[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Slowly, he captured a few memories. He recalled flashes: fighting the
terrorists onboard theYucatán; seeing Terris McKendry shot in the chest two,
maybe three times, impacts that knocked the big man backward, as if missiles
Page 79
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
had been launched into his body s core. He saw battered bicycles, heard them
clattering to the oil tanker s deck, felt as much as heard the bamboosnap of a
terrorist s neck under his own grip.
After that, the explosion, fire, his body flung backward as if he had been
kicked in the chest by Bruce Lee. He remembered the night and the smoke and
the long, long fall to the dark water that cushioned him about as softly as a
concrete parking lot. He recalled the water closing over his head, a vision of
sharks, and then& nothing.
He tried to focus his eyes to see where he was, but all he could see was the
foggy image of a beautiful tanned woman with a haze of red-brown hair that
looked like a halo.
An angel, he thought. I m dead. And passed back into semiconsciousness.
The next time he awoke, his vision was clear. The same woman stood beside him.
I m Selene Trujold, she said. She poured a finger of scotch into a white
enamel cup and inhaled its aroma. Here. Drink this and then we ll talk.
He took the cup from her, remembering the brief glimpse he had caught of her
before all hell broke loose. How long have I been out? Hours? Days?
You ve been here for a couple of days. I had you fished out of the water
after the explosion on the tanker.
Why?
There were helicopters coming, a lot of chaos. I couldn t be sure you weren t
one of us.
You could have tossed me back to the sharks when you found out that I
wasn t.
You re right. I could have done that. I still can, if you don t prove useful
to us.
Sheis a piece of work, Keene thought, remembering his assessment of her when
he d first spotted her on theYucatán . I had a friend with me, he said. He
was fighting one of your people. Somebody shot him one of your goons.
None of us are goons, Mr. Rip Van Winkle or whoever you are. Her tone, acrid
at first, softened. But Iam sorry about your friend. To Keene s surprise,
she sounded sincere. He sipped at the scotch, then drained the glass. The
whiskey burned in his chest.
More? She took the cup from him.
Not yet. I want to keep my head clear.
She smiled. That ll be a switch. You haven t been conscious, not to mention
compos mentis, since we hauled you into the Zodiac and cruised away from the
tanker.
Did you achieve your objective?
We thought so at the time. I expected a much larger explosion, but I ll
accept any victory. If nothing else, I m sure we called some attention to
Oilstar s activities.
And your own, Keene said.
She shrugged. For better or for worse. She poured some of the scotch into
the same cup for herself. Scotch and coffee, two of the greatest amenities of
Venezuelan civilization. She looked contemplatively into the honey brown
liquid and raised the cup. Even out here in the jungle, I wouldn t do without
them.
Antagonism crawled down Keene s spine. He looked at her angrily, started to
say something, and passed out. He woke up with a pounding head and a throbbing
body hinting at more wounds than he wanted to know about. His skin felt oily
with perspiration, but he could not determine whether the sweat was from
jungle humidity or a severe fever.
He d been having the most bizarre dreams he d ever remembered. First he was
making love to a woman with velvet skin, short cinnamon hair, a
coffee-with-too-much-milk complexion, large intent eyes, a small nose, and a
delicate chin. In the midst of their lovemaking, she ripped off her face as if
it were a mask and he was catapulted into fiery nightmares filled with
terrible visions that pounded inside his skull.
He pressed his fingertips to his chest and found bandages and pain. He touched
Page 80
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the patchwork of injuries, pressing down hard because the pain reminded him
that he was still alive. His mind was full of questions. Where was he?
He heard jungle crickets, the belching music of small frogs and of trickling
water, the crackle and whisper of dried leaves woven into a fragrant roof over
his head.
You awake now?
Keene turned his head and groaned as even the small movement set a series of
pains in motion.
Selene sat on the ground, her back against the inner wall of the hut. She gave
him an odd smile, an expression that surprised him more than the amazing fact
of finding himself alive. He tried to talk, but his voice came out in a squeak
that embarrassed him. What& happened?
You ve been dried, fed, and nursed back to life. Now it s time for some
payback.
Payback?
She laughed. Nothing too strenuous, I promise you. First you tell me who you
are.
Joshua Keene.
I assume that since you and your friend were on theYucatán, you work for Frik
Van Alman. Is that correct?
Not precisely.
Then what, precisely, were you doing on the tanker?
Keene hesitated, confused by his pain and wondering how the beautiful woman
questioning him could be the enemy. It s complicated. Terris and I are& were
in a group with Frik. He asked us to look for you, he said at last.
What sort of group? Why would you just blindly follow Frik s orders?
Keene felt the fuzz returning to his brain. He tried to shake it off. It s
called the Daredevils Club. It s like a brotherhood of adventurers. Frik asked
for our help, and we saw the opportunity for some action. He wanted something
he said your father stole from him and sent to you.
Frikkie Van Alman is a sorry excuse for a human being. I know the things Van
Alman says about Green Impact. He s a liar. A killer. A megalomaniac. Her
whole demeanor hardened. My father is dead. Van Alman killed him because he
knew too much about Oilstar s operations and their intent.
I had nothing to do with that. Neither did Terris, and he s dead too.
Selene turned to walk back to a small camp stove where she was heating some
water. The tail of her shirt rode up and he saw smooth skin.
You need to listen, Joshua. Green Impact is not a bunch of wild dogs trying
to cause senseless destruction. Not my people, and not me. We re doing this to
stop Frik from destroying our future. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl szamanka888.keep.pl
Slowly, he captured a few memories. He recalled flashes: fighting the
terrorists onboard theYucatán; seeing Terris McKendry shot in the chest two,
maybe three times, impacts that knocked the big man backward, as if missiles
Page 79
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
had been launched into his body s core. He saw battered bicycles, heard them
clattering to the oil tanker s deck, felt as much as heard the bamboosnap of a
terrorist s neck under his own grip.
After that, the explosion, fire, his body flung backward as if he had been
kicked in the chest by Bruce Lee. He remembered the night and the smoke and
the long, long fall to the dark water that cushioned him about as softly as a
concrete parking lot. He recalled the water closing over his head, a vision of
sharks, and then& nothing.
He tried to focus his eyes to see where he was, but all he could see was the
foggy image of a beautiful tanned woman with a haze of red-brown hair that
looked like a halo.
An angel, he thought. I m dead. And passed back into semiconsciousness.
The next time he awoke, his vision was clear. The same woman stood beside him.
I m Selene Trujold, she said. She poured a finger of scotch into a white
enamel cup and inhaled its aroma. Here. Drink this and then we ll talk.
He took the cup from her, remembering the brief glimpse he had caught of her
before all hell broke loose. How long have I been out? Hours? Days?
You ve been here for a couple of days. I had you fished out of the water
after the explosion on the tanker.
Why?
There were helicopters coming, a lot of chaos. I couldn t be sure you weren t
one of us.
You could have tossed me back to the sharks when you found out that I
wasn t.
You re right. I could have done that. I still can, if you don t prove useful
to us.
Sheis a piece of work, Keene thought, remembering his assessment of her when
he d first spotted her on theYucatán . I had a friend with me, he said. He
was fighting one of your people. Somebody shot him one of your goons.
None of us are goons, Mr. Rip Van Winkle or whoever you are. Her tone, acrid
at first, softened. But Iam sorry about your friend. To Keene s surprise,
she sounded sincere. He sipped at the scotch, then drained the glass. The
whiskey burned in his chest.
More? She took the cup from him.
Not yet. I want to keep my head clear.
She smiled. That ll be a switch. You haven t been conscious, not to mention
compos mentis, since we hauled you into the Zodiac and cruised away from the
tanker.
Did you achieve your objective?
We thought so at the time. I expected a much larger explosion, but I ll
accept any victory. If nothing else, I m sure we called some attention to
Oilstar s activities.
And your own, Keene said.
She shrugged. For better or for worse. She poured some of the scotch into
the same cup for herself. Scotch and coffee, two of the greatest amenities of
Venezuelan civilization. She looked contemplatively into the honey brown
liquid and raised the cup. Even out here in the jungle, I wouldn t do without
them.
Antagonism crawled down Keene s spine. He looked at her angrily, started to
say something, and passed out. He woke up with a pounding head and a throbbing
body hinting at more wounds than he wanted to know about. His skin felt oily
with perspiration, but he could not determine whether the sweat was from
jungle humidity or a severe fever.
He d been having the most bizarre dreams he d ever remembered. First he was
making love to a woman with velvet skin, short cinnamon hair, a
coffee-with-too-much-milk complexion, large intent eyes, a small nose, and a
delicate chin. In the midst of their lovemaking, she ripped off her face as if
it were a mask and he was catapulted into fiery nightmares filled with
terrible visions that pounded inside his skull.
He pressed his fingertips to his chest and found bandages and pain. He touched
Page 80
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
the patchwork of injuries, pressing down hard because the pain reminded him
that he was still alive. His mind was full of questions. Where was he?
He heard jungle crickets, the belching music of small frogs and of trickling
water, the crackle and whisper of dried leaves woven into a fragrant roof over
his head.
You awake now?
Keene turned his head and groaned as even the small movement set a series of
pains in motion.
Selene sat on the ground, her back against the inner wall of the hut. She gave
him an odd smile, an expression that surprised him more than the amazing fact
of finding himself alive. He tried to talk, but his voice came out in a squeak
that embarrassed him. What& happened?
You ve been dried, fed, and nursed back to life. Now it s time for some
payback.
Payback?
She laughed. Nothing too strenuous, I promise you. First you tell me who you
are.
Joshua Keene.
I assume that since you and your friend were on theYucatán, you work for Frik
Van Alman. Is that correct?
Not precisely.
Then what, precisely, were you doing on the tanker?
Keene hesitated, confused by his pain and wondering how the beautiful woman
questioning him could be the enemy. It s complicated. Terris and I are& were
in a group with Frik. He asked us to look for you, he said at last.
What sort of group? Why would you just blindly follow Frik s orders?
Keene felt the fuzz returning to his brain. He tried to shake it off. It s
called the Daredevils Club. It s like a brotherhood of adventurers. Frik asked
for our help, and we saw the opportunity for some action. He wanted something
he said your father stole from him and sent to you.
Frikkie Van Alman is a sorry excuse for a human being. I know the things Van
Alman says about Green Impact. He s a liar. A killer. A megalomaniac. Her
whole demeanor hardened. My father is dead. Van Alman killed him because he
knew too much about Oilstar s operations and their intent.
I had nothing to do with that. Neither did Terris, and he s dead too.
Selene turned to walk back to a small camp stove where she was heating some
water. The tail of her shirt rode up and he saw smooth skin.
You need to listen, Joshua. Green Impact is not a bunch of wild dogs trying
to cause senseless destruction. Not my people, and not me. We re doing this to
stop Frik from destroying our future. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]