Gregg Hurwitz - Minutes to Burn

Opening the autoclave from her side, Samantha pulled out the test tube and held it up, then glanced at her microscope on the counter. She looked back at the kids.

"I know, I know," Kiera said. "You have to get to work now. I recog-nize when your mouth gets like that."

Danny shook his head back and forth furiously. "I don't wanna go yet."

"Honey, I'll be home soon," Samantha said. She tapped the window with a blunt fingernail. "I promise."

"Yeah, right," Kiera said.

"Honey, please. Give me a hand here."

"Well, I can't spare a leg."

Samantha set her hands on her hips. "Maricarmen, why don't you take the boys to the car? I'll send Kiera out in a moment."

The boys kissed the window, and Samantha cringed but refrained from scolding them since she'd set the example. Maricarmen took the boys by their hands and led them out. Kiera played with a hole in her jeans.

"What is going on with you?" Samantha asked.

"Why are you in here?"

"I just…I needed to…I got exposed to…"

Kiera sighed. Loudly. "I read what you did in the newspaper. Maricar-men cut out the article, but I saw the blank square and knew it would be something good, so I dug it out of the garbage."

"Don't dig in the garbage, honey."

"That is not the point!" Kiera said, her nostrils flaring.

"Honey, you know how my work is. We've talked about this. I some-times have to take risks to help other people."

"Well, what am I supposed to tell Danny if you end up with… with hantavirus pulmonary syndrome or something? Then what?"

Samantha pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. "How old are you again?"

Kiera's face remained angry. "It's not just you anymore, you know," she said. "It's us too."

Stunned, Samantha sat down slowly on a nearby chair. She felt as though she'd just had the breath knocked out of her. The test tube was cool in her hand. "I know," she said. "You're right."

Kiera chewed her bottom lip. "Well… just don't let it happen again."

"Okay," Samantha said. "I won't." She stood again and crossed to the window. She reached out to touch the glass, then lowered her hands in frustration. She'd never wanted to hold her child so much. "Honey, you kids are the most important thing to me in the world. I hope you know that."

Kiera's face softened. "I do." She looked up at her mother. "I'd better get going. Maricarmen's waiting."

Samantha leaned against the glass, watching her daughter until she turned the corner at the end of the hall. She sat back down in the chair and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. She didn't move for a long time. Then she rose and walked over to the microscope.

With all they had seen on their respective tours-men drinking cobra blood in Snake Alley in Taiwan, the diffuse orange sunset over Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, decapitated frogs still breathing in Vietnamese markets-the soldiers had never encountered a place like the Galapagos.

The water was postcard-blue and calm, lapping against the panga. The soldiers sat up along the pontoons, the gear stacked between them. The panguero, who smelled of aguardiente and wore jeans cuffed in wide bands, navigated admirably, despite the fact that the outboard was straining under the load. Cameron leaned over the side, running her fingers through the clear water and praying the little boat wouldn't sink under the weight of their gear. She stole a look at Justin, who winked at her. His face was streaked with sunblock that needed to be rubbed in.

The island of Santa Cruz loomed before them, a low-lying black bulge on the surface that sloped upward and lost itself in mist. Over-head, frigate birds circled, black streaks against the sky. When they caught the sun, they reflected a greenish sheen. Their tails deeply forked for maneuvering, they dipped and turned, their long slender wings spread wide. Rex pulled his Panama hat low over his eyes to cut the blazing sun.

A white bird with gray wings and bright blue feet swept low over the stern, crying out in a nasal honk. It banked high and then folded its wings to its side, plummeting toward the water like an arrow. Cameron pointed and the other soldiers watched as the bird hit the water hard and vanished. Even Savage glanced over, though he pretended not to be interested. "The blue-footed booby," Juan said. "The great plunge diver of Galapagos. It can go up to ten meters beneath the water."

After a few moments, the bird popped to the surface, then took to the air. One of the iridescent frigate birds chased her, closing quickly to attack her in flight. She squawked and flailed, disgorging the fish, and the frigate bird used its long hooked beak to snatch the fish from her mouth. With a defeated squawk, the booby headed for land.

The panga approached the sleepy town of Puerto Ayora, which was stretched along a rocky inlet on the southern shore of Santa Cruz. Pulling into Academy Bay, a small anchorage split by a damaged cement pier, the panguero cut the engines, drifting until the boat nosed up against the massive black tires guarding the dock. The Bay was almost empty. A few dinghies floated despondently near a set of white buoys and a weathered rowboat, but there was only one boat of any size-El Pescador Rico. A number of bloated fish drifted on the surface, forced upward by a recent swell until their air bladders had exploded through their mouths. Cameron wrinkled her nose at the stench.

A pelican skimmed low with its huge bill angled toward the water. It dipped, hitting the water with a splash, and surfaced with several gallons of water distending its pouch. As it began to drain its pouch, a brown noddy flew over, landing on its chestnut-brown head, waiting eagerly for fish scraps to wash out.

The coastline was composed of thickets of red mangrove and jagged, low-lying lava rocks spotted with tide pools. Rusted and broken, aban-doned bicycles were chained on the railing that ran the length of the pier. Nailed to a kiosk was a cardboard Minutes to Burn sign. Crude num-bers hung on pegs beneath it-2:10.

Avenida Charles Darwin, a road cobbled with red composite blocks and lined with shops and restaurants, curved parallel to the coastline heading east. Many stores had boards nailed across the doors and win-dows, but a few still remained open.

The soldiers disembarked and stacked their gear on the dock. Derek stuffed a roll of sucres in the panguero's pocket and said, "Justin and Szabla-you guys stay here with the gear while we go find the Darwin Station. We'll rotate shifts later so you can grab a bite." He'd removed two of the unloaded Sigs from the weapons box; he tossed one to Szabla and stuffed the other in his belt. "In case you need to bluff."

Szabla raised her index finger and twirled it in the air.

Rex pointed at one of the boxes marked TELEMETRY. "We need that one."

"Then carry it," Savage retorted.

Tank stepped forward and grabbed both handles, hoisting it up with a grunt.

The panguero was busy unmooring the boat from the pier. A swell lifted the panga suddenly, and he fell over. Szabla and Savage laughed, and Tucker looked down with a smile. The man glared at them, his mouth drawn tight with indignation, then shoved off.

Leaving Justin and Szabla behind, the squad fell into line with Rex heading east along the road toward the Darwin Station. The effects of the earthquakes grew increasingly apparent. A few of the buildings had toppled over, leaving large blocks of space between standing shops. On one side of the road, a half-built boat had fallen off its blocks, the unfin-ished wood on the bow rent nearly in two. Up ahead, two sturdy boards were lain over a four-foot rift in the street, so that people could bicycle and walk across. A red Chevette had evidently tried to make it over as well; it lay smashed and angled into the split earth, its taillights sticking up into the air.