by Andy Lucas
‘I understand. What do you think though? Did anybody fall down after you fired your weapon at them, for instance?’
Pace was silent for a moment. ‘What do you want to hear? Maybe yes? Maybe no?’
‘James, this is not a courtroom. Just your best guess.’
Pace felt himself straighten and square his shoulders. Their eyes locked and, in that split second, Baker knew the truth. ‘I never wanted to hurt anyone.’
‘When you’re in that kind of situation, there is little choice,’ Baker agreed gravely. ‘Nobody is here to blame you, James. I have to file a report for certain governmental types, shall we say. Nothing will happen to you, believe me. This stuff is well beyond the remit of law enforcement. People just need to know how bad it got down here.’
Pace began to feel a little light-headed and crossed to the table. There was a stack of plastic cups next to the coffee percolator and he pulled three off of the stack, revelling in the familiar scent that assailed his senses, bitter and steaming. Just the smell of it steadied his legs and he poured three drinks before sitting down heavily into one of the canvas chairs.
Baker typed in a few lines while he settled himself, lost in thought. Sarah came and sat down next to him, sipping the coffee he handed to her. She had left their drinks on the plane. Although she smiled at him when he glanced her way, he was obviously miles away, replaying memories she wished she could erase from his mind.
Baker began to ask another question but Pace raised his hand with a deep sigh, suggesting it might be better if he told his story from the beginning. ‘If I don’t cover something, at least you can then ask me specific questions.’ It was a good idea and Baker immediately agreed.
Throughout its recounting, Baker typed key lines or points into his computer, not interrupting even once. When Pace finally reached the part about first hearing Sarah’s voice on his emergency radio, he stopped.
‘You know the rest. So, anything else you want to know, or is that good enough?’ His throat was dry by then. The story had taken nearly an hour to tell and he’d been so engrossed that his coffee now sat cold and only half drunk.
‘You’ve given me everything I need and more, thank you.’ Baker finished his report with a rapid flurry of keying before encrypting it into the machine’s memory and switching it off. Pace took a moment to glance at his watch. It was just after eleven o’clock and his eyes were itching with fatigue. Baker on the other hand showed no sign of being tired. He stood up and shook the cramps from his fingers.
‘I have to take the Osprey out on another mission,’ he told Pace. ‘There’s been a lot of enemy activity in an area about twenty miles from where we picked you up. There haven’t been any radio messages but it might mean some more of you managed to escape into the forest and are being hunted down,’ he added. ‘Perhaps we can get in there and even up the score a little more.’ Pace was under no illusions as to what he meant.
Sarah stirred in her chair, still stunned to hear everything that had gone on. She checked her own watch and climbed to her feet, rubbing the stiffness out of protesting muscles.
‘It’s late,’ she smiled wanly. ‘James, you need to get some sleep. There’s nothing more either of us can do tonight. If Baker and his team need to burn the candle at both ends, that’s down to them.’
‘I could use a wash,’ Pace agreed, stifling a yawn. ‘I don’t suppose secret bases run to hot showers?’ Sarah forced the smile to stay on her lips, still struggling to come to terms with how close she’d come to losing him forever.
‘You’d be surprised what magic there is in these fingers.’ She waggled them at him to emphasise her point. ‘Come on, bed.’
12
His exhaustion was replaced seamlessly by a wave of anxiety. His pulse quickened and he wished Baker luck for his mission as Sarah flicked a switch hanging loosely from one of the overhead poles, instantly changing the light back to red. He followed her as she lifted the netting and they quickly slipped outside. Rain fell steadily and he was momentarily disoriented by the thick darkness.
Sarah grabbed him by the hand and led him expertly through the mud-slicked void, unerringly following a nearly invisible path that had been cut between the command tent and her own, which was a smaller version of the same design set about thirty feet further around the edge of the clearing.
Under another set of netting they went, back into total darkness and she released his hand. Pace heard her fumbling for the hanging light switch, which she quickly found, and the light from another bare bulb instantly vanquished the blackness.
Hers was a little more comfortable than the command tent but not by much. With the ever-present sound of rain drumming on the taut canvas above their heads, she led him across the floor to a separately screened area on the right, next to a neatly made camp bed.
Perfectly self-contained, the little shower unit inside had a plastic floor tray at its base. The sides were made of waterproof grey canvas and a single water pipe ran from a pump unit set into the base, up one canvas wall. When it reached above head height, it bent over and became a ten-hole shower head. The system was totally portable and its water supply came, via a thick hose, from a large water drum next to the shower, passing through a heater in the base as it went. Pace was too shattered to be impressed.
‘Why don’t you have a shower while I sort the bed out,’ Sarah suggested. The thought of a shower was wonderful and it made him feel painfully bedraggled and smelly; something he’d grown used to in past days as his vanity had taken a back seat to survival.
The thrill of holding her again also teetered precariously around the edges of his mind, mixed with feelings of grief, trepidation and guilt.
‘That’s a good idea, I will, thanks.’
‘The water gets hot straight away, which surprised me I can tell you. There are a couple of bottles of shower gel and shampoo on the floor in there already, if you don’t mind using female products,’ she added with a smile.’
He didn’t and piping hot water was soon spraying down onto his head with surprising force. After allowing himself to wallow in the feel of the multiple, fiery needles impacting his skin, he began to scrub away at the caked mud and sweat slicked all over his body.
The shower gel was nearly full when he started but there was very little left ten minutes of hard washing later. He had to wash himself, head to toe, three times to get his body completely clean, before allowing himself the luxury of a two-minute rinse down. Finally, numb and red raw from heat and rubbing, he switched the water off and poked his dripping head through the entrance split, asking for a towel.
Sarah had heard the water stop and she was already standing, arm held outstretched to him, holding a large bath towel. Stepping out onto the ground sheet next to her, he towelled himself down, completely at ease with his nakedness in front of her.
His clothes still sat in a heap where he had just climbed out of them and he immediately noticed their smell now that his own foul odour had been washed away. The smell; which was a cross somewhere between mildew and raw sewage, had to be dealt with. Wrapping the damp towel around his waist, he knelt down and scooped them up. Crossing over to the edge of the tent he lifted up the netting and dumped them out into the pouring rain, glad to be rid of them. He turned back to find Sarah gone.
Before he could open his mouth to call for her, the shower started up again, along with a billow of steam from the open top of the unit.
Pace rubbed his chin, feeling the fires in his belly beginning to fan; imagining her naked body being caressed by suds and hot water. His brain registered a growth of unkempt stubble on his chin at about the same time it told him that his mouth tasted, and probably smelled like, a blocked drain.
There was a small sink unit set a few feet behind the shower, fed by the same water barrel and obviously designed by the same company. It sported a similar heater base but had the luxury this time of a small ceramic sink and two brass taps. Sarah’s toothbrush and paste stood in a plastic beaker between
the taps and Pace spent at least five minutes scrubbing his teeth with it until they felt clean and fresh. He hoped she wouldn’t mind and he made sure that he rinsed it thoroughly afterwards.
His hair was still fairly short so he didn’t bother looking for a brush, instead pushing it back and roughly combing it through with his fingers. There was a mirror hinged to the back of the sink unit and he took a long, hard look at himself. Surprisingly, the man staring back at him looked in far better shape than he should have done.
He looked trim and muscular after days of hard slog. His skin was as white as snow except for the arms and shoulders, which were a rich, nutty brown. His face was tanned but his partial beard made him look grizzled, and years older. What was worse, Pace noticed a few flecks of grey.
Glancing around, he spotted a disposable razor in a small waste bin next to the sink. Pulling it out, he examined the blade. Sarah had only used it on her underarms or legs a couple of times by the look of it.
After five minutes of very carefully shaving, using lather from a bar of lilac-scented soap sitting in a recess on the sink, he was done. The blade was quite good but his beard had been long enough to make every pull a wincing affair. He only nicked himself once and had to make do with a splash of cold water to close the pores. There was no aftershave in sight, for which he was thankful.
His feelings for Sarah were as strong as ever. As he checked himself in the mirror, he tried to push aside feelings of guilt. After all, he had expected to be dead by now and he couldn’t deny the feeling of comfort that having raw sex with Ruby had given them both.
Just then, her voice cut in over his thoughts. She needed a towel too. Picking a fresh one up from a pile on a canvas chair nearby, he waited for her head to appear. It didn’t and she called out again. Feeling oddly foolish, he pulled open the flap and leaned inside to give it to her.
Immediately a wet hand gripped his wrist and pulled him inside. The towel dropped from his fingers and was lost at their feet as his eyes feasted. Her lean body was beaded with water and her breasts pressed quickly against his bare chest, their pink crowns stiffening as she wasted no time in finding his lips hungrily with her own.
Ten minutes of wondrous, soft, deliberate kissing led them both outside the shower and onto the green plastic of the inner groundsheet. Pace explored her with his mouth, kissing every delicious inch of her body very slowly until she could take no more. Sliding on top of him, with their lips softly touching and her hair falling all about his face, she felt his heat between her legs, drawing an involuntary shudder from deep inside her.
Both were in such need that it was over quickly and yet they felt as if they had been locked together for an eternity. Later, sweating from the mixture of humidity and exertion, they lay in each other’s arms, intertwining luxuriantly as urgency faded.
They didn’t talk much but just held each other. Pace felt happy to tell her that he still loved her and she didn’t hesitate in telling him that she loved him too. Perhaps an hour later he fell asleep, protected from nightmares by the warmth of her skin against his own and the feel of her head nestled against his shoulder.
He was summoned to the command tent early the next morning, while Sarah still slept. The soldier who quietly roused him from his own dreams; calling repeatedly from outside the canvas walls, was insistent that he come now. Doyle McEntire wanted to speak to him.
Intrigued, yet unhappy to drag himself away from Sarah’s warmth, Pace plucked her silk robe from a small plastic peg set into one of the tent poles and followed.
The command tent was deserted, with dawn having barely broken. A laptop had been set up on a small table. The soldier informed him that a satellite link was established and then left him to it.
Pace settled down in a chair in front of it and hit the enter button, noting the webcam built into the computer. So, he mused, a video call.
The screen flickered into life, showing Sarah’s father seated in a comfortable chair. Wearing a suit, but with the collar open and tie loosened, he looked tired. The smile was humourless.
‘They tell me that you’ve been really earning your money in the past few days.’
‘A bad habit I seem to have picked up,’ Pace forced a wry grin.
‘I am very glad to see you in one piece,’ McEntire said honestly. If half of what Baker had reported to him last night was true, then this young man might prove invaluable to the Corporation in the future. A skilled pilot, a fighter who was not afraid to kill and someone who now had a track record of handling a crisis.
‘That makes two of us,’ replied Pace. ‘Now, do you mind telling me what the hell is going on down here? This is meant to be a charity race. Where the hell did guns and murder come into it?’
‘Unfortunately, I made a mistake. I knew something was brewing politically but I didn’t think it would blow up like this, not so soon.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Cezar Cathera,’ McEntire replied flatly. ‘He is a fairly small time political figure in the Brazilian government. He’s the prime mover behind a coup that has exploded in the last couple of days. He craves power in Brazil and is not about to wait around for any kind of natural, or democratic succession, to get it. He wants foreign companies out and international debts wiped clean. It sounds reasonable, if a little draconian, until you scratch beneath the surface and take a peek at what he really wants.’
‘Which is?’
McEntire’s eyes hardened and there was real passion in his voice as he continued. ‘James, beneath all the patriotic crap he’s been spouting, to try to turn the people his way, lies a simple truth. He wants old-fashioned wealth beyond reason, and he is very close to muscling his way to a fortune. Intelligence sources I have access to are substantial.’
‘I’ve already figured that there is a lot more to the McEntire Corporation than meets the eye.’
‘He attempted to turn the tide politically before last year’s elections. While rallying support for his party and supporting the leadership on the surface, he secretly used a mix of intimidation and bribery to skew the vote. Sadly for him, he’s been unable to win around the more resolute military and political figures and was forced to back off before he was exposed.’
‘What are you saying? That he realised plotting had failed and decided on more desperate measures?’
‘Exactly. The most worrying thing he did in the run up to the election was to let some information leak out to journalists about the radical policies he wanted to see implemented. It was done in such a way that he could later deny them but he got his message out all the same. The President was livid but couldn’t afford a show of party disunity so close to polling day. He was forced to publicly accept that Cathera had been misquoted and got on with campaigning to stay in office, which was successful.’
‘What sort of ideas are we talking about?’
‘One was to use the global importance of the Amazon as leverage; blackmail if you prefer, against the rest of the world.’
‘For what?’
‘To agree terms.’ It was a phrase normally connected with warfare and surrender. Pace failed to understand the link. ‘Although he never put it in as many words,’ McEntire explained, ‘the idea was straightforward enough. Either the world wrote off billions of dollars of debt and offered Brazil first option to purchase all foreign operations, at cost, or he would have no choice but to open up vast sections of virgin forest for the logging of ancient hardwoods and the mining of precious metals. He knows how vital the Amazon is to world climate control, especially what a vast carbon store it is. The world couldn’t allow the forest to be ravaged any more than it has been already.’
‘He sounds like a nut.’
‘If Cathera ever succeeds in undermining the President and moving into a higher office, I have no doubt he will issue logging and mining licenses by the hundred until the global economy coughs up the money.’
‘But he failed,’ argued Pace. ‘So he remains on the sidelines. How did that
lead to what just happened to us out here?’
‘The killing of interfering, foreign do-gooders would have reinforced his alleged ideal of national pride and isolationism, even though he would have publicly condemned the act. It’s an old trick, believe me. You put up a supportive general to act as head of state for a new regime, paying him handsomely to take the initial international flack. The west hates it when a democratic system is overthrown by a dictatorship. They would just open secret channels with the old government to try and find someone willing to step up and retake power.’
The penny dropped inside Pace’s mind. ‘Cathera.’
‘Cathera,’ agreed McEntire. ‘He would offer to challenge the dictator and restore democracy, in return for an initial period as leader under the guise of a stabilising period. He would successfully overthrow his own man, then issue an official apology on behalf of the new democratic government, with elections to be arranged. Sorted.’
‘The world would welcome Brazil back with open arms under those conditions,’ said Pace slowly.
‘These things are very quickly forgotten in today’s global economy, I assure you. Of course, that’s the best scenario he could hope for. It might not go quite as smoothly for him as that.’
‘Can it be that easy? Can you imagine countries like America, Britain or Russia rolling over and meekly handing over vast sums of money? Would they be so easily duped by Cathera? Even the European Union might stop its internal bickering long enough to stand firm against a threat like that.’
‘But they wouldn’t be dealing with Cathera at that time,’ explained McEntire. ‘He would be in the background, reinventing himself as a people’s champion while the chosen general threatens to seize international assets and beats the citizens down in a reign of terror. Fear of antagonising a dictator tempers international response, it always has done,’ persisted McEntire. ‘It’s immaterial now, perhaps, but it would have taken months of failed diplomacy before any kind of sanctions were imposed, and many months more before the world lost patience and threatened anything harsher, or perhaps paid up.’