Secret Agent Sam

Chapter 11

There was still some daylight left when they came to the hunter’s hut, little more than a bamboo cave in a mountain of jungle greenery. While Esther and Sam banged on the bamboo walls with sticks to chase away any rats and mice already in residence, not to mention snakes that might have come to dine on them, Cory and Tony helped Hal cut banana leaves to fortify the roof, using the knife from Esther’s bundle. They managed to get settled in before the rain came again.

They ate a supper of some fruit they’d picked on the way, though it didn’t do much to satisfy Sam’s hunger; she was thoroughly sick of fruit, and starting to hallucinate cheeseburgers.

Then they sat huddled, listening to the rain drumming on the freshly cut leaves above their heads, smelling the cool damp fragrances of earth and growing things, and Sam thought of the first people, crouched in caves and jungle shelters not much different than this one…wondered whether they’d felt this same loneliness and isolation, and whether they, too, had been thankful for the warmth and vibrancy of other human bodies close by in the darkness, their comforting presence felt even without touching.

The rain passed quickly and the moon came out. Sam watched it slip through the cracks in the bamboo walls and paint uneven stripes across the sleeping Lundquists, lying curled together, front to back, like spoons. And she felt the sense of loneliness and isolation inside her deepen into bottomless sadness.

I remember that, she thought. I remember what it’s like to feel so close to someone that he seems like only another part of me, his smell as natural to me as the air I’ve grown accustomed to breathing every day, and as essential. His warmth like sunshine on my skin. I remember the first time I felt like that…it seems like yesterday…

I’m in a boat out on the lake at dusk, sitting with my back against Cory’s chest, and his arms are around me and his long legs drawn up alongside mine. I feel his chin resting on the top of my head, and sometimes I feel his warm breath as he touches his lips to my hair. Shivers go through me, then, and I turn my head to his shoulder and breathe him in…his smell reminding me of clean sheets right off my grandmama’s clothesline, and I recall the way as a little girl I used to like to bury my face in that sweet freshness, and I wish I could do that now, to him. Right now, with Cory, I feel the way I did then, a child in my grandmama’s house…safe, secure, loved. I feel like I’m home.

The evening star is bright in the darkening sky, and far across the water I can see my mom and dad standing on the dock, twined together so they look like one person. I know that my dad has found his way home, too, and a great wave of emotion rushes through me, happiness so intense it makes tears come to my eyes. Everything I’ve ever wished for is right here, mine, like this wonderful gift I’ve been given, and everything I want for my life from now on seems within my grasp.

How did I get so far from there? Sam thought as she gazed at the sleeping Lundquists, her eyes dry now, burning with a sense of loss and loneliness too great for tears. So far from home. For the first time she truly understood the depths of her father’s despair when he’d feared he might never again find that place where he belonged.

Cory was that place for me; I knew it even then. How did I let that go? Yes, I wanted more…there were so many things I wanted to do, places to go, possibilities to explore…was that wrong? I always thought he’d be there for me to come home to…my place of belonging, where I would always feel safe and welcome and loved.

Was I wrong to want so much?

Would I have given up my dreams of becoming a pilot, and later this chance to make a difference in the world, if I’d known what it would cost me?

Why must choosing one cost me the other? Why should I have to sacrifice half of myself?

It’s not fair, dammit, she thought, stirring angrily in the silver-dappled darkness. She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms tightly around them, rested her forehead on her knees and squeezed her eyes shut, hugging herself against a chill too deep to reach.

“Sam…” It was a stirring in the air, nothing more…a whisper so faint she couldn’t be sure she’d heard it.

Her heart never doubted. It leaped within the confined space of her chest, and a shiver rippled through her. Pride wouldn’t let her reply; she only hugged her knees more tightly, her whole body going tense in that perverse way it has of armoring itself against something it wants too much.

She felt a hand on one shoulder…then both…strong hands, compelling her. She resisted, of course-her stubborn nature demanded it-but gradually the patience and quiet determination of those hands had their way with her, and she gave a small, testy sigh and allowed herself to be unfolded and pulled into Cory’s arms.

He would have nested her against him, her back to his front, but that wasn’t what she wanted-needed-then, and she turned in the circle of his arms and wrapped her arms around him, because she needed desperately not just to be held, but to hold on to someone. Holding him so tightly she could feel his heart beating against her own chest, she lifted her face into his neck and pressed her nose and lips against his skin, breathing in the smell of him, pulling it deep inside her, breathing past the smells of sweat and mud and jungle mustiness to the sweet clean goodness that was the most essential part of him.

She felt his hand cuddle her head close into that hollow that seemed specially made for it, his fingers stroking the hair behind her ear. Stroking gently over the spot where the secret she’d hidden from him, the communication chip, lay embedded beneath her skin, and this time she didn’t flinch or cringe away, because it didn’t matter anymore, because now he knew. He knew, everything there was to know, and still he’d chosen to hold her, comfort her like this, as though nothing had ever gone wrong between them. And maybe that meant there was still a chance for them somewhere…sometime, and maybe it meant nothing at all except further proof of his inherent kindness, but still she felt a great brightness come inside her, as if she’d received a gift of grace.

Cory woke to find Esther Lundquist bending over him.

“We must go now,” she whispered, touching his shoulder, and her sweet, bright voice sounded breathless with urgency.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Sam was already coming awake, her body taut and rigid in his arms. They both sat up slowly, disengaging tangled arms and legs. A short distance away in the murky green light of dawn, Hal was shaking Tony awake.

“Al-Rami’s men are coming. We heard their voices, Hal and I. They must have come from the crossing-maybe looking for us, maybe not, I don’t know. But they know this place-they’ll surely search here. We’ll have to hide in the jungle until they’ve gone by.”

Cory and Sam were already on their feet. Tony was groping for his camera bags. Silently, one by one, they followed Hal and Esther out of the hut and slipped into the cover of the jungle. They moved slowly, trying not to brush against the foliage lest the sound of that give them away, until an urgent hand signal from Hal, passed from one to the other down the line, told them to drop to the jungle floor and freeze.

“Hide your face,” Cory heard Sam hiss. “Faces stand out in this stuff.”

Not hesitating, no longer needing to wonder where she’d come by such knowledge, he put his head down on his folded arms. Minutes ticked by while he listened to his heartbeat, loud as thunder in his ears. Somewhere in the canopy, awakening birds squawked and chattered, then fell into a listening hush. And now he heard it, too-the crackle and swush of boots trampling through lush vegetation. He found himself counting, counting footsteps, counting heartbeats, wondering if he was counting down the final seconds of his life. And he had to fight the impulse to reach through the undergrowth that separated them and take Sam’s hand, because if he was going to die-if they were both going to die, right here and right now-he wanted her to know in this life that he still loved her.

The moment of insanity passed. Like the others, he lay still as death, except for the wild pounding of his heart, listening to the sounds of heavy boots come closer…until they were right on top of him…until it seemed they surely must hear his heart beating. But the footsteps moved on past, and presently Cory heard the muttering of voices, the creak and rustle of bamboo, and knew the stealthy pursuers were searching the hut where they’d all been sleeping only minutes before. Then, after what seemed like hours, those sounds, too, faded. The jungle grew quiet…then noisy, as high in the canopy the watchful birds resumed their delayed ode to the morning.

Hal rose cautiously to his feet and the others followed, Tony fussing over his camera bags and swearing softly to himself, like a broody hen, Cory thought, counting and clucking over her chicks.

“Come quickly,” Esther whispered, waving them all past her. “We must get across the gorge. If they come back, we’ll be trapped here on this side.” She still sounded out of breath, and her face was pale and shiny with sweat.

“Are you all right?” Cory asked in a low voice, touching her arm as he passed her.

“I’ll be fine, dear.” She threw him her usual smile, but he thought it seemed strained now, rather than sunny. She patted her chest, a delicate, fluttery gesture. “All this excitement…I just need to catch my breath for a moment. But please-do hurry. It will take us some time to get everyone across. You must go. Go.” She gave his arm a motherly pat that was more like a shove, and what could he do but obey?

Later, he wondered what might have happened if he’d listened to the uneasy voices whispering in the back of his mind, wondered whether it would have made any difference at all in the eventual outcome. At the time, though, he did what he thought he must do…closed his ears to the whispers and his mind to unease and went plunging ahead after Sam and Hal and Tony, leaving Esther Lundquist behind.

It was only fifty yards or so farther on when the trees suddenly opened up to reveal an expanse of lavender sky and green-flanked mountains, and a pale sun trying its best to rise above the clouds that clung to their crests like some woolly gray fungus. A few yards more beyond the edge of the trees, the earth dropped away into a deep gorge; Cory could hear the roaring of the river tumbling by far below. And now, on the edge of the gorge, he could see what was to carry them across that chasm.

It wasn’t exactly what he’d pictured. It wasn’t any kind of a bridge at all, swaying or otherwise, but rather a simple pulley system, rather like the ones he’d seen crisscrossing high above narrow streets in teeming slums in European and Asian cities, festooned with drying laundry. A large wood-and-iron pulley was anchored by heavy rope to the head-high stump of a tree, and from it a double strand of the same heavy rope stretched across the gorge to a similar apparatus on the other side. At each end, near the terminal stump, another loop of rope had been threaded through a sturdy length of bamboo and attached to the main rope with a large metal snap hook, to make a swing. In order to make the crossing, all a person had to do was slip the loop over his head and shoulders, sit on the length of bamboo, then pull himself hand-over-hand to the other side-or, if he had companions, hold on for dear life and let them pull him across. When the occupied chair reached its destination, an empty one would be back at the starting point, ready to be filled by the next person in line.

The chasm wasn’t wide; with someone to help with the pulling it would only take minutes to cross from one side to the other. But in those few short minutes, the person in the chair would be completely out in the open. Unprotected. Helpless. A sitting duck.

“Oh, my God,” said Sam.

Tony’s comment was more colorful but no less horrified.

“Ingenious,” Cory muttered, but his heart was tangoing around inside his chest and there was a growing queasiness in the pit of his stomach.

Seemingly unperturbed, Hal was already at the terminal, holding the bamboo swing steady. “Hurry, hurry, we must get started,” he urged, beckoning them on with a sweeping wave of his long arm. Then, looking past them: “Where’s Esther?”

“She told me she needed to catch her breath,” Cory said, his belly twingeing with an uneasy guilt. “She said she was coming right behind me.”

“I’d better go and see what’s keeping her.” Hal thrust the loop of rope and bamboo at Cory, saying as he brushed past him, “Don’t wait for us-start sending the others across.” And he crashed away into the trees.

Cory looked at Sam. She held up her hands and backed away. “Uh-uh, not me. You go first.”

Well, it had been worth a try. He couldn’t explain the fear that was creeping over him like a deep-down chill, but he knew it went way beyond any rational sense of urgency based on full awareness of danger and pursuit, or the very real need to hurry.

He took a deep breath and said, “Okay, Tony, you take the first shot.”

Tony groaned. “Why did I know you were gonna say that?”

“Hey-you’ve got the equipment, the tapes-let’s get that across, make sure it’s safe. And, when you get to the other side you can help pull-it’ll make it twice as fast. Come on, big guy,” he taunted, grinning, when Tony still looked like he might balk, “this can’t be any worse than those donkeys in Afghanistan.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t nearly as far to fall,” Tony grumbled, but he stepped forward reluctantly, shifting cameras and bags out of the way to allow Cory to slip the loop over his head and shoulders.

“All set?” Sam took hold of one side of the loop and Cory the other, and they held it steady while Tony, still blaspheming imaginatively, slipped the length of bamboo under his backside. “Ready…get set-”

“Wait, wait-” Tony dug in his heels while he shifted a camera to the front of his body so he could reach it more easily “-okay, now I’m ready.”

“Go!” Cory let go of the chair and hauled hard on the rope, and Tony swung out into thin air.

“Is he gonna be okay?” Sam asked nervously as she moved close to Cory’s side and took hold of the rope to help him pull. Even above the roar of the river they could hear a steady stream of profanity drifting back to them from the middle of the gorge.

“He’s a photographer,” Cory said, panting a little. “He’ll be fine once he remembers that camera around his neck. Those donkeys in Afghanistan? Didn’t want to get on those, either. Before it was over he was riding no-hands up these little narrow mountain trails, just so he could snap pictures of three-hundred-foot drop-offs. There-see? He’s clicking away already.”

They devoted their energies then to hauling on the rope, both of them watching Tony slide closer to the opposite bank and the empty loop swing toward them across the last few yards of the chasm.

“You’re next, Sam,” Cory said quietly between pulls, not looking at her. “No arguments.”

She didn’t reply. Together they caught the incoming swing and stood holding it between them as they watched Tony get his feet under him on the other side of the gorge, stand and wrestle the loop over his head, then give a triumphant wave.

Cory said, “Sam?”

She threw him a long dark look, one he couldn’t read. Then, moving jerkily with the anger that he knew really wasn’t anger, she thrust her head and arms through the loop and hitched herself onto the bamboo seat. “Any time, Pearse,” she said airily, her chin high, eyes bright with challenge.

He caught his breath…then cupped the back of her head in his palm and leaned down and kissed her. Just once, quickly and hard, but still he felt her lips tremble under his and a shaft of pain went through him, so acute he nearly gasped. “Hold on tight,” he mumbled, stepping back. Feeling as though his heart had lodged in his chest, he took hold of the rope and began to pull.

As she slipped out over the edge of the chasm, rotating slowly, almost lazily in midair, the sun rose at last above the mountaintops and, as if by some stroke of magic, a rainbow appeared between them, painted in the mist thrown up by the rampaging river. The incredible beauty of it-and at the same time an overwhelming sadness-caught at his throat. He wanted to call to her, wave…bring her back and touch her…hold her…kiss her one more time.

But she didn’t look back.

It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be. Kind of cool, in fact-if she didn’t allow herself to think about al-Rami’s men back there, searching for them somewhere in the jungle, not that far away. And about Cory left behind in that same jungle, a few short yards and half a world away from her, on the other side of the chasm.

She could still feel the imprint of his mouth, a tingle of warmth and moisture that seemed burned into her flesh. She could still see his eyes, in that last moment before she’d turned away from him to lasso herself into this ridiculous swing…those deep, dark blue eyes that could see right through her. She’d be able to see him now, if she let herself, if she rotated that way just a little…but she didn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to see him getting smaller and smaller, the gulf between them wider and wider…couldn’t shake the panicky feeling that he was slipping away from her, that soon he’d be far beyond her reach. So instead she focused on Tony, hauling away on the rope on the far side of the gorge, grinning at her, his teeth white in his mahogany-colored face…

She was halfway across the gorge-she knew that because she’d just drawn even with the returning empty swing-when she heard the shout. From out of the jungle came a wordless bellow of anguish first, and then Hal’s voice, raw and broken, calling his wife’s name.

Sam got the swing turned around in time to see Cory straighten and let go of the pulley rope, then spin toward the direction of the shouts, lurching off balance like someone who’d taken a bullet. Yelling at Tony over his shoulder to keep on pulling, he plunged into the jungle.

No! She thought she must have screamed it out loud, but it was only inside her head, the word rebounding and resounding there in a nightmare of echoes and alarms. By the time she reached the terminal stump she was muttering and scolding furiously and slapping at Tony’s clumsy attempts to help her out of the rope swing, shaking and half-paralyzed with fear. All she could think about was that her worst nightmare was coming true, the gulf of misunderstanding between her and Cory had become tangible and real. Seeing him disappear into that jungle, the thought that she might not ever see him again was unbearable. Unthinkable.

“What the holy hell’s going on?” Tony’s face hovered over hers, shiny with sweat. He was breathing hard. “I heard shouting. Where are the missionaries? Where’d Cory-”

“I don’t know. I think something’s happened to Esther. She didn’t come, and Hal went to find her.” Sam spoke rapidly, her voice low and furious. Her chest felt tight, as though there were chains wrapped around it, so she couldn’t get a breath. “I don’t know what, but something’s wrong. Cory heard Hal shouting and went back to help.”

Her voice broke on the last word as she yanked the rope loop out of Tony’s hands and threw it back over her head. Of course he did. Doesn’t he always? Just like that day on the lake…he goes diving in after Dad…doesn’t stop to think he might die, too.

“What are you doing? Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Tony was tugging on the rope and trying to hang on to her at the same time, bracing his feet as if he was engaged in a child’s game of tug-of-war.

“I’m going back,” Sam said tersely, jerking ineffectively at the rope; she was shaking too hard to have any real strength in her arms and legs. “He’s-God knows what’s going on back there. Al-Rami’s men-they could be-they must have heard-Let me go, damn you-I have to help him. I have to-”

And then somehow she was enfolded in Tony’s arms, still shaking and muttering furiously against the solid wall of his chest, and his arms were more walls all around her, holding her in, holding her prisoner, yes, but holding her steady, too. Bracing her. Comforting her. Calming her. They were amazingly gentle, too, those massive arms, for someone so tough and brawny-looking.

“I can’t let you go back there.” Tony’s voice was ragged and filled with gravel. “He’d kill me if I did, you know he would. Why do you think he sent us over first? He wanted us safe, that’s why. Dammit, Sam…”

Steadier now, she nodded, then lifted her hands, formed them into fists and let them fall with restrained violence against Tony’s chest. “Why does he always have to do that?” she said in a low, furious voice. “Why does he think it’s all up to him? Who appointed him everybody’s keeper? He’s always doing that to me-trying to take care of me. Like I’m a little child and he’s responsible for me.”

Tony eased her away from him, but cautiously, still holding her by the arms. He cleared his throat and looked past her, frowning, yes, but at the same time his pit-bull features had arranged themselves into something softer, something she couldn’t read. “Maybe,” he mumbled, “he’s got good reason for being that way.”

A little shiver ran down her spine as she stared at him, and she opened her mouth, questions poised on her tongue. But instead a shout had them both jerking around in time to see three people emerge from the jungle-Cory first, then Hal, carrying Esther in his arms.

“Oh, God…” Sam breathed the prayer as she and Tony sprang forward simultaneously and grabbed hold of the pulley rope.

On the other side of the gorge, Cory had taken Esther from Hal, and the older man was struggling to get himself into the swing. Sam saw him brace his feet, then give a nod, and Cory bend over and place Esther in his arms, as gently and effortlessly as if she’d been a small child, or perhaps a doll.

Cory gave a shout and a wave, and he and Tony and Sam all began hauling with all their strength on the rope. Rotating dizzily, the frail-looking swing with both Lundquists aboard lurched out over the chasm. Sam’s attention was focused on that swaying swing and its precious cargo, on pulling as hard as she could on the rope, so she didn’t notice at first that Cory’s attention was elsewhere, that he kept looking over his shoulder, back toward the jungle. Then she heard crashing sounds and knew her worst fear had only now been realized.

Hal’s single shout of fear and anguish had brought al-Rami’s men back.

Sam’s heart leaped into her throat and stayed there. Fear was a living thing, a great black monster, choking her, weighing her down, tying her muscles in knots. It took every ounce of strength she had just to fight against the fear, force her screaming muscles to pull…pull…keep pulling. And still, it seemed, the Lundquists moved toward her with agonizing slowness…advancing across the chasm only inch by inch.

The Lundquists had reached the middle of the gorge. They were passing the returning empty swing. Beside her Sam could hear Tony’s grunts of effort and labored breathing and knew he was straining as hard as she was. Just a little more, she thought. Hang on, Cory…just a few more yards…

The gunshots didn’t sound like much-several quick pops, muted by the noise of the rushing river. But across the gorge, Cory seemed to stumble. Then, almost in slow motion, he crumpled to the ground.

No! A shaft of pain…blinding, white-hot agony…ripped through her, as if the bullet had torn through her flesh. Then came darkness. Stillness. She didn’t hear herself scream, she only felt it, as if someone was ripping her heart out through her throat.

And then…a strange sort of calm settled over her, just as it had that day on the lake so many years ago, the day of the boat accident, when her dad and Cory had both almost drowned. The worst had happened; she was past fear now. She knew what had to be done. Knew she was the only one who could do it.

“Pull, dammit,” she said between clenched teeth. “Pull…” And funny…she remembered that her arms had felt like this that day, too, as she’d dug them over and over again into the churning water, paddling her knee board toward the place where she’d seen her dad and Cory go down…as if her muscles were on fire…as if she couldn’t paddle fast enough…hard enough…as if she couldn’t possibly make one more stroke…

The swing bearing Hal and Esther Lundquist was over the lip of the gorge. Sam reached for it to hold it steady while Tony took Esther from Hal’s arms and eased her gently down onto the matted and muddy grass.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Tony croaked, looking up in time to see Sam lift the swing from around Hal’s shoulders and drop it over her own.

“I’m going back for him,” she said calmly. “I’m not leaving him behind.”

Tony opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Right. I’ll go.” He lurched to his feet as Hal took his place beside his wife. But Sam was shaking her head.

“Stay here-take care of them.” She tipped her head toward the Lundquists-Hal was stroking Esther’s sweat-damp forehead as she moaned softly, and Sam had time for one thought: Thank God, at least she’s alive. “You’re stronger than I am-I’ll need you to pull us back across.”

Tony hesitated only a moment, then nodded. Sam hitched herself onto the bamboo seat. But just as she was about to cast off, she saw something that sent another bolt of adrenaline rocketing through her body.

Across the gorge, Cory was struggling to his feet. Once again struggling to breathe, and with her heart back in her throat, she watched him stagger to the swing, hunched over and dragging one leg. She watched in paralyzing helplessness while he fumbled the loop of rope, clumsily trying to get it over his shoulders, his teeth showing white in a grimace of agony.

Belatedly remembering where she was, Sam yanked the loop of rope and bamboo from around her shoulders just as Tony yelled hoarsely, “He’s on! Go!”

Then once again they were hauling on the rope together, pulling hard, and Cory was swinging out over the void, legs dangling, arms hugging the loop of rope in a deathlike embrace. He’d made it almost to the middle of the gorge when three of Fahad al-Rami’s men burst out of the jungle. One had his weapon up and was firing wildly, while the other two ran to the pulley terminal, hands reaching, ready to grasp the incoming swing.

Sam swore, one sharp, sibilant oath, full of chagrin and despair.

“What?” Tony yelled.

“The chair! Why didn’t I unhook the damn chair! Look at them-they’ll be over here after us in a minute-”

“Worry about that when the time comes. Right now Cory’s a sitting duck out there!”

“I know-you keep pulling…” Sam stopped hauling on the rope and instead threw all her weight against it from the side…then swung back…then threw herself against it once more.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tony screeched, as out in the middle of the gorge Cory’s swing began to bob and sway like a kite in the wind.

“Making him a moving target,” Sam yelled back. The pop and crackle of gunfire sounded almost continuously now.

Tony was swearing wildly, rivers of sweat streaming down his face. “Jeez, Sam…what if he can’t hold on?”

“He’ll hold on,” Sam said grimly. “He’d damn well better hold on…” Don’t you dare get yourself killed, Pearse. I swear, if you die, I’ll never forgive you!

Or myself, a voice inside her added…

She could see his face now. His beautiful eyes…and he’d lost his glasses somewhere. But his eyes were closed, his teeth still clenched in that grimace of pain, his skin a dreadful chalky gray. Fear spasmed in her belly like nausea, and cold sweat poured from her skin. What if he’s been hit again? How many times has he been hit? What if he’s dying at this very moment? Oh, God…Pearse…

Then he was there, and Tony’s strong arms were supporting him, and Sam was touching him…finding him warm and alive…tearing the rope from around his body, patting him, touching him, searching for blood…for bullet wounds.

“Think I’m gonna be sick,” Cory mumbled. “I think I’m seasick…what the hell were you tryin’ to do to me out there?”

“Saving your life, Batman,” Sam said, trying to be curt…shaky instead. “Had to go and be a hero-” She managed to free him from the rope swing just as bullets thunked into the turf near her feet. She gave Tony a shove toward the trees. “Go, go, go-get everybody into cover. I’ve got to try and stop these guys…”

The knife. Please, God, she prayed, let Esther still have that bundle…

Hal had picked his wife up in his arms and was carrying her into the shelter of the trees. Sam caught at his arm. “Her bundle-that pot of hers,” she gasped. “Where is it? Do you still have it? The knife-”

“It’s here.” Hal swung around so she could see Esther’s pot dangling from his neck and shoulder along with his own. “Take it-quickly!”

And Sam was already tugging the leaf-wrapped bundle out of the pot…kneeling to open it, spilling its contents helter-skelter on the ground. She snatched up the narrow oblong that held the knife and ran to the terminal stump, unwinding leaf wrappings as she went. Her heart felt on fire, her chest ready to burst, as she began to saw furiously at the rope that fastened the pulley to the stump.

As she sawed she was dimly aware that behind her Tony, Cory and the Lundquists had reached the comparative safety of the trees. Blinking away the sweat that was pouring into her eyes, all but blinding her, she risked a glance to check on the terrorist’s progress. Then she wished she hadn’t.

He’d reached the halfway point; she could see his face now, grinning, his eyes glittering with anticipation. She felt a jolt under her ribs as she realized she recognized him. It was the “spokesman,” the leader of the band that had brought them from the village hospital; the one who had looked at Cory with such hatred. She knew they could expect no mercy from him. Fortunately, at the moment he was too busy holding on to the rope to fire the weapon slung across his chest, but Sam knew the moment he stepped onto solid ground they were all dead.

Her muscles burned like fire, but she kept sawing. How much longer could she keep it up, before her arms turned to so much dead wood? As long as it takes, she thought grimly, setting her teeth and fighting to block out the pain.

Just when she was beginning to think even her will wouldn’t be enough, Tony was suddenly there at her side. “Take over!” she gasped, and almost wept in relief when she felt his hands push hers aside and close around the handle of the knife.

Then she was looking around frantically, looking for something to use for a weapon-a rock, a log-anything. The terrorist was only a couple of yards from the bank, close enough for her to smell his sweat, close enough to see the cruelty in his eyes. Maybe, she thought, before he has a chance to get his feet under him, I can knock him out…push him over the side…

But…just then, there was a triumphant grunt from Tony, and a dry, slithering, scraping sound. And a heavy clank as the pulley hit the ground. A look of blank astonishment came over the terrorist’s face…and then he disappeared.