These policemen thought I was this woman, probably because of the blond hair and eye color. But to me it was obvious I was not.
I glanced over at Jonathan to find him staring at the picture as well. I wanted more than anything to ask him if he knew that woman, but doubted he’d tell me if he did.
Fastening my attention back on the sketch, I decided the woman was probably in her late twenties or early thirties. Was it a recent drawing, I wondered, or an old one?
A list of aliases headlined the sketch and beneath it her crimes. The crimes were written in Spanish, though, so I focused in on the alias names.
Yetta Blomqvist, Wandella Dacey, Fabiene Uarov, Sabine Hiordano . . . on and on I read the names, all from different nationalities. I almost laughed when I got to the last one, Oki Li Ming. The woman in the sketch was most definitely not Asian. I scanned the names again, but none of them rang a bell.
The man in the suit slammed the phone down, jolting me back to attention.
He snapped a hand out and barked an order to Jonathan.
Jonathan glanced over his shoulder to Parrot and nodded, reached inside his back pocket, then said to me, “Give them your passport.”
Unsnapping the side pocket on my cargo pants, I slid my passport out and handed it over.
Behind me, the guard who’d been searching our luggage said something. I glanced over my shoulder to see my backpack wide open, with extra computer batteries, bras, underwear, clothes, and toiletries scattered. I nearly groaned at the sight, not only because my box of tampons was on display, but because it had taken me forever to get everything packed.
Then I saw my laptop opened and powered up, and my jaw clenched. No one touched my laptop without asking. No one.
The guard repeated what he’d said, and I just looked at him.
“Give him your password,” Jonathan translated.
“What?!”
“Do it,” Jonathan emphasized.
For a couple of seconds I didn’t say anything. Calm down, GiGi, calm down. Other than Chapling, no one knew how to infiltrate my computer. Different passwords led to different levels of my computer. To any regular person they would find only standard software packages.
“BBCGMPW,” I gave him my first-level password, the first initials of my teammates and me. Beaker, Bruiser, Cat, GiGi, Mystic, Parrot, and Wirenut. Just thinking of them helped to calm me down.
Jonathan repeated the letters in Spanish, and the guard typed them in. While he waited for my screen to appear, he pulled a folder from Jonathan’s backpack and brought it to the suited man.
I watched as the man rifled through the file. It contained documentation that we had been hired by the North and South Native American Alliance. Proof that we were who we said we were.
Shoving the folder closed, the suited man yanked a piece of paper from a desk drawer. He slammed the blank paper down in front of me and put a pen on top. “Escribe tu nombre cinco veces.”
“Write your name five times,” Jonathan translated.
Normally I wrote with my right hand. But TL taught all of us to use the opposite hand when on a mission. I had to admit, I’d gotten quite good at writing with my left hand.
Hannah Flowers, I scrawled my fake name five times.
The man in the suit tore the paper away and with a hard jaw he studied the signatures, comparing them to my passport.
I felt a smile tug at my mouth, suddenly amused by his mannerisms. Snapping, yanking, banging, and barking. I wanted to tell him that if he were more in control, like Jonathan or TL always were, his point would come across more effectively. The suited man was angry, we all got it. And I bet he was really upset none of us was acting intimidated.
He looked up at me then, and his eyes narrowed. “¿De qué te estás sonriendo?” he shouted.
“He wants to know what you’re smiling at,” Jonathan repeated, and I swore I heard a hint of amusement in his voice.
I flattened my mouth and dropped my head. “Lo siento. I’m sorry.” I did know how to say that in their language. Plus, I figured the whole dropped-head, submissive thing would make him feel authoritative and not press the issue.
He grunted and walked from behind the desk across the room to the door. I heard him open it and start speaking to the guard posted outside.
With my head still dropped, I looked at the sketch of the woman again. I quietly but quickly reached out, snagged it, and slid it from the desk. I didn’t know who this woman was, but I wanted to know. Especially with the similarities to the agent in Barracuda Key who had taken Eduardo.
Carefully, and very rapidly, I folded the drawing into a small square.
“Front of pants,” Jonathan barely whispered.
Head still bowed and body held very still, I tucked the sketch down the front of my cargos, wedging it in the elastic of my underwear.
Seconds later the door closed, and the suited man came to stand back behind the desk.
I turned my head a fraction to the right, and moving only my eyes, I peeked at the guard who’d been searching our things.
He was busy clicking through my laptop looking at random files. Many of them fake, serving as decoys in case something like this ever happened.
The man in the suit took his seat behind the desk. I smelled more than heard him light up another cigarette.
Lifting my head, I brought my eyes up to meet his.
He leaned back in his creaky chair and propped his heels on the edge of the desk. Closing his eyes he took a long drag, and then blew it out through his nose.
What a nasty habit.
At least thirty minutes ticked by as Jonathan, Parrot, and I stood there in silence and the suited man continued smoking. I wanted to remind him that secondhand smoke was just as harmful as if we were smoking ourselves. But, of course, I kept my opinion to myself.
The guard finally finished searching our things and came back to his original position standing next to the suited man.
The phone rattled, and everyone in the room except Jonathan jolted.
The man in the suit picked it up, said a few things, and then listened. “Gracias.” He hung up the phone. “You are free to leave.” He dismissed us using perfect English.
I was astonished. He could speak English? I should’ve suspected. One of the main things I’d learned in the Specialists was that people were never what they seemed.
Following Jonathan’s lead, Parrot and I quickly crammed our belongings into our backpacks and duffels and quietly shuffled from the shack.
Bright heat hit us in a wave as we stepped outside. I took a deep, clean breath, welcoming the muggy warm reprieve from the smoky air-conditioned room.
Beside me Parrot did the same.
I glanced at my watch. We’d been in there for over an hour. Time flies when you’re having fun. I rolled my eyes at my own stupid humor.
“Don’t say anything,” Jonathan instructed, quickly leading us toward the gate.
Guillermo, the man who’d greeted us when we first arrived, still stood on the other side of the fence.
A guard with a machine gun opened the chain-link gate and motioned us through.
Silently we filed past. And continuing not to speak, we followed Guillermo through a gravel parking lot, zigzagging around vehicles.
We came to a stop at an old green Land Rover with a rusted white top. It had a tire mounted on its hood, a steel rack on top, and a ladder climbing up the back. A shovel, pick, and hatchet were strapped to the white top. The vehicle looked well used, uncomfortable, and in dire need of a bath.
Guillermo turned the knob on the back window, and it popped up. Jonathan tossed his duffel in, grabbed my backpack and did the same, then signaled for Parrot.
“Climb in,” Jonathan told us.
Taking my laptop off, I handed it to Jonathan and climbed up through the window. Jonathan gave me my computer, and I crawled across our stuff he’d tossed in. Two padded benches sat facing each other. I took the one on the left. Parrot climbed in a
nd took the bench across from me. Jonathan closed and latched the back window, cutting off our meager fresh air.
Through the muddy side glass I watched as he and Guillermo came down the side of the vehicle to the front. Guillermo climbed behind the wheel while Jonathan hopped into the passenger side. Guillermo cranked the diesel engine, grinded it into gear, and drove off.
Jonathan slid open the rectangular window that connected the front to the back. “If you guys need air, open the sides.”
Parrot and I moved at once, winding open the side windows to let in a stream of humid air. Guillermo and Jonathan opened their windows and began a conversation in Spanish.
I looked at Parrot.
“They’re talking about what happened in the guard shack,” he translated.
“So Guillermo’s one of us?” I whispered to Parrot.
“I’m with the IPNC,” Guillermo answered.
“Oh. Sorry.” I didn’t know why I’d apologized. But it embarrassed me Guillermo had heard my whisper. I should’ve just asked him straight on.
Guillermo drove us from the airport and onto a two-lane highway.
Parrot pushed out what sounded like a stressed breath.
“You okay?” I asked.
“GiGi, I was really scared back there.”
I smiled a little at his admission. “I know—me, too.”
“You’ve been on a lot of missions. Does that kind of stuff happen all the time?”
I thought back to being kidnapped in Ushbania, thrown in a dungeon in Rissala, and coming face-to-face with my parents’ killer. “Yes.” And strangely enough, I didn’t feel nearly as shaken up as usual.
I mean, I’d actually been amused at the gruff manner of the man in the suit. If that would have happened on my first mission, I would have been a nervous wreck. It made me feel a bit evolved, for lack of a better word. Like I was finally getting the hang of this new life of mine.
Parrot didn’t say anything else, and so I turned to the world outside. I tried to take in some scenery, but the muddy windows made it nearly impossible.
Sometime later we exited the highway onto a dirt road. Parrot and I gripped our benches as the Land Rover bumped down the road.
“You doing okay?” Parrot asked.
I smiled at the sweet question. “Yeah, I’m okay. You?”
Parrot shrugged. “I’ll survive.”
I reached across the small distance and squeezed his knee. “Remember I’m here for you. I’m a great listener. And I’m excellent at keeping secrets. If you ever want to talk . . .”
“Thanks.” He looked away, and I took that as my cue he was done with the topic.
The Land Rover hit a pothole, jolting me, and I felt the sketch scratch my bare skin. “Oh!” I reached inside the front of my cargos and pulled it out. Gingerly, I unfolded the sweaty drawing, praying the wetness wouldn’t tear it. I needed to get it scanned and into my laptop before it was damaged.
I blew on it, trying to dry it a bit.
Using his T-shirt, Parrot dried his sweaty face. “Hey, pretty slick. I didn’t know you took that.”
I smiled at his surprise.
“Can I see it?” Parrot asked.
I handed it over. “Careful, it’s wet.”
Gingerly, he took it, cradling it in his hands.
Pulling the rubber band from my limp ponytail, I smoothed my damp hair and redid it. “What does it say below the picture?”
He studied it, balancing it in his hands as the Land Rover bumped down the road. “She’s wanted for arson, wire fraud, assault, larceny, burglary, stalking, conspiracy, robbery, drug manufacturing, embezzlement, perjury, extortion, murder, forgery, money laundering, manslaughter, kidnapping . . .”
On and on he read, and when he finally finished, I simply blinked. “Is that even possible? For one person to commit all those crimes?”
With a shrug, he handed the paper back. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
“Just because it says it on paper doesn’t mean it’s true,” Jonathan commented through the window. He nodded to the sketch. “Get that scanned into your computer as soon as you can. I want to know who that woman is.”
“Yes, sir.” He’d read my mind.
Then the Land Rover jerked to a stop, and the drawing tore in half.
[6]
I stared at the moist, frayed edges of the torn picture, and my heart sank. The tear zigzagged through one eye, down the nose, and slashed across the mouth. Key features that any identification program would need to make a match to this sketch.
I should’ve never gotten it out and opened it up. Especially in a bumpy vehicle. For a genius I could be real stupid sometimes. Now I may never know who this woman was.
Parrot reached across and touched my shoulder. “We’ll fix it, GiGi. We’ll fix it. I’ll help you.”
Giving Parrot a tiny smile I really didn’t feel, I pulled a folder from my laptop case and opened it up. I slid two pieces of paper out, carefully laid the sketch between them, and tucked the papers back inside the folder. With a sigh, I put it back inside my laptop case and zipped it up. Why did I always make such stupid mistakes?
Guillermo rolled up his window and shoved open his door. “Okay, this is it,” he said, interrupting my disappointment. “We go the rest of the way on horseback.”
Jonathan rolled up his window, too. “Close up back there.”
Parrot and I wound the side glass shut while Guillermo popped open the back hatch and began unloading our things.
I climbed out first and came to an abrupt stop.
I looked around and saw green. Everywhere. In every shade imaginable. Huge, gigantic leaves, some as big as me. Weird plants like nothing I’d ever seen. And trees—my head dropped back as I followed one all the way up—trees as big as skyscrapers.
I turned a slow circle—I couldn’t see anything but green. I couldn’t even tell where the Land Rover had come from. It appeared as if the foliage had immediately covered our tracks.
And—I straightened a bit—the jungle seemed to pulse and grow right in front of me as it closed us in.
I shut my eyes and gave my head a quick shake.
“I’d recommend you change your shoes,” Guillermo suggested, nodding down at my flip-flops.
I completely agreed. Flip-flops and trekking through a jungle were two things that obviously did not go together.
Kneeling beside my backpack, I dug through the disorderliness the guard had left and found a pair of socks and what I affectionately referred to as my kick-butt boots. TL had given each of us a pair.
Very military, with steel toes and thick heels, the black boots laced halfway up my calves. Parrot already wore his, so I sat on the Land Rover’s bumper and tied mine on.
“This way,” Guillermo said as he stepped through a humongous bush.
“Be back in a minute.” Jonathan threw his bag over his shoulder before disappearing into the same pumped-up greenery.
I finished with my boots and zipped my backpack closed.
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