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 Civil war, she repeated, frightened. Their fate was even more uncertain than
it had been a few hours ago. If the country was plunged into chaos, there
wouldn't even be anyone for her father, or Marino, or even the State
Department to contact about their disappearance. She ground her teeth and
sought some measure of courage.  All right, she said at last, drawing away
from Ransom.  All right. We go south.
Through Las Verdes. To the Argentine border.
She felt him reach up to touch her cheek. Then he turned and started pushing
the scooter forward again.
His voice was slightly husky when he spoke.  We should stay off the main
roads, so we'll be less likely to encounter military checkpoints.
 Right.
 A few more miles down this road, we'll come to a crossroads. According to
Gutierrez, we can head south from there.
 Do you think...
 What? he prodded.
 I was wondering if we might have any luck after sun-up. Finding a telephone,
I mean.
 To call the States?
 Yes.
 It's worth a try. I don't think anyone can help us much while we're here, but
maybe they could make things easier for us when we reach the border.
 What about trying the US Embassy here? she asked.
 We'd have to go back to Montedora City to get to the embassy, he pointed
out.  Or call them and then find some place to hide while we waited for them
to pick us up and try to sneak us back to the embassy for asylum or out of the
country somehow if they don't evacuate as soon as they realize what's
happening. Escalante hates Americans so much that the embassy staff may be no
safer than we are by this time tomorrow.
It didn't sound any more promising than their heading for the border on their
own, so she let it drop.
He added after a moment,  There must be Catholic missions out here, Red Cross
workers, flocks of foreign journalists, UN observers ... if only we could find
out where.
 I take it Gutierrez had no idea?
 No. He only knew of one Catholic mission, right in Doragua.
 Oh.
She tried to keep the fear out of her voice. She wanted him to respect her. He
didn't need a hysterical client on his hands. And his honesty about their
situation meant a lot to her, because she knew he didn't like telling her all
this any more than she liked hearing it.
Walking through the dark, they suddenly seemed terribly, terribly alone in the
world.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
He looked terrible in the daylight. He needed a shave, one eye was blackened,
his jaw was bruised and a little swollen, and the cut on his forehead stood
out angrily. Since Madeleine's own cut feet and scraped knees were now feeling
the unpleasant sting of infection, thanks to filth and the prolific bacteria
of this hot, humid climate, she decided that they must buy some antiseptic
today. That cut on his forehead looked bad enough without becoming infected,
too.
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Ransom's eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. His hair was more unkempt than
usual, and she could tell by the way he held himself that his ribs hurt. How
this man had made passionate love to her twice after the beating he'd taken
baffled her.
She added aspirin or some other mild form of painkiller to the mental grocery
list she was preparing.
Considering how much cash they were carrying, shopping shouldn't be a problem
when they finally reached a town. Whether the supplies she wanted would be
available was another matter.
Bottled water was high on her list of requirements. They were drinking
sparingly, but they'd need more than the single bottle they'd taken with them
upon fleeing Doragua. They obviously mustn't drink from rivers and ponds, and
she was also reluctant to risk amoebic dysentery or worse by drinking
untreated water from pumps and wells. But plenty of drinking water was
essential in this climate. Dehydration could set in fast, and it would weaken
them more than anything they had so far endured.
The scooter labored slowly as it carried them up into the Verde Mountains.
Listening to it squeal and grind, Madeleine wondered how long the
sorry-looking thing would last; and would they walk the rest of the way to
Argentina after it died on them?
When they reached a ridge overlooking a village, Ransom drew the scooter to a
halt and stared down at the town.
 We need to buy some things, Madeleine said instantly, getting straight down
to business.  Water, some kind of antiseptic, aspirin or something for you 
 I don't need 
 Yes, you do, she insisted.  More gasoline, a flashlight, jackets or ponchos
or something, since it'll get colder at night now that we're higher up 
 Jesus, you'd think they had a K-Mart down in that village. Anything else on
your shopping list, milady?
 Food. I'm hungry.
 So am I, he admitted.
 So what are we waiting for? Let's go.
He didn't start the motor again, just kept staring down at the village.
Something was worrying him.
 What is it? she asked at last.
 I don't know. He shrugged.  Maybe it just seems too quiet, after everything
else we've seen. Stay close to me, keep your gun handy, don't talk to
strangers, keep your eyes open, and don't leave the scooter alone.
 Anything else?
He didn't answer her. Instead, he pulled the stolen Colt .45 out of his belt
and checked it. The he bent over and checked the engraved .38 which was
concealed beneath his pant leg, strapped to his ankle she saw with amused
surprise by his wine-colored necktie.
 Why are you even bothering with that gun? she asked impatiently.  It's
pretty, but it's broken, Ransom.
 No, it's not.
 But it didn't fire when Morena tried to shoot you!
 It's my back-up gun, he said absently, tightening the makeshift ankle
holster.  For when things go wrong. I'm not going to carry a back-up gun that
can be used on me.
 I don't understand.
He gripped the barrel of the gun in his right hand.  The ring, he said
cryptically. She glanced briefly at the simple ring she had noticed before,
remembering that he had first worn it after arming himself at the
Montedoran airport.
 The ring? she repeated blankly.
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 I had a Magna-Trigger safety installed on this revolver. It only fires when
the user is wearing a special magnetic ring.
She stared at him.  You're putting me on.
He grinned at her expression.  No. It's something built into the grip.
Customized.
 It sounds like some toy on the back of a cereal box.
 It saved my life last night, he pointed out. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]