David Dun - Unacceptable Risk

Baptiste's hired agent Figgy Meeks could download a ci pher code from the SDECE for his communications, each code lasting only forty-eight hours. Baptiste waited for his own download of the current cipher. In seconds the written text appeared on his screen; now written dialogue was possi ble, and it could be kept on file for future reference.

"They are going after Bowden. I will stay in the States. They don't seem to know about Paul. Attribute it to Gaudet. They wonder, as I do, why Gaudet would risk using the vector against Sam's neighbors."

Baptiste replied:

" I have no idea. It has gotten the attention of American intelligence. They will be looking harder. That means we re double our efforts… And remember: It was an accident. You bear no moral responsibility for Sam's man."

"That's wishful fantasy."

"You know how to count $5,000,000.00? "

"Remind me again that I'm doing this for money and I may cross the ocean and shove it up your ass," Figgy communicated.

"Next report when? "

"When I know something worthwhile. Have you learned anything more from Moreau? "

"They are working on it. Nothing yet."

"Sam wants to talk with her ASAP'

"No chance. As to Bowden… Where is he, exactly? When are they leaving? " Baptiste prodded.

"No intel on that yet."

"Remember that you are working for the French government and are handsomely paid. Get me that information."

Figgy's transmission died. Like all American government men, Meeks was a prick. At least he was a greedy prick who had been screwed over by the CIA in a fashion similar to what the French government was doing to Baptiste.

Baptiste thought carefully about his next move. It would be dangerous not to run it through channels. He called the admiral and amazingly got him on the first ring.

"I'm about to run," the admiral snapped.

"We have a situation in the Amazon. The Americans feel-"

"Yes, yes. You told me. A man named Bowden supplied Northern Lights and perhaps Chaperone came through him. You have my permission to shadow the Americans. Who will you send?"

"Rene Denard," Baptiste replied.

"A bit of a renegade, don't you think?"

"We need someone strong."

"Tell him not to cross swords with the Americans." The admiral rang off.

"I need Bowden or Raval." Devan Gaudet spoke in French to Trotsky, his assistant, who sat on the other side of the coffee table in a rented house in Mexico, not far south of the California border. "Ideally both. I'll need better men than those who went after Sam and I'll need better men than those who went to South America last time. I don't like los ing."

Men were finishing up with the boxes and loading them out the door into a truck. Most of the stuff was staying and would go up in flames when the small house burned to the ground. After everyone had departed, Trotsky would open the propane line-it would make for a fast, hot fire.

Angelina, a Mexican woman who had been tending the home for several months, was cleaning behind the movers. Even though Gaudet had spent little time here, his fastidious nature required a housekeeper.

"The team is coming together," said Trotsky. "You needn't worry. They'll be up to the job."

Gaudet's thin lips were pursed white in a rare display of emotion. "I am worried. We looked like asses in front of our investors." Gaudet closed his eyes as he forced the thought from his mind. "Let's review the video."

Trotsky turned on the TV A huge auto parts store and fenced lot flashed on the screen.

"Sam's offices are in the back, behind the tall brick wall. There's cut glass on top of the wall and those signs you see are posting a warning. It's got tight security and it's no doubt a bomb-hardened structure." Trotsky glanced at the maid.

"She is fine," Gaudet said. "She barely speaks English, much less French."

"Sam is like any other man. He can be killed."

Gaudet did not reply. He stared at Trotsky until he shifted in his chair and turned to the movers.

"Shove off," Trotsky told the men, who hurried to leave with the last of the boxes.

From outside, Gaudet heard the big diesel engine of the transport truck. "Angelina"-Gaudet thought through his request in Spanish and did the best he could- "Puedes cortar esa Guayavay trerme la aqui, por favor? "

Saying nothing, the maid went to the corner of the kitchen and removed a guava from a burlap sack. Using the knife, she skillfully cut it up and brought it on a plate. "You may have one as well," Gaudet said.

"Gracias, no."

"I insist," Gaudet said.

Angelina shrugged, took a slice, and began eating as though she had had a secret desire. Trotsky ate as well. Gaudet picked up a slice and held it while he spoke in French. "So as long as Sam is alive, he is the single greatest threat to our plan." He stopped the videotape. "But I'm out of time at this mo ment. Bowden is all that matters now. Later this video will come in handy."

Trotsky walked over to the TV inserting a second video. Gaudet rose to pour two glasses of port while he watched Angelina out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly she swayed on her feet, grabbed the counter, then collapsed to the floor and began convulsing. Trotsky whirled and saw Gaudet still holding his slice of guava. Gaudet gave Trotsky a slight smile, enjoying his little joke. Trotsky looked uncertain, a little panicked.

Slowly Gaudet lifted the guava slice to his lips and took a robust bite. Trotsky's shoulders dropped and relief washed his face.

"It was only a catalyst in the guava," Gaudet told him. "I poisoned her earlier. For you and me, the catalyst is harm less. For Angelina, it will look like a heart attack. None theless, make sure the fire burns hot."

Her green eyes could have been taken directly from Mother Amazon.

Michael Bowden always felt Marita's presence before seeing the bronze of her skin catch the light. She appeared infrequently and always silently. Michael fancied her a creature of the forest, a shadow in the green, but knew there was more to her. She would reveal that aspect, or not, in her own time.

The informal alliance had been formed from the smallest subtleties over many days, though they had never been closer to one another than about twelve feet. On certain days she would come right to the railing of the large porch, though her favorite place seemed to be the giant ficus tree, where she'd perch among the vines that wrapped the limbs like braided rope. He had been preparing to draw a map for a book when he'd first noticed Marita on this hot, muggy af ternoon. She had come much earlier than usual. From the expression on her face he knew instantly that something was different. Perhaps she was troubled. He would be patient, keep on with his work, and let her settle in. Maybe today they would talk.

Built on massive stilts, the entire house, including the porch, stood some eight feet off the ground, a measure taken against the coming wet season. In Peru, in the vast jungle province of Loreto, two great rivers, the Maranon and the Ucayali, came together to form the Amazon-unless you were a Brazilian citizen and then the Amazon was said to be formed by a downstream confluence that was, not surprisingly, in Brazil. Between the Maranon and the Ucayali lay the 5-million-acre lowland reserve Pacaya-Samiria. Only 1 percent of the reserve remained terra firma during the wet season. In fact, during the annual high water, from December through June, 80 percent of the Loreto Province (if you didn't count trees and floating grass mats) lay underwater.

To the south of the Ucayali the local people, called the Matses, used stilted huts near the river to weather the wet season. Historically, they had been nomadic and among the most skilled hunters of the Amazon. In modern times they remained among the more remote of the indigenous natives of Peru and Brazil, although they had been influenced by Western missionaries since the 1970s, and they had been ex posed to Western culture more than the other tribes across the border in the Brazilian refuge.