Whoever it was would be blown to the next world if they looked the least un friendly. It stopped. She could feel her heart beating in her chest. She peered through the branches, wondering if she should walk toward or away from the rustling.
Curiosity won. She took about ten more steps down the track and stopped. Again she heard the sound. Then it stilled and she was left with only the birdcalls and the pounding of her heart. A donkey bird took up his eerie call. With great care she moved ahead, her gun still pointing in the direction of her stalker.
As she moved-he moved. Maybe it was a coincidence. She took a few more silent steps, and once again, whatever was shadowing her stopped when she stopped, moved when she moved. It had to be human because an animal could not be so synchronous. Sweat ran down her sides, back, and arms as the thought of Gaudet stole into her mind. She fought to control herself, remembering the native girls. Stories of his slow and calculated tortures began to soften her mind and made concentration difficult. The unbelievable cold of the persona came back to her now as if breathing in her face. Her knees began to shake and she bent over, knowing that she was losing control.
Then, letting Sam's reassurances echo through her mind, imagining Sam's voice instead of Gaudet's, she forced her self to stand straight and pointed the gun, thinking that she'd shoot the moment she saw him. But the lack of further sound unnerved her, and she ran back the way she'd come, moving hundreds of yards before realizing that the trail had disap peared again.
Her chest was heaving and her breathing was loud. She listened.
Branches were being pushed aside, still on the same side of the track. She ran again, heedless of direction or paths, praying she'd find Yodo before her stalker caught up.
She thought she saw the trail and she tried to maintain her speed, though the footing was slick with mud.
Then she stopped short and cursed herself. She remem bered something Sam had told her long ago: fear was her biggest challenge, and it was defeating her. With absolute clarity she recalled that she must think of the forest as a home. Her home. The first thing to do was find a safe place. If cold weather was killing her, then it had to be safe from cold; if she was hunted, then she had to make herself safe from the hunter. Nearby she saw a walking palm. She went deep in the foliage and, with her back to the many branched trunk, she sat. She could see fairly well but could not easily be seen.
It felt safer. If Gaudet were following her, she would make him come and get her and make him pay with a bullet to the chest. Her breathing had slowed and her mind was be ginning to work again.
Then she heard movement. This time she remained mo tionless and the noise stopped. She told herself again that no one could approach her without revealing themselves. Despite buzzing mosquitoes she kept her gun aimed and controlled her breathing. Off to her left she saw a scorpion, but fortunately it wasn't coming her way.
More movement. Someone was getting closer and they were straight ahead, right down the gun barrel. She let her finger clamp heavily on the trigger. She remembered the dis emboweled native girl and Michael's story of his wife and the rape of Marita's sister. She had no doubt that she was about to kill. A terrible confidence grew inside her. Then she heard a faint movement behind her and her heart jumped in her throat. Slowly she turned her head, but she couldn't see more than a few feet.
Now the stalker in front of her was taking a step about every thirty seconds, but the sound was barely detectable. A leaf moved. She drew a bead about chest high. There was a white hand parting heavy vines and then it froze. Nothing moved. She considered shooting. The thick post sight on the front of the gun was wavering, even with the double-clench grip. Something bounced off her head. She jumped. Ahead of her Sam stepped out of the jungle.
David Dun
Unacceptable Risk
She lowered the gun. 'You scared the shit out of me,' she cried out.
'I know. I'm sorry. I thought I was following Gaudet. Hey, don't worry. I think he's gone. You did the right thing. Stopping running was the right move.'
Grady slumped, shaking and exhausted.
'You did good,' Sam said. 'And you didn't shoot me, which I also appreciated.'
The rare praise restored her like a drug. She stood and threw her arms around Sam, holding him close, and he hugged back.
Baptiste crawled out of bed at the Hotel International. He was out of breath and covered with sweat, both his and hers, after what had been exhausting sex. Except for the guilt that had hung over the bed like a cloud, he supposed it might have been the best sex of his life. It was hard to remember that far back. Benoit Moreau was the most sexually sophisti cated woman he had ever met. For years sex had lasted ten, maybe fifteen, minutes. This had lasted over an hour. And then she insisted that they do it again.
The day after their deal was struck, they had gone straight to the hotel from the prison with virtually no paperwork. He had gotten the admiral on the phone and promised that infor mation on Chaperone was imminent. He stood on the thresh old of the biggest scientific breakthrough of the twenty-first century and the future glory of France. How could the admi ral say no? Baptiste thought he heard envy in the man's voice, and that made him feel better than he would have guessed. Plainly the old man wanted to find a way to substi tute himself but could not.
Even though it was highly irregular, France was desper ate, and if the woman wanted 'tea' at the most famous hotel in Paris, then 'tea' it would be-delivered by room service along with miscellaneous pastries.
When she went for her shower, he sat on the toilet in a reverie, letting his mind wander over the case and allowing it to play with his growing curiosity over what he was about to learn. Victory was at hand. Never in her earlier interviews had she explained anything about Chaperone.
She stepped out of the shower and began applying moisturizing lotion to her body in what looked to be a long and cherished ritual. He jumped under the shower for a quick one. After he was out, he found her in the bedroom.
'Can we go to the lab now?' he said, realizing immediately that there was a new deference to his tone.
'Of course.' She was nude and beautiful, her black hair tousled but attractive, her face animated and her eyes flash ing. Because she had never let her body go, and gave it many forms of exercise, her stomach had the flat look of youth and the definition of an athlete. Even in prison she trimmed her pubic hair, her arms had contour and definition, her butt was like two cantaloupes, and her breasts were a mouthful-but petite and shapely. He wondered if she really had had three orgasms or if it was all feigned. Never mind; he would get his information now.
'Tell me about Chaperone,' he said as she pulled on her panties. Oddly, he thought to himself that he still had not had enough.
'You are sure you can get me a pardon?'
'I have discussed it with the admiral. He said yes.' Baptiste felt guilty for lying about something so important to her, but what could he do? He had a job.
'I will tell you about Chaperone on the way to the labora tory. More important, I will tell you about a man named Georges Raval. Through Raval we can know the precise details of the science behind Chaperone. I believe that he is the only living scientist that understands the technology and can teach it. He is the primary inventor. And I will tell you about Gaudet's plot, or at least its name-'Cordyceps.' Right now I want to talk about my new routine. What time do I leave the prison each morning for work?'
While he answered a multitude of questions about shack les and security and where she could go and where she could not, Baptiste watched a fascinating reverse striptease and re pressed a great deal of marital guilt.
Sam and Grady sat around the hospital bed. The yellowed paint on the walls was thin with tiny cracks that splintered and forked like the rivers that seemed to drain the soul of this place. The structure was dying along with many of the patients under the ruthless onslaught of humidity, heat, and the DNA of abundant life that seemed to eat without end. The linens in the place were gray like the muggy afternoon sky, the fan whirled cheerlessly, its blades matching the yel low of the walls as the plastic became brittle from ultravio let. Age and decay were moving with remarkable speed-the downside of life in a paradise that otherwise was a sym phony of rebirth.
Michael remained mildly drugged on small doses of mor phine and Sam stared with some sense of horror at the bloody bandages, imagining the infection that was sure to come. He wondered whether the IV could pump antibiotics fast enough. Fortunately for Michael the bullets had found their way through meat rather than organs. With luck all his body parts would work as before-if he could survive potential infection. As they sat there, Michael
