only
remaining link to it. Then her life wouldnât be worth a plugged nickel.
So now he was in Costa Rica, deep in the rain forest and too damned near
the Nicaraguan border for comfort. Roaming bands of rebels, soldiers, revolutionaries
and just plain terrorists made life miserable for people who just wanted to live their
simple lives in peace, but none of it touched Priscilla. She might have been a tropical
princess, sipping daintily at her iced drink, ignoring the jungle that ate continuously
at the boundaries of the plantation and had to be cut back regularly.
Well, heâd seen enough. Tonight was the night. He knew her schedule now,
knew the routine of the guards, and had already found all the trip lines. He didnât like
traveling through the jungle at night, but there wasnât any choice. He had to have
several hours to get her away from here before anyone realized she was missing; luckily,
she always slept late, until at least ten every morning. No one would really think
anything of it if she didnât appear by eleven. By then, theyâd be long gone. Pablo would
pick them up byhelicopter at the designated clearing tomorrow
morning, not long after dawn.
Grant backed slowly away from the edge of the jungle, worming himself into
the thick greenery until it formed a solid curtain separating him from the house. Only
then did he rise to his feet, walking silently and with assurance, because heâd taken
care of the trip lines and sensors as heâd found them. Heâd been in the jungle for three
days, moving cautiously around the perimeter of the plantation, carefully getting the
layout of the house. He knew where the girl slept, and he knew how he was going to get
in. It couldnât have been better; Turego wasnât in the house. Heâd left the day before,
and since he wasnât back by now, Grant knew that he wasnât coming. It was already
twilight, and it wasnât safe to travel the river in the darkness.
Grant knew exactly how treacherous the river was; that was why he would
take the girl through the jungle. Even given its dangers, the river would be the logical
route for them to take. If by some chance her departure were discovered before Pablo
picked them up, the search would be concentrated along the river, at least for a while.
Long enough, he hoped, for them to reach the helicopter.
Heâd have to wait several more hours before he could go into the house and
get the girl out. That would give everyone time to get tired, bored and sleepy. He made
his way to the small clearing where heâd stashed his supplies, and carefully checked it
for snakes, especially the velvety brown fer-de-lance, which liked to lie in clearings
and wait for its next meal. After satisfying himself that the clearing was safe, he sat
down on a fallen tree to smoke a cigarette. He took a drink of water, but he wasnât
hungry. He knew that he wouldnât be until sometime tomorrow. Once the action was going
down he couldnât eat; he was too keyed up, all his senses enhanced so that even thesmallest sound of the jungle crashed against his eardrums like
thunder. Adrenaline was already pumping through his veins, making him so high that he
could understand why the Vikings had gone berserk during battle. Waiting was almost
unbearable, but that was what he had to do. He checked his watch again, the illuminated
dial a strange bit of civilization in a jungle that swallowed men alive, and frowned
when he saw that only a little over half an hour had passed.
To give himself something to do, to calm his tightly wound nerves, he
began packing methodically, arranging everything so he would know exactly where it was.
He checked his weapons and his ammunition, hoping he wouldnât have to use them. What he
needed more than anything, if he was to get the girl out alive, was a totally silent
operation. If he had to
remaining link to it. Then her life wouldnât be worth a plugged nickel.
So now he was in Costa Rica, deep in the rain forest and too damned near
the Nicaraguan border for comfort. Roaming bands of rebels, soldiers, revolutionaries
and just plain terrorists made life miserable for people who just wanted to live their
simple lives in peace, but none of it touched Priscilla. She might have been a tropical
princess, sipping daintily at her iced drink, ignoring the jungle that ate continuously
at the boundaries of the plantation and had to be cut back regularly.
Well, heâd seen enough. Tonight was the night. He knew her schedule now,
knew the routine of the guards, and had already found all the trip lines. He didnât like
traveling through the jungle at night, but there wasnât any choice. He had to have
several hours to get her away from here before anyone realized she was missing; luckily,
she always slept late, until at least ten every morning. No one would really think
anything of it if she didnât appear by eleven. By then, theyâd be long gone. Pablo would
pick them up byhelicopter at the designated clearing tomorrow
morning, not long after dawn.
Grant backed slowly away from the edge of the jungle, worming himself into
the thick greenery until it formed a solid curtain separating him from the house. Only
then did he rise to his feet, walking silently and with assurance, because heâd taken
care of the trip lines and sensors as heâd found them. Heâd been in the jungle for three
days, moving cautiously around the perimeter of the plantation, carefully getting the
layout of the house. He knew where the girl slept, and he knew how he was going to get
in. It couldnât have been better; Turego wasnât in the house. Heâd left the day before,
and since he wasnât back by now, Grant knew that he wasnât coming. It was already
twilight, and it wasnât safe to travel the river in the darkness.
Grant knew exactly how treacherous the river was; that was why he would
take the girl through the jungle. Even given its dangers, the river would be the logical
route for them to take. If by some chance her departure were discovered before Pablo
picked them up, the search would be concentrated along the river, at least for a while.
Long enough, he hoped, for them to reach the helicopter.
Heâd have to wait several more hours before he could go into the house and
get the girl out. That would give everyone time to get tired, bored and sleepy. He made
his way to the small clearing where heâd stashed his supplies, and carefully checked it
for snakes, especially the velvety brown fer-de-lance, which liked to lie in clearings
and wait for its next meal. After satisfying himself that the clearing was safe, he sat
down on a fallen tree to smoke a cigarette. He took a drink of water, but he wasnât
hungry. He knew that he wouldnât be until sometime tomorrow. Once the action was going
down he couldnât eat; he was too keyed up, all his senses enhanced so that even thesmallest sound of the jungle crashed against his eardrums like
thunder. Adrenaline was already pumping through his veins, making him so high that he
could understand why the Vikings had gone berserk during battle. Waiting was almost
unbearable, but that was what he had to do. He checked his watch again, the illuminated
dial a strange bit of civilization in a jungle that swallowed men alive, and frowned
when he saw that only a little over half an hour had passed.
To give himself something to do, to calm his tightly wound nerves, he
began packing methodically, arranging everything so he would know exactly where it was.
He checked his weapons and his ammunition, hoping he wouldnât have to use them. What he
needed more than anything, if he was to get the girl out alive, was a totally silent
operation. If he had to
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