Secret Agent Sam

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