A little farther on, around a sharp bend, they halted once more.
Holy mother, said Tony.
Yeah, said Cory.
Oh, cool, said Sam.
Chapter 7
Directly ahead of them, a large, multi-level house had been built close in against the side of the ravine. Supported by stilts and cantilevered decks and constructed mostly of bamboo with a roof of thatch, it appeared almost to be a part of the surrounding vegetation, making it virtually invisible from both above and below.
Tony said in an awed tone, This reminds me of a tree house I used to have.
Sam threw him an interested look. Really?
No, Tony admitted, grinning back at her, but I sure do wish, dont you?
From a balcony jutting off the top level of the house, yet another rifle-bearing guard wearing camouflage waved them on. The path grew steeper and slippery with spray from the numerous small streams cascading down the side of the ravine. Foliage crowded close and obscured the sky overhead, giving the light a greenish quality, as if they were underwater. There was an eerie beauty about the place, a timeless tranquility-like Eden, Sam thought, and she felt a momentary pang, knowing the catastrophe she was about to bring down upon it. What a shame, she thought, that people have to bring their wars into such a paradise.
Wars. Until now, she hadnt ever thought of what she was doing as fighting a war; she definitely didnt see herself as any kind of soldier. Shed signed on to help track down terrorists, to stop them from killing innocent people. As far as she was concerned, her job was to put an end to the senseless destruction and havoc of war, not cause it.
Butthere was nothing to be done about it. She had a job to do, whatever label anyone chose to put on it. And from the looks of this setup, the amount of security in this place, it was going to be going down soon.
The path crossed the tumbling stream on a bamboo footbridge before coming to an end at a series of bamboo steps leading down to the lowest deck. The light here was dim and the air cool, even though beyond the ravine Sam knew the sun would already be climbing, promising another hot and humid day.
They followed their escort across the deck, through an open doorway and into a large, shadowy room. It was even cooler here, the light so weak it was a moment before Sams eyes adjusted enough to see that the room was already occupied. At the far end of the room, a man was seated cross-legged on cushions covered in brightly colored and intricately patterned fabrics. He was wearing a loose robe made of similar material, which again seemed to her vaguely Indonesian in design. His full beard was liberally streaked with gray, his hair clipped short and nearly covered by a cap of a style that was also more Indonesian than Filipino. His features were neither, however; his face was angular and gaunt, his nose prominent, even hawklike, and the eyes that surveyed them from shadowed sockets were Caucasian.
Her breathing quickened, and so did her heartbeat. Here at last was the infamous Fahad al-Rami.
He lifted a long-fingered, graceful hand and gestured to them as he spoke, in perfect British English. Ah, my American guests. I am certain you must be hungry after your long journey. Refreshments are being prepared for you, but in the meantime, I hope you will join me in a cup of tea. Framed by the beard, his lips curved in a smile that didnt show his teeth. A habit I picked up during my years at Oxford. Please- he nodded at Cory and extended a hand toward a pile of cushions on his right -Mr. Pearson, do be seated. It is an honor to meet you face-to-face at last. I have found our e-mail correspondence enjoyable.
The eyes shifted and the hand moved languidly through the air-like a frond of seaweed, Sam thought, waving with the ocean current-to indicate Tony. And this, I presume, is your photographer, Mr. Whitehall. First, allow me to apologize for asking my men to appropriate your equipment. Im sure you can appreciate the necessity for doing so. Your cameras will, of course, be returned to you, with the understanding that you may take photographs only within these walls.
But first-we must eat. Please-sit. The hand dipped toward another pile of cushions.
After a quizzical glance over at Cory, who had already seated himself and was presently squirming around trying to figure out what to do with his feet, Tony sank gingerly onto the cushions.
For one horrible moment Sam thought she wouldnt be able to hold back her laughter as she watched the two men in their jungle boots and cargo pants attempting to make themselves comfortable in a setting reminiscent of a Persian bordello. A favorite expression of her Grandma Bettys popped into her mind: As out-of-place as a duck on a doily.
Then al-Ramis dead dark eyes slid toward and then over her, and any notion she might have had to laugh vanished in an instant. Heat rose to her cheeks, and she became aware of the steady thump of her own heartbeat.
But when al-Rami spoke again, it was to Cory, in a voice as smooth as silk. As you can see, there will be no need for the services of yourinterpreter. In any case, she would no doubt prefer to rest and freshen up in privacy. Quarters have been prepared which I am sure she will find comfortable. My guard will show her to her room. Refreshments will be brought to her there.
A wave of anger washed over Sam, catching her by surprise and testing her self-control even more sorely than the laughter a moment ago. Loathing clogged her throat like sickness. Her vision shimmered. She was barely aware of Corys face swiveling toward her, his eyes reaching out to her, flashes of warningbeacons of calm. Then, through that mind-fogging rage, she saw his lips quirk sideways in a wry little smile. She could hear his voice, mild and amused, inside her head. Ouch, Sam-I know you loved that!
She began to breathe again, but she was still seething. She answered his nod with a sarcastic one of her own as she turned to follow yet another camouflage-wearing, rifle-toting guard from the room. But every fiber of her being, every part of her, from her free-thinking, independent womans soul to her strong, red-blooded-American womans body to the bare-knuckled tomboy she still was at heart, raged in mute rebellion over being dismissed from the august male presence like a child. No-even worse, a woman.
As she was leaving the room, she lost the battle with her pride and looked back once more at Cory, reaching for him across the vast emptiness of the roomashamed to admit even to herself that right now she wanted-needed-the reassuring touch of those wise blue eyes. But he wasnt looking at her, leaning forward to accept a cup from his host as if, she thought, hed already dismissed her from his mind. A quiver went through her, a manifestation of emotions too intense to contain. She wasnt even sure she could have named them-resentmenthurtloneliness-but she knew for sure there wasnt anything strong or independent or bare-knuckle tomboyish about any of them.
Shake it off, Sammi June.
How many times had her dad said that-before hed gone away to Iraq and gotten shot down and disappeared from her life for eight years-when shed been fouled in a soccer game and lay howling and writhing in the grass? And how many times had she pulled herself together and gotten up, sniffling, to wipe away tears and blood and get right back in the game?
You can do it, Sammi June. Go get em.
Resolutely, she banished the hurt and the loneliness. But she held on to the anger, tucking it away in the back of her mind like a secret talisman.
She was taken to a room up one flight of bamboo stairs from the large main room. It was sparsely furnished-a pile of those same all-purpose cushions on the floor, a small bamboo table and stool near the only window-but seemed hospitable enough. A basin filled with water sat on the table, and a shelf below held folded cloth towels.
Her escort nodded her into the room, then closed the door and departed-hurriedly, and without a word or a smile, as if anxious to get as far away from her as possible. Alone at last, Sam let her breath out in a gust and went quickly over to the window. It had neither glass nor screen, just a bamboo shutter that could be closed to keep out the rain and indigenous wildlife-the larger varieties, at least. She leaned her head and shoulders out, looked up, then down. It was a long way to the rushing stream below. She was, for all intents and purposes, a prisoner in the room; though she didnt think shed been locked in, she was quite certain any attempt to leave through the door would be foiled by those ever-vigilant guards.
What had she expected? This was the hideout of the most wanted man in the world; she could hardly have expected to be given free run of the place.
A picture flashed into her mind, of Cory leaning forward to accept a cup of tea from the bloody hand of Fahad al-Rami. A shiver of outrage shook her from head to toe.
How can he do this? How can he sit there andand talk with that man-and drink tea, for Gods sake!-as if he were just any other human being? Knowing what hes done, all the innocents deaths hes been responsible forthe suffering hes caused. And he gets to sit here like a rajah, enjoying this jungle paradise
The anger ebbed, and in its place came a cold resolve. Not for long!
Anyway, her fit of pique had been only a momentary thing, a knee-jerk reaction to the injury to her feminine pride. The truth was, she knew her banishment couldnt be more opportune. For what she needed to do next, privacy was essential.
Privacyand a good satellite signal. An awful thought came to her, and she swiveled her gaze upward again to where only minute fragments of hazy sky were visible through the dense foliage. What if the satellite cant pick up my signal?
It was time for a test. She took in a deep breath through her nosewhooshed it outflexed her fingers, then gave her hands a shake. Loosening herself up, shaking off the tension. Then, carefully touching back the hair behind her right ear, she lifted her finger and placed it on the small bump located there, beneath the healing scar. Head bowed, eyes closed, concentrating on blocking out the twinges of pain from still-tender tissues, she pressed the bump in a well-rehearsed code sequence: Target located.
She waited, heart thumping. Several minutes later-it only seemed like hours-the answer came. A single but unmistakable zap: Message received and copied.