Catherine Coulter - The Edge

Someone slapped a Dr Pepper into his hand. He peeled back the tab and said to me, "Hold up her head.

We need to get this down her." I didn't think she'd take any, but she did. On some level she must have known she had to drink. "The sugar's really good for her," Tom said.

"And she needs the liquid badly. Let's just keep getting it down her throat. We've got to keep her hydrated."

The beach crowd gave her some room.

"Where's that helicopter?" Tom called out as he poured more Dr Pepper down Laura's throat.

"The lifeguard says another ten, fifteen minutes," someone yelled back.

The men and women seemed to have assigned themselves tasks. Some of them brought us drinks, others food, still others brought insect repellent and more beach towels. One woman wearing a thong bikini that was an eye-catcher dragged up a huge umbrella and positioned it so that Laura was well protected from the sun.

It seemed like an eternity had passed when-no more fluttering eyelids, no moans, no twitches-Laura just opened her eyes and looked straight up at me. She was dead white but her eyes were focused. She was back again. She smiled at me. Tom gave her more Dr Pepper.

"You're doing great, Laura," he said. "Just hang in there. Breathe slowly and lightly. Yes, that's it. Don't let yourself go under again. Okay?"

"Okay." It was her voice, frail and paper thin, but she was back.

"I can hear the helicopter," I said. "Don't leave me now, Laura. No more going back into the ether. It would really piss me off. I think Tom would freak out. Just smile at me every couple of minutes while you concentrate on breathing. I need reassurance. Okay?"

"I'm all right," she whispered. "It just hurts really bad, Mac, but I can deal with this. How's this for a smile?"

"It's the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. I'm sorry, but I don't have any more pain pills. Just squeeze my hand when it gets really bad."

When the helicopter landed some twenty yards away from us down the beach, I was nearly a basket case. Two men, each with a gurney slung over his back, and one woman carrying a black bag ran to us.

For the first time, I began to really believe that Laura would make it. I wanted to cry with relief.

When the helicopter lifted off, I was holding Laura's hand and waving to Dr. Tom and all the men and women vacationers who'd helped us out. One of the medics was sticking an IV into her arm, saying as he did so, his English beautifully deep and soothing, "It's just sugar and salt water. Nothing to worry about.

The doctor said she's been drinking soda. This is even better."

"She's dehydrated," another medic said, a young woman wearing a Mets baseball cap backward on her head. She fit a plastic oxygen mask over Laura's nose and mouth. "Is she allergic to anything?"

I shook my head. "I don't know."

The woman said nothing, just nodded. "I'm going to give her an intravenous antibiotic called cefotetan.

It's very rare that anyone's allergic to it." She added, slanting a look at me, "She your wife?"

"Not yet," I said. Another of the medics was checking Sherlock. The helicopter rose well above the treetops and we got a panoramic view of the rain forest. Dense, forbidding, so green you felt like you were growing mold just looking at it. Low, thick fog was hanging over parts of it, like a wispy gray veil. It looked mysterious, otherworldly. It didn't look like a place where human beings belonged. Far off to the southeast must have been where we ran into it to escape the helicopters shooting at us. The town of Dos Brazos was over there, I guessed, somewhere, and a few miles southwest was the compound and Molinas, the bastard, and his men who had balls but no discipline.

We'd survived. Odd to think that trams ran tourists through the rain forest, all snug and safe, hands holding cameras and soft drinks.

It was too difficult to be heard over all the noise of the rotors, so we just sat there, looking down at the huge stretch of rain forest that had been both prison and haven.

The woman paramedic lightly touched her hand to my shoulder. I leaned close. "We're going directly to San Jose," she said. "The senorita needs the best facility."

"How much longer?"

She shrugged. "Maybe an hour."

I took Laura's hand. She was still mumbling, still out of it. It was a very long hour.

I'd always wanted to visit Costa Rica, but not like this. Another five minutes and the helicopter set down in the parking lot of the Hospital San Juan de Dios.

There were medics with a gurney waiting. The last I saw of Laura was her long hair hanging off the side of the gurney-tangled and damp from the cold wet towels they'd kept on her forehead-beautiful hair, I thought. Hell, I was in love. She could have been bald and I'd have admired the shine.

The woman medic turned, smiled, and said, "Go to the third floor as soon as they've checked you all out.

She'll be in surgery there."

Sherlock took my arm and led me toward the emergency room. "We made it," she whispered. "Don't worry, Mac. Laura will be fine."

An hour later we'd been examined, cleaned up somewhat, but Savich and I still looked like wild men, with stubble on our faces, torn fatigues, and swollen insect bites covering our necks and the backs of our hands. As for Sherlock, she looked like Little Orphan Annie before she hit the big time, her red hair a wild nimbus around her head, her face pale, her clothes stiff with dried mud. I leaned down and kissed her cheek. She tasted like insect repellent.

But at least we looked human again, barely, and that was a good start.

I called Laura's boss, Richard Atherton, of the DBA. Savich set up a conference call with his boss, Jimmy Maitland, and Carl Bardolino, my chief. We went over every detail of what had happened. It took at least an hour, some of it peppered with curses from Atherton. We agreed they would fill in our embassy and contact the local authorities to get us protection. They all wanted to come and bring agents with them. Bottom line, no one was going to take four federal agents and haul them off to another country and get away with it. They were arranging for an assault on the compound with the Costa Rican military.

Edgerton was already covered with agents, searching for us, questioning everyone, turning the town upside down. I thought of my sister. I was worried and scared for her.

I listened as Sherlock and Savich called his mom and talked baby talk to their son.

Dr. Manual Salinas came to us in the waiting room and said in only slightly accented English, "You did very well. Two days in the rain forest with a bullet through her shoulder, I will tell you that I am surprised Ms. Bellamy survived. You took very good care of her. We went in and cleaned the wound. There was not any deep infection, which is a big relief. We were able to stitch the wound. She will be all right. She is still under the effects of the medication. You can see her in another hour or so." He shook my hand. "You did an excellent job, all of you. I would like her to remain here for another two days to be sure there are no complications. Then you may fly back to the United States."

I wanted to kiss him.

After assuring myself that Laura was going to be all right, I left with Sherlock and Savich to buy new clothes. Since we had no wallets, no ID, and not even a dollar bill among the three of us, Dr. Salinas loaned us money. Once Savich and I had shaved and no longer looked like desperadoes, they let us into the stores. When we got back to the hospital, we all showered again and changed in the doctors' locker room. Then we ate, wearing our new duds, and waited. Local police authorities arrived to question us and to provide protection, which made us all feel better, given the tenacity of Molinas's soldiers. They agreed to wait until representatives from the DEA and the FBI arrived. They seemed concerned and cooperative. One police lieutenant told us that he'd heard about an old army compound near Dos Brazos. He was surprised someone would try to use it for the drug trade into his country. They wouldn't get away with anything like that in Costa Rica.