Rising Storm

could barely keep her eyes open. Besides fighting sleep, she was fighting the sneaking suspicion that John wouldn't be too happy to see her.

Should she call him, warn him that she was coming? What if he said no, he

wouldn't help her? Wendy's heart beat faster at the thought, exhaustion allowing panic a footlhold.

Her ordinary sunny self-confidence was gradually eroding in the face of the sheer foreignness of her Surroundings, not to mention her circumstances. She was homesick and scared and very lonely. Wendy found it disconcerting to realize just how protected she had always been until now. She'd always considered herself an independent, self-sufficient type of woman.

But I'm really just a clueless college girl on the lam. Wendy licked dry lips and decided to press on, deciding she wouldn't give John a chance to say no. After everything else she'd been through over the last few days, she was learning to take things as they came.

VON ROSSBACH ESTANCIA, PARAGUAY

Epifanio Ayala, von Rossbach's overseer, watched the plume of dust approach the main house of the testancia and assumed it was yet another delivery. They had received many such in the last few days: although littie remained, for Don von Rossbach and young John had taken the accumulation away to Asuncion in the estancia's truck today. Epifanio's wife, Marietta, from whom almost no secret could be kept for long, had informed him that these things were mostly very warm winter clothing and expensive camping gear.

'Maybe they are going mountain climbing,' he'd suggested.

Marietta had only shrugged and rolled her eyes expressively. But he'd known what she meant. Ever since he'd met Senora Krieger, Senor von Rossbach had been going away without warning to do who knew what.

Epifanio shook his head as he watched the dust plume grow closer. The senor was a nice man, and Senora Krieger and her son, they were nice, too. But since they'd come home, Epifanio himself was the only one involved in running the estancia. True, he was the overseer, it was his job. But not so very long ago Senor von Rossbach had taken an interest in every aspect of the ranch, riding out to check the cattle, making plans to improve the stock and the land. It was worrying to see such a change in him.

Marietta thought it was for the best. 'He is much more alive,' she'd insisted. And she favored the senora's presence. But that was a woman for you, always hoping for romance. To him it seemed there was never a woman more cold and businesslike than Susan Krieger. Although she, too, was neglecting her business, staying mostly at the estancia fiddling with the computer. And that bandage on her hip… He was a peaceful man, but he knew a gunshot wound when he saw it.

The dust wasn't coming from a delivery truck, it seemed, but from a small sedan, so covered with dirt that its original color was completely hidden. His brows rose. Those were Brazilian plates—common enough in Asuncion, but not in the country.

Epifanio rose from his seat on the portal and went down the steps to stand before the great house, patiently waiting for the car to arrive. No doubt it was some lost traveler, for the vehicle certainly didn't belong to anyone Ayala knew and the senor and his guests never received visitors.

He could dimly see the figure of a woman through the dirty glass of the side window as she pulled up beside him. Epifanio waved some of the swirling dust that accompanied her aside with his hat and took in details to relate to Marietta

later on.

The car was new and designed for city driving; its low-slung chassis must have had a hard time on the rough roads surrounding the estancia. A very impractical vehicle, with no storage capacity to speak of and much too small for a family of any size. It seemed to be a pale blue under the dust.

The woman inside slumped behind the wheel, unmoving, and after a moment Epifanio tapped lightly on the window to get her attention. She lifted her head with a start, as though she'd fallen asleep, then she rolled down the window.

He saw that she hadn't been sleeping, but reading. It was a girl, perhaps nineteen years old and very tired looking, dressed in black velvet and sweating because of it. She glanced from him to her book and brushed a hank of sweat-soaked dark hair back from her face with one hand.

Then she told him, in terrible Spanish, that she was looking for John Krieger.

Really, it was only the name that gave him a clue as to what she wanted. What a terrible accent, he thought. She probably didn't speak Spanish at all, but was parroting phrases from the book.

'Senor Krieger is not here right now,' he said politely. 'He will not be back for several hours, I think.'

Epifanio had taken care to speak slowly so that she would understand, but the girl looked back at him with big eyes that held no more understanding than a cow's. Si. No Spanish at all. And not likely to speak Guarni, which was his only other language beyond a few words of German. She looked so tired, and so lost, that he couldn't help but take pity on her.

'Senora Krieger? Perhaps she could help you?' he offered.

Alarm flashed briefly in her eyes, then her mouth firmed and she nodded once.

Opening the door, she stood, as stiff as an old lady. Then she said, ' Si. Senora Krieger, por favor.'

Epifanio smiled at her, pleased at their progress, and gestured toward the portal with his hat, holding out his other arm as though to herd her into the house. To his surprise she put her hand on his arm to steady herself and he instantly took her elbow to support and guide her.

Marietta was going to love this.

Sarah looked up from her work, frowning, at Epifanio's knock. Beside him was a young woman in a long- sleeved, ankle-length, and ill-fitting black dress. If her hair hadn't been purple Sarah would have thought she was a very young nun.

Suddenly something about the girl clicked and Sarah said to herself, American.

'Yes?' she said aloud.

'Pardon my intrusion, senora. But the young lady'—he gestured at the girl with his hat—'is looking for your son, I think.'

Sarah's eyes flicked to the girl, and if looks were bullets Wendy would have been dead before she hit the floor. Only part of it was due to the continuing dull pain in Sarah's hip. 'Thank you, Epifanio,' she said, rising from the desk. 'I'll take care of it.' Switching to English, she said to the girl, 'Won't you come in?'

The girl swallowed visibly and, with a nervous glance at the overseer, tottered stiffly into the room.

Sarah frowned. 'Are you ill?' she asked.

'No, ma'am. I've just been driving for a very long time.' The girl gave her a nervous smile. She dropped into the chair that Sarah had indicated like a sack of potatoes.

What a wuss. 'Hungry?' Sarah asked crisply.

'Yes, ma'am.'

She asked Epifanio to tell his wife to bring sandwiches and fruit juice and watched him go before she sat down again. Then she looked across the desk at her—no, at John's visitor.

'You're from MIT,' she stated. John's recruits had been sending reports every other day, but there had been no word in over a week. Obviously something had gone seriously wrong. Perhaps wrong enough to send a messenger. 'What happened?'

It was hard, but she kept the anger out of her voice as much as she could. This child was so spooked she'd probably faint if she had any idea how close to killing mad Sarah was. She should reserve her anger for John, who had obviously given out just a little more information than he should have. Forcing herself to seem calm, Sarah leaned back and waited for the girl's explanation.

God, what a bitch, Wendy thought. It had never occurred to her that John

wouldn't be home when she arrived, and she longed for him now more than she longed for sleep. If she'd thought about his mother at all it was as a distant presence to whom she would be brought after she'd explained