Arthur Hailey - Evening News

The sky had stayed clear. Bright moonlight, reflected on the water, made navigation relatively easy along the river's winding course.

Fernandez asked, "Have you decided which landing strip we'll head for?”

Partridge calculated, visualizing Fernandez's large-scale map which, by now, he almost knew by heart.

First, choosing the river for departure had ruled out a rendezvous at the highway landing point where they arrived. That left the intermediate drug traffickers' landing strip, which they might reach in an hour and a half, or the more distant Sion airstrip which could mean three hours on the river, plus a three-mile trek through the jungle on foot—a difficult challenge, as they already knew.

To get to Sion by 8 A.M., when the AeroLibertad Cheyenne II would be overhead, might be cutting things close. On the other hand, at the intermediate strip they would be several hours early, and if a pursuit should catch them there it would mean a firefight which, outnumbered and outgunned, they would almost certainly lose.

Therefore the best and wisest course seemed to continue putting the greatest possible distance between themselves and Nueva Esperanza.

”We aim for Sion,” Partridge told the others in the boat.”When we leave the river and go ashore, we'll have to push hard and fast through the jungle, so get whatever rest you can."

* * *

As the time passed, Jessica became more composed; her involuntary shaking ceased, the sickness disappeared. She doubted, though, if she would ever have total peace of mind about what she had done. Certainly the memory of Socorro's desperate, pleading whisper would haunt her for a long, long time ahead.

But Nicky was safe—at least for the moment—and that was what mattered most.

She had been watching Nicky, aware that ever since they left the prison shack he had stayed close to Harry Partridge, at moments being almost underfoot. It seemed as if Harry were a magnet to which Nicky sought to attach himself. Even now he had settled beside Harry in the boat, clearly wanting some physical contact, snuggling up close, which Harry seemed not to mind. In fact, as happened earlier, Harry had put his arm around Nicky's shoulders and the two at this moment seemed as one.

Jessica liked that. Part of Nicky's feeling—inevitably, she thought—was that Harry, appearing as he did, represented all that was opposite from the evil gang who engineered the horrors they had been through—Miguel, Baudelio, Gustavo, Ramon . . . the others known and unknown . . . yes, Vicente and Socorro too.

But more than that. Nicky's instincts about people had always been good. Jessica had once loved Harry—in a way still did, especially now when gratitude and love were mingled. Therefore it did not seem strange at all that her son instinctively should share that feeling.

Nicky seemed to be sleeping. Disengaging himself gently, Partridge maneuvered his way across and sat beside her. Fernandez, observing the movement, changed sides also, balancing the boat.

Partridge too had been thinking of the past—what he and Jessica had once meant to each other. And even in this short time he could see that essentially she hadn't changed. All the things he had most admired—her quick mind, strong spirit, warmth, intelligent resourcefulness—were still in place. Partridge knew that if he were around Jessica for long, his old love would revive. A provocative thought—except it wasn't going to happen.

She had turned toward him, perhaps reading his mind. He remembered, from the old days, that she often could.

He asked, "Back there, did you ever give up hope?”

"There were times I came close to it, though never entirely,” Jessica said. She smiled.”Of course, if I'd known you were in charge of rescue, that would have made a difference.”

"We were a team,” he told her.”Crawf was part of it. He's gone through hell, but then so have you. When we get back, you'll both need each other.”

He sensed she knew what he was saying too: Though he had returned briefly to her life, he would shortly disappear.

”That's a sweet thought, Harry. And what will you do?”

He shrugged.”Go on reporting. Somewhere there'll be another war. There always is.”

"And in between wars?”

To some questions there were no answers. He changed the subject.”Your Nicky's fine—the kind of boy I'd liked to have had myself.”

It could have happened, Jessica thought. For both of us, all those years ago .

Without wanting to, Partridge found himself thinking of Gemma and their unborn baby boy.

Beside him he heard Jessica sigh.”Oh, Harry!”They were silent, listening to the outboard motors' thrum and the churning river water. Then she reached out and put her hand on his.

”Thank you, Harry,” she said.”Thank you for everything . . . the past, the present . . . my dearest love.”

Miguel fired three shots into the air, shattering the silence.

He knew it was the quickest way to sound an alarm.

Barely a minute ago, he had discovered the bodies of Socorro and Vicente and realized the prisoners were gone.

It was 3:15 A.m. and, though Miguel did not know it, precisely forty minutes since the boat containing Partridge, Jessica, Nicky, Minh, O'Hara and Fernandez had left the Nueva Esperanza jetty.

Miguel's anger was instantaneous, savage and explosive. Inside the prisoners' hut he had seized the guards' chair and hurled it against a wall; the chair had broken. Now he wanted to bludgeon, then dismember limb by limb, those responsible for the prisoners' escape.

Unfortunately, two of them were dead already. And Miguel was painfully aware that he also shared some of the blame.

Without question, he had been lax in enforcing discipline. Now that it was too late, he saw that clearly. Since coming here he had relaxed at times when he should have been attentive. At night, he had left others to oversee precautions he should have supervised himself.

The reason had been a weakness—his infatuation with Socorro.

He had wanted her sexually while at the Hackensack house, both before the kidnap and immediately after. Even now he recalled her blatant sexuality on the day of departure when, with a mocking smile she had spoken to him of catheters inserted in the prisoners for the journey: " That's tubes in the men's cocks and the bitch's cunt. Entiendes? ”

Yes, he had understood. He had also understood that she was taunting him, just as she taunted the others at Hackensack —for example, the night of her sudden, noisy coupling with Carlos, making Rafael, whom she had refused, near-rabid with jealousy.

But at that time Miguel had other things to consider, responsibilities that kept him occupied, and he had been stem and self-disciplined about his own desire for Socorro.

It had not been that way at Nueva Esperanza.

He hated the jungle; he remembered his feelings on their first day here. Compounding that, there had been little to do. He had never taken seriously, for example, the possibility of attempts to rescue the prisoners; Nueva Esperanza, so deep in Sendero territory, had seemed remote and safe. Therefore the days passed slowly, as did the nights—until Socorro, responding to his pleas, opened the doorway to what he quickly discovered was a sexual paradise.

Since then they had had sex together, sometimes in the days, always in the nights, and she had proved the most accomplished and satisfying lover he had ever known. In the end he had become her willing vassal, and like an addict awaiting the next fix had neglected most else.

He was now paying for that addiction.

Earlier tonight, after an exceptionally satisfying orgy, he had slept deeply. Then some twenty minutes ago he awakened with an erection and, wanting Socorro once more, was unhappy to find her gone. For a while he waited for her to return. When she didn't, he had gone to look for her, taking with him the Makarov pistol he always carried.