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.”
McKendry clenched his hands under his thin blanket. “At this moment, I don’t really care about the Daredevils Club, Frik. What I want is to feel Selene Trujold’s throat inside my grip.” He hesitated, but only briefly. “You know, you wouldn’t need to worry so much about Green Impact terrorists if you had anybody aboard your tankers or your production platform who gave a damn about security. Joshua and I swam over from theYucatán . We climbed aboard theValhalla platform, ran around for over an hour, and swam back. He even scrambled to the top of the highest derrick. Not a soul saw us. Everybody was busy partying and ignoring standard procedures.”
Frik gave a shrug. “This is South America. What can you do?”
“You can be professional, damn it!” McKendry said. “Put me in charge of security on that rig. I need an excuse to stay around and find Selene anyway.”
Frik grinned as if he couldn’t have been more pleased. Apparently, getting McKendry to work on the rig was precisely the motivation behind his visit. “You’ve got the job,” he said, “starting as soon as you’re ready. Complete carte blanche. Do what you need to do, with one proviso. When you find her, I want that artifact.”
A few days later, McKendry stood on the broad deck of theValhalla production platform in dark blue jeans so new that they were not yet stained with enough oil and grease for him to fit in with the rig crew. This high off the water, he had a commanding view of the lowlands all around, the broad channel of the Serpent’s Mouth with the island of Trinidad to the east and the wide and uncharted swamps of the Delta Amacuro on the Venezuelan mainland to the west.