Warren Murphy: Troubled Waters

"You look really nice," Felicia said.

"Felicia, Jesus!" Megan scowled and shook her head.

"Hey, I was only saying-"

"Never mind, for Christ's sake!" Megan turned to Stacy once again, the frown still on her face. "You do look nice, though. I mean, for the circumstances."

"Thank you."

There was no mirror in the hut that served as their prison cell. Indeed, she would have been surprised if there was one in camp. Some of the pirates combed their hair, after a fashion, and most of them shaved-at least irregularly-but it was apparent from their general appearance and their hygiene that none of them spent much time before a looking glass.

"I like the flowers," said Felicia. Then, as Megan turned to glare at her again, she stuck her tongue out. "Well, I do, so there."

"I like the flowers, too," Megan admitted grudgingly. "God, this is so damn weird!"

The flowers were an added touch. Meg and Felicia had retrieved them from the forest near the camp, while Robin stayed with Stacy in the hut. She wasn't company, in any recognized sense of the word, but Stacy could talk freely to her, venting her fear and anger in full confidence that Robin would not interrupt her. Indeed, there was nothing to suggest the girl had understood a single word.

Megan had plucked the flowers carefully, long stems intact, and then had woven them into a kind of wreath that nestled in her hair. Stacy had no idea where Megan found the bobby pins, but she had come up with a pair of them to fix the wreath in place. Stacy imagined how she had to have looked-some kind of hippie princess, dressed up for a lovein-and her stomach churned.

The blushing bride, she thought, and felt like throwing up.

"What's going on out there?" she asked of no one in particular.

Felicia peered through a hole in the curtain that served as their door, shifting positions several times as she tried to get a full view of the compound.

"Eating," she replied at last. "The goons are lined up for some kind of stew. They've got your friend dishing it out."

So much for Chiun taking out the pirates on his own, Stacy thought. But what had she expected, really? He was one old man against a veritable army. Even if he used to know some kung fu moves, he was still outnumbered sixty-five or seventy to one, by younger men with guns and knives.

"Is this the shits, or what?" Felicia asked. "They're having the reception first, and they don't even feed the bride? What kind of weird, ass-backward deal is this?"

"You're sweating etiquette?" The tone of Megan's voice conveyed a mixture of dismay and gallows humor. "Jesus, Fe, you didn't pay that analyst of yours enough."

"That's cold," Felicia said, eyes smoldering as she returned Meg's glare.

Megan ignored her and addressed herself to Stacy. "So, have you decided what to do?"

"Looks like I'm getting married," Stacy said.

"I mean, after," said Megan. "When you ...you know ... ?"

Stacy wondered how much she could tell the younger woman without further jeopardizing herself. It took all of a second and a half to decide that her troubles could get no worse, barring an immediate sentence of death. Megan was still Kidd's prisoner, his enemy. If she betrayed Stacy, it might get her killed, but death was coming either way. It was only a matter of time.

"I'm going to kill him," Stacy said.

"Kill who?" Megan's voice dropped to a whisper as she spoke, and she glanced nervously over her shoulder, first toward Felicia, then toward the vegetative Robin.

"Kidd," Stacy replied. "Who else?"

"But...I mean, shit!" Megan was at a loss for words. "You'll never get away with it, you know?"

"I'll never get away, period," Stacy replied. "We're prisoners, in case you hadn't noticed. We're not going anywhere. They'll never let us go. Is any of this getting through?"

Anger flashed in Meg's eyes as she replied, "I hear you, dammit! And I've been here longer, in case you've forgotten. Anything that's waiting for you has already happened to me, to us."

"I'm sorry, Meg. I didn't mean-"

"How would you do it?" Megan interrupted her. "Kill him, I mean?"

"I'll have to wait and see," Stacy replied. "Of course, I'll need some kind of weapon. That could take a while, but I'll find something. All the guns and knives around this place, he'll have to let his guard down sooner or later."

It hardly qualified as a plan, but it was the best Stacy had been able to come up with, in the circumstances. One opportunity was all that she would need. No matter how long she was forced to wait, she meant to grab that chance and make it count.

"Are they still eating, Fe?"

Felicia peered outside again before she answered. "Yeah, still chowing down. The line out there, I'd say another twenty minutes, anyway, before they all get served. Then, figure some of them want seconds, and-"

"Enough, already!" Megan chided. "Next thing, you'll be telling us what kind of silverware they're using."

"Some of them are using fingers," Felicia said, "if you really want to know."

"We don't," Megan assured her. Turning back to Stacy, she went on, "I wish to hell there was some way we could get out of here."

But there was no point wishing. Just now, Stacy required all of her wits and nerve to face the grisly prospect of her wedding night.

Meanwhile, she hoped the feast would last for hours, and that the liquor would flow like water. It was one time when a stinking-drunk bridegroom was preferable to a sober one.

With any luck at all, Kidd might drink so much that he passed right out the moment they had gone to bed. If not...

Her stomach churned again, and Megan seemed to pick up on it from Stacy's expression.

"What?" she asked.

Stacy managed a smile as she replied, "Oh, nothing. I'm just hoping that they let me cut the cake."

CARLOS RAMIREZ COCKED his semiautomatic pistol, thumbed on the safety and slipped the weapon back into the shoulder holster worn beneath his stylish jacket. It was hot, despite the hour, and although Ramirez had already sweated through his shirt, he balked at taking off the jacket. He had a certain image to protect, and killing off his enemies was only part of it.

Whenever possible, he also had to be the best-dressed killer on the block.

Ramirez knew the way to Kidd's encampment, how to find it from the sea, but he wasn't prepared to land directly in his enemy's front yard. He still had no idea why Kidd would turn against him, but there was no arguing with facts. Four of his best men were dead, and Carlos knew of no one else in the vicinity who could have pulled it off without sustaining losses in the process. Even for a group of wily pirates, it would be a challenge, but the ease with which the killers had escaped him told Ramirez that they knew the local waters well indeed.

Ramirez and his men had been outnumbered when they sailed from Cartagena, and the odds weren't improved by losing four good men. Ramirez still had faith that he could win the day, but he was counting on surprise to make it possible.

They landed near the west end of the island, roughly half a mile from Kidd's compound. No lookouts were in evidence, but Carlos took no chances, posting sentries of his own while he addressed the others.

He had formed a simple plan after the ambush out at sea. His men would land well back from the encampment and march overland to take the pirates by surprise. There would be no need for discussion, nothing in the nature of a warning to the men he meant to kill.

Carlos Ramirez was no woodsman, but he reckoned he could hike for half a mile through even the most savage jungle, with the ocean on his left to help him find his way. It would take more time in the dark, of course, and night was falling fast. A handful of his soldiers carried flashlights, but they had been ordered to refrain from using them except in the most dire emergency, since strange lights in the forest would betray them to their enemies. They could afford to take their time, spend half the night walking if necessary. In truth, Ramirez thought it would be better if he found his enemies asleep, but he didn't intend to waste the whole night waiting unless it was absolutely necessary. Better to surprise the pirates at a meal, for instance, while his men were reasonably fresh, than to risk them getting jumpy, trigger-happy, maybe even dozing at their posts.