River of Desire: A Romantic Action Adventure/Thriller

by Winn, J. K.

  “I thought you were the journalist, not me.” His fingers absently played up and down her back. Pangs of passion followed their path.

  “No. I want you to tell me a story. A story about a little boy from Texas.”

  His fingers froze for a moment, then continued their trail. “Not much to tell. Lots of little boys in Texas. Nothing special about them.”

  His heart beat against her skull, the rhythm comforted her. “Pick one little boy and tell me about him.”

  “Little boys are a dime a dozen in Texas. Little boys with fathers who drink too much and hang out in honkey tonk bars listening to Hank Williams. Little boys with mothers who cry too much. Little boys who spend all their time planning an escape, who want more from life, who have big dreams. Those little boys?”

  She nodded, listening closely to the emotional rumblings in the soft underbelly of this tough man. His arms securely around her, the manly smell of sweet sweat mixed with grit. His story touched her deepest, secret self. Her throat constricted. “Yes. Little boys like you once were.”

  “I’m afraid they all have the same sad story and you’ve heard it before in country western songs. No need for a reprise.”

  “Won’t you let me in just a little?” she pleaded.

  “You’re in.” He turned his head from her so she couldn’t see his eyes. Something loving and protective awakened in her.

  He took a deep breath. “I couldn’t do anything to please my father. I was always a disappointment to him.”

  “I can’t imagine that. He must have taken his own disappointment out on you. You didn’t deserve it.”

  “Sure.” He slouched down. “Now get some shut eye.”

  She wished he had told her more, but could sense it wasn’t the time to ask.

  At dusk, Dylan shook her out of a light doze and indicated his readiness to depart. The earlier drizzle had become sheets of tropical downpour. She squelched through ankle-deep mud down to the temporary dock. Large globs of rain soaked through her clothes and clung to her like a lukewarm shower. Her hair plastered her face. Even the canvas awning over her seat did little to protect her.

  They rowed silently toward the island and rounded the bend close enough to pass beneath the spot where the surveillance camera was hidden. An electric generator hummed nearby, powering dim yellow-tinged halogen lights aimed in intervals at the cleared area around the compound. Dimly she spotted a wall that had to be at least eight feet tall surrounded by massive tree ferns. Dylan moored the launch and they crept as quietly as possible through the mud toward the compound.

  Dylan eased the way through a thicket of palms with Leah slightly behind. Outside the gate, a guard sat on duty. As they drew near, a dog barked from inside the compound. Dylan stayed her with a hand.

  A moment later, he lifted the hand. They crept forward. Closer to the guard, he called out, “Holá, Señor. We are lost American tourists. We need a place to stay out of the rain. Could you help us out?”

  At his words, the guard raised a rifle and pointed it in their direction. Leah froze in her tracks, heart thudding. Dylan raised his arms in a gesture of surrender.

  “No come here.” The guard squinted at them. “Doctor not like visitors.”

  Must be the right address.

  Dylan stood tall. “Could you ask the doctor if he’d just let us stay the night in a dry place? We have nowhere else to go.”

  “Wait.” The guard cracked the gate a few inches and poked his head inside. He yelled, “Kimo,” a couple of times. Footsteps sluiced through the mud. After a brief consultation, the guard returned to his post. “Stay here. Kimo talk doctor.”

  Relieved, Leah relaxed her shoulders and let her tensed arms fall to her side. Rain seeped into her shirt and shoes. She hoped the wait was not long.

  A movement of the gate caused the guard to step aside. A large man waddled through the opening, bowl-cut black hair plastered to his head. He pointed at them. “Doctor say ‘nein.’ Diseases.”

  Leah peered around Dylan. “But we’re vaccinated against Amazon infections.”

  The large man raised his arm. “¡Fuera de aqui!”

  “But-” A shake of Dylan’s head stopped her before she could try to convince the large local to allow them in.

  “Okay. All right. We understand you want us to go.” Dylan took her arm and led her toward the launch. The two men watched from the gate.

  She resisted the urge to question him in front of the two guards, but once out of earshot, she whispered, “What the-?”

  Dylan stopped her words with a raised hand. “Listen, there’s no way we could have convinced those guards to let us in. I know how things work around here. The doctor’s the one giving orders. They’re only the messengers.”

  Damn. Of course he was right, but it frustrated her no end. She stumbled over a root, then righted herself. “So what do we do now?”

  Dylan grasped her elbow and guided her past a pointed rock jutting from the mud. “Don’t worry. We’ll just lie low for a time and then”-he led her down to the river and behind a skirted tree—“we’ll have to crash this party.”

  That didn’t sit with her to well, but what choice did they have. She only hoped their reception wouldn’t become ugly.

  She took a soggy seat on a tree root. The canopy provided a small measure of cover from the rain, but not enough. Her clothes were drenched and she was more miserable than ever. Vines cluttered her hair. Fronds tickled her nose. She watched as a long line of leaf-cutter ants marched past, carrying leaf pieces three times their size. “You did notice the doctor said ‘nein.’”

  “Couldn’t miss it, but we suspected he was German. He just might be our man.”

  Dylan kept an eye on his watch. After what seemed an eternity, he touched her arm. “Let’s go.”

  They retraced their steps and slipped silently toward the compound through the trees. Behind a giant Mimosa, they checked on the guard. His head now drooped against his chest, the large semi-automatic rifle dangled in the crook of his arm.

  Dylan signaled for Leah to follow him around to the other side of the enclosure. He handed her a rope, stooped down and cupped his hands. “I’ll hoist you over the wall. When you are on the other side, tie this rope to a tree and throw one end over to me.”

  A dog’s bark startled her. She quickly recovered and indicated her understanding. Dog or no dog, she had no choice but to do what Dylan suggested if she meant to find the doctor.

  He handed her a pistol and mouthed, “Just in case.”

  She reached for the gun, recalling that the last time she had held a pistol was at a practice range on a date with one of L.A.’s finest. She hadn’t come close to the target, but she got the story she was after. Could she hit her mark now? She doubted she’d have a better aim under pressure.

  Her hands trembled when she placed the weapon in her side pocket. Dylan squatted and again cupped one hand over the other. She placed her mud-encrusted boot into his bare palms, realizing her life was in his hands, too. He hoisted her up until she could barely grasp the top of the wall. She strained against her own weight, but with Dylan’s strong boost, was able to haul herself to the top of the wall and jump down to muddy ground inside. When she straightened, her legs were wobbly.

  A growl alerted her to the dog’s presence. She turned to face the bared teeth of a Doberman Pinscher ready to attack. Pulse pounding, she thrust out an arm.

  “Stay!” she commanded with as much determination as she could muster, suddenly remembering dogs are taught professionally in German. She racked her brain for the right command. “Plotz!” she demanded, but the moment the word left her lips, the dog sprang at her. Backed against the fence, she kicked at the on-coming animal and managed to fight it off with her foot. When the dog’s teeth closed around her boot, she had to swallow a yell that rose in her throat from the shock.

  Drawing on a strength she didn’t know she had, she fumbled for the gun, grasped the barrel tightly, and immediately brought its butt dow
n upon the dog’s head. The brute whimpered and tumbled to its side.

  With the dog downed, she paused a moment in stunned relief. Aroused by Dylan’s warning hiss, she whirled around to see if the dog attack had alerted anyone. No movement. No sound. She could finally exhale.

  She tied one end of the rope to a nearby tree and tossed the other end over the wall. Scratching sounds followed, then Dylan appeared on top of the wall, sprang down and pulled her to the ground beside him.

  She clung to him as if he were a life preserver.

  “You all right?” He waited for her to nod. With an eye on the dog’s inert body, he whispered, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Her leg had twisted in the dog attack and now throbbed. She ignored the pain in order to focus on the Doberman, who lay nearby, still as a rock. If the thing moved, she was prepared to club it again before it could pounce on her.

  A tap on her arm caused her to raise the gun in defense.

  “It’s okay. It’s just me.”

  She gradually lowered her arm to reveal Dylan. He signaled her to rise. While she stumbled to her feet, he lifted the Doberman and hid it behind a thicket.

  “You’re soaked. We’ll take shelter in an unguarded, empty building I found. We’ll be safe in there for awhile.” In a crouch, he led Leah toward a thatched roof building.

  She was careful not to put too much pressure on her sore leg.

  He tried the door, but it was sealed tight. With gestures he indicated a window. Using his knife, he pried it open, pushed her in first and quickly followed.

  Leah stayed low in the darkened room and glanced around, but could see little. “How about a little light?”

  Dylan’s flashlight beam bounced off a simple oil lamp on a lab table alongside beakers and bottles. A test tube hung clipped above an unlit Bunsen burner. Two syringes lay side-by-side on the table’s edge. Across the room, papers were piled on top of a massive wooden desk. Two cages with placidly watching empty-eyed monkeys were situated on a shelf alongside the desk.

  “The doctor’s laboratory?” she asked.

  Dylan nodded. “His personal quarters are in another building on the grounds.”

  Leah rung out the bottom of her tee shirt and squeezed water from her hair. “What next?”

  Dylan handed her the flashlight and pointed it toward the lab table. “Wait until the rain lets up and then go find the doctor.”

  Her stomach knotted. “What if he finds us first?”

  Dylan had begun to explore the lab table. He picked up a test tube. “Unlikely in this storm, especially at this time of night. We’re probably safe for now.”

  Something didn’t sit right with her. “I don’t know. I think we should get out of here soon.” She came up alongside him. “What do you suppose are in all these beakers?”

  He shrugged. “Beats me.”

  Then she spotted the machine against the wall. “Why would the doctor have a fermenter? she mumbled half to herself. “They’re almost exclusively used in labs producing biological agents.”

  Dylan stopped dead, eyed her warily. “What’s this about biological agents?”

  “I did some research for an article a couple years ago. As I understand it, all you need to produce germs are living micro-organisms, a fermenter and clean air.”

  “Why would anyone produce germs? Aren’t there enough in the world without our helping them along?” he asked flippantly.

  “Exactly my concern. What the hell is this guy up to.” She gravitated toward the massive corner desk and carefully searched through the paperwork scattered haphazardly on top; a letter in German, a receipt from Iquitos, a magazine article in Spanish. As she pushed one page off another, a letterhead jumped out at her, Central Intelligence Agency emblazoned across the top. What did the doctor have to do with the CIA?

  She read the letter and turned with a gasp toward Dylan. “Listen-‘Dear Doctor Kruger, we at Project Paperclip are most eager to learn the nature of that new vaccine you mentioned in your last letter. Time is running out on our ability to further fund your research. A recent Congressional audit of our bookkeeping revealed a discrepancy in our budgetary outlay due to the covert financing of your scientific studies. As you must realize, the political climate in the United States will not allow us to continue to fund your research if the nature of it becomes known. Please send us your latest information as soon as it becomes available.’”

  Leah stared open-mouthed at Dylan. “Oh my God!”

  Dylan grabbed the letter from her and studied it in the flashlight’s beam. “The CIA? Project Paperclip? What’s that?”

  Leah steadied herself with a hand on the desk. “Project Paperclip was a clandestine CIA project that involved the recruitment of ex-Nazi scientists after the Second World War, to do research on biological weapons in the United States. The program was exposed in the press in the nineteen fifties and generally thought to have been abandoned. When I looked into it for the article, I understood like everyone else, it no longer existed.”

  “Looks like you and everyone else thought wrong.” He handed back the letter. “Is Kruger your grandfather’s name?”

  “No...” She was too distracted to feel anything, even disappointment at not finding her grandfather. “If Dr. Kruger’s secretly doing biological weapons development for the CIA, maybe we just stumbled on a reason for this epidemic.”

  “What are you getting at?”

  Leah waited for her head to stop spinning before reading the letter again. “That there might be a connection between the doctor’s visit to the native villages at the time of the epidemic and the research project mentioned here.”

  “Isn’t that a pretty big assumption?”

  “Perhaps, but possible, given this equipment. He might have been using the natives to test biological weapons for the CIA.”

  “I hope you’re wrong about that.” Dylan returned to the lab table and flashed the light over the test tubes. He turned one so that the label faced him. “I don’t believe...”

  Without any warning, the door began to creak open. Dylan immediately extinguished the flashlight and they both froze like statues in a lab exhibit. With the glow from the outside lights, she saw a stately old man with a full head of wavy white hair enter the room and approach the opposite end of the lab table, mumbling to himself. He leaned his umbrella against the table and shook the water from his trench coat. When he glanced up, his face became a rigid mask.

  “Gottimhimmel!”

  Dylan positioned himself in front of Leah. “We’re the lost American tourists who asked if we could spend the night here. We didn’t have anywhere else to go at this hour and took shelter here until we could move on in the morning.”

  The old man flashed a light from Dylan to Leah. When his light fell on her, his eyes bugged. He swayed into the lab table and mumbled in German, “Sophie. Vhere you been Sophie? You come back for to haunt me?”

  Dylan looked over his shoulder, shot Leah a wide-eyed questioning look and mouthed, “Who’s Sophie?”

  “How the hell do I know,” she said between clenched teeth.

  The old man clasped his hands in prayer. “Please, Sophie. I did no harm. You remember vhat it was like. It vas not mein fault.”

  Dylan looked from one to the other. “What is he talking about?”

  Leah had been baffled before, but now she was dumbfounded. “I don’t know. He acts like he’s sick-or crazy…”

  The gaunt old man continued to mumble to himself, slumping against the lab table in obvious disorientation. In his mixture of German and English, he repeated ‘Sophie’ over and over.

  “Are you all right?” Dylan made a move toward him.

  At that, the doctor startled, grabbed his umbrella and stabbed the air in Dylan’s direction. “Who are you? Vhat you doing in my laboratory?”

  “We took shelter from the ra-”

  The old man thrust the umbrella at Dylan and barely missed stabbing him with the tip. His agitation was plainly written
all over his face.

  “Don’t! Put that down!” Dylan shouted, but the doctor poked him in the ribs with the umbrella’s pointy end.

  Something had to be done to disarm the lunatic. Before Leah could act, Dylan flashed her a warning look, grabbed the octogenarian’s arm and shook the umbrella loose. It crashed to the floor by his side. While all this was happening, the old man reached behind him with his free hand and grasped one of the syringes.

  “No!” Leah shouted as he raised the needle and aimed it at Dylan’s shoulder. On impulse, she flung herself between the two men.

  The syringe bit into her skin much like the snake had days before. A disembodied scream filled her head.

  Time stopped and her world spun out of focus. Dizziness overcame her and she slumped against the table.

  Dylan, pulling the needle from her arm, snapped her back into awareness. The syringe hit the floor, shattered at her feet. Filled with terror, she touched the spot where the needle had entered her upper arm. This time she may have been bitten by a far deadlier poison than the snake’s. Her knees buckled.

  Dylan caught her beneath the arms, backed her away from the wild-eyed madman, then stepped in front of her.

  “Sophie...” The old man reached toward Leah, but Dylan blocked him.

  “Don’t touch her!”

  The warning didn’t deter him. He reached toward Leah again. “Sophie. I never to hurt you meant...”

  Dylan pushed his hand aside and examined Leah’s arm. Blood trickled from the puncture mark on her right forearm. “I hope this doesn’t hurt, but I have to try and remove as much of the toxin as I can.” Dylan squeezed blood from the wound. To stem the flow, he tore a piece of cloth from his tee shirt and pressed it against the spot. “Hold that here.”

  He turned back to the old man. “What was in that needle?”

  The frenzied scientist stared wide-eyed at them, but Dylan grabbed his white starched shirt collar with both hands and pulled him nose to nose. “Who are you? And what was in that syringe?”

  “Kruger...” the pasty-looking man answered in a shaky voice. “Doctor Heinz Kruger.”