“Alex—” Dana began.
“It’ll never happen,” he told her. “Kantana has the handcuff keys on him. Eventually they’ll work themselves free and walk down the river to the next village. I’ll leave them one of the guns for protection. But getting free will take time, and without a boat, they have no way to follow us. That was a brilliant move on your part.” He gave her a pat on the bottom that resulted in a withering look from Dana.
“Now let’s get going,” he commanded.
They made two trips to the canoe, carrying supplies, all the while being watched by Kantana, his gaze no less than murderous, Dana thought.
“How’d they find us?” she asked Alex as they trekked toward the river.
“It wasn’t so tough. They knew we were on the run. My guess is that Kantana heard from Mac McQuire—”
“That name’s familiar.”
“He gets around,” Alex said flatly. “I ran into him when I was looking for Gabriel. Mac probably went into Porte Ivoire and told Kantana he’d seen me in a village on the Lomami. Kantana’s no fool. He put it all together, figuring we’d travel upriver. All he had to do was follow.”
“So now everyone knows where we’re headed.”
“Looks like it, but we can’t worry about that now. Is the camp clear?”
“I think so,” she answered, “but I don’t want to go back to check. I hate the way Kantana looks at me, as if I’m the world’s biggest criminal. If looks could kill—”
Alex laughed. “Just part of his charm. I’ll check the campsite, and then we’re off. If we’re lucky, we might still be able to reach Mgembe territory before dark.”
Dana nodded. She was already tired at barely nine in the morning. “I feel like I’ve lived a lifetime since sunrise.”
“Since half an hour after sunrise,” Alex corrected. “Remember? It took me that long to get you out of the sleeping bag.” He gave her another pat, this time on the shoulder.
“Never mind when I got up. It’s still only nine o’clock and I’m exhausted. I can’t take many more days like this, Alex. I really can’t.”
He slipped his arm around her shoulder, and Dana didn’t attempt to move away. She was simply too tired.
“You’re doing great, Dana. You saved us.”
For a moment she felt a rush of pride. “‘Course, I didn’t have much choice. What else could I have done?”
He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You could have run away. Hidden. Given up. You didn’t do any of those. You were remarkable.”
“What I was, Alex, was scared. No, terrified,” she admitted in a burst of emotion. “And in my terror, I did what I had to do. Now what I really want is for all of this to be over.”
He put both arms around her and held her against him. Dana put her arms around his waist. The embrace was a haven from the horror of the past two days. She relaxed in it and felt comforted. He smoothed her damp hair away from her face the way a parent might touch a child. She rested her head against his shoulder and let out a deep, shaky breath. All the tension seemed to drain out of her.
“This will be over soon,” he promised. “Nothing lasts forever.” He released her. “Now, let’s get a move on.”
She looked at him. “There’s one more thing I want.”
“Name it. Food, water, a change of clothes?”
“All those, sure, but this is more important. I’d like you to quit giving orders. You’re not the great powerful, all-knowing bwana, and I’m certainly not your devoted, adoring servant. We’re in this together. I want to be treated as a partner. An equal one,” she added.
Dana thought she saw a grin beginning at the corner of Alex’s mouth, but if so, he controlled it quickly. “You’re absolutely right,” he answered seriously. “You’re one hell of a good partner, and I’m proud of you. And grateful. If it hadn’t been for your quick thinking, we’d both be trekking back to Porte Ivoire under police guard.” He looked at her. “From now on, if I seem to be getting high-handed and authoritative, you let me know.”
“Count on it,” she said. “Now, if you’ll check the camp for any more gear, I’ll untie the boat. We’ve wasted enough time.”
Alex didn’t try to conceal his laughter. It echoed down the river. “I can see that this trip is going to get more interesting by the mile.”
* * *
“YOU’RE NOT PADDLING, Dana. What’s the problem?”
She dropped her paddle and turned to look at him. “My hands. I need some more of that salve.”
Alex looked at the sky. Not quite noon yet. Too early to stop for a meal, but she looked beat. Maybe if they pulled up now and doctored her hands, they’d make better time in the afternoon. He steered toward the bank.
“We’ll have a cup of coffee and some lunch. And I’ll look at your hands.”
“Sorry for the delay,” Dana said as the canoe eased onto the bank. She jumped out and efficiently secured the anchor rope. Alex watched with respect. She was doing a good job.
He stepped into the shallows and waded ashore with no illusions of being dry or clean until they reached Nairobi. This was the jungle, and soon the afternoon rain showers would begin, torrential downpours that drenched to the bone. He wondered if Dana knew about those. She’d learn soon enough.
She was scouting around for twigs to start the fire when he walked over to her. “Let me see.”
She held out her hands. Alex took them in his own. “The blisters look better, but where’d you get these cuts?”
There were deep gashes along her arm. “I don’t know. Wait. On the propeller. I must have cut myself when I pulled off the gas line. I didn’t even notice—”
“You disconnected the gas line?”
She nodded.
Alex shook his head in amazement. “More good thinking, partner. Now let’s take care of your hands. Do you have any extra clothes you can tear up to wrap around them? Like a petticoat? Doesn’t the schoolmarm usually rip up her undergarments to make bandages?”
“You’ve seen too many American Westerns. I only have one change of clothes, and I’m not tearing up a single thread,” she said stubbornly. “It’s your fault for not letting me bring extra clothes.”
He laughed at the accusation in her voice. “Okay, okay. I’ll tear up one of my shirts.”
A few minutes later her hands were smeared with ointment and wrapped with strips of Alex’s T-shirt. She sipped her coffee as he poured boiling water over powdered soup.
“Meals in minutes,” he joked.
“That’s what I’ve been wondering about you,” she mused.
“That I’m such a good cook?” he teased.
“No, that your English is so idiomatic...and American. I thought you were French.”
“I am. Born in France. But there’s a catch. I had an American mother, and you know the power American women wield. My French father was putty in her hands. We moved to the States when I was five. I was reared on TV, pizza and baseball, just like any other American kid.”
“Where did you live?”
“All around,” he answered vaguely. “New York City, Boston, Denver. I saw a great deal of the country.”
“But you left the States. Why?”
Alex stirred the soup and motioned for Dana to hold out her cup. She was still full of questions, and answering them—at least partially—was probably easier than trying to put her off.
“I wanted to see the world, travel, find my roots. Eat escargot and truffles. Watch the sunrise over Cannes. Roam the Left Bank.”
She gave a rueful smile. “Choose any of the above? But why did you really leave?”
“My French side pulled me back. But you want the truth, right?”
Dana nodded.
“There were more opportunities for my line of work in Europe.”
“Oh.”
He looked up from his soup, surprised. “Just ‘oh’? No penetrating questions about the specifics?”
“You wouldn’t tell me the truth anyway,” she answere
d cynically.
Alex chuckled. “You see, we can get along, Dana. All we have to do is understand each other.”
“I can’t imagine that will ever happen,” she said emphatically.
Alex shrugged. “Maybe not, but I’d like to try.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “It makes me nervous when you sound so damned sincere.”
He grimaced slightly. “You’re cutting close to the bone, Dana.”
She smirked in self-satisfaction.
“Now I have a question for you,” he said.
“We did this last night,” she reminded him.
“New question, new topic,” he said easily. “How come you hung around to rescue me when you could have stolen Kantana’s boat and set out on your own?”
She paused, thoughtful. “I never considered stealing the boat. Where would I have gone?”
“To the Mgembe,” Alex said. “You might have made it on your own, but you chose to stay and risk your life rescuing me.”
Dana wrapped her arms around her knees and took her time, answering honestly.
“I did panic at first. I thought about running, but I stayed for...humanitarian purposes,” she finished with a grin.
“Humanitarian?” Alex raised his eyebrows sardonically. “How warm and personal.”
Dana shrugged. “Besides, I never really intended to leave you behind. Instinctively, I must have realized how much I needed you. Without you, this journey seems impossible.”
“I don’t know whether to feel flattered or not,” Alex said, rubbing his hand across his stubbled chin. “What did you intend?”
“I’m not sure,” she said, and they both laughed.
“In the final analysis, I guess we’re stuck with each other, Dana.”
“Guess so.” Her blue eyes were fixed on him, unwavering, and the expression on her face was very serious. “What about you, Alex?”
“Would I have left you?” He repeated the question to give himself time to think. “No,” he said. He saw her breathe a sigh and felt compelled to qualify his response. “But not because of my humanitarian feelings, either. I wouldn’t have left because I need you.”
He wasn’t surprised when her mouth tightened. He waited for an angry reaction.
“Thanks, Alex,” she said finally. “I think that’s the first honest thing you’ve said to me.”
They were both quiet, surrounded by the sounds of the rain forest. Alex knew that things had changed between them. The balance had somehow shifted. Her anger had dissipated, replaced by a tenuous connection of trust and respect. That was what he’d wanted all along—to be connected to Dana, to have her trust him. But he didn’t realize that it would work both ways.
His feelings for her had begun to change, too.
* * *
THAT MOOD of camaraderie continued as they moved along the river, paddling fluidly. With her hands bound and her muscles somewhat rested, Dana got into the rhythm easily.
The monotony was relieved by a constant change in scenery along the riverbank, and soon Dana was fascinated by it, so much so that the first blurred movement in the heavy greenery caught her eye but didn’t even register. Then she saw it again, flashes of light and dark as something, or someone, raced along the bank, following the boat, keeping pace with it on shore.
She pointed with her paddle, silently, and Alex responded immediately. “Got it. Keep on paddling.”
A surge of excitement and adrenaline helped Dana keep up the synchronized paddling even while she watched the riverbank. There it was again! A flash of movement, and then another. She focused more intently and recognized human figures. Two tiny men with reddish brown skin, naked except for loincloths that seemed to be made of leaves or bark. Their feet were bare, but they kept up easily with the canoe as more figures joined the chase.
“Head for the bank,” Alex said. “We’ll make camp.”
Dana’s heart pounded with excitement. They’d made it, and found the Mgembe! Or maybe the Pygmies had found them. It didn’t matter. She forgot about Kantana and his pursuit, the Porte Ivoire jail, the horrors of the last few days.
Their canoe eased against the riverbank and Dana looked around, peering into the heavy foliage. Nothing but trees and vines, twisted roots and tangled branches.
The Pygmies had vanished.
Chapter Seven
Alex secured the boat while Dana sat still, holding her paddle.
“They just disappeared into thin air,” she said, almost to herself. “One moment they were here, the next moment...”
“It’s not magic, Dana. They’re jungle people, and they use the wilderness to suit their purposes.”
“But...”
“Help me unload,” he ordered, “and just act natural.”
“This is wonderful, camping right among them.”
“Our plan was to find the Mgembe. Well, we’ve found them.”
“And they’re watching us. I can feel their eyes following my every move.”
“So far you haven’t made any moves, Dana. Come on and give me a hand.”
She got out of the boat and stepped onto the riverbank, trying her best to act natural. “Why don’t they show themselves?”
“They will. On the other hand, maybe they won’t,” Alex equivocated.
“Well, that’s encouraging,” she said sarcastically.
Alex began to gather wood for their fire. “They could decide they don’t like the way we look and just—vanish.” He handed her a pot and his canteen of water. “Your turn to cook.”
Dana looked through the bag of dried food, trying to concentrate and appear normal. She wanted the Pygmies to reappear, and at the same time she couldn’t help being afraid. Her father had described the tribe as gentle and friendly, but not everyone agreed with that description.
“How about stew tonight?” she asked Alex, extracting a box of dried ingredients.
“Sounds good to me.”
After Alex lit the fire, he began to set up their tent. Dana filled the pot, then sat back waiting for it to boil—and for the Pygmies’ next move.
It was several minutes before she realized that she really was being watched. Alex had stopped his work and stood very still beside the unfolded tent. She forced herself not to move, keeping her head steady and looking up only with her eyes.
The Pygmy was at the edge of their campsite. She’d never seen anyone stand so motionless, like a sturdy little tree planted in the midst of the forest. He ignored Alex and stared directly at Dana with wide black eyes. She recognized what he held in his hand immediately. It was a lethal-looking blowgun, very much like the ones sold in the Porte Ivoire shops, like the one she’d been accused of using to murder Louis.
“Act natural,” Alex said in a low voice.
“Sure,” Dana replied, still not moving. “That’s easy in the middle of the Congo, on the run from police, watched by a Pygmy who just might shoot me with a poisoned dart.” But as she spoke she moved, just a little at first, setting the pot in the center of the fire. When that didn’t seem to bother their visitor, she emptied the contents of the package into the boiling water and stirred. From the corner of her eye, she watched him watching her.
“You might try saying something,” Alex suggested, keeping his voice low and conversational.
“Not all that easy, Alex. My father’s notes are in my backpack, along with the tape recorder, and any vocabulary he wrote down has gone completely out of my head.”
“Think,” he commanded.
“You’re giving orders again,” she reminded him in a soft voice. “And not very sensible ones. If I try a word or a phrase, it might be the wrong one. I’ll just get my pack—”
“No,” he said emphatically. “That’s not a good idea. Our friend might think you’re reaching for a weapon.”
“You’re right.” Dana kept busy with the meal, studying the little man under lowered lashes. His skin gleamed reddish brown in the late afternoon sun. Atop his four-foot frame, black hair curl
ed wildly. He had short legs, a long torso and a slight potbelly, almost like a child. But there was nothing childish about him. He was a man in miniature, and his blowgun was very real.
“Pull apart that loaf of Gabriel’s bread and give me a chunk,” Alex said.
She did as she was told and he held the bread toward the Pygmy, speaking first in French and then in a language that Dana couldn’t understand.
“What did you say?” she whispered.
“I was trying one of the local Porte Ivoire dialects, but I don’t think he understands. Your expertise is all we have.”
“Unfortunately, my expertise is packed away. But I have an idea.” She stood up very slowly, took off her necklace and held it out, her father’s ivory carving dangling from the chain.
The Pygmy’s eyes were suspicious, and his small body was tense and poised to move. Cautiously, she took a step toward him, the carving swaying hypnotically from her fingers.
“Dana.” Alex’s voice was low and angry. “What the hell—”
“Be quiet,” she ordered, surprising herself at the determination in her voice. “I believe this is our best chance. When he sees what it is—” She broke off in midsentence as the Pygmy abandoned his statuary stance and moved toward her.
Slowly they approached each other. There was no doubt in Dana’s mind that he recognized the ivory carving and wanted to see it more closely. When they were no more than a few feet apart, Dana looked into his eyes, which were now bright with curiosity. She tried a tentative smile but got no response. Then she took a step closer, the hand that held the necklace no more than a foot from him.
“Here. Look at it. This was given to my father by your people.” She knew he couldn’t understand, but she felt the need to talk to him, somehow reassure him.
In the past few days, Dana had gone through more heart-stopping experiences than in her whole life, but nothing compared to this moment, standing so close to a member of the tribe that had fascinated her father. She was excited, and suddenly she wasn’t at all afraid.
The Pygmy reached out gingerly and touched the ivory carving, his fingers close to hers. She could have easily touched him. But she didn’t dare. It was his move.
Tall, Dark and Deadly Page 11