Immune
Page 46
“Wouldn’t think of it,” said Jack as they all moved inside the two-story farmhouse.
Dinner. Heather had taken a while to get accustomed to calling lunch dinner and dinner supper. Regardless, it passed too quickly: mutton, biscuits, and yucca, a fried potato-like Bolivian tuber that Heather loved. Then as Jack, Colin, and Norma retired to the sitting room for their private conversation, Heather, Mark, and Jennifer returned to their rooms to pack.
Almost before they knew it, they had changed out of their Mennonite clothes and into jeans, tennis shoes, and T-shirts, had said their good-byes and thank-yous, and were turning off the Robertsons’ dirt road and back onto the highway that led northeast, toward San Javier. Mark rode shotgun beside Jack while Heather and Jennifer occupied the backseat, their bags filling the Explorer’s rear.
It didn’t take long before they understood why Jack had called it the world’s crookedest straight road. For two hours, Jack swerved across both lanes of the highway, dodging deep potholes that covered the straight two-lane highway. And he wasn’t alone. Like some sort of snake mating ritual, both directions of traffic swerved in and out as they moved toward and past each other, only straightening out at the last second to avoid head-on collisions.
“Were you serious about owning a ranch?” Mark asked.
Jack nodded. “I’ve owned it for the last eight years.”
“How did you get it?”
“An acquaintance gave it to me.”
“Gave it to you?” Jennifer interrupted.
“Well, I guess you could say he owed me. Anyway, he was a prominent member of the government, and when an elderly German with a somewhat soiled early life died suddenly, my friend discovered that I was the only heir. Down here people know me as Jack Frazier.”
“Wow! Some acquaintance. What did he owe you?”
“His life.”
Mark laughed. “Well that explains a lot.”
Jack grinned.
The straight part of the road ended as it began rising up through the foothills into the high cattle country surrounding San Javier. The soil in this part of Bolivia was old soil, capable of supporting an abundance of grass, several types of palm trees, and some tall, slender trees that reminded Heather of her high-country aspens, but it was ill suited to crop farming. This was the land that had called to Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, a land of magical vistas and huge Bolivian haciendas.
“Is your ranch close to here?” Heather asked, leaning forward in her seat.
“It’s in country just like this, but it’s about an hour northeast of San Javier. I wish I could show you that town, but we don’t have time. Sometime, though, Janet and I’ll bring you down for a meal at our favorite German restaurant.”
Just outside of San Javier, Jack turned off onto a bumpy dirt road, which became their new best friend for the last hour of the drive. By the time the Explorer pulled to a stop in front of the main house at the Frazier hacienda, Heather was sure her butt had flat spots in it.
As they piled out of the SUV, Mark’s intake of breath brought her head up. The main house was a long, one-story building with a high-peaked thatch roof, in the style of the indigenous peoples of the area. To the west, a number of smaller thatched huts stretched out toward the corrals. Beyond them the beautiful rolling countryside spread out in all directions, as far as the eye could see. Above this magnificent view, a spectacular sunset had just begun to bathe the western sky in fire.
Just then, a very pregnant woman stepped out on the front porch. It took Heather several seconds to recognize her.
Janet’s greeting, while less strenuous than Jack’s, held all the self-confident warmth that was this couple’s defining characteristic.
“Janet! Oh my God, you’re so pregnant!” Jennifer’s exclamation brought a frown to Mark’s face.
Janet laughed. “You think?”
Recognizing how she’d said it, Jennifer’s face reddened. But as Janet slid her arm around Jen’s shoulders, the color subsided.
“Come on, guys,” Jack said. “Grab your bags, and I’ll show you to your rooms.”
He paused, looking slowly at each of them. “I wish I could say you’ll all be going home soon, but the truth is, that’s just not in the cards. Jennifer is wanted on a variety of charges associated with her actions for the Espeñosa Cartel, and all of you are marked for death by Espeñosa’s associates. To go home would be to put yourselves and your families in unacceptable danger.”
Although Heather had discussed this very thing with Mark and Jen, hearing it from Jack’s lips hit her with the force of a hammer. She could see that both Mark and Jennifer were also struggling with the shock of the blow.
“Jack,” Janet said, moving up to put her arms around Jennifer’s and Heather’s shoulders. “We can chat about all this tomorrow. Things look much brighter in the morning. Besides, I have steaks in the fridge, just begging to go on the grill. I’m picturing a roaring fire, some marshmallows on sticks, and introducing these upstanding young people to a good bottle of Taquiña. After all, the world’s best beer is Bolivian.”
Heather shrugged off the depression that had settled on her shoulders like a wet scarf. Grabbing her suitcase, she followed Jack into the house, accompanied by her two friends.
A half hour later, her arms around Mark and Jennifer’s waists, they stood on the slope behind the house, looking out at the gathering twilight. They didn’t have to say anything. Despite the horrific price they’d each paid, they had received compensation, a bond of friendship forged of steel.
As Heather hugged her friends close, she could feel it. A bond so strong she pitied anyone who might try to break it.
Janet leaned up against Jack as he turned the first steak, running her hand softly down his arm. Her gaze wandered down the slope toward their new wards.
“Those are three very dangerous young people.”
“Yes,” Jack replied, squeezing her hand. “They most certainly are.”
Coming Soon
Book Three of The Rho Agenda
by
Richard Phillips