Code Name: Blondie

by Christina Skye

  Max frowned, wondering where the idea of kissing her had come from. Probably it was due to their cramped quarters. He was a healthy male, after all. Like it or not, there was a quirky vitality about the woman that was…

  Out of bounds.

  Dead stupid and possibly dangerous.

  Without making a sound, he crossed the moving shadows into the jungle. There was a higher vantage point two clicks to the south, and he wanted to make another long-range surveillance there. Once he was finished, he’d check the cave, but this time it would be quick and clinical. No personal questions and no intrusive thoughts about her body and that soft, full mouth.

  Ryker had taught him well.

  Rule #8. Never tell the truth when a lie will do.

  Most important of all was rule #9: Never forget that you’re different. This one was the easiest because Max’s life experiences hadn’t given him any opportunity to forget that fact. Being abandoned at birth in a cardboard box between the ammo and the valve grease at Wal-Mart left something of an impression when a person thought about his roots.

  That was one of the reasons that Max didn’t dwell on the past. The memories of living through a string of foster homes that had taught him to be tough and keep his feelings hidden weren’t exactly Hallmark card-worthy. The present was a damned sight better, and Foxfire was the only family he needed.

  Shouldering his second canteen and the sniper rifle, he set off for the cliffs. Soon he was swallowed up by the restless wall of the jungle.

  THE SKY WAS STILL BLACK when Miki awoke. Though she tried not to move, Truman came awake, too, wagging his tail and licking her face eagerly. Miki watched the dog jump up and prowl the cave as if he had never been weak, let alone close to death. Only when the Lab found Max’s canteen and carried it to her did she realize how thirsty she was.

  “Smart guy, aren’t you?” She smoothed Truman’s fluffy fur and laughed at the silly idea that a dog could read her thoughts. But her smile quickly faded. There were three who needed water now, so she would have to be economical. She gave a small amount to Dutch, listening to his steady breathing. Then she poured several inches into a small depression in the rocks, smiling when Truman finished it off enthusiastically. She took only one drink for herself. Max had made it clear that going outside could be very risky, and this canteen was their total reserve. Now it was half-empty. When it ran out…

  Miki stood up, feeling shaky. The ground spun for a moment and she slammed into the wall of the cave, her arm striking rough rock. Pain shot up to her shoulder and when she cupped her elbow she felt blood on her fingers.

  Stupid. She hated her clumsiness, which seemed to have gotten worse in the last few months. It had begun the summer she grew four inches, and her grace had never returned. Great genes, she thought.

  But no more excuses. Something wasn’t right about her arm. As much as she hated doctors, she would schedule a complete physical once she got back to Santa Fe.

  Assuming she lived through this nightmare.

  Cupping her bleeding arm, Miki searched for the Mini-Mag light she had felt in Max’s vest. She hadn’t wanted to use it until necessary so she could conserve precious power. Now, in its clear beam, she saw rough walls gleaming with quartz fragments.

  Something scuffled through the darkness at the cave entrance.

  “Truman?”

  There was no answering movement. The dog was gone.

  Feeling a sudden stab of loneliness, Miki studied the small cave. She couldn’t stay here and do nothing. At least she could explore a little and look for a source of drinking water. They were going to need that soon.

  She shoved up her sleeves and searched the other pockets on Max’s vest, hoping he might have a compass stashed there. She wasn’t an expert at orienting by the compass, but she knew enough of the basics to find her way back.

  Before she could finish her search, Truman shot toward her, licked both her legs and then sniffed her right arm thoroughly, back and forth. He pressed his nose against her bloody fingers and licked her arm. With each pass the Lab seemed to become more excited, turning in sharp circles and bumping her leg.

  “Take it easy, honey.” Miki held out her hand.

  Truman backed away from her and bared his teeth. His head cocked as he took a hostile stance.

  “Truman, what’s wrong?”

  The Lab turned in another tight circle, his ears flattened against his head. Then he shot out of the cave and vanished into the darkness.

  Miki stood frozen, confused by this sudden, inexplicable hostility. In the silence she felt a pang of utter loneliness. Truman had been the closest thing to a friend she had on this island, even if he was just a dog. His flight was unnvering. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, wincing at the tangles. It was going to take a week to clean up after this ordeal. A nice long bath with ylang-ylang oil was tops on her list after being rescued.

  She stared around the cave restlessly, raising Max’s light for a closer look. Near the bottom of one wall she could see signs of earlier digging. Water had left a dirty trail in one spot where the floor was uneven, scored in deep lines. Miki had read about the complex fortifications used by both sides during the Pacific campaign of World War II. Once a natural cave, this space had probably been excavated for storage defenses. There could be dozens of hidden bunkers like this scattered across the island.

  Holding the light in her teeth, Miki crouched down and ran her fingers over the cracked concrete. When she was nearly at the floor, she saw that something was off. After several minutes, she realized that the cracks were uneven and the stripes in the cement didn’t match. Even stranger, fresh cool air touched her face.

  As realization hit, Miki began to smile. Could the manmade cave lead to a tunnel that had been sealed up and long forgotten? She had a hunch her search had just struck gold. Running her fingers along the floor, she searched for an opening or hidden latch, but all she managed to do was break two nails and skin her palm badly.

  After ten minutes she sank down against the wall in exhaustion.

  Her foot bumped a ridge on the floor.

  Suddenly stone grated against cement, and the wall slowly began to move. Blinking, Miki watched a long crack appear, barely wide enough for her to squeeze through. After giving Dutch another small drink, she grabbed Max’s vest and pushed through the rough opening, gripped by excitement.

  The air was thick with mold and rust, along with an ammonia smell that probably came from bird droppings. Bird droppings meant that the tunnel had been open to the outside at one time. With luck it would still be.

  The current grew stronger, riffling her hair. In the tiny beam of her light Miki saw that something was moving on the uneven cement floor. Red eyes flashed, and she nearly screamed as a huge rat shot past her feet.

  Fighting down her fear, she moved along the sloping tunnel, careful to keep the cool air in her face. As she climbed, the smell grew more intense, and she covered her face with the sleeve of her shirt to keep from gagging.

  Suddenly wind gusted into her face. Directly overhead a tiny spot of light glinted from a distant star. Kit O’Halloran’s brother had been fanatic about studying the sea battles of World War II, and since Miki had a huge crush on Trace O’Halloran for most of her teenage years, she had studied the subject, too. That was before she had wised up and realized that if you had to change who you were to suit a man, he wasn’t worth having. But those old library books were priceless now because of their elaborate diagrams of fortifications on Iwo Jima—and her photographer’s eye, which never missed a detail. Miki remembered picture after picture of underground corridors with vertical access via ropes.

  She looked up. She could still see one blinking star, a speck of hope in the colossal mess she’d landed in. The roof was fifteen feet high, too far to reach, and no ropes were visible in the shadows. Besides, any ropes would have rotted in the decades since the war ended.

  Exhausted, she tried to think.

  But calm planning had neve
r been her strength. Recklessness, yes. Creativity, absolutely. But planning and continuity had always bored her senseless. Kit called her the Queen of Dropped Projects.

  More red eyes flashed around her, and something jumped across her ankle.

  Rats. This time she did scream, dancing from foot to foot. They had beady eyes, sharp teeth, nasty karma. Not that she knew if rats had karma or not, but if they did, it would definitely be nasty.

  Gripping Max’s light, she started forward. A spider web hit her face, clinging to her hair and eyes despite her frantic attempts to wipe it away. As panic closed in, she forced herself to take deep breaths, trying to stay calm and ignore the gleaming red eyes all around her. Then something else brushed her face.

  Raising her light, Miki saw a rusting metal ladder strung from wire in the darkness above her, its end lost in the shadows over her head. Once there had been two sides, but one end had fallen. Now only a single knotted cable held the corroded rungs.

  Back in sixth-grade gym Miki had sucked at climbing. Her gym teacher had sworn that someday she would find a use for that particular skill, but Miki had never believed it. Until now.

  As rats skittered around her in the darkness, she held the light in her teeth, grabbed the ladder and started to climb.

  Despite her karate classes, she was no Jackie Chan, and her movements were clumsy. Her shoulders ached and she could barely manage to hold on. Three times she lost her grip and slipped back to the ground, tearing welts across her palms. Angry, but on the verge of panic, she was almost ready to give up when a rat jumped up and nipped at her bare calf.

  Miki screamed and shot up in the air, throwing hand over hand and straining upward while the wire swung wildly. Shadows danced on the rough cement shaft and she was almost too exhausted to feel the gust of wind that slipped through her hair where the shaft opened at the top.

  Her shoulders throbbed, her whole body neared exhaustion as she clung to the twisting cable. Looking up, she saw a metal grate blocking her way out, but how could she hold on and push the metal lid open at the same time?

  With clumsy movements, she caught one of the rungs under her left arm, and looped the wire over her shoulder. With her right hand, she banged hard at the circular piece of metal. Dirt and leaves tumbled down, blinding her. Her hand slipped.

  She dropped three feet, gripped the line and climbed slowly back up, finally able to reach up and shove away the rusted grate, then pull herself out onto cool, rocky soil.

  With a tortured gasp, she collapsed on the ground. One leg still dangled over the black hole, but she was too tired to crawl any farther.

  A canopy of stars twinkled above her, the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. She raised her head, listening for sounds of water, but all she saw was dark ocean and darker land. Then through the starlight she saw a narrow trail between big boulders. Exhausted, she stumbled down the path, stopping every few minutes to rest.

  Her hands ached. Her hair was covered with dirt and leaves. When she pressed her palms against her shirt, she saw the dark imprint of drying blood.

  High above her head a shooting star blazed through the sky in an arc of light. Miki didn’t move, barely able to breathe. When she looked down, she saw a narrow ledge whose rough face fell away into a sheer cliff. The shooting star had saved her life.

  One more step would have sent her to her death in the ocean two hundred feet below.

  Shivering, she inched away from the edge. But then a rat raced past her and she jumped aside in surprise. As one foot hit loose gravel, she lost her balance and grabbed wildly at the air. The shrill cry of a sea bird carried on the wind as she pitched forward into darkness.

  IT WAS PITCH BLACK, AND Max liked it that way.

  Hand over hand he climbed the stone cliff, muscles straining. There was no movement of the equipment strapped to his waterproof vest. Every piece of ammunition and all sensing devices had been carefully taped in place, secured in zippered compartments. Silent and lethal, he scaled the rocks, swinging effortlessly from handhold to handhold until he was eighty feet above the ocean. Wedging his foot into a narrow ledge, he looked inland, his thermal camera clicking softly. In a little over two hours, the sun would burst in a red cloud across the eastern horizon. He had to be out of sight well before that. But first Max needed high-resolution images of three locations on the nearby island, visible only from this high vantage point.

  When he had taken two dozen thermal images, he stowed the camera in a watertight pocket and checked his watch. Quickly Max rechecked his equipment and then made his way back down the cliff by rope, repeating his swim through the choppy, predawn waters.

  At the edge of the beach Truman was waiting for him, edgy and alert. He gave no sign of his earlier collapse, running in tight circles, tail wagging. But when Max started toward the bunker, the Lab cut him off, tugging hard at his leg. At this clear alert, Max’s hand went to the revolver inside his waterproof vest. He watched Truman make a half circle, then paw the ground.

  Danger.

  The big dog sniffed the wind, looked at Max and headed north parallel to the beach.

  Max was right behind him.

  CHAPTER TEN

  MIKI’S BODY TWITCHED. Darkness stretched around her and small creatures skittered through the night, but she didn’t wake, drifting through a landscape of broken promises, fifteen again. In that world of dreams, her father was gone, her mother facing a crippling fight with cancer, dying in Miki’s arms.

  Once confident and enthusiastic, in her dream Miki again pushed everyone away. Her last two years of high school had been spent with an unmarried aunt who was clueless about the needs—and fears—of a high-strung teenager. Only with her camera had Miki felt in control of her world. Only with her lens did she forget her awkwardness, her height, her pain.

  Caught in bleak memories and anxious dreams, she climbed mountains, running from her past. Her hand reached out, digging into the warm dirt to frame a picture that would never be taken.

  She didn’t feel the rat crawling over her hand. She didn’t see the bank of clouds move in from the west and extinguish the stars one by one.

  MAX’S FINGERS CLENCHED ON the grip of his gun as he followed Truman into the jungle. They had already crisscrossed the beach, and Truman seemed more agitated than usual, unable to focus. The Lab had a matchless reputation for terrain reconnaissance, but some part of Max’s mind couldn’t relax as he crept through the shadows beneath the rustling trees. The hell of it was, the island would have been beautiful under different circumstances. The air was balmy, scented with night-blooming jasmine. It was the perfect spot for an upscale resort catering to vacationing honeymooners.

  But now it was a place of shadows and danger.

  Truman turned sharply, following an incline dotted with boulders. As they climbed, Max looked down and saw the cave directly below them.

  Gravel skittered in the darkness. Max heard a squeak as a dark shape shot past Truman.

  Rats.

  Max gave a mental curse as he scanned the terrain. Like all the Foxfire team, he had perfect vision up to 500 yards at night, due to extensive photoreceptor enhancements. He calculated their location, pinpointing the top of a rocky promontory that overlooked the beach, waiting for Truman’s next alert.

  The dog moved forward slowly, then sank onto his haunches. Follow with caution.

  Carefully Max crossed the slope and within two steps he heard a low moan. Truman sat down next to a dark shape, unmoving between two boulders. It was Miki. She rolled sideways, gasping as her head struck a rock.

  “Relax,” Max whispered. He slid one hand over her face, feeling for blood or signs of trauma.

  She took a sharp breath, trying to sit up, but his hands tightened, holding her where she was in case of trauma. Of course, if she had incurred spinal or other neurological damage, there wasn’t a damn thing Max could do to help her.

  Even if he did break cover to radio Ryker, they wouldn’t be able to get a team here in time to make an
y difference. That was one of the reasons he’d locked her up in the bunker, protection as much for her as for him.

  “Throat hurts.” Her voice cracked. “Dry.”

  Max tipped his canteen, wetting her lips, but giving her no more than a taste. He didn’t want her choking.

  Even without direct contact, he picked up her stress and confusion like a weight across his own shoulders.

  “Why were you—”

  “Save the questions.” He checked his watch, anxious to get her down the hill and out of sight before first light. “Can you walk?” he whispered. “Don’t answer. Just nod your head for yes.”

  She moved cautiously, as if checking for anything broken, then her head moved up and down.

  Yes.

  “Put your arm over my shoulder and get up slowly. It’s about fifty yards down the hill. Understand?”

  She nodded again.

  Silently, Max checked her for signs of blood, but found only dried patches on her shirt and jean shorts—a very good sign. When he tightened his arm around her waist and helped her stand, she kept as much distance between them as possible while Truman shot ahead of them, following a narrow path between the rocks.

  In growing impatience, Max urged her forward. As the slope grew steeper, she tried to pull away and nearly fell. Without a word, he swung her over his shoulder, ignoring her gasp of surprise. They weren’t going back to the bunker yet. He had had a clear impression of Cruz in the passing airplane, which mean he couldn’t risk returning yet. Instead Max scanned the shadows below.

  An open stretch of sand separated them from a partly beached Japanese gunboat. Truman sniffed the air, waiting expectantly. At Max’s touch command, the Lab shot over the sand toward the old boat while Max followed, carrying Miki. He tried to ignore the pressure of her hips and the chance movement of her arm against his thigh. The fool was lucky she hadn’t broken her neck, he thought grimly as he climbed onto the rusting deck and carried her down a listing companionway. The lower deck had one tattered mattress in a cramped bunk bed, and he left her there.