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wondered if she dared tell him about it? Well, she had time to think about that. Thinking was the only
thing she could do at the moment, since she seemed to be living in the Grand Central Station of
Barrera, she mused, and smiled warmly at the people around her. She did seem to have a knack for
making friends, she thought.
* * *
Grange scrounged a pencil and scraps of paper and had Clarisse draw the approximate positions of
the guards in the headquarters building. She and the two professors discussed the changing of the
guard and the equipment in Sapara s office. The men knew more than Clarisse, because they d been
incarcerated for several months.
 He had a lot of radio equipment in his office, I remember, Clarisse said, a little wearily.  A wide-
screen television, entertainment system, even a gaming computer.
 Manaus is the center of the electronics industry in this part of the continent, Dr. Fitzhugh
remarked.  I love fiddling with computers. It s a free-trade zone, so taxes aren t high and the
equipment is reasonably priced.
Clarisse had her hands wrapped around a warm ceramic bowl of herbal tea. The scent of it was
calming. She listened to the conversation of the people around her as if in a fog.
Rourke sat down beside her. He took out his pocketknife and began to whittle at a thick piece of
wood he d found.
 You used to do that in Africa, when I was a child, Clarisse said quietly.  I still have the swan you
carved for me when I was ten.
 You were a game kid, Tat, he mused.  You followed me places where some of the other boys
wouldn t even go. Never lagged behind, never complained. Not even when I let you get
snakebitten& 
 I walked right into it, she interrupted.  You couldn t have stopped it.
He whittled some more.
It was a companionable silence for a minute or two.
 The doctor said you d need plastic surgery on those cuts. They must be deep. His voice was
angry.
 Battle scars, she said, noting his eye patch.  You won t wear a glass eye, I won t have plastic
surgery.
He raised both eyebrows.
 I earned my scars, she said, and her face set in hard lines. She looked down into her tea.  I ve
spent my life playing at reporting, doing lighthearted interviews with men in the field, emphasizing
the human interest bit. She drew in a breath.  But now I have some idea of what it s really like,
behind the scenes. She looked up at him.  It s a nasty business.
He nodded slowly.  They give AK-47s to boys ten years old, drug them up and send them out to kill
and die. That s the real world.
She shivered.
 Good reason to go back home and write a gossip column from now on.
She sipped tea.  No. I m going to find a way to do some good in the world with my life.
 You re a bit old to study nursing.
She glanced at him coolly.  I m a photojournalist. You may think I don t take it seriously. I do. I
could get on with one of the wire services, Reuters maybe, and do some in-depth coverage of issues
like those soldier children.
He actually seemed to go pale.  That s insane. Do you have any idea what might happen to you
under combat conditions?
She pulled aside her blouse and showed him one of the scars above the cup of her bra, an angry red
with the black stitches.  Yes, she said.  As a matter of fact, I do.
He winced. It hurt him, in ways he could never reveal to her, to see those wounds. He d pushed her
away, ridiculed her and verbally attacked her for years. He pretended to hold her in utter contempt for
her rich lifestyle and her morals. The truth was that he didn t dare get close to her. He knew things that
she didn t. There was a secret. He couldn t bring himself to disclose it. But it meant that he could
never be anything except a casual friend, or an enemy. Given the choice, it was easier, much easier, if
she hated him. So he used hostility to keep her from seeing through the mask.
He went back to his whittling. His expression was harder than ever.  Suit yourself. I don t guess it
would bother you at that, being assaulted by men. Not with your history.
She was too worn, too sick, to strike back. It was a vicious remark. Once, she d have hit him for
that. But she was tired and depressed, still shivery from her ordeal.  Think what you please, Rourke.
He hated himself for what he d said to her. She d been savaged and he hadn t been able to save her.
He closed his eye briefly and then went back to work on the piece of wood he was carving. He didn t
say anything else.
Clarisse wondered at his odd behavior. He couldn t go five minutes without offering her some
terrible insult. But let something bad happen to her, the death of her family or her capture and torture
by a madman, and he was first on the scene. It had always been like that. It made no real sense. He did
hate her. It was impossible not to know it.
While she was puzzling out those things, the roar of another jeep sounded in the pleasant silence. It
pulled up beside the other jeep and three men got out.
One was tall, with a broad face and wavy black hair. He was in front. All three wore army fatigues.
Rourke and Grange were on their feet in a flash, and armed, but they reholstered their weapons as
General Emilio Machado walked into camp.
 Have we moved our headquarters here? he asked in a pleasant, but exasperated, tone, spreading
his hands expressively.
There was a faint gasp.  Emilio? Maddie went forward, hesitantly.
The look on the general s face was indescribable.  Maddie! You re alive! [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]