

### RESCUE ME

By P X DUKE

Copyright 2013 P X Duke

All Rights Reserved

ISBN 978-1-928161-27-1

Disclaimer

What follows is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Places mentioned by name are entirely fictitious and purely products of the author's imagination, and are not meant to bear resemblance to actual places or locations.

Previously published as standalone short stories:

_Dead Reckoning_ , ISBN 978-0-9869558-5-3, Copyright 2013 by P X Duke

_Long Way Home_ , ISBN 978-0-9869558-6-0, Copyright 2013 by P X Duke

_Payback_ , ISBN 978-0-9869558-9-1, Copyright 2013 by P X Duke

_Lie Cheat Steal_ , ISBN 978-1-928161-28-8

### RESCUE ME

**Contents**

Dead Reckoning

Long Way Home

Out of the Past

Lie Cheat Steal

About the author

**DEAD RECKONING**

Prologue

_When you don't have a plan, you end up doing what's called flying by the seat of your pants. In the world of aviation, that's called dead reckoning, and for good reason. If you reckon wrong, you can end up dead._

We were living on the cheap, going native and spending our days and our money in a broken-down country in a broken-down town in a broken-down cantina. We were on the run from too much drink, too many women, a shortage of cash and North African desert—not necessarily in that order.

There was nothing too desperate in any of that. It was hardly enough to turn us into desperados.

Mike and I began taking up space in the small cantina in an attempt to while away the endless days and nights. By force of habit adopted from experience, we always sat with our backs against the wall to keep an eye on the doors and windows and what they might present beyond our control.

I learned to speak the language from the local _señoritas_ who seemed to take a liking to me for some reason. Maybe it was my friendly manner. Maybe it was my ability to laugh at myself or to permit them to laugh at me. Or maybe it was the dancing I did with the girls on the cantina's dirt floor.

Mostly I figured it was the little bit of money I sent in their direction from time-to-time. That was all right with me. It seemed like the thing to do.

This day was no different from the countless others that went before it. It was close to noon. We had been in the place for an hour, maybe a little longer. When you drink your lunch you tended to lose track, and if you started early enough and waited long enough, the dark inside would eventually match the night outside.

We were flirting with the local color, but for some reason we weren't making any headway. Perhaps the girls had started to figure us to be regulars. They should have known by now that we were the only game in town.

The cantina liked to pick up the lunch crowd, such as it was in the small town. It was beginning to look like the pickings would be slim today. Such as it was, the crowd had already started thinning. Most of the regulars had by now departed.

Whatever was going on wasn't up for discussion. With nary a word to the two gringos, the girls began to drift away as well.

Even the bartender disappeared.

Never one to miss an opportunity, I grabbed a couple of teary Sol from behind the bar. Cool and wet in my grip, I set them on our table and sat down to enjoy the fruits of my labor in the day's heat and humidity.

Mike nodded his thanks and tipped his head towards the door. The cantina darkened even more as a man hesitated and blocked the open doorway. The sun streaming past the door and into the small cantina cast a dark shadow on the dirt floor.

The man looked around for what I thought was a little longer than if he were only on the lookout for friends. Seemingly satisfied by what he saw, he entered.

He clutched a dirty canvas bag held tight against his body. He looked over at us, nodded, and sat down at the deserted bar. He didn't stay long, probably because there was no one to serve a drink. He looked around all shifty-eyed and sweaty, stood up, and made for the door at the back of the cantina.

A door slammed, tires slipped on gravel and the car sped away.

I returned to the bar to refresh our Sol. I almost tripped over the bag laying on the dirt floor by the deserted barstool. The cantina remained empty, but I didn't pay any attention to that. I was too immersed in trying to know if I should leave the bag where it was, or investigate further.

I figured I should investigate.

Bad idea—but I didn't think about that at the time.

I made a grab for the bag and mumbled to Mike that it was time to go. We stumbled our way out the door into high noon and took off for parts unknown before pulling over down the road to take a look.

We knew without a doubt that the parts wouldn't remain unknown for long.

### DEAD RECKONING

PART ONE

It's all about the money

—Do you have the money?

—Yes. You know we do. We always do. Have we ever not had the money?

—How much do you want?

—We have the cash for ten.

—Hand it over. If the count is good the boat will hook you up at the usual place.

—It's good. We'll be there.

### ~ 1 ~

**MIKE AND I** spent a week or ten days roaming parts of mainland Mexico. We mostly kept out of the major centers and wandered into the more out of the way places. We even tried paying out good money for information.

When that didn't work, I rolled with the punches and used my gringo Spanish to try and verify local rumors. I started to get a little gun-shy about the trail I was leaving, but by then it was probably too late.

Mike had about enough of the wandering around we'd been doing. He decided he wanted a break, so he took up residence in a cantina that he thought he'd like. He figured since the girls were friendly and the dance floor was smooth, he'd call it home for a few days before rejoining me to continue our research.

It all came together about a hundred miles east of the _Mar de Cortes_. Or if you prefer, the _Golfo de California_. The locals used both names. I fell into what had to be a former military airport. A couple of old hangars looking long-deserted. Broken windows and cracked floor and walls told me they had seen better days, but not recently.

I needed to know how isolated the strip was before we could put it to use. I camped out about a quarter-mile away in a deep depression obscured by desert scrub. From there I could stay invisible while I kept an eye on the place.

It was hotter than a bitch in the daytime with the sun beating down in that little depression. At night, it was as cold as the North African nights I was more familiar with. Sometimes I would wake up from a dream and think I was back there in the thick of it.

On one of my scouting expeditions I discovered a small creek a hundred yards from my campsite. When the urge struck, I relieved the boredom and washed off the dust that accumulated when the wind blew and the dirt drifted into the hollow.

It reminded me of the _ghibli_ , a hot and dust-laden wind that comes up out of the Libyan desert. Minus the abundance of water, of course. That wind shut down our North African operation more than a few times.

During daylight hours I'd siesta in the afternoon with the best of them. By night I chanced cooking over an open fire, but only in the dead of morning when I didn't think there was much chance of the smoke being spotted.

By mid-week there was still no sign of anyone. It appeared as though this place was so out of the way that it could only be used for something illegal. That _something illegal_ would put it right up our alley.

Towards the end of my stakeout, on an early-morning recon of the buildings, I almost tripped over a rickety-looking old Cub tucked away beside one of the hangars. It was hidden on three sides behind a berm, out of sight from everyone but the most determined—or the people who had stashed it there.

I took time to give it a quick once-over. I dropped the cowlings. Visually, the engine appeared good. No oil leaks. The fabric on the wings and body was in good shape. Hell, what could go wrong with a Cub—a stick-and-rudder airplane if there ever was one?

It came together fast. We had the landing strip. We had the airplane. It was everything we were looking for. We could make our escape without leaving a trace.

Now all I needed was Mike.

**I popped the** cowlings and went over the engine with a fine tooth comb. I pulled the fuel bowl and inspected the filter. I drained the fuel line.

No rust. No water. No nothing.

I popped off the leads and pulled the plugs. The color was good. The plug wires appeared to be new. This airplane was somebody's baby. Whoever owned it was going to be some pissed when he showed up and found it _desaparecido_. Disappeared.

Mike showed up in time to help point the Cub towards the open hangar doors. With wheels chocked, he climbed in and I walked around front to run through the start ritual. It didn't take long.

First pull and she fired right up.

I was right. This was one well-maintained airplane. Mike did his run-up in a cloud of dust. I pulled the wheel chocks and he taxied figure eights inside the hangar. When he was happy, he shut down.

—What's with that dancing?

—Bonus. Someone rigged the brakes.

The brakes were set up to be used individually. It made a plane that could already turn on a dime turn on the head of a pin.

—Yeah, I left them the way they were. I wondered how long it would take you. So what do you think?

—Damn but she started like a dream. I can hand-bomb it by myself, no problem. She runs smooth, too. It's a bit of a bear looking over that nose with those wheels. I'll have to do a lot of angle taxiing.

—I wouldn't sweat the taxiing. She'll be good to go from wherever you park her with those tires. Hell, you could land on a shore swell wearing shoes like that. You could probably take off from one, too.

He already knew. I didn't need to tell him. To celebrate we cracked more Sol and sat down in the shade. I noticed right off Mike smelled a lot better after his trip to the creek.

—We're good to go.

—The sooner I fly her out of this place, the happier I'll be.

Mike was almost too eager to get on with it.

—I'm with you on that. I've been leaving a trail a mile wide. I don't think your generosity in the cantinas has gone unnoticed either.

We settled back and relaxed knowing we'd be heading out soon.

—El Dorado is an eighty mile hop to the west. I plan on keeping a low profile and staying away from the cantinas. For a change I'll count the churches while I'm waiting for your call.

As far as counting churches went, we both knew that would be an impossible task in this country.

—I didn't get any puke sacks for you.

The grin on his face said he was starting to come around.

—I won't need one if the engine doesn't quit, but the pucker factor is going to be high until I nurse her across.

—I don't envy you the first leg to _Los Muertos_ , but that engine is as good as gold.

—I'm going to hold you to that.

We clinked bottles and chugged, celebrating as only we knew how.

—I'll see you across the water.

—You know it.

### ~ 2 ~

**ON AN EXCURSION** down the Baja back in the '90s I heard rumors of an old fly-in fish camp at Los Muertos. It was the closest point of land across from El Dorado. The place was popular with the moneyed crowd in the '50s, but times changed and it fell out of favor and ended up deserted. We planned to use it as the first stop on our trek north.

It took me two days of hard driving to get from the mainland and then down the Baja. I suppose I could have taken a more direct route using a ferry. The downside would be creating a paper trail for the vehicle.

Mike's problem wouldn't be one of time. He'd make it across the Golfo in three hours aboard the Cub. Even so, I didn't envy him. He would need all the nerve he could muster to nurse a plane on wheels across two hundred miles of open water.

Relieved after the non-stop drive to finally be in La Paz, I picked up a phone card and put in a call to Mike on the mainland. I pictured him almost living in the tiny cantina. By now they were probably calling him _el loco gringo_ behind his back.

—I'm not spending any money on the cantina girls. They stopped talking to me. I can't find any more churches to count. Tell me you're somewhere close to Los Muertos.

—I'll be stocking up on refreshments when I hang up. In another hour or so I'll be there.

The line went dead. The man wasn't kidding when he said he was fed up with counting churches.

I loaded up with fuel, food, and ice for the Sol we both had an appetite for and threaded my way south out of the city. In an hour I was rattling down the rough overland trail to the beat-up shack off the west end of the old Los Muertos landing strip.

What could possibly be more boring than waiting?

I drank cold Sol to wash away the dust that had accumulated in the back of my throat on my long, sun-burned, two thousand mile trek in the open, broken-down Jeep. With luck, there'd be some left for Mike when he showed up.

Eventually I began to wonder. Was Mike airborne yet? I closed my eyes and imagined easy street to be a lot closer than it had been back on the mainland.

Following the siesta, I grabbed a water and walked the strip. It was usable for our purposes. The low-pressure tundra tires on the Cub would be sure to make short work of the rough, rock-covered and uneven ground of the old strip.

I congratulated myself on the ease with which this make-work project of ours had come together. It was beginning to look like the rest of it would be a piece of cake.

**When we landed** in Mexico we were on the last legs of an adventure that began in North Africa. What started out to be just another flying job turned into something else when it went south and started making news. Mike and I got nervous. As it happens when two guys on the same wavelength get to talking, we agreed our days were numbered.

I managed to extricate myself just in time, but not before having to make a sizable contribution to the local economy. To say it didn't benefit my health and well-being would be an understatement.

Thanks to Mike and a welcome escape from a North African jail, he loaded me into the back of a truck. What followed was a long, cross-country driving adventure across North Africa to Tangier. From there, it went into Spain. Along the way, we collected a few battle scars.

We carried those scars from Spain to Mexico City. We headed north from there into what was for us uncharted territory in northern Mexico. We figured on the anonymity and isolation to keep us out of the frying pan we'd somehow managed to step into across the ocean.

So far, we were lucky that way. At the time, we were completely unaware we'd find ourselves stepping into an entirely new frying pan on this side of the ocean.

That it didn't look to be non-stick didn't figure until much later.

**The all-too-faint sound** of an engine introduced itself just as I finished walking the Los Muertos strip, bringing me out of the heat and thirst-induced reverie. The sound grew closer and louder and I knew it could only be Mike. Who else would possibly risk a chance approach to this god-forsaken bit of landscape?

I looked skyward and caught sight of Mike and the Cub on final. My watch said he was about on the edge of his usable fuel, and I was thinking he was well positioned to make the strip if the engine quit. Then the engine quit and I figured I'd jinxed him. When it caught I was happy knowing he'd make it in spite.

The engine died a second time and the sound of silence followed the Cub on its downward glide to the strip. The only option remaining for Mike was a dead-stick landing. From my vantage point at the base of the rise, I couldn't tell whether he'd made it over the threshold or not.

Given that I hadn't heard splashing or rending metal, I went with the positive. I stood to regain sight of the Cub and witnessed a puff of dust grow into two and I knew the oversize tires had touched down.

High wings fluttered as the oversize wheels bumped and rolled over the uneven terrain of the unkempt strip. The Cub coasted to a silent stop. I grabbed a fuel can and the handful of tools I'd need to do a couple of checks and walked out to greet Mike. Already he was fast on his way towards the shack.

—Running out of fuel in the air will get you fired from any reputable company.

—That's true, but we both know this outfit is being run by the seat of the owners' pants.

—Are you calling our operation fly by night?

—Pretty much.

The sheen of sweat running down Mike's face said more than it needed to. It had to have gotten a lot warmer in the cockpit when the engine quit.

—You made it just in time.

—She never skipped a beat coming across. I'm hoping it's fuel. If it isn't, I'm not going to be happy about the next leg. There's still a lot of open water I have to cross to make our next stop.

—How does she handle?

—She flies like a dream, even with those oversize tires grabbing at all that air. Once I got her pointed at the strip she floated right in, dead engine and all.

—There's food and water in the shack.

I knew that wouldn't be what he'd be looking for after his experience with two hundred miles of open water and then have to cope with a dead engine.

—Did you pick up any Sol?

Mike was having a love affair with that Mexican beer since he arrived in-country. I was no stranger to it, either.

—You need to ask? I think I might have left you a couple or four in there somewhere. It'll be warm by now.

—Never stopped me before. You either.

**I wasn't the** only one wondering. Right off I checked the carb drain. When nothing came out, I yelled back to Mike. With both of us satisfied, I got busy with tape and a paintbrush and painted a made-up N-number on the port side of the Cub. I left the Mexican registration on the starboard.

The reasoning was simple. If Mike was forced to land the Cub in civilization, we figured that would keep the local authorities confused long enough for him to make a getaway.

I took a look at the plugs and checked the oil. I opened the carb drain again. Still nothing. That was a good sign. I added fuel and walked around the check the throttle setting. I pulled the prop through and the Cub fired right up. I got in and taxied to the shack.

—You were right. It was fuel. I noticed something else, too.

—What's that?

—It looks like you've got some fabric peeling off the top surface on the starboard wing. Past the bracing.

—How the hell did that happen?

—The entry point on the bottom of the wing is a perfect circle. Did you notice anything when you left El Dorado?

—The bottom has a hole too? That can only mean one thing. I saw a cloud of dust on the road to the strip. I was airborne by then. How bad is it?

—The shooter missed all the good parts but the fabric. I have what I need to make the repair.

—It's fifteen hundred miles of dust and dirt to get this fly-by-night operation up to the cabin in Colorado. I still have a sea of open water to cross. The last thing I need is a problem with the fabric.

—Don't worry, the repair will be good. Whoever took the shot missed the good parts. Besides, you're here to talk about it.

—I know you're more than capable. I'm not sweating it. The gas we're using won't do a thing for the valves.

—We've got to keep away from airports. We can get auto gas anywhere, even by the side of the road if we need it.

The locals were only too happy to provide gas from 55-gallon drums to gringos who drove the trans-peninsula highway. It wasn't the best fuel for a piston airplane, but it would keep us away from airports and the questions that came with them.

—Did you paint the registration?

—Yes.

Mike was on edge. He'd crossed two hundred miles of open water known as the Sea of Cortez. The Golfo de California, the Mexicans called it. He did it in an airplane outfitted with wheels. His engine had quit on approach. He'd just learned that his airplane had been shot up back on the mainland.

As far as I was concerned, he could be as edgy as he wanted.

—I'll fly the next leg if you want. I know crossing that water was no picnic.

I wondered if I was being tested, but at this point I didn't think so. We'd been friends too long and been through too much for that.

—No, I'm good. You've got your hands full with everything else.

I walked around to take a look at the cargo in the back. The butt of Mike's double-barreled sawed-off stuck out from one of the bags.

—Rough night last night, or the jitters?

Mike continued nursing his Sol.

—The jitters. I'm still on edge from being over that water for two hundred and change. I'm not accustomed to being beyond gliding distance without a set of floats beneath me. The kicker was hearing about that hole in the fabric.

—I'd be shaking like a leaf if it was me that jumped over all that water sporting wheels. Don't worry about the wing patch. It will hold one hundred percent—top and bottom.

—I need to unwind a bit is all.

—So you know, everything looks good mechanically, just like it did back on the mainland. The fluids are good. That airplane is as good as gold. I just wish the wind you need would be as reliable.

—I trust your judgment. As long as there's enough food, I'll be okay.

Were it me, I'd trust Mike's judgment, too.

—There's a week of canned goods and water in the shed. If it takes longer than that I'll be back with supplies. In case I miss you, I'll spot some fuel at Coronado on the beach.

—I'll go over the charts before I leave.

—How was your dead reckoning crossing the sea?

—I was off by a couple of miles. Maybe three or so.

—That's not so bad for two hundred miles across open water in a lowly Cub. Are you sure you don't want me to take this leg?

—I'm good for it.

Our next stop for fuel would be a hundred and eighty miles to the north.

—Since you're not offering me a beer I'm heading back to the highway. I'll see you in Coronado on that stretch of beach south of town.

Mike nodded.

—Count on it.

**I stopped to** fuel the Jeep on the outskirts of La Paz. Across the road I heard a _taquería_ calling my name. I went in search of fish tacos and Sol. Damn but those tacos were just what I needed. The breath of humidity on the bottle of Sol wasn't so bad either. I grabbed one to go.

I didn't have time to waste. I had somewhere I needed to be in a hurry.

### ~ 3 ~

**ALL RIGHT, SO** I changed my mind. How could an oasis surrounded by a shady grove of coco palms be all that bad? It couldn't.

Except.

Mike warned me about the _Hotel Cocos_. It was a great place for a meal and a beer. Next door was a place he called the crazy snail with cheap beer and girls. He never said if the girls were cheap. He never mentioned it might be trouble, either.

_El Caracol Loco_ , according to the sign. So it was the crazy snail. Mike was right. He was probably right about the rest of it, too. Even so, I had time for one, at least. After a quick look around I'd be back on the road in a flash. When I met up with Mike I'd file a report and we'd have a laugh.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust in the cantina's dark interior. I groped my way to the long bar and started practicing my gringo Spanish on a lazy bartender. I wanted a _cerveza_ , but I'd settle for anything.

He ignored me and I got the feeling he didn't want to be disturbed. Obviously he didn't think the dust-covered gringo had money to spend.

I didn't notice the girls right away. The dirty, faded mirror behind the bar I was trying to use to watch my back wasn't reflecting anything in the dim light. When I turned and headed for the _baño_ and a quick wash, there they were—in all their brightly-colored glory.

The prettiest one looked to be about eighteen, but it was hard to tell in the dingy bar. Given my experience, I figured until they were around thirty they all looked to be eighteen. She had on a low-cut top, just low enough to show off what she had.

It wasn't so low that it looked like she was bragging.

On my way by I gave her the eye and smiled. She smiled back right away. When I returned she was at the bar, sitting beside the full beer I deserted. I knew right away I was in trouble. I decided I'd take the opportunity to tempt fate. The sooner I got the temptation over and done with, the faster I'd be able to get back on the road.

That seemed more than reasonable at the time. I sat down and began to succumb to temptation.

— _Hola, señorita_.

— _Buenos días_.

I checked my watch in the dingy bar. It was still early. Her voice was so faint and soft I could barely hear her.

— _Habla inglés?_

— _Poquito_.

— _Bueno. Permit me to buy you a drink_.

— _Si. Limonada, por favor_.

No beginner, that bartender. He couldn't ignore me any longer. He had the girl's lemonade in front of her in an instant. I grabbed at the Sol he slid in my direction. Now that I was flirting with the local color, he must have thought I deserved better service. Either that, or he was working on a percentage basis now.

I went with the percentage.

— _Gracias_.

Her name was Medianoche. Midnight. I hoped it wouldn't be the harbinger of things to come. We parlayed back and forth, neither making much sense to the other. I started to think Medianoche was a lost cause until her older sister showed up. Or maybe it was one of her compatriots in the bar.

Lupita's command of English wasn't so bad as Medianoche's. My Spanish only improved as I pounded back the Sol. On the uneven dance floor I stumbled my way through a couple of sweaty juke-box numbers while clutching at each of the girls in turn.

I checked my watch. Past midnight. Mexican time worked better for me so I took it off. I knew the girls would keep me nice and safe as the hours passed. Or at least until my money ran out.

The only thing that remained for my new-found _amigas_ was to get their hands on my wallet. Not to be outdone, I only wanted to get my hands on the two of them. In my drunken stupor I thought that made us pretty even.

**Hours later and** I found myself wide awake. The girls were history. So was my wallet. I still had my clothes, at least. I reached down to check for my socks. Double bonus—my socks and the stash I kept in them were still on my feet.

I had no idea what I had been drinking, but it had knocked me down and out for the count. My head pounded. The girls weren't completely blameless in my misfortune, either.

It was time to get back on the road. I picked up my pants and checked my pockets for the keys to the Jeep.

The music blared from the bar, but I wouldn't be searching out last night's _compadres_ to say _adiós_. _Las hermanosas_ and their lazy bartender would have to enjoy my money without me. I didn't think it would be a great difficulty for them.

My head pounded so hard my eyes hurt. The suspension on the Jeep was no help. My head wobbled like a hula-skirted dashboard dolly. Such were the hazards of drink—not to mention the hazards of sweet Medianoche. I knew how Mike felt when he had to get down on all fours to steady himself so he could throw up.

Not that I was completely unfamiliar with the maneuver.

By the time I passed the beach fifteen miles south of Coronado I was so hung over I missed the _palapa_ across the dune. No way was I turning back to spend time sleeping beneath palm fronds. All I wanted was to climb into a bed and snore.

The Hotel Las Palmas on the _malecón_ worked for me.

**In the fresh** light of morning, yesterday's hangover became all but forgotten. I backtracked to the beach to set up camp and wait out Mike's arrival. It was then I remembered that I didn't have fuel for the Cub.

Okay, so maybe I wasn't completely over yesterday's drunken orgy. I herded the Jeep back to town to fill the jerry cans and stock up on fresh food and beer and ice for the cooler.

So far, the day had gone well in my estimation. The sun dipped below the hills to the west. The cold Sol went down with it. In the dying light I enjoyed what was left of the lazy warmth from the fire. The rest of the world didn't exist in the darkness beyond. Isolated and content in a world of my own making, my only concern was for Mike and the Cub.

Exhausted, I dozed off into much-needed and relaxed sleep.

**The Cub wasn't** known to be a long-distance airplane. That was the flaw in our attempt to fly it north. We were stretching it to stay on the edge of civilization, and it was chancy. That became obvious when Mike ran out of fuel in the air while on approach to Los Muertos.

The biggest problem for Mike on this leg would be the wind that flowed out of California's Imperial Valley far to the north. It funneled south, trapped between the Baja and the mainland for a thousand miles along the length of the Golfo. It would last that way for days at a time, and while it did, it was in the wrong direction to benefit Mike and the limited range of the Cub.

Mike needed a tailwind to help get him up the coast. That wind was known as a _Coromuel_. It occurred whenever a Pacific wind blew in and dumped down the mountains west of La Paz. If he got lucky and hit the back side of La Paz at the right time of day, he'd be able to ride the edge of it north over the islands and across to Coronado.

I settled in at the campsite, prepared for a long wait.

### ~ 4 ~

**SOMETHING IN LOW** gear attempted to work its way over the dune concealing the palapa from the road. The engine whined as it got closer and then stopped. Headlights tracked me where I stood and kept me from getting a look at the vehicle. High-pitched voices cut through the night.

Female. Laughing and giggling.

Drunk, probably.

I backed away from the fire and beyond the range of the lights into the dark. Just in case. The engine started and the microbus advanced. Its headlights pointed at the palapa. Whoever it was, they weren't strangers to the beach. The lights went out and doors slammed.

I was right. Two _gringas_. How the hell was I going to get rid of two of them, drunk or sober? I stepped back into the orange light of the fire.

— _Hola_. We saw the fire from the highway and thought we'd come down and have a look. We were right. You've taken over our palapa.

—Well, it's all mine now.

Christ. They thought they owned the place. I grabbed a stick and poked at the fire. I figured I might as well get to it.

—How long are you going to hang around?

—A couple of days. We have to get home by the weekend.

Two days. That sounded about right if I got lucky with the wind. I'd have some female company while I waited out Mike's arrival on the back of the Coromuel.

—What the hell. Unload and we'll share.

The one with the long, dark hair walked back to the van. Nervous, I followed her with my eyes as she disappeared into the darkness. For my own sake I needed a look at what might be inside. I chased after the woman. The van's interior turned out to be empty but for suitcases and clothes scattered on a foamy.

—What's your name?

—Sasha. That's Barbara by the fire.

—I'm Harry. When you get set up come on over to the fire and I'll spot you a cold one for that warm trash in your cooler.

Sasha made another trip and brought back a chair. The other one had disappeared.

—Where did your friend get to?

—Barbara's in the van. She'll probably sleep there tonight.

Gringas. No sooner had they arrived and they had it all figured out. Either I was the luckiest bastard in the world or come morning I'd be fresh meat hung up to dry in the back of that van. I never learned, but I kept right on hoping.

—How long have you been down in this part of the world?

—Just about a month. We ran out of money so we're headed home.

—Money. I know all about running out of it, all right. What are you heading home to?

—Not much. We don't have jobs. I don't think anyone is waiting for us to return.

So then, two good-looking _chicas_ with no boyfriends. Hard to believe.

—I need another beer. You want one?

—Sure.

On the way by I grabbed the full water bucket warming by the fire and climbed onto the Jeep to reach the palapa's roof.

—What the hell are you doing? Is that where you keep your beer?

—I've got a home-made shower spotted up there. I'll be under it in a few minutes.

—No shit.

She jumped up and began pulling off clothes.

—Turn it on, dammit.

—There's only enough water for one.

—Then we'll share. I don't mind.

She wasn't a shy one. The water cascaded down her long, dark hair and directed itself across her breasts. To get a better look I shifted her hair out of the way behind her neck.

—Are you done yet?

I didn't look up. My gaze glued itself to her breasts. So did my hands as I cupped heavy breasts and observed her nipples grow hard. She sighed.

—No.

—Good.

The water ran out and I handed her a towel.

—We're out of beer, too.

—Good.

—You're not much of a talker, are you?

She allowed me to watch her dry off before handing back the wet towel.

**The early-morning** sun warmed the tent just enough to make it comfortable. I pulled the covers back to take a fresh look at last night's body in the fresh light of day. It was the right thing to do. I wasn't disappointed.

I stepped out of the tent to discover Barbara had the fire going full tilt. We smiled back and forth and I got busy with breakfast and forgot all about her.

—Have you got a towel?

She was standing in front of me, naked and dripping. She hadn't bothered to cover a thing with arms and hands. Erect nipples stared at me. I stared back. She wasn't a shy one by any stretch either. Jesus. One I could handle. Two and I had some doubts. She did have great legs though. Among other things.

Obviously a bottle blond.

All right then. She wanted a towel. I handed her one. She didn't bother turning around. Hell, I'd have checked out her ass, too, if she had.

—Did you forget your glasses?

—I don't wear glasses. I need to check on the eggs. I don't want to ruin anything.

The long sound of a zipper being undone inside the tent broke the ice and Sasha stepped out. She had her hair tied back. Her bangs framed the deep, dark brown eyes of a true beauty. This was getting too good to be true.

—Something smells good.

—How did you sleep?

—Not so good. The mattress was a little lumpy in places.

The women traded looks and burst out laughing.

—That must be an old joke between you two.

—Kind of, but we don't mean anything by it. It's not a dig at you. If anything, it's a compliment.

I almost pinched myself. Maybe I should have. Instead, I announced breakfast.

—Anyone who wants toast will have to walk to town to get it.

**After breakfast we** took a drive and played at being _touristas_. I had a ton of questions that needed asking, but when they didn't ask any to break the ice I decided against it.

Instead, when we tired of walking the sleepy streets we piled into the Jeep and headed for the market. Barbara lifted the tarp to place the grocery bags in the back.

—Why do you have so much gas? There's plenty on the way north. Does this old crate burn that much?

—I thought I'd try and pick up a generator for the campsite.

That stopped the questions, but when Mike arrived I knew he'd have his own about the company I was keeping. He was going to be very nervous. Hell, I would too if I found myself in his place.

—Does anyone want to rent a _panga_ and take a cruise?

No way did I want to spend the day making idle conversation.

**We tracked down** a _pangero_ on the malecón and loaded up his panga with a cooler of Sol. He pointed us south towards Isla del Carmen. On the way we caught sight of a huge cabin cruiser moored a long way offshore in the low tide.

—Now there's something I'd like to own one day.

—You'd need a crew.

—You're right. Are you available?

—When you get the boat, call.

Out in the channel the panga began bouncing in the chop. The wind strengthened and appeared to be changing direction. I had to ask.

—Is this the beginning of a Coromuel?

—It could well be, señor. For the past week there has been a strong northerly. There's no doubt that it's due for a change. It does feel like the wind is starting to come around.

—Capitán, I think it's time we headed back.

It was late afternoon by the time the pangero tied off on the malecón. The women had lapped up most of the Sol. The prospect of a favorable wind for Mike had me on edge. I needed to get back to the beach to meet the plane.

If Mike was already on his way, I'd be cutting it fine. If he was in a hurry he'd fuel up, steal my Sol, and leave me a note. He'd be well on his way north to the next stop. We already agreed that there'd be no waiting around. I'd be left doing catch-up. Hell, I'd do the same to him.

There was one small problem with that. The fuel was sitting in the back of the Jeep. He'd have to be satisfied with my Sol.

By the time I turned off the highway on the way to the beach, the girls were singing at the top of their drunken lungs. The beach came into view, and the singing halted.

### ~ 5 ~

**MIKE KEPT STILL** , waiting beside the Cub. I figured the shotgun was high on his mind right about now given that I had just showed up with two women in tow. He waved and I waved back with the all-clear signal. I knew the double-barreled sawed-off hung under his jacket.

No doubt it was cocked.

—When did you get here?

—About a half-hour ago. The tail-wind from La Paz turned into a roller-coaster of a ride.

—You're here now.

—And glad of it. What's with the company you're keeping? Is it accidental or on purpose?

—They pulled into my campsite last night. I think it was accidental. There are no tells so far.

—Good. In case you didn't notice, I'm a little nervous.

—I noticed all right. That's a good thing as far as I'm concerned. Barbara is the blonde. Sasha is the dark-haired beauty.

—Let me guess.

—Why would you guess? You already know the answer. Old habits die hard.

We grinned back and forth.

—Chicas, I'd like to introduce you to Mike.

They grinned. Mike's own wasn't so friendly, but at least it was a smile.

—These two stumbled into my campsite last night in a drunken stupor. I made the mistake of taking pity and invited them to stay. As you can see for yourself, they're still here.

Mike kept a wary eye on the van. The suspense finally got to be too much.

—That's a nice-looking van for being so old.

—We bought it for this trip. It saves us a lot of money time when we don't have to set up a tent.

—Mind if I take a look?

He didn't wait for the invitation before making his way to the van and opened the doors, front and back.

—It looks to be in pretty good shape for a '67.

—Barbara picked it out. It was already set up for camping. Pretty much everything works, including the old tape deck. We like it because we don't have to pay for hotels.

Mike made his way back to the tent. I heard the clicks and I knew he was stowing his shotty in the tent. I talked at him through the walls.

—Are you happy now?

—Pretty much. I need to get something to eat. I haven't had anything since I stopped to fuel up out in the boonies.

—What? Say that again.

—I landed on a _playa_ across from the old salt flats. I didn't want to chance another dead-stick landing so I borrowed some fuel.

—Don't worry. You won't be getting fired any time soon. How are the tires working out?

—They're the cat's ass. Those oversize tires just float over the sand.

—We got lucky, didn't we?

—That we did. Now let's stop talking shop and pay some attention to your company.

—They're our company now.

**We devoured supper** like it was the last meal we were ever going to get. The dregs of the Sol came in handy to wash it all down. When we couldn't eat any more, Sasha cranked up the tunes and we danced around the fire like there would be no tomorrow.

—How did the two of you end up down here with an airplane and a Jeep?

Here we go. Still, it surprised me that the questions hadn't started sooner. Truth or lie? Half-and-half worked for me, but I always had a hard time remembering which half I lied about.

—Mike and I were in North Africa working for an exploration company.

That was the truth.

—When the job ended, we got out on an R&R. We were sitting around in Spain with nothing to do but get into trouble, so we jumped on an airplane for Mexico City and here we are. Now that we're almost broke, we're headed home. It's time to go back to work.

That was putting it mildly. The sooner Mike and I could get out of this place, the better. Added bonus, no one asked how the plane fit into the equation.

—What's the deal with you and Barbara?

—It sounds like we're in the same boat as the two of you—minus the trip overseas. We got fed up with our dead-end jobs in the city. We quit and here we are, broke and homeward-bound.

**I caught out** Mike looking back and forth in the direction of the Cub. He'd been doing it for most of the evening. I managed a kick at a foot, but it didn't dissuade him. In the pitch black surrounding us, his unease was beginning to get on my nerves.

—I'm not comfortable with that airplane sticking out on the beach.

He was making sense and I couldn't disagree, but the night was as black as the inside of a box.

—If someone floats by and sees it we'll be caught out in the open. That's not where I want to be.

What were the chances? Slim to none, I'd say.

—I'll be back in a couple of minutes.

Mike stood up and retrieved his sawed-off. I lost sight of him in the dark. I went for my .45 and met him at the plane.

—You've been worried about this all night.

—I don't like leaving this thing in plain sight loaded up the way it is.

—You're right. We should probably get the hell out at first light.

—I'm good to go. The sooner, the better. What about the girls? Are we going to slink out of here like the dogs we are after sending them off to town in the van?

—I've been thinking about that. I've got a good feeling about Sasha. She seems cool with whatever the hell it is she thinks we're doing. I'm not so sure about Barbara. She hasn't even blinked an eye looking towards the plane.

—We could take them along for the ride. That van might come in handy, and the two of them would be good cover for a couple of gringo tourists such as ourselves.

—I think so, too. Let's play it by ear and see what they want to do.

—I'll fuel up first thing in the morning. One thing for sure, eventually one of them is going to notice that the Cub is stuffed with sea bags.

I sniffed the damp air. The distinct odor was plainly noticeable.

—I know. Sasha asked me earlier about the two registrations. I told her we didn't have time to paint over both of them. She gave me an _I'm not that stupid_ look. I felt bad for lying, but what the hell was I going to say?

—We'll work it out in the morning.

Sasha and Barbara, head-to-head and deep in conversation by the fire, clammed up as we got close.

—Mike is going to pull out of here tomorrow morning and head to El Coyote for a day or two. Are you interested in coming with us?

—We were just talking about that. We're out of money and we have to get back home, the sooner the better.

—Mike and I can help with gas for the van.

—You only want us for the CD-player.

Maybe. But why would the two of them want us tagging along? Our Jeep had no music.

**I scrambled out** of the tent with Mike's shotty in hand. I reached in and made a grab for Sasha in the dark and dragged her unceremoniously out of the tent and in the direction of the van.

—I've got Sasha. Is Barbara with you?

—No. Who's doing the yelling?

—I don't know.

I handed Mike the sawed-off.

—Have you got yours?

—You bet. Sasha, stay here. If Barbara shows up, keep her here. Understood?

I didn't wait for an answer.

—Get in the van and stay down.

Someone had run a panga ashore beside the Cub. Two shadows crouched under a wing. A third lay on the ground at their feet. It was too dark to know what was happening.

—It sounds like they're arguing. Can you hear what they're saying?

—Shit. That's Barbara. And no, I can't make out anything. They're speaking Spanish.

—It's go time. We can sort the bullshit out after the dance. Are you good?

—I'm good.

—Head to the right. I'll go left. When you think the time is right, see if you can put a hole in that panga. If they head my way I'll try to hold them to the shore.

The shotgun blast scattered the two men. Barbara rolled under the plane.

Mike let another one go at the feet of one and he headed for the hills. The shotgun snapped open and Mike recharged it. It clicked shut with a determined snap.

The fat one made for the panga. No doubt he's have a tough go pushing that beached panga out all by himself. I sent one in the direction of _el gordo_ trying to climb aboard and he slouched forward across the bow.

Mike caught up to the second man behind a dune. He dragged him back to the panga and pushed him over the side. He dropped with a hard thud.

### PART TWO

Hiding places

—Were you able to get the goods into the van without those two losers noticing anything?

—Yes. The confusion on the beach in the dark made it easy. I managed to get it into the compartment when they were out in the panga.

—Do you think the couriers got hurt in the process?

—Bad luck for us if they did.

—We'll hear about it, that's for sure. Sooner rather than later.

### ~ 6 ~

**WE STRUGGLED TO** push back the flat-bottomed panga with the weight of the added bodies. Feet sunk into the sand as we rocked and heaved the awkward panga. Finally it scraped off the beach. It hung up on the sand as we manhandled it into a shallow tide pool where it floated free.

Mike climbed aboard and fired up the engine. He nodded, satisfied, as the engine settled into an easy lope. He handed off the shotty and I made for shore and the Cub.

Barbara remained crouched beneath the plane, shaking like a leaf, barely holding herself together with her knees up and her arms surrounding them. She looked up at me, pale, questioning, unsure if she should say anything.

—Are you all right?

I pulled her up and steadied her. I gripped her arm and squeezed, hard, suddenly remembering that this was all her fault.

—What the hell was that about?

—I was out walking behind a dune and those two jumped me.

—What did they want?

—I don't know. It sounded like they were asking about two people and drugs or two people who got away with some drugs.

Shit. Now we were stepping in it. Or someone had. It occurred that these two might be doing the same thing Mike and I were doing. Was it too soon to think that it was about Mike and the plane? He only just arrived.

Sasha paced back and forth beside the dead fire kicking sand and not looking happy. In fact, she looked like she'd start spitting nails any second.

—Everything is packed. Are we going to ditch camp right away?

—We can't. The plane needs fuel.

—Where the hell did you get that thing? And what's with the two registrations? Can't you make up your mind which way you're going?

—Not now, okay? Maybe you should keep Barbara company. She had a pretty bad scare from those _bandidos_.

The woman ignored me and instead started looking around. That couldn't be good.

—Where's Mike? Is he all right?

—He's in the panga out in the bay kissing our company goodbye. When he gets back we'll sit down for a few minutes before we break camp.

Sasha scowled at me like she wanted to stick a foot between my legs, and not in a good way. I was in deep shit, but it couldn't be helped. I sat down beside Barbara sitting beside the dead fire. She continued to tremble. How much of it was out of fear and how much was caused by the cool night air?

—You did good out there. When the lead started flying, diving under the plane probably kept you from getting hurt.

—Who the hell are you guys? What the hell are you doing? And where's Mike? Is he hurt?

The blame was already being cast, and Mike and I were prime suspects according to these two.

—No. He's fine. He's in the panga.

—With those two? All by himself? Will he be all right?

Barbara's care and concern sounded genuine. I didn't think it was time to mention that the men were dead.

—He'll be fine. In fact, he should be back any time now. We're going to break camp and get out of here.

—We can't leave Mike.

I looked over at Sasha but she wouldn't be any help. She was giving me the look again and for good measure she shook her head in disgust.

—We're not going to be leaving Mike anywhere. By the time he gets back I'll have our camp packed up. Sasha has you two ready to go. If you want to leave now, you can.

Barbara and Sasha walked down the beach, heads bent, whispering. I tried listening, but failing that I figured they'd come up for air announcing they'd be getting out as fast as they came in. I didn't doubt that I'd be left behind in a spray of beach sand from the van's spinning tires in the race to the highway.

When they returned, something had been settled between them. They walked purposefully in my direction. For an instant I thought about turning around to run the other way.

—We're going to wait for Mike. Then we're all going to leave at the same time. Is Mike going to fly that thing out of here?

—Yes he is. I'll be meeting Mike and the plane down the road. Are you sure you want to tag along after what happened?

—Judging by how you and Mike handle yourselves, there's safety in numbers. We decided that we want to stay with you. Is that going to be a problem?

—It's fine with me, but Mike might have other ideas when he gets back.

—Other ideas about what?

Other ideas about you two tagging along with us, but I didn't say it. We needed to talk it over before making a decision one way or the other.

**Mike returned and** Barbara was quick to run up and throw her arms around him. Hell, they only met a few short hours ago and it looked to me like she was already making plans to settle down and move in.

—You're soaking wet. Did you fall out of the panga?

Call me cynical, but I watched the performance and had a hard time believing it. Call me Mr. Negative, but love at first sight wasn't a strong point at this stage of my life. Mike's either, if I knew him.

—Sort of. It's all good now. The panga is headed for open water and _dos cabróns_ are on top of things. We need to get out of here right now.

Mike and I were in deep shit, and not only with Sasha and Barbara. The _policías_ would take a dim view of the two men floating in the Sea of Cortez aboard an abandoned panga. If they could be linked to us we'd be growing old in a Mexican prison—if we lived that long.

—How did it go?

—Not so good. I think they finally caught up to us.

—Well, we knew that was a possibility when we discovered the Cub took a hit after leaving El Dorado.

—There's a boat sitting out in the bay.

—A boat?

—A cabin cruiser. A big one.

I'd noticed it yesterday and gave it a pass. Maybe I was wrong.

—It could belong to anyone. No one could have figured on us heading out over two hundred miles of open water with an airplane on wheels.

—Maybe so, but we don't need to be wasting more time here. What about the girls?

—They want to come with us. What do you think?

—I don't blame them if they want out, especially after the encounter we just had. You've spent more time with them. What do you think?

I might have spent more time, but it could be measured in hours, not days or weeks.

—I say trust but verify. That forced display of affection on the beach got my alarm bells ringing a little too loud for my liking.

Mike nodded his agreement.

—I feel the same way. What do you want to do?

—They're asking a lot of questions. Yesterday, Barbara was wondering about the gas in the back of the Jeep. Sasha threw a skeptical eye at the dual registrations on the Cub.

I hesitated before going on.

—The questions are going to be coming hard and fast after what happened. Who knows what the reaction will be when they find out our two friends are lying dead in a panga pointed at the mainland.

—You need to clue them in after we pull out of here.

Mike's grin almost went to his ears.

—I'll say one thing. I'm glad it's you that has to deal with Sasha. She looks like one pissed off woman right about now.

—I know. She's been kicking sand in my direction all morning. I've been trying to avoid her, but it's pretty tough when we're all under the same palapa. I'll fill them in when we get down the road. After that, it'll be do or die.

—They need to make the decision whether they want to stay on or not. If it was us and the situation was reversed, we'd want to know where we stood.

There was something still bothering me.

—Should we be asking some questions of our own? It sounded to me like Barbara was arguing with those two men last night. I wish to hell I knew some Spanish. What if they're after the two of them and not us? Why would they be after them at all?

—They've been down here for about as long as we've been on the mainland. Maybe they have their own problems, just like us.

—I hope not. Let's get the hell out of here. Sasha helped fuel the Cub. It's ready to go. Do you want a hand firing it up?

—No. You get everyone going and I'll see you down the road.

Mike hand-bombed the prop and taxied the Cub to the water line and the smooth sand beneath. He positioned and aimed the nose down the beach. Once airborne he waggled his wings at us before disappearing, low and slow over the horizon.

### ~ 7 ~

**THERE WASN'T A** lot of conversation as we finished breaking camp and loaded the vehicles. I took the brunt of the sullen looks and glances coming from the women. I took my cue from the women and shut up until the end of it, although I wasn't sure what the big deal was. Everyone was safe, no thanks to Barbara and her _dos cabrons_.

—Okay, chicas, we need to get out of here right now. We can't afford more company. We don't know why they showed up in the first place.

Disgusted, Sasha stuffed her hands into her pockets. She stopped kicking sand long enough to look hard at me.

—The plan for the day-

Sasha interrupted.

—I'd say there hasn't been much of a plan up to now. What's the hurry all of a sudden?

—Cut me some slack, woman.

—It's true, and you know it. Get your ass over here, gringo. We're going to go over a few things if you want us along for the good times.

—All right, but shake a leg or it'll be bread and water and hard times in a Mexican jail for some of us. For the good-looking ones, not so much.

—Barbara, Mr. Plan-for-the-day here is going to ride with you and fill you in on what's been going on. I've already got a pretty good idea, but when he's done with you, he's going to sit his ass down beside me in the Jeep and explain why we should keep him company past this morning. Are you okay with that?

—I don't know about you, sister, but I'm ready just in case some of us don't have an airplane to hide under.

Barbara cradled Mike's sawed-off.

—Jesus, woman, don't be flashing that shotty. Down here you'll end up in jail. You'll lose more weight than you want to on a bread and water diet.

—Somebody has to cover the good guys. Come on, get your ass in gear.

I looked over at Sasha. She doing a good job ignoring me, and I wondered if that was what it felt like to be married. It seemed like that was all she could do now that the two of them had agreed to team up with us. She climbed into the Jeep.

—Get on the bus, gringo. It's time.

—There's been a change of plan, chica. We're heading into town to pick up fuel. We'll catch up with Barbara and your bus later.

All things considered, she took it well. If the woman was pretending, she was doing a good job at it.

**Sasha didn't waste** time. She started the Jeep and by the white knuckles gripping the wheel it looked like she was about to head off without me.

—If you do, you won't be able to grill me in the hot seat.

—What's the deal with the airplane?

—At least give me a chance to sit down.

She turned off the dirt road onto the highway and put the Jeep's pedal to the rickety floor. If she pushed at it any harder, her foot would punch through to the asphalt.

—All right. You're down. Talk or walk.

Where had I heard that before?

—We picked it up on the mainland across the Golfo from the Los Muertos cape. It didn't look like anyone was using it, so here we are.

—What about the two registrations?

—We figured it would confuse people long enough that we could get away if the policía or the _federales_ caught on to us. I still think that's true.

I knew what the next question would be.

—What's in the back?

Shit. She knew. She must have smelled it.

—Well—

—No bullshitting. What's in the back?

—Dope.

—That's what I thought the way you two were fussing over that thing. The smell was overwhelming. I couldn't miss it.

So she knew what a lot of grass smelled like. Chalk one up for something else going on here. I stopped talking. She didn't say another word, and I wondered if she thought she'd said too much.

We covered the short distance into Coronado in record time with her foot glued to the floor. There was no way Mike and I could back out of taking them along for the ride now.

They knew too much.

**Sasha turned off** the road and headed into Coronado. The plan was to gas and go, but that was before we spotted the yacht anchored outside the harbor. It was a huge, white beauty set off perfectly by the deep blue of the sea. It said money. Lots of it.

—Look at that. Where the hell did that huge-ass cabin cruiser come from? It has to be the one Mike saw offshore last night.

—Isn't it the same one we saw yesterday out in the bay?

—You're right. It is.

—Now what?

A dinghy loaded with people pulled away from the yacht. It was headed for shore. I wanted a better look at what was going to be coming our way.

—That dinghy makes me a little nervous. Take a right and park us at Las Palmas on the malecón. We won't stand out like sore thumbs there. If they man up with vehicles there's only one place they'll be headed.

—Where is that?

—The airport south of town. It should buy us some time.

The dinghy shut down and bumped into the marina dock. Two men climbed out. Two more lifted a heavy sea bag onto the dock and began handing out weapons.

—Are those automatics? I can't tell from here.

—They look like rifles to me.

—Automatics. They're well-armed. Experienced, too. I can tell by the way they're handling them.

The men separated into a pair of waiting SUVs and started out in the direction of the airport. There was no doubt. They were after something. Or someone. It had to be our plane.

—All right. I can now safely say that we're all in deep shit.

—So you think they're looking for us?

That was a loaded question. After last night I was left wondering if perhaps the gringas had something to hide, too. I wished I knew what Barbara and her two compadres had been yelling about.

—They're looking for someone. I'm thinking it's the two gringos with the plane—unless you have something you want to tell me.

She ignored me. This one proved good at doing that.

—Let's catch up to Barbara. She needs to know what's going on.

**Sasha might not** have any secrets she wanted to confess, but I was beginning to wonder if this was all part of a huge screw-up. No one knew where Mike and I were headed from the mainland. Setting out over two hundred miles of open water in a Cub on wheels was foolhardy.

Fool or not, no one would chance that.

My encounter with the women on the beach had to be coincidence. No one outside of Mike knew about our rendezvous points as we headed up the Baja. Even if the women went through our bags, there was nothing to give up our route. All we had was a road map, and we took great care not to leave a mark on it.

The cabin cruiser's arrival appeared to coincide with the arrival of Sasha and Barbara. That was when the shit started passing through the fan. So far, it was covering all of us with the same odor. Did the people on the cruiser think we were involved in what Sasha and Barbara were trying to do?

If so, what was it that the two of them were up to?

There was no way that fan could have been pointed towards Mike and me at the outset. It had to be the girls.

I had no idea how to begin to learn why.

**Barbara chose a** dry riverbed north of town to hole up with the van to wait for us. By the time I left Sasha in the Jeep and climbed into the van, she was already on the road, disappearing down the highway in a cloud of dust. It was just one more thing to convince me we weren't the only ones on the run.

They women were, too.

—I let your friend in on most of it. Now it's your turn to listen.

—It's about time.

She switched off the ignition and faced me. The Jeep sputtered and died.

—With the flying experience Mike and I have, we figured we could do a job by borrowing an airplane on the mainland and then ferry it across the Sea of Cortez. Once we got onto the Baja it would be a straight shot north. We hoped what we were doing would pay us both a little cash to invest in a business back home.

—Do you have any idea who the men were in the panga?

Good question, but I figured I was the one who should be asking it. For the time being I ignored it.

—We picked up the airplane on the mainland. I suppose last night could have something to do with the former owners. The Cub is the perfect size for the low-level flying and canyon-hopping we need to do to get across the border. Maybe someone had the same idea. We tried to keep a low profile, but you never know.

—What's filling up the back seat?

She was going to force me to spell it out, too. Christ, these two were almost twins.

—It's a load of pot that we're moving north. You must have smelled it last night.

She ignored that.

—So then, what you're telling me is that Sasha and I are traveling with a couple of amateur drug smugglers who are learning as they go.

—Pretty much. But we've got the airplane thing down pat. It's our area of expertise.

—Do you two need help or what?

I didn't get a chance to respond. She cranked the engine and drove onto the highway.

—We'll all take a break when I catch up with Sasha. It'll be her turn to ream your sad ass.

—Already done. There's a cantina coming up. We'll pull in there.

### ~ 8 ~

**SASHA HAD THE** same idea. A cloud of dust surrounded our two-vehicle convoy as we tandemed into the cantina's gravel parking lot. It drifted slowly away in a breeze not strong enough to cool the growing heat of the day.

Sasha jumped out of the Jeep and hurried to meet Barbara. If I knew anything, it was looking like it was time for another meeting to explain something else no one knew anything about. Christ but would these two never stop asking questions?

Sasha and Barbara exchanged a glance and I might as well be sitting back in Coronado.

—Did he tell you anything we didn't already have figured out?

—Not really. But damn, these two gringos have _cojones_.

—Should we show him?

Neither of them realized I had moved to within listening distance.

—Show me what? I've already seen you both naked.

Me and my mouth. I knew right away I shouldn't have opened it.

—Oh, really?

It was Barbara's turn to be on the receiving end of Sasha's scornful look.

—No, no, not like that. She was taking a swim and I managed a peek at her assets is all.

—If you say so. Open the back of the van, Barbara.

—Are you sure?

—I'm sure. Open it.

It was my turn to ask a question. Finally.

—What's going on?

—You. Gringo. Come over here.

Barbara made a beeline for the cantina and I wondered why she was in such a hurry. Sasha walked around to the rear of the van and lifted the door. She shifted the foam mattress and uncovered an opening to a hidden compartment.

—Take a look.

I lifted a panel and peered in.

—Holy shit. You're packing a load of dope too. What is it?

—It's coke. Our only problem is we're out of cash, but now you've solved that for us.

This wasn't looking so good. The too-huge muzzle of Mike's sawed-off pointed at my knees. When did Barbara hand that off? My hand slowly moved out of sight behind me. I fingered the grip on the .45 tucked into the small of my back.

—I'm being robbed? The dope is on the airplane, remember?

Sasha stared into my eyes for what seemed like an eternity before opening the shotty with a satisfying click. She cradled it in the crook of her arm. I tucked the .45 back into my belt.

—We think you've got a great method. It's the plan that's not so hot.

—To be honest, Mike and I know that. But this is our shakedown cruise. With all the exploring we're doing, next year will be a cakewalk.

—It will, if dos cabróns in the panga don't come back to haunt you for the rest of this trip. And judging by what we saw at the malecón in Coronado, they're already back with fresh faces armed to the teeth.

I left out the part about the cabróns ever coming back.

—I never told Barbara about the men coming ashore. We should probably let her know.

—Tell me what?

She was back with ice for the cooler.

—You need to know that there are some men on our tail. What I don't know is whether they're after me or both of you.

They looked at each another and then at me.

—Did you show him?

—Yes.

—And?

—He's on board. Now let's get this dog and pony show back on the road. Harry, get in the Jeep. We need to catch up to Mike.

—Don't I get a say in any of this?

**Apparently not. Sasha** slammed the Jeep into gear, popped the clutch and screeched onto the highway in a cloud of dust and dirt. She pretended to ignore me, but she wasn't that interested in the road to keep it up for long.

—What?

—You know what.

—I had no intention of pulling the trigger. I was trying to get you to see how vulnerable you are.

—Vulnerable?

I pulled the .45 from the small of my back and set it between the seats.

—I wondered about the hand I couldn't see. You've always got yourself covered. That's one of the things I like about you. Better yet, you've got your partner covered when he's on the ground. I like the way you two operate, even if you are a couple of amateurs.

Try as I might, I didn't believe her for a minute. At least, not yet.

—How many trips have you two made down here to buy up product and run it north?

I expected to hear this was her first, too.

—This is our fifth.

I didn't believe her.

—Your fifth? No way.

—The first was eighteen months ago. We were like the two of you—feeling our way around, trying to learn the players, getting a feel for things down here. We made some small buys to get established. We got screwed over a time or two because we were too eager to start making big money.

Learn the players? Get a feel for things? Damn, but Mike and I were flying—literally—by the seat of our pants. We had no plan, other than to get the hell out of Mexico and across the border before anyone caught on to us—especially now that the chase was on.

—How much looking did you have to do to find a reliable supplier?

—We were small-timers until Barbara hooked up with somebody that was connected. She played him and then finally let him screw his brains out. She made him feel good, he was grateful and now he's a regular.

—So you both screwed your way to get where you are now.

—No, Barbara did that. I played the heavy as best I could. Women don't get much respect down here—especially gringa women. I dug in my heels and made sure Barbara didn't get screwed over for real. When she started falling for the guy I kept her head above water.

—So then, given Barbara's grand sacrifice to the cause, it was your turn to be the martyr under the palapa.

—I knew I was being obvious that first night, but I figured you wouldn't notice. You were by yourself so I thought that in typical male fashion you'd just grin and lie back.

So it was a setup from the start—although one they hadn't planned on. That was good to hear, but I still needed some convincing.

—You were right. I did both, didn't I?

—When my problem became the same as Barbara's, she didn't step up to pull me out of the situation and here we are.

I ignored that. I figured whether or not she was telling the truth would work itself out eventually. I changed the subject.

—From what I can tell, there's plenty of product down here looking to find a way north.

—The only problem is getting it past the border. Find a way around that and you'll be home-free.

—I wish. Now tell me again the meet-up on the beach was a complete accident and I'll mostly believe you about the rest.

—It was. Barbara and I try to overnight in those kinds of places on our way north. That's why we bought the camper van. It keeps us away from towns and hotels and people when we're headed north with a load of product. That stretch of beach is a regular for us. We saw the light from your fire but figured it wouldn't cost anything to take a look. And we were short on cash.

—Yeah, and looking for a patsy to pick his pockets.

That I was alone figured into it, too.

—We thought we could spend a couple of nights and maybe borrow a little cash when you weren't paying attention. In case you didn't notice, we're broke.

—I'm always trying to pay attention.

—Yes, you are. Then we took a liking to you. If you weren't the man you are, we'd have been long gone with your cash in our pockets.

—That's been tried before. In fact, not so long ago. Does this mean that you and Barbara are going to stick it out?

—I don't know.

—Well, don't take too long to make up your mind. We're going to be in El Coyote soon. We won't have a lot of time there. If Mike hasn't had any mechanical problems with the airplane, it's going to be a quick turnaround. It won't be anything like the picnic we had in Coronado. It'll be gas, go, and gone.

—Do you know where your next stop will be?

—No.

That was an understatement. Neither Mike nor I had any idea what the hell we were going to do past El Coyote.

### ~ 9 ~

**THE WIND HAD** been picking up speed all morning. By noon it was gusting hard. It began picking up clouds of dust and dirt. An occasional wind-driven dust devil drifted over the barren landscape. The Jeep see-sawed over the highway. Behind us, low black clouds darkened the landscape already traveled.

The approaching storm was causing much concern. It looked to be turning into a nightmare. We caught up to Barbara and passed her in a straight stretch. She fought the van against the wind the entire time. We led her off the highway south of El Coyote near Bahía Concepción.

—Barbara, when you were getting ice in the cantina did anyone mention anything about a storm?

—I thought I heard someone say something about a hurricane, but I wasn't really paying attention.

—A hurricane? Damn it, we've got to catch up to Mike and get that airplane fueled up. He can't get caught out in the middle of a storm like that. He'll end up blown out of the sky.

—I'm sorry. I didn't think about it.

—Don't worry. Just get going.

Barbara took off as the Jeep came tearing around the bend and halted in a cloud of dust. I recognized it as one from the breakwater in Coronado. Dark tinted windows concealed whatever was inside. The doors opened and AKs sprouted from between the front seats.

We'd be good if they weren't paying attention when Barbara pulled onto the highway. Immediately Sasha's high-pitched voice sounded concern. She was scared.

—Harry. Look.

—I see them. Let Barbara get away. Then we'll take them.

The goons concentrated on what they thought they knew. By the time they got out Barbara was already disappearing. Eyes turned into saucers when the dust cleared and they got a look at Sasha sporting Mike's shotty, close-up.

She motioned up and down with the twin muzzles. Two sets of hands reached for the high ground. Damn but this woman had some cojones of her own.

—Collect the guns while I figure out what we're going to do. Don't put yourself between me and them. Approach them off to the side so they have to turn to keep you in sight.

Sasha steadied the shotty and kept it pointed where both barrels would do the most good. The AKs came out from between the seats and dropped onto the ground.

— _Gringa puta_.

She smiled and nodded.

—Si. Gracias.

**Shit. Now I** had two more to worry about. Where the hell were they coming from? And who were they coming for? The girls? All of us? I started to think there was more to this chase than I was willing to admit. I had to trust Sasha. I had no other choice.

—There's rope in the back of the Jeep. Get it while I keep these assholes busy. Don't walk in front of me.

—You told me that already.

Sasha moved to the Jeep without taking her eyes off of our travel companions. She didn't lower the shotty's double barrels, either.

—What are you going to do with these two once they're tied up?

—Across the road there's a washed-out trail that leads up the side of that hill. It'll be a good place to keep two men alive who want to see us both dead.

What I wanted to know was how many more were on a fast track.

—I'm going to hog-tie them and then I want you to follow in our Jeep. It looks to be a rough go, but it'll work. When we get on the back side, we'll get rid of these cabróns, set fire to our Jeep and take theirs. It's in better shape. Got it?

Sasha nodded.

—Follow me.

It took a good twenty minutes to walk the Jeeps in low gear along the washed out, rough, dusty trail to the crest. The wind whipped us from all directions as it curled around the hill.

At the top on the back side we dumped the cabróns in the dirt. I checked the ropes one last time and collected the AKs and the mags. We climbed into the Jeeps and backtracked. Halfway down the hill I pulled over out of sight of the highway.

—We'll set fire to it here.

**The white sand** beach and blue water of Bahía Concepcíon sparkled in the distance. Sasha ignored the view. Instead, she looked at me like I was in trouble again.

—Are you going to tell me, or do I have to beat it out of you?

—We need the AKs. At the least, we have them if we need them down the road somewhere.

—Yes, but it seems to me that you know more about them than you're letting on.

—Oh, that. Where should I start?

—How about at the beginning?

—We don't have time.

Sasha reached over and pulled the key out of ignition. She made a show of tucking it into the top of her shirt. She didn't take her eyes off of me until the Jeep coasted to a stop.

—We do now. Talk or walk.

—You just won't quit, will you?

—You know it.

What the hell. I might as well let her in on what kept me awake at night. She could do with it what she wanted.

—I spent some time in North Africa. I was bumming around, getting the lay of the land, when I fell into a job flying a Pilatus on the supply route for a ruby mine. Mike was there too. He did the maintenance.

—What's a Pilatus?

—It's a short-takeoff fixed-wing aircraft. It has plenty of power in hot temperatures and it will carry a good load.

—So you two are a team when it comes to planes.

—Yes. We can work it with airplanes or helicopters. Whatever suits the customer's fancy.

—Keep going.

—It didn't take long to find out who the head crook was in the supply chain. Pretty soon we were using the Pilatus for just about anything that walked, talked, crawled or couldn't. There was always a payment for the privilege and it didn't take long to add up. The need for weapons was a prime motivator for putting cash in our pockets.

—And?

—And everyone and their dog had a firearm to hang onto. I figured I should learn what the natives could teach. That, and a few words of the local dialect worked for me. It all helped to gain trust. I figured that if we ever got ourselves into a jam, it wouldn't hurt to have some allies with the clan we were working with.

—It sounds to me like there's more to this than you're telling me.

—Maybe, but I think we'd better get our asses in gear. It's time we hooked up with Barbara.

**At the bottom** of the hill I parked the Jeep out of sight of the main road.

—It's time to stash the AKs in the back. We need to get them out of sight. As much as I like the look of you wearing one of those things across the front like that, it's probably best to keep everything hidden.

All she could do was grin. I started to feel like a clown without the makeup.

—Everything?

She unbuttoned her shirt and climbed onto my lap. One hand lifted a breast. Another snaked to the back of my head and pulled my mouth to it. I never could resist a woman with a will of her own.

—Damn, woman, don't do this now.

—Why not?

When I didn't answer, she pushed my head away. A swollen nipple popped out of my mouth.

—Well?

**We grinned like** a couple parked in the dark at a drive-in movie as we pulled ourselves together and re-arranged our clothes.

—No smirking, woman. You're not getting off that easy. It's your turn.

—I just had a turn. I think I'm good for now.

—Talk, or I'll never let you put a hand on one of those AKs for as long as I know you.

—You know the way to a woman's heart, don't you?

—I know the way to your heart. And smiling at me like that isn't going to save you—at least not this time.

—I grew up saddled with a father that pulled up stakes when I was a kid and a mother who wouldn't let me get past the front door to the outside without subjecting me to a screaming match. I know now she was only trying to keep me out of the trouble she knew I'd be getting into. Back then it was all too much for me so I up and left.

—How old were you?

—Fifteen going on twenty-one.

—Fifteen? Jesus, you were a kid.

—I was, and I wasn't. I had the assets, so I figured I'd put them to good use before I got old. I thought twenty-one was old.

I let her go on.

—I found my way to southern California. Eventually I hooked up with an older man. He wanted to take care of me and he had money, so I let him. He treated me pretty good, took me everywhere. He had a couple of power yachts. By the time I screwed my way through the yacht clubs, I was on just about every boat you can imagine—except sailboats. I never liked the way they heel over on one side.

—Now you're stuck in the middle of a desert in a foreign country with a couple of guys looking for a place to call home.

—Well, I wouldn't quite put it that way, but yes, I guess so.

—We're not even yet, but we've got to get moving if we're going to pull this off.

I turned onto the highway and headed north. Eventually we caught up to Barbara on the side of the road.

—You made it. I was starting to get worried when I saw the black smoke.

—Let's get our asses moving. We need to catch up to Mike with the fuel before that hurricane gets closer.

### ~ 10 ~

**BARBARA WORKED THE** van over the soft, deep sand towards the Cub. When she couldn't get any closer she flung open the door and ran, circling the crashed plane in a frenzy, looking for Mike in the wreck.

—He's not here!

The Cub's tail stuck up in the air. The nose dug into the sand. Smashed to bits, only splinters remained of the wooden propeller. It was all low speed damage. Most likely Mike was on the ground when the plane nosed over and stopped suddenly.

Holes in the fabric covering the tail meant someone shot up the plane. A part of it was missing.

—He's not on the beach.

Blood splattered the cockpit. The sudden stop when the engine dug into the sand ripped the seat from its mounts. It rested haphazardly against the bloodied dash panel. The door was laying on the ground. Mike must have managed to push himself out of the wreck.

—Head wounds leave a lot of blood. Someone must have pulled him out.

It was for Barbara's benefit. Going by the blood, Mike was in no shape to get out on his own. Our four sea bags filled with product were missing. They were probably removed first.

I walked a wide circle and picked up a trail of footprints and blood leading to the water. The trail disappeared where a panga had been pushed out to sea. There was hope. Mike had to be alive when he was taken.

It was that, or someone wanted us to think he was still among the living.

I went back to the Jeep to retrieve a can of gas. Barbara paced back and forth, her eyes on me, still hoping Mike was somewhere nearby.

—He's gone.

She dropped to her knees and screamed.

—Not that way. Sasha, help me get her up.

She walked her to the van.

—He's missing. Someone took him. Look after her, would you?

I carried the jerry can to the plane and doused the airframe with gasoline. A match took care of the rest. Barbara's eyes shifted from the burning wreck to me and back to the Cub.

—What did you do that for?

—If we can't use it, nobody can.

—What are we going to do about Mike?

—Whoever did this is long gone. The panga has to be from the cabin cruiser. I wouldn't know where to begin to look for it—or if Mike is even on board.

Sasha fumed and glared. It seemed like her hands never left her hips every time she looked my way. By now I was becoming accustomed to it. There was no satisfying that one. The woman was an exercise in man's frustration with woman.

—Is there something you're holding back?

Her expression didn't change a whit.

—Goddammit, we'd better do something.

If I looked surprised it was because I was. Sasha seemed to actually care.

—If you're thinking I'm going to leave him, you'd better think again. I'll start with the lighthouse in El Coyote. If we're lucky someone saw the cruiser. It's too big to be ignored.

—What about the vehicles?

—If we stay together, we'll keep the van and unload the Jeep. I'll set fire to it north of El Coyote. You two should head out right now. I don't know how long I'm going to be.

—We'll wait for you off the highway, just like last time.

I took it to mean the women were five minutes from hightailing it north once they left me in the dust and I was out of sight. No blame there. I would, too, but for Mike.

Beyond sharing a shower and a sweaty mattress, I had no ties that bind with either of them. They wouldn't have the cojones to do what had to be done when I located Mike. In any case, there was no guarantee I'd find him alive, even if I knew where to look.

—You don't have to wait. We're all in this pretty deep. You might want to think about hitting the road without me. I'm going to be busy tracking down Mike. I have no idea how long that's going to take or what I'll have to do when I find him.

That last was an outright lie. I already knew what I'd do to get to Mike, and it wouldn't be pretty.

I loaded the borrowed AKs into the back of the Jeep.

**The lighthouse in** El coyote was unmanned and empty. I climbed the stairs to survey the bay. There was nothing. Not even a boat's faint wake. I made the walk back to the Jeep long and slow to give myself time to think.

I didn't hold out hope that the women would be waiting down the road. If they were smart they'd lose me right here and high-tail it to the border. They'd be smart to chalk it up to adventure.

As much as I hated to admit it, that's exactly what Mike and I would do if we were in the same situation. At the highway I turned the Jeep northbound.

**The vehicle coming** up fast in the rear-view became recognizable as it drew closer. In my enthusiasm I almost forgot to brake when I pulled off the road onto a dry riverbed.

—Well, well. This is a surprise.

—Was there any doubt?

—The truth? Yes. Plenty.

—Good. Not every woman likes a man who thinks she's predictable.

—I've never been happier to see two women together that I've seen naked. Usually I'm busy slinking out the back door of one and on my way for a quick visit to another.

—We kind of figured that about you and Mike.

—You wouldn't be figuring wrong.

Fair warning, I suppose.

—Did you get anything on the cabin cruiser?

—Nothing. If they want to unload the drugs, they need to get as far north as they can. It will make for a shorter run across the border. In fact, I'm betting Mike's life on it.

—Do you think Mike will be all right?

The sight of the blood in the cockpit was still spooking Barbara.

—When the plane did its low speed nose-over, the engine dug into the sand. That's why the broken prop. The sudden stop caused Mike's face to hit the panel pretty hard. Head wounds bleed a lot. I know. I had one a long time ago.

—That sounds pretty serious.

—His nose was probably broken, too. More reason for so much blood.

I decided there was no sense lying about it.

—A concussion wouldn't be out of the question. I know what that's like, too. Whoever hauled him out of the cockpit took him alive. If not, he would have been sitting there, stone cold. I'll find him.

Barbara looked relieved.

—He was alive when they carried him to the panga. If he wasn't, there'd be no blood trail.

Sasha looked at me with no expression. She knew I was kicking up sand just as she had. I couldn't help it. I wanted Barbara to have some hope, at least.

—What now?

I couldn't let myself believe Mike wasn't alive.

—Santa Agueda has a fair-sized port with a breakwater. It's the last big town on the Sea of Cortez before Santa Esmeralda. I don't think they'll make for there. It has no port and no breakwater. No docks, either. The offshore tide runs shallow for quite a distance into the bay. They'd have to drop anchor a long way out.

Antsy Sasha paced back and forth.

—We're making for Santa Agueda. Break out the gas. It's time to get this circus mobile again.

Barbara began dousing the Jeep with gasoline.

—Hang on a minute. I need to get something for your partner.

I grabbed the AKs and the mags.

—We're going to pull off down the road. Your partner needs some practice. I have a feeling she's going to need a lot of it.

Barbara looked puzzled.

—Practice? At what?

—Sasha is going to learn how to use an AK to its best advantage.

—Enough jaw-jacking, Harry. Let's get to sighting that thing in.

Sasha had a one-track mind, but that was all right with me. Sometimes enthusiasm could make up for inexperience.

—Sighting is going to be the least of your worries.

I flicked a lighted match in the direction of the Jeep. The gasoline fumes ignited with a whump. The Jeep turned into history and I climbed into the back of the van. If they decided to change their minds, I'd be walking from here on out.

Barbara drove. Sasha rode shotgun with an empty AK. The butt rested against the floor of the van. The muzzle pointed skyward.

It was good to see the woman finally enthusiastic about something.

### PART THREE

We need them more than they need us

—We need these guys.

—I'm starting to think that way, too. Plus I kind of like Harry. Despite his who-gives-a-shit attitude, he's got the cojones for this deal. There are times when I'd like to give him a good kick in the ass, though.

—You had your eye on Harry from the start. What the hell is it about you and men that you always get a soft spot for the one with the most problems?

—Call me irresponsible. Like you're any different, girl.

—You're right, but I'll never admit it. Mike is a sweetheart, too. So what are we going to do with those two?

—I'm thinking.

—Well don't think too long. Show time is coming up fast, and we're going to have to do something. Our supplier isn't going to like what we might be bringing down the pipe either.

### ~ 11 ~

**TO SAY IT** was a surprise that the women waited for me by the side of the road wouldn't be a lie. At least I'd have them if I needed them, but I wondered how reliable they'd prove to be when it came to crunch time.

—You have work to do, Sasha. I need to know if you've got what it takes.

—If I knew I'd be taking a test, I'd have tried harder.

—Have you ever field-stripped an AK?

—Christ, Harry. Where was I supposed to learn how to do that? I've never even seen one until today. Better yet, where in hell did you learn how to do it? Was that part of your desert adventure?

—We'll need one of those AKs if we expect to get our asses up the Baja. Pay attention and you'll learn something.

—I'm not afraid of learning. It's what I'm about to learn that scares me.

Harry handed Sasha the rifle. She hefted it and it almost slipped from her hands. At least she didn't end up pointing it at me.

—It's heavy.

—It's a little over nine pounds. Turn it on its left side and find the safety lever on the right. It rotates up and down.

—Got it.

—Be sure it's full up and in position so the action can't move.

—It's that way already.

—There's a small lever between the trigger guard and the magazine.

I waited patiently for her to find it.

—Pinch it with your thumb and rotate the magazine forward. We're taking all of the mags with us.

She did as she was told. That was always good where a woman was concerned.

—Find the safety again. Rotate it. Try to pull the action. Find the lever for the mag release. Do it all again.

She fumbled and cursed.

—Is that it?

—No. Rotate the safety full down and rack the bolt. When you do, look to check that the chamber is empty. If it is, pull the trigger on the empty chamber.

Sasha racked and looked. Nothing ejected. She pulled the trigger.

—Did you look?

—Yes, I did. Empty. Did you know that?

—No, but they weren't expecting to find us. If they were, the chamber would have had a round in it. Now push the safety back up. See how it prevents the bolt from being pulled back?

—Yes.

—Try it anyway. We need to make it unusable. Turn it up and I'll tell you how to take out the bolt and the recoil spring.

—Why don't you do it? I'm a girl, remember?

—I remember it well. You have a fantastic body. You're too smart for your britches, though. See the black cover on the top that starts in front of the grip? That's the receiver cover.

—If you say so.

—I do. Now pay attention. There's a button. Press it in with your thumb and pull up on the cover.

She struggled to push it in.

—Ouch!

—Yeah, you have to watch out for that. Now push the thing that pinched your thumb forward until it slides out of the slots and throw the spring out the window. Pull out the bolt carrier and throw that out, too.

—Am I done?

—You're done. How hard was that?

—Not so bad with you helping. I'm starting to get to like the new things I'm learning since I started hanging out with you and Mike.

Oh shit. Here we go.

**Sasha was all** eyes for the functioning AK we kept in the van.

—What are we going to do with it?

—For starters, while you're sitting over there with nothing to do, you're going to hook us up with what the uninformed call jungle clips.

—Jungle clips? What the hell are jungle clips?

—Jungle clips. Some say banana clips. When you saw all those news feeds of mercs in the desert or the jungle, do you remember anything about the firearms they carried?

—Mostly I went to get something to eat when the news came on.

It figured.

—Those curly things hanging off the bottom were magazines taped together.

If you say so.

—Basic firearms, baby. He who has the most arms, wins. If he doesn't have the most arms, he'd better know how to use the arms he has.

—Really.

The refrain was becoming familiar.

—I do. Now start taping those mags together. In pairs. When you have two taped, you should be able to release, rotate, and insert when one is empty.

I stopped explaining to let her figure it out for herself. Sasha didn't know it yet, but when the time came, she'd be the one handling the AK. Do or die, she better know how.

—Keep trying.

She fumbled with the magazines, and wrapped and unwrapped until she had one.

—You've got it. Is the safety on?

—Yes.

—Show me.

—How will I know when you're happy with my work?

—You'll find out right about now. Show me the safety. Insert the mag. Does it bind with the one you piggy-backed? If they don't match up, you'll have to do them over.

—Not so fast. Shit. I've never done this before. I don't think it binds.

I raised my voice and fired instructions at the woman.

—You don't think? Then you'd better start. Try inserting the magazine. Does it lock? Rock it back and forth. Did it stay locked? When you inserted it, did it fit smoothly? Now release it. Did it come out? Why not?

Sasha's hands shook. She fumbled and dropped the two mags she'd taped together. She looked like she wanted to cry. I stopped talking and waited until she figured it out.

—Insert. Release. Rotate. Insert. If it doesn't work for you, release it, unwrap it and tape it until you get it right. Then do it all over again.

She began to go through the exercise one more time. I left her to work it out on her own while I went to talk to Barbara. I needed her to be our backup. I wanted to get a feel for whether she'd be capable when the chips were down.

I think I had my answer when she reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a handful of 12-gauge shells.

—Did you get those from Mike?

She nodded. I looked her hard in the eye.

—You know how to use it?

—Yup.

That was good enough for me. I cast my gaze in Sasha's direction.

—Do you think that one will get it?

—Yup. Wait her out. You'll see.

I leaned against the van, unconvinced and nervous about turning over a killing machine to a woman who'd never before seen one. Sasha's quiet stream of curses floated out of the van.

—I hope you're right.

I turned to Sasha in the van.

—All right, woman. I'm back, and it's time.

—You know I heard you, right? I'm in here. You're out there?

I ignored her.

—Release it just like I showed you, then rotate the mag and put it back in as fast as you can without screwing it up. When you've got a pair matched up that work for you, do it the others. And then do it again.

She taped the mags in record time.

—Six mags, three jungle clips. Will that be enough?

—Yes, it'll be enough because it's all we have. Now you have to check all three of them. Go ahead. Do it. And they're magazines. Clips were used in World War 2.

I waited for her to finish.

—I want to try it out.

Somehow, I knew that was coming.

—If we're lucky, you won't have to use that thing. An AK can do a lot of damage in the right hands. Even without pulling the trigger, just the sight of one with taped mags hanging off of it can make an impression.

—That didn't stop you and Mike back in Coronado.

—Back in Coronado was another matter. You know that. They had your friend.

That shut down the questions I figured would be coming. I had a few of my own, just in case it didn't.

**Sasha did good** work with the unfamiliar firearm. I was impressed. She was a quick study.

—It's time for the real work to begin if you're going to feel confident with the AK.

A huge, shit-eating grin glued itself to Sasha's face. I stood there and grinned back. I couldn't help it. She'd better enjoy it while she could. She'd be down in the dirt sweating soon enough.

—We're about to find out what you're made of. Confidence is everything. If you look like a scared little girl, you'll lose. The first thing you're going to do is to rack it. Why?

—To be sure there's nothing in the chamber.

Sasha pulled the slide all the way back, looked inside, and released. She put the muzzle on the floor and kept the stock up.

—It looks like you've got your basic gun safety figured out.

Barbara used the lull in the conversation to lay down the law.

—No holes in the roof. I want to keep the resale value up on this thing. That, and my mother taught me a bit when I was a lot younger. We didn't have a man around.

—What did you forget while you were listening, woman?

—Shit.

Sasha fumbled with the rifle. She racked again, checked the chamber by looking into it and released. She pulled the trigger on the empty chamber and worked the safety. The muzzle went back on the floor.

—That's better. Do it again.

She did.

—Find the lever on the right side. Check the position.

—The safety. It's down.

—All the way?

—Yes.

—Why isn't it up and engaged? Are you planning on shooting any of us?

Sasha turned beet red.

—Sorry.

She went through the exercise again with the empty AK and flipped the safety up.

—Down is semi-automatic. For accuracy, you want it full down. What's down mean?

—Semi-automatic. One round for every trigger pull.

—Funny you should know that. What's full up.

—Safety.

She rotated the safety down, then up. This woman was no slouch. Now all I had to worry about was how she'd react when the lead started flying. The answer to that would probably come soon enough. To be truthful, I hoped it never came.

—Insert a magazine. Tip it forward to catch the lug in the recess, then rotate the mag back until it's mounted.

The magazine clicked into place.

—Now release it.

She did, and then racked, checked and pulled the trigger.

—Good. Safety?

—Up.

I was happy.

—After you insert the full magazine, how do you chamber a round?

—Rack. Then safety.

That was good enough for me. It even impressed Barbara.

—Damn, girl, you're getting scary. Don't tell any of the men we know about this or you'll frighten every single one of them away permanently.

—When you see a spot somewhere, pull off and we'll let gun-girl experiment. While you're waiting, maybe you could use the time to come up with a story to get us across the border.

I wanted Barbara to have something to do that would take her mind off of Mike and the possibility that he might not have made it.

—I completely forgot about that. No thanks for reminding me.

—Remember, we didn't find Mike sitting cold and dead in the airplane. Someone hauled him out, and that has to mean that he's alive. They want us to come looking for him. The most likely spot for us to find him is Santa Agueda.

—Do you think they have him on the boat?

—Yes.

That, or they pulled a dead man out of the cockpit and hoped we'd come looking for him because we thought he was alive. Personally, I didn't want to bury Mike just yet, even if he was already floating in the Golfo.

Something was nagging at me, though. The _bandidos_ had the drugs from the plane. Why would they take Mike, alive or dead? Why would they want us to come looking for him?

### ~ 12 ~

**—TAKE THE TRAIL** off to the left.

Barbara eased the Jeep to a stop about a mile from the highway.

—Chica, it's time to show me what you've got.

Sasha sported a grin like a Cheshire cat. Barbara couldn't resist.

—What did you do now?

—You've already seen what I've got, gringo.

The woman could barely talk past the wide grin glued to her face.

—It wasn't that long ago you attached yourself to me while we were parked on the side of that hill.

—Well, you didn't give me a choice, did you?

A look of realization came over Barbara.

—What the hell have you two been doing? No wonder it took you so long to get back on the highway.

Sasha racked the AK, cleared it and pulled the trigger. She inserted a mag, racked it again and rotated the safety up. Barbara began repositioning herself by moving away.

—I'm getting my ass out of the line of fire. If you two need me I'll be on the ground eating dirt and dodging ricochets. Say, isn't there an old song about a ricochet romance?

—That's probably a good idea until gun-girl here gets it together. If you want something to do, you could start thinking about where we're going to cross the border to get the least hassle.

—I'll come up with something.

She started humming. I kept an eye on Sasha and the AK's muzzle. There was no sense taking any chances.

—Show me what you know.

—It's safe.

—Is it?

She checked the position of the lever. Then she turned the side of the AK towards me and pushed the safety full-down to semi-auto. Her finger went back to the trigger. I moved it and placed it outside the guard.

—Do I need to explain that?

—Yes.

—With your finger off the trigger and outside the guard, there's less chance of firing while you're moving around.

—I'll get it right next time.

—There is no next time if you pull the trigger by mistake. We've got one jungle mag to teach you what you need to know. For Mike's sake I hope you're going to be a quick study.

—So you think he's alive. Why else would you be doing this?

She was right. There was no way I could let myself believe that Mike wasn't waiting for us to show up. I turned the subject back to the business of the AK.

—Let's get to it then.

I had to impress upon the woman that she had her hands on a powerful weapon.

—The thing about a rifle like this is it can lay down a lot of fire in a hurry. We don't want to do that. That's why you're set on semi-auto. One pull, one round. The thinking woman's way to impress.

She aimed and squeezed one off. I could see she was completely unprepared for the result.

—How did that feel?

—I felt the kick.

If the woman didn't start listening I'd have to get down and dirty to make her pay attention.

—Pull the butt back tight against your shoulder. Do it and let another one go. Step into it and this time. Lean into it, too.

She did as she was told. That was a good sign.

—That felt a lot better. Not so much kick.

—Use your left for support. You need to raise your right elbow. Okay. That was two. Give me three in a row.

She did.

—Well?

—You're right. I need to lean into it. I can handle this, no problem.

—Yes, you can. Keep your right elbow up. Give me three more.

—That's eight.

—Good, you're counting, too.

—Well, I figure if they're 30-shot clips, 22 are left. Are they 30?

—You'll just have to find out on your own. But don't do any math. Just count what's gone if you think you have to. Or do it this way—one, two, and many.

—You're a tough taskmaster.

—You'd better believe it. Now get down on your knees.

—Hey! We're not done yet.

It was my turn to grin.

—There'll be plenty of time for that once the job is done. In the meantime, down, woman. Put your left foot flat on the ground. Right knee on the ground. Do it, and be sure of your balance.

She did, and fired once.

—When you're down, try placing you left elbow on your knee. It'll provide support and give you better accuracy when you've got your arm supporting the AK. Now stand up and give me two.

The AK barked twice.

—Down again and give me two. Elbow on the knee. What's the count?

I hoped giving her something to do would take her mind off of the firepower she was handling.

—Thirteen.

—When you swap ends with that jungle clip, its best to be in the down position. You'll be a smaller target when it takes you a couple of tries.

Sasha got off another three, then stood for what was left of the mag. When she pulled the trigger on the empty magazine she kneeled, released, and flipped it. She fumbled getting it in. Finally she racked and let go with three from the down position.

—All right. That's enough. I liked what you just did. It'll show whoever is on the receiving end that you mean business. It doesn't matter whether or not you score any hits. The intent is what matters. The noise that thing makes and flying lead will keep whoever is on the receiving end looking for a way out.

If there was return fire from an AK pointed in our direction, she'd be the one looking for a way out. Hell, I'd be running with her.

—I'm starting to like this.

—You're doing a pretty good job.

Too bad it was one that could get us both killed.

—Now you need to know how to aim.

I smoothed out an area on the sand and drew diagrams of the iron sights.

—Your turn. Look through the sights. Align them. Look away. Align them again. That's how you hit what you aim at. Do it again and again.

I waited.

—Are you bored yet?

—Pretty much.

—Then do it again. Keep you finger off the trigger and outside the guard.

—Nag nag nag.

—Don't get cocky. Someone is bound to be shooting back. It's been my experience that there's no telling how anyone will react to that. That's why it's training, training, and more training.

—I can believe that.

—Now I want you to try this. But first, how many did you get off?

—Damn you. Three. I think.

—You think, or you know? What is it?

—I know. Three.

—Good. Give me two when you're down. Then stand, advance and fire. Down, and fire. Up, advance and fire. By twos. When you're finished with that, I want you to retreat the same way until the mag is empty. That's the end of your first mag. Then turn and run your ass off, get down on one knee until you get your last mag loaded. Turn and repeat as needed. What's the last thing I said?

—Get my ass in gear and evacuate.

—Exactly. Now move!

I advanced beside her, hoping to give her some level of confidence. She was a going concern, not hesitating even once. Sweat poured down her face and back.

—That's my girl. What's the count?

—Empty.

—You're a fast study. You performed like a trouper.

I swatted her on the ass, hard.

—I'm only doing that because you're out of ammo.

—You should try it more often.

She racked, checked and pulled the trigger on the empty AK.

—The thing about counting is, you'll never get it right when there's no pressure. Don't even bother. Under fire you'll forget all about it anyway.

—Then why did you tell me to do it?

The woman was almost stamping her feet.

—Would you have paid better attention if I hadn't told you to do it?

—Point taken. So what do I do?

—Keep squeezing the trigger until you get nothing.

—Question.

—Yes?

—What's the middle position on the safety lever?

—That's spray and pray. Otherwise known as rock and roll.

She cast a questioning look and a raised an eyebrow.

—Spray and pray?

—The chances of someone untrained, such as you, hitting anything in full auto mode is slim to none. Even for battle-hardened veterans it's quite a feat to hit the target on full-auto when lead is flying in both directions.

—I'll keep that in mind.

**The ground crunched** beneath our feet and Barbara peeked out from safety behind the van.

—You can stop hiding and come up for air. We're done.

—How did she do?

—Not too shabby, actually. She surprised me. She's got it together, at least as long as no one is shooting back. We'll find out how good we all are when the time comes.

—I'm kind of worried about that.

—Try not to think about it now. What did you come up with to get us across the border?

—That depends on where we cross. We have choices. You probably know that already.

—What do you think of Tijuana or Otay?

—I'd say those are both out. Too many border guards and they're all looking for trouble. They thrive on it.

—I'm with you on that. What about Tecate? It's in the middle of nowhere.

—It's probably too sleepy. Sometimes people who don't have enough to do like to make work.

—You're probably right about that, too.

—I think it has to be Santa Esmeralda.

—Santa Esmeralda? The border is north of there.

—Exactly. It'll look like we spent the weekend and want to get out before what's left of the hurricane blows through. What do you think?

—Mexicali is a busy crossing, but it's no Tj by a long shot. It's pretty laid back. Plus there's the newer crossing to the east. We'll play it by ear when we get there.

### ~ 13 ~

**THE SUN DIPPED** below the hills. Twilight was on the way. The van's windshield framed Santa Agueda's harbor and breakwater.

I was right about the yacht. It was tied off at the end of the wharf, in plain sight. There was no hiding it. Every light was turned on against the encroaching darkness. It was like someone wanted to be seen by anyone who was looking.

We were looking.

We could have driven onto the dock and rammed into the cabin cruiser parked at the end of it. Given the feelings Barbara had for Mike, the injuries we knew about, and his kidnapping, I didn't joke about it. She was doing the driving and I was afraid she might take me seriously.

—See the taquería? Pull off a bit past. I have a plan.

A plan? Hell, if I had a plan, I sure as hell didn't know about it.

Barbara parked a hundred feet beyond it. We had the full length of the wharf in sight. There was no avoiding the cabin cruiser. It sat, plain as day, lit up at the end of the wharf like a cheap carnival circus ferris wheel.

There was no doubt now. Santa Agueda would be our point of no return. All I had to do was come up with the plan I was so eager to brag about.

I pulled the curtain aside and stared out the window at the dock and the yacht hanging off the end of it. What I knew about boats would fit on the end of my little finger. I couldn't even remember any movies I'd seen. Oceans 11? Did that even have a boat in it?

We'd have to do a straight run down the dock. There was no cover. The few light standards weren't thick enough. Once aboard, if we made it that far, where would Mike be?

How many men would greet us if they heard or saw us coming? It was a given we'd be facing AKs if what I saw coming ashore in Coronado was any indication. Already we were outgunned and we hadn't left the safety of the van.

—Damn.

—What?

—Did I say that out loud?

**I had no** plan. Between now and go time, I had to come up with something. Anything. Mike was depending on it.

—It's time to settle down, get organized and get Mike off the boat. The cluster fuck we've been working up to now hasn't been successful.

Easy for me to say. Even easier for the women to believe.

—Finally. I was starting to give up on you.

—I'm going to ignore that. Now isn't the time to be talking about past failures—yours or mine.

—Now he gets personal. Where's the shotgun?

I pretended to ignore the comment and smiled anyway. I couldn't help it at this point, but did they know it was a nervous smile?

—I don't think we need to waste more time checking out the harbor. It's a pretty simple setup.

—Yes. The dock has a good line of sight from what I can tell. But how are we going to keep those guys from chasing after us once we get our hands on Mike?

—Good question. And my answer to that would be another question. Where's the nearest semi parked? I'm thinking the taquería is a good spot to wait for one to show up.

—What are we going to do with a semi? They're huge.

—Barbara is going to climb in, smile like a hooker and engage the driver with her winsome smile. Using her feminine wiles, she'll convince him to park it across the road, behind the van. Then she'll disable it any way she can to keep it from moving.

The tension started getting to Sasha. She realized we were in it up to our ears. Maybe even higher than that.

—She shouldn't have any problem smiling like a hooker. You should have seen how she worked over the guy we got the drugs from.

Maybe it wasn't tension after all.

—Yeah, I know. I've seen her naked and smiling, remember?

Shit. That wiped the smile off Sasha's face.

—If you know what's good for you, you should probably stop bringing that up. You do know what's good for you, right, Harry?

I changed the subject.

—So then, does the truck thing work for you?

—It does. As long as it gets parked behind the van, I'll be good to go. I'll just jam it into first and crank the wheels.

—Sasha?

—What she says. But what are we going to do about Mike and the boat?

—I've never seen the inside of one of those things. I have no idea what to expect.

—In that case, let me tell you all about it.

I looked at Sasha. For good measure, I looked at Barbara, too. She wasn't any help. She just shrugged.

**I leaned back** against the van's bare wall and stretched out my legs, waiting, not knowing what to expect.

—Listen up, you two. The only test will come when we do the deed.

She looked at both of us in turn before continuing.

—It's a Constellation. About fifty or fifty-five feet, maybe a little more. If the interior lights are on, we should be able to figure out where Mike is located. In any case, it's not complicated.

I looked over at Barbara. Her mouth was open and she was staring at Sasha like she didn't know her. She definitely had our undivided attention.

—You step onto the stern and make your way forward. The elevations are such that it's no big deal to see and to get below for the dirty work. If that's where Mike is. As you can tell from here, the sight lines are pretty generous. There's nowhere we won't be able to see from the dock to get a line on those bastards.

—Is there anything else you think we need to know about the boat?

—No, that about covers it. You'll see what I mean when we get closer.

Night was on the way. To seal the deal we needed a semi with a hungry driver.

—While we're waiting, we need to talk out how this will work. If anyone has something to add, feel free to interrupt.

—We've got nothing.

We had to block the road any way we could. The semi was the key. We needed it and to carry out the raid. It was our best bet to keep anyone from following us once we got Mike off the boat and into the van.

—It's going to depend on the semi. No truck, no assault on the cabin cruiser.

There were no objections.

—Barbara, you're the linchpin. We need that thing parked across the road to block traffic. You'll have Mike's sawed-off to convince the driver to do your bidding.

—I can do that. I've already got a couple of different options figured out.

—That was fast. Do we need to know what you came up with?

—No, I don't think so. But I know one of them will work for sure.

—I take it you still have Mike's shotty.

—Yes. And I know how to use it.

—It has a sling. You should be able to wear it on your shoulder beneath your jacket.

—I noticed that. I'll try it when we're done.

—One more thing. When you're finished seducing the driver with the shotgun you can cover our backs from the shoreline while we're on the dock doing the dirty work.

That should keep Barbara busy. I hoped it would take her mind off of what was happening inside the cabin cruiser. Sasha and I wouldn't have time to worry about Barbara getting in the line of fire over her concern for Mike.

—There's four shells for the shotgun. I've still got my .45 and seven. Sasha?

—Two jungle mags, 120 rounds.

Damn. She remembered.

—We'll work the dock together. Stop when you can see into the boat. You have to be able to see inside to cover me off. Got that?

—Yes.

—If you can't, position yourself where you can see. Concentrate on what's happening inside the boat. Barbara will have your back so you shouldn't have anyone come up on you without warning.

—What if I can't see inside from the dock?

—Then you'll have to come aboard with me. If that's the case, under no circumstance do you advance past the stern. You stay there. You wait. Understood?

She nodded.

—I'll do the searching for Mike. Two of us don't need to be doing that in the cramped quarters. One he's free, it's up to you to cover our retreat until I can get him off the boat.

—This isn't going to be easy.

She had it figured right.

—No, it isn't. We can count on plenty of lead flying. Your job will be to keep peppering whatever moves on the boat with the AK, just the way we rehearsed. I'll try to stay out of your line of fire, but there are no guarantees. You're going to have to pay attention before you pull that trigger.

—I'll try my best. I hope there's no trouble while you're still down there with Mike.

—Don't be shy about changing your position to your advantage.

—We'd like both of you alive.

That was an understatement.

—That would be nice. Once I get past you with Mike you'll cover our retreat back up the dock to the road. Remember, stop and drop when you have to, but keep up to us. I don't want to have to go back for you with an empty .45.

—Just like before, but without unbuttoning my shirt and flashing you with my breasts.

—Exactly.

The tension in the van was at an almost unbearable level. No one laughed. Not even a smile.

—Once we get ashore, Barbara will be ahead of us with the shotty. She'll cover our walk around the bed of the truck to the van. With any luck, there won't be anyone waiting for us.

—What if Mike can't walk by himself?

Barbara was thinking too much. Given her feelings, it was warranted.

—Then I'll carry him. For now, just concentrate on what you have to do. That's what's going to get Mike back. If you think about all the things that could go wrong, you'll end up useless to Sasha and to me. More important, you'll end up being useless to Mike. He'll get left sitting on that barge at the end of the dock.

It's the best I could do. When the time came, it would be up to a rag-tag team of two inexperienced women and a man who had seen it before from the other side.

—If you want to do something to try and take the edge off, think through how the plan is going to work. Try to rehearse your part in it and what you're going to have to do to get Mike safely back.

**My mouth was** so dry it felt like it was filled with North African desert sand. My gut churned. I couldn't look at the women. I was focused on the objective, and that was Mike, at the end of the dock. There was no way I could consider that he wasn't alive in the cabin cruiser just a few hundred feet away.

The easy part had been talking about what needed to be done. The hard part would be putting the plan into action. Two out of three had never seen action through no fault of their own. If Mike's recovery went off without a hitch, I'd be surprised.

Bonus points if we got out with everyone alive.

Nothing to it.

### ~ 14 ~

**SASHA SAT WITH** her back against the seat, knees up, feet flat on the floor, eyes shut tight. She fumbled with the strap on the AK, twisting and untwisting and twisting again. Barbara rocked back and forth, her eyes shifting from me to Sasha and back, again and again. I nodded. I didn't know what else to do.

In my mind I was running through a list of all the ways this thing could go sideways. No semi. Sasha running off again. Mike dead. Mike alive. Mike not on the boat. The Federales show up. The yacht departs before we can board her.

It was always the waiting. And then it became all about the van's cramped interior. The heat. The sweat soaking through everything. The unbearable heat and humidity. There was nothing to do but wait and think and worry and think some more about saying _Fuck all of it_ and running north to the border before it went bad.

Hands wiped the sweat off our faces until it returned with a vengeance and we had to do it again. I suppose it kept us busy doing something.

The atmosphere was electric. The silence deafening. The tension almost unbearable. At any minute I expected any one of these women to slide open the door order me off the bus. Their part in this would be finished. They'd them would make for the border without me. Without Mike.

_Leave me with the AK at least_ , I prayed.

I already knew what Mike was made of. When the chips were down, he saved my ass in North Africa by dragging it to Benghazi. He proved he had the cojones. I owed him big time, and now it was my turn to return the favor. With or without my recruits Sasha and Barbara, I'd soon be on my way.

We'd find out what we were made of. If we were lucky, we'd collect Mike and be back on the road. If not, well, that was a thought for another time. I was too caught up to worry about not being able to return the favor Mike had so willingly and without question done for me.

A truck downshifted. The semi's diesel engine roared as it groaned to accept the lower gear. The nervous silence and calm within the van broke. Feet shifted. Water bottles doused dry mouths. Nervous throats cleared. Shoulders tensed. Eyes remained locked on the van's floor.

Headlights penetrated the rear-window curtains and lit our faces in dim shadow. It was about to fall into place. In a few minutes it would be a done deal.

Barbara slipped the handle on the van's sliding door. In the interior's forced silence, it unlatched with a sound loud enough to draw us out of our fear. We were minutes away from the goal.

—Let him get his food and then follow him back to the cab.

All eyes focused on the truck driver. He walked around the front of the cab. He halted to light a cigarette and inhale. A huge cloud of smoke hung over his head as he exhaled. He moved out of it and plodded in the direction of the taquería. From inside the van, it looked like he was moving in slow motion.

Sasha's voice trembled with nervous tension.

—Go. Go. Get it done, you fucker.

Maybe she was talking to the trucker. Maybe she was saying it for us in the van. At the rate he was going, it would take him into tomorrow.

—You want him to pick something up for you?

Sasha made a grab for the door and slammed it open. It bumped the stop and bounced back. She pushed it again and jumped out. She went down to her hands and knees. She coughed. She gagged. She choked. She spit. She threw up. She coughed again and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She got up, climbed back in, and closed the door before collecting the dropped AK.

She didn't look at either of us. Instead, the checked the action on the AK and leaned back against the van.

—I couldn't help it.

And I couldn't blame her.

—It's nerves. You don't know what's coming down the pipe. I'd do it too if I could. Better to get it over with now than on the dock in the thick of things.

Finally, her eyes stared into mine. Something said I didn't want to be on the receiving end of her AK, ever.

—I'm ready.

—Do good out there and I'll keep you.

She wiped away the perspiration with her forearm and went back to tapping her foot and patting the outside of her thigh.

—We'll soon see about that, won't we?

The trucker whistled his way past the van as he backtracked with tacos in hand. Mike's rescue was on us now. If we screwed up, he'd be a dead man for sure. Maybe we would, too. It was an all or nothing deal.

—It's go time, gringas.

That was Barbara's cue. She adjusted the shotty beneath her jacket, stood up and bent beneath the van's roof. She silently slipped the door and eased out of the van. She straightened and threw back her shoulders, hot on the trail of the trucker.

I nodded at Sasha. She exhaled and headed out the door. I joined her and checked Barbara's position. She was almost caught up to the trucker.

I tucked the .45 into my belt and strode past Sasha.

**My eyes roamed,** searching, on the lookout, as I led he walk to the foot of the dock. The lights were out over the dock. Whether turned off or intentionally broken, I didn't know. The darkness served its purpose as we hesitated.

The cabin cruiser floated too far away at the end of the wharf. Water slapped at the sides. It bumped rhythmically against its moorings, rocking and squeaking against the fenders, wailing into the night in mock complaint.

No lookouts posted. That was good. No lights on the dock. That was good, too. Faint light glowed through a porthole. I couldn't see a guard posted on the boat.

It looked to easy from where we stood. It was going to be more like a Sunday stroll minus the people rather than a full-blown assault.

We approached slowly. The dock lights were out. Still no lookouts to see on the cabin cruiser. I started to wonder if we were headed towards a setup. It was too late now. We were committed. There'd be no pulling back until we got our hands on Mike.

—The lights are out. It doesn't seem right.

—It's weird. It's like everyone has been scared off. Chased away, maybe.

—If these guys aren't paying attention, it's a bonus. We have to use what we have.

We fast-trotted the length of the dock. It seemed as though every footstep landing screamed, seeming to announce our arrival. Sasha held the AK level in front of her. Everywhere she looked, the it pointed. Where the hell did she learn to do that? She shrugged when I questioned her, our voices a whisper

—It just feels more comfortable this way.

We halted off the stern, out of sight.

—The view inside isn't so good. You have to come aboard. Keep to the stern and stay in the shadows just like we talked about. Try to keep out of sight for as long as you can.

—Don't worry about me. I've got your back. And no, I'm not overconfident. I'm shaking like a leaf.

—I am too. When the action starts, you'll be too busy to shake. Trust me on that. And don't forget to breathe.

—I do trust you. I'll bet you've haven't heard that from one of your women in a while.

—There's a first time for everything. Will I get to keep you now?

—I'm still thinking about it.

I was so on edge I couldn't manage a smile. Instead, I went to work.

—The sight-lines into the boat are good.

With the dock's overhead lights out, revealing nothing, there was no danger of being spotted. I eased forward from the stern and peered down into a porthole. A room lit up brighter than daylight confronted me. Anyone inside looking out would see their own face staring back in the glass.

Muffled voices floated past the door. The two goons were playing cards and shooting the shit. I moved to get a better look and spotted Mike off to the side. He didn't look so hot. Eyes so swollen he couldn't open them. A puffy face covered in blood. Chin resting on chest. Arms taped to the chair he sat in. It was hard to tell from where I was, but he had to be conscious.

—Can you see what I see?

—Yes.

—It looks like Mike will be out of the line of fire once we get onto the stern. Remember what I told you.

—Keep to the stern. Stay in the shadows. Keep you both out of the line of fire. Breathe.

Sasha sounded detached. Like a robot. Good. She was concentrating on what had to be done. That would keep her from thinking about what might go wrong.

—One more thing.

—What? What now?

She sounded annoyed.

—Safety off.

—Already done. I don't want to spend any more time than I have to playing second fiddle by backing you up.

—Kind of a selfish bitch, aren't you?

The attempt at humor fell flat.

—You know it.

**Water lapped. The** yacht continued its creaking and groaning as it worked against its moorings. The crew nattered back and forth, deep into the card game, clueless about what awaited. I eased onto the stern. I waited for Sasha to follow and park herself in the shadows.

I moved forward. She started to follow. I motioned for her to stop.

—Stay.

I could almost hear her _Fuck you I'm not your lapdog_. That was good enough for me. The safety on the AK clicked. Shit. Why was she putting the safety on? This might not go so well as I hoped. If the bitch was going to puke again I hoped she did it silently.

I eased forward and moved into the narrow doorway just as Mike started coming around. He shook his head and grimaced. His eyes focused for an instant and he managed to get off a bloody, crooked grin past his swollen face. Easy for him. I wasn't so confident in the outcome as he looked to be.

Sasha was right where she was supposed to be, barely visible on the stern. I couldn't tell if she knew Mike was conscious or not. I eased the door open and stepped down into the cabin holding the .45. I leveled it at his kidnappers and pulled back the hammer. The familiar sound had them paying attention.

Too late.

—Put your hands on your head. Turn around and get on your knees.

I pulled out a knife and slit the tape, freeing Mike's forearms. He was free. I helped him up and moved in front of him. On the way by I smacked dos cabróns on the back of the head with the butt of the .45. In turn they thumped onto the deck like sides of beef. I hoped they wouldn't spoil in the heat.

I looked to Mike for information.

—Only two?

Mike was in rough shape. He managed a nod and grunted as I helped him up the steps. Sasha gasped in the darkness. Mike heard her and perked up, but only a little. He managed to wheeze out her name.

—Sasha.

—Yes.

He nodded again. Whether his wounds came from the plane nosing over and smacking into the beach or the beatings, I couldn't tell. It didn't matter now. He was free. I put an arm around to help him onto the deck. He groaned louder than I wanted him to. Broken ribs, probably.

—Can you walk?

He nodded assent, but I wasn't so confident. He'd never get off the dock under his own power. He was unable to talk, but I wasn't going to waste time asking more questions. I did the best I could to get him on deck and onto the dock without shaking him up too much.

This whole exercise was still too easy.

Sasha remained on board long enough to cover the card sharks napping below deck. Mike and I got settled on the dock and she caught up. She kept to the rear. Just like we talked it out.

It was all good.

Ten feet.

It was a long, slow go with the injured Mike.

Fifteen.

Mike's injuries prevented us from running the length of the dock with our prize in hand.

Twenty-five feet and still going good.

Way too easy. I must have really put those boys on the boat to sleep. There wasn't a sound.

Another hundred to get to the van Barbara had waiting at the head of the wharf. How the hell did she manage to get it past the semi blocking the road?

In another minute we'd be home free.

Sasha screamed. My hands were full with getting Mike down the dock to the van. She was on her own, hell-bent on revenge.

—Come out and dance, you bastards. It's time to rock and roll!

Sasha peppered the cabin cruiser with everything the AK had. Lead flew. Brass skipped off the dock and splashed into the water. She must have set the AK to full auto, by accident or on purpose.

The firing halted.

I looked back and caught her kneeling. In that instant, all I had time for was an acknowledgment that she had listened to me. She fumbled the mag in her attempt to flip it.

I managed to let fly with the .45, laying down cover and then she was back with us. She halted and got down on one knee. The AK barked in her capable hands. Lead flew and brass spit and flew clinking and skipping onto the dock.

She regained control over the AK and was spraying the cruiser from bow to stern with a steady stream of lead.

Then nothing. Silence. I knew it was time for the last of the two mags.

I looked back and saw she was kneeling again. This time there was no fumbling. She had it down. There was no need for any more covering fire. There as nothing I could do bu look and admire.

I still couldn't believe Barbara had the van waiting at the dock. In another thirty seconds I'd have Mike loaded and we'd be on the road.

The AK continued spitting lead and coughing up brass in Sasha's capable hands. With all of that as a backdrop, I loaded Mike into the van.

I turned back to look for Sasha just in time to see her fling the empty AK into the water. I turned a second time to lay down covering fire to help her get off the dock and into the van.

She wasn't there.

### PART FOUR

Give credit where credit is due

—The money is gone. The drugs are gone. We're left with nothing but those two losers. I'm glad I threw them off the bus.

—Do I have to remind you what those two losers ended up doing for us?

—No, but you're going to anyway, aren't you?

—You're damned right I am. You're still breathing. So am I. And who exactly kept it that way? I think that deserves some credit. Stop trying to be so tough. Is that too much to ask?

—You always were the soft-hearted one, weren't you?

—Yes, but if you don't do the right thing, I'll definitely be showing you all about being hard-hearted, girl.

### ~ 15 ~

**MISSION ACCOMPLISHED.**

I had Mike safely stowed away in the van. Barbara busied herself tending to him as best she could. Mostly it took the form of holding him in her arms and looking at me.

Like I knew what the hell was going on.

Sasha was long gone, headed for parts unknown, whether of her own volition or someone else's. I went with someone else, considering the nature of what we'd just accomplished.

—Where the hell is that woman? There's no way we're leaving this screw-up without her. You better get your act together. It's going to take two of us to figure this one out.

Barbara went immediately into panic mode, distraught and shrieking, as if Mike's injuries weren't enough as she realized her friend was AWOL.

—She was on the dock. How far could she go? I'll kill that bitch myself if she doesn't show up.

That was pretty much how I felt, too.

—I watched her toss the AK. I turned to load Mike into the van, thinking she was right behind us. When I looked back she was gone.

—Do you think the cabróns on the boat got to her?

—I don't think so. The way she was gunning for that boat there's no way they would have stuck their heads above anything.

I turned the van and drove us south, past the big-rig and back the way we came. Barbara yelled out the window at him.

—Don't block the road until we come back!

The trucker leaned out and gave her a huge, shit-eating grin followed by a tug on the air horn that followed us down the empty street.

—That guy is happy to hear from you.

—I'll tell you about it when we have more time.

—Where the hell did that woman get to? I looked away for a split second. Goddammit, this is no time for her to go shopping.

—She didn't go past the van or I would have seen her. She has to be somewhere close.

—Then someone grabbed her and took her south.

—I didn't hear any cars or trucks. Could they be on foot?

I circled the block and came up with nothing until I caught a glimpse of two men pushing something into an alley. I took a chance and stopped for a better look.

Doors opened on a white half-ton. A familiar woman with long dark hair was shoved inside. The two men climbed in on either side and slammed the doors.

The truck raced out of the alley, weaving from one side to the other on the narrow street. It turned and accelerated down a side street. Our top-heavy van rocked and rolled from side-to-side as the engine strained to keep up in the corners. In the back, Mike groaned.

—Sorry buddy. Sasha seems to have disappeared on us.

Mike's voice was faint. He barely got out the words. I heard him anyway.

—I knew that woman was going to be trouble.

Whoever made the decision to put Sasha in the middle of the front seat between the men had to be regretting it. She was busy making trouble for them, too. She wrestled for control of the wheel. The truck bounced over a curb, landed hard and crossed a sidewalk. It climbed steps and slammed hard into the front door of a church.

Mike would be able to add one more to his tally.

I stood on the brakes and the van screeched and groaned to a halt behind the smoking wreck. Sasha made a frantic attempt to climb over the unconscious driver and make her escape out the jammed door. She must have hit the shifter, causing the truck to roll down the steps and bang into the side of the van.

Barbara's vaunted resale value took a massive dive.

The driver came to in time to realize he was about to lose the prize. He grabbed a leg and pulled a furiously kicking Sasha back inside the wreck. He smashed a roundhouse punch into her face and her scratching and gouging came to an abrupt end.

—Where's the shotgun?

—I threw it in the back. It should be there somewhere.

—I'll need the shells if we're going to get Sasha out of that truck.

—There's two. I think they're still in it. I got scared when I heard all the gunfire on the dock.

—Me too. Funny about that, isn't it?

I had one left in the .45. I figured on two for the shotty. There was no time to check. I yanked open the door. The two in the van were the same two Sasha and I dropped on the back side of the hill. I had no mercy left in me.

One for the driver. One for the passenger. I didn't need to count.

Sasha was out cold from the fist that decorated her swollen, bleeding face. I dragged her past the driver and out the door. I picked her up. She was dead weight in my arms.

—Thanks, partner.

Not quite dead.

—Are you pretending or lazy?

—A little of both. I wanted to know if you really cared.

—Damn you, woman. The next time you want to go shopping you'd better take me with you.

—You only want to see me naked one last time before you kick me to the curb.

—You're pretty talkative for a woman who just had the shit kicked out of her. And yes, that would be nice. I'll need a paper bag to cover up that mess attached to your shoulders.

She gasped and giggled and protested in a little girl voice.

—Don't make me laugh. My ribs can't take it.

—So then, you're happy to see me after all.

I loaded Sasha into the van beside Mike. Barbara waited, already behind the wheel.

—We're two for two. It's time to go while the getting is good. We need to be headed north.

She u-turned the van and pointed it at the semi.

—What the hell is this? You said he was going to wait for us.

The semi blocked the road. This didn't look so good any more.

—That's not right. So much for the plan.

Headlights played over a body face-down in the ditch.

—There's our answer.

Two men guarded the front and rear of the semi. They sported AKs and they didn't look happy. In fact, they looked downright mean.

—Shit. Stop the van. Do those two look familiar?

—I know them. We're in more trouble than we ever bargained for. We're going to have to give it up. If we're lucky they'll let us get out with our lives.

—We're outgunned and there's nowhere to go. We can't turn back. It's going to take some cojones to talk us out of this one and get our asses past that truck in one piece.

—Let me handle it, Harry. One wrong word and they'll blow us all away.

Barbara eased the van up to the semi.

—Hola!

I poked the empty shotgun out the side window, but it was all show and no go now. It wouldn't do any good to pull the trigger on an empty chamber. I eased the .45 from behind my back and put in on the console.

—We have to bluff our way out of this. Right now.

The fat one walked up to the van.

—Gringa, we're going to need the drugs.

—They're in the back of the van. I'll get them.

He followed her. She raised the gate and emptied the compartment. At the same time she began arguing with the gunman in loud and fluent Spanish.

We were all in deep shit together. Then it occurred to me that she could be negotiating a deal for two of us.

I figured I already knew which two.

**Barbara opened the** door to the van and smiled. I didn't know if I was about to be handed over or if we were going to be allowed to go on our way.

—Well, cowboy, what now?

I wasn't prepared for a question I had no answer for.

—They've got our drugs. They promised me they'll let us live.

Yeah, and I'll be getting a yacht for Christmas just like the one we shot up.

—I don't know about you, but that's not enough for me. I have a plan.

—Too bad Sasha isn't awake to hear that.

—It is, isn't it? It's time to get down to business again. I've got one left in the .45.

—That solves half the problem. What about the other half?

She nodded her head in the direction of the two men positioning themselves on either side of the van. In the back, Sasha and Mike groaned in stereo.

—I think she's coming around again.

That was a relief. I'd be able to spank Sasha as soon as we got our asses out of the mess we found ourselves thanks to her heading for parts unknown.

—On your way by see if you can steer this crate into the one on your side. That'll get me a clear shot at your friend off to the right. What do you say?

—You want to wreck my pride and joy, don't you?

Obviously she slept through the huge dent in the side.

—It's that or we're done. I don't know what kind of a deal you worked out, but I don't trust them.

—I'm a California driver. I can put him up against that trailer so hard he won't make it to tomorrow.

—Then do it and duck. Whatever you do, don't stop. Keep your foot flat on the gas. I'll steer it when the time comes.

She did and I did and we were home free.

Next stop, Ensenada.

### ~ 16 ~

**I CONVINCED BARBARA** to allow me to take over driving duties for her once-prized van. Refusing to give up, she navigated through the treacherous, winding uphill battle in the underpowered van. She peered into the blackness barely lit by the van's feeble remaining headlight. Overcome by the stress, she finally halted at the top of the hill north of Santa Agueda.

Convinced we had to do a Chinese fire drill, she rushed to get out and I hurried to take over her seat behind the wheel. I had no idea what we left in our wake. I was happy to have Santa Agenda's lights in what was left of the mirrors. We couldn't know what might wait for us farther up the road, but for now, at least, no one chased after us.

—You think we're free and clear?

She wasn't so sure.

—I wouldn't think anyone would be stupid enough to attempt those turns in the dark with no headlights.

Maybe she never heard of Mexican drivers.

We were home free. Or so I told myself. In another couple of hours we'd be living it up in Ensenada before we crossed the border. Provided we could find a place that didn't ask too many questions, we could hole up for a couple of days. Mike and Sasha would need the time to mend.

Reminded of what I tried not to think about, I turned to ask about our injured.

—Sasha is okay. Her face is beat up but she'll be as good as new in a week. I'm not so sure about Mike.

Neither was I.

—He didn't sound good when I helped him off the boat. He's got a broken rib or two. Maybe some bones broken in his face. I'm going to have to get him looked at once we get across the line.

—How long do you think we'll need to stay in Ensenada?

—Maybe a couple of days. To be on the safe side, I'm going to get Mike in to a doctor. I don't want him to die on us now.

—I don't want him to die either. Maybe we could get him into an emergency room for a quick look.

—That works for me. What about Sasha?

—She's moving around on her own. Her face is bruised and she might have a few loose teeth, but she'll be all right after some rest. Her pride is probably hurt more than anything else.

—You should get back to Mike.

I knew she was itching to do that by the way she kept looking back at him.

The events of the past couple of days were beginning to eat at me now that I had some time. Ever since we hooked up with these two women, everything had gone steadily south. We were on the down-hill, and it was no toboggan ride.

Could their luck be even worse than ours? And if it was, why did it have to be passed on to the two of us like a contagious disease? Nothing added up since the two of them pulled into my campsite. And that was only days ago, even if it seemed like a month.

I was in the dark in more ways than one. It was Barbara's turn in the hot seat, and she wasn't going be happy about it. After what went down in Santa Agueda, I knew everything that led up to it was squarely on their shoulders.

No matter how fast and loose Barbara tried to sweet-talk me, she couldn't deny that by any stretch. Bullshit baffles brains. Well, not this time. I wanted an explanation, and I wasn't about to wait for one. I pulled off the highway and climbed in the back to check on Mike and Sasha.

At least, that was my excuse.

**Mike was sleeping** or passed out again. Barbara cradled his head in her lap. If ever I knew anything about women, it told me she cared. I'd use it to learn what I could.

—We have to wake him up on a regular basis. If he has a concussion-

—I know. I've been doing that. He just hasn't made any noise yet.

—What about Sasha?

—She's fine. Don't worry about her.

With these two, I was more concerned about Mike and myself and the chances of getting our asses out of the Mexican R&R we were so happy to find ourselves in after departing North Africa.

It wasn't such a happy one now.

—Are you going to tell me what the hell that was back there? It's been a hundred miles, and I deserve more than what I've been getting.

I hadn't been getting anything. Barbara had to believe that loose lips sink ships. Or, in our case, yachts.

—Sasha can probably tell it better than I can.

—Yeah, and she's not talking.

In fact, I suspected she was playing possum for her own benefit.

—Sasha might be mute. Or maybe she's pretending. Otherwise, this rig would have been parked on the side of the road a lot sooner and she'd be the one getting the third degree.

—You're not going to like what you hear. That's why I want you to hear it from Sasha.

No way was I about to let Barbara off easy. The woman owed me, big time.

—After what we've been through to collect Mike and your friend I think I can take it. Start talking.

She mumbled something and smiled a crooked, insincere smile and I felt like hitting her for putting us into whatever it had been that we found ourselves in. Instead, I held back and waited.

—We've been running drugs up the Baja for almost two years. We've done about a dozen trips. It's getting to the point where we're running out of places to cross without raising suspicion.

Sasha already told me something similar. Barbara had just confirmed it.

—The meet-up on the beach. When you pulled into my campsite. Was that chance?

—Yes. It was.

That was the same story I had from Sasha, too. I'd already figured it couldn't have been any other way. No one knew Mike and I would be meeting there.

—Who were the people chasing you on the beach? Mike and I thought they were after us.

—That's where we pick up our loads. We make arrangements to meet our supplier there. They must have thought you were in on it with us.

—In on it? In on what? What do you mean?

—This was going to be our last trip. We loaded up with everything we could get our hands on and headed north. Unfortunately, someone was paying attention and caught on to us. You and Mike were collateral damage. At Coronado we tried to drag you into it. We thought it would help us get away.

—How did that work out for you?

—It worked out up until we started having some feelings for you. Until that happened, we didn't care one bit.

—Where did you learn your Spanish?

—My mother is Hispanic.

—I know Mike well enough that he's not going to like finding out he's been played for a sucker. Especially given his present condition. When he learns the reason he's in the shape he's in, I'd want to be somewhere else if I was you.

—We know we were wrong. What more can I say?

But did they? I had my doubts.

I let it go. What's done was done. At least I had a glimmer of what the hell had been going on. We were played for patsies. Given that Mike's present condition was a result of all the bullshit, he'd like it even less than me.

Dead quiet reigned in the van for a lot of miles.

—Drive. Plan on stopping in Ensenada. Those two need some time to heal. And I need to get Mike to a doctor.

—All right.

That was the extent of our conversation. I rode in silence in the back, waking Mike from time to time and checking on Sasha.

—Before we get there we need to dump the firearms. You know the road. Pick a spot to pull off when you feel like it.

**The weak headlight** barely illuminated the rough trail. The van bounced and kicked up dust on the way to a clearing surrounded by low brush. She flipped off the lights and we were in pitch black.

—Do we need to remember this place?

I gathered the firearms and tossed them out the door.

—Not unless you plan on the four of us having a reunion any time soon. Do you?

I used the tire iron and my feet to dig a shallow trench and kicked sand to cover them.

—I guess not. Do you think Mike will really be angry with me?

So she had been thinking about consequences. Better late than never.

—I don't know. The two of you are going to have to work that out on your own. Right now I don't think he's too concerned with it. He needs to heal. You'll have to wait until he knows what happened.

I sure as hell wouldn't be holding back on that.

With the arsenal stashed, we limped into Ensenada in the late afternoon. We checked into a seedy hotel where no one asked questions. We carried Mike upstairs. Sasha limped along behind, supported by Barbara. At least now we had real beds to sleep in.

We took turns running in and out with food, bandages and splints for the injured. I let Barbara tend to the cuts, scrapes and bruises that were left over.

While our patients slept we wandered down the block for beer and margaritas.

—You're not going to volunteer any more than you already have, are you?

—I told you. I'm going to leave that up to Sasha. If she wants to tell you, she will.

I wanted to hear more about their escapade on the Baja, but I wouldn't be getting it from this one. They were too loyal to each other. No way would Barbara talk past what she'd already revealed. I had to admire her for that, even if Mike's condition was a result of it.

Getting across the border was going to be a problem. It wouldn't have the same urgency as when the van was loaded with coke and bales of dope.

—We shouldn't have any problem with the border at Tj now. Even if the dog jumps on us, we've got nothing, right?

—I never stashed anything away for a rainy day. I don't know if Sasha did or not. We'd better remember to ask her before we head out.

Sasha chose that moment to show us she was paying attention.

—What are you two worrying about now?

Finally.

—We'll be crossing at Tj. Barbara says she didn't stash anything in the van. We need to know if you did.

—Not an ounce. I'm busted flat.

—Maybe not so much.

She stifled a giggle.

—Christ, don't make me laugh. You're really trying to kill me even now, aren't you?

—If Barbara hadn't filled me in on your escapades, I'd definitely want to kill you. Now that's done with. I think we all paid our dues.

—I can smell the border in that shithole Tj. How's Mike doing?

—He's in and out since we got away from Santa Agueda. His lucid periods are getting longer. I'd say another day and we can go for it.

—That should be easy enough. What have we got to our advantage?

—Nothing. Who wants out?

Mike's groaning through his cracked ribs overtook the laughter.

—There's one more thing I need to know. How did you get that trucker to block the highway for us? Did you use the shotty?

—Hell no! The driver was from L.A. I climbed in and told him I'd show him my tits if he'd just pull across the road a bit. Then I figured I'd park the van off the end of the dock to make it easier for the three of you. I climbed back in and asked him if he wanted a second look. When he turned on the light, I knew I had him.

Finally, Mike was finally awake and paying attention.

—They are nice.

—I'll have to agree with you on that.

Barbara smacked me on the back of the head, but that was all right with me. Even Mike got into it.

—You never could resist a look, could you?

—Nope. And neither could you.

—You're right. Sasha has a nice rack too, but somehow I don't think she's going to be showing me the goods.

I already knew Sasha wouldn't let that slide, even if she was beat up and hurting.

—Will you guys cool it with the comments about my breasts? It's enough to give a girl a complex. If you want to keep on getting an occasional look, you both better start showing some respect. And no, that doesn't mean you'll be getting a look, Mike. It's only an expression.

I couldn't argue that.

—Better you're here listening to us fantasize than for us to have left you giving a lap dance to your new-found amigos in the half-ton.

I had one more thing to add.

—You do sound kind of cute when you lisp.

### ~ 17 ~

**TWO DAYS IN** Ensenada and plenty of beer flushed the last of the adrenalin that had been constantly pumping through all of us since our adventure began in Coronado. I spent the time getting to know Barbara, and then Sasha when she felt up to coming with us.

Hussong's became a favorite with one or the other after each tossed the coin to determine who remained behind with Mike. More often than not, Barbara volunteered. That left me with Sasha to tour the bars. We ended up doing a lot of drinking.

We were all anxious to return to the boring sanity we had attempted to escape when we departed on our separate adventures. After what happened, there was no denying that none of us would be signing up for more fun in the sun any time soon. We were looking forward to the border and refuge.

Only days before, we feared it. Empty-handed, we hadn't the slightest care. We looked forward to crossing the line and getting on with our lives.

Five days later, we piled into the graffiti-covered van stashed behind the hotel. It started without a hitch and Sasha steered us into the street headed north.

—Last chance to change our minds coming up. Who wants to back out?

Nervous laughter followed by silence wasn't what I expected. Barbara and Mike huddled together in the back, whispering I don't know what to each other. Maybe they were making a pact to reunite at some future date and location. If it involved Mexico I hoped he wouldn't try talking me into it.

A few miles short of the line, Sasha called to Barbara to come up front. Just like that, I was relegated to the back of the bus. I sat down beside Mike and we gave each another a look that said trouble.

After more than a few miles, we decided the trouble lay behind, not in front.

**By the time we** hit the border, we were hyped. A long wait in a lineup and a cursory questioning followed by what must have been satisfactory answerers resulted in a friendly wave through with hardly a glance inside. Crazy Town's _Butterfly_ boomed through the speakers, serenading us as we crossed the line.

—How easy was that?

No answer. They were talked out. The deal was done. Mike and I grinned. We were just happy to be here. I don't know about the two up front, but I figured they should be pretty happy, too. The van slowed and stopped by an exit ramp a couple of miles north of the border.

—Why are you pulling over in the middle of the 5?

Cars whooshed past the van on the side of the freeway. I looked at Sasha's eyes in the mirror. They were cold and unforgiving.

—It's time for you and Mike to get out.

—What? In the middle of an off-ramp on the 5? In San Diego?

Where the hell did this come from? We wouldn't even be able to hitch a ride.

—We kept you two alive and brought you this far for this? That's just harsh.

—That's the way it is, cowboys. Get out. It's time to find your way.

Damned if I was going to beg. I helped Mike limp out of the van. Barbara got out and helped. She looked like she wanted to die. Sasha scrambled into the back. She tossed our bags out the door and slammed it shut with a new-found happy energy.

—Get in, Barbara. It's time to go.

She crawled back into the driver's seat and accelerated away, fleeing down the exit lane from the site of the indignity she'd committed on us. I helped Mike pick up his bag and we began pounding the pavement down the expressway.

—This isn't the first time we've been kicked to the curb. All we need is a ride in exchange for a sad story and we'll be back on top of the world.

—Yeah, and I've heard both of us say that before, too. I think another tour of Africa is in order. Let's look for a phone booth somewhere and I'll make the call.

—I wonder when the two of them came up with the plan to abandon us on the side of the road like a couple of dogs?

—I don't think two people worked it out, Harry. I think it was only one. What did you do to piss off Sasha?

—Screw it. We're wasting time out here in the boonies. Let's find a phone. If we're lucky, whoever we can bullshit on the other end will wire us cash for plane tickets. We'll be crying in beer paid for by someone else before we know it.

On the freeway a flurry of brake lights flashed and a van cut over onto the shoulder. It began backing up.

—Come on, Mike. Let's get it together. Someone's had a change of heart.

I picked up the pace and quick-stepped down the freeway as fast as I could. Mike had trouble keeping up.

—You're slowing me down, buddy. I don't want to miss the explanation for this fiasco because you can't keep up.

—Don't try to bullshit me. You're hoping to see her naked one last time before she kicks you to the curb in person.

—Not this time. Now get a move on, or we'll both be late for the dance.

###

**LONG WAY HOME**

Catching up

In _Dead Reckoning_ , Harry and Mike burned through their R&R on mainland Mexico, looking to lie low and escape an adventure that got the better of them in North Africa.

Sitting in a Mexican cantina drinking beer and doing a little dirt-floor dancing with the local _señoritas_ got them into more trouble than they bargained for. Harry picked up something he didn't own. To escape the consequences of his misdeed, it forced them on a one-way trip across the Sea of Cortez in a beat-up airplane.

A chance encounter with two _gringas_ on an isolated stretch of Baja beach ended up complicating things even more. Harry and Mike had no idea the girls were attempting to enhance their bottom line by doing a little smuggling of their own. After cheating their suppliers, Sasha and Barbara were being chased up the Baja by people intent on recovering their missing product.

Mike's disappearance forced Harry to take some drastic measures to recover him from kidnappers bent on trading him for stolen drugs. With Mike rescued and Sasha out of the hands of the hit-men, the foursome crossed the border at Tijuana, broke and disillusioned.

After much soul-searching and a lot of convincing, Sasha and Barbara married the smitten duo. Mike and Barbara moved to Canada and started a successful aviation company that served the oil patch in northern Canada. Business boomed and the company prospered.

Harry and Sasha didn't fare so well. Although their marriage worked for a number of years and produced Christa, a daughter, Harry couldn't sit still for long. He was unable to reign in his wanderlust for overseas adventure.

Consequently he and Sasha ended up divorcing.

The parting was amicable and they remained on good terms. Harry's obligation to support his ex-wife and daughter kept him roaming the world, doing the specialized jobs afforded him by his background and experience in the aviation business.

### Long Way Home

### ~ 1 ~

PILOT WANTED

_For Pilatus Porter PT-6 STOL. 1,000 hours turbine time on type required. Mountain, jungle, desert experience definite asset. Rotation three weeks on/one off. Paid in/out. Cable ZANZIBAR._

**MIKE FLIPPED THE NEWSPAPER** across the table.

—Did you see this? It looks like it might be over in Africa somewhere.

Harry picked up the paper to peruse the ad.

—Somebody must have some pull. An ad for a pilot in the International Times isn't something you see very often these days.

—And a cable address? It must be really out in the boonies—or off the edge of the map.

—Just what you're looking for.

It was true. Harry was getting bored with his present job. It was getting to be too tame for his liking.

—If it hasn't been filled, consider the cable already sent.

—Don't forget about your old friend.

He knew Mike shared his feelings for their present job.

—I'll let you know when I get there.

**The overseas call** Harry placed from the shit-hole he was living in finally got through to Mike. Misery loves company, and Harry felt a need to share some of it with his longtime friend.

—Your presence is requested.

—What have you got for me?

—One beat-up, timed-out, tired pile of aluminum. But you know what? It's still flying and so am I.

—Well then, I won't need to be around much to work on it, will I?

—I wouldn't say that. But don't take my word for it. You'll find out all you need to know when you get here.

—I can't wait.

—In that case, let me know when you're arriving and I'll meet you.

**Mike picked up** his duffel and tool kit and walked out to the Pilatus and its idling PT-6 engine beside the outbuilding. He thought he might throw up, but at the last minute he gulped air, swallowed hard, and carried on. If Harry saw him puke, he'd never hear the end of it, even if the sketchy hotel bar where he spent the night was an adventure in itself.

—Throw your tools in the back and hang on.

—That's an understatement. Where's my seat belt?

—I'm the only one that gets the luxury of a belt unless you want up front.

—Thanks. I always wondered what it was like to fly first class.

Mike joined Harry and took the right seat in the Pilatus before strapping in.

—If you thought I was going to climb into the back of this tin can, you're sadly misinformed.

The duo low-fived.

—Don't worry. It was a test.

Mike turned to look back into the sparse cargo deck. There were no seats or belts. Outfitted for cargo-only, it was stripped of every piece of useless weight. The floor had a thin layer of aluminum cut to size. It was bolted down.

—Christ, Harry, it was no lie when you said she was a beat-up, ugly pile of flying junk.

—Yes, but think of the experience you'll be getting. I can tell you're impressed with the utility configuration. You should have seen her before I showed up.

Harry dialed in eight turns of flap, pulled the column full aft and stood on the brakes. He pushed right rudder to counter the massive amount of torque the PT-6 put out as he advanced the throttle on the single-engine aircraft purpose-built in Switzerland for high-altitude mountain work.

The Porter was an aircraft in high demand for its load-carrying ability at lower altitudes. It could get into and out of landing strips that nothing other than a helicopter could get to.

He rotated onto the tail-wheel and the Porter became airborne in 200 feet. He set up the climb and the old friends settled into an easy banter that had developed along with their friendship over the years.

—What took you so long?

—The fuel control needs some tweaking. I gave it a try but that's the best I could do. Besides, that's why you're here.

—How long to camp?

—About an hour.

—Plenty of time.

Harry set up for cruise and began filling Mike in on the job.

—I fly out ivory and tanzanite in exchange for arms or whatever else will fit into this crate on the back haul. Money fits, too. Lots of it.

—That's it?

Harry looked across at Mike.

—Well, not exactly. I pack this thing with six or ten people every now and again. It's my job to make sure they get to where they need to be. It's what keeps my people-handling skills from deteriorating.

—That'll be the day. Where's the base?

—Everywhere and nowhere. We work out of uncharted landing strips, so to speak.

—A true bush operation.

—If you only knew.

—I suspect I'm about to find out.

Mike settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. Hungover as he was, there was no sense wasting good sleep time. He suspected he wouldn't get much of it once he arrived at the bush camp.

**Harry elbowed Mike** in the ribs.

—We're here. Strap in and hang on.

Harry cranked in three turns of flap to prepare for the short-field landing. When the strip disappeared under the nose he throttled back, put the prop into Beta and shoved the nose down to a 45-degree angle. With wheels on the ground and the prop in reverse pitch, he had the turbine-engined Porter down and stopped in 200 feet.

—It feels like the brakes are shot, too.

—You could probably take a look at them when you get a chance. You'll find plenty of spares. Whoever heads up this disaster doesn't scrimp on aircraft parts.

Harry held the column full aft and taxied the Porter to its spot on the side of the strip. He used the engine to back it beneath the tree canopy and shut down.

—Come on. Give me some help manhandling this thing.

—You never told me the job required actual physical labor.

They arranged the Pilatus under the bush cover and strung up the camo netting to ensure invisibility. When they were done, Mike looked around at the campsite. The dark-colored tents sat off to the side of the strip beneath the canopy. More camo nets covered them. There were no vehicles.

No people, either.

—What are the living arrangements like?

—We'll be sharing quarters. Laundry is done every day. Just leave your clothes on the foot of the bed. At the end of the day you'll get them back, cleaned and pressed. Clean sheets, bed made, floor swept. All you have to do is keep that thing in the air for me. Once in a while you'll get to eat and sleep, too.

—How much time do I have?

—I told them you'd have the plane tied up until tomorrow morning. They weren't happy about it, but I'm the only one here who can fly it. You make two, but I didn't tell them that.

—In that case, take my bag to the tent for me. I'm going to be busy until dark. When's your next flight?

—Tomorrow in the a.m.

—Do we have any lighting?

—There's a small generator and a couple of trouble lights if you get desperate. I'd advise against using any light after dark. It's liable to bring down rain from hell.

—Give me a hand getting set up and then you can disappear.

—One more thing, before I forget.

—What's that?

—You mentioned disappearing. Don't do it. Don't walk past the perimeter after dark.

**Mike pulled the** cowlings to open up the engine compartment. It was clean. No oil leaks evident. No fuel weeping, either. It looked like someone had been doing some work on it to keep it that way. He'd have to ask Harry. The prop seals were good. Fuel filters were clean—no fungus, at least.

He cleaned up the dust and grime and lubed the brake controls as best he could. It would stop on a dime from now on.

He chocked the wheels and fired up the engine in order to do a run-up. A quick check of the gages indicated one of the limits didn't look good. Not wanting to chance it with the normally reliable PT-6, he shut down right away. He searched through boxes stacked under the wings and came up with another set of cargo-compartment seat belts and a fuel control unit. By the time he finished it was dark.

Without light he couldn't do more. The run-up and test flights would have to wait. It was time to eat. Mike ambled over to what he figured was the cook tent and pushed through the flap. Two huge men wearing camo glared at him with surly looks. Beside them, automatic weapons leaned against the table.

—Greetings, gentlemen.

The answer-back was accented—the first South African; the second, Belgian by the sound of it. Mercs. Mercenaries. Dogs of war.

—How's the grub?

—It's okay, but we can't talk the pilot into back-hauling enough to make us happy.

He could solve that problem easily enough. His solution would give him a leg up once the eats started arriving. He figured that keeping these guys happy was going to be the least of his worries. He took a seat across from the mercs.

—Have I got a deal for you.

### ~ 2 ~

**MIKE ROSE BRIGHT** and early to finish up Harry's snag list. Satisfied, he replaced his tools and fueled with minimums in mind. He pulled off the netting and stowed it before patting the wad of cash stuffed in his pocket.

Satisfied, he climbed into the cockpit to do his engine run-up and test flight. He looked over his shoulder for stowaways. It was old habit in some of these bush jobs. He had everything he needed. Last night during his conflab with the mercs, he got them to agree not to shoot him down on the test flight. At least, that was his story, and so far, he was sticking with it.

He taxied the Pilatus out of the bush shelter. By the time he got to the end of the strip the PT-6 was warmed and ready to go. He cranked in take-off flaps, pulled the stick full aft, and stood on the brakes before firewalling the throttle.

He looked right and then left to the tents. The way forward was clear. Men were lined up, probably not expecting to see the plane on the runway with Harry still drinking coffee in the mess tent.

He pushed right rudder to overcome torque from the 550 horsepower engine and stay straight. Super-light, he rotated on the tail wheel and was airborne in fifteen feet.

If that didn't leave them clapping, nothing would.

The thousand-feet-per-minute climb rate he set up had the Pilatus at altitude in no time. He started backtracking on yesterday's route into camp. He set the DG and tuned in the ADF to the local radio station. It would lead him to the riches he promised to deliver to the mercs.

**Harry noticed Mike** scoping out the market on yesterday's drive to the airport. He already had it figured where the Porter was headed when Mike didn't show up back at the strip right away. When he did return, he was pretty sure the Porter would have a load of fresh grub on board.

No matter where he was in the world, food and having enough of it was a constant complaint in every bush camp he had ever been in. Even if the cook was a former five-star chef, everything revolved around food and whether they were getting the best they could.

With nothing to do, he eavesdropped on the grumbling going on around the breakfast table. The new guy was taking a beating for keeping the mercs from making their rounds. They liked to do their aerial recons first thing in the morning while the smoke from campfires still floated over the bush.

The mining consortium depended on the mercs to keep anyone and everyone from interrupting or halting the profitability of the mining operations. It was a full-time job. The dozen mercs were broken up into two teams. Each team had a responsibility to perform clean-up ops in the region.

The bitch session came to an abrupt end when the Pilatus on noisy final drew the attention of the mercs. They shouldered their equipment and headed to the strip. He stayed put to watch the show as they dropped their weapons to unload boxes, bags, containers, fresh fruit and vegetables. All of it was carried to the kitchen by the sweating mercs.

Two AKs complete with packs stuffed with ammo and clips, delivered in person by Mike, was the last of it.

—What are you planning on doing with those?

—I made a bargain with the devil last night. All I had to do was come up with the equipment. Fresh food and plenty of it in exchange for small-arms training. In this job I figure we're eventually going to need it.

—I was wanting to do something like that, but I kept putting it off. You're right. It's overdue. We could both use the training.

—There's no reason to put it off now. You can thank me later when you get stranded out there some day. They're going to throw in some RPG lessons too.

—Here?

—Hell no. When we get back to some semblance of civilization on an R&R.

—So then, you're telling me that my next R&R is going to be spent doing weapons training.

—You betcha, buddy. Like I said, thank me later.

—I'm not doing laps.

—Yeah. Until you find a woman to chase. Then you'll be doing laps.

—Is that what they call it back in civilization now?

**The flying became** routine now that Mike had arrived to take over the chore of maintaining the Pilatus. He cleared the entire snag list in a couple of days. To alleviate the boredom, Mike and Harry took turns flying the recon missions. With the Porter in good condition and the engine operating at its peak, positioning the mercs at the bush strips proved to be lot less difficult.

Every ten days, a flight into town saw to it that the kitchen was outfitted with fresh grub and beer. The mercs were grateful, and when six of them flew out for an R&R, they convinced Harry and Mike to start their weapons training regimen.

—Christ, Mike, these guys are treating us more like a legionnaire brigade than a goddamn guy with a rifle.

They huffed and puffed their way to accompanying the mercs on every run.

—Maybe, but just think of the many ways you'll be able to talk yourself out of being kidnapped with an RPG backed up with an AK and grenades.

—It won't hurt to have the know-how. The single merc they leave with us when we're parked out on some of those strips will probably be grateful for the extra fire-power.

—Especially if we know how to load and fire. That plane is their lifeblood. It's ours, too. Destroy it and we'll all be royally screwed in this place.

—You're right. We definitely don't have any friends out there.

—Let's get a shave, shower and shoe-shine. I have it on good authority that the bar in this shit-hole is a real treat.

—Really? Whose authority?

Harry grinned.

—Mine.

### ~ 3 ~

Present Day

Canada

**HARRY LOOKED AROUND** at the three corporate jets that dwarfed him in Mike's huge hangar. They were gleaming white spectacles indicative of the stature his old friend had acquired as he climbed towards the top of corporate aviation's ladder. It was obvious that this was no fly-by-night operation.

—Well, what do you think?

—I think you're into it up to your neck, Mike.

—I have to admit it's unusual to have them all here at once. This is a rare occurrence.

—Those 300s are nice. How many aircraft are you operating for the oil patch?

—All of them. The Twin Otters are up at our northern base.

—How do you fill vacancies for the jets?

—We don't very often. Once a pilot gets into one of those beauties they pretty much stick it out.

—What about the Twin Otter drivers?

—They're all experienced old-timers. If we get a new hire, he or she will get into the right seat with an experienced Captain for a long-term evaluation before we put one of them in a pilot-in-command role.

—That's the way to do it.

—By the time I get my hands on them they're fed up with living in the bush or the desert or the arctic. By then they've got a ton of flight time in a variety of operations and aircraft. Most of them are IFR-rated.

—The oil business can be chancy. By the look of it you're doing all right.

—We're making good money. We don't have to go begging to get paid. The blue-eyed Arabs pay their bills on time It's not like the old days any more.

—Yes, I know them well. I'm still living in the old days.

—You also know you've got a job here if you want it.

—I'm not ready yet. One day.

—If you're done with your base inspection it's time we headed over to the house.

—Are you still in the same place?

—Christ, you should get home more often. No, we moved two years ago.

—Right, I knew that. I just forgot, is all.

—Just so you know, Barbara invited Sasha and Christa.

Mike wanted to prepare Harry in advance of seeing his ex-wife and daughter. He knew they got along, but even so he thought better of blind-siding him.

—They both know you're going to be there. I think that's why they're coming.

—Is she still with that oil guy?

—Gene? Yeah. He's with CAN-AL Oil, one of our biggest customers. They're all over the world. He might be at the house, too. It's time you met him. He's playing dad to your daughter.

—What's he like?

—He treats Sasha and Christa pretty good, but he can be a pain in the ass. I don't think he's been out in the world a lot. He's from one of those oil tycoon families. He was born into the business.

—No seat-of-the-pants flying.

—Definitely not. He seems to be more of a by-the-book guy. That's okay with me. Like I said, as long as the bills get paid on time, it's all good.

**The instant the** door opened, Harry's daughter Christa squealed and ran to his open arms.

—Harry!

—Hi honey. How's my little girl?

Harry scooped Christa up, hugged her and twirled her around.

—I missed you.

—I missed you just as much, sweetheart. I always miss you.

Sasha smiled watching the two of them chase after each other as they got re-acquainted. Christa never left his side, and Harry, patient man that he was, gave her all the time she wanted. If only he wasn't so far away most of the time, then just maybe—

She ended the reminiscing and concentrated on Harry and their daughter.

—I've missed you too, Sasha, just so you know.

—It's always good to see you, Harry. It doesn't happen often enough any more. There's something I need to talk to you about. Can we do it after dinner?

—Of course we can.

—Come on, I want to introduce you to Gene.

One look at Gene told Harry all he needed to know. Tall and slim going to skinny. Clean cut. Plenty of hair to keep neat and tidy and clean-cut. Clean hands. Fresh-pressed shirt and pants.

He shut out his thoughts, happy that his ex had found someone. His eyes wandered to Sasha. She was still beautiful. She kept her black hair long. There was no gray, but she probably took care of that-not that it would have mattered in the slightest.

All he had to do now was find someone for himself.

—So this is the guy who's been stealing my daughter's affections. I finally get to meet you.

—I've heard a lot about you, too.

Harry snapped back to the immediate reality at the sound of Gene's high-pitched voice.

—Not all of it bad, I hope.

—No. None of it bad, actually.

The two stood apart, each sizing the other up. Satisfied, Harry backed off and made an excuse to go looking for Barbara.

—Where's the real owner of this dump?

Barbara, overhearing him, called out.

—She's trapped in the kitchen, where the hell do you think? Get your ass in here.

—Yes ma'am!

—Where's my hug?

—Right here, gorgeous, where it always is. It's great to see you. What's for dinner?

—Always right to the point. I'm not going to ruin it by telling you.

—Your home-cooked meals are what keep me coming back.

—If that was the truth, you'd be back here more often. Did I hear your daughter call you Harry out there?

—Yes, well, I'm not proud of it. I was hoping no one would notice.

—I'm sorry. I always thought you three should be together, just like old times.

—People change. When Sasha told me she wanted out, I let her know I'd keep paying the bills until someone came along for her and Christa. I'm just glad they stayed close to you and Mike.

—We are too.

—We've all been through a lot together. It's tough to let go sometimes, but it was the thing to do. I wasn't going to fight her.

—Just between the two of us, I get the feeling Gene is going to ask her to marry him.

—Isn't it about time? He's been seeing her for a year, hasn't he?

—Like I said, you should come by more often. They've been seeing each other for almost two years.

—If that's true it took him enough time to make up his mind.

—Well, it looks like he finally has.

Harry poked around the huge kitchen.

—Are you looking for anything in particular?

—Is that Mike's old shotty stashed up there?

—It is. I thought I'd keep it around, just in case.

—Just in case of what, Barbara? Better times and happier memories?

—Something like that.

**Barbara stood with** hands on her hips and watched as Harry stacked the last of the dishes and wiped the counter.

—You'd have made someone a good house-husband. It's too bad you're so old and set in your ways.

—Don't bury me yet, girl. I've only got one of my feet in the graveyard.

—Yes, and sometimes you have the other planted firmly up your rear end. You need to do right by that woman out there, Harry. You're going to let her get away again, aren't you? And what about your daughter? What's going on there?

—I think Sasha has pretty much made up her mind about what she's going to do—and I support her in it.

—You're going to lose her.

—You're right—and there's nothing I can do about it. Now I have to go and find her. She said she wanted to talk.

—Don't tell me I've got you on the run already. You just got here.

**Sasha paced back** and forth, already waiting for Harry. It had been two years since they last saw each other, but she knew they'd get along. She still liked him. Maybe she still loved him just a little, too.

—What's happening with you two—or you three now, I guess.

—I get the feeling that Gene is going to ask me to marry him.

—Will he want to adopt Christa?

—We haven't talked about that yet, but he'd better if he wants a family with me.

—Whatever you want to do is fine by me. I'm her father. That won't change. I trust your judgment. You already know that.

—Yes, but it's nice to hear you say it.

—I heard Gene is going to be taking you overseas on one of his trips.

—Barbara told you that, didn't she?

—Of course she did. You know she talks to me about you and Christa—and you'd better not mind, either. Do you know when you're going?

—He wants to take Christa, too. I need time with him to help me make up my mind. I won't be saying yes until after the trip.

—You have my blessing no matter what you decide. Christa needs the stability. I think you do, too.

Harry pulled a box out of his backpack.

—What's that?

—It's for my two favorite girls. When I heard where you were going, I picked up a GPS transmitter. When you turn it on and press a button, it will transmit your location to a map and send out a pre-programmed message.

—Do you think we'll need that? We're going for a week at most. We won't be out in the middle of nowhere. Christa and I will be seeing the sights and doing some shopping.

—Of course you won't need it. Do you know where you're going to be?

—Gene hasn't told us yet.

—I set it up with Mike and Barbara's email address, and their corporate one as well. They know all about it.

—Are you going to put yours in? That's the one I want in there if I ever have to use it.

—You know I'm all over the place. If you ever have to press the button, you're going to want to have someone who can take the call.

—Will you show me how to use it?

—Of course. I'll show you both before I leave.

Harry was always off to somewhere.

—You're still hitting the high spots, aren't you? Where are you off to this time?

She never knew where any more.

—NBO.

—Nairobi.

—Yes.

—Please be careful.

**Christa pulled the** Tracker out of the box and took it to show Gene.

—Look what Harry gave us.

—Yes, that's nice, sweetheart.

—Harry showed me how to turn it on. He says it will help to find us if we get in trouble.

—Put it away before you break it.

She put the Tracker in her backpack and zipped it shut.

—They won't be needing that thing, Harry. They'll be with me the entire time.

—Well, they have it if they want it. It's for them to decide.

—We'll be three or four days at most, then back home in no time. The batteries will probably be dead by then.

Exasperated, Harry had nothing more for the man.

—Whatever you say, Gene.

### ~ 4 ~

Present Day

Canada

**MIKE HAD BEEN** trying Barbara's number for an hour. She finally picked up.

—Where have you been? I've been trying to get you.

—I was at the neighbor's drinking wine and telling lies. What's up?

—Sasha's Tracker sent out an email.

—Oh shit. Where are they?

—According to the position map, East Africa. On the Horn. So far, three hits are showing. I've got the guys installing the utility interior into the jet now.

—I'll try to track down Harry. Christ, what time is it in NBO?

—That's your part of the job.

—After I find him I'll get our bags to the hangar as soon as I can.

Mike didn't want his wife coming on this exercise. He already knew it would be impossible to keep her away. Barbara and Sasha had become even closer since their adventure on the Baja.

—This isn't going to be a picnic. It's going to be dangerous. It won't be easy to get them out of there. Are you sure you want to come?

—You couldn't keep me away with your old shotty.

—What we had on the Baja will be a picnic compared to this exercise, believe me. There's nothing out there—and I do mean nothing. No roads. No towns. Nada. You can't depend on anyone. Life is cheap. People you can trust can turn on you in an instant. Sometimes, people you can trust are non-existent.

—We're going to do this together. In fact, all three of us need to do this. I'll be with the people I need to trust. I wouldn't have it any other way and I don't think you would, either. I know everything has evened out between you and Harry since the Baja, but between Sasha and me, it will never be even. It will always be equal.

—I'm getting some of the guys together. It'll be another couple of hours by the time we're loaded.

—If I get hold of Harry I'll tell him we have a charter into NBO. There's no way I'm going to tell him we had a hit from the Tracker. He'd be crazy by the time we got there.

—I'm more concerned about him going off on his own. He's got plenty of contacts over there, but he's going to need a lot more than that.

Nairobi was a long way off. Barbara knew Mike wouldn't be stopping for anything until he got to Harry. She began unloading the fridge to put together a cooler full of food for the extended flight.

**Mike gathered his** people in the hangar. Meetings weren't his style, and he called few of them. He liked to deal one-on-one with all of them. It was more personal that way.

—Guys, I've just received some bad news. A very good family friend has gone missing on the Horn of Africa. I'm going to need some help. If any of you want to volunteer, I'd be happy to have you come along.

A single employee made the mistake of speaking up.

—You want volunteers? What's the pay?

—Pay? Pack up your tools and get out. That's the pay. Don't bother coming back.

Art was an old Africa hand himself. He knew Mike well enough to caution him.

—Take it easy, man. What the hell is going on?

—I just told everyone what was going on, Art.

—I'm on board, no matter what, but the young guys need to know more than that. They don't operate like we used to.

Mike changed his demeanor to one more easy-going.

—I'm going to need at least two of you. A welder. A mechanic. Someone who knows how to handle firearms. If you can figure out who to bring, do it, Art.

—Bill was a Huey door-gunner in Nam.

—Then do what you have to do to get him on-board. I'm glad you're coming, too. Unless someone else shows up, you can plan on being my First Officer. Pack your tools. Treat it like we're going on an extended field operation back in the old days. Load some welding equipment—tanks, hoses, sheet metal, whatever you have to. A generator and lights. Put in our sat phones too. We'll charge them on the way.

—How much time do we have?

—When Barbara gets here, we're gone, ready or not.

—How many passengers do I need to plan for?

—Cabin seats for our crew plus three.

Art and a couple of helpers began stripping the interior from the jet. He'd make sure to get it as light as he could in order to load as much gear as possible.

**Even after Harry** married Sasha, he had to spend long periods of time away from home to pay the bills. He was doing the flying jobs he loved. Neither of them was happy with it, but his work provided a level of support for the three of them that was beyond reproach.

Eventually, Sasha had enough of the never-ending lonely days and nights, and she put her foot down. By then, it was too late. The free-wheeling Harry took an extended overseas jaunt and Sasha filed for divorce. He didn't contest it. He let her have full custody of their daughter. He knew he wouldn't be able to offer his daughter a home, given his around-the-world adventures.

Christa was three when they split up. They stayed on good terms. Harry continued to pay the bills while Sasha raised Christa. He didn't begrudge his ex-wife a thing. He knew she was doing one heck of a job with his daughter.

It was one he couldn't do on his own.

Sasha stayed close with Barbara and Mike. She was always welcome in their home. She knew Barbara told Harry about her comings and goings, but she didn't object. In the back of her mind she knew Harry still loved her—and in some way, she still loved him, too. If the son of a bitch would just come home and stay home, she'd go back to him.

She didn't tell Barbara about that, though. She kept it to herself, knowing her friend secretly wanted them to get together and would tell Harry.

**Barbara arrived at** the hangar just as the jet was being fueled.

—Did you pick up the cash?

—Yes.

—You packed the shotty, didn't you? Did you bring shells?

—Yes, and yes.

—Did you locate Harry?

—He's in NBO. Holed up at the Flying Club.

—Art and Bill volunteered to come along for the ride. See if they need any help.

—Will we have access to Sasha's Tracker page?

—We'll have en-route access. I told Art to put our satellite phones on board. Check that he does. We'll fuel in Gander and Naples. If everything comes together, we should be 25 hours elapsed into Nairobi.

—What about a co-jo?

—I ran out of volunteers for this job. It's going to be Art. When he gets tired, it'll be you.

—That's not legal.

—Maybe not, but ten years ago, nothing we did was legal. We've been sitting pretty getting fat, dumb and happy. It's time for a little adventure in our lives again, wouldn't you say?

—Whether it's time or not, it seems like it found us again. Let's hope it's the last time.

### ~ 5 ~

Present Day

Nairobi

**NEVER ONE TO** doubt the capabilities—or the ETA—of his friend and former bush pilot, Harry waited for Mike and the 300 at Nairobi. He was proud as hell as he watched Mike taxi the jet onto the fixed-base operator's tarmac. It was obvious that Mike was doing well in the cutthroat aviation business. He had no doubt the man had been doing some throat-cutting of his own as well.

—Come aboard, Harry, I've got some people I want you to meet.

—Hi, guys. Holy shit, Barbara is here, too. Playing tourist, are you?

—No, Harry, I'm not.

He passed off her gruff response to fatigue and air-sickness.

—What's going on with such a quick trip?

He took in the gear packed and strapped into the back of the jet. Mike didn't give him time to ask.

—Harry, this is Art. He's an old Africa hand. He's also the best engineer I've got. That's Bill sleeping in the seat. He's a little younger but he gets tired easier.

—Whoever the hell it was that called me in the bar at the Flying Club cost me a round of drinks. You owe me.

—It was Barbara. And you're going to get repaid real quick.

It dawned on Harry that something wasn't right.

—What the hell is it? You didn't bring your wife and a team all the way over here to brag about it.

—I got an email from Sasha and Christa.

—They should be over here about now, shouldn't they?

—It was a GPS hit.

—Shit. No wonder Barbara wouldn't tell anyone why she was looking for me.

Mike opened the laptop and loaded the mapping page.

—There's where she pulled the pin. Since we left they've been on the move towards the coast. The signal is intermittent. She's probably turning it off to save batteries.

—Those hits look like they're close to one of our old operations.

—You're right. I noticed that, too. At least we've got something going for us.

—They're not moving very fast.

—No, but they're on the move east towards the coast and Eyl.

—The pirate den on the Indian Ocean.

—Yes.

—The easy targets on the Gulf of Aden and the Indian Ocean have proved lucrative up to now. Do you think they could be branching out into new territory? Oil company territory on dry land?

—This is all news to me. As far as I knew, the pirates were strictly sea-going and kept to the waters off the coast. It seems out of character, but I guess they could have made a decision to move on to people on dry land.

—If they have, that means unlimited ransom demands.

—There's been renewed oil interest in that area, most recently by CAN-AL. Don't take this the wrong way, but I'd be wondering if CAN-AL would pay up.

—I'm not going to stand around with my hands in my pockets scratching at my balls waiting to find out. That's my ex and our daughter out there. I'm thinking that you didn't come all the way over here to talk me out of doing something.

—Of course not.

—What have you got up your sleeve, Mike?

—Here's what I think. They're headed overland. Helicopter access will be impossible. It won't have the fuel range. There's no way we could come up with one on such short notice anyway, even if we steal it.

—We've got work to do and not enough time to do it. Just off the top of my head, we're going to need a DC-3, at least two technicals and people to man them. Maybe a translator.

—And weapons. Don't forget weapons, Harry.

—Why are my girls out in the open desert? What the hell did that dumb son of a bitch do?

Barbara knew Harry would crawl through hell to get to his wife and daughter. He wouldn't let up until he had her. She pitied the men who did when he found them.

—We'll get her. We always do. We got her on the Baja. We'll get the two of them in the desert.

—Don't you mean the three of them?

—All of them. We'll get all of them.

Outwardly, Harry appeared to be satisfied with that, but Barbara could tell the wheels were still turning. She wasn't wrong.

—Art, before I forget, there's a couple more things we're going to need.

—You bet, Harry. Just let me know.

**Art didn't want** to be the one to disappoint Harry, but he was going to have a hard time keeping up with his demands. He didn't want to say no, either. From what he'd seen so far, Harry didn't like to hear the word.

—Whatever it is, you've got it.

—You might end up being sorry you said that. We're going to need two .50 cal's.

The look on Art's face said it all.

—And five thousand rounds to go with them.

Art shook his head again and grinned like a dog trying to screw a football.

—I've got some old legion contacts in Djibouti. I'll make some calls.

Barbara handed him a phone.

—Get to it. I'm going to find us a hangar.

Art moved off to make his calls. Harry wasn't finished with him yet.

—We're going to need some AKs. Extra magazines. A thousand rounds. See if you can dig up some RPGs too.

—Jesus. Anything else?

—Yes. See if you can get a line on an old DC-3 to hold it all. We'll need it to launch.

—I'll see what I can do about the Dakota, but I can't make any promises.

Harry's eyes bored into Art's.

—If you run into any problems, mention my name. Both Mike and I have been around these parts before. We're just not current at it, is all.

—When Mike said you'd been around, I didn't take it to mean you were once on the black market with arms.

Harry didn't answer and Art disappeared to make his calls.

—Bill!

Young Bill scrambled to Harry's side.

—Yes, sir.

—Art tells me you were a Huey door gunner. Is that right, or is it bullshit?

—No bullshit, sir.

—Don't call me sir. You're almost as old as Art. By any chance could you rig up a dual mount for a pair of .50 calibers? We'd need a floor mount to hang them on a DC-3. I'll want them pointed out the cargo door.

—I could do it better if we had the .50s sitting on the ground beside the airplane. I'd get it done a lot faster, too.

—I'll let you know.

Barbara returned from her search.

—I found a hangar. There's a tow coming up. We'll be behind closed doors shortly. Fuel is on the way.

—We're not going to need the hangar.

Mike was anxious to get airborne now that he knew where they had to be to join the crew providing the hardware they were buying.

—We'll be heading to JIB as soon as we take on fuel.

Nothing would delay him now. If something came up, he knew Harry and Barbara would see to it that there'd be no interference.

**The fuel bowser** approached the jet and halted beneath the wing. Barbara hurried towards it carrying the briefcase. An agitated Mike searched for Harry.

—Where the hell did Harry get to?

—I'm right here. I don't have a line on a DC-3 yet, but it looks like everything else is coming together.

In fact, Harry had a line, but he knew he couldn't tell Mike and Barbara about it. It would be too upsetting. In fact, he still hoped Art would make good and come up with his own plane.

—That was quick.

—Art had better not fail on the hardware acquisition.

—How many favors did you have to call in?

—More than a few, but one in particular is sure to come through for us.

—So you do have a line on a Dakota.

—No. But I managed to get a call through to our old friend in Galkayo.

—Ali? You mean that old bugger isn't dead yet?

—Not yet. He's got half a dozen technicals sitting around in parts.

—Parts won't do us any good.

—That's what I told him. He says not to worry. By the time we get there he'll have two put together from what's left of the others.

—Then he'll come through. He's never failed us yet.

—He gave his word he'd keep the strip open for us as soon as he could get to it. I told him we'd be another day.

—That's pretty optimistic, considering what we have to get done. In case you haven't noticed, we don't have an airplane.

Harry ignored Mike's comment about the plane. He didn't want to show his hand.

—He has a condition, though.

—We're bringing that old bugger guns and he has a condition?

—He sure does. He said he wants to meet the woman that got us both over here at the same time after so many years have passed by.

Barbara wasn't about missing a chance to get in a dig.

—I'm thinking he must have said something else, too.

—He did. He said she must be quite the woman.

Barbara couldn't let Harry off the hook that easily. In fact, she was surprised he was even talking about it. Something must have changed.

—Why is it that Ali knows that, even though he's never met Sasha, and you, who knows her better than anyone else, hasn't figured it out yet?

—You just have to start in on me, don't you?

Mike couldn't resist piling on.

—She's right, and you know it. Now what did you have to promise Ali?

—I told him we could probably come up with some munitions for him if he absolutely needed them.

—At least that part of it is settled. Having Ali's support is one less worry. If someone shows up to shut down the strip before we get there, Ali is capable of keeping it open.

—Bill says he'd be able to fabricate the dual mount for the .50s. He wants to have the guns sitting on the tarmac outside of the cargo door. He said he could eyeball it better that way.

The fuel truck disconnected and pulled away. Barbara paid with cash from the briefcase and climbed aboard the jet.

—We're good to go.

—Great. Now all we need is a couple of .50s and an airplane to put them in.

Art rushed up the stairwell into the jet looking far too happy.

—Let's fire up the APU and get this tin can to Djibouti. Thanks to some old legionnaire buddies, I've got a line on twin .50s and five thousand rounds. And all for the bargain price of seventy-five hundred.

—That's great. Now tell Harry. He'll be happy to hear it.

—Funny thing about that. When I mentioned his name, they dropped the price. Who the hell are you guys?

—I'll explain it when we're all sitting in a bar so I only have to tell the story once. In the meantime, Barbara is going to be our new First. While we're en route to Djibouti, you're going to help Bill sketch up a gun mount of some sort for the cargo door on a DC-3. That's where the twin .50s will be going. Oh, and maybe you could talk to your suppliers again and find us some RPGs to go along with the .50s.

—Harry already asked me to do that. I'm waiting for a call-back.

Bill slipped aboard. He ended up at the back of the jet on top of the cargo. His eyes were closed and he was breathing easily, fast asleep.

—Is he always that way? He'd better be one well-rested son of a gun by the time we arrive. Do you think he'll have any objection to being promoted to door-gunner again?

—You never told me you wanted a helicopter, too. Christ, where are we going?

—We're on our way to hell and back.

**Mike made sure** Harry took over the right seat on the flight to Djibouti. If there was ever an opportunity to encourage him to consider trading in his foot-loose and fancy-free lifestyle as a lifelong bush pilot to a more stable corporate environment, this was it.

—Do you think you could get to like this, Harry?

—Well, it has benefits for sure. Large airports over bush and desert strips. Hotel rooms over tents. Modern maintenance. How's the pay?

—Are you thinking of applying?

—I might be.

Mike grinned.

—In that case, I'll need you to fill out an application.

He went to reach into his briefcase.

—Not so fast. I'm going to need more time to think about it.

Mike straightened and switched off the autopilot.

—Why don't you get a feel for it? You have control.

The grin on Harry's face told him everything.

—I have control.

—I'll talk you through the settings we'll need for the approach to JIB when we get closer.

**Mike coordinated his** efforts in the cockpit with Harry's abilities at the flight controls. Harry was no amateur. He had plenty of flight time and experience in all kinds of aircraft types—none of them jet, of course.

Even so, his manner was smooth and his efforts were coordinated. Mike knew it wouldn't be long before Harry would be jet-qualified if he wanted to be.

—All of this is nice, Mike, but it's not taking my mind off of what's coming up. We're out of time. We have to stop the kidnappers in their tracks, fast. If they get to Eyl, they'll be unassailable in that pirate den. We'll never get my girls back.

—You're not alone in this. In my opinion, Art is one of the most qualified people on board. Bill, sleepy as he is, is no slouch in the art of metal-working.

—I didn't think you'd bring any slackers on this run. Even so, you're not going to like what I have to tell you.

—Don't stop now. I can take it.

—I was pushed to the edge. I had to sell my soul to get a DC-3 delivered to Djibouti.

—Don't worry about it. We'll cover it off together.

—Not this time, I'm afraid. I gave a personal guarantee just so you wouldn't be involved. There's a lot more to it than I'm going to tell you.

Harry checked the DME and changed the subject.

—We're almost there. It's time you started talking me down.

### ~ 6 ~

Tanzania

**HARRY SPOTTED THEM** first in the dark, dingy bar. In the dim light, they stood out like a lighthouse in a desert. One was blonde, the other brunette. They weren't much to look at, but the lights were low and so were expectations. A belly-full of beer didn't hurt either.

— _Wazungu_. What the hell are white women doing here? They're wearing camos.

—I noticed that. We have to check this out.

—You're right. Camos can hide a lot. You're closer. They are women, right?

The girls weren't shy. One kicked a couple of chairs in the right direction and Harry and Mike became instant prisoners. Irit was the brunette. The blonde was Eloria.

—We heard you're doing some bush flying in the area.

Harry gave Mike the look. You could never tell what was going on around here, and these were two he'd never seen before. No sense igniting controversy when none was warranted.

—We're doing some exploration work for a mining company in the area. By any chance are you new transfers with the company?

They finished their beer and laughed.

—You might say so.

—Your accent. I've heard it before. Israeli?

—Good guess, but no. Not even close. We're Canadian.

Harry rolled his eyes.

—Don't try to bullshit us. We've both worked with Israelis. You have the same accent when you speak English. _Aleichem Shalom_.

Mike disappeared in search of more beer. Harry stayed with the brunette.

—What are a couple of nice girls like you doing in a shit-hole like this?

They answered with more laughter and pulled out Galils hiding behind their chair-backs. Harry gave Mike the in-like-Flynn look when he came back.

—If I get in a bar fight, I want you two backing me up.

Mike agreed.

—And I'm guessing you work for the mining company, too.

There was more laughter while the girls stashed the Galils out of sight.

—You could be right. Now you know all about us, but we know nothing of you. Are you American?

—Hell no. We're a couple of lost Canadians looking for a place to live and women to love.

Irit was definitely interested. Harry wasn't so sure about Eloria, but what the hell, that was Mike's job.

—Canadian? That's all right with us, right Eloria? Come on, you two. Curfew is coming up. We have somewhere we need to be.

**Harry pulled the covers** back to get what he thought would be a last early-morning look at Irit sprawled across the bed on her stomach, arms and legs akimbo. Damn but he wanted to turn her over for a better look.

It wasn't to be this time. Last night his hand had been forcibly removed from under her pillow when his fingers brushed against cold steel. Whether a gun or a knife, he couldn't tell.

Mike stumbled into the bedroom from down the hall.

—It's time to get the hell out. We need to get far away from this trouble until we can figure out what's going on.

—I'm with you on that. Mine sleeps with steel under her pillow.

—You're lucky. Eloria has a loaded sawed-off under hers.

—There's no way I'm going to be pissing these two off. I'll be counting on you to remind me if I forget.

—The getting is good right about now. They're both snoring.

The ten minute walk to the plane gave them enough time to chase away last night's cobwebs. Harry began the DI on the Pilatus to ready it for the return flight to base camp. Two Jeeps screeched to a halt. Dry-heaving, still mostly drunk and hung-over mercs stumbled out.

—Check out the drivers.

—Christ. What the hell are they doing here?

—Well, you did tell them you were looking for a place to live and someone to love.

—I might have made a mistake. It wouldn't be my first.

Harry started in on the girls. They were just as hung over as the rest of them and in no mood for an argument. Eloria gestured towards the mercs with her Galil.

—Back off. We're with them.

—You should have mentioned something last night.

—We didn't know who you were last night.

He knew enough that around here, it wouldn't have been smart to announce it, either.

—Load those drunken excuses for mercs on board. You and your friend can wait here with Mike until I get back.

**Reverse pitch halted** the Pilatus in a thick cloud of red dust. Harry didn't shut down, but instead set the throttle to ground idle. Irit and Eloria took in the ratty condition of the plane. It looked like they were about to change their minds. Mike waved and instead, they loaded their gear. They climbed aboard and planted themselves on the floor.

—Doesn't this look cozy. No seat. No seat belts. No intercom. Nobody told us this was going to be an accident looking for a place to happen.

—Check out the AKs strapped to the bulkhead. Do you think they're for show or go?

Harry was hung over and in no mood for backtalk.

—Stop whining, ladies. You're in the army now.

—No, we were in the army back home. To get where we are now, we sold ourselves to the highest bidder.

Mike motioned for Irit to move up front with Harry.

—There's your seat and harness. Lock in. We're going on a ride.

Harry taxied the PT-6 to the end of the strip. He set flaps, locked the brakes, pulled the column full aft and powered up. He kicked in right rudder as he dialed in the engine. He rotated on the tail-wheel and set up the Porter for a steep climb-out. He banked and headed for the bush camp.

—You did that pretty good. How are you at landing?

—You're about to find out in just a bit.

At circuit height Harry waited for the strip to disappear under the nose of the Pilatus. He pulled the prop into Beta, dropped the nose to 45 degrees and the Porter descended like a summer fair carnival ride. At the bottom of the dive he flared to get the Pilatus into a three-wheel attitude for touchdown.

The high-pitched screaming wasn't coming from the engine. It didn't stop until the Pilatus gently bumped the runway. Harry couldn't shut down fast enough. Both passengers jumped out, ran to the tail and threw up.

—How was my landing?

The response came in stereo.

—Fuck you!

—Grab your gear and find a tent. The rest of us have work to do.

Six fully-armed men climbed aboard. One handed Harry a map and pointed at several spots marked on it.

—When we land, we'll be leaving one man with you and the plane. His orders are to let no one touch it or you on pain of death. Is that understood?

**The women walked** through the tents scattered under the canopy on the far side of the strip. When they got to the end, they turned and came back.

—Mike!

They weren't happy with what they discovered. The side-by-side racks they'd be sharing with the rest of the mercs weren't exactly what they hoped to find.

—What is it?

—We're moving our gear into your tent. Which one is it?

—What's the problem?

—We're not sharing bunks with those animals. We'll end up mincemeat the minute we fall asleep.

—You might have a point. Our tent is off to the side. Look for the one that has the shower in it.

—All the comforts, or what?

Mike's grin was bigger than he wanted.

—Well, it sure looks like it now.

### ~ 7 ~

Present Day

Horn of Africa

**GENE DIDN'T LIKE** Harry sticking his nose into his relationship with Sasha. He saw the useless GPS junk that Harry presented as an assault on his ability to look after them.

—Christa, I thought I told you to leave that thing at home. We won't be needing it.

—But Harry gave it to me. He said I could bring it on our trip for good luck.

—It's a cheap toy. It's not going to bring anyone good luck. It probably doesn't even work.

Gene tossed the Tracker onto the bed. When he wasn't looking Christa returned it to her backpack.

—Our driver is here. Let's get going. We have an airplane to catch.

—Is it really necessary to take us out into the middle of nowhere? Christa and I wanted to spend the day looking around. We're never going to have another opportunity like this.

—I want to show you how important this project is for CAN-AL. You can look around town next time. Now come on, we have to get to the airport.

Gene herded Sasha and her daughter out of the lobby and into the beat-up old _deux chevaux_. In twenty minutes they were aboard the Beach-18 charter and on their way to the desert strip a few miles from the oil company camp and well-site.

Sasha wasn't impressed. The Beech was an ancient piece of tin. Even Mike wouldn't be caught dead owning one. The operator was probably a local, hungry for oil money and running a scam of some sort to get CAN-AL to agree to hire it.

She looked across the aisle at her daughter. Christa was concentrating on the picture manual for the GPS Harry had presented to them. Given the age of the plane they were riding in, she hoped they wouldn't have to put it to use.

**The Beach landed** and bumped its way over the uneven desert sand strip. It slowly backtracked and taxied to the vehicles gathered at the side of the strip. Gene surveyed the unfamiliar trucks from his window. When the plane stopped, the trucks moved to block it in.

—Those aren't company people.

—Then who are they?

—I don't know. Stay here.

—Wait, Gene. Those look like AKs.

—What's an AK?

—Trust me, you don't want to find out if one is pointed in your direction. Christa, come over here with me. We're getting off now. You too, Gene.

—Let me handle this.

The girls stepped in front of Gene. Sasha pulled Christa down the steps as fast as she could. Gene reluctantly followed behind.

—Gene, half of those people look barely older than Christa.

The technicals opened up on the twin Beach, raking it from nose to tail with automatic fire. The pilot, the last to exit, was caught in the hail of gunfire as he stepped down the stairway. Tracer rounds passing through the wings ignited the fuel tanks. The Beach-18 turned into a smoking pile of melted aluminum.

—The three of you will come with us.

Sasha and Christa started towards the trucks. Gene hesitated.

—I'm with CAN-AL Oil. We're doing the drilling north of here. My people are supposed to be meeting me. Do you know anything about it?

—Get in the truck.

—But I'm with CAN-AL Oil. I have to get to our camp. I have meetings scheduled.

Exasperated with Gene and worried for her daughter's safety, Sasha was in no mood to put up with his whining. Gene was putting them in danger.

—Gene, do what they tell you. Do they look like they're not serious after what they just did to the plane?

—But I have meetings. They can't do this. We're supposed to fly back tonight.

—We're not going to be flying anywhere tonight. Keep it together and let's go. They've got the guns. That makes them the boss.

Sasha understood now that Gene was incapable of comprehending the situation the three of them were in. He couldn't fathom that they were in danger. His mindless ranting was annoying everyone–especially the kidnappers.

Unwilling to keep silent, Gene kept going on about getting to the camp for his meetings. Finally, an impatient kidnapper jabbed Gene in the gut with the butt of his AK. He gasped and finally shut up. Sasha helped him climb into a Jeep.

—Christa.

—Yes, mommy?

—Do you still have that thing Harry gave you?

—Yes. It's in my backpack.

—Do you remember how to work it?

—I think so. I studied the manual on the plane.

—I know. I saw you. I think now would be a good time to turn it on. Can you do that? You can pretend that it's a toy if anyone asks.

—All right, mommy.

—It is a toy. It'll never work. Damn it. I don't have time for this. Don't these people know who I am?

At a signal from a man in the back of the lead vehicle, the convoy got underway. The procession of vehicles moved slowly eastward, in the direction of the Indian Ocean. Sasha ignored Gene in the heat and the dust that trailed from the lead vehicles stretching out in front of them.

—Did you get it turned on, honey?

—Yes.

—Did you press the button and hold it down the way Harry showed you?

—Yes.

—Good girl. Give mommy a hug.

—Admit it, Harry's junk is useless and you know it. Your ex is still the loser he always was.

**When Somalia's national** airline went bankrupt, several of their DC-3s were acquired by interested parties. Those that weren't were mothballed. Thanks to Harry's globe-trotting habits and the contacts he made over the years, Mike pulled the jet in front of a deserted hangar and halted beside a Somali Air DC-3 parked on the tarmac. The former blue and white livery and the name were still painted on the side.

—Jesus, Harry, who did you call to get that thing to meet us here? More important, what's our payback going to be?

—I can't say. He had to fly it here, so at least we know it's airworthy. That should shorten our down time.

—You're ignoring the payback.

—Don't worry about it. It's all on me. When it comes I'll be answering the call on this one.

The mood inside the jet changed for the better immediately. Everyone knew the old plane was the missing key to the rescue. It was Barbara who stated the obvious.

—Come on, you guys. We've got work to do. We have twelve hours to turn this Dakota around.

Mike wasn't exactly jumping for joy about getting into the left seat of the old airplane given the reason for it. Even so, he was glad the DC-3 was something he was familiar with. That would make the task a little easier.

—I don't know how you did it, but this old Somali Air bucket of bolts is just the ticket we need. Do you have any idea how long it's been since I sat in one of these?

The look on Mike's face told Harry he was happy. Nothing would drag him away.

—I'd really like to help, but I'll leave rigging the Dakota up to you and Bill. I need to get Art over to his legionnaire comrades to collect the goods. Where did you put the cash?

—Barbara handles that. Barbara!

—Christ, stop yelling, you two. You'll end up getting us shipped off to a refugee camp.

—Harry needs cash.

—I know. I heard. Relax. I'm going with him.

Mike's old shotty hung off of her shoulder, under her jacket. It was just the way Mike used to wear it back in the old days. Harry knew those two were almost twins when it came to things like that. At least she was ready. There was nothing but hand tools for anyone else.

—That's my girl. Always taking care of me. Come on, Art. We have places to go and people to see.

Art didn't appear happy at the prospect of Barbara coming along for the ride to be a witness to his arms dealings. He was pretty sure the reason Barbara was a part of this operation was because she was Mike's wife. The ex-legionnaires would be far from impressed when he showed up with a woman. It might even scuttle the deal.

—Harry. Can I have a word?

—We don't have time, Art.

He pulled Harry away and started right in.

—What are we doing with that woman here? We don't need her. All we need is the cash. I wouldn't trust her with the men I have to deal with. What if she panics?

—Art, you'd better let her know yourself. Barbara. Come over here. Art has something he wants to tell you.

Harry worked his way behind Art. He pasted a huge grin on his face and waited. Barbara could tell something was up.

—Barbara, I don't want to be a spoil-sport, but do you really need to be tagging along with us? We're capable of handling it.

The grin on her face froze. She turned a steely-eyed look in Art's direction. Under more normal circumstances it would have melted steel. She had it toned down for Art.

—Tagging along? It's our money, not yours. If you have complaints, we'll settle them later. I don't have time for them now.

She flashed the twin barrels under her jacket and Art went silent. At that moment, Harry was glad to have her along. He knew her abilities, and he was damned glad of them.

—She's with me, Art. That's all you need to know.

—Then I guess that's the way it's going to be.

—Yes, it is. What about the AKs and mags to go with them? Plus the thousand rounds. Will your friends be able to hook us up?

—From the way they were talking, yes. They want to meet you.

Barbara led the way to the truck.

—Come on, you two. Enough talking. Let's see some action.

### ~ 8 ~

Present Day

Djibouti

**ART INTRODUCED HARRY** to his suppliers. He had the distinct feeling that he was being sized up for something. His mind wandered back to the woman who had helped Mike get across the border into Kenya years ago. Because of her, they were both alive.

At the time, he took Mike at face value when he told him Eloria had been killed in the attack. He didn't blame Mike for not going back to look for her in the heat of the pursuit and with lead flying. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Mike was convinced Eloria had been killed in the chase north to the Kenyan border. Neither of them had given a thought to going back for her because of that. Now, he wasn't sure that had been the right thing to do. Perhaps he should have done just that after getting out of the hospital.

Instead, he ended up taking Eloria's and Irit's Canadian passports to a foreign embassy rather than his own. When he presented them they disappeared behind a door. It was a long wait until someone came out. That was when he knew his hunch had been right. He ended up being asked to show some identification and then he was unceremoniously ejected from the embassy. The passports stayed behind.

He never told Mike.

Neither of them told their wives about that rescue exercise, either. How Mike ended up with Eloria's shotgun, now tucked under Barbara's jacket, was never discussed. They both thought it was a story better left untold. Until now.

When this was over he'd need to have a conversation with Mike about all of it.

**The overloaded two-ton** groaned to a stop in the dark beside the derelict DC-3. Bill helped unload the twin .50s. The scrap metal and acetylene waited on the ground. There was no time to waste. He fired up the generator and the lights. He arranged the steel and lit the cutter. The gun mount wouldn't be pretty, but in action it would be a killer.

—Art, do you see any problems with the .50s once we get them mounted?

—There'll be a couple. One, during the heat of the moment, we don't want to let the muzzles arc into the wing. Two, we want to keep them away from the elevator. Other than that, no.

—Is that a big deal?

—Not as long as we have rope or bungee cords to tie them off.

Harry still wasn't convinced Bill was capable of doing the job.

—We're sitting in the middle of night with nowhere to go for help. Does your guy know what he's doing?

—Oh, he knows all right.

—In that case, let's start the engines and see what we've got.

With a bit of nursing on the throttles, one engine followed by the other turned over without a hitch. After a couple of run-ups, Harry was satisfied.

—All the gages look normal.

—I agree. I'll fly in her.

—Barbara, how about taking the one-ton over to the FBO and get him to track down some empty fuel drums and an electric pump. We'll need tie-downs, too. Don't let him back here until we're done with the outfitting and ready to launch. I don't want him to see all this firepower. The Yanks are liable to shoot us down on sight. The French might give us enough time to get away when they wonder what the hell is going on.

—How about the Somalis?

—If they've got Sasha and Christa, they won't be long for this world.

**The gas welder** hissed and sparks flew in time with loud and frequent cursing. With Art's help, the design worked out on the flight to Djibouti began to take shape.

Harry opened boxes. It was like Christmas. The AKs looked to be brand new. The magazines would need loading and taping. The RPGs and their shells were all there. Ali would be happy when he got his hands on this freight.

—Come on Barbara, give me a hand. We have a lot of work to do. I'll show you how to load the mags. When we're done, I'll do the taping. I don't have time to show you how to do it.

—How about if I watch you do a couple and then I'll copy you.

—No, I don't think so. I'll be on the ground, down and dirty. I need to know those mags will work the way they should. Next time, okay?

He knew right away he shouldn't have said it.

—Next time? Next time? If that woman tries this shit again, I'll take the butt-end of an AK to her myself.

—You're supposed to remember how it works. Sasha gets herself in trouble, and you and I come looking for her.

—Yes, well, this time there's two of them.

—I don't need to be reminded. Thanks to that imbecile Gene, my ex and our daughter are wandering around the desert at the whim of a bunch of land-based pirates.

—I can't help it. I'll tar and feather that woman myself.

—Did you manage to get another look at the GPS locater when you ordered the fuel drums?

—They're still moving overland. It looks like they're headed to the coast, like you thought. It looks to be slow going for them. They haven't covered a lot of ground since the last time I checked.

—Probably pirates out of Eyl fed up with their chances on the ocean. They're looking for easier targets for ransom. I hope Gene is smart enough to keep his mouth shut about what a bigwig he is.

—I wouldn't think that's going to happen, but you didn't hear it from me. He likes to run off at the mouth about how important he thinks he is. Mike won't say anything, but he knows the guy can be a jerk.

—We have to get to them before they get to the coast. If they get to Eyl, they'll disappear in the town and we'll never see them again. I'm going to give Ali a call. Keep stuffing those mags.

—You're going to give me a lesson in how to handle an RPG. When the time comes, I want to know how to light something up, big time.

—No problem, girl. I'll hook you up.

Mike walked up in time to hear the tail-end of the conversation.

—Hook her up with what? What kind of a deal are you two cooking up now?

—Your wife wants to learn how to fire an RPG.

—I'm good with that. Just make sure she doesn't bring one home.

**Harry was getting** more anxious by the hour. The longer they spent on the ground, the more likely it was that someone would show up to ask questions about what was going on. That it was the middle of the night didn't help matters. That only made what they were doing more suspicious. The less time they spent in the shadow of the deserted hangar, the better.

His wife and daughter were wandering around in the desert with pirates bent on ransoming her boyfriend to the highest bidder. Christ on mighty, but what the hell was she doing out there? Gene had turned out to be a dumbass. He'd have to have a talk with her about that man the next chance he got.

—How's that mount coming along, Art?

—It's done. We're ready to install.

—All right. We need to get the drums loaded first.

—Barbara, what time did you arrange for fuel?

—0400 local time.

Harry checked his watch.

—How did you make out with the mags?

—They're ready to go. You'll have plenty of time to tape them on the flight.

One thing bothered Harry about the .50s. It was Art's description of how they could swing into the wing and the tail. If Bill became distracted or got carried away with the action on the ground, it would be disastrous.

—What did you come up with to protect our wings?

—Once we get straight and level, I'll cut some rope and tie them off on either side. It's primitive, but it won't be a problem.

—Sounds good. Now, who's missing? Where's Mike?

—Right here. I just got off the phone with Ali. He'll meet us at the strip with the technicals. If he has to, he'll take it and hold it for us until we get there. He'll bring fuel for us, too.

The one thing Harry and Mike had going for them was the location in the desert where Sasha and Christa had disappeared. Years earlier they had both worked in the area. It was then that they met Ali and developed an instant rapport with the clan head-man.

—In that case, forget about loading the fuel drums. We won't need them.

A vehicle with lights blazing proceeded towards the planes parked at the far end of the strip.

—What the hell is this? Guys, we've got company coming up.

—Douse the lights. We don't need anyone seeing what we're doing.

The car's headlights remained on while two doors slammed. The men lit cigarettes, and the double flash of light illuminated two pairs of gleaming white teeth smiling in the dark.

—I can't get to an AK.

Under her jacket Barbara pulled back the hammers on both barrels.

—Don't worry, I've got you covered.

—You would, wouldn't you?

—You're damned right I would. Who the hell is going to look after you two if I don't?

—I've heard that before.

—You know it. Now get rid of those bastards.

— _Salaam_. What can we do for you this early in the day?

— _Salaam alaikum_. Someone has requested that we collect payment for taking up parking space on his end of the airport.

—Who would that be? We don't pay _baksheesh_ unless we know where it's going.

—We have been sent by the people who are accompanying your friends in the desert.

Barbara raised the shotty hanging off of her shoulder.

—In that case, here's your baksheesh. Drop it off on your way to hell.

The men stepped back, not fast enough. Barbara pulled both triggers and two barrels exploded. Enough buckshot carried past the intruders to douse the headlights. The recoil forced her into a quarter-turn. She recovered instantly, breached and reloaded.

—Anyone else? No? All right, guys. It's past time to get your pale white asses in gear and get airborne before _les flics_ arrive.

The men milled around, not quite sure what they had witnessed. Art's eyes were as huge as saucers in the darkness. Barbara shouldered past all of them and climbed aboard the DC-3. She turned at the cargo door.

—Are you all going to stand around looking guilty? Someone clean up the tarmac and load those two in the trunk.

—Come on, boys. Let's do what the woman says.

—Art, gather up my shell casings.

—Yes, ma'am.

### ~ 9 ~

Tanzania

**THE LOW-AND-SLOW** , short-field capabilities of the Pilatus were prized by both pilots and operators. It had been engineered to give access to locations that would otherwise be inaccessible. Areas with rough ground, at high altitudes, and with extremely short landing runs surrounded by steep approach and departure paths, could all be accessed in the Porter outfitted with the powerful PT-6 engine.

But while those characteristics inherent in the design were a positive for the pilots flying the aircraft, there were some flaws in the equation. The slow-speed, low-altitude characteristics were a definite liability when it came to landing in a hot zone.

Harry lined up with the strip and set up his high-angle approach. The small plane disappeared beneath the canopy surrounding the strip and touched down. He stood on the brakes, pulled the control column full aft, and reverse-pitched to halt the landing run. The Pilatus stopped in a thick cloud of dust and sand kicked up by the powerful engine and its massive propeller.

In mere seconds after touchdown all hell broke loose. Harry didn't yet realize it, but he had put himself and his passengers in the middle of a hot zone. Gunfire raked the fuselage. The first mercs out the door beat a hasty retreat and climbed back in. In an attempt to hasten his getaway, Harry attempted a fast taxi to the far end of the strip. While making the turn, a shower of lead erupted in the cockpit. He managed to make it out the door before passing out.

Enveloped by a thick cloud of dust, the mercs exited into the unknown. First out set up a perimeter around the aircraft and retrieved Harry. Outgunned, the survivors retreated into the bush under a hail of gunfire. They were forced to low ground and ended up pinned down in the depression.

**Irit and Eloria** were in the ops tent when the radio call came in. Eloria ran to Mike's hooch. She shook him awake.

—Wake up! Come on, get up!

—What the hell are you doing? What time is it?

—It's late afternoon. Harry isn't back. We just heard a radio call for help. They're taking fire.

Still groggy, Mike dressed, turned his boots upside down and bumped them together before lacing up. He splashed water on his face and allowed Eloria to haul him in the direction of the ops tent.

The sound of gunfire echoed in the background of the panicked voice behind the radio calls. As information trickled in, the gravity of the situation became clear. The Pilatus, their lifeline to the outside world, had been shot up, likely beyond repair. There was no mention of Harry.

—See what else you can find out. I'm going to suit up.

Mike loaded his backpack with full mags for the AK and some water and ration bars. When he returned, Irit and Eloria were waiting.

—By the sound of that gunfire it's not far. Will you be coming with me?

—We checked the map. The bush strip is only a couple of kilometers away.

Irit pointed at the location on the map.

—So then, are you volunteering?

—We're ready to go. What's in your pack?

—Mags and food.

—Pick up some grenades. And smoke markers in case we need to pop one. Did you get a radio?

—No. I never thought of it.

—We have them.

—Are you sure you want to come with me on this gig?

—Why not? You and Harry treated us all right. Why wouldn't we want to get Harry back? Besides, we're getting paid for this. And we like the way your hooch is outfitted with a shower.

She didn't mention that they probably wouldn't be seeing the inside of the flight crew's hooch again.

Mike slipped the map and topo sheets into his pack.

—In that case, I feel a lot safer with you than some of the war dogs still sitting on their happy asses in camp.

**Mike took a** compass bearing and began to walk in the direction of the strip. The girls followed with a minim of conversation.

Progress wasn't difficult. The light ground cover and low scrub provided few obstacles to hinder their advance. As they closed the distance to the strip the sound of gunfire became sporadic. The two sides had to have settled into their positions with neither giving ground.

—Mike.

He stopped.

—Wait here. Stay down. Do not move until we return.

The women quietly advanced to flank two thickets fifty meters apart. Both disappeared into the brush. A flash of sunlight on steel gave up Eloria's position. Then nothing.

Minutes later he heard a chirp and Eloria motioned him to move towards her. In the thicket two bodies lay sprawled on the ground, one on top of the other.

—Do not look. You're not accustomed to seeing that.

The capabilities of these women suddenly became crystal clear to Mike. In the bar, wearing their camos, he and Harry thought they were just a couple of women mugging the part. Even when they pulled the Galils out, they still hadn't been completely convincing. The fact that they had showed up in camp wasn't unusual, either. They could have been a couple of camp followers hired for mess duty.

He was convinced now. They were stone cold killers when they needed to be. He was glad they volunteered to help him get to Harry.

—Follow me. Stop and drop when I say.

There was no doubt now. He'd do whatever she told him. Off to the left Irit crouched and leveled her Galil. Eloria did the same and motioned for him to drop beside her.

—Do you see that huge tree and the thicket under it?

He wiped the sweat from his forehead and nodded.

—We think the rest of them are in there. Can you put a grenade into it?

—Yes.

He pulled one out of his pack.

—When I give the signal, pull the pin and throw. Don't hesitate.

—I can do that.

—The sound of it dropping in the dirt should chase them out if they're paying attention. When they run, start picking them off. Irit and I will finish up what you and the grenade miss.

He had no doubt these two were more than capable of finishing up what he'd miss. Given that he'd never intentionally killed anyone, it was bound to be-

—Throw it now.

Jesus. She didn't even give a warning. He pulled, pitched too short and the grenade bounced into the thicket. Five men scrambled out and cursed their way into the clear. The grenade exploded. The women firing their Galils picked them off in rapid succession. He never got a chance to fire a round.

Eloria motioned again for him to follow. She finished off her targets with the shotgun. Irit's pistol echoed the shotgun's boom. These two were something else. This was going to be a hard act to follow.

—Come. Walk with me.

She whistled into the canopy. Someone whistled back.

—Over this way. Come.

He followed them as they walked the ridge surrounding the depression towards where they thought the men would be. The danger appeared to be over. With Eloria on point and Irit and Mike bringing up the rear, it was only minutes until they crossed paths with Harry and the crew of mercs.

—How is he doing?

—He's okay. He has a head wound, and his shoulder is shot up, but he'll be all right. We've all survived worse.

—How are we going to get out of this mess? The plane is finished. We're going to have to walk back the way we came.

—There's no way to get out of camp, even if we wanted to go back to it.

Mike pulled out the map sheet.

—Will this help? How about the rest of you guys? Any ideas?

The mercs moved away and began whispering. Following a couple of minutes of heated discussion, one left the grouped and approached Mike.

—We're going back to camp. You can stay here with the pilot and the women. We don't want anything to do with them.

Mike was livid. It was beyond him how these supposedly brave men refused to acknowledge they had been rescued by two women and a man who weren't a part of their profession.

—Would that be because you were just pulled out of the frying pan by a couple of women?

Mike's scornful look had no effect on the hardened mercs. Their only intent was to get back to camp.

—Incidentally, those women did more to save your incompetent asses than all of you put together. The rest of your esteemed crew is still sitting on their asses back in camp. They didn't even bother to go to the radio room.

No answer, but then he didn't expect one.

—Leave me with some spare mags and grenades. The women have everything they need. We won't be needing you. So long.

The sullen mercs headed off in the direction of camp. Mike splashed the still unconscious Harry with water. He groaned and opened his eyes.

—How many fingers do you see, pardner?

Harry strained to answer. He looked up, grinned at Mike and tried to focus.

—Do you want the truth, or would you like me to sugar-coat it?

—Give it to me straight. I can take it.

—By the look of it, I'd say not enough to get us out of this mess. I see you brought the women to cook and clean. Good deal.

He passed out before Irit and Eloria could get a word out. It was probably just as well.

—He'll pay for that when he's better.

—Somehow, I think he knows that. He's probably dreaming about it right now.

### ~ 10 ~

Present Day

Horn of Africa

**MIKE CHECKED THE** weight and balance numbers. Five hundred statute miles overland before arriving over the desert landing strip. Slightly more than 2,500 pounds of fuel. A little better than half a tank. Thanks to Ali's promise of fuel waiting at the remote desert strip, he'd take on the fuel necessary for the return trip to Djibouti.

There would be plenty of fuel remaining for a strafing run on arrival before he'd need more. He didn't want it to go that way, of course. He needed to get his passengers deplaned, as well as the arms offloaded. It would make the 3 a lot lighter and easier to maneuver.

He climbed into the left seat. Harry was waiting for him in the right. He tapped the gages and dialed in the altimeter. Outside, Art circled the flashlight. It was time to fire up number one.

—Old habits die hard, I see. You still do that on those jets?

Both Harry and Mike had learned to fly in the bush pilot environment of single-engine aircraft and unreliable indicators.

—Yeah. You're right. The guys make fun of me for it, but I do it anyway.

Mike taxied to the end of the paved strip and lined up the nose of the DC-3. He advanced the throttles and the 3 gently lifted off the runway with plenty to spare. He kept it low over the water until he was away from the city.

More comfortable away from the lights he left behind, he turned southeast and dialed in the twin-engine power settings that would give the old plane a climb of 1,000 feet per minute.

He knew he was a little rusty with his seat-of-the pants flying ability in the left seat of the old Dakota. He hadn't done any in years.

The plane reached cruising altitude. Mike reduced power to cruise and relaxed only a bit. Across the flight deck, Harry sensed that his old friend was concerned.

—How does it feel to sit in one of these again since getting fat and lazy in your jets back on the oil patch?

—I'd feel a lot better if I had a horizon. This bucket of bolts has no instrument panel.

—What are you complaining about? We've got a turn and bank. I see an artificial horizon. There's an NDB. You keep an eye on the engine instruments. I'll do the flying and watch the panel.

—You're right. Dial in the reverse NDB for the strip we're headed towards. It's been too long since I did any seat-of-the-pants flying.

—In that case, I have control. We'll get a horizon in a bit. You can take her when the sun starts to come up.

—I'm glad you're my co-jo on this fly-by-night charter, Harry.

—I wouldn't have it any other way, old friend. But don't be too hasty. We haven't discussed salary and benefits yet.

In the back, Bill located a flat spot on top of the wooden RPG boxes. He curled up and did what he did best, sleep and snore. The sound of the man's snores got the better of Barbara. She relocated, only to find herself trapped beside Art on the ammo cases.

He kept staring out the window, and she was glad of it. It meant he wouldn't be pestering her with questions she didn't want to answer anytime soon.

Finally it all caught up to Art. He began to wonder exactly what he had gotten himself into with these people. He had more than a few questions. He walked forward and nudged Mike. He pretended to be casual, but the look on his face was serious.

—Holy shit, you guys, where did you find these women?

—Is there something wrong with our women, Art?

—No, no. I'm just sayin'. There's one hanging a sawed-off shotgun from her shoulder who isn't afraid to use it, married to the guy who pays my salary.

—You're right. That's my wife. Don't forget it.

—There's another one wandering around out in the desert like she's related to Moses.

—Right again. And that's my ex-wife.

—When the people who ponied up the arms asked who the buyers were going to be, I was a bit reluctant to tell them. Then I thought about it and figured that since you're new to these parts, I'd give your names up.

—What did you find out, Art?

—When I told them who you were, they knocked thousands off the price.

—Think of the money you saved us. Because of that, maybe there'll be a little something extra in next week's pay envelope when we get home.

—I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me, but I'm afraid to ask. Who are you, and why haven't I ever heard of you before?

He held out the shotty's shell casings for Mike. Instead, Harry took them and handed them back.

—We like to keep a low profile. Maybe Mike will fill you in when he has time. In the meantime, be sure to give these to Barbara.

—Exactly. We're kind of busy using the seat of our pants to keep this bucket of bolts on the straight and level. I wouldn't want to say for sure, but right now might not be a good time to be asking. Go on back and talk to Barbara. She'll tell you all about it.

Art disappeared behind the crates.

—He bought it. Damn, but he's a brave man.

—It's going to get interesting back there.

—She'll set him straight. Did you see the look on Barbara's face when he told her he didn't want her coming along with the cash on the buy?

—I did, and I was ready to grab the shotgun because it looked like she was going to use it. I didn't want her shooting him right then. He was still useful.

—When she flashed that shotty to show him who was boss that shut him up in a hurry.

Art took up his seat beside Barbara and began peppering her with questions. Finally she had enough. She politely excused herself and headed for the cockpit.

—Which one of you shoved him in my direction?

Harry and Mike pointed at each other.

—I figured. But don't worry. He's one of us now. He asked if he could see the shotgun but first he wanted to know if it was loaded.

—Did you give it to him?

—No way. After I opened it to show him it really was loaded, I closed it up. I'm no virgin, remember?

—We remember!

—No woman could stay one for long hanging out with the two of you. Now what are you going to do about Sasha? Harry?

Christ. The woman hasn't changed in all these years. She was still the same old Barbara, asking questions he didn't want to answer. His ex was the same way.

—First on the list is sweeping her sweet ass up off the desert.

—That's not what I meant, and you know it.

—I know—and I don't know. She seems to be pretty settled on Gene. Christa seems to like him, too. Besides, Sasha picked him, so he must be quite the guy.

—Well, you're in the hot seat now. That must say something about your feelings.

—Christa is always going to be my daughter. Sasha and I get along well enough that we can share her without any problems. If one of them is in trouble, they're both in trouble.

—You need to do more than pay the bills, Harry. I'm telling you.

—Is there something I need to know?

—You need to know that you're back in the middle of a desert on the Horn of Africa. You're chasing after your ex-wife and daughter who are following another man around the continent. That same dumbass with half a brain is leading all of us on a magic carpet ride across sand dunes. If the son of a bitch that put those two into this mess had any cojones, he'd be—

Harry scanned the instrument panel. His eyes halted at the hydraulic oil pressure indicators. He held up a hand to silence Barbara.

—Tell Art to come up front, please. Right away. I have a question for him.

**Art scanned the** hydraulic control panel on the bulkhead. Harry tapped the hydraulic pressure gage. The system pressure had dropped, but so far seemed to be holding steady.

—If we lose pressure, we lose the landing gear.

—Has the needle moved since you first noticed it?

—No. Are we going to be able to keep this thing in the air for another half hour until sunrise? We'll need until then to look for a track to put her down on.

—How has the landing gear pressure been?

—Steady.

Art ran through a mental checklist for the old DC-3. It had been ages since he last worked on one.

—The hydraulic pumps are driven off of an accessory gear box on each engine. Use the selector to switch between them.

—I've been doing that. It looks like number one.

—It should hold until we get to the strip. When you weren't looking, I put on a drum each of hydraulic fluid and oil. We'll be good once you get her on the ground. If it's a leak I can't fix, I'll rig a setup with the drum and a hand pump to keep the tank filled while we're in the air.

—Thanks, Art. You're a good man

—Not as good as Mike's wife. I can't wait to meet the other one roaming the desert.

—Two, Art. There's two good women roaming the desert.

He raised an eyebrow and went aft to sit with the ever-sleeping Bill. By now he knew that he wasn't exactly Barbara's cup of tea.

—That's got him. Go easy, Harry. He's not made like the rest of us.

—Maybe not, but he deserves a bonus after what he and his buddies did for us by getting all that hardware.

—Don't worry. When we get everyone's asses out of this mess, I'll take care of both of them. I just hope Bill's mount doesn't come apart from the pounding it's going to take from those twin .50s. If it doesn't hold together long enough to see this through—

—You don't have a plan B, do you?

—No.

—Neither do I.

**The relentless noonday** sun beat down on the vehicle convoy. Waves of heat reflected off the light-colored sand. Everything in the open Jeep was hot to touch. Sand and dust covered everyone and everything. In their new environment, the captives were sunburned, thirsty, and extremely uncomfortable.

—We're getting hungry.

—It is almost noon. We will be stopping soon to put up some shade for you and your daughter.

—Thank you. The water isn't enough for my daughter.

Water didn't appear to be a problem for Gene. Even Christa had seen him taking more than his fair share. He had to be bribing the men—at least until the cash in his pocket ran out. She wondered how far he would get with the kidnappers when the money ran out.

—You will be fed when we get to camp.

—Where's camp?

—You will find out soon enough.

Gene, still on his self-important rant, proved harder to satisfy. The extra water he had access to let him think he had some pull with the kidnappers.

—Will there be a phone there? I need to call my company. They'll be worried that they haven't heard from me.

Just who was this man she had tied her wagon to? Even Christa could tell that Gene didn't care about either of them. She should have kept Harry when she had the chance. There were none like him anyway. Any doubt she had was long gone now.

—Honey, did you press the button again like I asked you to?

—Yes. But the little light didn't come on.

Batteries. Either it had been enough, or they were doomed to be imprisoned in some shit-hole on the Horn of Africa until a ransom demand was sent out. How long would that take? Then there would be endless negotiations. She began to think that the mess that Gene had put them in would never end.

She had to accept blame, too. She went off on this trip thinking it would cement her relationship with Gene and allow her to get to know him better. Well, she was certainly getting to know him better.

Ever since Harry, marriage was nothing she considered lightly. As it turned out, this trip was certainly letting her get to know Gene better than she wanted. So far, she didn't like what she saw, and even less what she was learning about him.

She doubted it would get any better.

She had no way of knowing if the distress messages were getting through. She began to worry even more about her daughter and the situation they both found themselves in. It was almost too much to hope that Harry and Mike would show up to save the day.

Even so, she did it anyway.

**Harry had a** difficult time wrapping his head around the fact that Sasha had gone on this trip with Gene. Not only that, but she had taken their daughter with her. Surely if she had spent any time thinking about where they were headed, she would have re-considered taking Christa.

It wasn't Sasha's first rodeo, especially after what had transpired on the Baja with all of them. She probably thought she'd spend a couple of nights in a foreign city somewhere, see the sights with Christa, and then meet Gene when he got back from the oil company site.

That was more than reasonable. He'd have been more than happy to go along with that. No doubt Gene didn't tell her he was planning on taking the two of them out to the well-site in the middle of the desert, five hundred miles from any semblance of civilization.

Hell, if she had asked him, he could have given her a better picture of the problems. But he also knew that wouldn't have stopped her. That's one of the things he loved about the woman. She did things her way on her terms. My way or the highway, he liked to tease her.

Well, now she was in the middle of the desert on a highway to hell.

Dammit, he should have tried to stop her. At the very least, he should have tried to talk her out of taking Christa. Sasha would have gone anyway, with or without his permission. But she could have left Christa with Barbara.

It occurred to him that she should have been able to leave their daughter with him, but he was in town for only a few days.

Now his daughter had become a part of Gene's folly. He was obviously trying to show off for them. Jesus, do men ever grow up as far as a woman is concerned?

He already knew the answer to that. He was guilty as hell.

**It proved to** be slow going once the kidnappers abandoned the main trail. They were moving the convoy east over trackless sand, gravel and rock outcrops. Sign of any roadway or even a trail disappeared hours ago. The slower pace was a welcome relief in the relentless heat.

Sasha was almost happy that they'd soon encounter cooler temperatures once they ran up against the Indian Ocean.

The convoy continued to labor overland across a vast expanse of unbroken sand. The Jeeps and half-tons weren't capable of making time in the loose and deepening material. It turned into wind-formed dunes. The trucks sunk up to their axles in the loose sand. It halted the convoy in its tracks.

At first, Sasha worried about what the kidnappers wanted with the three of them. As the ordeal went on, it became obvious that they were after Gene. She relaxed only a little and started to treat it as an adventure for her and Christa.

What else could she do? They were trapped. There'd be no getting out until Harry showed up. At least, that's what she had been telling herself. She really had no idea whether the Tracker signals got through or not.

—Get out. There will be no more travel for today. We are finished.

An annoyed Gene couldn't keep his mouth shut.

—Stuck? Do you dumb bastards know how to drive?

—Gene, if I were you, I'd shut up and do what they say.

—What makes you such an expert with these idiots? They don't even know how to drive a truck across a desert, for Christ's sake.

—You must listen to what your woman says.

—She's not my woman. She has to marry me before I'll ever listen to the likes of her.

This was certainly illuminating. Sasha started to think that Gene would be better off without her—and certainly without Christa. Too bad she had to get stranded in the middle of an African desert to figure that out.

Where were all the good men in the world that she had saddled herself with someone like Gene? She should have listened to Barbara when she chastised her for not getting back with Harry. In fact, she made up her mind to tell her just that the next time she saw her.

From what she could tell, it wasn't going to be any time soon.

She turned to ask Gene a question and instead saw one of the kidnappers knock him on the side of the head with the butt of an AK. Gene landed face-down in the sand. Finally he was quiet.

This time, she didn't make a move to help him.

Instead she used the opportunity to get a better look at the weapons the kidnappers were carrying. She had seen them before. They were definitely AKs.

She flashed back to her time on the Baja when Harry had taken her under his wing. He had trained her how to fire the AK-47s they had. She'd do just about anything to get her hands on one.

She had some thinking to do. She'd bide her time and try to come up with a plan. Then she saw them.

The bastards had bags of taped magazines in the back of the Jeep she was riding in.

### ~ 11 ~

Tanzania

**MIKE HALTED ON** the edge of a small clearing five hundred feet distant from the wrecked Pilatus. He took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. He regarded his three companions. The women were doing fine. It was Harry that worried him.

—Gather round, ladies. You too, Harry, if you can stay with us.

Mike opened the map case he had taken from the ops tent. Half-a-dozen aerial photos slipped out and fell to the ground. He unfolded the map and smoothed the dirt before laying it on the ground beside the photos. He placed his compass on the map and pieced together the photos to match.

—Well now. This is too good to be true. We're in business.

He lined up the photos with the outdated map sheet. He checked the compass alignment and studied the black and white terrain.

—Does anyone have any input?

—You two are the pilots. What do you see that we can't?

—I'm not sure. Harry, take a look here.

Harry groaned and opened his eyes. The spot Mike pointed out on the photo showed up brighter than the others.

—Looks like a mine. What are you thinking?

—It's a mine, all right. Probably tanzanite. If we can get there, we can steal a truck and get the hell out of this mess. What do you say, Eloria? Irit?

—We're game. We won't be going back to the base camp. Now that we know how those little boys with their tiny penises feel about being rescued by women, we'd be dead meat in no time.

—That's the spirit. Does that mean you'll be making it a foursome?

—We were looking forward to the showers in your tent. Now that it is out of the question, we will need a conference first.

Their grins matched and then they broke out in laughter.

—Yes, we're coming with you.

Irit pulled a bandage roll out of her bag. She allowed Harry to remain with his back leaning against a small tree while she finished the first aid job the mercs started. His arm ended up cradled in a home-made sling.

—Harry.

She snapped her fingers and shook him.

—Harry! Are you able to walk on your own?

He groaned, still out of it.

—I think so. If not, you'll have to carry me, pard.

—Fat chance, old man. We'd be fresh meat in no time. You're going to have to suck it up.

The women began collecting their gear.

—Come on, you two. We can't stay here. In case you forgot, there's fresh feed for the hyenas just over there.

Irit gestured in the direction of the downed plane.

—You're right. I have to get back to the plane to pick up my pack and the AK. Who's coming?

—We'll all go. There's a survival kit on board. We can check our course to the mine from there. Judging by the distance, it's going to be a long stroll through the bush—at least two days.

Harry groaned again, but this time it wasn't from the pain.

—Two days? I'll never make it.

—Yes, you will. Give up and I'll have to kill you. You wouldn't want the hyenas tearing you apart while you're still alive.

—He's right, Harry.

—You two aren't going to be any help, are you?

Mike helped Harry gather up his backpack and the rations. Then he unstrapped the AK from the cabin.

—I don't know if you'll be able to carry this. Give it a try for a bit. If you can't, we'll dump it.

Harry was as ready as he could be with a mild concussion and a shoulder wound.

—Did you figure out a bearing?

—We're good. We won't move without you.

—That's comforting. Do I have to stay awake the whole time, or can I trust you to be with me when I wake up?

**The foursome made** good time, even with the wounded Harry slowing them down. The ground cover was light and the underbrush uneven yet easy enough to walk through. By mid-afternoon they were at a shallow stream flowing into a small pool.

—It's late enough. We'll hole up back of that stream until it's daylight in the swamp.

—What's for supper, girls?

—We don't cook. We fight.

—That's the truth, and that's all right—this time. Come on, Eloria. We're going for a swim. I need to clean up.

An eager Mike wasn't thinking about the possibilities for fresh game making its way to the waterhole.

—You can't swim in that. Something will eat you. If there's nothing to eat you in the water, wait until something comes for a drink.

—Don't be a spoilsport. One of us will stand guard for the other. I'll keep watch first, you clean up.

—No, you will go first. If there's nothing in that water that wants you, then we'll switch.

—That's good enough for me. The rest of you, don't wait up for us if you hear growls and screams.

—Yeah, I know. I heard the two of you back in town, remember?

The pair laughed and headed off in the direction of the pool.

—Harry, if you're feeling up to it, why don't you throw some wine and cheese together while we're getting cleaned up?

Already Irit had Harry on the ground and was attempting to make him comfortable. She moved off to gather wood for a fire.

—Would you like a formal white tablecloth, or would checkered be more to your liking?

**They broke camp** slowly, fatigued from standing watch for large animals on their way to the watering hole. It was a struggle to keep Harry moving forward. His shoulder wound slowed him down, as did the developing limp from the concussion.

—Is he going to make it?

—He will make it with your help. We will help you.

Noon saw them come out on a low hill overlooking the mining operation. Eloria searched in her bag and came up with small scope. She trained it on the open-pit tanzanite mine.

—There's a blockhouse with a couple of guards. The road in has a swing gate. No fence. No perimeter road or trail.

—It's not patrolled.

—What about vehicles?

—One-tons. A Rover. A small half-ton of some sort. It looks like they're all junk.

—What about that Rover? Does it look like it might be good? Every car lot has them. Once we hit civilization we'd be able to trade for some traveling money.

—Traveling money? That's a tanzanite mine. All the money we could want is sitting there for the taking.

—Maybe so, but we still have to get our hands on it.

Eloria kept up her search using the scope.

—The only guards are sitting in the blockhouse at the gate. That has to be where the goods are kept until they're shipped. Why don't we take possession and make the next delivery?

Harry sighed, disappointed that he'd be unable to participate in the action.

—Don't count on me. I'm out of it.

—No problem. I will move closer to the blockhouse to provide cover if it is necessary. Mike will drive the Rover. Eloria will cover for him if they take fire.

—There shouldn't be resistance until we get close to the blockhouse. Even then, they won't know who's coming up on them. We'll have the element of surprise.

—While we're there, how about if we look for something to eat?

—On top of everything else, now you're hungry?

—Enough daydreaming, you Canadians. Let us go.

Mike and Eloria walked nonchalantly down the hill. They made straight towards the coveted Rover. Mike yanked the wires from the steering column, flashed pairs until he found the correct sequence, and the Rover fired up like a dream come true.

They stopped for Harry waiting on the side of the road and drove down the rough trail towards the guardhouse. By the time they arrived, Irit had the blockhouse under control.

The charge she set on the strongbox exploded with a bang that was loud enough to wake the dead. They waited until the cloud of dust and debris and smoke cleared.

All told, they ended up with nothing more than a few shillings of worthless local currency for all the trouble.

—Shit! There is nothing. We have to get out of here now.

**Mike kept the** Rover moving north in the direction of the border with Kenya as fast as he could. It wasn't easy on the rough, potholed road as it bounced and jerked and rocked back and forth.

Up front, Eloria rode shotgun with the twin-barreled cut-off across her lap. Ideally, she used it only for close-in work. Now that they were on the run, she found it best to be prepared for any eventuality.

Every time the wheels drove through a rough patch, Harry groaned in the back. Beside him, Irit pushed back and steadied herself against Mike's seat-back. Dutifully, she scanned the road just traveled for any eventuality that would prevent them from making the border.

Mike looked at the odometer and did a quick calculation.

—We're almost home-free. Only a few kilometers to go.

At that exact moment, Irit yelled.

—Jeep! Coming up fast.

Mike jammed the pedal to the floor. The Rover rocked and rolled even more violently. A badly-aimed RPG round whooshed past and struck a tree. It exploded in the canopy and scattered broken glass and scattered branches over everyone.

—Irit! Where the hell did that come from?

Nothing. Mike tried stomping on the gas in an attempt to keep them as far ahead of their pursuers as he could. The Rover had nothing left to give. It was at top speed, bouncing over the uneven road with a fury.

—Can someone look at a map and see how far we are from the border?

In the back, Irit lay sprawled across the seat beside Harry. A thick, sharp branch protruded from her chest. Eloria bent over her friend, frantically trying to resuscitate her. Cursing, she gave up and dropped the seat-back. She had both Galils cradled in her lap. Grenades bounced on the floor.

—Those bastards aren't going to get away alive.

—Pop some smoke. That might keep them off us for a bit. It can't be that much farther to the border.

On a straight stretch, in the open and exposed, Mike caught sight of the white buildings that demarcated the border with Kenya on the grassy plain surrounding it.

—Mike, take this. It's loaded.

Eloria handed him her shotgun.

—This isn't going to be good. Pop more smoke for us.

Nothing. He turned to look in the back. Harry was slumped in his seat. Irit's body lay where Eloria left it. She popped smoke to cover their locations in the Rover. At the same time, the distinctive sound of her Galil penetrated the cloud. She was busy and trying her best to hold off the fast approaching attackers.

—Mike! Slow down. Slow down.

Against his better judgment, he did as he was told. He knew better than to question this women now engaged fiercely in deadly combat. Eloria fired and reloaded and fired until her Galil was empty. She grabbed Irit's weapon and emptied it at the approaching Jeep, trying her best to hold off the attackers.

The gunfire halted. Mike checked his mirror and saw a second Jeep speeding through the smoke. It headed straight towards them. Eloria wasn't in the back. She had disappeared.

The heavy gate at Namanga came up fast. Mike ducked and plowed through. Guards yelled and waved and then scrambled out of the way. The Rover careened past and didn't stop. Kenya had just hung out the welcome sign.

A half-hour past the gate, Mike braked to a sliding stop in the high grass. He pulled Irit's lifeless body from the back of the Jeep and left her on the side of the road with the empty weapons. He kept Eloria's shotgun. He felt for Harry's pulse. It was just as well he wasn't conscious.

Mike stood up in the Rover and looked around nervously, expecting vehicles from the border station to be on the way to apprehend them. There was no one. Nothing. He held his hands out in front of him. He wasn't able to still the trembling until he gripped the steering wheel.

He eased the Rover onto the paved highway and accelerated towards Nairobi as if nothing had happened.

### ~ 12 ~

Present Day

Horn of Africa

**HARRY COULDN'T IGNORE** Mike sitting in the DC-3's left seat any longer. The grin pasted on his face was too distracting.

—I can tell you're getting the hang of it again. I told you it wouldn't take long.

Mike gave him his _What the hell are we doing here_ look, even though he hadn't forgotten.

—You know, I have to admit to a certain amount of luck and good fortune to get where I am today with the business. Would you mind explaining to me how I ended up giving it all up for this?

—Because we're two of the dumbest sons-of-bitches in aviation?

—Possibly. But besides that.

—Your shit-eating grin pretty much says it all.

—You're stating the obvious.

—Look at it this way. You ended up taking Barbara on the vacation of a lifetime. When this is all over there's no way she'll be nagging you to take her anywhere for a long time.

The high-five celebratory slap came to an abrupt halt when the third hand inserted itself between theirs.

—Will you two stop trying to cheap me out of a vaycay? I deserve better than this. And Sasha certainly deserves more than what she's getting from that loser Gene.

—Oh miss, you'll have to return to your seat. Fraternizing with the flight crew is not permitted. It could distract them from their duties and endanger the well-being of the rest of the passengers and crew.

Barbara put her hands on her hips and looked at Harry, sitting smug in the right seat. He found himself suddenly busy studying gages and checking numbers.

—You owe me, buster. Furthermore, distract this.

Barbara raised her shirt and bared her breasts just as Harry and Mike turned towards her standing between the seats.

—Gosh, Mike. You are one lucky man. She looks exactly the same as she did on the Baja.

The two men high-fived once more, but he couldn't halt the nervous grin. Before anyone could say anything, he went back to checking the gages.

—You both owe me big time, and I don't mean for the look I just gave you, Harry.

Barbara was grinning now.

—I'm going back to sit with Art. The two of you owe me for that, too.

Familiar territory began to appear beneath the DC-3. The now dry _wadi_ , at one time in the distant past a proud river that scoured the valley between the distant cliff faces, ran roughly from the northwest to the southeast. It ended at Eyl, on the coast of the Indian Ocean.

Mike added power to climb to 10,000 feet. He put the ancient DC-3 workhorse in a shallow bank to renew their acquaintance with the old stomping ground.

—We're here. See if you can find our girls.

The men began looking out the cockpit's port window. They scoured the desert as the old service strip disappeared beneath the wing. What they were looking at hadn't changed in a hundred years, and it wouldn't change over the next hundred.

—Overland travel in that sand won't be easy.

—They shouldn't be far from their last position. A sighting would make the ground chase we have to do a lot easier.

—Here comes the strip again. Look. And there they are. Nine o'clock low. Our strip is west of them.

—I'd say they've made five or six miles past the strip at most.

—It looks like they're off the trail. That's probably what's slowing them down.

—There's no sense broadcasting our arrival. Throttle back and set up for well past the strip.

Mike did as instructed. Harry was the experienced desert aviator now. It would give him the chance to renew his abilities in the DC-3.

—You'll need to come in low and slow from a distance so as not to alert them.

It was then that Mike knew he'd be doing the approach and landing. There would no turning back. He was a long way from home and his office desk.

**Harry shared the** cockpit duties with Mike. He walked Mike through the approach and landing checklist for the ancient plane. Mike performed flawlessly, although a little slow. He was re-familiarizing himself as he went along.

—You're not as rusty as you think.

—Maybe not, Harry, but just the same I'm glad you're sitting beside me.

Harry continued calling the numbers as Mike lowered and set the flaps.

—Gear.

Mike selected gear down. Harry called _Gear green_ as the indicator lights illuminated. Mike continued flying the 3 low and slow on final across the wind-swept dunes. Harry's hands backed up his own as he pulled back the throttles and mushed onto the strip.

—Smooth as silk, Captain. You're hired. When can you start?

—I'll let you know when we touch down at JIB.

—I've got her, Mike.

Mike was fine with Harry taking over ground taxiing the heavy plane. If the plane bogged down in the sand they'd be trucking it to Djibouti, well over 500 road miles to the north. The airborne assault to distract the kidnappers would turn into a full-blown assault on the ground.

It was something they discussed, and didn't want to do, given the danger it would put the girls in.

—I'm going to position for a quick departure, just in case.

Harry advanced the throttles to maneuver the DC-3 into position with the nose pointing down the strip. Satisfied, he shut down in a cloud of dust and sand. A nervous Art waited between the seats.

Already the air in the plane was growing warmer.

—You'll have to figure out what's going on with the hydraulics in a hurry. The rest of us will offload the arms we won't be needing.

The cargo door opened and an even hotter blast of dry desert air drifted into the cabin.

—Ali is going to be happy with his delivery. He's nervous for his clan with all the nutjob fundamentalists running around this part of the country.

—We're giving him enough armament for a small army. I'm glad he's on our side.

Art got busy troubleshooting the hydraulic lines.

—What do you make of the pressure loss?

—I'm worried. If this airplane claps out, we're in trouble. Ali might have dug up two technicals for us, but there's no way he'll be able to deliver a DC-3.

Art headed for the back of the plane and jumped onto the ground. He pointed at a technical and motioned for the driver to pull up under the number one engine.

The driver hesitated. He turned to look at an old man standing on the edge of the strip. His robes fluttered in the wind blowing across the desert floor. He nodded. The technical moved beneath the engine.

Art waved his thanks before climbing onto the back of the truck. He moved past the .50 caliber and got onto the roof carrying a handful of tools. He began loosening the cowlings and eventually number one engine came into view.

Still in the back of the plane, Bill fussed over the heavy mount for the twin .50s. Satisfied, he called for Mike and Harry to help him remove the door and secure it. The three of them wrestled the mount into the doorway. Bill bolted it to the airframe.

—It's not as strong as I'd like it to be, but Art and I did the best we could on such short notice. She'll hold for what needs to be done. No guarantees after that.

Harry nodded.

—If you and Art say so, then I trust your work. We're not planning on starting a war. All we need is a few thousand rounds and we're good to go.

—As long as you know I'll need to test fire the rig in-flight to sight her in.

Bill continued with his fussing, greasing the friction points on the jerry-rigged gun mount. He swiveled the dual guns in all directions to check the firing arc. On the ground, nervous gunmen racked their weapons and pointed them in the direction of the DC-3. A word came from the old man and they stood down.

Satisfied with the way things were proceeding with the gun mount, Harry jumped to the ground. The man he and Mike had gotten to know so well in the past began walking towards the DC-3.

— _Jambo_ , Ali.

Harry returned Ali's grin and stuck out his hand. The old man took it and held on.

— _Jambo, b'wana Harry. Hibari?_

— _Mazuri_. And you?

—I too am well, old friend.

—You have aged well. It must be your young wives.

—It costs much to keep many young wives. I must have old wives to keep them in order.

—Mike will be here in a minute. He brought his wife to meet you.

—So I have heard. She did well by both of you in Djibouti.

Already the old man had heard of the shooting.

—News travels fast in this part of the world.

—If I did not have many informers, I would not still be here for you in your time of need.

—We are very grateful, Ali. Now come and have a look at what we brought you.

He helped the old man into the plane.

—If this were anyone but you, I would be wary of people bearing such gifts. But enough of business for now. You must tell me about the woman that has brought you this great distance one last time.

**Mike knew Art** would be worrying about getting everyone back to Djibouti safely aboard the plane. He joined him on the back of the technical and listened, waiting for a chance to get a word in with the talkative man.

—This antique is holding together better than I expected but for that pressure leak. If we can't get it repaired, it's going to limit our options.

—That's not good news. It will mean a running gun-battle on flat terrain with visibility for miles. That won't be good for the hostages. Or any of us.

Mike looked off to the east in the direction of the pirate convoy carrying Harry's wife and daughter to the coast. He couldn't see them, but he knew they were there just the same. He'd seen them from the air.

—Have you figured out what we need?

—I'm going to have to replace number one hydraulic pump. Seals are gone. I don't suppose this crate came with any spares. Get me a hydraulic pump and we can fly this tin can to hell.

Mike grinned at his engineer.

—Hell is good, it's where we're going. We'll need to get back too, Art. Harry's the one made the promises for this little gem of an airplane. I think he got all nostalgic for the airline he used to take on his R&Rs into Mog. I don't know if he bothered to pick up any spares for our brand-new charter business or not.

That wasn't the answer Art wanted to hear. He looked nervously in Harry's direction.

—Yes, I managed to line up a few spares. I told the seller I needed to keep expenses down on my new startup. I asked specifically for a hydraulic pump, and they threw one in, gratis.

—You don't know it yet, Art, but you're hanging out with two of the best can-do guys in this desert.

Art didn't take the time to go looking for the part. He went back to work disconnecting lines and removing the pump, trusting Harry's word that he had a spare he could bolt in.

Mike climbed down from the technical.

—He'll figure it out eventually. I think he's still stuck on Barbara and the shotty. Wait until he sees her with an RPG.

—Damn, Harry, I wish you wouldn't. Ever since she missed out on the AK action down on the Baja she's been after me to take her to a gun range.

—How long has it been since you took her to one?

—Never. And I don't want you encouraging her, either.

— _Si, mon Capitán_. Hey, Art. Did you check out that box in the cabin labeled spares?

—No. I figured that hand-written sign was a joke you two were playing on me.

—No joke. I'm pretty sure the pump you need will be in there somewhere.

**It was dark** by the time Art finished changing out the hydraulic pump. Mike started the engine while Harry monitored the hydraulic pressure gages behind his seat. Beneath the engine, Art used a flashlight to keep an eye on his work, looking for leaks.

Satisfied, Art signaled Mike to shut down. Cursing the entire time, he fumbled in the dark to get the engine cowlings mounted and buttoned up. The technical's weak headlights were little help. Barbara heard him and offered to hold the flashlight. Art waved the woman away.

He still wasn't sure what to think of the adventurous band of misfits he had tied his wagon to. Mike was a good man to work for. Payday came regular and there were no problems with airworthiness on his airplanes. Every bulletin was done, whether it was mandatory or not. These days there was something to be said for that.

When he agreed to come on board with this operation, he found himself drawn into something completely different. The eagerness with which they had all adapted to the new circumstances in the middle of the Horn of Africa surprised him. Mike's wife had been even more of a shocker.

When she flashed the shotgun in Djibouti he had cause for concern for his own safety. That concern was erased when he saw how she handled herself at the end of the strip, in the dark of night. Pulling the trigger on the bandits looking for money convinced him he was in with the right crowd.

These people weren't behaving like fresh recruits who didn't know how to handle themselves. The kidnappers had no idea what was about to be unleashed.

Hell, he was going to have some stories to tell in the bar when this was over. They'd surpass his own of the time he spent in West Africa when he was a kid.

It was close to midnight before things quieted down enough to get some rest. With nowhere to go, the DC-3 became the hotel of choice, crowded with anxious adventurers desperate for sleep. Harry and Mike bunked in the cockpit. Haphazard arrangements allowed Art and Bill to hunker down on air mattresses provided by Barbara, who slept on her own.

Reassured by Ali and his well-equipped crew providing protection by surrounding the landing strip, there was no one on watch. No one bothered to slip a magazine into an AK. There was no need.

**Harry heard the** noise first through the open cockpit window. Revving engines screamed and technicals circled the plane. Dust drifted in through the window. At first he thought he was waking from a dream. The noise halted only long enough to allow the explosions of gunfire to take over.

He climbed out of his seat and shook mike awake before heading to the back of the plane.

—We're getting fat and dumb and lazy. We should have posted our own guard.

Lead pinged through the cargo area of the DC-3's cabin. Harry and Mike tripped over still-groggy bodies to get to the AKs. By the time they got the mags inserted, it was over. None of the three sound asleep in the back of the plane so much as blinked an eye.

Ali approached, surrounded by what was left of his promised escort. The two men jumped down to greet Ali and his team armed to the teeth with rocket launchers and AKs.

—Do not be alarmed, old friends. We discovered some enemies within our camp. We have taken care of them. They will not come back to bother us on this or any night.

—In that case, Ali, let's go to your campfire where we can drink tea and talk about old times.

—As you wish.

They settled in on the ground beside the old man. Ali poured tea into glasses containing rock sugar, cloves and cinnamon sticks. He raised his glass to Harry and Mike.

—We had some trouble in Djibouti while we were readying the plane for this trip. We had to take care of two men begging alms. Unfortunately, we had nothing to offer beyond substituting lead for gold.

—So I have been informed, as I told you. You wife is quite the woman. I would like to have one so dependable in my house.

Mike slapped Ali on the back.

—She's not for sale, no matter how many sheep and goats you offer.

The sly old man grinned.

—I have many camels, too.

### ~ 13 ~

Tanzania

**MIKE CHECKED THE** Rover's one good mirror. The dirty, cracked glass reflected empty road. So far, he was free and clear, thanks to Irit's sacrifice, and to Eloria, who volunteered without question to make certain he made the border with his wounded cargo. His debt was enormous.

Free of Tanzania and the pursuing mine guards, Mike's main worry was now Harry, out cold and motionless in the back seat. He was in and out of consciousness, the out coming more and more often and for longer periods. The concussion had to be worse than he thought. Harry needed a hospital, and that meant Nairobi. If he could depend on his memory, it was at least a couple of hours distant.

Money was a more immediate problem. The mine's blockhouse yielded nothing of value. He was broke, except for a few local shillings. He might as well have a sack filled with Greek drachmas for all that was worth on the continent.

Mike fished under the seat for the shotgun Eloria passed to him before she jumped out of the moving Rover. He and Harry owed her everything. She hadn't been able to hold off their attackers but she had to have put up one hell of a fight. How they managed to shut her down so fast was a mystery.

Paper taped to the short butt of the sawed-off caught his attention. He slowed and carefully sliced through the tape. Two passports presented themselves. Canadian passports. He checked his surroundings and stopped on the road for a better look.

He couldn't tell if the documents were real or a forgery. It told him Irit and Eloria could be sisters. He'd add a stop at a certain embassy in Nairobi to his list once he dropped harry off at a hospital.

It wasn't only Harry's wounds that concerned him. He wanted to know more about the two women that had literally plucked them both out of the frying pan and dropped them into the relative safety of another country. He and Harry owed Eloria and Irit everything.

There would be no payback with both women gone.

**That all receded** into the past when he began considering options. There weren't many. What he needed most was U.S. dollars. After he dropped Harry at a Nairobi hospital he'd have to make his way to the Flying club to hole up. Perhaps someone would be able to point him in the direction of some outfit with a need for pilots or maintenance people.

It was slow going into Nairobi. Mike was forced to stop and slap Harry into consciousness too often for his liking. Reaching the outskirts of the huge city, he managed to flag a taxi to lead him to a hospital. He stashed Harry with a couple of concerned nurses and headed for the Flying Club.

He concealed the stolen bullet-riddled Rover in a distant corner of the lot. He'd be good until someone walked by and noticed its condition. He made his way inside where he was recognized by a regular sitting at the bar.

—I heard you and Harry were working for a tanzanite outfit south of the border. What got you up this way?

Mike liked listening to the rumors and gossip, but he didn't much care for it when it was about him.

—Harry's plane got shot up at one of the strips we were servicing. I went in to get him out.

—He's not with you? What happened to him?

—He didn't make it out with much more than the clothes on his back. He wanted to pick up some gear so I dropped him off.

He hoped that would put an end to more pointed questions, but now he'd have to get out of here fast. No way did he want to explain why Harry wasn't going to be showing up any time soon.

—I'm looking for some work to the north, maybe in Libya. Does anyone have any leads? Helicopter or fixed-wing, it doesn't matter.

—I heard about some oil work up that way. The outfit is always looking for pilots. I don't know why. Maybe the camps aren't so good.

—Give me a name and I'll make some calls.

### ~ 14 ~

Present Day

Horn of Africa

**FOLLOWING THE FAILED** attack by traitors in Ali's trusted crew, the band of misfits left Ali's fire to spend what was left of the early morning huddled in the cramped confines of the ancient airplane. The attempt to shut them down kept everyone wide awake and on guard. Nervous chatter kept them from thinking about what would be coming up later in the day.

Harry and Mike both knew that if Ali had inadvertently brought enemies to the strip, there had to be more. Neither wanted to take the chance of anyone shutting down the rescue. Today had to be the day, come hell or high water—and there would be no chance of high water in this desert any time soon.

—Rise and shine, you lazy, hopeless bastards.

Much grumbling and not a lot of sympathy echoed down the cabin at the sound of Mike's eager call to arms.

—If the owners of this airline thought they knew anything about providing passenger comfort, they were sadly misinformed.

—What do you expect from one more fly-by-night outfit you're accustomed to working for?

—You didn't think we were so hopeless that you left us all in comfort back home. There's nothing I'd like more than to be at the Flying Club right now with a hand wrapped around a damp Tusker.

—You're right, Harry. I apologize for hurting your feelings.

—We've got a functioning DC-3. We've got fuel, oil and hydraulic fluid. We've got her outfitted with twin .50 caliber guns. We've got AKs. We've got RPGs. We have a sawed-off, double-barreled shotgun. We're ready as we'll ever be and raring to go. Barbara, it's time you cooked breakfast for the crew.

—Breakfast? Cook? Screw you. We didn't even bring MREs. We'll toast this adventure when we're back in Djibouti if the jet hasn't been impounded by the time we get there.

Art took his chances and joined in the merriment.

—Don't listen to them, Barbara. They spent the night sleeping in comfortable seats in first class up front. You can cook for all of us when we have the next company barbecue back home.

—Don't push it, Art. I have a loaded shotgun tucked under my arm.

—That's the spirit, Art. We're ready to rock and roll. But first, it's time we had a meeting. Does anyone have a plan?

That was the last straw for Barbara. She threw her hands in the air and raised her voice. She'd be heard or else.

—For crying out loud, you two. Are we back in Mexico all over again?

—Relax, girl. By the look of it, we're not going to get breakfast anytime soon. We'll move on to other matters. I have a plan.

—Well suck me blue and call me ice woman. Harry has a plan. I can't wait to tell Sasha about this.

—The kidnappers can't be far past where we saw them yesterday. Barbara and I will head out in the technicals with Ali and his crew. By the time the rest of you get this bucket of bolts airborne, we should be within cheering range of the parade.

Mike interjected.

—You've got the easy part. I have to figure out how to fly that thing in a pattern that will give Bill a good elevation on the target without hitting the good guys.

Bill wanted to put Mike at ease about the operation of the twin .50s.

—In Nam we had DC-3s outfitted with mini-guns. We called them Spooky. We nick-named them Puff the Magic Dragon. Orbiting at 3,000 feet and 120 knots in a Spooky, those mini-guns could depopulate an area the size of a football field.

—What rate-of-fire will you get with the .50s?

—I don't want to burn out the barrels if I can help it. I'm set up for 300 a side. That should keep them cool enough to do the job.

—Mike, you should be able to fly that pattern all day in the Dakota—or at least until you've put five thousand rounds through the guns.

—No problem. I can hold it to that, but I'd like to do a test run first.

Mike had to be sure Bill wouldn't screw up with Sasha and Christa on the ground. If he made a mistake he'd never be able to face Harry again.

—After we take off give me a practice orbit at 3,000 feet. I'll get the .50s sighted in.

—As good as done.

Harry looked over the rag-tag volunteers his friend Mike had put together on such short notice. His eyes moved from the clapped-out DC-3 with the jury-rigged mount for the guns hanging off the side to Ali and his well-armed crew milling about the remains of their campfire. Mike's crew, nervous, exhausted and aware of everything that could go wrong with their rescue attempt, suddenly became quiet and reserved.

They all knew the airborne rescue attempt could turn to shit in a hurry. If that happened, Sasha and his daughter could end up being on the receiving end of what Harry hoped he'd be able to dish out from the ground .

If he got his way, those bastards were going to suffer through hell from both low and high.

**In the past,** Barbara had been a reluctant witness to Sasha's AK training routine on the Baja. Regretful that she hadn't participated, she knew this would be her last chance. While the RPGs were calling her name, she wasn't quite sure how to convince Harry she'd like to fire one.

—So that's it? The briefing is over?

—You know it. Just like old times—but wait, there's more. If you want to learn to fire the RPG, it's time.

Harry grinned at Barbara. He knew.

—Now you're talking, cowboy. This is a briefing. Let's do it.

Harry picked one from the stockpile.

—It comes with three parts—the rocket head or warhead, the booster, and the launcher.

He held each section up in turn.

—You screw the booster onto the warhead, like this.

Barbara watched, transfixed. She was going to get to fire one of those suckers. Nothing would stop her if she had anything to do with it.

—Once the two parts are married, the warhead gets inserted into the front end of the launch tube. How can we tell it's the front end this thing is going into?

She didn't hesitate.

—The pistol grip. Like a handgun.

—Exactly. You might get to fire it a couple of times, if at all. You're not going to have time to learn all the ins and outs. Just remember this: twist it on. Stuff it down the front. Shoulder. Line up the sight. Pull the trigger. Bonus points if you remember not to have your rear end pointed at anyone you love.

Harry moved off to the side. He didn't aim. Instead, he angled the RPG skyward to the east and pulled the trigger. The round went high and exploded, leaving behind a huge black cloud.

—If they're close, that ought to put the fear of Harry into them. Your turn, Barbara. I'll be your artillery man.

Harry handed the armed launcher to Barbara. She got down on one knee just as Harry had, aimed at a nearby rock pile. She pulled the trigger. The impact and explosion showered everyone with dirt. She yelled over her ringing ears.

—Holy shit, Harry. This could be fun.

—We'll take half a dozen rounds with us, just in case. I want you to pre-arm them, just like I showed you. If I need them, you won't have time to be screwing around. It'll be load, point, and fire.

—That's good enough for me.

—And don't forget where your ass is pointing.

She gave Harry a hug and squeezed his rear.

—That's double duty from me and Sasha.

—Christ, don't let Mike see you doing that. I'm going to have enough trouble with Sasha as it is.

—I did see that, you two. It's a good thing none of us has had breakfast or I'd be suspicious of your motives.

Art finished with pre-flighting the DC-3.

—She's fueled and ready, guys. Yesterday's flying lead didn't hit anything of consequence. Once you get airborne, don't forget Bill is going to want to test-fire the .50s and sight in.

—Chica, get your soccer-mom ass onto that truck.

—It's been a long time since anyone called me chica. And you'd better not be saying my ass is fat if you know what's good for you.

Harry boarded the DC-3 for a last word with Bill.

—My ex is in that convoy with our daughter. I don't want to put any pressure on you, but if you mess up, Barbara will turn you into one sorry-assed son-of-a-bitch the next time she sees you.

—Go easy, man. I know what I'm doing. I'll get the job done. I've never done it from a Spooky is all. I never got to crew on one. And I already talked to Barbara. She's good.

—I know you can do it. In case you didn't notice, we're all a little jumpy this morning. We haven't had our coffee fix.

Mike was already in the cockpit, going through the checklist.

—You're going to be without a co-pilot on this run. Can you handle her?

—Piece of cake. I kept fuel down to half tanks again. We're light and maneuverable. That should make it bearable for the old girl.

—I'm going to take Barbara with me. Is that all right?

—Just don't get in front of her while she has that shotgun out.

—I hear that. Thanks.

—Don't thank me yet. We're not going to be out of this sand-trap for a while.

—I'll see you back at the strip.

—You know it, partner.

### ~ 15 ~

Present Day

Horn of Africa

**BILL FASTENED THE** strap on the old door-gunner helmet rescued from his locker back at the hangar. He lit a cigarette, exhaled a cloud of smoke and started coughing as he made his way to the cockpit.

—I didn't know you smoked.

—Not for thirty years.

—Do you need a minute to tuck the lung back in?

—No, I'm good.

He listened to Mike's briefing.

—After wheels-up I'll move off to the west. When I get to three thousand above ground I'll look for a pile of rocks. When I find one, I'll go into a racetrack orbit. You do your sighting in. Let me know when you're finished.

—Roger that.

—From there I'll head towards the convoy. I'll be descending as low as I can get to do a single pass at full throttle. That will let Sasha know we're here and on the job. It should give us good eyes on the convoy.

Mike hesitated. He wanted to be certain Bill heard the next.

—You'll get your look-see out the cargo door. Be aware that as I go by, I'll be waggling the wings. That's going to tell her who's doing the driving. Don't fall out and don't ask how she'll know.

—When we're done with this operation, I'd like to know more about you guys. Do you think you can manage that?

—One thing at a time.

Mike went on.

—When we're on that low pass look for a woman with a little girl. Harry's ex has worked with us before. She'll know enough to get the two of them away from the action before we come back to do the dirty work.

—I'll be on the lookout for them real hard.

—You can plug into the intercom back there at the door.

—I know. I tested it in JIB. How's our fuel?

—A little less than half.

—Good. We're light.

—I don't want you taking any chances with that .50. If you hit them, they're mincemeat.

—I know that. The flyby will give me eyes and a chance to sort things out on the ground. Once you get us into orbit, I'll be good to go. With twenty-five hundred rounds a side, I won't leave anything behind if you can keep me overhead.

—Then let's get it done.

**A babble of** nervous voices swept through the pirate convoy. Necks craned skyward in an attempt to locate by sound what was bearing down on the ragtag collection of trucks sunk in the sand.

Whatever it was, it was getting close. Fast. It would be on them soon. Sasha didn't have time to figure out what she was going to do. She didn't need to. She already knew. She had worked it out when the vehicles had become trapped in the sand. The overhead distraction sealed the deal.

—Christa, do you see those black things with the shiny brass at one end in the back of our Jeep? Do you think you could put as many as you can in your backpack?

Sitting beside them, Gene overheard her.

—You stupid bitch. You'll get us killed.

—Shut up, you fool.

She turned back to her daughter and caught her sticking out her tongue at Gene. She smiled.

—Try not to let the men see you.

The increasing rumble of the DC-3's engines at full throttle put the kidnappers in a panic. They scrambled to locate the plane, staring high into the sky. It gave Christa the perfect cover to collect the magazines.

Sasha watched the DC-3 finally revealed itself as it topped a ridge at low altitude. The wings waggled in slow motion. It was Mike at the controls. She'd seen it before. They were here. She almost danced a jig.

An RPG, or what she thought was one, appeared. One of the kidnappers climbed on the back of a truck and searched the sky for the plane. It was too late. It flew off hugging the ground and disappeared behind another ridge.

Sasha knew that no matter what else happened, the man with the RPG would have to be her first. She had to use the confusion to get them away from the trucks.

—My daughter has to go to the bathroom. Is it all right if we go behind those rocks?

—Yes. Go. Go. Hurry.

—Come on, Christa. Come with mommy. Your father and Uncle Mike are here to take us home.

Christa looked up at her mother. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

—Daddy's here? And Uncle Mike? Why are you crying, mommy?

Sasha wiped away the tears.

—Yes dear. Harry and Mike are here. I think Uncle Mike's airplane is going to come back. We need to get out of the way.

If they could climb the hill and get behind it before the plane returned, they'd be safely out of the way.

—Gene. Are you coming with us? You don't want to be caught out in the open in the middle of whatever is about to happen.

The kidnappers remained fixated on the climbing DC-3 in the distance. They completely ignored Sasha and her daughter.

—Did you get the things I showed you, Christa?

—Yes, mommy. They're heavy.

—Good girl. Now let's go.

Sasha made a grab for Christa's hand and almost pulled her towards the rock pile. On the way around the Jeep she picked up an AK and slung it in front of her. Gene grew more agitated when he saw Sasha concealing the rifle.

—What the hell are you going to do with that? You don't have any bullets. You're going to get all of us killed, you stupid bitch.

—Yes, Gene, I'm going to be doing some killing.

—You think that's Harry come to rescue you on his white horse?

—You could make yourself useful and grab some of those mags. I think I can hold the kidnappers off from behind that pile of rocks.

—Nice. And what's your little airplane boy going to be doing while you're singing your swan song from up there?

—He'll be expecting me to help him any way I can. That's how we work.

—Screw you and that loser you left behind.

—It's time you picked a side and stuck with it before that plane gets back, Gene. I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of whatever hell Harry is about to bring down on all of you.

She went to walk up the hill and then halted.

—Don't you dare lift a finger to help these people or I'll shoot you dead where you stand.

**Mike worried about** an errant RPG round aimed their way. The weapon had a range of about a thousand meters. The shrapnel from the exploding warhead could do a lot of damage once it caught up to the slow-moving DC-3. He didn't like the thought of ending up in a pile of aluminum on the ground before the job was done.

He throttled back and took up an orbiting position at 3,500 feet. The extra five hundred would give him only a bit of an edge over the RPGs greater range. It wasn't much, but it might be enough.

—How are we doing, Bill?

Bill pressed the transmit button. Wind noise and static echoed over the ancient intercom.

—Bad news. I didn't get eyes on the women. I need a pass to get a look from the other side of that ridge.

—Shit. If they get an RPG round off we're going to be in trouble.

—You have to do it. I couldn't find them.

This wasn't good. Mike had counted on the first pass to do the job. From there he wanted to be overhead and in position for Bill to start walking the guns through the crowd. By now the kidnappers would be on full alert. The DC-3 lumbering along at low-level would be no match for a well-placed RPG round if it found its mark.

Mike pushed the nose down and lined up for his second pass. This time he flew towards the ridge. He wanted the cover the low hill would provide if someone tried to stuff an RPG up his ass.

—There they are. I've got them in sight. The woman and the little girl are moving towards the rise. They'll be clear of the action in a couple. Well I'll be damned.

—I'm single-pilot up here and kind of busy right now. What is it?

—I don't want to jump to conclusions, but it looks like that woman might have an AK. Maybe even two.

—You're permitted to make the jump, Bill. That woman would be Sasha. And believe me when I tell you she knows how to use that AK. Don't ever piss her off when she's got her hands on one of those things. If you land any rounds close to her, she's just liable to return fire to show you who the real boss is around these parts.

### ~ 16 ~

Present Day

Horn of Africa

**HARRY TAUGHT HER** well all those years ago when they had been forced to rescue Mike from his kidnappers. She remembered how he had stayed by her side as they retreated down the dock with the badly-wounded Mike. Then she made the mistake of staying behind to empty her last magazine into the cabin cruiser.

That move almost got her killed.

She stopped thinking about it and checked the AK with familiar hands. She rotated the safety full-down to semi-automatic and racked. A round ejected onto the sand. Good to go. She flipped the safety for the last time.

She wanted to use the ridge for cover. She struggled over the rock-strewn ground as she made her way to the top. She stopped to wait for Christa several times, but she never hurried the girl. She allowed her to make her own way.

Once at the top, she directed Christa into a hollow depression behind her position. She made clear that she'd have to remain there until she called out for her. She placed rocks all around the edge, hoping they would keep her daughter out of sight and safe from whatever might happen. It would have to do. If she wasn't successful, neither of them would make it out.

Satisfied, she tried to stretch out prone on the uneven ground of the ridgetop. She hoped that would give a lower profile, but the jungle mag hanging off of the bottom of the AK forced her to keep high. It would reveal her position.

She moved back from the top of the ridge. She put her right knee down. Her old crouch position perfected on the dock in Santa Agueda would serve her well here, too. She recalled how Harry had showed her how to support the weight of the AK by placing her left elbow on her knee. It would allow her to concentrate on accuracy with the iron sights.

She placed Christa's stolen goods on the ground and arranged them by her right knee. She knew she'd more than likely fumble the first magazine when it came time to change out. This time there'd be no flinging the empty AK into any water. She'd hang on to this one for dear life—and the life of her daughter.

When she last checked, she didn't see Gene behind her as she climbed the hill. She hoped he had been smart enough to get out of her line of fire. It wouldn't go well for him if he decided to stay with the kidnappers. She didn't know what the airplane had in store for them, but if Mike was flying and Harry was on the ground, anything could go down.

It was strange how the memories of that day on the dock with Harry came flooding back from so many years ago. She silently thanked Harry one last time for getting her ass out of Mexico. She was truly sorry she had forced him to come for her again, but it was starting to look like that was his permanent job. And then she put it all out of her mind.

There was something more pressing she had to finish.

**Harry shouldered the** AK and a bag of magazines. He left Barbara with instructions to remain with the technical. He began to work his way towards the back side of a ridge. He hoped the elevation would give a clear view of the hollow that stretched out in front of him. He had to draw Sasha and Christa away from the action. If he couldn't do that, he'd have to get down and dirty over bare flat ground to get within range of the Land Rover and the technicals.

Damn but that woman would end up being the death of him yet.

It took him longer than he wanted to get across the rough ground. Mike and Bill had already made their low pass to get the lay of the land. He hoped they hadn't missed him on their recon. He didn't want to be mistaken for one of the bad guys. Once they found their mark, those twin .50s would make mincemeat out of anything that got in the way, and he didn't want to be anywhere close to the receiving end.

He continued his slow trek, finally making the back side of the ridge. He walked another 500 yards and began making his way to the top. It was slow going over the rocky ground. He tread carefully, not wanting to disturb rocks that might roll down the hill.

No way did he want to announce his arrival to anyone who might have panicked and made their way to the high ground to fire off an RPG in the plane's direction.

**Mike wrestled the** DC-3 into a tight orbit and held it steady overtop of the stalled vehicles. Bill announced eyes on Sasha and the girl. The trucks were in his sights. They presented a perfect target for the twin .50s. He didn't waste time. He fired two short bursts and watched for the sandy cloud to kick up. That gave him the range. He started in on the first technical.

Mike observed out the window as one of the technicals disintegrated. The plan was to disable the vehicles first. That would give Harry and Ali's men time to reach the kidnappers in the event the DC-3 clapped out or the twin .50s jammed.

Bill squeezed the triggers three more times. Shiny brass and dark death rained down from above. His first pass completed, there was nothing recognizable beyond piles of smoking scrap in the wake of the .50s.

Mike held the 3 steady in orbit over the scene below. As it came within range a second time, Bill's pass with the guns found their mark time and again as men scrambled to get out of the way.

With the vehicles halted, anyone planning on getting away would have to do it on foot. He concentrated his fire on what was left of the people. With no shelter from the lead pouring down, it would make it easy to dispatch them all straight to hell.

Mike brought the DC-3 in closer. The concentration required for the low-altitude flying didn't allow him time to keep aware of the situation on the ground. He was too busy keeping the plane in the air. He wasn't aware of the RPG and didn't know it was about to be pointed in his direction. At low altitude, the slow-moving DC-3 sat in perfect range.

Sasha watched it happen from behind the safety of the ridge. Her eyes widened and she felt her heart thump in her chest. Her breathing stopped as the kidnapper climbed on top of the truck. The RPG hung from his right hand. In the back of the truck bed, he raised it to shoulder height.

She had to stop him. Mike and the plane would be mincemeat if he got a round off. She rotated the AK's safety full down to its semi-automatic position and took careful aim from behind the rock pile. She lined up the iron sights on the RPG's owner and slowly squeezed off a single round.

Nothing. She missed. She silently let off a string of curses and took fresh aim. She held her breath and began squeezing the trigger. The man dropped the RPG and looked down at his feet.

_What the hell?_

She looked over the AK's sights, unsure of what to do. The man was falling. He curled up in the back of the truck, clutching his stomach. His body twitched.

It took her a minute to realize what was going on. There was someone else on the ridge with her. Or somewhere. She looked around, but there was no one. She returned her attention to the men still scattering on the ground.

From her position, she picked out another crouched behind the twisted metal of a truck. She rotated the safety up one notch. She'd give her kidnappers spray and pray for her grand finale.

And then, just before she pulled the trigger a second time, the man dropped onto the sand. He twitched and a second round forced him to lie still forever.

This time, she heard the sound of the gunshots before the rat-tat-tat assault from the DC-3 reached her ears. Whoever it was, he was somewhere on the very same ridge,. She looked again, but there was still nothing. The shooter was well concealed. Better than she was, for sure.

Sand and rocks kicked up in front of her. She was in someone's sights. She ducked and moved back. She'd have to change her position. But where? Where would she go now?

She looked around. The ridge ran away from her in both directions. There was no height advantage one way or the other. The line was exactly the same.

She hesitated and decided to stay put for now. She would not desert Christa.

**Overhead, Bill pounded** away with the .50s at the static targets on the ground, relentless in his pursuit of the survivors with the twin muzzles. He had eyes on Sasha. Now that he knew her position, he fired at will into the valley. There was no shortage of targets.

It was starting to look good. The trucks were destroyed. There'd be no getting away for anyone. He had plenty of help from Sasha. Each time one of them stood up to attempt an escape from the lead pouring out the cargo door, she kept him pinned down.

—It looks like that woman put down at least three. I don't know how many I took out. There might be a couple left. There's some crazy white guy standing out in the middle of it all running around in circles and waving his arms at us.

—Any sign of our technicals? They can't be far away.

—There was a dust cloud over in that direction when we did our recon, but I don't see it now.

—Can you see Harry making his way from the technicals onto any of the elevations?

—I've been too busy to notice.

—I'm going to descend for another run. Send the rest of them to hell.

**Sasha adjusted her** position on the ridge. It was unassailable. She had a clear view of the sloping ground in front of her. She concentrated on not letting her kidnappers escape.

She used the AK in single fire to put round after round in the direction of the men. She missed more often than not, but some found their mark and kept them guessing.

There was a break as the DC-3 moved off into the distance and the hell raining down from above halted. Rocks rolled down the hill behind her. It had to be Gene, finally coming to his senses to realize that he had to get out of the way.

Whatever or whoever it was, the lower ridge behind her kept out of sight. She put the sound into the back of her mind and concentrated on what was happening in front of her.

She heard the sound again and looked back. A head wrapped in an Arab burnoose stuck out above the crest of the hill. Shit! She wheeled around, leading with the AK. By now the man was on top of the low rise.

—Stop or I'll kill you where you stand.

The man stood in his tracks. He released his weapon and it dropped to the ground. He surrendered with arms out and empty hands.

—Damn you, woman. You've got a one-track mind once you set yourself to doing something.

—Harry!

—Your one and only.

—Pick up that damned thing and give me a hand. I'm almost out.

—Here, try one of mine.

He handed her a fresh mag.

—Christ, who taped this thing?

—That would have been me.

Sasha released her magazine and slammed home the fresh one.

—In that case, it'll do just fine.

—Where's Christa?

—She dug herself a little foxhole behind me. You almost tripped over her.

—Come on, woman. We need to send the rest of them to hell.

**There was nothing** left for Ali's backup crew by the time they arrived at the site of the massacre. Between the fire from hell and Harry's efforts from behind the ridge, there was nothing left to do but to collect the arms. Harry and Sasha moved towards the vehicles that were now smoking piles of scrap.

—How many men are left hiding from me?

—There's none left to worry about. Ali's crew finished them off. You did good. Again.

Sasha cast a glance in Gene's direction.

—Gene probably wet his pants but he'll be okay once he gets back to his penthouse. The sooner the better, as far as I'm concerned.

Sasha slung the AK in front of her. It was the same way she had carried it on the Baja.

—Woman, there you go again with another AK across your chest.

—It's not the same chest I had on the Baja. And we don't have a Jeep to celebrate.

—It might not be the same one, but it's still the best one.

Gene dug himself out from behind a pile of rocks. Sasha had been right. There was a huge and growing wet spot between his legs.

—You useless, stupid bastard. You could have gotten us all killed. How am I going to get out of here now? My company will be wondering where I am. I need to get to a phone.

Sasha stared coldly at the man.

—These are the only people looking out for anyone, you son of a bitch.

She cold-cocked him with the butt of her AK and he dropped to the sand.

—That ought to hold him for a while. Jesus but that man is annoying. Why did I have to come halfway around the world to find that out?

—Sasha! Where's Christa?

—Barbara! You're here too.

—You're damned right I'm here! Where's your daughter?

—Don't worry. She's where you like to be, eating dirt and dodging ricochets. She's behind the hill I was using. I made her dig a little foxhole and told her to stay in it until I called for her. Go get her.

—You about shot up everything in sight.

—I had a good teacher. I'm just a little rusty after all these years.

She knew now it was Harry who did the bulk of the cleaning up. She was only the window dressing for his full-on assault. She regarded the man. He never said a word to Barbara about his successful efforts from behind the ridge.

—Thank you for saving my ass again, Harry. Why didn't you tell her?

—You're welcome. And that's your story to tell. I just happened to be there.

Overhead, Mike did a gear-down low-and-slow before heading west to the strip. Overtop of the crew he waggled his wings for the last time.

—We'll meet up with Mike and the rest of the crew back at the strip. Right now Ali wants to meet you.

—Who's Ali again?

She had forgotten all about the man in the heat of battle.

—He's an old friend. He says he wants to meet the woman that can drag both Mike and me back into action. If I know him, he's going to want to make you his fourth wife.

An old man, still handsome in the fashion of a desert dweller, made his way towards Sasha.

—So this is the woman. I am honored. And this is your daughter? This woman gave you this gift? Why is she here in Africa and not back in your house taking care of you?

Sasha smiled at Ali. He had won her over. Even Christa had taken his hand.

—I'm starting to wonder that myself.

—Perhaps you would rather have a Somali man to take care of instead.

—How many?

—You will be number five, but you will be my favorite.

—All right, you two. You don't have enough camels to trade, Ali. Even if she wanted to go with you.

—You are right, my friend. Let us get back to the landing strip. Come, child. You will ride with me.

—Come on, Christa. We're going to go with this nice man who helped rescue us.

Sasha loaded the AK with a fresh mag and the three women got into the Jeep with the old man for the ride to the landing strip.

She kept the AK across her lap.

### ~ 17 ~

Kenya

**MIKE HUNG UP** the phone. He had a wire transfer and two one-way tickets to ride on a Hawker flying to Benghazi coming his way. Next stop, the hospital. Harry would be very happy.

Mike confronted the closed door to Harry's room. Before knocking, he put his ear against it and gave a quick listen. He couldn't make sense of the muffled voices. He walked in without knocking and cleared his throat three times. They barely noticed.

The raven-haired woman in the white uniform fussing over Harry was no slouch in the looks department. His throat-clearing earned him a cross look from Harry and a quick once-over from the nurse. He ignored them both. When he didn't leave the nurse turned away in a huff and marched out of the room.

—What's the diagnosis?

Harry grinned like a baboon that had just discovered a fresh pile of rocks.

—Up until you showed up, I'd say it was pretty good. Now, I'm not so certain.

—No, you jackass. What's the medical diagnosis?

—Oh, that. The doc says I can leave in a day. When I asked my nurse for a second opinion, she said I could stay at her place until I get my sea legs.

Mike flashed the tickets and the cash.

—That's nice, but neither of us is in the navy. I'll be in Benghazi, waiting for you to get tired of your personal nurse.

—Benghazi? When do we leave?

—When you're ready. I figure it'll take you a week, maybe a bit less, to make good your escape.

—She's not going to bring back any clean clothes until her shift starts tomorrow.

Mike emptied the rucksack on the bed.

—No worries. I have everything you need right here.

**There was no** way out of it for Mike. Harry's understanding of what happened was clouded by his concussion. He needed to tell him the truth about the pursuit from the mine to the border crossing into Kenya.

—The last thing I remember is watching Eloria revive Irit. I come up blank on anything after that.

—It's not even that good.

—I figured as much when they didn't show up with you.

—Eloria wasn't able to revive her. Irit died in the Rover. I'm sorry, Harry.

—And Eloria? Where is she? What happened?

The pained expression on Mike's face told the story all by itself.

—If you're not up to telling me about it—

Mike hesitated before continuing, a pained expression on his face.

—Eloria is the reason we're sitting here talking about it. We owe her everything. When she couldn't revive Irit, she collected both Galils. She put her back against the seat and started firing. During a break to reload she handed me her shotgun and told me to keep it until she got back. _Back from where_ , I asked. By the time I got the words out, she was already out of the Rover and on the ground.

—Jesus.

—In the mirror I watched her roll and then stand up in the middle of the road. She popped a couple of smokes and that was the end. My only course was straight ahead. Next thing I know a single Jeep is plowing through the smoke. By then I was crashing through the border.

—She got one of the Jeeps. How the hell did they get her so quick?

—If she was alive, neither of those Jeeps would have come through that smoke.

—You're right. Damn. Those two were something else, weren't they?

—Yes, they were. When they learned you were missing, they didn't hesitate. Between the two of them they had more _uhodori_ than all the mercs sitting on their asses in camp. Without them you'd still be sitting on that strip. By now your bones would have been stripped clean.

—Thanks to those two, we're alive and safe in Nairobi. We do owe them everything.

—There's something else, Harry.

—There always is.

—There were two passports taped to the shotgun. Canadian passports.

—Don't tell me—

—That's right. Forged or not, I have no idea. It turns out they were sisters.

—Sisters? Well, I can believe that. But Canadian? With those thick accents? I don't think so. What did you do with the passports?

—I still have them. I was going to the Canadian embassy tomorrow.

—I don't think so. Give them to me. We'll stop at the other embassy first and drop them off.

—Then let's get it done.

—You're right. We've got people to pay back for the advance and the Benghazi tickets. Christ, Mike. Libya?

—I got us two one-way tickets. You can stay here, broke and listening to the stories in the Flying Club bar that you've heard a hundred times if you want. Your personal nurse would be happy to have you. Or you could hole up in a dusty, wind-swept, isolated tent camp in the middle of a desert and get sand-blasted by a ghibli while you're earning your pay.

—I've been thinking about that. Can I bring my personal nurse?

—Not unless I get one, too. Look, we owe people for the tickets and the advance. Do you want time to say goodbye to her?

—No. You got us a pretty good offer. But we could turn it into something else.

—What do you have in mind?

—We could cash in those tickets and make a stop in Spain while we're on our way to Mexico. Have you ever been to Mexico?

—Well, now that you mention it—

### ~ 18 ~

Present Day

Horn of Africa

**THE DC-3 BEGAN** its low and slow approach to a landing at the desert strip under Mike's capable hands. It would be the final time. Mike taxied and turned the plane as Harry had down. If needed, the plane could be started and begin its takeoff from the exact same spot.

He hurried to climb on a wing to search for the convoy making its way back to the strip. It looked to be about a mile away. He jumped down and Art greeted him. He was disappointed he hadn't been able to participate in the air show, but he knew if anything went wrong with the plane, he'd be needed at the strip.

Art and Bill began work on pulling the .50s and the mount by the time Harry and the convoy arrived in a cloud of dust.

—It's about time. I was starting to worry when the gunfire stopped. I figured either Sasha was out of ammo or everyone was dead.

—It was a little of both. We're all fine. Ali offered to make Sasha wife number five. She might still be thinking of accepting.

—The guys are pulling the .50s. When they're finished, we're good to go.

—About that.

—Now what?

—I had to give my word to get my hands on that 3. Part of it was leaving the .50s in it when we were finished.

—Ali won't be happy that he's not getting his hands on those guns.

—Ali will just have to do without. I don't know what the plan is for the 3. I didn't ask. All I know is, they wanted it left as is when I finished with it.

—Then that's what we'll do. You're going to have to tell Ali.

—It's as good as done. I told him about it after the camp got shot up. He's good with it.

—In that case, let's get this flying circus airborne.

Gene remained incapable of comprehending what had just happened. Even Sasha hadn't been able to set him straight.

—How soon are we getting out of here?

—I already told you, Gene. If you don't stop your bitching I'm going to open up on you with this AK. Are you deaf, dumb, blind, and stupid too?

Art looked and Gene and shook his head at the man's stupidity.

—If I were you, Gene my boy, I'd listen to what she says. She means business.

Art and Bill rearranged the cabin to make room for the new passengers. The atmosphere on board the plane was charged. Getting out was high on everyone's agenda. Mike and Barbara approached Ali one last time.

—Ali, my wife has something for you.

—Yes? What is it?

Barbara took the shotgun off her shoulder and presented it.

—I have no more need of this.

—Thank you. I am honored by your gift. And thank you, my old friends, for bringing me your gifts. If the need should arise in these difficult times, I will put them to good use defending my village.

—You're welcome, Ali. Harry and I are grateful for your help. We could not have done this without you. We will always remember you.

Harry waved from the cockpit.

—All aboard. It feels like the wind is changing direction. It's time to launch before we get shut down by a sandstorm.

—So long, Ali. May you live long and have many wives.

**Mike taxied the** ancient DC-3 to the front of the deserted hangar in JIB. The modern jet he parked beside presented quite a contrast. It had remained untouched in their absence. Harry never told Mike he'd arranged for a crew to guard it until their return.

—There should be a flight crew waiting to fly this thing away. Leave it running and let them take it while we load the jet.

—Are you ever going to tell me about it?

—Some day, maybe.

—It's going to come back to bite us both in the ass, isn't it?

—It's not for you to worry about. I signed up all by myself.

—You say that now, but we both know you don't mean it.

—Don't forget to unload Gene and point him in the direction of the terminal building.

**Mike received clearance** to position the jet for takeoff. Everyone on board was anxious to begin the long flight home.

—Christa, Barbara and Harry want to talk to you.

She looked at her mother.

—Am I in trouble?

—I don't think so. Let's go and find out.

—Christa, honey, you did a good job when you turned on the locater.

Christa beamed, happy that she wasn't in trouble, and happy that she had helped to get everyone out of trouble.

—Mommy helped me with it.

—Yes, sweetheart, but you were the one in charge.

—Thank you, Daddy. Thank you, Barbara. I don't think Mommy likes Gene any more. I don't like him either.

—It's okay not to like someone. You just don't say mean things about him to other people.

Barbara rolled her eyes at Sasha.

—There's no way I'll be trying that on for size. I've been speaking my mind for too long. Which reminds me—if you ever try something like that again, you're going to have to deal with me. Is that understood?

—Yes, Barbara. It won't happen again. I can promise you that.

**It was lecture** time, and Harry already knew Sasha would win at it. She'd been winning with him for too many years. Even so, he had to try.

—Do I have to remind you what happened the last time you went on some half-baked shopping trip without me?

—Is this going to be a test? Yes, I remember. You rescued me.

—The two of you could have stayed in Djibouti and spent the day wandering around the shops and soaking up the atmosphere. It's not a bad place.

—We could have, but then we wouldn't have you here with us now, would we?

He looked at his ex. All he could do was shake his head. There was no winning with this woman—but that was what drew him to her in the first place.

—Do either of you have your players with you?

—We both do. Why.

—Dial it up.

—Dial what up?

—You know what.

Sasha handed Harry her music player and he plugged it into the sound system on board the jet. An old Crazy Town tune, _Butterfly_ , started the serenade.

—I know you better than you think.

Sasha blushed, but she wouldn't give up.

—Maybe you do and maybe you don't.

—Mike says he has a job for me. I'm going to take it. It would mean that you'd be seeing me around more often.

—Why don't you ask our daughter what she thinks about that? After everything that happened, you already know how I feel.

An exhausted Christa slept soundly beside her mother. She had spent most of the day explaining to anyone who would listen that she had been captured by pirates in the desert and rescued by her daddy's team of men.

When Barbara reminded her that she too had been part of the team, Christa updated her story. It became Barbara's team of men that had rescued her and her mother from the pirates.

Which was all right with her father. It was all right with her mother, too.

**Mike checked the** autopilot before relocating to the First Officer's position. The left seat was empty. He paged Harry to join him in the cockpit. Harry pulled up the armrest, settled into the empty seat and scanned the gages.

—How does it feel?

—You're trying to bribe me.

—Yes.

—Is that offer of a job still good?

—You know it, man.

—Good, because I've got some ideas.

—Hang on. You'll be starting as a co-pilot on a Twin Otter. If you don't get bumped, you'll make Captain in six months or so.

—You're getting even for San Diego, aren't you? Does that mean that you'll be throwing the women to the curb too?

—I was thinking a layover on the French Riviera would do those three women a world of good.

—You owe Barbara an explanation.

—I know. I'll tell her the story behind the shotgun before we head home.

—If you don't—

—Would you go back and check to see if those two women brought any weapons on board? French customs will take a dim view and I can't afford to forfeit this airplane.

###

_For Irit, wherever you are._

### OUT OF THE PAST

Eloria

**ELORIA GREW UP** in the northern seaport of Haifa. She was separated from her sister, Irit, at an early age when she was sent to live with her grandmother, primarily because of a separation forced on them by family finances. By the time high school came around, they were hanging out together and had become fast friends.

They would walk to school together, meeting in the middle of the street in their working-class neighborhood, forcing what traffic there was to slow down and honk their horns to get past them. Later, during school breaks they'd bus to the beach and hang out. Annoying the boys proved to be a big pastime.

When they turned eighteen they joined the army and gravitated to the MP Corps, where they went through training together. They ended up getting posted to the Golan. The fights they got into taught them how to back each another up and to take care of themselves.

When their tour was up their return to civilian life was characterized by boredom. Then one day Irit noticed an ad for security personnel with an overseas posting. She jumped at the chance. It didn't take much talking to get Eloria to do the same, and they took a short bus-ride for the interview.

It was a simple process, and given their former experience, they were offered the jobs. To celebrate, they went to the nearest bar and drank themselves silly in between fights with the other patrons. Eventually, they got thrown out and ended up puking their guts out in the alley behind the bar.

The next morning they showed up at the recruiting office for their travel documents. Foreign passports and identities were bestowed with a minimum of ceremony. Neither of them batted an eye at the forged papers. The next day they shipped out.

Their first assignment took them to Dar es Salaam in Tanzania. While it turned out to be a cake-walk, it did get them accustomed to the security routine of working in a foreign outpost in a large city. Together they learned to do all over again what they had been trained to do back home. Even the weapons were familiar. The rapport they had with each other translated into an affinity for the work. They earned and received excellent reviews from their first employer.

Eventually, their reputation got them rewarded with more difficult assignments. They accepted all of them without complaint. Their most recent saw them on a flight to a northern Tanzanian town where they were unceremoniously dumped on an airstrip.

A small, single-engine plane, engine screaming, disgorged its passengers in a cloud of dust. It finished unloading, turned and taxied back to the strip to become airborne. The man shepherding the passengers remained behind.

—I wonder who he is?

They collected their duffels and walked to town.

At the only hotel they were greeted by _khat_ -chewing locals lounging around the entrance. After checking in, they met with the company man sent to brief them. Tomorrow, they'd be on-site in an isolated location deep in the bush.

The women collected their weapons and headed to the single joint in town to discuss their latest adventure and to do a little drinking to celebrate their new jobs.

**The bar was a** hole in the wall affair, dark and dingy and smelling mostly of dirt and sweat. There was enough light to plainly make out the white faces within. So far, theirs were the only ones. Eloria nudged Irit and the two women observed two men walk in.

—Take a look at that.

—Probably Americans. You can't get away from them these days.

—I don't care. Fresh meat for us to annoy. If they're looking for white girls, they found us.

She kicked two chairs towards the guys and they sat down. It was almost too easy.

—I'm Eloria. My partner is Irit.

—Pleased to meet you both. I'm Harry. He's Mike.

—You look familiar. Are you the one that helped unload the plane?

Eloria could tell by the looks the two men gave each other. Her question was an uncomfortable one. That was no surprise out here, given what was going on in the bush.

—Mike and I work for a mining company. Maybe you're with the same outfit?

—That depends on the name of the mining company.

He avoided the question and instead went where they weren't comfortable going.

—You're Israeli. I can tell by the accents.

—No, we're Canadian.

Mike went for more beer while Harry stayed behind.

—Actually, Mike and I are Canadian. And your accents sound like you might be from Montréal. Am I right?

Shit. Their cover had been blown. By actual Canadians. Now what? To change the subject, Eloria pulled a Galil from behind her chair and leaned it against the table. Irit did the same. Perhaps intimidation would work. It had before.

—What are you really doing out here?

—We're a couple of lost Canadians looking for a place to live and women to love.

The one called Harry did have a nice smile.

—Canadians for sure? That's all right with us, right Eloria? Come on, you two. Curfew is coming up. We have somewhere we need to be.

**Eloria woke up** to discover an arm moving beneath her pillow. She made a grab for it and almost missed. By the time her grip closed, the hand had managed to attach itself to the barrel of the sawed-off shotgun she kept there.

—Let it go.

—What?

—Let go.

Eloria worked her fingers beneath Mike's hand surrounding the shotgun. She pressed and twisted and extracted Mike's empty hand.

—Don't do that again if you know what's good for you.

She moved his warm hand to her cool breast beneath the thin sheet. She shifted against Mike's warm, sweaty body beside hers. In minutes she had him convinced and ready to make love to her again. She'd lost count of the number of times. Even so, she kept her mind on the shotgun until she lost herself in eager desire for the sweaty body beneath her.

Eventually desire was replaced by a need for drunken sleep. In her hung over stupor Eloria didn't hear Mike depart in the early light of dawn.

**Eloria awoke in** an empty bed. Still drunk and not yet sober enough to be hung over, she looked around, shrugged and pulled the shotgun out from beneath the pillow. She checked the chambers and put it in her duffel.

—Irit! Wake up. It's time. Let's go.

—Shit. What time is it? Where did the guys go?

—I have no idea. Come on. We're late to pick up our people.

They stumbled out to the waiting Jeeps and the crew of drunken mercs waiting to be transported to the airstrip servicing the bush camp. No one wanted to be first to climb on the Jeeps, let alone board an airplane for a flight. The unhappy load finally pulled up at the strip and those that could threw up while the remainder dry heaved.

—Look. It's our boys from last night. What do you suppose they're doing here?

—It looks like they're the aircrew. Shit. Here they come.

Harry nudged Mike.

—They must have followed us. How are we going to get rid of them?

—Hey, you're the one looking for a place to live and a woman to love.

—Did I really say that?

Mike regarded his friend.

—Yes.

—In that case, they must be all right.

Harry's manner went into gruff mode as he approached the women.

—What are you two doing here? Did you follow us?

Eloria, still hung over and in no mood to take shit from a one night stand, pulled the Galil off her shoulder. She waved it in Harry's direction, keeping the muzzle pointed into the air.

—We're with the mercs. Do you have a problem with that?

The look she gave him must have convinced him otherwise. He mellowed and she returned his smile.

—Why didn't you say something last night?

—We didn't know who you were.

—Now that you do, load those drunken excuses for men into the plane. Be sure to tell them that if any one of them gets sick in my plane, I'll personally toss them out.

Even in her drunken stupor, Eloria knew that Harry wasn't a man to be trifled with when it came to his plane.

—You and your partner can wait here with Mike until I get back. You'd better be sure your own guts are empty or I'll toss you both out, one at a time.

Eloria made up her mind on the spot. Harry and her sister would be a good match. She grinned like a puppy at the man Irit had welcomed into her bed.

**The Pilatus returned** and taxied to a stop with a high-pitched scream surrounded by a cloud of dust kicked up by reverse pitch on the prop. The pilot didn't shut down. Instead, he got out and motioned for them to climb aboard. Eloria didn't like what she saw. No seat belts. No seats. No intercom.

—Holy shit. We're climbing on board a piece of junk.

Irit pointed a thumb inside.

—At least they've got some firepower strapped to the bulkhead. I wonder if they know how to use it.

Mike, annoyed and still hung over, was in no mood to take backtalk.

—Let's go, ladies. Stop bitching and climb aboard.

He unceremoniously shoved Irit up front with Harry and then took a seat on the floor beside Eloria in the cargo compartment. He removed two lap belts from a small compartment and fastened them clevis pins to the blocks on the floor. He waited for the woman beside him to buckle up before giving Harry the high sign.

He turned his attention to the woman beside him as Harry stood on the brakes and firewalled the throttle.

—What are a couple of nice girls like you doing in a place like this?

Eloria's response to Mike's question was drowned out by the scream of the PT-6 as it wound up for takeoff. Harry released the brakes, allowing the Pilatus to gain flying speed. At the appropriate moment, Harry rotated the control column and the Porter lifted and rolled onto the tail wheel. Lightly loaded, he initiated a steep climb, allowing the purpose-built aircraft to do one of the things it did best.

Eloria's stomach began churning. Keeping in mind Harry's admonition about throwing up in his plane, she closed her eyes and covered her ears.

She put Mike, sitting beside her and glued to her hip in the tight confines of the plane, on ignore for the rest of the trip.

**Up front, Irit** wasn't weathering the flight much better. She was as hung over as her sister in the back. Harry looked across at her, grinned, and regarded the familiar bush strip before it passed beneath the nose. He pulled the prop into Beta and pointed the nose down at a steep angle.

The Porter dove for the ground. A roller coaster flare and sudden stop coming so fast after touchdown had the desired effect. Eloria jumped out and headed towards the tail. Irit threw open the door and followed.

Together they leaned against the fuselage and threw up. Neither stopped dry-heaving until Harry kicked them both in the ass. The stereo dirty looks they gave him couldn't wipe the grin off his face.

—What did you think of my landing?

—Fuck you!

Mike threw the duffels out of the plane.

—Grab your gear and find a tent. We've got work to do.

Pale-faced, the women stumbled down the rows of canvas, still hung over and sweating in the bush humidity. They made their way to the bunkhouse. Rows of side-by-side cots didn't impress them.

—Shit. We can't bunk in with these guys. They'll have us for breakfast.

—I noticed that too. I wonder how Mike and Harry would feel about sharing a tent?

—They are kind of cute. It wouldn't hurt to ask.

—Ask? Let's tell. If they say no we'll worry about it after we unpack and get set up. Besides, they seemed all right in the bar last night. If we have problems, we'll handle them like we always do.

—They did treat us pretty good, even when they were drunk. I like them.

—So do I.

### ~ 1 ~

**BY THE TIME** Harry got to the ringing phone, it was too late. The extension woke Sasha in the upstairs bedroom. Except for that, it was no big deal. She was accustomed to the late-night calls from Ops scheduling the never-ending positioning flights. He called up to her.

—Was it flight ops?

—She didn't say. I asked if you had to go in early, but she had such an accent I couldn't understand her. When I asked who it was, she hung up.

—Probably someone new in dispatch. Sometimes they get uncomfortable talking to wives.

—Which one of them has the heavy accent?

—Accent? As far as I know, none of them.

**On his return** from Africa, Harry cashed out everything he had to buy the house. He came to the realization that he still had feelings for his ex, Sasha. He hoped it would put an end to the woman's thirst for her own adventures. That she and their daughter chose to move in with him to share the place confirmed that she too wanted to give the relationship another try.

He hoped as well that it would put an end to the woman's thirst for adventure that was starting to look more and more similar to his own.

Since then, the past eight months had gone by in a blur. After accepting his friend Mike's offer of a flying job, he got posted in the north to fly a Twin Otter. True to Mike's word, he started out as a co-pilot, but it was starting to look like he'd be getting bumped to Captain sooner than expected. The extra money would come in handy now that he had a family again.

He grew accustomed to the rotation schedule of three weeks out and one week home. Sasha had some trouble getting accustomed to having him underfoot for seven days at a time. They both laughed when she told him, but she knew he wanted to be around for their daughter now that Christa would soon be into her tweens. He'd be around a lot more when he transitioned to one of Mike's jets.

The ease with which he fell into the regimented flying surprised him. He had become accustomed to the adventure and the highly-paid flying jobs he took in Africa to pay the bills for his formerly estranged family. He knew now that he should have taken Mike up on his job offer years ago.

He settled in to enjoy the fruits of his labor after the years spent roaming foot-loose and fancy-free across Africa. Who would have known? Both he and Sasha should have gotten a kick in the ass from someone a lot sooner. That someone was Mike's wife, Barbara, but rather than kick them, she let them be. Somehow, she knew that the inevitable would eventually happen.

And it did, finally. No thanks to his wandering ways. Hell, things were going so well in the relationship department with Sasha that they had talked about getting pregnant again. It wasn't always so.

Harry first met Sasha and her friend Barbara in Mexico. He and Mike took the women out of a bad situation on the Baja and brought them across the border to safety. Even so, she wasn't a very trusting person. She was dead set against marrying him. In fact, she wanted nothing to do with him. Mike didn't think he'd be able to crack her. Barbara knew different, but she never said a word about it until after the two married.

That told him how close the two women were. At the time he made a promise to himself to never come between their friendship. So far, he never had.

He saved Sasha's sorry ass one last time on the Horn of Africa after her kidnapping adventure. That was almost nine months ago.

It was about time he asked her to marry him again. That ought to keep her out of the hot seat and close to home for the duration. His mind was already made up. He committed to doing it before he left on his next rotation. She'd have three weeks without having him underfoot to think about it.

Harry was confident it wouldn't take her even that long to get her to bite the bullet for the second time.

**The phone rang** again. Harry's hello was an empty greeting. He never got a chance to say another word. It was all he could do to understand the thick accent of the woman who wouldn't stop talking. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. When he put the phone down, all thoughts of a proposal and a wedding were gone out the window.

In his old life, he would never have bothered to tell Sasha a thing. He would have packed and left. Now, in his new life with Sasha and their daughter Christa, he was committed to telling her everything.

Harry reluctantly climbed the stairs to the bedroom, but not before a trip to the garage to dig out his old duffel bag.

—What's going on? Do you have to leave early? Give me a minute and I'll drive you.

—Damn it. I don't want to do this. I thought I'd have more time. It's only been ten months.

Sasha's attention went to what he dropped on the foot of the bed. She recognized it as the dusty old bag he had hauled across the African continent countless times. The look on his face and his words warned her something was bothering him.

—It's only two a.m. It's not time for you to leave. What's going on?

—I just had a phone call–

She didn't let him finish.

—It wasn't about work, was it?

—No. I'm going to have to leave for a while.

—No you're not. There's no way you're leaving both of us behind ever again. I don't care what's going on.

—I gave my word.

—Then I'm coming with you, Harry.

Grim-faced, Harry looked at his partner. Together, they'd been through so much. Stubborn as the woman was, he knew there was no way he'd be able to convince her to stay behind. He tried anyway.

—I can't take you. I refuse to let the mother of our child put herself in harm's way ever again. You'd better know that by now.

That was all he had. He already knew it wouldn't be enough.

—If you leave, I'm going with you and that's all there is to it. If it's what I think it's about, you're not going without me.

—In that case, Christa is going to have to stay with Barbara and Mike. I can't tell you anything until you drop her off. I can't take a chance on Mike finding out anything.

The expression on Harry's ashen face said more than he wanted. He started packing while Sasha hurried out of bed.

—I'll be as fast as I can. Barbara is going to give me the third degree. Judging by her reaction the last time I took off, she's liable to chain me to the balcony.

—I know. Throw some things on the bed and I'll pack your bag while you're dropping off Christa.

—What am I packing for?

—Africa. I already made reservations for us into NBO.

So he had anticipated her. Sasha was secretly pleased.

—Barbara is going to have a fit when I arrive in the middle of the night.

—You can't say a word to her. Mike will want to know what's going on. It's bad enough that I have to send you to tell him I won't be at work tomorrow.

—You can't call him?

—He'll have too many questions that I'll feel obligated to answer. It wouldn't be fair to either of them.

—It's about the women who got the two of you across the border and out of Tanzania, isn't it? Just how many years ago was that?

—Not long enough, apparently. I didn't let on, but it's been eating me up for quite a while. I need closure.

—You can tell me about it on the way to the airport.

**Barbara met** Sasha at the door and ushered the three of them into the kitchen. Already she knew by the look on her friend's face that there was something serious going on. She took Christa upstairs and put her to bed before coming back down.

—It's oh dark-thirty. What the hell is happening, girl? Is it Harry?

Sasha looked at her trusted friend. If she only knew how hard it was for her not to give up Harry's secrets.

—I can't tell you on pain of death by nagging. Or worse.

Harry would leave her behind, and that wasn't going to happen in this lifetime.

—If you're going off on another one of your expeditions, I'll have your hide. Sit and we'll have coffee.

—I can't. I don't have time.

—You will or I'm waking Mike.

—Harry will kill me for this.

—He won't kill you as bad as I will if you don't tell me.

Finally, she gave in. Their friendship was too strong to deny.

—I'm swearing you to secrecy, girl. Like old times.

—Here's to old times.

Sasha settled back in her chair and regarded her friend.

—I don't know much, if anything. He wouldn't tell me. All I know is he has tickets for Nairobi.

—Tickets? As in two?

—Yes. He already had them. He knew. I didn't have to convince him. He's not getting away again, no matter how dangerous he says it is.

—Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

—Whatever it is, it's my fault for traipsing off into the desert with that dimwit of a boyfriend. If it wasn't for that–

—If it wasn't for that, the three of you wouldn't be together.

—True, but even so. He made some deal to free up that airplane you all used. Harry wouldn't tell me what the arrangement was. Now I'm thinking it's come home to roost.

—I know as well as you do that Harry is always good for his word. If someone called in his marker, he'll move heaven and hell to make it good.

—That's what I'm afraid of. There's one more thing. You're going to have to tell Mike that Harry won't be at work for a while.

Sasha opened the door to leave. Mike strode across the kitchen and halted her at the door.

—Not so fast, woman.

Surprised, she turned and waited. An anxious look remained frozen on her face.

—You tell that son of a bitch that if he needs something, he'd better call. He doesn't have to beg for anything.

Sasha regarded Mike as she hugged her friend.

—Thank you, Mike. I will. But not right away.

Barbara released her friend and walked with her back to the door.

—I knew it. I gave away that damned shotgun way too soon.

—Oh, I hope not.

**Harry felt bad** about insisting that Sasha not divulge anything to Barbara. He knew how close they were, but still. It had to be that way. Mike would want to know too much and have too many questions he wouldn't be able to answer. He just didn't have enough concrete information to tell him anything.

It was bad enough he'd have to tell Sasha more about the two women that rescued them from the frying pan into the safety of Nairobi. He didn't even want to do that. It wouldn't be easy. He'd fill her in, but it would be Mike's recounting of the details that he passed on to her.

He remembered nothing. He had no recollection of his escape across the border from Tanzania to Kenya. The head wound suffered from the firefight at the landing strip had completely erased any memories of the drive to the border.

It was enough that Mike had finally shown up at the hospital in Nairobi minus the girls. When he told them that they'd been killed in the firefight, he almost lost it. He owed the two women everything.

Harry's phone rang a second time, interrupting his faulty memory. It was the information he had been waiting for. He hung up and made one call to an old acquaintance who ran an airline in Somalia. The former Somali Air had been the source of the DC-3 he and Mike had used to rescue Sasha on the Horn of Africa.

The phone rang a third time. This time it was his old friend Ali in Galkayo on the other end of the line.

—I need you, my friend.

—We're already on our way.

It was starting to look like payback would be a convoluted affair.

He went on-line to check flights. They'd be able to get into Galkayo from Mogadishu. Mog wouldn't be any fun with the rebels in control. He hoped a layover wouldn't be needed, especially now that his wife was coming along.

Dammit but he didn't want to put her in harm's way again. This would be number three and this time it would be on him if anything went sideways.

He had no idea where this exercise would lead, but he had to prepare as best he could. With his wife coming along, it was time to start calling in some of the favors he was owed.

Harry searched through his Africa kit and retrieved a small, dog-eared notebook. He flipped through the pages, anxious for the number he needed. The man on the other end of the line in Frankfurt listened patiently to Harry's instructions. He didn't ask any questions.

It wasn't the first time Harry had dealings with Frankfurt. It was someone he trusted implicitly. When he terminated the call, a shipment into Entebbe had been arranged. It was guaranteed to meet up with their flight to Nairobi.

**Sasha felt compelled** to tell Harry both Barbara and Mike knew something was going on.

—They've put two and two together and as much as said so as I was leaving. Mike must have been listening when I was talking with Barbara. He wasn't happy.

—He's going to have to live with it for now.

—What's next on the agenda? Did you get my bag packed?

—Yes. Our tickets are waiting at the airport. The taxi is on its way.

—I'm ready.

—I'm not.

The atmosphere in the taxi was subdued. Even though he was committed, having Sasha along was something Harry hadn't counted on. He should have known he wouldn't be able to stop her once she knew what the real story was.

—We'll be in Montreal in a couple of hours.

—I know, Harry.

—It's your last chance to back out.

—I think we can both be pretty certain that isn't going to happen.

—I know, but I have to say it. You know why.

—Yes, I love you, too. Even when I wouldn't admit it and booted the two of you to the side of the freeway.

Harry smiled. She finally admitted what he knew to be true after all these years.

**Harry didn't have** much to go on. Even so, as best he could he brought Sasha up to date on the events of the last few hours while they were en route to Montreal. He re-hashed what he remembered of Mike's conversation in the hospital in Nairobi.

—I can remember pretty clearly when we hit the blockhouse at the tanzanite mine. The intent was to put a little cash or gems in our pockets for traveling money since we weren't carrying cash. We came up empty-handed.

—Did you hurt anyone?

—No. When we learned there was nothing in the blockhouse, we got out as fast as we could.

—Are you sure?

—I remember that part pretty clearly. We were in and out in minutes after we got our hands on a vehicle. We made straight for the blockhouse. One of the women had already cleared it. I think it was Eloria.

—And?

—That's when it gets fuzzy. The last I remember clearly is high-tailing it down the road headed for the border. I can recall bits and pieces, but nothing that makes any sense. Believe me, I've tried.

—That's understandable. You were suffering from the double whammy of a shoulder wound and a concussion.

—Strangely enough, I can remember the landing at the strip and getting shot up. I remember being bandaged up by the mercs. I can recall the firefight. Even the almost two-day trek to the mine is pretty clear. But after we hit that blockhouse, that's the end of it. It went downhill from there.

Harry went on to tell her Mike's version of events as he had been told. Eloria rode shotgun. Irit sat in the back taking care of him. Mike caught sight of a Jeep in hot pursuit. He never slowed. It was full speed ahead.

It all started to go to hell when the RPG hit the tree just as they passed beneath it in the Rover. Irit took a branch full on that went into her chest. Eloria crawled into the back and tried to revive her, but she was already gone.

—So there was no chance that Irit was still alive by the time Mike got you across the border?

—Not according to Mike. He told me he had the pedal to the metal headed in the direction of the border with Kenya. Eloria manned up and returned fire. She popped smoke, handed Mike her shotgun and rolled out of the Rover onto the road.

Mike said the last thing he saw was the smoke engulfing her. She had her Galil shouldered and she was giving it a workout. A single Jeep penetrated the smoke, still in pursuit all the way into Kenya.

—And that was the end?

—Pretty much. He crashed through the border. A couple of klicks later he pulled Irit out of the Jeep and stashed the firearms, except for the shotgun. That's when he said he found the passports taped to the stock.

—After I got out of the hospital and before we left, I took them to the embassy, showed some I.D., got grilled for my troubles. The embassy rep wouldn't tell me a thing. I never saw the passports again.

—Could Eloria have been alive after the Jeep came out of the smoke?

—It's a possibility. She was a professional. She might not have wanted to shoot because we would have been in her line of fire down the road.

Harry took his wife's hand. He knew there'd be no talking her out of anything. He settled back in the seat and closed his eyes. Now that he'd allowed Sasha to commit, there'd be no turning back.

**—Do you think** Mike ever told Barbara about Eloria and Irit?

—I have no idea. All I know is that it was never a subject of discussion for us once I got out of the hospital.

—What happened with the passports?

—In spite of their passports, I knew they weren't Canadian. Their accents were too thick. I dropped the documents off at what I thought was the proper embassy and ended up getting the third degree for my troubles. They must have been satisfied, because I was released after a couple of hours.

—That was pretty momentous for both of you. You think he'd have at least mentioned it to Barbara.

—I don't know, Sasha. Like I said–

—I know. Like you said. So if he told her, why didn't you let Mike know about the call?

—Because lining up the DC-3 that we used to rescue you was entirely my deal.

—But you must have known that eventually someone would want to get paid back.

—I knew. I just didn't think it would be so soon.

—What aren't you telling me?

Harry sighed.

—Eloria might still be alive.

This was why he didn't tell his wife anything about the phone call before they left Mike and Barbara behind.

—What? The woman with the accent on the phone? Say that again.

—There's a chance that Eloria could still be alive.

At least, that's what it sounded like, judging by the heavily accented female voice on the other end. Not only was Eloria alive, but she was somehow connected to Ali in Galkayo. How could that even be possible? And where had she been all these years? Why was he getting calls from her only now?

He shut his eyes again. In another thirty-six hours, he'd know one way or the other.

**Harry couldn't help** having second thoughts. The comfortable life he had made for his family was already turning upside-down. Not only that, his once and future wife insisted on coming along. That could turn out to be trouble. And if it wasn't, it could at the least be a very bad idea.

—It's not too late to turn back. For either of us.

—I've been thinking about that, too. Do I really want to pull up stakes and go on a hunt with you for people who may or may not want us interfering in their lives? Do we even know who it actually is? Going by your description of the voice, it could be anyone.

—I've known Ali a long time. I don't think he'd let himself be used if he didn't think it was the right thing to do. He wouldn't call me over there for something trivial.

—Perhaps you're right.

Harry's phone rang one last time. His face turned ashen. When the phone went dead on the other end he wrote down the number and turned it off.

—If you want to call Barbara and check on Christa, do it now.

He already knew what Sasha would say.

—There's no need. I trust Barbara. Our daughter will be fine, no matter what.

—We're going to ditch our phones. We'll pick up a couple of burn phones in Nairobi. Take out your SIM card and the memory and toss the phone in the trash. I'll flush the rest.

—Are you going to tell me who that was?

—Yes.

—Well then, do it.

—It was Eloria. At least, it sounded like it could be her.

—She's alive. After all these years. What did she say?

—Not much. She didn't have time. She's with Ali in Galkayo.

—With Ali? How did she get there from Tanzania?

—I guess we'll be finding out soon enough.

—Yes, we will. There's no way you're going to be talking me into going home now.

He smiled thinking Sasha was just as stubborn as he was, if not more so.

—One more thing.

—Yes?

—Her last words before she hung up were, ##Please help us.

—Us? Are you sure?

Harry couldn't believe it either.

—Yes.

—But I thought Irit was dead.

Was it she and Ali who needed help? Who else could it be? Harry mulled over the possibilities in his mind.

—So did I.

### ~ 2 ~

**HARRY LOOKED ACROSS** the aisle at Sasha. He still wasn't pleased that he'd not been able to shake her determination to accompany him on this mission. Perhaps if he adopted a brusque attitude he'd convince her he meant business.

—When we land in London I have a meeting to go to. You're not invited.

Sasha wasn't having any of it.

—In that case, when we land in London, we'll be staying overnight. I'll make a reservation in arrivals so you'll know where to go.

—I'd like it better if you flew home from here.

—Yes. I love you, too.

—Damn you, woman. Do you ever listen?

—Harry, if you haven't learned anything about me by now, you never will. When was the last time you talked me out of anything?

He didn't have to think.

—Well, there was that one time on the Baja in the Jeep–

—If I remember right it was me who did all the talking then, too.

There was no getting around it. Sasha had his number and they both knew it.

—You're right. I did all the talking when I convinced you to marry me. You listened for so long that I thought you were deaf.

—Yes, dear.

To change the subject, Harry pulled some old aerial photos and maps from his carry-on. He described the long trek the four of them made across the bush to the mine site. He remembered most of that, probably because he had to work so hard to overcome his wound and the concussion. The forced march had given him something to concentrate on.

He left out how he and Mike had met the girls the day before and ended up spending the night with them. If Sasha had questions, she wouldn't hesitate to ask. So far, she hadn't. The seatbelt sign lit up and he tucked the photos away.

—I want you to use your American passport to get through customs.

—Why?

—If anyone is fishing through the databases, they won't expect it.

—All right, if you insist.

—Once you're admitted you can destroy it. From then on you'll be a full-blooded Canadian, and attached to me.

—I think they call it married, Harry.

—Some do. Some don't. We're divorced, remember? Where we're going, it could make all the difference when you can drop my name into the conversation.

He changed the subject again.

—After you find us a room, I'll be heading to a meeting with an old Africa hand. I tried to make some arrangements before we left, but with all the electronic snooping going on these days I decided to finalize things in person.

—How many markers are you calling in?

He'd need an airplane and some munitions to go with it. He had already decided on a two-seater. And he knew of just the one if only he could get his hands on it. It would be perfect for getting two people out of trouble. Sasha wouldn't know it, but she wouldn't be one of the two. If he had anything to do with it, she'd be sitting poolside at a resort in Nairobi.

—All of them.

This time, when he was finished, there'd be no returning to the Dark Continent.

**Harry thought back** to the job ad Mike had shown him years ago. It hadn't taken long to make up his mind and get off a response by cable. When adventure called, he always answered. He didn't know at the time where it would take him, but eventually that job ended up earning them a position in the huge African arms market. It was one that Harry suspected he would have to use to its full advantage now that he had a final mission to perform.

He had no idea what transpired back in the camp when Mike was rounding up help to come to his rescue. He was just grateful that someone finally showed up. In fact, after he got himself shot, he began to think that he wouldn't be getting out alive. Then he heard the explosion of a shotgun blast in the middle of a firefight. He knew right away that a sound like that wasn't a part of any rebel's arsenal.

Even more surprising to him was how the rescued mercs didn't want anything to do with their rescuers. He guessed that being saved by a couple of women wouldn't be a story they wanted to be witness to when it got told in a bar. An event like that would follow them for life. He never stopped hoping the chickenshit sons of bitches were left guarding shithouses in a flood plain.

Harry had no recollection of their run to the Kenyan border. Whether both Irit and Eloria had still been alive before they crashed through the border were beyond his conscious memory. It was all he could do to recall being admitted to the Nairobi hospital.

When Mike told him what had happened to the girls, he took him at his word, and he took it hard. If it wasn't for the two female mercs that had taken a shine to both of them, he'd have been a goner. Together with Mike, those two had committed without question to rescuing him at the strip. When he heard they both had been killed trying to get him across the border into Kenya, he crashed for the second time in the hospital.

The recent phone call he received shot that all to hell. He was left to figure out what went wrong, and how he could fix it.

**Harry looked around** the messed-up London hotel room. They were traveling light, but the backpacks had been stripped and their contents thrown around the room. Anything with a seam had been ripped open and examined.

—I thought you were a better housekeeper than this. Perhaps I was misinformed.

—I was out for only a few minutes. I went down to the lobby to get a couple of magazines.

—It's a good thing. You might have ended up being held for ransom.

—As I recall from our last expedition, Ali in Galkayo had an eye for both me and Barbara. Unless you're planning on shipping me back to him, you'd better start talking.

—And as I recall, our last expedition, as you call it, was put in place to rescue you.

Sasha's feet were planted firmly on the floor and her hands were on her hips. The look in her eyes wasn't good, either. He was going to have to tell her everything. Well, almost everything. He didn't have it all put together yet. He'd go with what he had.

—Where would you like me to start?

—How about with the phone calls you got at home in the middle of the night?

—The first one was from Ali.

Harry stopped, but he knew he wouldn't get any peace until he came up with a reasonable explanation. This time, he wouldn't have to make anything up.

—Keep going if you know what's good for you. And don't try to take time to make it up as you go along.

She read his mind. She never did cut him any slack, but that was a good thing. He didn't want any.

—Ali called me because he didn't want to involve Mike. He wouldn't tell me everything on the phone because of all those American listening agencies, but I got enough to know he needs some help. He was practically begging me.

—And you can never turn down a friend in need.

—Well, you were in on the last episode with Ali. After what he did for us, would you say no?

—You're right.

—Before this is over I want you to put that in writing and sign your real name.

—You only wish.

—There's one other thing. That second phone call that came in at the house–

Sasha held a questioning expression on her face. He hesitated, but only long enough to know he would have to come clean.

—It was Eloria on the other end. It's been a long time since I heard her voice, but yes, it sounded like her. She's not dead by a long shot.

—Then what was Mike–

Sasha's voice trailed off.

—I don't know. That's why we're here. And no matter what went on, no matter what we'll be walking into, Mike and Barbara must never know. Is that understood?

Sasha took a long time contemplating her answer. Harry knew the two women were closer than sisters, closer than best friends, closer than he and Mike had ever been. Their adventures kept them even closer. Neither one of them had ever told anyone about their escapades before the four of them got tangled up. Harry hadn't asked any questions either. He never would.

—Well?

—You bastard. You're forcing me to cross Barbara, aren't you?

She gave him a hard look, and he knew he was into it with her now, whether he wanted to be or not. Then the look softened.

—All right. I promise. And both my hands are in plain sight so you can see no fingers are crossed.

—Good. Now come over here and give me a hug. It might be the last chance we get for a while.

Harry swept the clothes off the bed and pulled her onto it.

—It's not a Jeep, but we'll just have to make do with what we've got.

She pushed him down and climbed on top of him.

—Yes, we will.

**Harry pulled the** covers off of his wife. His eyes roamed up and down a body that kept him just as interested now as he had been when he first met her.

—Hustle it, girl. We've got ninety minutes to make the airport.

Sasha left the covers down and sat up. She enjoyed Harry's eyes enjoying her.

—You never did tell me what happed yesterday.

If we're going to make that plane, cover up, woman. You know my weaknesses.

Secretly pleased that her body still excited him, she did as he requested, at least with the sheet. She used her forearm and her long, dark hair to shield her breasts. She grinned at him.

—Is that better?

He ignored her, as she knew he would. He was all business now.

—I set us up for two scenarios. I pretty much figured I had to. We could end up with four people to get out of there. And I'm counting on you to be one of them.

—How so?

—I'll tell you in the cab. Now let's get it in gear.

—Harry. What's this?

She held up a small chip.

—Don't tell me. That was in your bag. I'd better take a look in mine.

—Now what?

—I think we can pretty much figure on attaching those things to the taxi. What do you think?

—I think we're into it now, whether we want to be or not.

They zipped their bags.

—Come on. It's time.

Harry loaded the bags in the taxi and pushed the bug behind the seat.

—That'll have to do for now. Did you flush it?

—The passport? Yes.

—Good. We're headed to Schipol. After a bit of a layover we'll hop on a milk run into Frankfurt and then deadhead to Nairobi.

—And once we get there?

—Well, initially I wanted a plane, but I had to settle for a boat of some sort. I'm out of my element there, but someone promised a knowledgeable crew.

—And if that doesn't work out?

—I'm depending on you to see that it does.

—Me? What are you talking about?

—You're the smarty-pants that came up with the plan to board that yacht down in Mexico. Now you're going to be my new captain of the merchant marine.

—Shit, Harry. I haven't seen hide nor hair of a boat since then. And if I knew how to sail one, I'd have climbed on board before I ever crossed paths with you two Baja bums.

—Look at it this way–you're just starting out and already you're a captain. At least you know enough not to wear spike heels and that your bottom should be covered up with just enough cloth to give the boys something to daydream about.

She dug an elbow into his ribs.

—You won't be so happy when I put us aground on some Indian Ocean shoal.

—Your knowledge of geography is astounding. Apparently it's an old tub that was salvaged and refurbished. I hope you won't be upset when I tell you that there'll be a small crew already on board.

—That's good to hear. I can't wait to have drinks served while improving my tan.

—I don't want to be the one to throw cold water on the vacay of your dreams, but more likely you're going to be the one doing galley duty.

**The power came** back on the airliner's engines and Sasha knew that meant a landing was coming up.

—We can't be close to Nairobi yet. It's too soon.

The Captain's voice came over the PA to make the announcement.

—Ladies and gentlemen, there's going to be a slight delay on our arrival in Nairobi. Presently we're setting up for our approach into Entebbe. We should be ten minutes on the ground and then we'll be airborne for Nairobi.

—I thought this was going to be a direct flight.

—It is.

—But–

—Is your seat belt fastened?

She knew better than to ask again. The jet banked left to line up on final and Sasha watched the runway lights flicker three times, then go out. They must have come back on, because once the jet touched down, she watched the field go dark again.

—It's pitch black out there. Not even the terminal is lit up.

—I told you. We're on a direct flight to Nairobi. Now relax and enjoy the spectacle that's about to unfold.

Wing lights turned on as the jet taxied into the darkness. The dark, ramshackle old terminal building was illuminated. Light reflected off the glass. The jet pulled even with an old hangar and braked. The lights went dark. The engines continued to run, humming through the fuselage.

The front door on the jet opened. A stairway bumped against the plane's fuselage. A man in a long overcoat entered the cabin. He walked the length of the passenger deck, dispensing the contents of two spray bombs. He did the same on his return trip down the aisle to the exit. An attendant closed and secured the door behind him.

A vehicle's dim headlights cut a path through the dark night. It was accompanied by a forklift carrying a large wooden box. The huge jet shuddered as a heavy pallet slammed down into a cargo compartment. The cargo door slammed shut and the engines spooled up to power the plane to the end of the strip.

The plane turned to line up with the airstrip. The runway lights illuminated. The engines spooled up, the plane accelerated, and they were airborne again. Under the wing Sasha watched the lights go out the instant the wheels left the ground.

—What the hell was that all about?

—We'll find out in NBO if we got everything we need.

—Christ, Harry, when are you going to tell me what you did over here?

Sasha had never asked about what he and Mike did during their overseas adventures. Harry had never once asked her about the years she and Barbara had spent on the Baja. They both sensed there was no use dredging up things that had long been put behind them.

—When you volunteer to tell me about what you were doing down on the Baja all those years.

—Touché. You're never going to ask, are you?

—No. And neither are you.

—I have a feeling I'm not going to have to ask. I think I'm about to find out first-hand.

**The captain announced** their Nairobi arrival. After landing, he taxied the passenger jet to a halt on an empty stretch of tarmac far from the NBO terminal building. He switched on the PA and made the second unscheduled announcement.

—Ladies and gentlemen, we're making a brief stop on the north end of the airport for cargo delivery. The passenger door will open momentarily to deplane two. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened until we can proceed to the Nairobi terminal building.

The flight crew cabin door opened in time to greet Harry and Sasha. The gray-haired older man with four bars on his shoulders looked at Harry and then flicked his eyes over Sasha. Harry smiled.

—This is for you, Harry. I received it in-flight.

He handed Harry an envelope.

—Good luck, you two.

—Thanks, Don. We're going to need it.

Sasha smiled warmly at the man and followed Harry down the airstair. Warm air greeted the pair as they stepped onto the tarmac. Harry put his arm around Sasha. He looked up the stairwell in time to see the wave before the door closed. It would be another few minutes before the plane would be able to taxi in the direction of the NBO terminal.

He eased Sasha in the direction of the forklift already hoisting the pallet out of open the cargo bay.

—Climb on and we'll ride with the goods.

A hangar door slid open and the forklift disappeared into the brightly-lit, cavernous space. Harry collected a pry-bar to lift the tops off the crates and ran through the inventory he had in his head.

—RPGs. Good. Shells. Good. Four Kalashnikovs. Mags. Grenades. Personal packs. Vests. A sat phone. A GPS each. We're good to go.

Sasha regarded Harry as he listed the details of his haggling.

—I'm afraid, Harry.

—So am I. It's natural. It's also good to keep busy. Let's get this armament loaded on the truck.

The forklift operator hoisted the crates on the back of the dilapidated two-ton he had made arrangements for with his Africa connections. He finished and they shook hands.

—Merci, Jean.

—Pas de problème, Harry. The truck doesn't look like much, but I went over it myself. She will be ##bonne all the way to Mombasa at least. I have the cell phones, too. They're charged and ready to go. Bonne chance.

Harry handed Sasha the envelope the pilot passed to him earlier. She withdrew a single piece of paper.

—Phone numbers. Two of them.

He turned on one of the phones and sent a text to the first number.

—Ali will get my number from that. You should do the same.

He dialed the second number and handed back her phone and watched her type, ##Sasha is here too.

—Good. Now he'll have us both.

Harry turned on his GPS, scrolled over to Mombasa and marked a dock in the port as their destination.

—Do the same for yours.

—So then it's Mombasa to pick up a boat and head north? What about an airplane?

—About that. I had to change plans in England. No plane.

—You're going to be a fish out of water.

—Pretty much. Except for the water part and the boat waiting for us in Mombasa.

—Shit, Harry. We don't know anything about boats.

—I don't know anything about boats. You, on the other hand, do.

—I know just enough not to wear spike heels and when to put on a bikini, remember?

—That might just be enough. Now come on. You're driving.

He had already made that decision. It would allow her to worry about something other than their mission. Whatever the hell it was.

—Pick up Mombasa Road. It's the A109. Stay on it until we hit water 400 kilometers away. And turn off your phone. We don't need to be tracked, in case anyone is looking.

Sasha followed Harry's directions and turned left into the black night, driving on the wrong side of the road. It was the right side as far as she was concerned.

—Eventually this four-lane will go down to two. Don't forget you should be driving on the left-hand side.

This late at night, there were no headlights bearing down on them in the heavy truck.

—The left side? That doesn't seem right, somehow.

She wrestled with the unboosted steering wheel and swerved into the ditch and onto the opposite side of the roadway.

—Are you sure?

—I'm sure. Carry on.

Harry caught the side-eye in the reflection from the dash lights. He smiled, knowing how feisty this woman beside him could be.

—By the end of the 400 kilometers to Mombasa, you'll be accustomed to driving the wrong side. It'll be second nature.

—If you say so.

—One more thing. The 109 dwindles to two lanes. It's a dangerous road. We'll be on it at night all the way to the coast. Don't hesitate to take the ditch and head cross-country if you see the need.

—After all those miles on the Baja road to nowhere I'm not going to end it on some highway to hell in the middle of Africa. You can take that to the bank.

Harry opened Sasha's backpack and rummaged through it. He found her passport and stuffed it down the front of her pants.

—That hurts! What the hell are you doing?

—Don't go anywhere without it, even to the bathroom at the tail-end of this truck. Having my name with you might make all the difference.

—Yes, master.

Harry teetered on the edge of putting the woman over his knee. He immediately tossed that thought out of his mind. He already knew it wouldn't do any good.

—You're not on the Baja any more. It's not a day-long drive to get to the safety of home. You're in unknown territory. If anything happens to me, you'll be screwed. Probably in more ways than one. Don't listen to me at your peril. Understood?

—Yes. I understand.

A crestfallen face regarded Harry.

—Good. Now stop looking so miserable and cheer up, partner. We've got a lot of miles to cover and I don't want my driver thinking about quitting on me all the way to Mombasa.

Harry grinned as he watched Sasha squirm and adjust the passport stuck in her pants. She grimaced and gave Harry a dirty look. Grudgingly, she knew he was right. She was on his ground now.

She would do whatever she had to make sure they got home safely with the human cargo they were on the way to retrieving.

**In the unfamiliar** vehicle, Sasha wrestled with the steering wheel. She struggled to keep the ancient truck on the strange road in the dark. There was no power steering. The brakes barely worked. The dim light put out by the headlights caused her to squint into the darkness. She finally gave up and halted the truck by the side of the road.

—Harry, this road is blacker than Toby's rear end. I can't see a damned thing. I think a headlight is out.

Harry sighed and walked around front. He manhandled a fender, finally kicking it into submission to direct the headlight onto the roadway.

—We're wasting time. We need to make Mombasa by sunrise.

—Is that another one of your deadlines?

—No. Most of the streets are unlit and too narrow for vehicles this size. I don't want you wedging this thing between buildings in the middle of a donkey path.

Sasha sighed and checked the mirror as she wrestled the two-ton back on the highway.

—There's something following us. Another truck, I think. I don't know if he's been following us for a while.

—Pull over and let him go. I'm going to get in the back.

Harry vacated the cabin and climbed into the canvas-covered back of the truck. He opened the bag with the AKs and took out two. He checked the actions. In the darkness he felt around for the mags and picked out two.

He loaded mags and passed an AK through the driver's window. It bumped Sasha's shoulder hard. The truck swerved and straightened. She yelled back to him.

—Christ, are you trying to knock me out?

Her voice was lost in the diesel truck's engine noise.

—No banana mags for you, dearie. You'll have to do with a single. I'll be staying back here for the duration.

He dug out a couple of grenades and stuffed them in his vest pockets. He loaded more mags and sat them by his foot. ##Just in case, he told himself. He settled in and fell asleep in the wake of diesel fumes, serenaded by the whining engine and its diesel fumes on the bumpy road.

Sasha brought the lurching truck to a sudden halt in the middle of the dark road and killed the lights. Harry's head bumped against his knees, waking him. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, stuck his head out from beneath the canvas, and leaned through the window.

—Why are you stopping?

—There's a vehicle across the road in front of us.

Sasha adjusted the muzzle of the AK across her lap and pointed it towards the door. She made sure to push the safety full down.

—Go slow. I'll stay out of sight back here.

The headlights barely illuminated two men crouched by the orange glow of a fire on the side of the road. They left its warm comfort and cautiously approached the two-ton. AKs hung carelessly off their shoulders, obviously unprepared for an argument.

— _Nzuri asubuhi nyeupe mwanamake_.

Uncomprehending, Sasha yelled.

—English!

Startled, the men stepped back.

—What are you doing all alone in the dark, _mwanamke_?

Harry poked his head out from behind the boxes. The AK registered immediately with the men. He stood and covered them off with the muzzle of his own pointed in their direction.

— _Kiasi gani kupita?_ How much?

—Nothing for you, _b'wana_. Pass by.

The men stepped aside and waved the truck through. Sasha shifted into first gear and the truck groaned into the ditch and past the makeshift checkpoint. Harry followed the two men with his eyes until they were out of sight in the dark.

—You handled that like a pro. You're hired, girl.

—Hired or not, you're stuck with me. According to you, the odometer says there's another eighty klicks to Mombasa. Go back to sleep.

—One more thing before I do, sweetie.

Sasha concentrated on keeping the truck on the road in the pitch black. Busy and annoyed, she asked.

—What's that?

—You can turn your lights on now.

Harry returned to his nest in the back of the truck. The sound of gunfire only minutes later brought him back.

—What we passed was probably a sentry for the main checkpoint up ahead. Be prepared to motor through whatever is in front of us. I'll do the talking.

Sasha doused the lights a second time. Not wanting to chance anything, she steered the truck off the road into the shallow ditch. Headlights and a fire pit winked in the distance. In the back of the truck, Harry loosened his belt. He tucked two RPG rounds into it before arming himself with the RPG he already had loaded.

—Get back on the road. Leave the lights off. Go slow and keep your head down. I'll be staying back here.

—We need another driver.

—You're doing a good job, dear.

—You're only saying that because you don't have anyone else to say it to.

—No. I'm saying it because you're doing a good job and I love you. And because there's no one else that needs a compliment right now.

The safety on Sasha's AK came off. She was prepared for the worst.

—I don't like being all alone up front.

—Get used to it. We're almost in Mombasa. There can't be much more of this.

—You forgot to add, _Unless someone is tracking us_.

—Well, yes. There's always that.

Rounds twanged through the rusted cab. Sasha ducked and kept on towards the fire. Harry launched an RPG round in the direction of the blockade. He sent his reload towards the fire pit. The twin explosions quieted the gunfire. Only the glowing fire remained.

For spite, he unloaded another round, but there as nothing left to hit. He tightened his belt and climbed into the cab.

—Keep driving. Don't stop for anything until we're in the city.

Sasha walked the truck through the smoke past Harry's RPG carnage. She sniffed the air and, unseen in the darkness, made a face.

—What's that sweet smell?

—Burning flesh.

**Sasha bumped the** truck through a ditch, realized what she had done, and followed the shallow depression back onto the 109.

—I can't see a damned thing with the sun in my eyes.

—Then slow down. Mombasa is right in front of you.

The brakes on the rusty two-ton screeched as she brought it to a halt and climbed out.

—If you can do it better, have at it.

—Are we about to have our first fight on this trek?

—I'm tired. I'm a nervous wreck. You're going to drive this tank to wherever the hell you want to park it.

—Well why didn't you say so?

—Don't bug me. I just did. I'm going to try to get some sleep. See if you can wrangle this thing through the streets without bumping and grinding, okay?

It pleased Harry to see Sasha upset with him. She was coming along nicely. In fact, she passed the test.

—Si, madame. You did a great job driving through those checkpoints. I didn't expect you'd keep going, but you did. I'm happy to know I can depend on you.

Harry hugged Sasha and kissed her on the mouth like there was no tomorrow. If they weren't in the middle of the highway-

He slapped her rear and watched as she climbed into the passenger seat in her tight fatigues. Damn but she was hot. When had she changed into them?

—Harry.

—Yes?

—Stop staring at my ass and get in. In case you forgot, it's your turn to drive.

Harry entered the city and eased the truck along a narrow street towards the Indian Ocean and the sun already up. He stopped about a hundred meters from shore. No dock. He stopped and rummaged through his backpack for a map. He left Sasha, curled up on the seat and sleeping.

He walked the narrow streets, searching for where he thought the dock should be, trying to find a way through the congestion for the big truck. By the time he returned, Sasha wasn't curled up on the seat any longer.

Goddammit, where did that woman get to this time? He yelled her name. There was no response. He turned in the direction of a whistle and she appeared, bags in hand and sporting a different top.

—This time I wanted to actually go shopping. I was getting smelly in those old clothes and thought I'd try and track down something lighter.

—You do know how to worry me half to death, don't you? If anyone had been curious about what's on board the truck, we'd be begging in the street to replace it.

—No, we wouldn't.

She pulled up her shirt and the butt of a handgun peeked out of the top of her jeans.

—Besides, the shop is just there. I've got warm, fresh bread and cheese and cold water. What more could a woman want going on an Indian Ocean cruise with the man she loves?

Harry grinned. It was all he could do. Damned if she hadn't gotten the better of him yet again.

—In that case, let's eat. The boat can wait. It won't be going anywhere without us.

They wolfed down breakfast, hardly tasting it in their haste to find their way to the wharf. In the mirror Harry kept his eye on a man leaning against a building. In itself, it wasn't unusual. The man shuffled his feet from time-to-time, looked nervous, walked back and forth, but never looked in the direction of the truck. That wasn't usual.

—We're being watched.

—By that man in the blue shirt?

—Christ, Sasha, how long has he been there?

—I noticed him when I came out of the shop.

—And you didn't say anything because–

—Because we'd have missed breakfast. And I was right, too. He hasn't done anything except stand around and look innocent.

Harry climbed in and weaved the noisy two-ton through the narrow streets in the direction of the wharf. Unseen, the watcher took out a phone and began talking.

**Black smoke drifted** over the harbor above the buildings.

—Harry?

—Yeah. That's where we're going.

He steered the two-ton in a roundabout way towards the rising column of smoke. By the time he made it to a clear view of the docks, it was plain where the smoke was coming from.

The boat was attached to the dock by its mooring lines. It wouldn't be going anywhere. It lay on its side. Smoke poured from whatever openings weren't submerged. There would be no boat in their future. He backed the truck up and turned around.

—Now what?

—So much for the crew of mercs I hired. Now it'll be our famous plan B.

—You have another plan?

—It's called the ##be adaptable plan. It's the airport or nothing. We'll pick up a plane.

—A plane? How do you know there's something there that will do the job.

—I don't. We'll stake it out until we have a likely prospect.

—In that case, we'd better lose whoever is following us.

Harry backed the two-ton around for the second time and pointed it north along the coast.

—Are you drunk? We passed the airport on the way into town.

So she was paying attention after all.

—We're not going to that airport. We're making for Bamburi. It's a no-service strip, exactly what we're looking for. Survey pilots prefer it because it's close to the kinds of resorts they like to stay in when they're on someone else's dime.

—So there could be a plane there? How do you know it'll be the right kind.

—We're looking for a Twin Otter or a Porter. If we're lucky, it'll be a Twin with tundra tires. We'll need something like that to haul what we've got in the back of this truck.

He'd have to make a move to lose their tail before he took the turn for the road to Bamburi. He halted the truck on a turn and manhandled it into position, blocking the road. The Willys couldn't brake in time. It rammed into the rear of the heavy truck. The driver flew into the street. Harry picked pushed him into the cab with Sasha.

—Wrap some of that tape around his arms and legs. That ought to be the end of whoever is following us for now.

—We can't take him with us. Can we?

—We'll dump him in the bush on our way to the airport. In the meantime, if you pass a sign announcing the road to Butterfly Park, you've gone too far.

—While I'm doing the driving, what the hell are you going to be doing?

Harry climbed into the back of the truck and started loading mags for the AKs.

—You'll get spare mags when I'm done. It'll give you something else to tape if you remember how. Now don't bug me. I'm busy.

**Sasha eased the** truck over a slight rise. The end of the strip came into view.

—Harry. We're here.

—Drive onto the asphalt and follow it until you see a building on the right. That'll be the old hangar.

—Harry.

—Jesus woman, what is it now?

—That looks like one of Mike's Twin Otters.

Harry put down the AK and stood up. He almost lost his head when Sasha ground to a halt beneath the wing.

—It is one of Mike's Twin Otters. We just hit the jackpot.

—Are you sure?

There was no time to waste with talking. It was go time. If the survey crew showed up, he'd chase them off somehow. He hoped he didn't know any of them personally. It would make it hard to explain to Mike. If Mike caught wind. He was hoping he wouldn't.

—Back us up to the cargo door and we'll unload. If we can't lift it, it stays behind, minus the weapons. While you're doing that I'm going to check the fuel.

—Who was your last slave?

Harry ignored her and climbed on board the Twin. He made his way to the cockpit and flipped the battery switch. The gage indicated low fuel. He switched off and went back to help Sasha.

—Come on, woman, lift that barge. Tote that bale. We have to get out of here before someone I know shows up to talk me out of this and let Mike know I tried to steal his airplane.

Harry started the gas pump to fuel the plane.

—Hand me that nozzle, will you?

—If you wanted a slave–

—I love you too, dear. Now hop to it or we'll never get back home.

Harry topped off the belly tank and dropped the nozzle. He made his way to the cockpit and barely settled into the left seat as he started number one. Sasha shut down the generator and moved the truck out of the way. She pulled the wheel chocks, threw them into the back, and gave Harry thumbs up.

A van drove onto the strip, blaring horn unheard by the occupants of the Twin Otter. Two men jumped out and ran towards the plane. It was too late. Sasha leaned out the cargo door, grabbed the latch, and pulled it shut just as one of the men took a picture.

Harry continued taxiing over the rough ground on one engine. He pointed the nose towards the downwind edge of the strip. By the time Sasha got the cargo door locked, Harry had number two started and he was turning into wind with throttles set for takeoff.

Sasha struggled to climb over the cargo on her way to the cockpit. She settled into number two's seat and fastened the seatbelt. The Twin Otter accelerated down the bumpy strip.

Harry pointed to a lever above the control panel on the Twin.

—See that control? Crank it until the indicator lines up with 30.

Sasha did as she was told. The overloaded Twin Otter lifted gently off the runway and became airborne.

The men looked at one another.

—Did you see what I just saw?

Their boss wasn't going to be happy when he heard what they had to say. One of them took out a phone and called to report the theft. At the end of the conversation he mentioned that the woman appeared to look like Harry's wife. The man on the other end wasn't convinced.

—We're sure. We both saw her. I'll send you a picture.

—What direction did the plane go?

—It stayed low enough to wash the wheels and headed up the coast.

Mike hung up and called Barbara. If anyone knew what the hell was going on with Sasha, it would be her best friend.

—Has Sasha left Harry?

There was a nervous laugh on the other end.

—What?

—You can do better than that. What the hell is going on with Harry and Sasha? He's been gone for two days, and now I've got a survey plane missing in Kenya. By the sound of it, Sasha is involved.

—That's impossible. She doesn't know how to fly.

—Whoever was doing the flying could taxi on one engine and start number two while lining up for takeoff. Does that sound familiar?

**The fuel stops** required by the heavily overloaded Twin Otter took up most of the day. At each one, they shared the routine. Harry went in search of the fuel truck and an operator while Sasha stood guard with an AK slung over her shoulder.

If there was no one to do the fueling, Harry drove the truck. When he finished, he put it back where he found it. He left a substantial amount of cash on the seat. Whoever found it would be richer than they had been for a while, but he didn't want to leave a bad taste in anyone's mouth. White men had been screwing people for long enough.

It wasn't only that, though. In the event he had to come back through, retracing his steps, he didn't want to end up in jail for theft.

So far, through it all, no one showed up to challenge them or to make an attempt to take the plane and its cargo.

They were at their final stop. As with the others, no way did Sasha take a chance on deplaning until she knew what was waiting for her. She picked up one of the AKs, slammed a mag home, racked, and climbed out.

Equipped for any eventuality, she felt comfortable on the warm tarmac. A slight breeze blew her long hair. She turned to face the wind and shook her head to move it off of her face.

Harry had been able to radio ahead for fuel. It had gone so well up to now, she was already complacent when she heard the fuel truck's engine start. The bowser approached and she followed it with an easy laziness, the rifle slung off her shoulder.

If someone planned on anything more than giving up a little fuel, she'd be prepared. Refueling went quickly after the men figured out who was supervising and who was working.

Harry stuck his head out of the cargo door.

—How's the refuel coming along?

—It's done. Thankfully, those two don't work for me or I'd have fired them by now.

—Don't sweat it. Africa time. You'll get used to it if you're over here long enough.

—Did you get the cargo secured?

—I did. We should be good for 500 feet now, no problem. I'd take on less fuel, but I don't know the availability from here on. We're going to be crossing some ground that I'm not familiar with.

—At the rate we're going, it took us all day to get this far.

—That's all right.

He grinned at her.

—Africa time, remember?

Harry stayed crouched in the cargo door, looking at his ex-wife, still happy to be checking her out after all these years. The wind caught her hair and it shimmered in the light. She still kept it long, the way she had it when they first crossed paths on the Baja.

Perhaps there was a silver strand or two now, but she was still the same beautiful woman. Even better looking as far as he was concerned. A little older. So was he. She had learned to be more patient, too. Damn but he was falling in love all over again. He reached down and offered his hand to help her into the plane.

—What are you grinning at? Suddenly I have the feeling that I'm being checked out by a pervert.

—You might be right, but we don't have time if we want to make Galkayo before dark. We have to go.

Harry ran through the pre-start checklist as Sasha settled into the right seat. He advanced throttles and taxied towards the strip. He stepped on a brake, and the Otter shifted and straightened into position to initiate a rolling takeoff.

—Flaps ten.

Sasha reached to dial it in and repeated the call when she had it. Neither were in a position to see the technical chasing after them on the takeoff roll. The Otter lurched into the air. Harry kept it as low as he dared until he disappeared over a dune. They were on the way to their final destination.

It was almost dark when he lined up for the Galkayo strip.

—Why are you lined up with the dirt? It looks like the strip is paved.

—We're wearing tundra tires. I don't want to risk damaging them on shitty broken asphalt.

Harry taxied onto the dirt tarmac and shut down in a cloud of dust. A parade of technicals and SUVs surrounded the plane and waited. He was too exhausted to question why it was Waheed and not Ali, the old man, who met them.

—Greetings. You have made it safely. I am Waheed, son of Ali. He sends his greetings to you both.

—Nothing the two of us couldn't handle. Where is Ali?

—My father is unable to meet with you at this time. He is ill. When he recovers I will take you to him.

Sasha came up behind Harry. She leaned into him.

—Do you see her?

Waheed was busy insisting on unloading the arms as soon as possible. He directed a truck to the cargo door.

—I have a place for the two of you to stay in town. You will be safe there. My men will guard you.

He made no further mention of his father. Sasha wasn't convinced his offer was genuine.

—It sounds more like we're being kept under guard.

Waheed regarded the woman through narrowed eyes. He wasn't accustomed to being questioned, especially by a woman. A white woman, at that.

—Perhaps. But you have no alternative. Come. Let us go.

Waheed escorted them to a truck.

—I don't like this, Harry.

—Neither do I, but we're here now. And no, I don't see her. I wouldn't expect to until tomorrow, maybe.

He still believed Ali would come to meet with him. After all, the whole reason for this little get-together was because the old man had asked for it. It was unlike him to not be there to greet him.

Waheed's convoy stopped at a primitive hotel where they were relieved of their weapons, searched and shown to their room.

—I'm still not liking this. What do you suppose has become of Ali?

—I know he's sick. He's probably too weak to show up tonight. I'm hoping we'll get to see him tomorrow. By the look of it, Waheed is in charge. I wonder how that's working out.

—We need to get that woman and get the hell out of here as soon as we can.

Harry hesitated before replying to his ex. What were the chances that both Eloria and Irit could be alive? He didn't know, but whoever remained, they would be coming out with him.

—There might be two women, remember?

**Large trucks bouncing** and groaning past the motel whipped up huge clouds of dust. The sounds woke Harry in the primitive motel. The dust drifted into the rooms through missing doors and windows long considered unnecessary in the desert climate.

The action had to be caused by oil-company big-rigs on the move with trailers loaded with drilling equipment. They'd be looking for a place to settle and bore the next dry well. The locals were still being sold the bill of goods that there was oil underground. From what he had been able to glean so far, Waheed was convinced. He was able to convince his followers into believing it, too.

It was all pie-in-the sky, but no one would be able to convince anyone of that. Oil companies threw around plenty of cash. It was almost as though they were seeding with it. Money always bought more arms than happiness. He wondered which of the oil companies were responsible for this latest madness, until he saw the logo.

CAN-AL.

Obviously, CAN-AL was key to the madness that had taken over. CAN-AL had to be the one that had convinced Waheed to buy into the prospects of oil in the region. Lots of cash handed to the right people probably hadn't hurt. Payoffs were common in the oil business. In fact, it was standard operating practice. Hell, he'd done his fair share over the years too.

Harry stopped caring about it when he realized that Sasha hadn't returned to the room. Surely to hell she hadn't wandered off. He opened the door and checked the hallway. The chair was empty. The guard was gone.

He walked to the end of the building and came across a second guard.

—Go back to your room.

Harry did as he was told. He waited a few minutes before climbing out the window to disappear down an alley towards what he hoped would be the local market. It occurred to him that Sasha just might have gone on another one of her shopping excursions.

It was that, or she'd been take to Waheed's compound in the town. Failing that, perhaps his compound outside of the city. He knew he'd have to find her on his own. Damn but he'd be chasing her shadow again. That woman would be the death of him yet.

The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

A little girl wearing a garland of bougainvillea around her neck peered past a doorway and motioned.

—Mr. Harry. Come. Come.

The girl spoke in heavily-accented English, barely understandable. He approached and she retreated into the shadows of the alley.

—You are Mr. Harry?

—Yes.

—I am sent to bring you. You must come. There is someone who wants to see you.

Harry had trouble understanding the girl. She spoke with an accent he had never before heard. He hoped the girl would lead him to his ex, shopping spree or not. That, or he was being led to a mugging.

As he approached, the waif grabbed his sleeve and led him on a journey through the narrow streets and back alleys. They blurred into one as though she was leading him in circles. When someone approached that the girl was unsure of, she pulled him out of sigher into the shadows.

—Are you taking me to Sasha?

—Sasha? Who is Sasha?

—Sasha is my wife.

—I know nothing of her. I cannot say where is your wife. What has become of her was not our doing. Come. We are almost there.

The girl continued to lead him until she came to a walled compound. She let go of Harry's hand and opened the gate. She pushed him through the opening and slid the bar into place behind them. She grabbed his hand again and took him across a small courtyard into a darkened room.

The sole occupant stood up and pushed the scarf away from her face. Harry couldn't believe his eyes.

Eloria

**IN THE MERC** base camp, Eloria could barely make out the call coming over the static crackle of the team's radio. Background noise made the call for help barely audible.

—... under attack ... pinned down ... aircraft destroyed ... pilot-

The staccato of automatic fire and the boom of grenades left no doubt about the trouble their comrades were in. There was no time for doubt or hesitation. She slapped Irit on the shoulder.

—Come on. We need to get ready.

She ran to Mike's tent and shook him awake.

—You have to get up. Now!

Mike, still fatigued, groaned and rolled over. His shirt was covered in sweat in the warm tent.

—What the hell is going on?

He sat up, groggy with sleep.

—A call for support just came in from the airstrip Harry is working. There's so much gunfire in the background I could barely make out what they were saying.

Mike scrambled out of his cot and pulled his pants on. He flipped his boots upside-down and knocked them together. Eloria allowed him time to splash water on his face before physically dragging him to the ops room.

The status updates came in spaced five to ten minutes apart. Waiting for the next only increased the tension. The situation didn't sound good. Gunfire and explosions continued to be broadcast along with the reports. Reportedly, the mercs were holding their own, but they were pinned down and taking heavy fire.

Irit and Eloria disappeared and returned with packs and enough supplies to get the three of them to the site. She called out to the mercs and got no response. She aimed her Galil highs and fired several rounds into the air. Not one of the mercs volunteered to accompany them on the mission to extract. It would be the three of them or nobody.

—What's in your pack, Mike?

He opened it to show her the rations and AK magazines.

—Throw in some smoke, too. And grenades. Do you have a radio?

He shook his head.

—No.

—That's all right. We have two.

Mike laid his compass on the chart on the ops room table and took a bearing to the strip. The three of them exited the tent. No mercs confronted them to attempt to talk them out of heading into danger. None volunteered to accompany them, either.

They turned their backs on the mercs remaining in camp and followed Mike as he headed off on the compass bearing, Eloria first. Irit followed a close third. The ground cover was sparse and uneven. It made for easy walking. They made good time.

As they drew closer the gunfire became more intense before growing sporadic. She worried about the condition of the men. Either both sides had settled and were secure in their positions, or it was game over and the attackers were mopping up. She didn't let on to Mike.

Eloria forced him to stop at the edge of a thicket and sat him down behind cover of a tree trunk. She and Irit walked on to flank two thickets separated by twenty-five meters. They disappeared into the brush. They reappeared in minutes brandishing bloody knives.

Eloria looked at a slack-jawed Mike. His demeanor was different, too. He had to be finally waking up to the fact that the women he and Harry had spent the night with were capable of more than drinking and screwing around. It pleased her to know that he knew it.

—Follow me, Mike. Do what I tell you.

He nodded curtly and fell in behind her. She was secretly pleased that he obeyed her orders without question. Maybe he wasn't such a softie after all.

She caught a glimpse of Irit off to the left. The woman crouched low and gestured towards another thicket surrounding a much bigger tree.

—Irit is saying the rest of them are where she is pointing. When I signal, pull the pin and throw.

A sheen of sweat covered Mike's face. He pulled a grenade out of his pack and gripped it, white-fingered. Before he had time to think about what he was doing and freeze, she instructed him to throw the grenade.

—Now. Throw it now.

Mike hesitated only for an instant and then pulled the pin and tossed. It fell short, thumped the ground and bounced into the thicket. Five men scrambled out as the grenade exploded. One by one, the girls picked them off before they could run off and disappear.

She headed in the direction of the thicket, gave it a visual and then finished off the men, one at a time, with her shotgun. Irit did the same with her pistol.

—Stay away from there. You don't want to see it.

Once again he did as he was told. She smiled to herself. He would make it.

Irit whistled and the three joined up. Then someone whistled back from where they suspected the downed crew was located. They walked towards the sound. The job was finished.

—It is safe now, Meeka. We are here.

She had difficulty pronouncing Mike's name. She called him Meeka from the very beginning.

**Irit fussed over** Harry while he made a feeble attempt to convince her his shoulder wound was no big deal. She told him to shut up and take his medicine while going into first-aid mode. She re-bandaged the shoulder that had been already treated by the mercs. She cleaned his bloody head wound and bandaged it.

—You have a concussion. There's nothing I can do for that.

It worried her, but time would take care of it if it wasn't too serious.

It became obvious to Eloria that Mike knew he would have been helpless in the firefight and subsequent mop-up completed by the two women. That he took the time to express his gratitude for coming along to do the dirty work was a plus in her view.

He was humble. Eloria liked that about him. He was all business, too. She could see that when he pulled the map sheet from his pack and began looking for an escape route. He wasn't about wasting anyone's time.

What she wasn't prepared for was the reluctance of the rescued mercs to acknowledge that they had been freed by two women. They refused to contribute anything, and after a brief discussion among themselves, one cowed son of a bitch approached them and as much as said so.

Mike hadn't been happy with that, either. He called them cowards and demanded that they leave some ammo before they left. The only thing left to do was to laugh at their antics. Although, their routine with the fingers and Harry's response turned out to be pretty accurate, even if no one knew it at the time.

At first there was confusion as to whether the foursome should return to base camp or try to make their way out to a road. When Mike pulled the aerial photos and the map from his pack, the decision was made for all of them.

He pointed at a clearing on one of the photos. Harry came to long enough to volunteer that it could be a mine. It didn't look to be far away, and if it was a mine, it could provide them with a vehicle to make good on their trek to civilization.

—We're going to need some traveling money. Maybe the mine will have a safe.

—Is Harry going to be able to keep up?

Mike didn't hesitate.

—If he can't, I'll be staying with him until he can.

That sealed it for her. She knew now that Mike could turn out to be a keeper–if only they didn't get stuck in this mess.

She and Irit made a joke out of it, but they let the guys know that they'd be marching right along with them. Whether or not Harry was capable of keeping up wouldn't be an issue, because they'd live or die together.

Mike's response came quick.

—Damn. I hope not.

**They made good** time through the light ground cover, even with Harry in tow and limping along. Late in the afternoon they came up on a pool of water deep enough to swim in. Agreement came quickly to end the trek for the day. To go further would jeopardize their safety, especially if a shortage of water became an issue.

She led them to a small bit of high ground overlooking the water. It would give them a vantage point over any big animals wanting to drink.

—We will stop here. It's a good water source. If nothing comes along to eat us we will be in good shape for tomorrow.

Mike quickly agreed, but she made sure to give him a dirty look when he made a joke and suggested that the women prepare something to eat while he lounged around the clearing. Instead she told him she was going for a swim. He wasn't so sure about that, and she had to convince him to come along.

—Don't be afraid. I'll stand guard for you. If nothing comes along to eat you, then I'll take my turn in the water.

It worked, and she spent the early darkness making love with Meeka in the full-moon shadow of the bushes along the shoreline.

No other animals came along to interrupt the celebration.

**The group struggled** to untangle themselves in the cool, damp, morning air. They'd spent the night huddled together to share body heat in order to stay warm. Harry was the worse for wear. His shoulder and arm stiffened overnight, and as well, they neglected to wake him regularly.

Nevertheless, they managed a reasonably early start, and the added motion served to get the kinks out of their muscles and get them warm and moving. By mid day, the sun and the heat of the day took over. Clothes were stuck to bodies with sweat. Perspiration ran down faces. Flies got swatted away, only to return instantly, drawn by the heat and the moisture.

Early afternoon brought them to the edge of a low escarpment overlooking their destination. The mine lay at the bottom. Eloria went ahead while the group paused to give Harry a chance to rest. She scouted the way down, marking her trail as best she could. Harry would have a tough time of it, but with all three of them helping, he would make it.

She trained her scope on the open pit and its surroundings, looking to count people and armed guards involved in the operation. Satisfied, she turned the scope towards the blockhouse guarding the only access road.

She returned the scope to her pack, shouldered it, and made her way up the rough trail, returning to the group the way she had descended. Irit left Harry and moved to greet her at the top.

—How many?

—Two guards at the blockhouse. A swing gate blocks access into the mine. I didn't see any fencing. No perimeter.

—Any vehicles we can use?

—Mostly heavy trucks. There's a Rover. The rest look to be junk.

—A Rover is good. We can trade it for traveling money once we get to civilization.

Mike stood by, listening.

—Maybe there's a safe in the blockhouse. That would make it easier.

—If they're stupid enough to keep anything there, it would.

—You're right. They'd want to get their profits off the property as soon as possible.

Irit regarded Mike. She liked her friend's lover. Both of these men had treated them well in the short time they came to know them.

—We will chance it, in the case there is something of value.

Irit's plan was a simple one. She would be the one to move towards the blockhouse and secure it. If it was needed, Eloria would provide covering fire to enable Mike to make his way to the vehicle. He would get it started while the two women kept watch for anyone that might come up on them.

The guards were unaccustomed to being on any kind of alert. Irit overheard them talking and laughing as she made her way towards the blockhouse. She interrupted their card game when she stuck her Galil and her head around the door. She quickly subdued with tape she wrapped around their hands and ankles.

The safe was old and rusty. The grenade she taped to the dial exploded and blew off the dial. She slipped a finger into the opening and twisted it to move the tumblers into what she figured was the correct position, pulled on the handle, and the door swung open.

Eloria and Mike arrived with the open-top Rover. Irit moved Harry from the shade where she left him by the side of the road and helped him into the back.

—What news?

—There was nothing. A few shillings on the guards.

She waved the paper. It was almost worthless.

—They need it worse that we do.

She tossed it on the floor.

—In that case, we're wasting time. Let's get the Rover going.

**Mike climbed behind** the wheel. Eloria rode shotgun up front. Irit sat in the back with the wounded Harry. She ignored the now constant groaning as best she could as her eyes roamed the surroundings they left in their wake for anyone who might be chasing after them.

So far, it appeared as though they would be home-free.

It was tough going on the rough and tumble access road leading to the main highway. The Rover jostled and bounced its way towards the main highway. At the junction, Mike pointed the Rover north to the border with Kenya.

On the much smoother road it became much easier for Irit to keep Harry from bouncing around in the back. Even so, she worried about his condition now that he had stopped waking up.

The RPG round whooshed and smashed into the tree directly above the Rover. It exploded and branches scattered and flew into the Rover.

She looked into the back and saw the branch sticking out of her friend's chest.

—Irit! Irit!

No answer. She jumped into the back and tried to resuscitate Irit. It was no use. Her sister had no pulse. The branch impaled her just above her heart.

She stayed in the back of the Rover and took up a position facing backwards, hoping, praying that whatever, whoever was behind them would show themselves. She was rewarded in only minutes that seemed like hours as a Jeep rounded a corner. It was gaining on them.

She pressed her forearms against the Galils in her lap to hold them secure in the bouncing Rover. She wrestled with the pin on a grenade and tossed it from the back of the Rover. It exploded ahead of the pursuing Jeep. She popped smoke and handed Mike the shotgun, yelling over the screaming engine.

—It's loaded. Take it.

She popped a second smoke and jumped out of the moving Rover. she hit the ground and rolled into a kneeling position. She stayed down, shouldered her Galil and began measured fire in the direction of the pursuing Jeep. It came at her, bearing down fast. She tossed a grenade, listened to it rattle as it landed in the Jeep, and got lucky when it exploded only ten feet past her position in the road.

She had no time to finish off the occupants. Instead, she popped two smokes in quick succession. Her concern was for another that might be coming up behind. She was proved right. She ducked out of the way in time to avoid the second Jeep.

By the time she oriented herself in the cloud of smoke, her only line of sight was in the direction of the disappearing Rover. Not wanting to risk hitting Mike and Harry with her fire, she began jogging along the road towards the border.

She knew she would make it.

It would be that, or she would die trying.

**Eloria heard the** third Jeep speeding towards her before she looked over her shoulder. It came straight at her and it didn't slow down. She'd already given her shotgun over to Mike. Out of ammunition, all she could do was run. She managed to veer off the road, cross a shallow ditch, and head cross-country in her attempt to escape.

She was overtaken fast in the open grassland. The Jeep circled wide and pulled around in front of her. Exhausted, she struggled against them unsuccessfully as they piled on and knocked her unconscious. She came to as hands searched her for weapons and then began beating her.

She parried the blows as best she could but there were too many captors with too many boots kicking at her. Rifle butts landed blow after blow. She finally collapsed in the tall grass and passed out. The beating didn't halt.

She regained consciousness in the back of the Jeep. Blindfolded and trussed up like an animal hauled to the slaughter she continued to struggle. She felt every bump the Jeep took as it bounced over what had to be a dirt trail. Beyond knowing that they were off the main road, she had no idea where she was or where she would end up.

She passed out again.

When she came to, the Jeep had halted. Still bound and blindfolded, she wiggled toes and fingers and tried moving limbs to assess the state of her injuries. Everything worked. She was incredibly sore and bloody. She considered herself lucky to be alive.

With the damage assessment over, it became time to figure out what she could do to escape her captors. Blindfolded and tied up as she was, that would be impossible for the present.

Instead, she concentrated on making herself aware of her surroundings. Muffled voices, birds, animal sounds. Shuffling. Snuffling. Roaring.

Hard as it was to believe, she decided she had to be in someone's private game preserve. Possibly the animal compound, judging by the sounds assaulting her from all directions. What the hell was going on? Who wanted her there, and why?

Above all, why hadn't she been killed and left for animal feed?

### ~ 3 ~

**HARRY STRUGGLED TO** see anything in the dim light. He barely made out a dark form in front of him. He reached out, offering a hand. Someone in front of him took it and held it gently in both of theirs. The hands were warm. He felt warm breath and then soft lips kissing them.

—Eloria? Is it you?

—Yes. We have been waiting for you.

It had been ten long years since Harry last laid eyes on Eloria. In Tanzania. During the trek through the bush to the mining camp. That was a long way from where she stood now. Not only that, he had believed her to be dead. She had to be. Mike had told him it was so.

—What the hell? What are you doing here?

Harry's eyes grew accustomed to the darkened room. The little girl moved from his side to stand beside the woman. In the darkened room and with her face obscured by a scarf he was unable to get a good look at the woman. The little girl spoke up immediately.

—Mr. Harry asked about his woman.

Eloria removed the scarf covering the girl's face. She regarded her for a moment with a look of pride before touching her chin and gently turning her face towards Harry.

—I would like you to meet my daughter. This is Meeka.

She pronounced the girl's name in the same manner as Harry recalled her saying his friend Mike's name all those years ago. The little girl smiled up at him.

Eloria turned on a light and Harry did a double take. How long had it been since their Tanzanian adventure? Nine or ten years? The girl was tall and gangly and had a grin that resembled Mike's more than he wanted to admit. To say she was a spitting image wouldn't cover it. She was the man's younger twin.

Memories of their trek across the Tanzanian bush came flooding back. The downed aircraft. His rescue by Mike and the two women. The almost two-day overland trek to the tanzanite mine. Stealing the truck and attacking the blockhouse. The race to the border to escape the gunmen chasing after them.

That chase was the sketchy part. By then his concussion had kicked in for the worse. He was left with no memory of that part of it.

How was he going to tell Mike about this? Even worse, how would Barbara take it once she found out? If she found out. He had completely forgotten that he was now searching for his own wife in all of this.

—Get Mr. Harry a chair, Meeka. He looks like he will fall down soon.

Harry didn't pass out, but he thumped into the chair and his breath escaped in an audible groan.

—We have a lot to talk about, Eloria.

—Yes, Mr. Harry. But first you must eat. Meeka, bring Harry some _chai_ and _rooti_.

The girl set the tea and warm bread in front of Harry. She pulled a chair close beside him and sat down to watch him devour the food she had brought.

—She likes you already. That is good.

He spoke through a mouthful of bread washed down by the chai.

—Is it?

—Yes. I will explain everything after you are finished eating.

**Harry pushed the** empty plate away and eased back from the table, moving his chair to face Eloria. The little girl did the same. She placed her elbows on the table and held her face in the palms of both hands.

—Just so you know, Eloria. When I found out who was on the other end of the phone I couldn't let it go. I owe you and Irit everything for getting me out of that mess at the airstrip. The fact that you were alive and asking for help had me cashing in every favor anyone ever owed me to get to you.

—Your wife is here, too.

—Yes. She is a very strong-willed woman. When she learned that it was you, I couldn't keep her away. It's not the first time she's backed me up.

—I know all about you. Ali has told me many stories about the three of you. And of Barbara's bravery also.

—I didn't tell Mike I was coming here. Mike's wife, Barbara, and Sasha are best friends. They have been for a long time. I made Sasha swear that she wouldn't tell her or Mike what we would be up to over here–not that we had any idea.

—Why is that?

—Because I don't want to threaten their marriage. I have no idea how Barbara would take news of you being alive. Initially, I thought it was you and Irit who wanted our help. Now I know that it's you and your daughter–Mike's daughter too, by the look of it. Irit was killed that day, wasn't she?

—Yes, she was.

—You were not, and now I think it is time for you to tell me what's going on.

The noise of a truck approaching the courtyard charged the atmosphere in the house instantly. Eloria motioned to Meeka and she scurried into a back room.

—Meeka. One for Mr. Harry also.

The girl returned cradling two AKs. A familiar-looking old shotgun hung off of her shoulder. Harry took the second AK and moved to the shadows in the dimly-lit room.

—You must come this way.

Meeka took Harry's hand and pulled him into the back.

Sandals slowly slapped their way across the hardened dirt towards the door. Eloria stayed in the front room. She needed to see for herself who would be outside when the door opened.

—It is Ali. I am coming in.

Eloria didn't relax until Ali was inside and the door was closed.

—I have heard rumors that a visitor has come our way.

Meeka took Harry's hand and led him into the front room. Harry slung the AK over his shoulder and greeted the old man with a warm handshake and a hug.

— _Sala'am_ , old friend. It is good to see you.

Harry regarded the man who was his friend. The passage of time hadn't been good for Ali. He looked pale and weak in the dim light. His hands shook. When he sat in the chair, he almost collapsed.

—And you, Harry. I am glad you could be here on such a short notice.

—As I told Eloria just minutes ago, nothing could keep me away when I learned who it was that needed my help.

—I have some news of your wife.

—Yes, Harry. Why is your wife not with you?

So Eloria hadn't known his wife was missing. Perhaps that would bode well when he asked for her help to find her.

—Sasha is pretty capable of taking care of herself. I didn't want to burden you with my problems until I listened to what yours might be.

**Eloria touched her** daughter on the shoulder and smiled down at her.

—Meeka, make fresh chai for us, please. I think we will talk for a while.

—Yes, mother. Would you like rooti, Ali?

—No, child. Thank you for the offering.

—Come, Ali. You must tell Harry what has become of his wife. Surely you will not make him wait any longer.

Harry immediately got the idea that perhaps Eloria knew more about the whereabouts of his wife than she was letting on.

The old man sighed and shifted in the chair. He knew his friend wouldn't be happy with the news he had of his wife. He also knew that Harry was not a man who sat idly by when threats were made against his family. He had learned that about him when he had asked for his help to rescue the man's wife a year ago.

—My son has taken your woman. He has taken your Sasha.

—Waheed. How do you know?

—Eloria's child followed him and saw your Sasha being delivered.

It surprised Harry to learn that Eloria's daughter could be so knowledgeable.

—It seems you've been teaching Meeka what she needs to know to survive in this place.

—I think you are right. But I am hoping that she will not be here much longer.

Eloria retrieved a burnoose for Harry.

—You will need this to blend in. Unfortunately, I can do nothing for the color of your skin.

—In that case, I'll just have to keep my eyes open and stay lucky.

She disappeared into the bedroom and came out with a handgun and ammunition. A k-bar in a sheath and a belt and holster appeared.

—You've been stocking up.

—It is necessary for a white woman and her daughter. People know not to mess with either of us. It helps to be aligned with Ali also.

—By the sound of it, that might not be such a good thing any more.

—You are right. That is why I called to ask you to come here.

—Ali, why did Waheed kidnap my wife? She has nothing to do with his problems.

—I think he wants to put pressure on you to ignore our friendship. He thinks you are here to help me convince our people that the oil companies are not good.

—We both know that to be true.

—Waheed has fallen in with oil companies and their treachery. He believes their lies about underground oil reserves in our clan territory. He thinks he will become rich beyond his dreams.

—But there's no oil here. Every hole has come up dry since drilling began decades ago.

—You are right. Even so, they are telling him that there is oil here in the ground. I tried to explain how the companies have been pretending to look for oil for a generation, yet they have found nothing. It is a front for American interference in my country. Now even a company from Canada is in on the trickery.

—Damn, Ali, we were all here when the last round of exploration was going on. There was nothing, not even water. Only dust.

—Waheed doesn't believe it. He has taken the side of the oil companies and their interfering leaders. He has let them come here and do as they wish.

—You will become another arm of American interventionism. Do you want that?

—No, Harry, I do not. But there is worse to come.

**Harry pushed back** from the table and stood up at the table. He didn't like the sound of that.

—How so?

—For some time now, my son has had a liking for Eloria. Unfortunately, he has no use for her child.

Tears welled in Meeka's eyes and she went to her mother across the table.

—Will you leave me, mother?

Eloria's arms surrounded Meeka. She hugged her close and tight.

—No, my daughter. I will not. Never in my life will you be here without me if I have to die to keep you safe.

—Did Mr. Harry come to help us go away?

Harry thought back to the promise he made a decade ago in the Tanzanian bush at the site of his downed aircraft. The appearance of the women earned his respect and undying gratitude when they rescued him. He knew now that he would do anything for Eloria and her daughter. Anything at all.

—When I learned both of you had been killed, I was devastated. I've been haunted knowing that I would never get the chance honor the pledge I made. You are going to get everything I promised myself I would deliver to you, and then some.

Harry turned to the little girl, still surrounded in her mother's arms.

—Meeka, I promise to you. You will not be left here by yourself.

—The little girl moved to Harry's side and took his hand.

Eloria smiled and nodded.

—Thank you, Harry. It means much to me. And to Meeka.

She took Harry at his word, and had no doubt the man meant what he said.

—Ali, you are with us, are you not?

—Yes.

With that settled, Harry could put his efforts into finding his wife.

—Now then. You must tell me where Waheed has taken Sasha. Before you do, you'd better know that I am not happy to learn that he has my wife as a prisoner, for ransom or for any reason. I promise I will move heaven and earth and kill anyone who gets in the way or harms her.

He looked directly at Ali. The old man sighed and stood up.

—I am afraid of that. So be it. My son is now a grown man. He must answer for the sins of his actions.

He steadied himself against the table. His attention moved to Eloria.

—She knows where your woman is. Inshallah, you will have her soon.

Harry's gaze shifted to Eloria. This was news. He gave her a hard look.

—You didn't tell me.

—Forgive me. I had to know where your allegiance lies.

—Now you do know. There is no reason to doubt any longer.

**Sasha only wanted** to get some relief from the hot, stuffy room in the motel where they had been keeping her and Harry since their arrival. She dressed and walked to the courtyard, passing by the guard on the way. He followed her. He had to have thought she was attempting to escape.

He grabbed her hair and dragged her out into the street. Unable to keep her balance, she fell to her knees. He pulled her up by her hair and kept on dragging and pushing her. She stumbled and fell to her knees again and bumped head-first into a truck. Semi-conscious, she could no longer struggle. Two men loaded her into the middle seat.

When she came to they found out they made a mistake. Sasha doubled up on her attempt to escape, flailing her fists at the men. She managed to land a couple of half-hearted punches, and for her efforts she was rewarded with a single punch to the head. She slumped against the seat, quieted at last.

The truck made its way out of town on the dark, narrow streets and wound its way towards Waheed's isolated compound north of the city. When she came to for the second time, the truck was stopped. The men were trying to dig it out of soft sand. She jumped out and tangled with one of them. He smacked her with a shovel, tied her feet and carelessly dumped her into the back of the truck.

—If she were my woman I would leave her out in the desert to die of thirst.

—I think this one will follow you home and kill you.

—Perhaps you are right. Why does Waheed want this woman?

—I do not know. I do only what he tells me.

—Let us go. I want to be rid of her. Sooner is better. She will be Waheed's problem.

Until then, Sasha had no idea where they were taking her. After hearing Waheed's name, she knew who was responsible. She hoped whatever was going on that put her in this predicament didn't have anything to do with Harry's friend, Ali. If that was the case, there'd be hell to pay.

**Waheed waited within** the walls of his compound. He paced back and forth waiting for the woman to be delivered to him. He would use her to distract the woman's husband and prevent him from giving assistance to his father. The oil companies were willing to pay plenty of money to someone who could help them obtain their leases. He wanted as much of that money as he could get his hands on.

The truck arrived and the men dropped Sasha at his feet. He grabbed her hair and dragged her to his hut.

—If you promise not to try to escape I will untie your feet.

His knife sliced through the rope. Sasha used the opportunity to take inventory. There was nothing. She slowly got up and leaned against Waheed for support. Her hand moved to the knife stuck in his belt. He caught it, twisted, and slammed his fist into her stomach. She went down again, unable to breathe.

This time she stayed down.

_There will be a time soon enough_ , she thought.

—You have been brought here alive at my orders. Do not try that again. If you behave, you will be treated well. If you do not, I will leave you to starve and die of thirst in the desert. The vultures will pick your bones clean.

Sasha caught enough breath to reply.

—Not if I see you first.

The expression was lost on him, as she knew it would be.

—You will be guarded. You must not attempt to leave my compound. If you do, my men will shoot you. If you make it out to the desert, you will be tracked down and killed. Your body will not be found. Do you understand?

—I understand, all right. You must understand something, too. If harm comes to me, your father's friend, Harry, will hunt you down and kill you and all of your wives and children.

Waheed considered the possible outcome only for a moment. Then he laughed.

—No one will get in here and live. Were I to write this Harry's name in the sand, it would blow away in the wind like so much dust before he will take you away from here. He will not rescue you. He will die trying.

—You forgot to add _Inshallah_.

—I do not need God's will.

He turned away from her.

—You will find out that God and Harry are two very different things.

**Sasha pushed and** pulled and fought the two men dragging her ever closer to the building. Arms flailed. Legs kicked out. Her struggle was rewarded with another punch to the head. Stunned into complying, she became a more willing subject. Waheed addressed the men fighting with her.

—Prepare this woman for the trip to the brothel. See that she has the clothing.

Someone tossed a robe at her. Still defiant, she let it drop at her feet.

—If you do not put it on, we will force it upon you.

She reconsidered. So far, her struggles had gained her nothing. She complied and the men turned to allow her some measure of privacy. She covered her face with a hijab. It was secured about her neck, probably because the men thought she would rip it off, given the chance.

Once her body was completely covered, her wrists were secured and she was shoved into the truck. Seated between two men, they all drove off, headed towards the outskirts of the town.

Confused, her mind reeling, she couldn't have heard right. A brothel? What did a whorehouse have to do with anything? She had to have misheard. Where she was going, she had no idea, but a whorehouse had to last be on the agenda.

She thought she should at least make another escape attempt, but the shovel to the head she took on the last truck ride convinced her otherwise. There was nowhere for her to go, and she wasn't about to take another fist if she had any say in the matter.

—Why am I being taken to a whorehouse?

—A white woman will command huge fees from the oil workers that come to visit.

As if she needed further explanation, the second kidnapper chimed in.

—Christian men are not allowed in Muslim brothels. All of the women in Waheed's brothel are Christian. There are no Muslim women allowed to work there.

Well, at least now she knew why Waheed was so interested in her. He was going to pimp her out for the benefit of his bank account. She wondered how much a white woman went for in a whorehouse these days. She also wondered how long it would take Harry to find this whorehouse on the Horn of Africa that was her new job description and rescue her expensive white ass.

She muttered to herself. _Son of a bitch, but I'll never hear the end of this_.

—What was it that you said?

She didn't get a chance to answer. By now they were at the bunkhouse. The men dragged her out of the truck and into a back room. A window on the opposite side was shaded. It contained a bed and a washstand. There was a frilly pink top and short-shorts on the bed.

—At least you got the props right.

One of the men pushed into a chair and held her down. A man wielding scissors approached. She thought it best not to object while he cut her long hair into something resembling a close-cropped mess.

—How many women are here?

—You are number four.

—Is it busy?

—Very.

—How do they pay?

—With U.S. dollars.

_Damn you, Harry, get your ass over here_. The sooner the better, before those oil workers ruin me for life.

With nothing else going for her, she changed her tack and pretended to play nice. Perhaps she'd be able to figure out where they kept the cash. She didn't get much time to do it. Someone turned out the lights.

Sasha ended up pushed hard into a corner of the darkened room. She bumped into a wall and slid to the floor. The door closed and a bar slid into place.

**A burst of** gunfire aimed through an open window ricocheted through the room in Ali's compound. Harry hit the floor and pulled Ali with him. When the noise and the muzzle flashes ended, Ali moaned and lay still beside Harry. He grabbed the old man's wrists and dragged him into the safety of the bedroom.

—You must take Eloria and her daughter to safety. They do not deserve this.

The old man gasped for breath before exhaling his last breath. Harry was beside himself. He came all this way to help Ali with his problem and he had ended up getting him killed in the process. One problem down, another one to go, but there was no sense losing sight of the objective. He would have to track down his wife without Ali's assistance.

But first he would need more obvious help.

Harry searched through the room looking for a weapon stash. He found an AK and some ammunition and an old backpack. He filled the pack with mags and a couple of grenades. The RPG came with three rounds. He took those, too.

He took a quick look outside. Every time he turned around there was a truck parked in a street. When he needed one, there was nothing. Word must have gotten out to stay away from Ali's place.

Instead, he inventoried the weapons, checking and re-checking the condition and the actions. All were well-used but freshly oiled. Ali knew how to keep things functioning, and he was glad for that. Next on his agenda was locating Sasha.

Piece of cake–except for one little thing. He had no idea where to start.

**Harry wandered Ali's** house, searching for Eloria. Unable to find her, she had to have slipped away when he became distracted with the weapons. He didn't know if her disappearance was intentional, but it meant that he'd have to search for Sasha by himself. Everything he tried to do in this place was becoming impossibly difficult.

Ali's death certainly freed him from one obligation. His second, to Eloria, now seemed to have receded into the background since her disappearance. He was left to wonder if, by her sneaking off, his obligation became one of getting her daughter–who he now knew without a doubt to be Mike's daughter–out of this place.

That could be considered kidnapping if the child's mother wasn't in agreement. He had no stomach for that, even though Meeka had turned about to be his friend's daughter. He just couldn't put himself or Mike and Barbara in that situation.

—Mr. Harry.

It was Meeka.

With everything else going on, he'd forgotten that the girl was still in Ali's house. Could she be a help, or would she turn out to be a hindrance? Given how competent he knew her mother to be, perhaps she had passed on some of her abilities to her daughter.

—We need to get out of here, Meeka. Now that Ali is gone, this place will get taken over by Waheed and his followers. Do you know where your mother went?

—No. I do not know.

Harry was betting that wherever she went, a trail of death and destruction would follow in her footsteps until she avenged Ali's death to her satisfaction.

—Is it possible that she might have gone looking for Ali's killer?

—Yes. It is possible.

Just great. He had been left alone to babysit a ten-year-old. How the hell would he ever find his wife if he had to drag a child around with him? That he was calling her his wife even though they weren't yet married pretty much told him what he had to do.

—I think we had better start to look for Sasha on our own. Do you think you can help me do that?

—Yes, Mr. Harry. I will help you.

At least one of them was confident. Not so much for him.

—Where do you think we should start?

Shit. Now he was attempting to come up with a plan based on a child's reasoning.

—I think we should go to the girl place.

_The girl place?_ What the hell?

—Where is that, Meeka?

—It is a building beside a hill on the way to the airport.

It was looking more and more like he would be postponing any plans for a wedding until he could come up with his bride. Christa wouldn't be a happy camper if he ended up coming home without her mother. Not to mention what Barbara would do to him, probably when he was wide awake.

Damned if he didn't know how he got to where he was. Sasha had disappeared. Eloria was nowhere to be found. He was stuck with a ten-year-old. Well, perhaps stuck wasn't the right word, but that's how he felt. What the hell would he do with her while he was trying to track down his wife? He answered his own question when it suddenly occurred to him yet again that Meeka was his best friend Mike's daughter.

—Meeka.

—Yes, Mr. Harry?

—Would you like to go back to your house to wait, or do you want to come with me?

There was another problem. He had absolutely no idea where the hell he had to go in this hot, dusty hell-hole of a town. He made the decision on the spot.

—Instead of that, perhaps you would like to be my guide.

He regretted his words immediately.

**Harry's problem became** one of not putting the daughter of his best friend in any more danger than absolutely necessary. How the hell could he manage that while searching for two women?

—Meeka, I need a guide. Do you know anyone?

A last-ditch attempt at keeping her safe. If she knew someone-

—I can show you, Mr. Harry. I have learned the streets very good. My mother taught me that I should put everything inside my memory.

—In that case, we need to sit down and have a pow-wow.

She looked up at him. He squatted down beside her and they sat together.

—What is a pow-wow?

—It's kind of like a meeting to figure out what's going on. Where we need to go. Who we need to see to get there.

How would he be able to make rescuing his wife a priority over finding the girl's mother? In his mind he already knew what he had to do. How would Meeka take the decision? Instead, what came out of his mouth was the complete opposite of what had been running through his head.

—We're going to find your mother.

_No little girl should be without her mother_.

He wasn't being entirely honest with himself. He already knew that having Eloria on his team of one would be a huge bonus. The trek across Tanzania the four of them made the day his plane was shot up had taught him that. Without her and her friend Irit, he and Mike would have been dead meat in short order, food only for the screaming hyenas.

Now all he had to do was figure out a way to get it in gear for the girl's sake, hit the proverbial road and locate the women, all while keeping the girl safe. If he could pick up the Eloria's trail of death and destruction in her attempt to avenge Ali, they should be good to go.

Piece of cake.

—Here's what I think we should do, Meeka.

**Harry knew he** had to get it together in short order if he was going to find Eloria and his wife. Shit, now he had to worry about Sasha being number two on his honey-do list. If he ever made it out of this alive he'd better not ever admit that to her. She'd remind him until the day he died–which might not be that far off if how things had gone up to now were any indication.

He had no clue where to begin. Ali was dead. There'd be no help there. Someone had mentioned a mysterious brothel. Why would Sasha be shipped off to a brothel? In this country, men wanted women of their own faith. A man wouldn't be out looking for a Christian woman to screw.

Then it dawned on him. Waheed. He had been bought out by the oil companies. Perhaps he had a side business servicing the roughnecks. It made more sense than anything else he could come up with. Could his wife have been forced to work in a whorehouse?

At least now he had ammunition for when she accused him of putting her in the number two spot on his list of things to do before he died. Speaking of which, that damned woman might still be the death of him yet. If he hadn't been left with a child to take care of, he'd be a lot keener to get started.

If only he could track down Eloria. He was convinced things would get a lot easier. Well, perhaps not a lot easier. A little easier, maybe.

Which wasn't saying much.

Eloria

**ELORIA SLOWLY CAME** to on a metal floor in some sort of metal building. The steady drone of engine noise began to penetrate the fog created by the multiple beatings. Groggy and hurting behind belief, she finally realized she was on board an aircraft.

She wiggled her hands and flexed her ankles again and again to get the blood flowing. Everything appeared to be working. She wasn't so sure before she passed out after the last beating. It had to be hours ago now.

The stripped interior revealed the bare metal insides of the aluminum tube. It resembled Harry's interior on the plane he flew, although this one was much larger and had twin engines.

No seats. No belts. Heavy-looking wooden crates were piled on each side of a makeshift center aisle. She recognized them as boxes containing arms. She had to be on a flight to deliver guns and ammunition. But where?

The engine noise subsided and it reminded her of Harry doing the same in the plane that took her to the job in the Tanzanian bush. She hoped she wouldn't be subjected to the same gut-wrenching approach Harry had put her through. Even though she wasn't hung over, the beatings left her weak and confused even now.

She wrestled with a pack on the floor beside her with one hand. She rummaged through it looking for anything she could use to put up a fight. There was nothing. Instead she doused herself with the bottle of water she came up with and that helped bring her around.

She groaned and managed to force herself upright against the bare metal. She twisted her neck and managed to get a look out a cabin window. There was nothing but dry desert beneath her. Before she could get a better look, wheels bumped onto sand.

The opposite window revealed some kind of four-engine plane parked on the side of the sand strip. The old plane taxied past and halted beside a dilapidated, tin-roofed outbuilding.

Wherever she had landed was surrounded by even more desert.

The cargo door opened from the outside. She didn't get a good look, but it appeared there were many technicals surrounding the plane.

Someone unlocked the chain securing her wrist to a box. She was dragged to the open door and pushed out. She fell on her back onto the sand. Even with that as a cushion she almost passed out again until she finally managed to catch her breath.

Where had they taken her? Why was she still alive?

**Eloria pretended to** be weak rather than to show the defiance she almost couldn't hold back. She had to figure out what where she was and what was going on. Her life probably lay in the balance. She had to keep alive as long as she could. If she could do that, perhaps there was a chance of escaping. For the time being she didn't concern herself with where that would lead.

Once the crates hit the ground they were opened and the contents delivered to the trucks surrounding the airplane. AKs, bags of magazines, boxes of ammunition, grenades, mortars, RPGs–all disappeared. When the job was done, the trucks moved away in a cloud of blowing sand and dust.

The two men left behind tied her arms and feet and threw her into the back of the remaining truck. It caught up to the others and followed them along a rough trail to a paved road. She passed a crude, hand-lettered sign and a village came into view.

The sign didn't help. She'd never heard of the place. She still had no idea where she was.

**The crowd of** men surrounding her parted and a tall, regal man approached. He looked her over, appraising her. Others in the crowd deferred to him. No one spoke unless he addressed them. Eloria began to feel the vague beginning of fear.

The man was obviously a leader. What would he do with her? Was she to be his wife? How many did he have already? A mother to his children? Babysitter? She wondered how many babysitters there were in this neighborhood. Probably not many–if any at all.

She would have to wait before showing her hand.

The man untied her and handed over a bag of clothes. He grabbed her, hauled her up off the ground, and yanked her in the direction of a tin-roofed building without windows. She would have no chance to escape.

She ended up pushed into the building. In the dark, she undressed, took the _niqab_ out of the bag, and put it on over her head. The man appeared pleased when she came out in the clothes he had given her, so she took a chance.

—Where am I?

—You are in northern Somalia.

—Who are you?

—I am Waheed, son to Ali. He is the leader of the clan to which I belong.

—You speak English well. Where did you go to school?

—In Kenya, on the outskirts of Mombasa.

—Your family must be rich if they could afford to send you there.

—Perhaps. But that is not important.

He spoke a name and a woman appeared.

—She will take you to get clean.

The woman motioned for Eloria to follow her. In another room she stepped into a tub and hot water surrounded her. The water soothed her injuries. She relaxed and washed away the dust and dirt of the last several days. It was a welcome relief, and she forgot all about her troubles until it was time to get out of the tub.

The woman led her to a kitchen and fed her. The bread and hot chai helped bring her around. Her one worry was how long she would have to stay here by herself.

How long would it be before she found a way to escape?

**Waheed turned Eloria** over to the women in his camp with instructions to nurse her back to health. For the most part she was left alone. She was allowed to wander around the small town unaccompanied. She used the time to get her bearings. By the time she had committed the streets and back alleys of the town to memory, she was moved to Galkayo. That was where she met Waheed's father, Ali.

That was also where she learned she was pregnant.

She hid it from everyone until the last month. By then, it became impossible to arrange the flowing robes around her rapidly enlarging belly. The pregnancy gave her a degree of status. Everyone thought the baby would be born into Waheed's clan.

It was not to be.

Without a doubt Eloria knew it to be Mike's. When they met that night in the bar, she had trouble pronouncing his name. She took to calling him Meek. He didn't care, and she liked him right away. Now it all seemed so long ago.

When the baby girl was born, she named her Meeka. From that day on she was never without a weapon to protect her daughter. If she ever had to fight for her life, the result would not be a pretty sight by the time she was finished with whoever threatened either one of them. That never happened, and she was able to roam the city freely, accompanied by her daughter.

As the girl grew older, Eloria taught her the skills she would need to become self-sufficient in the event they became separated. That's the word she used to tell Meeka about it. What she meant was that she could be killed, or moved, the same way she had arrived here. She lived in constant fear that the two of them would be separated.

Ali, Waheed's father, kept his eye on Meeka. He liked both her and her mother. He showed it in his manner and his way of talking with them. They became regular visitors to his compound, and eventually ended up moving into a place the old man provided for them. She felt more secure there than she had with Waheed.

When relations between the old man and his son became strained because of the tensions relating to oil company business in the region, Waheed began staying away from his father.

By association, he stayed away from both of them, also.

**Over time, Eloria** and her daughter gradually became accepted in Ali's camp. Years passed and Meeka grew like a desert flower, always under the watchful eye of her mother. She taught the girl how to disassemble and clean firearms. She took her out into the desert to teach her how to load, hold and fire those same weapons.

In time, the young girl became a proficient equal to the rebel children photographed with automatic weapons slung over their shoulder that became popular in the mainstream press. There was one difference between the photographs of the rebel children and Meeka, however. When Eloria was finished with her, Meeka could hit her targets. In fact, she rarely missed. That, and she was white.

The changes slowly overtaking the region were being forced on the people by the oil companies and the clan leaders they paid off and bought out. All of them were trying their best to buy their way into being permitted to drill for the black gold. The companies had convinced almost everyone that unlimited riches were buried underground.

So much money was changing hands with the various clans that the situation had deteriorated into open warfare. While her mentor Ali was in favor of maintaining distance from the greed and outright lies and trickery of the foreign oil companies, his son, Waheed, was in bed with them and selling out to anyone with the cash.

As a result, much strife between father and son ensued. Eloria believed the status quo would not be maintained for much longer. She began to search for a way out of the situation that wouldn't jeopardize the safety of her or her daughter.

She kept her eyes and ears open, but it wasn't looking good.

**As Meeka got** older, Eloria began taking her daughter to Ali's campfire in the evenings. She would help the old man wrap himself in his blankets against the cool desert evenings. He would first pour each of them his sweet, hot chai, gather the blanket against the cool air, and tell stories of his adventures in northern Somalia. Sometimes Ali began with tales of enduring massive drought that caused entire villages to be relocated into huge relief centers.

He spoke of owning the many camels that made him a rich man. He told them of leading camel caravans along ancient trade routes that were still in use.

It was during one of those story-telling nights that he began a story of two men who had come back into his life from long ago. The three men had began their friendship and gotten to know one another while they were employed by one of the first oil companies that came into the area.

Long after they had left the region to return home, Ali had received a phone call asking for help in recovering the wife of one of the men. The man, Harry, had asked Ali if he could provide some assistance in the form of a couple of technicals and some men to operate them in a trek across the desert.

The two men, accompanied by a woman who he later discovered was Mike's wife, arrived by plane at their old landing strip located west of Eyl. He had met the plane as requested, and discovered that it had been modified and outfitted as an airborne technical with twin .50-caliber weapons pointed out the cargo door.

When the men arrived, they came complete with fresh arms for Ali's men. It impressed him that they had come equipped to do some serious damage, consequently he lent his full support to their undertaking.

By the time Ali's story was brought to an end several nights later, Eloria was convinced the two men he spoke of were the same two men she had met in Tanzania in the bar. If that was true, Ali knew the father of her daughter.

She had much to think about over the next weeks. The identity of the woman that had accompanied the men on the rescue mission had to be Mike's wife. That meant that there would be no way she could involve him in getting her daughter away to safety.

On the other hand, she had come to Harry's rescue in the bush after his plane had been damaged. Perhaps that meant that he could be talked into returning and helping her.

After all, he owed her his life. It was long past time to collect.

### ~ 4 ~

**WAHEED KICKED THE** door to the brothel open and shoved Eloria into the room. She collapsed on the floor and he slammed and locked the door behind her. Someone yelled and another door slammed. A vehicle drove off and the brothel went quiet again in the cloud of dust that drifted over it.

Sasha moved to comfort the woman groaning on the floor beside her. She waited for her to quiet before helping her into a sitting position beside her against a wall. In the darkened room, it was difficult to discern anything about the woman.

—You're safe for now. I don't know what they expect of us.

The woman responded with an accent so strong it was difficult for Sasha to understand.

—English woman. What are you doing here?

Sasha took an educated guess.

—Eloria?

—Yes. I am Eloria. What are you called?

—Sasha. I'm Sasha.

—Sasha? You are the wife of Harry, are you not?

The woman's response took her by surprise. Her confused brain went into overtime, trying to come up with why they were both in so much trouble. It was put aside when she recognition finally dawned. Sasha reached for the woman and hugged her.

—We've been looking for you. Did Harry finally find you?

She almost said, _Both of you_ , meaning her daughter also, but she caught herself.

—Yes.

—What did you do to end up in here?

—My friend and protector Ali has been killed. I wanted to go in search of the enemies who put an end to his life. In order to do so, I left my daughter with your man. I think he will take good care of her.

—You're right. He will.

With Eloria on the floor beside her, Sasha wondered if Waheed would end up searching for her daughter and Harry next.

—Welcome to the crowbar hotel, girl. I knew we'd meet up eventually.

Eloria wondered at the words.

—What do you mean?

—Crowbar hotel. Jail. Prison.

—Ever since I learned that Waheed has his eyes on Meeka, my daughter, I have been wondering how long it would take him to lock me here. Now I know.

—Do you know where Meeka and Harry have gotten to?

—The last I saw they were together.

—You can be sure he'll take good care of her.

—I think she will take care of him also. He needs someone who knows the way. Meeka knows all of the streets and alleys of this city. I made her learn. I told her to learn the best vehicles also.

—I don't think a Benz is the way to go here.

—You are right. A technical is better. She is able to drive one.

—She must be just a bit short to reach everything.

—Not at all. She does so while she stands up.

—Good grief. You've kept her a busy girl.

—I try to keep her out of Waheed's sight the best I could. I thought that to send her off to discover things for herself was the best way. I think it was a good thing to do.

—I hate to change the subject, but how are we going to get out of this aluminum jail?

Eloria got up on the bed and motioned for her to hand her the chair. She climbed onto it, reached for the roof vent and pushed it open. She stuck her head through.

—I do not see any guards. I think we are the only people here.

She reached under her jilbab and pulled out a knife.

—I knew that this tent I have been forced to wear would become good one day.

Eloria began working at the thin aluminum with the blade as she sawed back and forth on the trailer's roof. Her attempt to enlarge the opening was successful after only a few minutes as she produced an opening large enough to climb through. She pulled her head down and motioned to Sasha.

—Push.

Sasha went from steadying the chair to assist Eloria as she struggled to climb up through the hole. With her upper body successfully above the roof, she pushed with her hands. The robe caught on the sharp aluminum, halting her progress. From below, Sasha tugged and had enough success to allow Eloria to climb out onto the roof.

Eloria reached down to take Sasha's wrists in a strong grip. She huffed and managed to pull Sasha's torso through the opening. She got a knee on the roof and pushed and she was beside Eloria on the roof. The women held out their arms to greet the strong breeze. It blew out their robes, making them appear to float above the trailer.

—You're right. There is absolutely no one around. Now what the hell are we going to do?

—We need to find weapons. Can you fire a gun?

—I'm mildly familiar with an AK-47 and a rocket launcher.

—Harry married well.

—We're divorced.

—I think you will not be apart for long if he values talents such as those.

—To tell you the truth, I never thought of it like that.

Eloria regarded the woman standing beside her.

—Then perhaps you should.

**Harry put his arm** around Meeka and hugged her close, as if to say everything would be all right. She smiled up at him and he knew he had won her over unconditionally. His heart melted and he knew he couldn't disappoint her. If only he felt as confident in the final result of his decision as he appeared to her.

—Are we going to look for your woman now, Mr. Harry?

—No, sweetheart. We're going to find your mother.

The little girl's face beamed up at him. Considering what Eloria had done for him in Tanzania, he had to find her first. He knew too from the look on Meeka's face that it was the right thing. Sasha would have to wait.

—There is a truck we can borrow.

—That won't be much use. I can't drive and shoot.

—I can drive.

What the hell? He had to see this.

—Then let's get started on our quest.

Meeka took Harry's hand and pulled him down the maze of streets past narrow, shaded alleys fronted by dark doorways. When he stopped for a better look, she went back and dragged him away from whatever had caught his attention.

—Mr. Harry, we look for a truck. This alley is too narrow.

Harry regarded the girl. As with both Mike and her mother, once committed, Meeka didn't stray from the objective.

Meeka took them to a square at the end of a street surrounded by squat rows of shops, all closed. Siesta. Everyone was off chewing _khat_ or sleeping away the oppressive afternoon heat. Two technicals parked under a shade-tree with no one around called his name.

—Which one do you like, Mr. Harry?

There was no one to object as he retrieved ammo and an RPG left behind in a beat-up wreck of a technical.

—This one. It looks to be better maintained.

An obvious lie, given how dilapidated they appeared.

—Come on. You're driving, Meeka.

It was almost like Mike was here with him. The girl turned the key and the small truck stuttered and groaned reluctantly to life. He climbed in beside her and she floored the clutch as she balanced precariously with her legs against the seat.

Meeka white-knuckled the wheel with one hand and worked the shift lever with the other. She let out the clutch and the truck jerked into first and began porpoising down the street. By the time Meeka hit second she had it down, all while standing up behind the wheel. Her mother would be proud.

So would Mike.

—Where do you think we should start, Meeka?

—Waheed would like my mother. She did not want to do anything with him. Perhaps he would put her in the girl place.

—Girl place? What's that?

—Yes. Sometimes I follow him there and wait behind a hill. It is where himself likes sometimes to go.

Harry had no clue what she was talking about. Girl place?

—Perhaps you should take us in that direction.

Meeka wound the truck through the narrow side streets she was accustomed to walking by herself. Sometimes she'd miss a shift but she recovered and carried on as if it was normal.

—Who taught you to drive, Meeka?

—My mother. Sometimes she takes one of these for me to practice. She wants me to learn. She says I must prepare to take care of my own self when she is sent away.

Well, Eloria had definitely gone away. Now it was up to the two of them to find her. Finally he felt as though he was doing something, even if he was being chauffeured around town by a ten-year-old.

**A cloud of** dust trailed Meeka and Harry in the technical as she drove them, bouncing and bumping, towards the outskirts of the city. She took a turn off of the main road and ended up on a sand trail that followed along the back side of a hill. In no time they were on the city's very edge.

—The girl place is past here.

Meeka gestured through the hill.

—We must go to the top.

Harry wanted to get eyes on the place before he moved on it. He worried more about Meeka than what he would have to do. Mike would never forgive him if something happened to her.

—Then we'd better check out the high ground first.

Meeka steered the technical, keeping it behind the edge of the crest overlooking the trailer. They got out together. Harry took Meeka's hand. He wanted to make sure she didn't become visible against the backdrop of the blue sky.

The brothel's tin walls shimmered in the late afternoon sun. It would be twilight soon. Darkness would provide good cover for their operation. He wondered if it would provide the same cover if the women he was looking for weren't inside.

A cloud of dust drifted behind a van that stopped in front of the trailer. The CAN-AL Oil logo stood out on the door. Half-a-dozen men exited. Laughing and back-slapping, they were eager to get down to business. They almost ran towards the trailer. Harry had to move fast if he was going to shut this thing down and retrieve Eloria.

If she was even here. He had no idea.

He fired a burst in the direction of the truck. The rounds ricocheted through the cheap aluminum of the trailer. That wasn't so smart.

He readjusted and directed a couple of single-fire rounds at the air conditioner on the roof. The sounds were amplified by the sound bouncing off tin walls.

If that didn't get them moving, nothing would.

The door slammed back against the trailer and men stumbled out into the open. To keep them going in the right direction, Harry fired a few single rounds to kick up sand around them. Before long the truck disappeared even faster than it had arrived. In its wake only a cloud of dust remained to announce that it had been there.

Two armed men exited the trailer and it was time to get down to business. He squeezed off single rounds and picked them off one after the other. Nothing else moved. Then, from the rear of the building, another walked into view followed by a second.

It looked to Harry like they were making their way towards town. Something twigged and he motioned for Meeka to drive the truck over the hill. He leaned on the horn to draw their attention.

They halted and looked up at the crest of the hill. Damn if it wasn't the women. Harry waved.

—It's your mother, Meeka. Sasha too.

The girl leaned on the horn and jumped up and down, waving her arms and screaming at her mother. The woman waved back and started towards the hill.

Puffs of sand began to walk their way towards the women. The shooter found his mark and one of them stumbled and fell to the ground. The second bent over the downed woman. She looked up and scrambled for cover.

Harry couldn't be sure. He tried to remember what Sasha was wearing the last time he saw her. A head covering. A robe. What color? Dammit. He was almost certain that was her laying in the sand.

Harry pulled the pin on a grenade and tossed it in the direction of the gunfire. A satisfying whump followed and a sea of red-tinged sand exploded into the air. A direct hit.

One down. A whole lot more to go.

—Come on Meeka, let's do a quick run along the perimeter to check for bad guys and then get our rear ends down the hill.

Harry climbed onto the back to man the .50 caliber. He scanned ahead as they worked the edge but there was nothing.

—All right, let's get down there.

He was scared to death of what he was certain he would find.

The woman pulled off her hijab and Harry tossed an AK at her. He jumped out of the truck and bent over the woman on the ground. Already a thick pool of blood formed in the sand beneath her. Harry bent to listen to her difficult breathing.

—Meeka. Come here. Quickly.

He pulled Meeka down with him. Eloria's lips moved. The head covering muffled her words. Harry cut it off and the two of them listened to her mother's final words, barely audible through her shallow breathing.

—Yes, Eloria. Meeka will be safe. I give you my word.

He turned to the little girl crouched in the sand beside her mother.

—Did you hear your mother?

—Yes. I listened.

—What do you think?

—I think we must do that, Mr. Harry.

Harry reached to close Eloria's eyes and carried her lifeless body to the truck. He checked for a pulse one last time. He had to be sure. Meeka watched him cover her face. The girl seemed unsure of what to do.

—Do you want to say goodbye?

—I did that, Mr. Harry.

—Then let's go. You're still the driver.

She wiped away a tear and smiled. Harry turned to Sasha.

—We'll be off to a rough start, but once she gets going it will be smooth sailing. Get in beside your goddaughter.

Sasha hesitated.

—I'm not ready yet. Give me a minute.

**Sasha took Harry's** pack out of the back of the technical and handed it to him.

—I want to see that photo again.

—What's the problem?

He pulled out the picture of Eloria and her daughter.

—We can't leave Meeka here. Ali is too old to take proper care of her. His son isn't the swiftest camel in the desert. We're going to have to get her off of this continent and take her with us.

—Ali is dead. And now her mother, too. I'm taking the girl to Mike and Barbara.

—Just like that?

—Just like that. If they won't have her, we will.

—Somehow, I don't think that's going to be a problem.

—It had better not be, but I think you're right.

Harry couldn't suppress his grin any longer.

—What are you looking at?

—You in that robe. Damn, woman, who outfitted you in that getup? And what's underneath it?

—If you know what's good for you, you won't say another word.

—Nice hair. I'd do you.

—You won't ever again if you're not careful.

—How much were they asking?

—In my estimation, not enough. Can we get out of here?

—Can you walk on your own, or do I have to carry you?

Sasha kicked sand in Harry's direction.

—In these parts I don't think that's how the women are known to treat their men. Come on, it's time.

She picked up an AK and a second mag and followed Harry to the technical. Meeka took them a hundred meters before Sasha instructed her to stop.

—We can't stop. We have to get going, Sasha.

—What about the others? Are we going to leave them there?

—Others?

Harry armed the RPG and fired off a round in the direction of the trailer. Aluminum and sand settled in a huge cloud of dirt and dust.

—My responsibility is to you and to Meeka and her mother. Do you want to pile on more? We need to be getting out of here. There's another truck behind the trailer. It's free for the taking.

—Since you put it that way-

She didn't hesitate for long.

—I was afraid I wouldn't see you ever again. What the hell took so long?

—After Ali was killed, Eloria disappeared. I wouldn't be surprised if she left a trail of bodies on the way to the brothel in her attempt to avenge his killing. She left Meeka with me. It took us a while to find a truck, and we sort of wandered our way here.

—You got lost?

—More like momentarily displaced. The faster we get out of here, the less we'll have to deal with it and the better off we'll all be.

—What's the plan?

—Where have I heard that before?

—Meeka, Harry isn't so good at planning. What do you think?

—I would like to look for my father now.

—If that's good enough for Meeka, it's good enough for us.

**Sasha rode shotgun** beside Meeka. It gave her a chance to keep an eye on the girl as she drove the technical. How a ten-year-old could do it standing up the way she did was foremost on her mind, even if the girl had trouble keeping the thing moving without jack-rabbiting down the streets.

—Meeka can really handle this thing, Harry. Who do you think showed her how to do it?

—Why don't you ask her?

—My mother showed me how to do it.

She turned her tear-stained face and smiled through a look of pride at Sasha's compliment.

—We are going to Ali's house on the long way. It will be dark when we arrive.

—How's your AK, Sasha?

—Full of sand.

—No problem. They're reliable that way. That's why they're the weapon of choice in these places. That, and they're cheap.

Ali's compound came into view. Meeka brought the technical to a shuddering halt as she released the clutch. No light escaped the windows. Harry got out and looked in, but he could see nothing of value in the dark.

—I didn't think there'd be anyone. What's our situation with munitions?

—I've got a couple of partial mags.

She wanted there to be more. She had grown accustomed to handling the rifle over the years despite all her objections. After Harry taught her how to use one on the Baja, it had proved to be a pretty reliable weapon, even for her. That she had become accustomed to it surprised her even more.

—There's one can for the .50 and a single round for the RPG.

—I have this.

Meeka pulled back her jacket, revealing a shotgun. Sasha gasped, taken aback, unsure of how to deal with a ten-year-old carrying a gun.

—Don't let it worry you. There are children younger than Meeka who routinely walk around with AK-47s across their shoulders.

—I've seen pictures of those kids.

She looked closer at the shotgun in the dim moonlight.

—Is it my imagination or just the poor light? I know it's been a while, but that sort of looks just like Mike's old sawed-off.

—You're right. It is.

—How did it get here?

—Where do you think Mike got it the first time?

—All this is too much for me right now. Let's get out of here. You have a plan, right?

—Yes I do.

—Are you going to let us in on it, or are we back on the Baja?

—Woman, we're divorced, remember? I don't want any back talk.

—Mr. Harry, you told to me that you would marry Sasha.

The cat was out of the bag now.

—Oh Mr. Harry, you're turning into such a romantic under the desert stars in the dark of night.

—I haven't asked you yet, woman.

—There are no priests in Galkayo or Garowe. They are killed.

—See? That's why I don't have a ring for you.

For the time being, Meeka was the only one who hadn't forgotten about her mother in the back of the truck.

**One problem remained** for Harry–what to do with Meeka's mother in the back of the technical. It was more than he was prepared to deal with when he arrived. He thought he'd be getting her off of the continent. Now he was rescuing her daughter. Mike's daughter. One is traded for the other.

In a way he was grateful for that. At least he wouldn't be presenting a woman Mike thought long dead, too. With Barbara-

He hadn't been able to save Eloria. He had her daughter. He had his wife. Mission accomplished, as far as he was concerned. The only thing left was to get them out as fast as he could. He tossed it all out of his head.

One thing at a time.

—We're going to the airport. Can you take us there, Meeka?

Her reply was matter of fact.

—Yes. I know how to go there.

Meeka turned the technical around and headed towards their new destination. She wound her way through the dark, deserted streets and alleys illuminated only by the technical's misaligned headlights.

—Meeka, can you pull over for a minute? There's something I need to do.

Harry got out, smashed the lights and did the same to the brake lights. When he finished he climbed up to the .50.

—Your young eyes are good. There's no sense drawing attention to us if we don't have to.

—Yes, the moon is good. No one will see us.

Harry had his hopes pinned on Mike's stolen Twin Otter still sitting unmolested and in one piece on the concrete pad where he left it. If it was shot up, there's no telling what shape it would be in.

In his mind he was already running through images of leaking fuel tanks, failed electronics and engine damage from gunfire or worse. If the Twin wasn't airworthy, for whatever reason, it would be a long truck ride to Djibouti to collect plane tickets home for the three of them.

Sasha checked her two mags and racked the AK. She yelled at harry through the technical's missing back window.

—Do you think we'll have trouble?

—I'm hoping that the strip will be unguarded. During daylight hours someone will punt an artillery shell or a mortar and get lucky when it lands close–mostly misses. I'm counting on the plane being serviceable if it hasn't been looted.

—Dammit, Harry, we can't make an overland trip in this thing. Isn't Djibouti five hundred miles north of here? It's probably longer by dirt road. And gas. We'll need gas and water and food.

—I know that. That's why we're headed to the airport. We'll fuel up and be airborne in no time.

If only. He mouthed a silent two-word prayer. The condition of the plane was a big if, and he'd be taking a chance. They'd have to wrestle with the fuel bowser and get it to the plane.

If there were guards asleep in the outbuildings, they couldn't alert them. Gunfire would sound the alarm for more of them to come to the airport to see who was attacking.

Their chances were slim, there was no doubting it. ##Accept it and move on, he told himself.

—Harry. There's something else you might want to think about.

Before he answered, he ran through everything he could. They had Meeka. Unfortunately, misfortune and a well-aimed bullet guaranteed that Meeka's mother wouldn't be making the trip. They had some armament left over in case shooting started. With luck it wouldn't be a prolonged gun battle.

A quick DI would tell him if the plane was serviceable and capable of becoming airborne to complete their escape to Djibouti. That the plane needed fuel was a huge problem. If they could just get the fuel truck up to it without alerting anyone. Of course, there could be a chance that someone would be awake and paying attention.

What could go wrong? And what did he have to think about beyond getting them all out of here and on the way to Djibouti?

—What's that?

**Sasha didn't hesitate** to question Harry. She never did. It was one of the things he liked about her in these situations.

—I don't like to be the bearer of sad tidings, but we have Eloria's mother. Have you forgotten?

—Not likely.

—You have a plan, right?

—You betcha.

—Are you going to tell us, or are you going to put us even deeper in the dark than we currently are in this hellhole in the middle of the night?

—Meeka, pull over for a couple of minutes. I want to spank your Aunt Sasha.

—That is not good, Mr. Harry.

Harry's grin was barely visible in the moonlight.

—Don't you worry, Meeka. Your Aunt Sasha has an AK in her lap. And Mr. Harry, if you please, don't be saying things like that when your goddaughter is within earshot. You could get more than a measly AK up your rear end.

Meeka looked at Sasha, knowing that she had talked back. She ignored it because it seemed as though it was expected.

—What is god-daughter?

There was no time to explain. Already Meeka was pulling the technical off to the side of the road. Harry let go of the .50 and jumped down.

—Here's the plan. Meeka, you'll drive us to the fuel truck as quickly and as quietly as you can. Sasha will get out and start it while I stand guard. If it goes well up to then, we'll convoy to the plane.

The girl looked at him.

—Convoy?

—Yes. Convoy. It means we will drive the trucks together.

Sasha wasn't convinced.

—That's too easy.

—Maybe. But it's the best we've got. Meeka, this is important. You don't have any lights, so you must watch out that you don't drive our truck into the airplane. If you do, it could hurt it.

—I watch, Mr. Harry.

—Do not stop the technical past the plane or in front of it. We need to have a clear view of the buildings in case there are people who want to stop us.

If they were lucky, no one would have an RPG to launch up their asses while they were stuck on the ground refueling. Once airborne, it became another matter entirely.

—Once I start the gas pump, Sasha will fuel the plane. I'll stand guard with the .50.

—What are you leaving out?

Harry didn't have a ready answer.

—It's time.

Meeka circled away from the dilapidated buildings. She kept the engine as quiet as she could in order not to disturb anyone inside. Standing up to drive the truck didn't make it any easier for her, even with Harry's encouragement.

Sasha struggled to get the bowser started. The engine caught and she did a jack-rabbit start with the clutch, copying Meeka's driving habit.

The heavy truck bounced and jerked its way to the Twin Otter. She hit the brakes. Nothing happened. She twisted the wheel and let out the clutch and the bowser lurched to a stop a few feet from the wing. Fuel sloshed in the tank as the truck rocked back and forth.

—Good job. You're learning. Another couple of trips over here and we'll get her trained up in no time, right Meeka?

Even Meeka knew better than to agree with him.

—Mr. Harry, I think Sasha has carried a rifle over her shoulder before right now.

They girls clasped hands and Sasha did a dance around Meeka while Harry started the gasoline engine on the bowser.

—I'll be busy doing the DI. Keep an eye out in case anyone shows up.

**Sasha squeezed the** nozzle to release fuel onto the ground. It would clean any sand and dust that might have found its way inside.

—Harry, the fuel doesn't smell right. It's hard to tell in this light, but I don't think it looks right either.

Harry handed her his flashlight.

—It looks pink.

—Don't worry about it. Pink will do. I'm going to load Meeka in the right seat. When you're done fueling, climb aboard. Don't forget your AK. And grab that shovel on the fuel truck and bring it with you.

Harry lifted Meeka into the Twin Otter and led her by the hand to the cockpit. He strapped her in and sat beside her in the left seat. He left her there to go back and load the body of her mother into the plane. He went up front to join Meeka.

The girl's eyes were big as saucers. They grew even bigger when he switched on the cockpit lights, overwhelming the moonlight streaming in through the windows.

—Is Sasha coming with us, Mr. Harry?

—Yes, Meeka. Your mother is coming, too.

He put a headset over her ears and she giggled when she heard him talking to her.

—Do you think you might like to call me just plain Harry?

She looked at him and nodded her head. She watched in wonder as Harry's hands moved through the switches and dials. With no time to pull out the checklist, he worked quickly from memory. When he finished, the start sequence was complete. He fired up number one.

Sasha finished fueling, dropped the nozzle on the ground without shutting it off and climbed aboard. She grabbed the headset by the cargo door and screamed into it.

—Go! Go! Go now!

Harry firewalled the throttle. The Otter eased off the concrete pad and pulled away from the fuel bowser. Sasha stumbled and fell against the door frame, righted herself, and fired a burst into the fuel spilling on the ground. The bullets ricocheted into the fuel tank and ignited the fumes. She fired another burst into the tank for good measure.

Engine draft from the powerful PT-6 fanned the flames and forced them in the direction of the tanker truck. Harry began taxiing towards the end of the strip on one engine. On the way, he started number two. They were good to go. With both running, he turned and firewalled the throttles.

Sasha struggled against the slipstream to close and lock the cargo door in time as the Twin Otter gently became airborne in the moonlit sky. He kept as low as he could until the orange flames disappeared from sight behind a low hill.

Sasha sighed into the headset. ##Finally.

She leaned back, trying to relax from the adrenalin rush of forcing the cabin door closed. She pushed up against something soft. What the hell? She flipped on the cabin light for a better look and screamed into the intercom for the second time.

—Harry!

—Yes, my sweet?

—Don't give me that my sweet shit. There's a body back here.

—I know dear. It's Meeka's mother. Did you remember the shovel?

—Yes.

—Good. Now relax. Find a seatbelt, strap your fine little ass down and enjoy the ride across the moonlit desert. Meeka, how are you doing?

Still grinning, she looked across at Harry and nodded her head.

—I'll be busy over here for a while. It's kind of like when you were driving the technical all by yourself. She nodded again and turned away to look out the window at the desert passing underneath.

—How are you doing back there, my sweet?

—I'm good. Are we headed for Djibouti?

—We are. But first we're going to find a good place for Meeka's mother to rest.

Meeka turned back to Harry and nodded.

—I would like that for my mother.

**Sasha heard and** then felt the plane shudder as Harry pulled back the throttles. Through the intercom she listened to Harry describe the flap setting control to Meeka, and then explain how to turn it in terms she could understand.

When he finished, he pointed to the numbers, and then called for her to set flaps ten. It sounded like he'd be walking her through all of the settings. Good. That would take her mind off of what would happen when they landed.

—Have you got a spot, Harry?

—We're headed for the road by the old campsite. Remember that?

—Oh I remember it all right. There should be a burned-out old Beech 18 and a pair of some guy's shit-stained pants there somewhere.

—Well you're pretty harsh, aren't you?

—Who is the man with dirty underwear, Harry?

Finally. Meeka was over the mister part of his name.

—He was an old boyfriend of your aunt Sasha's. She sort of dumped him here after she shot the hell out of some land pirates. The poor guy has probably never been the same since.

—Harry, this isn't about me. It's about Meeka now.

—I know. I was only trying to lighten the atmosphere. Speaking of which, Meeka, you can set flaps twenty now.

Harry looked up to check Meeka's handiwork as she stretched in the seat to complete the job.

—That's it, just like that.

He reached for her shoulder and squeezed his encouragement. When the Otter stabilized he called flaps thirty and Meeka reached up again.

—That's very good, Meeka. Okay everyone, stay buckled up until I give the word. It's going to be a bumpy landing.

Sasha waited, knowing Harry would soon throttle back to allow the Otter to mush onto the sand. Before shutting down he worked the throttles to position the plane, pointing it in the opposite direction. It would allow him to use the same familiar ground over which they had just landed in order to take off.

The engines went quiet and he made them wait until the props windmilled to a standstill.

—Come, Meeka. It's time.

He took her hand and walked with her to the cargo deck where Sasha waited.

—Meeka, I brought you here because it's one of your father's old places. It's an old place for me and for Sasha too. It's quiet and peaceful and far from the roads. Camel caravans and nomads still pass by. The wind doesn't blow too hard. The sand moves very slowly. Sometimes it will rain a little and beautiful flowers will bloom for a couple of hours.

A flood of tears streamed down Meeka's face as she listened to Harry describe her mother's final resting place.

—I think my mother will like it very much. I am glad you brought us here.

—Come, Meeka. Let's gather some rocks to prepare your mother's resting place.

Harry dug a depression in the shifting sand. He carried Eloria wrapped in the shroud from the back of the Otter. Sasha helped him place her gently in the opening. He collected her dog tags and left the second behind. He was surprised she still had them after all these years.

Old habits. He had more than a few of his own.

—Meeka, your mother would want you to have this.

He handed her the metal tag.

—When you're ready we'll be by the plane.

**Harry and Sasha** watched over Meeka as she sat by her mother's grave.

—She's a tough little thing.

—She had to be judging by what her mother had to put up with when she was raising her.

—All that is about to come to a crashing halt. I wonder how she'll handle the change.

—Without too many problems I hope. I'm getting attached to her just like you are.

They both knew how difficult it would be for the little girl once they got Meeka home. She'd be out of the environment she was most familiar with and dropped into one completely unknown and unfamiliar.

—It's time to check in. See if the sat phone is in the tail compartment.

Sasha retrieved the phone and dialed voice mail. There were half-a-dozen messages. She put the phone on speaker and played the last one first.

Barbara's voice came over loud and clear, and she wasn't happy. By the time the Sasha's friend talked herself out and hung up she was sputtering into the phone. The bad connection didn't help.

—Well, I guess that's that. If we want to get home, we'd better get it in gear or we'll be off to Bamburi with the Twin to finish that job. We only have until noon. Can we make it, Harry?

—We'll make it. Wait. What day is it? And when did that call come in?

—I lost count. I'll call her and find out where they are, just in case.

—I'll do it. I think you should be with Meeka.

Sasha joined Meeka beside her mother's grave. She put her arm around her and pulled her close. She trembled and Sasha hugged her tight, wanting her to know she wasn't alone. She was uncomfortable interrupting the little girl's mourning, but they didn't have a lot of time left to get airborne and en route to their rendezvous with Mike and Barbara.

Come to think of it, she was with Harry on that. There was going to be hell to pay with Barbara and Mike. Finally, Sasha couldn't wait any longer. It was past time to get moving.

—It's time, Meeka.

—I am ready.

She stood up and took Sasha's hand.

—Would you like to sit with me for a while? When you're ready I'll take you to the front to be with Harry.

—Do you think he will be able to fly the plane without me?

—Maybe for a little bit. Let's see how it goes.

—You climb into your seat beside mine. I'll be there in a minute.

Sasha steadied her as she climbed the ladder.

—What's the word?

—They're waiting. Same spot we took up the last time we rolled into Djibouti. And she's spitting mad.

—If Barbara is angry at you, just imagine what Mike is feeling when he found out he had to do another trip overseas in the jet just to bring us home.

—I think he'll change his mind about that when we show up with his daughter. Do you think he told Barbara everything?

—That's none of my business. I hope you don't make it yours, either. I think that if Barbara wants to tell you anything, she'll do it. Otherwise, my advice would be to stay completely away from that part of the equation.

—You're right. I just hope Mike and Barbara don't have a lot of trouble taming the girl. I think she could turn out to be a handful.

—I'm not concerned with that. We're going to be paying this off until we're dead.

—You think?

—Nah, it's all good. Let's go.

This time, Harry worked his way through the full pre-takeoff checklist. He called to Meeka for flaps, forgetting that she was in the back with Sasha.

—Clear for takeoff, ladies. Hang on. It's going to get a little bumpy rolling over the sand until we get airborne.

At five hundred feet he dialed in JIB on the GPS and proceeded to level out at ten thousand. Four hours later they were on final.

Meeka, sitting proudly beside him, dialed in the flap setting one last time. Harry looked across at the little girl. He patted her shoulder, smiled, and gave her a thumbs up.

—Maybe one day in the future you'll have the seat I'm occupying.

**Mike and his** crew watched from the door as the Twin Otter crept up to the parked jet. He checked his watch.

—Not even noon. He made good time.

—There's no one in the other seat.

Worried about not seeing her, Barbara squeezed Mike's arm hard.

—Where's Sasha?

Harry turned the Otter and Sasha's flying hair came into view. She waved from the open cargo door.

—I'm going to kill that woman.

—That's nothing. I had accounting send out a bill for use of the Twin. Wait until that shows up. They won't be able to deny it, either. I included a printout of the photo one of the guys took of Sasha hanging out the cargo door in Bamburi.

—Harry will know you aren't serious.

—I know that, but I'm going to enjoy knowing that for just a glorious split second I have him at my mercy.

Barbara walked Christa down the airstair towards the Twin Otter. Sasha waved and went up front for Meeka.

—Everyone is here, dear. It's time for us to go.

Barbara grabbed Sasha and hung on for dear life. Harry took Meeka over to Mike and introduced her to her father. When she let go of Harry's hand, Christa grabbed it and took it in her own.

—Who's this?

—That's your cousin. Her name is Meeka.

Christa looked from Harry to Mike and back.

—She looks just like Mike.

—She does, doesn't she? That's because Meeka is his daughter.

—Where's mom?

—I think Barbara is lecturing her out of sight behind the plane. That's all right, though. They'll get everything straightened out eventually. Let's go see how they're doing.

The two women stood toe-to toe, in deep discussion. They both had their hands on their hips, and he knew the stubborn wasn't over yet. It didn't seem to Harry that either was winning. Then Barbara giggled and he figured he'd better find what the hell was going on if he knew what was good for him.

—Did I hear you right?

—What right?

—That you're pregnant. When were you going to tell me?

—Well–

Harry yelled at Mike to get his ass in gear. When he showed up with Meeka he pulled the ring out of his pocket and got down on one knee.

—Will you marry me? Again?

—And be Mrs. Delaney number two? I like the sound of that, especially since I was Mrs. Delaney number one.

Harry wasn't about to let that slide.

—You know what they say about number two, don't you?

—I think I'm about to find out.

—Number two tries harder.

—Yes, well, I'll try to remember that about you when we have our first disagreement.

—Wait a minute. How did I get to be number two? Is that a yes?

—Yes.

Mike shook his friend's hand.

—I'm glad to see you're trapped again, just like the rest of us.

Harry tried, but he couldn't ignore Mike. He kept looking back and forth at his two planes that shouldn't be sitting on the same tarmac in a foreign country.

—Stop worrying. I brought a pilot over to get the Twin back to Kenya. Will you all please get out of the way so he can get moving? I need to start making money to pay for this flying circus.

**Mike waited for** the Twin Otter to depart before closing up the jet. He joined Harry up front and took the right seat.

—All aboard, Captain. Let's get airborne.

—Airborne it is.

A party atmosphere began to develop in the cabin. Sasha had been forgiven. Instead of being angry, Barbara was intent on hearing the story of her adventure with Meeka and Harry.

—Even better than that, Harry had Meeka in the right seat on the Twin Otter. I think she's going to make a pretty good pilot if it turns out that's what she wants to be.

—Christa, maybe you should take Meeka up to the cockpit and show her what her father and Harry actually do up there.

—I have seen it already. Mr. Harry wasn't very busy. He made me do all the work.

The two women looked at each other and began laughing.

—You're right, Meeka. There's always someone up front to do all the work while the other one rests.

The women high-fived.

—We are so going to be in trouble if they find out we said that.

—What's with the we? You said it all by yourself.

There was one thing left for Sasha to do.

—Meeka, do you still have that thing under your jacket?

—Yes.

—Can I have it?

—Yes. I will have no need now.

Meeka took her jacket off, unslung the shotgun from her shoulder and broke it to eject the shells.

Barbara jumped out of her seat and hurried up front to the cockpit. Mike wasn't upset. He was used to the antics of the women now. He sighed and resigned himself. It wasn't like it hadn't happened before. When Barbara returned she was more relaxed.

—He says to take it apart and put it in someone's luggage, and not to hide it anywhere in the plane. He could lose it for that. Shit. Here comes Harry.

—Don't worry about it. Whose bag are you going to put it in?

—I'm going to put it in mine, Harry. I don't know what I'd do if Mike lost the plane on account of it. I never thought to check her for anything like that.

—Well, we can't fault Meeka. She didn't know any better.

—But we should have known. Now it's too late.

—It could be too late for Meeka too. Barbara, we don't have any papers for her.

—The one thing I did before we left was to ransack your house for Christa's old passport. Fortunately, in the mess I left behind, I found it.

—I wish I had thought of it back in Djibouti. We could have had papers there for anywhere in the world.

—What are we going to do?

—Brazen it out. Now go take off your bras and ice up your nipples.

—Shit, Harry, I've been doing that for years and look at what I ended up with.

She knew better than not to grin.

—The intent isn't to bring the immigration department home with you, sweetheart. It's to encourage them to take eyes off the documents. And try not to distract your flight crew while you're doing it.

—Harry, if there was sand on this floor, my foot would be kicking it in your direction.

—I know, dear. That's why I proposed to you on the tarmac.

**Harry and Mike** took the jet into Naples for refueling before beginning their trans-Atlantic flight. Sasha took the opportunity to stretch her legs before the five-hour flight.

—Come on, Christa. We're going for a walk.

She took her daughter's hand and they strolled across the tarmac in the warm sunlight. They picked up some souvenirs from the charter operator's office and walked back into Barbara's crosshairs. The women had been friends for too long to hold anything back.

—You knew you were pregnant before you left, didn't you?

Sasha knew her friend wasn't about to cut her any slack. She was forced to admit it.

—And you went anyway. I always knew you were nuts. You just confirmed it for me. What the hell is wrong with you, woman?

—I needed some adventure in my dull life. Speaking of which, you'll have an adventure of your own with Meeka in your family now.

—I know. It's going to be a tough few months until things settle down. And with Mike being away a lot, you know where the burden is going to lie.

—Tell me something I don't know about raising a child when the husband is always missing. I'm there for support if you need me, Barbara.

—I know. Thank you.

—The thing is, I wasn't about to let Harry go alone. Neither of us knew what we'd be getting into. Mike and Harry both believed Eloria to be dead. Harry didn't know if it was her or someone pretending to be her. Ali didn't tell us much on the phone. Then the woman called a second time. That and her accent convinced Harry it was the real deal.

—You've got me there. There's no holding either of those guys back once they make up their minds. Nothing ever goes smooth for the four of us, does it?

—No, it doesn't. Speaking of which–

—Oh-oh. Now what?

—This is between the two of us.

—You're swearing me to secrecy for a second time after what you just put me through?

—I thought I saw one of our old Baja friends showing just a little too much interest in the plane and who was on it.

—Meaning us.

—Yes.

—Are you sure? Is that even possible? You'd think they'd have forgotten about us by now. It's been years since we were down there.

—They're everywhere, Barbara. Who knows, someone might still be harboring a grudge. We did take off with cash and carry, remember? In the process we broke a few hearts. And don't forget Harry and Mike weren't exactly innocent in all of it either.

—That's true. They had their own reasons for running up the Baja. I'm not going to lose any sleep over it. I'm more concerned with Meeka and Mike right now.

—You're right. It's not the time to be worrying about it.

—She sure looks like Mike, doesn't she?

—Yes, she does. We always wanted children. I know you and Harry are here for us–when you aren't getting yourself in trouble and dragging his ass all over the world to save it.

—Well, all right. You have me there.

Up front, Harry received his clearance and the jet taxied onto the runway. Unseen by anyone on the plane, a man and a woman followed the departure with binoculars until it lifted off on its long journey home.

— _Las drogas_.

— _Si. Canadá. El avión es registrado en Canadá_.

###

LIE CHEAT STEAL

The girls are back in town

**THE SHOTGUN WAS MISSING.** It wasn't in its usual position hanging above the cupboard where it would be out of sight to all but those who knew where to look.

Meeka knew.

She often looked to see that it was still there, although as the days and months and years passed, and she grew more and more comfortable with her new life and home, it didn't happen so often now. The gun belonged to her mother. Her mother used it to keep both of them safe in her old home across the ocean.

She took comfort knowing that it belonged to her mother. Mike and Barbara and Harry and Sasha made sure it came with her to her new home. It wasn't needed here. Here she was safe. Mike and Barbara made sure of that.

She put the missing gun out of her mind and wandered upstairs. On the way to her bedroom, she halted at the door to Barbara and Mike's room. Her friend Sasha sat on the bed, listening to her mom. She was busy in the closet choosing clothes for the holiday the two women planned on taking together.

She continued to her bedroom. She wasn't sure if she should tell her father about the missing shotgun. Perhaps he was cleaning it. He did that from time to time, alone, usually very late at night. She had seen him do it.

In this new world, many things were so different from the way they were with her own mother. It was safer. She was treated well. She was loyal to Sasha. After all, she had helped to rescue both her and her own mother back in the desert. And while Barbara would never replace her own mother, she knew that the woman loved her. She would never let anything happen to her, much like her own mother.

Still, she worried about the missing shotgun. Was someone coming to do harm? She was very afraid for the first time since leaving behind her house on the Horn of Africa that was her former home.

* * *

**THE CALM AND** sedate lives of both Harry and his friend Mike were forever changed by the addition of children to both families. Barbara, Mike's wife, was sideswiped by a daughter her husband, Mike, didn't know he had. Following the little girl's rescue and retrieval by Harry and Sasha, the dust eventually settled.

Meeka was accepted easily into their life as though she was their own. The girl had accepted the challenge of a new country and new parents and had thrived. She missed her mother, but Barbara and Mike showered her with love and affection, knowing it would never replace the woman, but wanting to be sure the girl knew she was still loved.

Harry's wife, Sasha, delivered a brother to their daughter, Christa. Sasha's second pregnancy was an easy one. She was never sick. Her few cravings were easily satisfied by Harry with trips for ice cream and strawberries. Right on schedule, Robert came along as a healthy boy.

Both families were back on even keels. They were in for the long haul. It hadn't been easy. By far, Barbara had the hardest time. With her best friend Sasha's help and long hours spent talking and drinking coffee, she was able to accept that Mike's daughter was now her own. That's exactly how she treated and loved Meeka, too–as her very own.

Both men remained in the family groove and very happy. That's not to say there weren't problems. No relationship can go without problems.

The women had been a little more overwhelmed with the way things had gone, although they dared not mention it to their husbands. They talked around a long-deserved vacation from the guys and the kids. The discontent hadn't gone unnoticed by either Harry or Mike.

—Has Barbara been hinting at taking some down time?

—Hinting? She's gone beyond hinting. If she doesn't get some time off from being a soccer mom I think she's going to take the shotgun to me.

Harry was catching some of the same flack from his own wife, too.

—No kidding. I think Sasha will borrow it when yours is finished with you.

—I can't go with her right now. I've got too much on my plate with the new hangar construction. The oil economy has gone into the toilet. I'm scrambling for cash I don't have.

Harry had a lot of sympathy for his friend. Mike had bought a business long-ignored by its former owner and turned it around single-handedly. He'd changed it for the better into one of the oil patch's shining stars. Business had boomed until the present down-turn. No one knew how long it would be before it bounced back.

—I'm too busy paying you back for all the flight time you gave us. I'm thinking that perhaps the two of them should leave us with the kids and take off on a holiday. It's not like they don't deserve one.

Mike looked at Harry, doubtful. He knew how dangerous that could be for all of them.

—You realize that letting those two women go anywhere without us—

Harry held up his hand.

—Don't remind me. I'm still paying for the last time. And don't misunderstand. That wasn't a complaint, just an admission of guilt of some kind.

Mike laughed.

—Don't worry. Be happy.

The two men high-fived and went on their way. Whatever happened, they knew that no matter what, their wives had been best friends long before ever meeting them. Nothing they could do would put a damper on any enterprise their wives came up with.

If it was a vacation from all of them their wives wanted, that would be the least of their problems these women had gotten them into over the years.

**They were in** Barbara's bedroom, in a holiday mood, laughing and talking, excited about their trip; excited about getting away from everything.

—What did Harry say when you brought up the subject of a holiday?

—He didn't seem to mind. He can't take the time off, but he understands if we go off somewhere together.

That she told her friend Barbara that Harry didn't care wasn't quite the truth. He'd taken the time to gently remind her about the last time she'd gone off on an adventure. It hadn't ended well. She and their daughter had been kidnapped by desert pirates.

—Mike can't make it either. He's tied up with the business.

—Then it's settled. We're taking off to San Francisco. I always wanted to see the Farmer's Market.

They didn't tell the guys.

—We have reservations.

She tried to hide it, but Sasha was still uncomfortable having recognized someone from their past lives in Italy. It had been at the airport on their return flight, while the jet was refueling. They were all headed home. Just before they jumped off for the flight across the Atlantic, Sasha recognized a familiar face on her walk across the tarmac to the plane.

—Do you remember when I told you about seeing those two crooked Federales from Mexico?

—It couldn't have been. How would they know we were there?

—It doesn't mean they were looking for us. They could have been setting up a transportation route over there. Who knows what they were doing. It's a small world. It was more likely by chance.

—If they did notice us, you don't think they'll send out any warrants, do you?

—I don't think it's warrants they'll be signing for us. They'll be looking to haul us back to _el jefe_. I can't imagine Julio was too happy when we ran off with his product without paying.

Barbara never brought up Sasha's relationship with Julio. She knew they had been involved. She didn't want to know how close they had become back then. Now she wondered if Sasha still might harbor a lingering attraction, given her goody-goody marriage with two kids and Harry.

—We're more likely to get the shit beat out of us first. Then we'll be finished off Mexican style for the money we cost and the trouble we caused.

—Mexican style?

Sasha studied her friend before explaining.

—Cut up and parted out. Buried in a _narcofosa_. A lime pit grave.

—That was a long time ago. You'd think they'd forget by now.

—The cartels are long on memory and short on forgiveness. Don't you remember how it was for us down there?

—Thanks for that picture. Did you have to remind me?

—They spotted us. I don't think they'll be forgetting about _dos drogas_. We've been on someone's list. It might not be a short one, but we're there.

Sasha didn't worry her friend unnecessarily. Barbara had enough on her plate with Meeka landed in her lap with no warning. Her friend had done a stellar job with the girl. She had accepted Meeka into her life like she was her own child. That the girl was the spitting image of Mike didn't hurt, either.

She was still concerned that the two of them had been spotted. She hadn't told Harry. In any case, there was nothing he could do. She kept quiet. She kept her eyes open. It proved difficult in the relaxed atmosphere of soccer moms and dads and kids and everything that went along with their lives.

The one thing she had going for her was that anything unusual in her neighborhood would get noticed. That's what she told herself, at least, and it brought a small measure of relief.

**The women said** their joyful good-byes and hurried out to the waiting taxi. The door closed and the car sped off. Harry made a vain attempt to convince Mike that something was up.

—You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say that when the door on the taxi closed, we became a fond memory.

Mike wasn't so sure, but he went along.

—Do you blame them? Just remember, if they skip out permanently, we're stuck with the leftovers.

—Yes, but three kids are lovable leftovers, wouldn't you agree?

Mike did agree. He went on.

—I don't know if this is relevant, but Barbara's shotgun isn't in its usual place in the kitchen.

Harry managed to hide his surprise, but he immediately wondered why Mike hadn't mentioned it sooner.

—Are you sure? Maybe she put it out of the way so Meeka can't see it.

Mike wasn't buying it.

—Why would she do that now? That thing has been hanging over the cupboard since forever.

That was true. Harry had seen it there years ago.

—I thought she was ready to get rid of it.

Mike was anxious to reassure both of them.

—She was. It looks like maybe she did, after all.

He wasn't so sure. He'd had his doubts ever since Italy, when he saw Barbara and Sasha deep in conversation on their return to the jet. When they got home, he suspected something was going on just by the way Barbara started paying extra attention to every nuance of their lives.

She began to ask for details about the business. Who was there? Did he know everyone? Were there any strangers? At first, he thought she was just being over-protective, for Meeka's sake.

It didn't stop with him or with Meeka, however. She asked the same questions of Sasha. He often noticed the two women comparing notes on their activities. Over time, Mike began to become suspicious of their motives.

He never said a word to Harry.

He knew the women had close calls during Sasha's adventure in Africa. When Harry took off with Sasha on their most recent adventure and came home with his daughter, Meeka, he had left Mike holding the bag with the company. It didn't help that Harry had stolen one of his Twin Otters to help the two of them out on their rescue adventure.

Harry owed him. Big time. He believed that paying it off with only his salary wasn't going to cut it.

* * *

**HARRY WORRIED ABOUT** his wife. To say she could be stubborn once she got an idea stuck in her head was an understatement. Even so, when she nonchalantly told him about the two former Federales in Italy, he wasn't sure he should believe her.

His instinct told him that she was being overly dramatic. If the truth were known, he didn't want to believe her. She never brought it up again. Eventually, he forgot about it.

Sasha never told him the true nature of her involvement in Mexico's drug trade. He never asked any questions, and she never volunteered any details. He figured if she wanted him to know, she'd tell him. He had his own ideas about it, but he kept his mouth shut. After all, he and Mike hadn't exactly been angels, either.

He owed Mike more than he could ever repay for helping him out of his last predicament with Sasha. He stole one of Mike's valued Twin Otters in Mombasa to do the job. Even though the deal was his and his alone, Mike had gone the extra mile for him, and for Sasha, too.

He and Sasha had returned with a daughter Mike never knew he had. That alone was enough of a shock to both Mike and Barbara that helped return him to Mike's good books.

He'd never forget Mike's help, come hell or high water. He would never allow Sasha or her friend Barbara to be hurt.

By anyone.

That the shotgun had gone missing just as the women were eager to go on a holiday without their men was likely no coincidence. Barbara only ever took that thing down from over her kitchen cabinet when she went troubleshooting. He smiled, remembering the first troubleshooting she had done on the Baja. The woman meant business when loyalties were called into question.

Which was why he decided he should be concerned. Even though Barbara had said she was going to get rid of the old shotgun, she left it to hang on the wall for safekeeping.

Until now

—Mike? Let's ask Meeka about the gun. She might have seen something.

—I don't want to upset the girl any more than she already is. She wasn't very happy to see her new mom take off. She was afraid she wouldn't be coming back.

—I'm sorry. I didn't know. Sasha never said anything.

—You're right, though. The shotgun and its whereabouts are beginning to concern me, too.

Both men were convinced that their wives had been tamed. Kids. School. Sports. Husbands. Surely they were much too busy with family to get into any more trouble. Hell, they were soccer moms.

—When they get back, you and me and Meeka are going to have to sit those women down and explain a few things to them. They have families. They can't go running off on a whim like they don't.

An exasperated Mike nodded his agreement, even though both of them knew it would never happen.

—Good luck with that, Harry.

**Mike's daughter, Meeka** , adapted well to her new surroundings. It came as a shock to the three of them when they were thrust into each others' lives. Like it or not, they were now inextricably linked.

They liked it and seemed happy.

Meeka took to Mike, her father, the instant she saw their side-by-side reflection in the mirror. He was her twin. Mike's wife, Barbara, treated her like she was her daughter the instant they met. The little girl liked it very much. Which was why she had become so upset when she overheard Sasha and Barbara talking in the bedroom about the vacation.

—Are we bringing the shotgun?

It occurred to the little girl that perhaps the two friends shouldn't be taking a shotgun on a holiday.

—I already took it down.

Barbara broke the gun into two. She handed the stock and the barrel to Sasha. Her fingers hesitated and rubbed at the tape residue.

—That must be where the passports were taped. It's still sticky. I know it's really not my business, but did Mike ever tell you the full story?

—He did. And I believe him.

Sasha placed the shotgun on the bed between them.

—If we get picked for a luggage search, we're toast.

—Well, in the past we've had more toast than we could ever eat. Maybe we'll get lucky.

—There won't be any jam this time.

—Don't be negative. We made out all right so far.

It was as though Sasha had forgotten how they both needed rescuing from their former partners now husbands on their Baja adventure.

—That's what scares me. We aren't accustomed to failure. And we've been relying on our husbands to get us out of every scrape we've been in up to now.

—Yes, dear. I love them both to the death, too.

**Meeka withdrew from** the doorway. She wasn't spying. There were no secrets in her new home, as there had been none with her own mother. Still she was unsure what she should do. To betray Barbara and Sasha would be unthinkable. They were the women that rescued her. Even so, she knew her father would want to know what she had seen and heard.

Her own mother had told her to trust her instincts when it came to people. She knew her own mother to have been a very wise woman. She had kept them both alive and safe for many years.

Her instincts were telling her to tell Mike and Harry about the gun before any more time passed. Yet, she was reluctant to betray Barbara and Sasha. It didn't seem to her to be the right thing to do.

Conflicted, she would ignore what she had seen for as long as she could. Still, she didn't feel good about it.

**Harry tried Sasha's** cell. He allowed it to ring until voicemail answered and he hung up. That by itself wasn't unusual. Sasha was no slave to her phone. She'd have it turned off for the flight. It probably wouldn't come alive again until the women were out of the terminal building.

By the time the two women collected luggage, picked up a car at the rental agency and checked in to their hotel in San Francisco, it could be several hours if not more.

—Did you manage to get a hold of them? Neither one uses a cell phone much.

—No. Sasha's is turned off. I'll check Barbara's.

Harry punched in the number and waited.

—Same deal. Voice mail.

Mike was perplexed. They weren't big on cell phones beyond family matters. Even so, they were busy living their lives at home with children, sports and husbands involved in business. They stole their hours outside of work by knowing schedules and taking opportunities as they came.

Hell, they didn't even appear interested in the kids since climbing into the taxi and disappearing. The women liked to stay in touch. That both phones were off indicated they were together, at least.

—Should we be worried?

—Like a couple of old men? Nah. They can take care of themselves.

Mike wasn't so sure.

—Yeah. Like neither of them has had a need for us more than a few times in the past.

Harry shrugged.

—They just left. What could possibly go wrong between here and the airport?

—Well, I think we need to put the nanny and the neighbors on notice that we might need them for a week or so.

—A week? Do you think it will take those two even as long as a week to find trouble?

—You're right. I'll check with the travel agency. They ought to know more about the flight to San Francisco. Unless they're skipping out on us, that was supposed to be their destination.

—I'm going to get the kids out of here. The sooner they're invisible, the sooner we can concentrate our efforts on those damned women.

—What about Meeka?

—She doesn't know it, but she's coming with us. If we put her in camp, she'll know there's more going on than we're telling. She already lost one mother. She's not going to let her new mom go without a fight.

Harry began making the arrangements to transport their children. There was no way he could do it without raising a certain amount of concern with the nannies. When he explained that they would be flying out to a far northern bush camp with the children in their charge, both accepted without complaint.

While Harry and Mike explained to all that they would be going on an adventure up north, the nannies made sure to confiscate cell phones and tablets and laptops that might give away their location. Both men were grateful that they were familiar enough to know something was going on and didn't ask any more questions than were necessary.

Harry paraded them to the hangar, where Art and Bill helped shepherd nannies and the trail of children aboard the jet. He flew them to the jump-off point and from there he herded them into a float-equipped Twin Otter for a final flight to a bush camp. They were warmly received by the cook who immediately set to work baking cookies with eager help from the children.

In two days, Harry was home. He made sure to move the jet into the hangar where he went in search for old hands Art and Bill. He informed them about a possible quick run down the Baja as far as Cancun. The two men looked at one another and then at Harry.

—Which one is it this time?

Harry smiled. He knew Art got to like Sasha and Barbara after Mike had included Art and Bill in their African safari to rescue Sasha.

—It's both of them.

He held up his hands before Art could start talking.

—No need to panic yet. Mike and I are being overly cautious. We know them better than anyone. It's just that we've been trying to contact them for two days. Their phones are going straight to voice mail.

From experience, Art knew discretion would be the better part of valor. He didn't say another word. He pulled Bill aside, said something Harry couldn't hear, and the two men disappeared into the depths of the hangar.

They waited patiently for Harry to head home. When the door slammed, they got busy charging sat-phones and portable GPS units and then went to work on readying the jet. They stripped the cabin to ready it for the utility configuration that included installation of web bench seating along one side.

Next they checked oxygen levels and readied the jet with full fuel. It was all confirmed on the ready check-sheet for Harry's inspection when he returned.

**Harry wasted no** time getting home. He hurried across the back lawn to Mike's. He didn't bother knocking. Mike followed him into the back yard.

—Did you get hold of the travel agency?

—Yeah.

Mike didn't go on. Instead, he sighed.

—Oh-oh.

—Yeah. The poor girl didn't want to tell me anything. I guess Sasha did a number on her if she ever found out she told on them.

Harry waited for Mike to go on.

—I managed to sweet talk the girl, since we're a big customer. Those two swapped out their plane tickets for San Diego and a rental from there.

Harry looked across at his old friend.

—Not San Francisco? Are you sure?

—They paid cash.

—Shit. No credit card records to follow. I wonder if they even took them. I'll go next door to check. Take a look for Barbara's.

—One more thing.

Harry halted mid-step.

—Meeka finally broke down and told me they took the shotgun. Half in each bag. She's so worried I didn't know what to tell her. Maybe you could talk to her.

—What about shells?

—I asked. She didn't see any.

Harry found Meeka in her bedroom among the posters and photos and memories of her mother and her home on the Horn. He sat down on the edge of the bed.

—Do you remember when we had to go looking for your own mother and Sasha? You found me a truck and you drove me all over while we searched.

Meeka sat up and smiled at Harry.

—Oh yes. I remember how surprised you were that I could drive.

Harry regarded the girl. She was a little girl no longer. She was a typical teenager now, with all the insecurities that went along with it. Even so, he knew she would want to come with them.

—Well-

Harry hesitated, not knowing where to start.

—Well, you and I need to go looking for your mom now. Your father will be coming, too.

—Is mom in danger? What about Sasha?

At this point, we just don't know. We're making sure to get all of our ducks in a row.

—Ah. Like we did at home. And I took you by the hand to lead you.

—Yes. This time, Mike will be the one to lead and take your hand. I will be there to help if it's needed.

Harry left the bedroom and went home to look for Sasha's credit cards and her passport. He returned with the bad news. Mike showed him the empty box of shotgun shells he discovered in the garage.

—She left the credit cards behind.

—The same with Barbara. It doesn't look like they forget shells.

—Apparently not.

Harry tossed aside the empty box and sat down at the picnic table.

—I found Sasha's current passport with the credit cards. Her old one is missing.

—So they took their American passports. Something is definitely up with those two.

In the back yard, neither of the men were in a position to be able to notice the dark SUV containing two men. They were barely visible behind heavily tinted windows. The SUV cruised slowly past the houses to the end of the street, where it u-turned. It parked at the far end of the street.

The vantage point allowed a clear view of the two side-by-side houses.

* * *

**MIKE HUNG UP** the phone. The expression on his face said _Not happy_.

—Maybe you were right after all. Maybe they are skipping out on us.

—Oh-oh. What did you find out?

It was Harry's turn to look perplexed.

—Okay. So they told us they were headed to San Francisco. Apparently, they changed their minds at the last minute and hot-footed it to San Diego. What's to worry about? They're big girls.

—You forgot to mention they left their credit cards behind and paid cash.

—I'll call the travel agent again and ask her if they bought insurance for south of the border. That should tell us if they're still in California.

The two men looked at one another. Both knew that if their wives were headed for a return trip down Mexico way, insurance would be the last thing on their minds.

—Can you even take a rental to Mexico? Or maybe they're going to go anyway, insurance or no.

—Well, I don't think it's time to start worrying yet. They've only been gone four days.

—I'd feel a lot better if it was tomorrow and they checked their voice mail.

—Do you really think those two are going to keep calling home to check in just because we want them to like a couple of high school kids?

—You got me there.

Mike went back to working the phone. Harry's stomach was beginning to develop an uneasy feeling. Giving up San Francisco for San Diego after all the talking the women did about a holiday without the guys seemed suspect now. To say the least, it was unusual. Normally, those two were pretty dependable. They did what they said, and said what they did.

Maybe times were changing. They'd been married for what seemed like an eternity. Sasha was a strong independent woman with a stubborn streak even before they met. She'd been on her own in tougher circumstances. The life Harry provided for her after they married was a lot simpler. They were both on easy street.

Perhaps that wasn't what Sasha wanted out of life now. Perhaps she felt she was getting soft and wanted some time and some space to figure things out.

But what was with Barbara? Was she only along for the ride on this holiday? Or was she too getting itchy feet in her relationship? He put it out of his mind. Now wasn't the time for that. He turned to Mike, who was having his own crisis over his missing wife.

—I think we should give it another day before we jump to any conclusions.

—Yeah. You're right. I don't think either of them is fed up enough with our lifestyle to jump ship just yet-even with three kids and two of us.

—Five kids altogether, I'd say. Well, only they know what they want. We'll wait. For now.

It was an uneasy truce they brokered. Waiting wasn't their strong point. It never had been. Mike's cell phone buzzed. He checked the screen, and looked at Harry.

—We have a problem.

Harry sunk into the kitchen chair.

—The travel agent just texted. They turned down an upgrade and settled on a beater.

**Sasha and Barbara** approached the dilapidated car in the rental lot and looked it over. Faded paint. Dents galore. One good headlight. It was perfect for their sojourn across the line. They turned down a final offer for an upgrade, signed the papers on the spot and dropped a wad of cash on the attendant.

—Remember. No one knows.

He tossed the keys their way and made dust away from the crazy women and hurried to the terminal building. Barbara wrestled with the trunk lid before tossing their bags into it.

—Woo-hoo! Road trip. Are we going to make an unscheduled stop for munchies?

Barbara slammed the trunk closed, laughed, and jiggle-danced her way to the door.

—Don't be getting too excited, sister. We're already on an unscheduled stop. Remember what we told the guys?

Sasha wondered how long it would take for them to figure out what was going on.

—Well you're boring. We need snacks. And water. And maybe ##cerveza to wet a dry and dusty throat down the road. A cooler. We'll need a cooler, too. And some ice.

—Christ, Barbara. It's not like it's the first time we're down here.

—No. We weren't old married women with families way back when. We were a couple of single bitches with fire in our pants.

Sasha steered the rental south on the 5 to the San Ysidro border crossing.

—I just know we're going to get checked. And you have that shotgun in your pack.

Barbara looked across at her friend.

—Umm, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but half of it is tucked into your bag along with the shells

—Obviously when I wasn't looking. What are you expecting, a revolution?

They joined the long line of cars headed south across the border into Mexico. Exhaust and heat poured into the car through open windows. A sheen of perspiration covered both women.

—Did the air in this dog have to be busted?

—We're definitely roughing it. No camper van for us on this go-round.

The red light turned green and flashed. No stopping required. Sasha drove past the Tijuana border station and they were in Mexico. Sighs of relief and huge grins took them onto Mexico 1.

—Where are you taking us, Sasha? What's going on? And why are we back in Mexico? You know there's probably warrants out for us down here. And more than likely for the guys, too.

She regretted not bringing it up sooner, before they crossed the border. The very idea of a road trip combined with the memories of old times forced her to reconsider.

—You're not talking. What's going on?

—We're in the shit. I got a phone call yesterday from one of our old friends. He threatened to bring it home if I didn't do what he wanted. Nobody is going to threaten my family or my home any more.

Barbara sat up in the seat. She stared straight ahead for what seemed like forever before looking at her friend.

—And you're just telling me now? I thought we were besties. And what about our husbands? Don't you think the guys deserve to know what we're up to? They need to know what's going on. We have kids, for crying out loud.

Barbara was starting to doubt her decision about a vacation without husbands.

—No way. They'd be down here in a heartbeat chasing after us with a pair of hard-ons hell bent on rescuing us before we even get into a day's worth of trouble. I'm not planning on involving those two in old business. They never had any part of it. It's our trouble, not theirs.

Barbara had always been the more level-headed one. It might have been their trouble before the first meet-up with the guys on the Baja, but forever after-

—They made damned sure it was their trouble when they hauled our broke-down, beat-up and tired asses out of Mexico, remember? Or is it you who doesn't remember who hauled your sorry, black and blue ass to Ensenada to recover before we escaped across the border?

—You're not going to make me feel sorry for them.

—Yeah, well, we were two borders away from this shit. Now we're right back in it if I'm to believe you. And I wasn't thinking of sorry. I was thinking more along the lines of grateful.

—I married him, didn't I?

Sasha was grateful, though. Even if she wouldn't admit it to anyone. She loved Harry like no other man she ever knew. She couldn't believe she gave him, and her, two beautiful children to love.

That someone from her past had finally found her was bad news as far as she was concerned. She'd clear things up and go on her way or die trying to protect the family she loved.

—Yeah, me too. And now we're trapped by the men we love and the families we have.

—That's such a horrible thing to be trapped by, wouldn't you say?

Hands slapped in a high five.

—Now, will you tell me what the hell burr has gotten under your panties?

—No sissy panties for me. I'm commando.

Barbara's eyes widened for an instant.

—Oh shit. Here we go again.

**Sasha drove just** over the limit, keeping an eye out for federales who might want to roust a couple of women traveling alone in a rental. Mostly she worried they were more likely to run their IDs. It would mean coming up with a warrant for one or both.

—We'll stop at that beachside resort we used to like when we were hiding out.

—Just past _El Sauzal_.

—Yeah. That's the one. Did you bring your bikini?

—I did.

Sasha turned into the lot and waited while Barbara wandered into reception. She returned to the car mouthing the words ##No vacancy. Sasha pulled the car back on the highway and continued to Ensenada.

—You're not planning on stopping at that dive we stayed in while you and Mike recuperated, are you?

—We'll find something better than that.

It was dark by the time Sasha and Barbara approached the outskirts of Ensenada. The beater's dim lights didn't cut much of a swath through the poorly-lit streets. Potholes were everywhere. Sasha swerved too late to avoid one deep enough to swallow a small child whole. Half the car fell into the hole. The other half slammed against a donkey.

She wrenched the wheel in the opposite direction. It wasn't good enough. The car swerved and smacked hard against the animal a second time. The car bounced over the curb onto the sidewalk where it halted against a wall.

The women exited the car rubbing bumps and minor bruises. It became plain that their rental wouldn't be going anywhere but a Mexican chop shop. They retrieved their bags and sat on the curb. Flashing lights reflected off windows.

—Here come the cops. Play ignorant. Don't let them know you speak Spanish.

The local _policía_ helped load their bags into the Jeep. They thanked the officers profusely for transporting them the final few miles into Ensenada and the local _comandancia_. The formalities took no time. Passports were investigated, names written down, and excuses made. The girls paid for the injured donkey and the broken wall and marched out cxinto a waiting taxi.

—I'm glad that's over with. I'm pretty sure the _mordida_ we left won't be going to the donkey's owner. Let's find a room somewhere.

She ordered the driver to take them to the finest hotel in town.

—Sorry, _señoritas_ , every hotel is full. It's race week.

The diver eased into traffic and managed several blocks before the car was surrounded by flashing lights and sirens. The driver halted the cab on the side of the street. Doors slammed. Federales raced towards the taxi with guns drawn and faces covered.

—Get out of the car.

One at a time the girls did as they were told and knelt on the ground with their hands behind their heads.

—Oh shit. We're into it now.

—Sure as shit someone put our names into a database. I knew I should have brought our new passports.

—Do you mean to tell me that you handed out our expired passports under our maiden names? You're a bitch for punishment, aren't you? The only trouble is, I'm stuck here with you taking the exact same punishment.

—Barbara, we're back in our old stomping grounds. It should be a piece of cake to get out of a jail in Ensenada. Who are we going to call?

—Well, you're the one going commando. That should make your strip search go a lot quicker.

Sasha rolled her eyes.

—It was a figure of speech. I'm wearing exactly the same thing you are.

Barbara giggled.

—So then, you are commando.

The federales marched the women to a waiting SUV. In short order they were driven to the local comandancia. Within minutes, they were led past a motley assortment of hookers, minor drug dealers, and drunken revelers too hung over to care. The stench of days-old sweat, blood, and vomit mixed with beer was everywhere.

—Who was saying something about old times?

Sasha shrugged.

—Wasn't it you who was whining about feeling trapped? How does it feel to be trapped in a Mexican jail?

—At least we've got a room to ourselves. I'm starting to feel like I'm on a junket.

Hours later, in the early morning with night still over the city, they ended up kicked to the street. Broke, hungry and sober, there was nowhere to go. They wheeled their bags across the street and settled on a bench.

—We need a car.

A limousine came to a stop beside them.

—Well look at this. I wonder who-

A heavy door opened silently. No lights came on. They peered into the dark interior.

—Get in.

It was a voice easily recognizable for its commanding tone. It was a voice both women had heard before, a voice from their past. Instantly, they recognized it as belonging to a man they had screwed over in their past lives for his drugs.

Sasha looked at Barbara. They turned and looked into the darkened rear seat of the limousine.

—We're dead meat.

* * *

**GREASY HAIR AND** a matching, oily smile greeted the women as they bent to look inside the darkened limo's interior. They recognized Julio. They hesitated before finally climbing in, uneasy and uncertain.

— _Buenos días_ , señoritas. It has been far too long since we last talked. Do you remember the conversation we had on that day?

Julio went on in a heavily accented voice. The women weren't allowed to answer.

—Partial payment was accepted for product I permitted you to take away with you. You gave to me a promise that you would pay in full once you delivered the goods.

The women didn't respond.

—This is correct, no?

Again, the man didn't wait for an answer.

—No payment was ever received. Therefore, the debt is still owed.

The man opened a compartment. He produced glasses and a bottle of tequila. He poured three drinks.

—With interest.

He offered Sasha and Barbara a glass each, and then tipped his own in their direction.

— _Te saludo, muchachas_.

—Now then. If you are not here to make payment in full, why are you here? Already I know you do not have the money. You are not traveling with enough luggage to transport it.

Again he tipped his glass to the women.

—You will pay back the money owed as soon as is possible. Whether you will live or die after that, I will decide then.

He tipped his glass and emptied it. A satisfied look crossed his face.

—There is a whorehouse in Juarez. A single room has both of your names on it. You'll go to work there the minute you arrive. You should be very busy. Fresh girls are always busy.

He poured a drink for himself, emptied the glass, and slammed it down. The women jumped.

—The unfortunate part, for the two of you, is that you won't be making a lot of money. It's going to take you several lifetimes to pay back what you stole from me.

—Julio—

He held up his hand to silence the woman.

—If I remember right, you were always good with numbers. Before we transport you, there is something I need you to do for me.

The women feared for their lives. Crossing Julio wasn't done. No one lived to tell about it. The car continued beyond the city. The roads became rougher, the streets tougher until the car turned down an isolated, sandy road. It became even more impossible to relax.

—Can we be any farther out in the country? What's up, Julio? Are we going to be _desaparecido_? Parted out?

—Like I told you, we will see how it goes. You have nothing to fear. Yet.

Neither liked the sound of that. Julio refused to listen to their feeble attempts to tell their story. How they had been robbed of the drugs on their trip north up the Baja. About the kidnapping. How they narrowly escaped death.

He continued to smile and shake his head.

—You will need more than a simple sob story to convince me. Do you have it?

**The limo halted** at the end of the trail on the edge of a sandy plain. The headlights illuminated a small plane.

—Look at that thing. It has tundra tires. A drug smuggler's dream. It can land anywhere.

—Can you fly it?

—Of course not. I was merely doing a Mike and Harry thing. You know what those two are like.

—Yes, I do. And if they ever find us, they're going to skin us alive.

—I'd rather that than work for next to nothing in a Juarez whorehouse.

—Maybe we can convince them we're worth more. I've been going to the gym.

Julio and the driver pushed them towards the plane. They stared into the dim interior.

—No seats. No belts. I think I know what this thing is mostly used for.

The pilot secured their wrists with plastic ties and covered their heads with hoods. He unceremoniously pushed them into the empty rear of the plane. The door slammed behind them and the engine whined to life.

—Turbine conversion. I wonder how far we're going.

They were airborne for an hour before the plane landed and shut down. The women were hastily unloaded and herded into a vehicle. Still hooded, they ended up at a warehouse. Inside, hoods were removed and wrists freed. They observed workers scurrying about, putting finishing touches on what looked to be the entrance to a tunnel.

Bales of plastic-wrapped marijuana gleamed in the dim lighting. Stacks of cocaine stamped with cartel logos lay on a table. A small forklift was parked in a corner. Drums of fuel lay stacked against a wall.

Julio herded the women towards a small office containing a desk and a couple of chairs.

—It's a distribution center.

Julio smiled.

—Very perceptive. For now you will work here. Do a good job, and you will avoid the job in Juarez. For now I must take your cell phones. Do you have any other electronic devices?

—No.

Sasha entered the office, examining it for anything that could be used to escape.

—You're telling us we're the accountants for this cluster fuck of a drug smuggling operation. I don't think we have any problems with that.

Barbara locked eyes with Sasha, silently willing her to shut up.

—That's nice, who's going to boss the lazy bastards around when we need something done? They won't listen to us. They only want to get away with their lives. They'll know we won't be punishing them for their transgressions. Especially two gringas.

—Don't worry. I have someone who will be able to assist you with that. Esteban! ##Ven.

A young man scurried across the hangar floor. The grip of an automatic peeked out from a back pocket.

—Meet Sasha and Barbara. They have some talents we must put to good use while we build the inventory. Look after them. Listen to them. Listen to what they tell you and put it to good use.

Julio and Esteban headed towards the open door, whispering the entire way. Julio departed, and the women were left to check out the warehouse under Esteban's studied gaze. The building was nothing remarkable. They were familiar with aircraft hangars, and that's what this building was, given the neighborhood.

It was squat and dark, with little lighting beyond a few feeble neon fixtures in the roof. Huge beams supported the walls and the high roof. Bare plywood walls separated a sleeping area and a tiny kitchen from the rest of the building.

The tour ended. Esteban herded them into the office. He sat down behind the desk, looking self-important.

—We need food if we're going to be here any length of time. Can you pick up some things if we give you a list?

He nodded his assent. He locked the door from the outside, imprisoning the women. They began rattling doors and checking windows. They rocked the huge sliding door taking up an entire wall.

—We're out of luck. There's no way out.

They were imprisoned inside a secure building in a location neither of them knew. There was no way out but through the tunnel. They returned to the office and searched through drawers and a file cabinet. They found nothing that would help them to escape.

—That tunnel isn't going to China. It probably crosses the border. I wonder how far away we are.

Barbara ignored her and hauled out a set of books. They were filled with rows of numbers and codes beside dates and the names of towns and cities. Finally she had enough.

—Sasha, what is this thing you have with whorehouses? First the Horn of Africa. Now Mexico. Would you mind taking the time to explain? You can make shit up as you go if you don't have all the facts. And what's your relationship to this Julio character?

—I was kind of thinking I was popular on the hooker circuit because I still have my looks. So do you. I think we should be flattered.

—I would be, but we both know what a hooker in a Mexican whorehouse really looks like. I don't think there'll be any competition.

—With enough makeup, the right clothes and a big smile we can do anything we set out to do.

—I don't think it's a big smile the customers will be looking for, bestie.

—Then one more reason to be popular with the clientele. Our bodies are still tight and in reasonably good shape for our ages.

—If that's all we're going by, we'd better concentrate on our business acumen. Maybe if we do good with numbers someone will cut us some slack.

Sasha didn't mention Julio's name. It wasn't necessary for Barbara to know-if there would ever be a time.

**So the cartel** wanted accurate records. That was a new one. There had to be so many fingers in the pie these days that it was a necessity to convince them all they were getting the agreed-upon cuts.

—I always figured this to be a seat-of-the-pants operation. Who knew they wanted a paper trail?

—Maybe the biz has been taken over by business school graduates. Judging by your friend in the limo—

—Don't cross that one. He's a killer for sure. Look what's happened to us since the last time we were here.

—He's the one, isn't he? Are you ever going to tell me, or not?

—Yeah. No. Apparently he carries a grudge.

Sasha refused to open up to her friend about Julio. Instead, she gestured to the pile of paper on the desk in what passed for an office.

—We better get started if we don't want to make our scheduled date in that Juarez whorehouse.

It took two days to get the paperwork sorted. It took another to straighten out the books. While they worked, they made sure to taunt Esteban. When he had enough, he locked them in and went looking for whatever they ordered to help with their record-keeping. He didn't say no to the meals they prepared in the makeshift kitchen. He drew the line at doing dishes.

—Woman's work.

That was fine with the women. It gave them time to talk.

—There's going to be tens of millions of dollars moving through this tunnel. Drugs north, cash south.

—What are the chances we can get our hands on some of it to help with the business downturn back home?

—We're the ones doing the books. Who would notice a little embezzling? No one if they're so desperate they hired people like us to do the books.

—Yeah. No. We haven't been hired, sister. We've been conscripted.

It was hot, sweaty work in the closed building with sealed windows and no air conditioning in the dead, dusty air. The distant sound of airplane engines filtered through the walls.

The heat and the humidity in the hangar was excruciating. By non the closed building with its sealed windows and doors forced the women to strip down to shorts and bikini tops. By afternoon rivulets of perspiration would end up running between breasts and down backs.

It took no time to impress Esteban with shapely bodies covered only by short shorts that led to smooth thighs and long legs. Sweaty bikini tops served to encourage him further.

—I swear, if Esteban doesn't stop drooling he's going to drown in a pool of his own spit.

—You're complaining? Lovely young Esteban is going to be our ticket out of this place. We can definitely use him to our advantage.

—Yeah. I suppose. Which one of us is it going to be?

The women paused. Barbara considered.

—I'll do it. You'd better have my back or I'll be forced to kill you, too.

—Thank you, Barbara. I owe you.

—Damn right you do. If there's no payback while I'm still young and impressionable, you're in deep shit.

She called out for Esteban.

—Si?

Barbara reached beneath her top and pinched her nipples. Sasha tried and couldn't stop the grin spreading over her face thanks to Barbara's actions.

—Take me to the end of the tunnel. I need to get a look at what's out there.

Sasha smiled and nodded, agreeing. Esteban's eyes burned into Barbara's breasts. Men. It was always the same old.

Esteban opened the door to the tunnel and lead Barbara down into the depths. He flipped a switch at the bottom, lighting it up like a Las Vegas street. Trolley tracks led off into the distance. Huge, heavy bundles of product headed north and money coming back could be transported with ease. The tunnel was a high one. People would be able to traverse the distance standing up if need be.

—This is a nice setup. How long did it take?

Esteban unplugged the electric trolley and climbed on. He motioned for Barbara to do the same.

—I don't know. I wasn't here from the start. I do not think we have used it yet.

Barbara warmed to Esteban the farther down the tunnel they traveled. By the time they were at the end, the poor man couldn't keep his hands off of her. She fought off his sweaty advances and slippery hands as best she could.

—Not here. It's too dusty. Wait until tonight.

Esteban led the way up the stairs to the building surrounding the tunnel exit. A huge expanse of bales lined the walls on three sides of the warehouse. Much of it appeared to be plastic-wrapped cash. A set of double doors provided above-ground access to the make-shift drug warehouse. Forklifts were parked off to the side.

—How many people on this side of the operation?

Esteban shrugged.

—We only call in extras when we need to load trucks. What you see here has just been transported. The tunnel will open tonight. By midnight, it will be empty.

—What's that noise?

She pretended ignorance, but she already knew the sound. She put two and two together. If she could get Sasha over here, they just might be able to stow away on a truck and make their way out of this mess together.

She had to make sure Esteban would have his hands full by dark. She pinched her nipples again and led Esteban back to the tunnel. He chased her with his hands all the way across the border. If she had her way, she'd make a grab for the pistol tucked into his belt and pull his passport right where he sat.

Instead, she smiled sweetly, walked with a certain sway in her hips, and wondered how long it would take to get Esteban to forget about his weapon. If she knew men, it wouldn't take long.

Sasha prepared the noon meal while Barbara and Esteban were away. They sat for a cordial lunch. They made sure to ask Esteban plenty of questions to keep him talking. They wanted him believing they were interested.

—I have a young family. I also support the parents of my wife as well as my own. In Mexico, that isn't possible with the meager wages we get paid for the menial work we do. Even in the ##maquiladoras the money isn't so good.

—That's too bad. Did you ever consider becoming a cop? Business obviously is good down here. Lots of overtime.

—Yes. For a while. But then I learned that many of the policía are corrupt also. It became a toss-up which of the corrupt sides I should take. For the sake of my families I chose the one that paid the best.

Neither Barbara nor Sasha considered for a minute cutting Esteban any slack. He was here for a reason, and it wasn't for them to feel sorry for his ass trapped between a rock and a hard place. He left them alone and Barbara took her chances telling Sasha about what she'd seen and heard at the opposite end of the tunnel.

—Are you sure?

—I'm sure as I'm standing here thinking about how I'm going to play Esteban.

They continued to bide their time, waiting for an opportunity. It would come eventually. If not, they'd be on their way to Juarez in a heartbeat.

—We need to stretch this gig out a bit. What do you say we hold off on taking Esteban?

* * *

**THE NEIGHBOR APPROACHED** the last house at the end of the street. He'd been by several times, but no one was ever home. _Probably out of town_ , he thought. He knocked again, waited only briefly, and then turned to walk away just as Harry opened the door.

—Aha. You are home. Sorry to bother you. I've been trying for a while. I already asked at most of the houses on the street.

—What is it?

Harry exited to his front step and casually looked up and down the street. Nothing stood out. Whoever was in the SUV parked like all the others on the street, invisible and out of sight, one of many left against the curb in a neighborhood where too many vehicles overflowed haphazardly into the street.

—Your house was next.

—What's the problem? Are we parking too many cars on the property?

—It's about the strange car parked in our neighborhood. I knocked on a window this morning. Someone with a foreign accent told me to mind my own business, so I did. I began calling on everyone on the street again, since a strange vehicle in the neighborhood is a business for all of us.

—Yes. Thank you. Did you notice the plate on it?

—Some kind of foreign registration. BC-something-or-other. I'm not sure. I'll look it up when I get home.

Harry thanked the man for being vigilant and immediately walked to Mike's via their back yards.

—It's not there for our health. I think someone has it in for us. If not for us, then for our wives.

Mike agreed.

—Either they don't know the women have already left—

Mike interrupted him.

—Or they're keeping an eye on us just because.

—Yeah. I wish I knew what the just because part was about.

They agreed to make ready to depart at a moment's notice. Mike drove off to the hangar to supervise the jet's preparation. Harry retired to his basement to open a panel in a wall where he removed two automatic pistols and an AK.

Harry's phone pinged as he loaded a bag. It was a text from Mike.

**should I ask Art or Bill if they want to come along**

In the past, both men volunteered to accompany Harry and Mike overseas when Sasha, Harry's ex-wife at the time, had gone missing with her daughter and her oil company boyfriend. Both men were experienced Africa hands following that adventure. They learned fast how Harry and Mike worked together in a foreign country.

With Art's vast experience as an aircraft engineer and Bill's years as a Huey pocket gunner, together they rigged up a DC-3 with twin .50 calibers. Once the jury-rigged gunship became airborne with Mike as pilot-in-command, Bill kept the kidnappers busy while Harry did an end-run on the ground to rescue his family.

He didn't want to reply with a simple text. He called Mike's number.

—They're both getting on. The only reason you kept them this long is because of what they did for us on the Horn. Do you think we'll need them?

—I think we'd be better off with a couple of AKs. But it's your choice. Let me know before I get to the hangar.

—Leave them out of it. That's my decision for the day. We're going to have to move fast. They'll slow us down with too many questions. If I know one thing, it's that we won't want any more witnesses than the two of us.

—You got it. When I get back to the house, we'll have a conversation with the two in the SUV.

Mike stayed off the direct route to the hangar and instead took the long way the distance to the hangar. He kept his eyes open, but didn't notice anyone on his tail. Art and Bill greeted him to let him know the jet was ready.

Mike explained what was going on. Visibly disappointed that they wouldn't be along for the ride on this gig, they offered to do any troubleshooting required on the home front.

-Bill, you were on the receiving end of AK fire. Is there anything I need to remember about it? It's been a while.

—Put in a magazine and pull the trigger. Dirt, mud, sand or water, that thing will fire until it's empty. Replace the empty mag and you're good to go all over again.

—Thanks. I'll keep that in mind.

—I wish I was going with you boys.

—I already talked to Harry. He thinks we're going to have our hands full with the SUV parked down the street from the house.

Bill's eyes lit up.

—Would you like some help with that?

On the other end of the phone, Harry agreed that a little help from Bill would not go unappreciated.

—We need a face-to-face. We're done with phone calls.

**Barbara returned from** her guided tour of the tunnel with Esteban in tow. She discovered Sasha already changed into her bikini top.

—You didn't waste any time. Get a load of lover-boy over there behind the desk.

Esteban's eyes popped out of his head at the sight of the woman's ample bosom. They had yet to return to normal. Barbara looked at Sasha and grinned. Sasha swiped at the perspiration running between her breasts while looking in Esteban's direction.

—Well, I couldn't help it. It's so hot in here.

Barbara rolled her eyes.

—Perhaps you're right.

Barbara searched through her bag for the revealing top. She turned her back on Esteban and discarded her blouse. She slipped out of her bra, donned the top, and asked Esteban to tie it for her. Esteban's jaw almost slammed into the desk.

He could barely contain himself. His brain went into overdrive as it became obvious that he could have both of these women. For the rest of the day he lost himself in feasting his eyes on the bikini-topped women strutting around in their short-shorts. It seemed as though they were in a competition to become his favorite. So far, they looked to be about even.

Consumed by his lust, his first mistake was to begin thinking he could trust them. Leading with an erection might not have been Esteban's best idea. Barbara wasn't happy at the prospect of having to sleep with Esteban to get one over on him.

—I'll do it if you want, sister. It's our only way out.

—How far are we going to take this? You're not going to be spreading your legs for that one. Neither am I, if I have anything to say about it.

—You won't have to. Neither of us will. Start looking for tape or rope or anything you can put your hands on. With all the plastic bales around here there has to be some somewhere.

—Did you get a look at what's at the other end of the tunnel? Or was Esteban too intrigued with your breasts to be able to talk?

She shook her head.

—Girl, I'm more than just a sex symbol, I'll have you know.

Barbara went on.

—It's a huge building. Probably an aircraft hangar before it became a dope and money warehouse. It sounded like the tunnel comes up under or near an airport of some sort.

The women considered for a moment.

—If we can make it down that tunnel, we just might be home free. Did you happen to notice any drums inside?

—Now that you mention it, I think there were some blue and white drums stacked on their sides along a wall. Why?

—Turbo fuel. We can use that to start the fire.

—What?

—You heard me. We need to take up smoking right now.

Sasha called for Esteban.

—Si, señorita?

—Shit. He still thinks he's got a couple of single girls on his hands.

Barbara directed a not so innocent smile at the man.

—Esteban, we have no cigarettes. Do you think you could find some for us? We'll need a lighter, too.

—And some matches.

—Let me look in my car.

Esteban made for the door. Sasha used the opportunity to disappear into the bedroom. She came back out wearing her bikini bottom.

—Girl, you are smokin'. What have you been doing that you haven't been telling me?

—It's called exercise. For six months I've been sweating my ass off. Harry's been chasing after me like I was still in my twenties. Damned if I'm going to be ignored by Esteban at a time like this.

An envious Barbara eyes her friend's body. She'd be joining her at the gym when they got home. If they got home.

—You're such a good friend to be volunteering your fine, shapely ass to save mine.

The women high-fived and waited for Esteban to return with the lighter.

—Did you ever get your hands on his phone?

—I did when he was drooling over your breasts.

—Did you get the call through?

—You bet. The boys will be back in town shortly.

—How are they going to know where to go?

—Apparently they're bringing along two extra sets of eyes. There was something about _sicarios_ mentioned in the conversation. Do you know what that means?

—Sicarios? They're cartel hit men. It's going to be like looking for a needle in you know what.

—Mike didn't sound too concerned. He seemed to think we'd be capable of making our own special hell since I was free to make a call. I didn't dare tell him it was because you were sporting a smile and a bikini too small to cover your tits.

—Like it's all my fault. What else did he say?

—He told me I'd better light a marker if I wanted him to show up.

—Well damn, girl. In that case, let's get busy.

—He mentioned something about Harry not being too happy either.

—He will be when he shows up to claim this body one more time.

**The hangar doors** opened and Bill drove the SUV into the building. He positioned the vehicle in the center of the huge hangar and closed the huge doors. Harry looked on in surprise as the man grabbed the bound and hooded sicarios one by one and dragged them out of the SUV. He proceeded to kick them to the floor.

—Dare I ask how you managed that all by yourself?

—They were becoming too accustomed to your sleepy neighborhood. And I had some help from Art. He didn't want me to say anything.

Harry grinned at Bill.

—In that case, be sure to thank him for me.

One by one, Harry forced the two men into the cabin of the passenger jet. He strapped each one into the web seats that replaced the fancy leather interior.

—What are your plans for the vehicle, Bill?

Already he was working on covering it with a tarpaulin. It was like the man could read his mind.

—When we get some time, we'll give the guys some time off and Art and I will handle it.

Harry took that to mean that the suburban would disappear without a trace.

—You won't sell any of it, right?

—Trust me. It will go away. Did you empty their pockets and check the SUV for tells?

Harry handed Bill a bag. Inside, the plates rattled.

—Everything in the bag needs to disappear, too.

Satisfied, Harry headed to the office for a hurried meeting with Mike.

—How are we going to get those two out of the country?

—Don't sweat it. En route we'll air file for Mexico City. That will get us over America. At some point in time, we'll declare an emergency to get to where we need to be.

There was no discussion forthcoming about how they would get the two men back into the country when they returned with their women.

Art knocked on the door to interrupt the meeting.

—You're full. Maximum range.

Harry had already briefed his trusted accomplice from their time on the Horn.

—Thanks, Art. Maybe you could check with Bill to see it he needs any help.

—Don't worry. We'll handle this end of it. There won't be a thing left. Just remember-no phone calls.

—Loud and clear, Art. Loud and clear.

Already the two men had a pair of plastic tarps spread out on the floor of the hangar and were pushing the SUV onto it. Mike filed his initial flight plan with ATC. By the time approval came through, Art and Bill had the seats out and were working on the dash.

—Let's flash up, Mike. It's time we picked up a couple of girls.

—You're confident for a guy headed to Mexico, don't you think?

—We've got ##dos cabróns on board. Either they talk, or they walk. One step at a time.

Mike shrugged. He didn't have to guess at what Harry was proposing. Whether he'd actually go through with it was another matter. He reconsidered, but only briefly. It was Sasha and Barbara that were threatened.

Mike didn't doubt for a minute what his friend Harry was capable of when it came to his wife. Or for that matter, his own wife, Barbara.

* * *

**SASHA AND BARBARA** dumped the contents of their purses on the desk, frantically searching for what little makeup they contained. Items bounced and scatted and landed on the filthy cement floor.

With a few deft applications of tube and brush, eyes and lips transformed into beacons of hope calling for Esteban. Hair was brushed and fluffed. The poor man had no clue about the twin tornadoes that would soon be coming his way to wreak their particular form of destruction.

—Once I get him on top of me, you're going to cold-cock him, right? I don't want you to spend time thinking about when the time might be right.

—Don't worry, Barbara. You're working with a whorehouse pro here. Even Harry knows I'm not doable unless the time and the place are right.

—Poor Harry. You should introduce a little spice into your relationship for his sake.

—Yeah, right. The last time I did that, I got pregnant again, and he got cut off until I went back on the pill.

Barbara had been unable to conceive. Meeka by Mike's girlfriend in Africa was her only child.

—If you don't want any more, I'll take them for you.

—Your time will come, Barbara. Just you wait.

They knew this wasn't the time or the place, but it caused them to reconsider their present situation.

—I hope that's the truth. Now come on. Let's get busy. Esteban needs to see us in action before we talk ourselves out of whatever this is.

Esteban's first look at the women with perfect hair and makeup in their bikini tops was more than he bargained for. His jaw would have clanked onto the floor were it not attached. He couldn't believe his good fortune. He held up a brown paper bag.

—I picked up some tequila for the party.

The women rushed him. They grabbed the bag, emptied its contents on the table, and handed him a bottle. He poured shots into small plastic cups. Sasha and Barbara, old Mexico hands that they were from years ago, downed the shots without blinking. Their eyes began watering and they briefly reconsidered.

—Where's the lime? Did you get salt?

She wondered if Esteban would go for the gringo way of slamming the liquor. She didn't have to wait. He dumped the second bag onto the table and limes spilled out onto the floor. Sasha bent over in front of him to pick them up. She straightened, grabbed a knife and began slicing.

—Hit us again, Esteban.

He poured another and another. Rounds went down the hatch. Esteban matched the girls, drink for drink. Near the bottom of the bottle, all three were generously shit faced. Words slurred.

—Come on, Esteban.

Barbara crooked a finger at him.

—It's time. Walk this way.

Barbara began making her way towards the makeshift plywood bedroom with a come hither look, a strained smile, and swinging hips. With eyes fastened firmly to her hips, Esteban stumbled after her in a drunken stupor. The cheap door slammed behind him as he followed her to the bed.

—Poor baby. Let me help you get undressed.

Barbara pulled his pants down around his ankles. She pulled him down onto the bed before he could kick them away. Her lips moved to his ear.

—Would you like Sasha to join us?

He collapsed and she wrapped her legs around his back and hooked her ankles, knowing he wouldn't be capable of climbing off of her. If Sasha missed with the bottle the first time she wanted to be sure she got a second chance.

—Oh look, Esteban. Here she comes now.

Sasha eased the door open and peeked in to see how things were proceeding. Satisfied, unlike her friend Barbara, she made her way to the edge of the bed and nudged Esteban.

—Make room for _numero dos_. Number two always tries harder.

She giggled and revealed the tequila bottle hiding behind her back. Esteban regarded it drunkenly.

—It's empty. _Por favor_ —

Sasha swung the empty bottle in a wide arc. Esteban tried following it with his eyes. Barbara pressed his head into her shoulder in an attempt to give Sasha something to aim for. The bottle connected with the back of Esteban's head and shattered. Cold-cocked, his crossed eyes closed and he collapsed between Barbara's legs.

Barbara struggled to uncross her ankles. Sasha collapsed beside her in a fit of nervous laughter.

—I always knew that shit was potent. Look at the poor boy. He can't hold his tequila. What kind of Mexican is he?

Barbara kept up her struggles with the unconscious Esteban. She kicked her feet and heaved her hips up off the bed.

—Are you going to help get this one off me?

Sasha giggled uncontrollably.

—That's the first time I've heard you say that in ages. You have to uncross your ankles. Or did you forget how since you've been married?

—Bitch, if you don't—

Sasha held up her hands.

—Okay. Okay.

She helped her roll Esteban off the bed. His head slammed into the floor and he groaned as his entire body slammed to the floor with a thud.

—Number two tries harder? What the hell?

Sasha wasn't finished laughing.

—If you wanted to rehearse, we would have needed more time.

Barbara scrambled for the pistol tucked into Esteban's pants laying on the floor. She tucked it into the front of her short-shorts.

—Christ, woman, that makes you look like you've got a dick under that thing.

—It's a dick we might need at the other end of the tunnel. Do you want to go without one?

—Only until Harry gets me home, girl.

**Half an hour** into the flight, Mike asked for and received clearance to descend to flight level two-zero. He set the autopilot.

—How are we going to do this, Harry? Any ideas?

—I'm thinking gear down, full flaps, maintain just above stall. I talked to Art. He hauled out the aircraft manual. He thinks its doable from twenty thousand.

—If Art says so, we're good to go. Let's do it.

Mike disengaged the autopilot. He eased back on the twin-engine power. He waited for speed to decrease before setting the flaps. He dropped the gear on reconfigured jet to stabilize if for the slower speed.

Mike turned to Meeka in the jump seat.

—Daughter.

It was the same way her own mother addressed her when there might be trouble for them.

—Yes, father.

—Harry and I need you to stay here, okay? You've flown with us often enough by now to know not to touch anything.

—Yes, father.

—We have some business to attend to in the back. We need to prepare for your mom and Sasha. There's going to be lots of noise. You need to keep the oxygen mask on all the time until we come back. Do you understand.

—Yes, father. I will wait here.

Mike depressurized the jet and reset the autopilot

Mike set the autopilot and checked the numbers one last time. Satisfied, he donned his own mask and depressurized the jet. He stepped over the seat and made sure Meeka fastened the belt.

—Do not come into the back.

He messed the girl's hair and she smiled up at him.

Mike joined Harry already in the back. The oxygen masks dropped. Harry grabbed one for himself. He removed the hood covering the first of the men and slapped him hard.

—Look at me.

His voice was muffled by the oxygen mask.

—I'm Harry. The man behind me is Mike. You need to remember those names while you're making your way.

Spit from the man splattered Harry. He ignored it.

—Which of you wants to be the first to talk?

More spit.

—Are you certain that's the way you want it to be? Are you really, really sure?

The men laughed.

—You are nothing compared to what will happen when we come back for you. And we will come back.

Harry popped the cabin door. He placed masks on the two men. He wanted them to remain conscious. The mask slipped off the man still covered with a hood.

—No. You won't.

He pointed to the man that had spit on him.

—You're _numero uno_.

He undid the man's seat belt. He gestured and poked at the still hooded second man.

—Dos. Number two usually tries harder. _Comprende_?

Harry swung the cabin door inward. A loud, screeching wind enveloped the cabin. Air and dust and unsecured seat belts and the utility seat's webbing clattered and vibrated in the wind.

—Talk. Now.

The man spit again. Harry yanked the hood off of the second man, displacing his oxygen mask. His eyes moved to the open door and widened before he began screaming.

**In the passenger** compartment, Harry was down by one man. Mike went up front to check the numbers and reassure Meeka.

—Don't worry. We'll have you mom back in no time.

He went back to join Harry for the second time.

—This guy's got the biggest pair of eyes I've ever seen on a man, and he's not even looking at a woman.

Number two's full attention was riveted on the open door. His eyes kept switching from Harry to the door and back again and again. Anything that wasn't tied down shook and rattled. The rushing wind whistled, sounding like it was summoning death.

—What's your name?

Number two composed himself only long enough to answer.

—Jesús.

He went back to looking at the open door.

—Well, Jesús, it looks like you have a decision to make.

He nodded, desperate to get himself out of the situation any way he could.

They moved to the front of the jet to allow him a few minutes to think about what might happen. His eyes continued to move nervously from the open door to Harry and Mike and back to the door.

—Now then, what's the word? Or would you prefer to join your friend?

Harry waited patiently.

—What's it gonna be, amigo?

They gave him more time to consider in the cold, noisy cabin. Air continued to whistle past the door, like a siren call.

—What are we going to do if that son of a bitch doesn't talk?

—It's back to square one for us, Mike. We've done all we can. We'll have to regroup somewhere and come up with another plan. If his tongue doesn't start wagging soon, I'd be surprised.

Mike left to return to the cockpit, patting Meeka's head on the way by and tousling her hair. Harry stood in front of numero dos a final time. The man looked in the direction of the open door and licked his lips. In the rarefied atmosphere and temperature at twenty thousand feet, sweat poured off of him.

—You've had more than enough time to think. What's it going to be, Jesús?

Harry made sure the man saw him looking towards the open door before looking back at him.

— _Plata o plomo?_

Harry walked away from the man and took out the cell phone Art had liberated. He'd almost exhausted the list of numbers. He punched the call button and waited. Recognizing the familiar voice on the other end, he walked up front and handed the phone to Mike.

—It's for you.

* * *

**SASHA SECURED ESTEBAN'S** ankles and knees with tape. Barbara wrapped his hands behind his back with twine and more tape. A pair of panties ended up stuffed in his mouth. They finished their package off with clear plastic wrap.

—That should end his career once word of what he's got in his mouth travels.

Esteban moaned and tried to sit up. The plastic cocoon wouldn't permit it.

—At least he's not dead. Yet.

— _Buenas tardes_ , Esteban. It's been a slice. Now lie back and dream about what might have been.

She kicked him in the head and he ceased struggling.

—Lighter?

—Check.

—Matches?

—Roger that.

Sasha looked Barbara up and down.

—Are you going to get dressed? You can't run around like that. Who knows what's on the other side waiting for us.

—Fuck that. Let's rock and roll, bitch.

The women grinned. Sasha waited for Barbara to pull on her pants before rushing the door to the tunnel.

—Bitch, put some pants on or Mike is going to wonder for the rest of his life.

—Yeah, yeah. Give me a minute. I'm still trying to get my shit together. My ankles still hurt.

—You ought to give Mike a go like that. He deserves it more than Esteban did.

—Will you stop talking about my sex life? Mike and I have a lot of action left in us, you know. Now stop gossiping and follow me out of here.

—Is there any way to lock it from the inside? A shovel? Axe?

Barbara dropped the door. Her hand settled on a hammer. She jammed it against the handle and hoped for the best.

—Go. Go. They're liable to be here any minute.

Barbara flicked the light and they ran through the tunnel as fast as they could. Barbara halted suddenly and Sasha bumped into her.

—Now what?

—Esteban's cell phone. Have you got it?

Sasha shook her head.

—Shit. We have to go back.

Barbara grabbed Sasha's arm and pushed her towards the exit.

—No. I'll go. You keep on. I'll see you on the other side.

Barbara shoved her friend and backtracked, running as fast as she could to the jammed door. She fought it, cursing and yelling. The hammer clattered to the floor. She climbed out and rubbed skinned knuckles, still cursing wildly, in time to catch Esteban wriggling like a snake towards the door to the outside of the building.

—Not so fast, cabrón.

She brought back a foot and kicked him hard in the head, left him, and hurried to the makeshift bedroom. She flailed her feet at the clothes laying in a jumbled pile on the floor. She tossed the bed and tipped the mattress on the floor. From there she scrambled into the kitchen and discovered the phone on the makeshift counter. She checked Esteban a final time, kicked him once more for good measure, and secured the tunnel door with the hammer.

Barbara raced down the tunnel. Huffing and puffing, she caught up with Sasha at the exit. She helped her friend raise the door and together they allowed it fall to the concrete with a loud clang.

—Shit. That tunnel was a lot shorter on the trolley.

—We've got to weigh the door down with something.

They closed the door and rolled a forty-five gallon drum of turbo fuel on top to secure it. It took them a couple of tries, struggling with the full drum's dead weight, to stand it upright over the door.

—That'll do it. If anyone tries to shoot the door open they'll bring down fire and brimstone.

—Look for a bung wrench of some sort. We need to open fuel drums and get them draining. I'll use the fork lift to spread the bales around.

Barbara smashed the lock on the sliding doors and leaned into one to slide it open. The incoming air would fan the flames of the pyre they were slowly constructing. Sasha used the forklift to punch through the walls to provide a cross breeze once the fire stared. By the time they finished, both were drenched in jet fuel.

—Screw it, Barbara. Let's go.

Esteban's cell phone chose that moment to ring.

—Wait. What the hell? Should I answer it?

The phone went silent.

—I guess not. Let's go.

Sasha lit one of the matches and was about to set fire to the remainder in her hand. The phone rang again.

—Shit.

She shook the match out and threw the phone at Barbara.

—Your turn. See who it is.

— _Buenos dios. Cómo estás?_

Sasha chose that instant to ignite the matches. She tossed all of them into the center of a puddle of jet fuel. A loud whump followed by a wall of flame sucked the oxygen out of the hangar. The cheap tin walls began to sag inward. The incoming rush of air fanned the flames, increasing their intensity.

Barbara held the phone away from her ear. She could barely hear the voice on the other end.

—If you bitches ever try anything like this again, the four of us are done. Do you hear me?

Barbara held the phone in the direction of the exploding fuel and shook it.

—If the boys aren't going to be able to find that, they're blind as bats.

The voice on the other end continued.

—Don't change the subject. Where the hell are you? And what's that sound?

Barbara tossed the phone to Sasha. She caught it and looked at her friend with a _What the hell?_ expression on her face.

—I think it's for you, bestie.

Sasha put the phone to her ear.

—Honey? Is that you? We're waiting for you. We finally got the fire going and we're just about to throw on the dogs. When will you be getting here?

—Jesus Christ. Are you going to tell me where you are or not?

Sirens began sounding in the background.

—Oh. Mike. It's you. We're at the Calexico airport. You should be able to find it no problem. Just point whatever it is you're driving at the black towering inferno rising over town. We'll be waiting for you right beside it.

Sasha tossed the phone into the fire. She didn't bother to hang up. She turned to Barbara.

—Shit. Two women in bikinis are going to stand out like a sore thumb in this gyp joint. We need to cover up.

—Now all of a sudden you're worried about showing some skin?

Sasha's eyes wandered towards the approaching fire trucks. She thought for a moment.

—Don't worry. I have an idea. All we need to do is wait for the fire department white knights to arrive at our shit show.

**Mike called L.A.** Center and declared an emergency. He received permission to proceed to the nearest airport. As luck would have it, Calexico turned out to be the closest diversion.

At ten thousand feet the masks came off. Out the window, directly in front of the jet, a huge dark plume of smoke drifted straight up from a base of orange flames. Two lonely fire trucks, lights flashing, proceeded in the direction of the flaming hangar.

—You don't suppose-

—I suppose. If there's anything I've learned about those two, it's not to underestimate them.

—So then, we're thinking the same thing. Keep eyes on that fire. Who knows where we're liable to find them.

The tower radioed to inform the jet that the airport was closed because of the fire. Mike explained their situation with the open cabin door. Following a brief discussion of the flight hazards of proceeding with an open door, the tower gave the jet permission to land.

After landing, they were to proceed to assigned parking at the far end of the runway so as not to interfere with the fire-fighting operation.

**Sasha waved down** the approaching fire truck. It halted, allowing a man to get off. He began firing questions at the women. Neither admitted to knowing anything. Barbara explained that they were covered in jet fuel. Two of the firefighters took off their turnout coats and handed them over to the women.

—Don't go far. The chief is probably going to want to talk to you.

—We'll wait right here, we promise.

Barbara's apprehension was building. She searched the horizon for the jet she knew would be coming for them. Finally she pointed at a speck in the sky. It was too low to make out, but the speck was getting bigger.

—Do you think? Maybe we shouldn't have thrown the phone into the fire.

—It's too far away to be sure. We'll know when we get a look at the registration.

They paused and looked back to admire their handiwork. The old wooden-roofed hangar was completely engulfed in bright orange flame. Jet black smoke towered skyward. Occasionally a puff of flame followed the sound of a whump as another barrel of fuel exploded, spreading more flammable contents into the fire.

—We did good, didn't we?

They slapped hands. By the time they turned around, the jet looked to be low and slow on final. The women sprinted as fast as they could towards the taxiway.

—If we don't get there in time, those two are liable to leave us here judging by the phone call.

—Can you blame them?

Already Barbara was running. She yelled over her shoulder.

—Not really. Try to keep up, Sasha.

* * *

**IN THE CIRCUIT,** Mike pulled back power to permit him to line up for a low-and-slow off-center for the length of Calexico's 4,700 foot runway. He selected gear down and full flaps. He began adjusting the throttles as the airspeed began bleeding off.

—Does that look like them? What the hell? Check that out, Harry. I'm too busy flying this crate.

On final, Mike immediately kicked in rudder and aileron to re-aim for the thousand foot marker. The move would permit him to put wheels down on the button. Harry continued looking out his side of the cockpit. He spotted two women wearing firefighter gear. They were opening and closing their jackets, flashing the jet.

Harry shook his head in amazement.

—Mike, I think we're in the right place. We need to do a quick stop for a turnoff at the first exit. It's an immediate right and then a left. No shutdown.

Mike grunted, too busy using his experience to get the jet cemented onto the short runway using a minimum of available asphalt.

—I'll go back and pull them on board. Meeka, put on your blindfold. You don't need to see your mom like this.

Harry hesitated before continuing.

—No. Wait. You need to see this. Come on. Don't go near the open door please.

The jet bumped hard on the button. Immediately Mike dumped the thrusters and stomped on the brakes. He managed to get the jet slowed to make the first turnoff. On Harry's signal he hit the brakes, hard. With the buckets still deployed, the engines screamed in protest as the jet finally halted.

He stowed the buckets and kept power-on for a quick turnaround.

—What's that yellow thing they're wearing?

Harry's response was lost in the screaming engine noise.

—Wait and see. It's gonna to be good.

He climbed out of his seat, reached for Mike's always-present camera, and headed aft. Harry leaned out the door, snapped two quick pictures, and then offered his hand to the women. He bent, offering a hand, intending to haul them on board, one at a time. They refs used.

Instead, screamed and handed up a heavy black bag.

—Take this! Take this!

He shook his head. The screaming continued. Convinced, he made a grab for the bag. The weight almost pulled him overboard. He shook his head and slid it forward before returning to the open door.

—Come on. Come on. Get the lead out, girls. We don't have all day.

He heaved first one and then the other on board, slapping their asses hard in turn.

—Not so bad for old married broads. Now lose the gun, Bonnie. We won't need it now.

Sasha wiped the weapon and tossed it out the door into the grass. Standing beside Harry, Meeka nodded. It was good to see it finally gone. There would be no more need of it.

—It's good to see you haven't forgotten everything. Now strap your fine little butts down in those seats and don't bother us for a few minutes, at least. Barbara, hug your daughter. She's been worried sick about you.

He closed and latched the exit door. He gave Mike a thumbs up through the cabin.

—We need to be home by dinner if you both know what's good for you. There'll be no slacking, either. It's dinner and a movie or your asses will be tanned.

He grinned at the women in their turnout jackets. He managed a final picture with the camera before he went to move up front.

—Our asses are already tanned. We've been standing and waiting out here in nothing more than band-aids and a cork waiting for you guys.

Mike contacted Los Angeles Center and canceled the emergency. He received his requested clearance to San Diego for customs. Harry strapped in beside him.

—Are we going to have a problem with Customs?

—No. We declared five on board. We have five on board. What's the problem?

**Mike taxied to** the apron in front of his hangar and shut down. Harry opened the door and the women exited in their bikinis and fireman's gear. Art and Bill greeted the two women like long lost souls. Sasha's daughter, Christa, caught sight of the fire department coat her mother was wearing. She immediately gravitated to both of the women with Meeka in tow.

—Mommy, you never told me you were a firefighter. Is it hot in those jackets? Is that why you're wearing a bathing suit?

Barbara tried, but she couldn't resist.

—Christa, your mother is the best fire-woman I've ever known. Not only does she know how to start them, but she knows how to put them out, too.

Harry and Mike exchanged glances.

—Let's all go home, boys and girls. I'm tired and hungry and at least two of you need showers.

Harry looked over the two women.

—Mike, I think the shotgun is gone forever. I don't see where it could be stashed in those coats.

To be certain, Mike reached to squeeze his wife's rear. She jumped and grinned like a drunken sailor.

—I sure hope so. I don't need another adventure chasing after these two ever again. Let's go home and make babies. Come along, Barbara, it's time.

**Art and Bill** were left to clean up the jet's interior and reconfigure it for passenger duties. Bill was in the process of dismantling the web seating when he found the black hoods. Before he thought about it, he held one up and then quickly pocketed both of them, but not before Art saw them.

—What have you got there?

He showed him the hoods. Art shrugged.

—Where do you think the lads got those?

—I have no idea. If there's one thing I learned in East Africa, it's don't ask questions. I might not want to hear the answers.

Art shook his head before agreeing. He dragged the overweight duffel out of the back of the jet. He opened it and took a quick look inside. Unfazed, he looked up at Bill still in the jet.

—You're right. Now come with me. It's going to take both of us to tally the cash for a final count. And maybe you should pick up a pizza to go. We're going to be busy for quite a while.

Art waited until Bill departed the hangar for the food. He sighed and went into the office and called Mike's home. He was hoping for Barbara to answer. When she picked up, he spent less than a minute in conversation with her.

He hung up and went back to the bag of neatly-wrapped cash. He removed both halves of the old shotgun from where it had slid off to the side. He placed them in the trunk of his car for safekeeping.

* * *

**SOMETIMES MEEKA LIKED** to slip downstairs to the kitchen after everyone had fallen asleep. She'd pour herself a small glass of ice-cold, fresh milk and sit in the dim lighting. She used the time to think and remember her own mother and their life in the desert that had been so different from her new life.

Ali, the old man, had taken her own mother in and helped to keep them safe after she was born. Her own mother had sacrificed her life for her. She would never forget how fiercely hew own mother had fought to protect her and keep her safe in the desert home Ali had allowed them to share.

It appeared to her that her new mother would do the same. She looked up at the old shotgun. It was back in its rightful place, over the cupboard where it belonged. Meeka nodded several times, as though agreeing to something only she understood.

She dimmed the light in the kitchen and slowly climbed the stairs to her room.

###

**About the author**

Peter Duke has been an aviator and fire pilot, business owner, aircraft mechanic, and motorcycle rider. He has roamed the world from Africa to the Americas and places in between. His fictional short novels are based on some of the people he has encountered and the experiences he has had while traveling the world, both for work and for pleasure.

http://pxduke.com

author@pxduke.com

