Secret Agent Sam

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