Ricky had kept the male trainers busy. Using poles and scraps of electrical wire they had built a rickety hospital tent from blankets and someone with an artistic bent had painted a sign: M*A*S*H. Inside, Irene found Ricky working on Brad’s foot. One of the team players was helping with a bandage.
Ricky looked up, his face etched in worry. “He started leaking and I had to go back in and restitch the artery.”
Irene could see that the makeshift splint that held Brad’s leg was soaked in blood. “Christ, did you get it?”
“Too early to tell but the bleeding’s stopped, for now. This is my fiancé, Zoey.”
Zoey nodded, her dark features clouded in concern. “We heard the screaming. Is everything okay out there?”
“Yeah. What the hell was going on?” Ricky tied off another stitch. “I had my hands full here or would have come.”
Irene shook her head. “Some of the men took an unhealthy fancy to one of the players.”
“My God,” Zoey’s face tightened. “Which girl. Who?”
“Sweet blonde kid,” Irene explained. “Big blue eyes and young looking.”
“Oh please, not Angie.” Zoey placed a hand on Brad’s arm. “I have to go to her.”
“Yes, go. Let me know if she’s okay.”
Irene watched Zoey pull on her red, white and blue team-jacket and dash outside.
“They’re good friends,” Ricky explained, once Zoey had gone.
“Zoey’s a lovely girl,” Irene said.
Ricky returned his attention to Brad’s ankle. “Yeah. The best. And I love her half-to-death. My parents, ultra conservative to the core, had a problem in the beginning; her being black. But she’s so sweet,” he chuckled as he took another stitch, “she charmed the bejesus out of them. Now my old man delights in introducing her around at all his posh Washington functions. And Lord, doesn’t she fit right in, captivating the hearts of those old right-wing republican buggers. I’m so proud of her. Honestly, I could just about burst every time I lay eyes on her.”
Irene felt a quell in her chest, his love was so open and honest. “You’re a lucky boy, Ricky. Hold on to her with both hands.”
“You’re a Captain. Do you think you can marry us? Just in case, I mean.”
Irene realized that Ricky was the first to comprehend the seriousness of their predicament; that rescue wasn’t imminent. It could be weeks, maybe months, before someone found them. They had wandered wildly off course into a remote area of the Andes Mountains. They had no food and not much in the way of shelter. And even now, as the sun began to drop, Irene felt the chill about her bare legs. They were just below the snowline and it was October. Things would get worse with the approaching winter. Firewood, she thought. God, we need firewood.
As she ducked from the tent Irene saw Alex and Linda step from the treeline. The bikinis had been exchanged for jeans and shirts. They were met by Tracy and Sissy, each clutching a plastic shopping bag and it was obvious to anyone watching that the girls were taking turns; disappearing into the trees to change out of their swimsuits. Both Sissy and Tracy took a moment to press, cheek to cheek with Linda.
Irene felt the pangs of guilt. Linda and Jordan had been friends and roommates; until Jordan had been sucked from the plane. Irene knew she should have taken a little time for Linda. She felt a close camaraderie for the MIT student and fellow pilot and admiration for what the girl had achieved. Irene’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a camera and she realized the bastard had done it again; captured the image of Alex kissing Linda for his cheap magazine.
Her blood boiled with indignation.
Irene got to him just as he turned toward the woods, his camera around his neck and a long lens in his hand. “Who the fuck are you?” she asked, bristling with hostility and stepping directly into his path.
His gaze flickered, eyes rounding in surprise. “Ashwin Franks” he said on the end of a cheap laugh. “Senior photographer for Stalker Magazine.”
“Stalker Magazine?” Irene was incredulous. “So the job at National Geographic didn’t pan out for you?”
He was a slow-witted ape of a man, not tall but bullish about the shoulders and it took him a moment to realize he’d been insulted.
He tried to sidestep Irene. “Look bitch, I got work to do.”
“Photographing my girls for your rag?”
“It’s a living. Look, you want to break into the business?” He ran his eyes across Irene’s legs. “I do older women from time to time. And you got a set of thighs on you. What’dya think? Wanna get naked and all juicy for Uncle Ashwin?”
“You’re disgusting.”
“Yeah, yeah. Go fuck yourself on that tire-axle over there. Or better yet, go grab your friend, that head-stewardess. I know you got the hots for her. We’ll do a pictorial; back where the plane is all burnt out. I’ll photograph you undressing her. And after, you can lay her out on the tip of the wing. Spread her, climb on top and sixty-nine her; you know, tonguing each other’s pussies clean.”
Irene was stunned by what he was suggesting.
“We’ll call it Crash Diet,” he continued with a cocky smirk.
“There a problem here?” Ricky stepped up beside Irene and stared the shorter man down.
Ashwin Franks was clearly out-gunned. Ricky was a big guy, and carried his two hundred and twenty pounds in upper body strength, not in a paunch like the one drooping from Ashwin’s belt. “No. Nothing.” Ashwin looked from Ricky to Irene and back up to Ricky. “Just wanted a photo of our pilot for a news story. But she refused so, if there’s nothing more, I’ll just go put my gear away.”
“What was all that about?” Ricky wanted to know after he had taken Irene by the arm and ushered her across the compound.
“Trouble,” Irene said. “There’s him plus a group of five others. They’re pushing me. Testing my resolve. It’s like battle-lines being drawn. I’ve got you; and Doctor Dixon will stand behind me. What about the two trainers; you’ve been working with them. On whose side do their alliances fall?”
“Christ, I don’t know. They’re trainers. Got muscle for brain. They’ll go with the flow.”
“I can’t sit around waiting for something to happen. Look, there’s no food and when those guys get hungry, who knows what will happen. I’ve got to get us rescued and that means walking out of here. This river has to lead somewhere, a farm or village maybe. Somewhere I can get word out.”
Ricky blew a breath. “You want me to go?”
“No. I have to do it. I need you to stay here. Someone has to be in charge and you’re better equipped. I’ll take two of my girls along with enough food for a couple of days. Hopefully we’ll find someplace or someone before we starve.”
“Who will you take?”
Irene thought a moment. “Pamela for one. She’s young and strong. And Linda. Linda’s the smartest person I ever met, and she’s resourceful; a problem solver. If anyone can survive the walk out, it will be Linda.”
“Okay. So anything else I can do?”
“Yeah. What’s left of the plane is all the shelter we have. Move the bodies. Take them out into the woods, away as far as you can before– before they begin to…”
“Decompose,” Ricky said ruefully. “I’ll get the men started.”
Suitcases were scattered among the trees like broken Easter-eggs and Irene started searching. She needed three pairs of athletic shoes, a change of clothes, towels and a couple of backpacks to carry everything. She searched listlessly, her mind turning over:
Two deadly air crashes in the same year. What were the odds? Too improbable to calculate. So there had to be a connection. Someone was out to kill her. And problem two: Ashwin Franks seemed poised to challenge her authority. Would Ricky and Alex be able to stand up to him in her absence?
And Irene couldn’t escape the thought of how easily Ashwin had described the rear section of the plane; knew it had been burnt-out but that a wing tip was still intact, positioned just above the ground, about the size of a king-sized bed and certainly large enough to accommodate two squirming women with a photographer kneeling between their legs. Icy fingers ran down Irene’s spine. She thought of two young volleyball players with their jeans pulled about their ankles. What would their parents think if, one day, the nude images of their daughters appeared in Stalker Magazine. Somehow, she needed to get her hands on Ashwin’s camera; just long enough to tip it into the river.
“Can I help?”
The voice came from behind and Irene straightened.
“We haven’t been introduced,” the woman held out a hand. “Helen Haynes. Head Coach.”
She was about Irene’s age, perhaps a little younger, and had the robust glow of a woman who had spent her life in the gym. Her handshake would have impressed a linebacker.
“Irene Ross. And I’m looking for running shoes for a couple of my crew. High-heels aren’t much use on a mountainside.”
Helen surveyed the carnage. “My girls play in bare feet but still, the sponsors are always giving them runners. Must be a mess of ’em around somewhere.” Helen kicked a broken suitcase open. “Saw you had a run in with the photographer.”
Irene was abruptly aware: The woman had other business on her mind. “Yeah. He give you any grief?”
“The man’s slime. He talked a couple of my players out of their swimsuits back in Cartagena. Told them he worked for Playboy. The bastard even had business cards.”
“Christ. They didn’t.”
A shrug from Helen. “I warn them about that kinda shit. But they don’t listen. He told them he was just after some soft porn; the girls topless and batting around a ball on the beach. And he was offering big bucks. So the girls fell for it. Franks was on the beach with two assistants and after the girls had taken off their tops, Franks demanded they get totally naked for the men. The girls balked and took off before anything else could happen. And they run like gazelles, let me assure you. I just wanted you to know what you’re up against.”
Irene palmed her eyes. “Oh God.”
“God’s not going to help you,” Helen said, lifting a pair of Nike’s from inside a suitcase. “Something’s going to happen, Irene. You got a bunch of horny guys and some of the most attractive women ever assembled in one spot. And we’re all alone out here. No one can help us. I’ll do what I can– however, you might want to think about striking first.”
“You can’t mean…”
“That’s exactly what I mean. Kill Ashwin Franks. Catch him sleeping or with his back turned. Kill him, Irene, and the other men will fall in line.”