Island Inferno Page 26

  He couldn’t believe she called back, or how good it felt to hear her voice. “¿Qué pasó, amiga?”

  “Oh, Rip. I’ve been trying to find you.”

  “Was that you at the embassy today?”

  “You saw me? Why didn’t you call sooner then? They wouldn’t let me in!”

  He chuckled. “I would have—I meant to! But I was busy getting chewed out.”

  Her voice sounded urgent, almost frantic. “Rip, listen. We need to talk. I have some information that might be related to your mission.”

  “You do?”

  “I think so. Can you meet me?”

  Rip’s brow furrowed. “Well, not really. I mean, we might get the call any minute, you know?”

  “What if I come there?”

  Rip could only imagine the remarks he’d have to put up with if the guys saw him on a date when they were still technically on a mission. But she sounded desperate, and any information at this point would be helpful. It wasn’t a difficult choice to make.

  “There’s a restaurant in the lobby of the hotel. Can you meet me there in fifteen minutes?”

  “I can be there in ten.”

  “Okay, I’ll get us a table.” He ended the call and sat staring at the telephone. Whoa. What’s up with that?

  He stood and put his pants back on.

  Only one way to find out.

  FERNANDA ENTERED THE brightly lit restaurant from the noisy street, clutching her purse as she scanned the tables, half of which were occupied. Rip sat in a booth by the window, sipping from one of two glasses on the table. He was dressed in blue jeans and a blue-and-white striped cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Quite different from the camouflage she’d seen him in last. But the cut under his eye was still apparent as he raised a hand to catch her eye.

  She looked around. Not as private as she would have liked, but it would have to do.

  The thought crossed her mind as she hurried to the table that despite the once-over she’d given herself in the taxi, she probably looked awful. But anything would be better than the last time he’d seen her. At least now she was clean.

  He stood and smiled as she approached. “Hola, amiga. That was fast.” His demeanor was easy, confident, and casual. It made her feel like they had been friends for much longer than two days.

  She stepped forward and kissed him lightly on the cheek, then felt herself blush when she remembered that in America a handshake was more appropriate for someone you’d just met.

  He didn’t seem fazed by it, though. Well, he is Latino, after all.

  He stepped back. “You look … different.”

  She smiled. “That’s a good thing, I hope.”

  “Claro que sí.” He motioned for her to sit. “I got you a drink.”

  She looked at the frosty glass filled with a frothy white beverage. “What kind is it?”

  “It’s like a banana milkshake. Do you like them?”

  She laughed. “Sure! It’s called a batido. All Panamanians love them.”

  He took the opposite side of the booth. “Good. Hey, I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. Things are pretty loco up there, you know?”

  She nodded. “Well, you’ll definitely think I’m crazy when you hear what I’ve got to tell you.” She looked around the restaurant, feeling sort of silly for lowering her voice. “Since we’re not supposed to talk about what happened, you’re the only one I could go to.”

  He gave her a warm smile. “I’m glad you did. But I’m not sure what I can do to help. Tell me what’s going on.”

  Fernanda took a deep breath. “I did some checking, and my family’s company, Casa Lerida, S.A., may have transported coffee on the ship that was stolen, the sunken one we saw as we left the island.”

  Rip shrugged. “Okay.”

  “I know, a coincidence. But when I went into our database to look at that shipment, there was a problem. We paid far too much for the amount of coffee shipped.”

  He shook his head. “I’m still not getting where this is going.”

  Fernanda held up one finger. “Just wait. Since my father died, my uncle Edgar is the one who makes those arrangements and handles most of the finances for our company.”

  “That must have been hard for you.”

  She was getting frustrated. “No, listen. I think my uncle may be involved in stealing money from our company. And get this—he knew about the attack.”

  “What attack?”

  “The attack on the …” She lowered her voice. “The attack on the island!”

  Rip’s eyebrows came together. “He did? How?”

  Fernanda put both hands on the table and whispered, “I don’t know! I didn’t tell anyone.”

  Rip steepled his fingers and thought for a moment. “So, how do you think he’s involved?”

  “I was hoping you could help me with that. I mean, why did he pay so much for that coffee shipment? Could Tío Edgar have used our account to pay for something else to be shipped to Lebanon? Like drugs or something?”

  Rip shook his head. “Then what incentive would he have to be involved in attacking a ship that was returning from there?”

  Fernanda hadn’t thought of that. She chewed her lip. “I … I don’t know.”

  “Hold up.” He sat up straighter in the booth, his eyes taking on an intensity that hadn’t been there before. “Do you know when the ship last went to Lebanon?”

  She pulled the printed reports from her purse. “Sure. Our shipment went out on March 6.”

  He said nothing for a moment and seemed to be calculating in his head. “That was about a week before …” He snapped his fingers. “Stay here.” He got up and left.

  What just happened?

  She sat alone and sipped the batido, looking around at the other patrons, none of whom seemed interested in her. She had that feeling again, being here with Rip. That feeling like everything was going to be okay. And it was as refreshing as the frozen drink.

  He returned a moment later with John Cooper. They slid into the booth opposite her, and this time she remembered to offer a handshake only. John took her hand and smiled. “You don’t look anything like that wild woman we found out in the jungle.”

  “Yes, well, I feel much better too.”

  “So Rip says you have some info for us?”

  She went through the story again, with Rip putting a word in here and there. She got a little better understanding of what had made the light come on in his head when she explained the timing of the shipment to Lebanon and the extra cost.

  “But wouldn’t that discrepancy have been picked up on by someone else at the company right away?” John asked.

  She shook her head. “We send out hundreds of orders during that time of year. Most of them are containerized. The only way I caught this is because I did a search for noncontainerized orders, which isn’t something anyone would normally do.”

  “So the last shipment went out in March?”

  “Right. March 6.” She sipped her batido.

  Rip leaned closer to John and said quietly, “About the time we were meeting up with Liz. Which means that if the Invincible had another shipment for … you know … then they wouldn’t have been there to pick it up.”

  John nodded. “Return to sender.”

  “Right, bro.”

  Fernanda wanted in on the secret. “Who’s Liz?”

  Rip hiked a thumb at John. “Coop’s girlfriend.”

  Fernanda blinked. Hedi’s going to be disappointed.

  John waved a hand. “Long story. Hey, Rubio. Could you order me one of those shakes? They look good.”

  “Sure. Be right back.” He rose and walked to the bar.

  Fernanda took advantage of his absence to ask a question that had been bugging her. “So, is this Phoenix person Rip’s girlfriend?”

  John smiled. “No, nothing like that. We sort of work together. Anyway, Rip has sworn off girls for the duration.”

  Fernanda’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh.”

&nbs
p; Rip returned and took his seat. “Your batido will be here in a sec. So what if this uncle of yours is somehow involved with the Invincible?”

  “Well, here’s the rest of the story. My uncle has apparently been sneaking off to the Caribbean side of the isthmus a lot recently. Spending time out in the jungle on the old Fort Sherman base.”

  John perked up. “You don’t say? I was there in 1999. I hear it’s a national park or something now.”

  “Officially, yes. But as far as our business is concerned, he doesn’t have any reason to be over there, and he’s never said anything to us about it. So something is suspicious, I think.”

  John cocked an eyebrow at Rip. “I have to say this is a long shot, but it’s time we took this info to the major.”

  Rip finished off his batido. “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Then lemme out, and I’ll go make the call.” He nudged Rip out of the booth. “Thanks for thinking of us, Fernanda. I hope something comes of it. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Don’t let Rip drink my shake!”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  When he had gone, she said, “John’s a nice man.”

  Rip nodded. “The best. I’d follow him anywhere. So how did you figure out your uncle was going to Fort Sherman?”

  “You won’t believe it—a butterfly told me.”

  He laughed at her. “Es una broma, ¿no?”

  “Nope. No joke. Like I told you before, I’m studying to be a lepidopterist, a scientist who specializes in the study of moths and butterflies. I know, that sounds crazy, until you realize that of the two hundred thousand species of lepidoptera in the world, almost half of them are found right here in Panama. And we’re discovering new species all the time. It’s a really interesting field.”

  He shrugged. “And so you talk to them?”

  Laughing, she said, “Nothing like that. I found a rare species of butterfly in the grille of my uncle’s car. Alex discovered it last year on Fort Sherman, and as far as we know, that’s the only place where it exists.”

  “Who’s Alex?”

  She hesitated. “He’s my …” My what? Friend? Mentor? Lover? She settled for, “He’s a professor at the college.” She stared out the dirty window and added quietly, “And he’s still out there on Coiba somewhere.”

  In all the excitement, she hadn’t dwelt on that for some time. Talking about it reminded her of what a mess her life really was.

  “What’s the matter?”

  Apparently Rip noticed. She looked into his dark eyes and chiseled face and found herself wanting to tell him everything but was afraid to tell him anything. “Nothing. I’m … I just hope my friends are found soon.”

  Rip was quiet for a moment, then smiled. “I know what John would suggest.”

  “What would John suggest?”

  The full force of his gaze hit her dead on. “He’d say we should pray about it. Just the other day he was telling me how prayer helped him trust God with the intangibles.”

  She was shocked. “Is he a Christian?”

  Rip nodded. “Yep, got religion on this last deployment.” She detected a note of sarcasm.

  Fernanda crossed her arms. “Well, I think he’s right.”

  “Really? Do you pray too?”

  “Not as much as I should, maybe …” She pinned him with her gaze. “How about you?”

  The intensity in Rip’s eyes clouded over, and he seemed suddenly sad.

  “Rip, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  He held up a hand. “No, it’s not that. I guess I was just thinking that I need to pray as much as anyone, especially recently. I just …”

  “Just what?”

  When he looked at her again, his eyes were softer. “I guess I don’t really know how. I mean, I learned all kinds of prayers as a kid—the Ave María, the Padre Nuestro and the Gloria—but none of those really apply to my situation right now, you know?”

  “So you’re Catholic?”

  He shrugged. “If being dragged to church every week as a kid makes you Catholic, then I guess I am.”

  Something in his tone, his unexpected vulnerability made pity well up inside her. “So what’s your situation right now? If you don’t mind sharing with someone you hardly know.”

  He stared at her for a moment, as if weighing a great risk. Fernanda waited. Then he said, “Okay, amiga. Maybe you can help me with this, give me a woman’s perspective. Here’s the problem.” He went on to explain the situation with his mother and his sister.

  Fernanda listened with a growing sense of empathy; she herself had a younger sibling, her brother, Marcus. Even though she and Marcus had never been as close as it sounded like Rip was with his sister, she could imagine how hard it must be to be so far away, unable to help when it was needed.

  “The thing is,” Rip said, “she has no dad to give her the love she needs. And since he’s not there to give her that affection, she’s gonna get it from Chaco or any other punk who pays her some attention. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it, short of quitting this job and moving back home.”

  “You would do that for her?”

  His jaw was firmly clenched. “I don’t want to, but if that’s what it takes, I’ll do what I’ve got to do, you know?”

  She reached out and put a hand on his. “You’re a good man, Sergeant Rubio. I will pray for you. But you can do it too. Just talk to Him, like a friend. I think God will answer, one way or another.”

  John stuck his head through the open restaurant door. “Hey, buddy, let’s get a move on. Taxi’s on its way to get us.”

  Rip pulled his hand from under hers. “Thanks, chica. I’m sorry to dump on you like that. But right now I have to go.”

  She stood with him, wondering if he meant anything by the way he removed his hand. She hoped not. “No problem. I enjoyed getting to know you a little better. Maybe we can talk more later?”

  He smiled. “I’ll call you when I can, okay?”

  A surge of adrenaline surprised her. “Great. Talk to you soon!”

  And be careful, Sergeant Rubio.

  LIGHT BECAME LIQUID. Fish of all kinds swirling around the hulking form of the ship, which had come to rest at a forty-five degree angle after plunging nose-first into the seabed. The stern was just below water level at high tide, and the myriad of sea creatures had already accepted the ship’s presence, making their homes on the rusty metal skin.

  Fernanda was weightless and happy as she swam among them. Below her, the deck of the ship disappeared into the murky depths, its hatches tightly shut and everything in its place. It was as though they had lived there for a hundred years. Looking up, she gazed in awe at the schools of opalescent sea life between her and the shimmering aqueous orb of the sun.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  A flash of vermilion caught her attention on the ship’s railing. She swam in for a closer look, and when she recognized it, the shock was like nothing she’d ever known.

  A … butterfly?

  Impossible. Butterflies didn’t swim. Yet this one was. While she watched, incredulous, the little creature drifted from its perch and slowly moved its wings, propelling forward. She followed it down the deck, captivated by the delicate shade of red, much darker and richer than the quinterus, like the inside of a fresh strawberry.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Fernanda looked around. Where is that noise coming from?

  There it is again!

  Distracted, she followed the tapping sound over the side of the ship. A porthole!

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Dread rose in her throat. She didn’t want to find out what was making the noise, but she couldn’t keep from looking. She drifted down toward the window, but it seemed no matter how deep she swam, she couldn’t reach it. The water around her was dark and cold before she floated over the porthole in the side of the ship.

  And then her heart stopped.

  ¡Papi!

  Her father was floating on the other side of the glass. He smiled.

  He
’s still alive! I have to get him out!

  But she needed air. Her lungs burned, and Fernanda clawed frantically at the porthole. It was rusted shut. Her father shook his head and frowned.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  She could hold her breath no longer. She shot to the surface to get a breath. Hold on, Daddy!

  When she broke through the surface, the sun was gone. She was alone, sitting on her bed, drenched with sweat and gasping for breath.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  Fernanda’s heart gave another jolt, and she shook her head to be sure she wasn’t still dreaming. But no, the sound was real.

  Someone was knocking on her door.

  She stumbled out of bed and quickly donned a black silk robe over her the tank top and shorts.

  On the way to the door, she bumped a half-eaten plate of noodles off the hall table, shattering the dish on the floor. That, at least, served to awaken her enough to remember what day it was. Even so, she had to stare at the clock in the entryway for a moment before it registered that it was only 6 p.m.

  Maybe it was the drowsiness that kept her from checking the peephole before opening the door; normally she’d never think of such a thing. But this time, she turned the lock and pulled the door open about halfway.

  The man’s poorly lit form was not immediately familiar. But when he spoke, Fernanda decided she must still be dreaming after all.

  “Hello, Fernanda.”

  It can’t be! Her brain was saying his name, but her mouth refused to comply. When she did finally say it, the sound came out as a whisper. “Alex?”

  He stepped into the light of the entryway, revealing sunken cheeks, a week’s worth of stubble, and a weak smile. “I never thought I’d see you again, my dear.”

  Her knees went weak. “I thought … Alex, you made it!”

  “I did.” His tired voice still contained the faintest spark of the old confidence.

  She threw her arms around his neck and cried.

  He returned her embrace with an eagerness that matched or exceeded hers, and they held each other for a long moment in silence.

  When he released her, he stepped back and lowered his eyes to the floor. “Fernanda. I … I’m sorry.”

  She wiped her eyes. “Don’t be sorry, Alex. I’m just so glad you’re alive.”