There were beach towels strewn over the sand, a couple of sand castles, half a dozen umbrellas and beach chairs. To top it off, there was a guy on a seat set up some twenty feet above the ground, an umbrella covering him. He was a lifeguard.
Laura made a soft noise in her throat. She opened her eyes and looked at me. “What’s happening?”
“I’d say we lucked out, sweetheart. Just hold on. You and I are going to be in that cold shower before you know it.”
The laughter slowly died away. The men and women were looking down the beach at us. Two of the men waved the others back and came walking toward us. I dropped the Bren Ten to my side. Sherlock eased down on the AK-47, trying to look a little less terrifying.
I yelled, “We need some help. We’ve got a wounded person here.”
The women came trotting up behind the men. One of the guys sprinted toward us. Short and fiercely sunburned, he was wearing glasses and a slouchy green hat. “I’m a doctor,” he said, panting when he stopped in front of us. “My God, what happened to you guys? Who’s hurt?”
“Over here,” Savich said. He carefully laid Laura down on a blanket Sherlock quickly spread beneath a palm tree.
She was barely responding. I unbuttoned the two shirts and bared the bandages. As he knelt down beside her, I said, “It’s a gunshot wound through the shoulder, happened two days ago. I had a first-aid kit, thank God. I didn’t set any stitches for fear of infection. I changed the bandages every day and kept the wound as clean as possible. But it looks like it got infected anyway.”
In the next minute, at least a dozen men and women circled around us. Savich rose and smiled at them, looking ferocious, I realized, seeing how dirty he was, with mud dried to his thighs and his growth of beard. He looked like a wild man, filthy and dangerous.
Then Sherlock laughed. She tossed the water bottles in their net to the ground and let out a big whoop. “We’ve been in the rain forest for over two days. Is this Club Med?”
The men and women just looked at one another. A man in a loose red-and-white-striped bathing suit said, “No, we’re on a day trip here from up the coast,” he said, eyeing us closely. “You got separated from your guide?”
“We didn’t have a guide,” Sherlock said. “Where are we?”
“You’re in the Corcovado National Park.”
“Anywhere near Dos Brazos?” I asked, and slapped a bug off my neck.
“Yeah, it’s at the southeast end of the rain forest.”
Laura opened her eyes and looked up at the man who was carefully lifting up the bandage on her shoulder. “It’s all right. You just hang in there. It’s not bad. But you need a hospital. What’s your name?”
“I’m Laura. What’s yours?”
“I’m Tom. I’m here on my honeymoon. It’s a great place. Well, maybe it wasn’t such a great place for you. What happened?”
“I’m a federal agent. All of us are. I got shot by some drug dealers. We’ve been in the rain forest for the past two days.”
Tom the doctor sat back on his heels and turned to a woman who had to be close to six feet tall. “Glenis, go tell the lifeguard that we need a helicopter here fast. It’s a medical emergency.”
“And the police,” I said.
Tom said to all of us, “The Sirena Ranger Station is just up the way a bit. It shouldn’t take too long. The wound’s infected, but it doesn’t look too bad, considering. You guys did really well taking care of her.”
“Thanks,” I said.
“I want a margarita,” Laura said. “With lots of lime. We’ll even provide the lime.”
I looked around at everyone in that circle. “I’ve heard of Corcovado,” I said slowly. “Isn’t it in Costa Rica?”
One of the women who was wearing a bright red bikini nodded. “Where did you think you were?”
“Maybe Colombia,” I said. “Hey, I’ve always wanted to visit Costa Rica.”
“No wonder the animals were bored with us,” Sherlock said.
One of the men said, “Didn’t you see anyone?”
“Just the bad guys,” Sherlock said. “And some footprints that led off into the undergrowth. We couldn’t take a chance of getting more lost than we already were. We’ve just been making our way west.”
“You didn’t see the tram overhead?” Tom asked. At our blank looks, he said, “Hey, we all took a ride through the rain forest on it yesterday. It was awesome. Well, I guess you must have missed it.” He stuck out his hand to me. “Welcome to Playa Blanca.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
I was staring at the man when I heard Laura wheezing and choking. I was at her side in an instant, grabbing her arms, lifting her against me. She was trembling violently. “Laura,” I said.
“No!”
Tom shoved me out of the way. He peeled back her eyelids, checked her pulse, then immediately yelled for beach towels. Beach towels?
Men and women came running, their arms loaded down with colorful towels with parrots and leopards and bright suns on them. Tom covered her with a good half-dozen beach towels, wet down the end of one of them and spread it over her forehead. He sat back on his heels and said, “Bring me cold drinks, not the diet ones, the ones filled with sugar.”
Someone slapped a Dr Pepper into his hand. He peeled back the tab and said to me, “Hold up her head. We need to get this down her.” I didn’t think she’d take any, but she did. On some level she must have known she had to drink. “The sugar’s really good for her,” Tom said. “And she needs the liquid badly. Let’s just keep getting it down her throat. We’ve got to keep her hydrated.”
The beach crowd gave her some room.
“Where’s that helicopter?” Tom called out as he poured more Dr Pepper down Laura’s throat.
“The lifeguard says another ten, fifteen minutes,” someone yelled back.
The men and women seemed to have assigned themselves tasks. Some of them brought us drinks, others food, still others brought insect repellent and more beach towels. One woman wearing a thong bikini that was an eye-catcher dragged up a huge umbrella and positioned it so that Laura was well protected from the sun.
It seemed like an eternity had passed when—no more fluttering eyelids, no moans, no twitches—Laura just opened her eyes and looked straight up at me. She was dead white but her eyes were focused. She was back again. She smiled at me. Tom gave her more Dr Pepper.
“You’re doing great, Laura,” he said. “Just hang in there. Breathe slowly and lightly. Yes, that’s it. Don’t let yourself go under again. Okay?”
“Okay.” It was her voice, frail and paper thin, but she was back.
“I can hear the helicopter,” I said. “Don’t leave me now, Laura. No more going back into the ether. It would really piss me off. I think Tom would freak out. Just smile at me every couple of minutes while you concentrate on breathing. I need reassurance. Okay?”
“I’m all right,” she whispered. “It just hurts really bad, Mac, but I can deal with this. How’s this for a smile?”
“It’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen. I’m sorry, but I don’t have any more pain pills. Just squeeze my hand when it gets really bad.”
When the helicopter landed some twenty yards away from us down the beach, I was nearly a basket case. Two men, each with a gurney slung over his back, and one woman carrying a black bag ran to us. For the first time, I began to really believe that Laura would make it. I wanted to cry with relief.
When the helicopter lifted off, I was holding Laura’s hand and waving to Dr. Tom and all the men and women vacationers who’d helped us out. One of the medics was sticking an IV into her arm, saying as he did so, his English beautifully deep and soothing, “It’s just sugar and salt water. Nothing to worry about. The doctor said she’s been drinking soda. This is even better.”
“She’s dehydrated,” another medic said, a young woman wearing a Mets baseball cap backward on her head. She fit a plastic oxygen mask over Laura’s nose and mouth. “Is she allergic to
anything?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
The woman said nothing, just nodded. “I’m going to give her an intravenous antibiotic called cefotetan. It’s very rare that anyone’s allergic to it.” She added, slanting a look at me, “She your wife?”
“Not yet,” I said. Another of the medics was checking Sherlock. The helicopter rose well above the treetops and we got a panoramic view of the rain forest. Dense, forbidding, so green you felt like you were growing mold just looking at it. Low, thick fog was hanging over parts of it, like a wispy gray veil. It looked mysterious, otherworldly. It didn’t look like a place where human beings belonged. Far off to the southeast must have been where we ran into it to escape the helicopters shooting at us. The town of Dos Brazos was over there, I guessed, somewhere, and a few miles southwest was the compound and Molinas, the bastard, and his men who had balls but no discipline.
We’d survived. Odd to think that trams ran tourists through the rain forest, all snug and safe, hands holding cameras and soft drinks.
It was too difficult to be heard over all the noise of the rotors, so we just sat there, looking down at the huge stretch of rain forest that had been both prison and haven.
The woman paramedic lightly touched her hand to my shoulder. I leaned close. “We’re going directly to San José,” she said. “The señorita needs the best facility.”
“How much longer?”
She shrugged. “Maybe an hour.”
I took Laura’s hand. She was still mumbling, still out of it. It was a very long hour.
I’d always wanted to visit Costa Rica, but not like this. Another five minutes and the helicopter set down in the parking lot of the Hospital San Juan de Dios.
There were medics with a gurney waiting. The last I saw of Laura was her long hair hanging off the side of the gurney—tangled and damp from the cold wet towels they’d kept on her forehead—beautiful hair, I thought. Hell, I was in love. She could have been bald and I’d have admired the shine.
The woman medic turned, smiled, and said, “Go to the third floor as soon as they’ve checked you all out. She’ll be in surgery there.”
Sherlock took my arm and led me toward the emergency room. “We made it,” she whispered. “Don’t worry, Mac. Laura will be fine.”
An hour later we’d been examined, cleaned up somewhat, but Savich and I still looked like wild men, with stubble on our faces, torn fatigues, and swollen insect bites covering our necks and the backs of our hands. As for Sherlock, she looked like Little Orphan Annie before she hit the big time, her red hair a wild nimbus around her head, her face pale, her clothes stiff with dried mud. I leaned down and kissed her cheek. She tasted like insect repellent.
But at least we looked human again, barely, and that was a good start.
I called Laura’s boss, Richard Atherton, of the DEA. Savich set up a conference call with his boss, Jimmy Maitland, and Carl Bardolino, my chief. We went over every detail of what had happened. It took at least an hour, some of it peppered with curses from Atherton. We agreed they would fill in our embassy and contact the local authorities to get us protection. They all wanted to come and bring agents with them. Bottom line, no one was going to take four federal agents and haul them off to another country and get away with it. They were arranging for an assault on the compound with the Costa Rican military. Edgerton was already covered with agents, searching for us, questioning everyone, turning the town upside down. I thought of my sister. I was worried and scared for her.
I listened as Sherlock and Savich called his mom and talked baby talk to their son.
Dr. Manual Salinas came to us in the waiting room and said in only slightly accented English, “You did very well. Two days in the rain forest with a bullet through her shoulder, I will tell you that I am surprised Ms. Bellamy survived. You took very good care of her. We went in and cleaned the wound. There was not any deep infection, which is a big relief. We were able to stitch the wound. She will be all right. She is still under the effects of the medication. You can see her in another hour or so.” He shook my hand. “You did an excellent job, all of you. I would like her to remain here for another two days to be sure there are no complications. Then you may fly back to the United States.”
I wanted to kiss him.
After assuring myself that Laura was going to be all right, I left with Sherlock and Savich to buy new clothes. Since we had no wallets, no ID, and not even a dollar bill among the three of us, Dr. Salinas loaned us money. Once Savich and I had shaved and no longer looked like desperadoes, they let us into the stores. When we got back to the hospital, we all showered again and changed in the doctors’ locker room. Then we ate, wearing our new duds, and waited. Local police authorities arrived to question us and to provide protection, which made us all feel better, given the tenacity of Molinas’s soldiers. They agreed to wait until representatives from the DEA and the FBI arrived. They seemed concerned and cooperative. One police lieutenant told us that he’d heard about an old army compound near Dos Brazos. He was surprised someone would try to use it for the drug trade into his country. They wouldn’t get away with anything like that in Costa Rica.
The day seemed to last forever. Laura awoke briefly, but mostly slept. We all elected to stay at the hospital that night, at the urging of the six police officers there to protect us.
The next morning we were seated in Laura’s room, speaking quietly since she was sleeping. I heard a man’s voice but didn’t look up. Then the hospital room door opened and Savich roared to his feet. “Good God, sir, am I glad to see you!”
Assistant Director Jimmy Maitland, Savich’s boss, came into the hospital room like a tackle bursting through the line, grinning from ear to ear when he saw Sherlock and Savich.
“S and S, good to see you guys on your feet! I don’t mind telling you though that I’m glad this sort of thing is mostly behind me.” He hugged Sherlock tightly and shook hands with Savich.
Behind him was my own boss, Big Carl Bardolino. He was a man I’d walk over coals to work for, a man who was ferocious in his loyalty to his people, just as Jimmy Maitland was to his. Big Carl came in at just under six feet five inches and weighed a lithe two hundred pounds. I’d never yet seen an agent who could take him in the gym. “Sir,” I said. “Welcome to Costa Rica.”
“Good to see you in one piece this time, Mac.”
Another man I’d never seen before walked over to Laura’s bed. I knew he wasn’t FBI. Funny, but I knew that immediately. I also knew that I wasn’t going to like him.
“We met this fellow at the airport,” Jimmy Maitland said. “He’s DEA. We let him come with us because he’s Laura Bellamy’s boss, at least that’s what he says. His name’s Richard Atherton.”
I looked him over. He was tall, thin, too well dressed for a Fed, very blond, and looked supercilious. He was wearing loafers with little tassels on them. I said to him, “I was not in Edgerton on assignment for the FBI. I was there on a personal matter, to help my sister. You were dead wrong.”
“That’s what you told me on the phone,” Atherton said, looking at Big Carl. He ignored all of us and looked down at Laura a moment, then said to Savich, “I suppose you were there just to visit with him.” He nodded in my direction.
“That’s right. As I’m sure he told you, someone tried to kill him. Sherlock and I don’t like it when folks try to kill our friends.”
A too-blond brow arched up. “You’re Sherlock? You’re the agent who took down the String Killer?” There was stark admiration in his voice, and Savich frowned.
Sherlock flinched and I knew she was remembering the drug-induced nightmares filled with Marlin Jones. Ignoring him, she addressed Big Carl and Maitland. “The local cops want to take out that compound as much as we do. Shall I tell them that you’re here and ready to go?”
“It’s okay, Sherlock,” Maitland said. “We’ve already set things up.”
“This is DEA business,” Atherton said. “It’s not in FBI jurisdicti
on. Anything you have to say, you say it to me first, not these guys.”
“Are you always an asshole?” I asked him.
Atherton took a step toward me, looked uncertain, then stopped. I wanted him to take a shot at me, I really did, and so I added, “Laura said you were ambitious, but she didn’t say you were an asshole. Surely that isn’t a requirement for supervisors in the DEA?”
I heard Maitland cough behind his hand. Atherton took a step toward me.
Savich took his forearm. “Don’t do it,” he said to him quietly, very close to his left ear. “Trust me on this, Atherton. It wouldn’t be smart. We’re both pretty pissed at your attitude. I suggest if you want to keep your nice capped teeth intact, you sit yourself down and listen. It’s time for full cooperation. This isn’t some sort of game. Look at Laura. She nearly died.”
“Yeah, because she disobeyed my direct orders.”
And that, I knew, was the truth. I said, “Yes, she did. As a matter of fact, we were all hot dogs, but believe me, we paid for it.”
“You wrecked my operation.”
“That remains to be seen,” Maitland said. “We’ve got about a dozen FBI agents in Edgerton as we speak, turning over every rock.”
“We were about to holler for help,” Sherlock said. “We just didn’t have time. They got us that very first night.”
Maitland said, raising his huge hands, “What’s done is done. Carl and I are used to S and S playing things too loose. We’ll deal with that later. As for Mac, he wasn’t there on the job but on personal business. We’re all in Edgerton now tearing the place down to the ground. If there’s still anything there to tie Tarcher and Paul Bartlett to this drug operation, we’ll find it.”
Atherton stepped back from me, looked hard at Maitland, and sighed. “Well, hell. If there’s a chance we can get anything on Del Cabrizo, I want to be there with you to find it. But I think they must have hit you guys so quickly to give themselves time to close down shop, to destroy evidence.”
The Edge Page 27