“And Green Impact is one of those checks?” Anger and uncertainty replaced Keene’s usual good humor.
“Yes we are.” Selene got up and motioned him to follow. “Come on. Let me show you around.”
At Green Impact’s hideout in the jungle, the group had its supply cache, canned food and propane gas tanks brought in by flatboat, and what remained of its stockpile of weapons.
Automatically, his mind started cataloging the remnants and planning what would be needed to make a real attack against Oilstar. By Keene’s estimates, there was barely enough ammunition left after the assault on theYucatán to defend the compound if it was discovered. It would take months to pull together enough explosives and ammunition to have a real chance at another assault, even if Frikkie did little to improve security on the rig.
Selene explained to him that they traded with the Warao Indians, who went to trading posts and small villages on the larger waterways to surreptitiously pick up items the ecocrusaders needed. No one noticed the Indians, who came and went as they pleased, like jungle shadows, but the trading post owners would certainly pay attention to a group of white strangers. Once or twice, Selene explained, she and her friends could pass themselves off as German bird-watchers or Canadian eco-tourists, but as time went by, suspicions would grow. They would have to move on.
Three days later, Selene took Keene out in one of Green Impact’s small motorized boats. As they moved through narrow caños into broader streams, following the tributaries of a diffused Orinoco to the sea, they passed half-naked Warao fishermen standing at the riverbanks, in search of birds or fish or eggs, the day’s catch. Keene looked at some of the dark-skinned Indio children who hid beside their bare-breasted mothers. He smiled at them, but they didn’t wave back.
When they reached the end of the jungle and the open waters of the Gulf of Paria, Selene brought the boat to a halt, letting the outboard putter into a low purr as if catching its breath. Keene looked up to watch a flock of scarlet ibises take wing from the muddy shallows.
“Amazing, aren’t they?”
Keene nodded, watching the ibises fly off to find other feeding grounds, like matadors waving their capes in the humid air.
Selene turned the boat around and headed back upriver, winding in the direction of the Green Impact encampment. As they approached, she shut off the Zodiac’s motor and drifted, turning into a small caño, brushing past reeds. She startled a cluster of small yellow frogs, which plopped and splashed into the brownish water.
“This isn’t the way back,” Keene said.
She smiled at him. “You have a good memory. This is a special side trip just for you and me.”
She took the black rubber raft as far as the little stream would allow, then beached it in the mud. When she climbed out, the soft ground squished under her boots. “We’re just a stone’s throw from the camp. This is my retreat. No one else knows about it.”
She reached back to take Joshua’s hand. After he climbed out of the boat, she didn’t release it, but led him through the grasses to a little dry patch, a hummock raised above the water level and filled with flowers and sweet grasses. Small birds fluttered and twittered, as if incensed at the human intrusion into what appeared to be a perfect, cozy meadow in the middle of the Orinoco Delta.
Selene took his other hand. Keene found himself helpless, as if his grip had turned to water. Her faded, loose shirt hung partially open. She raised his hand and slid it between the opening in her shirt, cupping it against her left breast. Keene tried to reclaim his hand. She pressed it tighter and he felt her nipple stiffen.
“Don’t pull away,” Selene said. “Feel my skin, feel my heart pumping, the blood beneath my flesh. I’mreal, Joshua Keene, just as everything I have told you is real.”
“Why me?” he asked.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Maybe it’s just that I’ve been in the jungle for too long.”
“What about the men in your group?”
“I’m their leader,” she said. “It’s tough enough for them to obey a woman without any other…complications.”
“I’ve wanted you since the moment I saw you,” Keene said. “Even when I thought you were the enemy.”
She took his face in her hands and kissed him, gently at first, then with increasing passion. “I have wanted you too, Joshua Keene,” she said. “I could love you, I think.”
They undressed each other slowly, taking turns, one article at a time. Then they made love in the soft grass under the open tropical sky, laughing as the bugs flew around and the grass tickled and scratched their naked skin.
Keene’s body still felt tired and a little shaky, but enough of his wounds had healed. He lay beside Selene, watching the glow of the sun as it filtered through the overhanging branches, slipping toward afternoon and the western horizon. He wanted to stay this way, without cares, ignoring the future, but he could not remain in an endless present. He knew he had other obligations to face, and decisions to make.
Looking up into the knitted tree branches that formed a canopy overhead, feeling Selene warm beside him but not looking into her captivating eyes, Joshua said, “I meant it.”
She propped herself up on one elbow, looking at him, but he continued to stare upward. She stroked his chest. “What was it you meant?”
He sat up and faced her in the rapidly diminishing light. “I’ll help you shut down theValhalla platform.”
28
Paul Trujold, Arthur, Joshua Keene. Dead of unnatural causes. And now Simon. All but Trujold members of the Daredevils Club.
Something smells rotten, McKendry thought for the umpteenth time. But what…besides his own body, which could use some heavy bathing after weeks of hospital sponge baths? Chances were, boredom had led to his feeling that something was awry. He had little else to do but follow rehab instructions and concoct plots where there probably were none.
After Peta’s initial hands-on care and during the subsequent weeks of his recovery, he had grown tired of hearing about the “miracle of his survival.” Being transferred to rehab was a welcome change, until he found out that he would be staying there through Easter. Fed up with the time-consuming process of recuperation, he became obsessive about obeying instructions. He did whatever he was told to do, and then did it again for good measure, figuring that he had no choice if he wanted to get back on his feet and pick up where he and Keene had left off.
“They tell me you’ll be well enough to leave soon,” Frik said, entering the room without knocking. “If that’s true, you’re well enough to answer a few questions.”
As boss of Oilstar, Frik had made several perfunctory visits to the hospital. Each time, within five minutes, he was there and gone. McKendry had no illusions about this being a simple courtesy call to wish him better or to express his continued grief at the loss of Joshua Keene.
Seeing Frik, he felt more than his usual annoyance at the man’s lack of sensitivity. He had recovered from gunshot wounds before, more often than he wanted to count. He could deal with the residual pain using salves or painkillers, even this time when the flash burns from the explosion were an added annoyance. But nothing seemed able to drive away the ache of his friend’s death. A few genuine words of condolence from Frik might have gone a long way.
Taking McKendry’s silence to mean assent, Frik said, “I’ve been wanting to ask if you got any information about the artifact.”
McKendry held his anger in check. “I was a little too busy to ask Ms. Trujold about her jewelry.”
“Of course.” Frik’s paternal smile and pat on the shoulder were almost more than McKendry could tolerate. “I tend to get focused on my own goals sometimes. As I’ve said before, I’m very sorry about Joshua. I think the choice of his replacement for the club should be at your discretion.”