a whip of a tail — as it splashed beneath the surface.
Then lagoon and forest receded behind the convoy, and for a time there was just flat drab savanna spreading out and away from the margins of the narrow vehicle trail.
Sette Cama had been an active British camp in the middle of the nineteenth century. What remained of it now was a loose scattering of wooden huts and bungalows that rose from the sedge on either side of the road, and an overgrown graveyard with the names of long-dead colonists etched into its crumbling headstones. Beyond there would be nothing but more deserted stretches of jungle and savanna for dozens of miles.
In his Rover up front, the guide radioed back to call a rest stop before continuing on toward the headquarters site. Then he led the vehicles off the trail over a patch of clumped, flattened grass and treaded dirt toward a large A-framed structure Nimec instantly figured to be the village trading post. There was an old pickup parked in front, a stand with some fruits and vegetables under the roofed porch, and a galvanized water bucket and metal dipper next to a slatted bench by the entrance. Out back was a row of three crude outhouses. Except for a Coca-Cola poster whose red background had faded to a pale pink, the signs taped against the dusty windows were handwritten in French. They seemed to have been put up more in defiance of the tyrannical sunlight than for any other reason. A few well-established palms around the building offered it some weak, spotty shade.
The vehicles stopped, and the locals went to stretch their legs and make small talk with a group of men who came out of the place to meet them, looking glad for a break in their monotony. While they stood and chatted, the members of the UpLink party started to dribble from their vehicles in ones, twos, and threes, a few of them wandering off to investigate the trading post, others just to stand around and smoke, a small number heading with reluctant necessity toward the shabby outhouses. Wearing bush shirts with Sword patches on the shoulders, and baby VVRS guns in sling harnesses against their bodies, some of Nimec’s men got out of their vehicles in a loose deployment around the post. They did their best to stay low profile and at the same time ensure they had control of the area, keeping watch over the execs without getting in anybody’s way. A single Sword op remained in the cab of each of the three cargo haulers.
Nimec sat beside DeMarco for a minute or two after their backseat companions had wandered off toward the post.
“I’d better work out some kinks of my own,” DeMarco said, digging his knuckles into his lower back. “Feel like taking a walk?”
Nimec pulled his head off his back rest, glanced at his watch, and thought about how much he missed Annie. He didn’t feel much like doing anything besides getting his job done.
“No thanks,” he said.
“You sure?”
Nimec gave him a nod.
“Yeah, Steve, go on,” he said. “Think I’d rather wait in here.”
The convoy was under way again within half an hour, and soon swung heavily inland through the thickening wilds.
DeMarco glanced over at Nimec as they crawled ahead in their Rover.
“Okay if I ask you something?” he said.
“Why not?”
“Could be it’s none of my business.”
Nimec shrugged.
“Go ahead, shoot,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”
DeMarco nodded.
“I noticed you’ve been checking your watch a lot,” he said, keeping his voice quiet so it couldn’t be heard by the passengers in back. “And I was sort of wondering about it.”
Nimec sat looking straight out the windshield.
“Maybe I’m compulsive about the time,” he said.
“Maybe.”
“Or maybe I just want to keep track of our progress. This WristLink contraption has a global positioning system readout.”
“Maybe.” DeMarco hesitated, then pointed toward the dash console with his chin. “Except we’ve got a big, clear, easy-to-see GPS display right in front of us.”
Nimec raised his eyebrows but remained quiet a moment.
“ ‘My Girl,’ ” he said finally.
“Huh?”
“That old Temptations song,” Nimec said. “Remember it?”
“Sure.”
“Well, I’ve got the watch set to play it on the day I’m supposed to get back to the States.”
“And see your girl again?”
“Right.”
DeMarco smiled a little.
“Nice,” he said. “That’s nice.”
Nimec kept looking straight out the windshield.
“Think so?”
“Yeah.”
Nimec cleared his throat.
“Actually it was her son who programmed it,” he said. “Annie’s got a boy and girl. Chris and Linda.”
DeMarco nodded. He briefly took his left hand off the steering wheel and wriggled its third finger. He was wearing a simple gold wedding band.
“I miss my sweetie, too,” he said. “Been married going on twelve years, and it’s tough when the job keeps us apart. Separations are especially hard for the kids. We have three in our own brood… Jake, Alicia, and Kim.”
Nimec grunted. “Your wife’s with UpLink too, right?”
“A database administrator,” DeMarco said. “Her name’s Becky. Nee Rebecca Lowenstein. My mother was hoping I’d wind up with a nice Italian Catholic girl, keep with the family tradition.” A grin filled his face. “Meanwhile, she’ll be attending my older daughter’s bat mitzvah come next July.
Nimec chuckled, and leaned back against the seat. The vehicle rumbled slowly along behind the 6?6’s tailgate, forging through clumps of broad-leafed manioc plants that swarmed up on the trail and threatened to close it in.
“You and Annie have solid plans?” DeMarco said after a while.
“For right when I get back to the States, you mean…?”
DeMarco shook his head.
“I mean, are you two
Nimec looked puzzled a moment.
“We’re not engaged or anything,” he said. “Seems a little too early. But we’ve been steady for about a year, year and a half.”
DeMarco shrugged, holding the wheel.
“How long people have been seeing each other has nothing to do with serious,” he said.
Nimec raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not following you.”
DeMarco shrugged a second time. “I once dated a woman, exclusive, for almost three years,” he said. “Thought she was a great person, got on fine with her, but never considered making things permanent. Just seemed like something was missing between us. Then, bang, Becky comes along, and I know we’re a perfect match. Except I’m still involved with that other gal.”
“What’d you do?”
“Broke up with her. It’s one of those things that’s never easy, but had to be done. Then I asked Becky out, popped the question a few weeks later. Cut ahead three months, we’re walking down the aisle at that interdenominational UN chapel in New York City, beautiful place. A priest and rabbi co-officiating.”
