Authors: H. Ward
Ramiro finished the thought, “You’re here because Cal wants you to be here.”
She shook her head, and found the firmness in her voice again. “No…I’m here because
I
want to be here.” She looked at Ramiro steadily. “I’m very good at keeping secrets...in fact, I’ve been doing it most of my life.”
One corner of Ramiro’ mouth twisted, “Okay Amber. You’ve got three days to prove to me you’re an asset and not a liability. Cal has a pretty amazing sixth sense about people, so I’m hoping he’s got you pegged correctly. If he doesn’t, I will personally escort you onto the next plane back to Panama City—which happens to be Saturday.”
“Fair enough.” The tension in the air made the fine hairs on Amber’s neck bristle; she couldn’t tell if it was anxiety or… attraction. She swallowed; Cal should have really prepared her for the fact his partner looked like he should have been posing in boxer briefs rather than tracking drug kingpins. Amber headed for the door, and then turned back to Ramiro, “Dinner tonight is at eight o’clock. Bring a date if you like, but don’t be late.” She wanted to ask Ramiro where Cal was, but it seemed like it would weaken her position. Instead, she pushed through the door without looking back, and never saw that Ramiro was smiling.
###
The market yielded some beautiful fresh fish, cilantro, tomatoes, more peppers and onions, some melon, and some fresh limes. Amber was excited about the fish, now that she knew how to work Cal’s hibachi. She envisioned making a rice pilaf bed for the grilled fish, garnishing it with a pico de gallo, and fresh melon on the side. It would be simple and delicious.
As the woman selling her the melon made change, they chatted about her day at the beach, about the weather, and the fact the local church was getting a new priest. Amber felt lively, happy even, like she could make a place for herself in the little community. Saying good-bye to the melon vendor, Amber turned to hurry back to start on food preparations. She recognized the couple she’d seen at the beach walking her way, and they exchanged nods and murmured hellos. Then she had the strange feeling that someone was watching her.
Amber kneeled down, as if to adjust the strap on her sandal, setting her bags down next to her. Discreetly she looked around, and noticed a man staring at her. When he realized she was looking in his direction, he quickly turned around and began rifling through pairs of jeans suspended on a rope line in front of a small shop. Suddenly, Amber wished she had her gun. Something about the man seemed out of place; he neither looked like a local nor like the handful of tourists about town. His clothes were a bit too crisp, the hair under his straw hat a little too coifed. And then she caught it, a small bulge under his arm. He was wearing a shoulder holster with a gun under his light jacket.
Quickly, Amber gathered her shopping, and dashed toward home while he had his back turned. She took some odd twists and turns in her path back to the house, hoping that he wasn’t following. She burst through the door to find the house empty, with no evidence of either Cal or Ramiro. Dropping the bags in the kitchen, Amber ran to their room, quickly finding her bra holster and her gun in the top dresser drawer. She snapped the holster on, then spent a few moments practicing her draw. She looked at the box of ammunition and decided to load the gun.
Checking the safety, she put the gun in place, and pulled her t-shirt back down. He was probably just some lech checking out her ass, she thought, probably lots of people around here carried guns. She let out a big breath.
It didn’t take long before Amber was lost in scaling and cleaning fish. She hummed as she worked on the fish, and looked for a radio. She saw one in the windowsill of the kitchen and tried tuning it to music, but only the news seemed to be on. She half-listened, as she chopped vegetables, but soon grew bored listening to agricultural statistics and reports about politicians she didn’t know. Just as she reached to snap it off, the announcer reported a story about FARC insurgents coming across the Panamanian border into Darien. A Hungarian tourist and his Panamanian guide were missing, and believed to have been kidnapped. No names were given, pending notification of the missing men’s families.
Amber froze. How many Hungarians could be roaming around Darien? The park didn’t get a thousand foreign visitors in a year. She clicked off the radio. She thought of Tomás’ phone number, stuffed into her journal. Should she dial it, just to see if he was okay? Then she thought about the creepy guy watching her in the market. What could—what
should
she do? A shiver ran through her; if she had chosen to go with Tomás instead of Cal, maybe she too would be a FARC captive right now. Had she created her life through the decisions she made? Or was it merely fate…destiny…kismet?
When Cal and Ramiro returned that night, they found Amber sitting in a chair, grimly watching the door. She held her gun as it rested on her leg. The fish were still raw, the pilaf unmade. They looked from Amber to one another as Amber wordlessly stuffed the gun back into her bra holster, and set about finishing dinner.
“By the way,” Amber finally said, “There’s some cold beer in the fridge. Dinner is going to be late.”
###
Amber could overhear snatches of the conversation between Cal and Ramiro as she grilled the fish out on the balcony.
“…Not only is your girlfriend crazy, she’s armed?”
“…Clearly something happened…”
“…Four words for you: plane to Panama City...”
As she turned the fish, Amber wondered if she
was
in over her head. Maybe Ramiro was right; maybe she
should
be on the next plane to Panama City. Maybe Cal had made a colossal fuck up in bringing her to La Palma, in telling her his true identity. Amber couldn’t help but think of Tomás, somewhere out there in the jungle. Was he hurt? Scared? Of course he would be scared, what sensible human wouldn’t? And what might FARC do with a female hostage? Would they humiliate her, rape her, or leave her to die in the jungle if she couldn’t keep up?
Cal would buy her the ticket back to Panama City. Amber knew that. And she knew he would give her enough money to stay in a safe hotel in the city until her parents could arrange a ticket out of Panama. She knew he would do that for her, because she knew he cared about her.
The problem was that Amber cared about him; she wanted to be with him. FARC or no FARC, she had to admit, she didn’t want to leave Cal.
Amber’s dinner was quite lovely when she served it. She had bought a bright blue cotton tablecloth for $5 in the market, and had cut some fresh hibiscus flowers and put them in an empty glass jar in the middle of the table. She tried to act as if she hadn’t met Cal and Ramiro at the door with a loaded gun, and wondered if that made her seem even crazier—like she was some kind of dangerously demented, Martha Stewart. They could talk about it over dinner, she decided, like civilized people. So far, both Cal and Ramiro had let her be.
The three of them sat down and automatically, Ramiro folded his hands. Cal tipped his head down, respectfully.
“Bless us, O Lord and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord, Amen.” Ramiro crossed himself.
Amber whispered an “amen” before gesturing to the platter of fish on the table. So Ramiro was a good Catholic boy, Amber thought. For some reason, it surprised her. She didn’t know if it was because he was a DEA agent, or because he looked like an underwear model.
Clearing her throat, Amber decided to not waste any more time. “I know I must have looked a little insane when you guys came in.”
“A little?” Ramiro said with a lifted eyebrow as he put some fish and rice on his plate.
Cal gave Amber an encouraging smile.
“I got a bit freaked out—there was a guy in the market today, he was checking me out a little too closely and he had a gun.” Amber passed the bowl of melon to Cal.
Cal’s face clouded over, “What the hell? Why didn’t you say something right away?”
“I was…more or less dealing with that, and then I heard a news report on the radio. FARC came over the border and a
Hungarian
tourist is missing and believed to be kidnapped.” She looked meaningfully at Cal as she emphasized the word ‘Hungarian.’
“Oh geez Amber.” Cal set the bowl of melon down and looked at Ramiro. “Amber almost went to the National Park with this Hungarian guy, but she blew him off to come here…to be with me.”
Amber looked at her hand resting by the side of her plate and realized it was trembling.
Ramiro was chewing. He finished the bite, swallowing carefully. “Your fish is really good.” It seemed like a total non sequitur to Amber, but then she realized Ramiro was gathering his thoughts. “Are you scared?” Ramiro asked.
“Hell yes, I’m scared. I’m scared that Tomás—an essentially decent guy—is going to end up in the same limbo as Cal’s father. At least Cal’s dad has military training. Tomás is just a high school biology teacher.”
Cal resisted the urge to jump in, allowing Ramiro and Amber to feel each other out.
Ramiro nodded, “But are you scared that something is going to happen to you?”
Was she scared? Amber bit at her thumb, thinking. “No, not as long as I pay attention and I don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like shoot your boyfriend and his partner when they come through the door?” Ramiro’s face gave no indication of whether or not he was joking.
“So the guy in the market? What did he look like?” Cal finally interjected.
“Average height, kind of thick in the middle. He had a fairer complexion that most of the locals…and he looked sort of like…a city slicker. His clothes were a little too nice to be a tourist on vacation, and he was wearing a very fine Panama hat.”
“Moustache?” Ramiro asked.
“Yeah, a thin one, well kept,” Amber nodded.
“That’s Hector.” Cal sighed.
“Hector?” Amber parroted. “Who’s Hector?”
“He’s in charge of drug enforcement in Darien.” Ramiro picked up his fork, determined to not let a nice fish dinner go to waste.
“So why’s he checking me out?”
“You mean, other than the obvious reason of you being a beautiful woman?” Cal winked at Amber. “Because you fit the profile of a drug courier—young, female, attractive. There’s been a Panamanian drug smuggling operation that hides coke on female couriers, sends them to Mexico, and from there they cross over into the states, usually posing as tourists who’ve been on vacation.”
“Well, could you tell him to ease up? That I’m not a drug courier?” Amber started to relax. She cut a bite of melon with the side of her fork.
“There’s one little problem.” Ramiro took a drink of his beer, “Hector thinks we’re drug smugglers, too.”
The bite of melon was halfway to Amber’s mouth. “What?” She put her fork down.
“Hector has pretty much pieced together the FARC-Panama drug connection, and knows that we’re somehow involved. He just hasn’t been able to pin anything on us…yet.” Cal scratched at his beard stubble.
“So tell him you work for the D—tell him who you really work for.” Amber looked first at Cal, then at Ramiro.
“HQ won’t let us. They said it makes our cover look even better…that the local drug buster is sniffing around, but can’t quite pin anything on us. It actually makes the Colombians trust us more.”
Amber collapsed backward in her chair. “How do you guys keep all this straight?”
Cal shrugged, “We just do.”
“Don’t let your fish get cold,” Ramiro chided Cal and Amber. “This is too nice a meal to not enjoy.” Amber looked at Ramiro like
he
was a little crazy. “We’re authorized to use local informants,” he continued. “Maybe Amber isn’t
exactly
what HQ had in mind, but if she’s up for it, there might be a way to
bring her into the game.”
Cal looked at Amber with a deadly serious face, “Don’t say a word—don’t agree to anything right now. You need to sleep on it.”
Amber’s head bobbed in acknowledgement. “Okay, yeah, I’ll think about it.” Amber swallowed hard with the realization that
now
Cal was thinking it through.
“I’ll clean up.” Ramiro started picking up the plates from the table. “I think you two need some time.”
He was right, Amber thought. She and Cal did need to talk. But where should they start? Everything had happened so fast since they first met, and everything seemed to be changing from day to day, moment to moment. Somehow things had progressed from a fling to possibly becoming part of a covert—and dangerous—government operation.
The bed in their room was the only semi-private place to go in the little house, but sex was the furthest thing from Amber’s mind. Cal was somber too; he lay quietly, his hands folded behind his head, as Amber perched on the edge of the bed, staring at her feet.
“What are we doing, Cal?” Amber asked softly.
“I don’t really know.” He rolled over on his side to stare at Amber’s back. “I—I can’t explain why I feel so strongly about you—that we’re supposed to be together. But I have an obligation to my partner, to my job, to my country and…to my father.”
“Me being here…it’s making everything too complicated. The last thing you need is this Hector guy up your ass.”