Catherine Coulter - FBI 4 The Edge

by Неизвестный

  An Apache was coming in fast and hovered right over us. It sounded muffled through all the greenery overhead, but it was close, too close. If it fired downward, it could hit us.

  I laid Laura on the floor of the forest, cupped her cheek with my palm, and said, "Don't move, I'll be right back. I'm going to get you a first-aid kit and then I'm going to play doctor."

  She looked at me like the drug had captured my brain again. I just smiled at her, grabbed one of the AK-47s, and ran for a small, light-filled clearing just inside the forest belt. I looked up. An Apache was hovering not twenty yards overhead, its rotor blades fanning the thick upper canopy of the rain forest. I heard birds screeching, heard their wings flapping madly to escape. It was just that the growth was so thick off to my left that I couldn't see them. I could make out a man staring downward with binoculars.

  "Hey, you bastards!" I fired upward. When I cleared the magazine, I pulled it out and shoved another in, and waited. I needed them closer, and lower. The Apache weaved, plunging side to side. Yes, I thought, you've seen me. Now, come and get me. I could hear a man yelling. They were right over me now. I fired off another twelve rounds, directly into the gut of the helicopter.

  I could see the pilot fighting the controls, trying to regain control. I heard the other man yell. Then, like it was released from a slingshot, the Apache rose straight up and then dipped sharply to the left. I fired another half-dozen rounds. It trembled, the rotor grinding, those amazing General Electric turboshafts sputtering, dying now from all the damage my bullets had caused. The Apache lurched and went straight up again, its nose aimed at the sky. It stopped, trembled some more, turned nose toward the ground, and came down fast. I heard the two men screaming.

  The helicopter plunged into the rain forest, slashing through leaves and trees. I heard a loud ripping sound- its rotor being torn off. Then silence. I heard the other helicopter, but it wasn't close. Wouldn't it come over us like this one had? Because they saw it go down?

  I waited a moment, then ran as fast as I could to where the helicopter lay, nose buried some two feet into the ground, its rotor broken off halfway down, gleaming sharp blade edges embedded in the foliage. Monkeys shrieked overhead. I saw several of them leaping from tree to tree some six feet above my head. I knew the helicopter could explode, but I had to get my hands on a first-aid kit. I couldn't face the thought of Laura wounded in this living hellhole without any medical supplies.

  The gunner and the pilot were both dead. They were wearing fatigues, like the rest of Molinas's men. They were in an American helicopter but they surely weren't Americans. They were probably Del Cabrizo's men, sent to take us out, just as Molinas had said.

  To my relief, I found the first-aid kit shoved beneath the pilot's seat. On the back of the pilot's chair, to my amazement, were half a dozen containers of bottled water in a net fastened to a strap. There were several blankets strewn over the backseat. I grabbed them up, smelling the fresh, thick scent of sex. Now I knew what these guys had been doing before they'd taken off.

  I unfastened the net that held the water from the strap, threw the blankets over my shoulder, and shouting like a madman, I ran back.

  We were still too close to the edge of the rain forest. I didn't hear anyone coming, didn't hear the other Apache. But it was stupid to take any chances.

  "My God," Savich said. "You've got your first-aid kit, and water. I'm going to make sure you get a promotion and a raise, Mac."

  "Can you hold out a bit longer?" I said, coming down to my knees beside Laura.

  "Yes, but then I want to relax by the pool with a good book."

  "You got it. Let's see what we've got in here. There should be some pain pills to help take the edge off." I found them and gave her three, and all the water she wanted from one of the bottles. Savich had gotten the bleeding stopped, thank God. It was as good as we could do for the moment. I rose quickly. "Let's go northwest about fifty more yards, then I'll backtrack and erase our tracks. The good Lord is looking out for us, guys. Just look at all this bottled water. And it isn't even drugged."

  Another fifteen feet ahead and we couldn't get through the twisted and intertwined vines and trees. It was a wall of green. The first time we'd been helpless, but this time we had the machete Laura had taken.

  I unfastened it from her belt, kissed her cheek. "You're brilliant," I said. "I can't promise anything, but it seems to me that just maybe you've got the makings of an FBI agent."

  "You really think so?" She managed a smile. Laura had to walk since I was carrying the water and the first-aid kit and one AK-47 and hacking our way through the dense green foliage. So much of it. I held her up, my arm around her waist. "You're doing great, kiddo. Just hang in there. Another fifteen steps and we'll rest. That's good Laura, just ten more steps." I took another whack at the twisted vines in front of us. 'The sucker's nice and sharp, thank God."

  "I'd rather have a margarita, Mac."

  "Me too, but I'd rather know for sure where we are. I should have wrung that out of Molinas."

  "He got us out of there. We're in Colombia, Mac. We have to be."

  I heard Sherlock moan, heard Savich's low voice, but I couldn't make out his words.

  He hefted Sherlock over his shoulder and took the machete from me. I was grateful. We kept going, at least another fifty steps. It was Savich who pulled up. He was panting hard. He gently eased Sherlock to the ground and balanced the big machete and an AK-47 against a tree trunk beside her.

  "Mac, enough. I'm beat for the moment. Spread out those blankets and let's lay our patients on them. Shush, Sherlock, it's okay."

  Sherlock opened her eyes and looked over at me, at the AK-47s I was laying next to Savich. The only thing was, Sherlock wasn't behind those eyes. I looked away, I just couldn't stand it. I wished I'd killed Molinas.

  I leaned Laura against a tree, unwrapped the blankets from around her, and spread them out. I eased her down onto her back. Her eyes were nearly black with pain.

  I leaned down and kissed her dry mouth. "Now, you just lie here, make Savich give you some water." I unfolded the other two blankets that I'd been carrying over my shoulder and spread them out over her. I said to Savich, "We've been using the machete, but maybe there's something I can do to lessen their chances of tracking us." Before I left I gave Laura another pain pill.

  When I returned some five minutes later, I heard Laura whisper, "I'm sorry, really sorry. I should have dodged better. Maybe I'll be demoted to the FBI."

  "You'd have to do something a lot worse than dodge the wrong way to be consigned with the likes of us," Savich said. "Rest now, Laura."

  "And hold still," I said. I flipped up the metal clip on the first-aid kit. "I'm going to play doctor now." I looked through the medical supplies. Alcohol, an oral antibiotic, aspirin, gauze, bandages, tape, needles, matches, thread, the pain pills-thank God the helicopter hadn't exploded. I had a feeling this was the luckiest find I'd ever make in my life. After Laura.

  Laura focused her eyes on my face. "We could be in Thailand right now. Any place there's a jungle."

  "Not with a town called Dos Brazos," I said. "Hold still and swallow these pills. It's an antibiotic and just one more pain pill." I waited a couple of minutes for the meds to start taking hold, then stripped her shoulder down and examined the wound. It was just a small hole in the front, sluggishly oozing blood. "Hold still," I said again. I wet one of the bandages with alcohol and pressed it against the wound.

  Laura didn't make a sound. Her eyes were tightly closed. She was biting her lower lip. "It's all right. I'm not in shock, at least not now. You don't have to look at me like that. I was shot two years ago. I know what shock feels like. Really, it isn't bad this time."

  "Where were you shot?" I asked her.

  "In my right thigh."

  I could only shake my head. "You're doing really good. Don't move." I lifted her up and looked at the exit wound. It was raw and big and covered with shredded, bloody flesh and material from her fatigue
shirt.

  I said, "I can't put stitches in to close the wound, Laura. There's just no way to get the wound sterile. The chances are the wound would get infected and that would be worse. So I'll just clean it and lay a bandage over it. We'll change the bandage every day. Okay?"

  "Yes. I hate needles."

  I laid a cloth soaked with alcohol over the wound in her back and gently cleaned the area as best I could. There was an antibiotic ointment, and I smoothed it on. Savich unwrapped a sterilized square of gauze and handed it to me. I gently removed the alcohol pad and pressed the gauze over the wound and pressed strips of adhesive bandage over it.

  I repeated the procedure on the small entry wound. I washed the blood off her breast. The dried blood was dark red, nearly black now against her white flesh. I hated it.

  I wrapped her shoulder, tying the thick bandage beneath her breasts. I'd done all I could think of. I'd done the best I could.

  "Hey, Sherlock, you still there, sweetheart?"

  "I'm here, Dillon."

  "Do you think we're doing things okay here? Concentrate, Sherlock. You wanted to do it, and it's time. Talk to me."

  "I'm here," she said in a thin, nearly transparent voice. "I'm concentrating really hard."

  After a few minutes, I asked Laura if it still hurt.

  "Just a bit," she said, and I believed her. She sounded vague and pleasantly surprised. "Isn't it wonderful how that stuff works? No, it isn't too bad."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  I had to keep her warm. I got her back into her shirt and covered her with blankets. "You just hunker down and take it easy now." Since she'd taken a bullet in the leg, she knew what that sort of pain felt like. I had no doubt she could deal with it. The thing was to keep her alive in this damned rain forest with more possible ways to die than the L.A. freeways.

  Savich had turned back to his wife. "What do you say, Sherlock? Were we efficient enough for you?"

  "I don't know, Dillon. I'm sorry, but I can't seem to concentrate, I-" She was gone from us.

  "She'll dream of that lunatic now," Savich said. "Jesus, Mac, it isn't fair."

  "She was with us longer this time," I said.

  Laura said, "Maybe this time she'll kill Marlin Jones. That would be best for her."

  "I hadn't really believed that such a thing was possible, but maybe, just maybe," Savich said thoughtfully. He leaned close to his wife's face. "Did you hear that, Sherlock? Kill the bastard if he dares to come again. Just shoot him right between the eyes. Try really hard to do that, okay?"

  He stopped talking and looked up. We listened to the distant sound of an Apache. Not hovering or firing down, just cruising, it seemed to me. Since there was no way they could ever see us through the thick canopy of green, there was no reason to fire.

  I told them what I thought had happened to make Jilly drive off that cliff. "There's no doubt in my mind that Jilly was on that drug. I think the night she went over the cliff she was trying to get away from Laura. Laura was in her head, just like Marlin Jones is in Sherlock's head, just like when I relived being in Tunisia. But there's a big difference here. Sherlock will come out of this, like I did. Maybe Jilly took too much of the drug, maybe she was really hooked, because she was still obsessed with Laura when she woke up in the hospital.

  "Did she run out of the hospital herself because she didn't want to see me again? I don't know. Maybe. When we find her, we'll get the answer."

  "The truth is," Savich said, "we don't have a clue about what the long-term effects of the drug are."

  "I'm afraid that even Paul doesn't know that," I said. I saw a beetle, black and orange and green, pause a moment, wiggle its antennae at me, then hurry behind some small orange leaves. I saw several other leaves move. Critters everywhere, I thought, all of them hungry. Everything was alive in this place, everything was hungry, everything was hunted by something else, that or dead and instantly rotting or eaten.

  I turned to Laura and lightly stroked my fingers over her mouth. "Since you've been cooperative, I'll give you some more water."

  She drank down a good bit. I looked at the half-dozen bottles. Should we conserve? I wondered how long we'd have to survive in this place. Laura was shivering. I started to take off my shirt, but she stopped me. "Not here, Mac. You've got to keep as much of you covered as possible. There are lots of nasty things around here to bite you. And there are leeches too."

  Leeches. Good lord. She was right. I doubled one sex-scented blanket and tucked it around her chest and neck.

  "We've got to be very careful," she said. She paused, then frowned. I knew she was trying to get her thoughts together.

  "It's okay, Laura. Take your time. We're not going anywhere."

  "I was just thinking about my boss, Richard Atherton, wondering if the DBA is all over Edgerton." She stopped then. I knew she was in pain. I couldn't stand it. I gave her another pain pill.

  After a few minutes, she opened her eyes, smiled at me, but her face was flushed. From fever or the heat or the tremendous weight of the humidity, I didn't know. "Breathe deeply, Laura," I said. "Think about that mar-garita I'm going to make for you. Think of me rubbing oil on your back, massaging your shoulders until all the knots are out. Now won't that feel good?" I lightly stroked my fingers over her cheek.

  I smoothed the hair back from her face. After a few minutes she looked woozy. I didn't want to kill her with too many pain pills. I looked down at my watch. Nearly eight o'clock in the morning. No more pills until noon. I said, "Just be quiet for a while, Laura. You can tell us all this stuff later, after you feel better. Are you warm enough?"

  She thought about it but didn't say anything.

  Sherlock was far off in a stupor, no doubt troubled by visions of Marlin Jones.

  "How long has it been since they drugged her the last time, Savich?"

  He thought a moment. "Actually, she was back with me only about thirty minutes before you and Laura arrived with Molinas."

  "So it's only been about six hours."

  Savich was staring up into the canopy of trees over our heads. I heard monkeys shrieking, a bird's wings flapping wildly, and other sounds I'd never heard before.

  "What is it?" I asked him.

  "I hear something," Savich mouthed to me. "Someone's coming this way. We knew they'd come after us. I wonder if they found Molinas."

  I squeezed Laura's hand to keep her quiet and listened. Yes, someone was coming, several someones. They were searching blind, not too far away now. Savich had lifted one of the AK-47s. I eased the Bren Ten out of my waistband. "Don't move," I whispered against Laura's ear. She looked at once alarmed, then almost instantly quite calm again. "I might be down, Mac, but I'm not out. Give me a gun."

  "Not on your life. You're a patient. You're not to move. Just think about that shoulder opening. It wouldn't be good, Laura. We've got to survive. Now, just lie still and-"

  "I don't want Sherlock or me to die because I'm helpless, Mac. Sherlock's out of it. I'm all she's got. Give me the Bren Ten."

  I gave it to her without another word.

  "They're close, Mac," said Savich. "Let's go."

  I slung the other AK-47 over my shoulder, slid the machete through my belt, checked the other magazine in my waistband, and fell in behind Savich. If something happened to us, Laura had the Bren Ten. No, I wouldn't think about that, but I still took one backward look. Laura's fingers were curled around the pistol. I gave her a thumbs-up.

  We were nearly on their heels fifty steps later. They weren't trying to be quiet. They were speaking loudly in Spanish, cursing, from what I could make out.

  We waited, crouched down beneath some broad green leaves larger than my chest. The heat was rising. The air was becoming so heavy, so filled with water that moving through it was like carrying weights. It was tough to breathe. Thank God for that water I'd found in the Apache. The men kept complaining, coming within a dozen feet of where we were crouched on the floor of the forest.

  "Let's get behind them,
" Savich said.

  They were walking single file only about eight yards ahead of us. Their heavy steps covered any noise we might have made. I saw Savich's profile. He looked carved out of stone. Mean, dangerous stone. There was death in his eyes, and utter concentration.

  He took the last man down so quickly I heard only a hoarse gurgle. The men ahead didn't hear a thing. Savich sliced his throat with a small scalpel he'd taken from the first-aid kit, then quickly dragged him out of sight. There were two others, who could turn around any minute. We didn't want to be standing there just staring at them. He looked up as he laid the guy on his back.

  "Let's get the other two."

  We heard the two men talking just ahead of us in rapid Spanish. I paused a moment, listening carefully. I said behind my hand to Savich, "They think Leon stopped to piss."