle to his shoulder, Key spoke to Lara in an undertone.

“You failed to mention that the padre is a drunk.”

“He’s been conducting Mass. That’s sacramental wine on his breath.”

“Like hell. It’s Jamaican rum. I’ve vomited up enough of it to know how it smells.”

“Then you’re in no position to judge.”

“I don’t care if he guzzles horse piss, so long as he’s reliable.”

Before she could defend the charge, they reached the jeep. Father Geraldo, who wore his forty years as though they were sixty, helped Key stow their gear in the back. “If you don’t mind riding back here, it will be more comfortable for Mrs. Porter in front.”

“I don’t mind,” Key said, easily swinging himself up into the backseat. “From here I can guard our rear.”

“Well said.” The priest smiled at him. “We live in turbulent times.”

“Right. Over drinks some time I’d love to philosophize with you. Now, I think we’d better relocate. Pronto.”

If the priest took umbrage at Key’s reference to drinks, he didn’t show it. After assisting Lara into the passenger seat, he climbed behind the steering wheel. “Best to leave the lights off until we approach the city. The roads are sometimes patrolled at night.”

“By whom?” Key wanted to know.

“By whoever wants to patrol them. It changes on a daily basis.”

“What’s the political climate like now?” Lara asked.