After they passed the parking lot in front of the general store at the native village and entered the track that led to the island staging area, Kevin sat up. He was no longer worried about being seen. Every few minutes, he looked behind to make sure they weren’t being followed. Although he didn’t admit it to the women, he was a nervous wreck.

“That log we hit last night should be coming up soon,” Kevin warned.

“But we didn’t go over it when they brought us out,” Melanie said. “They must have moved it.”

“You’re right,” Kevin said. He was impressed that Melanie remembered. After the machine-gun fire, the details of the previous night were murky in Kevin’s mind.

Guessing they were getting close, Kevin moved forward so he could see out the front windshield between the two front seats. Despite the noontime sun the ability to see into the dense jungle lining the road was hardly any better than it had been the evening before. Little light penetrated the vegetation; it was like moving between two walls.

They drove into the clearing and stopped. The garage stood to their left while to the right they could see the mouth of the track that led down to the water’s edge and the bridge.

“Should I drive down to the bridge?” Melanie asked.

Kevin’s nervousness increased. Coming into a dead end bothered him. He debated driving down to the water’s edge but guessed there wouldn’t be enough room to turn around. That would mean they’d have to back out.

“My suggestion would be to park here,” Kevin said. “But let’s turn the car around first.”

Kevin expected an argument, but Melanie put the car in gear without so much as a whimper. They left unspoken the fact that they would now have to walk past the spot where they’d been fired upon.

Melanie completed her three-point turn. “Okay, everybody, here we are,” she said airily, as she pulled on the emergency brake. She was trying to buoy everyone’s spirits. They were all tense.

“I just had an idea which I don’t like,” Kevin said.

“Now what?” Melanie asked, looking at him in the rearview mirror.

“Maybe I should quietly walk down to the bridge and make sure no one is around,” Kevin said.

“Like who?” Melanie asked, but the thought of unwanted company had occurred to her as well.

Kevin took a deep breath to bolster his sagging courage and climbed out. “Anybody,” he said. “Even Alphonse Kimba.” He hiked up his pants and started off.

The track down toward the water was so thickly shrouded with vegetation, it was even more like a tunnel than the track in from the road. As soon as Kevin entered it, it twisted to the right. The canopy of trees and vines blocked out much of the light. The center strip of vegetation was so tall that the track was more like two parallel trails.

Kevin rounded the first bend, then stopped. The unmistakable sound of boots running on the damp ground combined with the jingling of metal against metal made his stomach turn. Ahead, the track turned to the left. Kevin held his breath. In the next instant, he saw a group of Equatoguinean soldiers in their camouflage fatigues, rounding the bend and coming in his direction. All were carrying Chinese assault rifles.

Kevin spun on his heels and sprinted back up the trail like he’d never sprinted before. As he reached the clearing, he yelled to Melanie to get the hell out of there. Reaching the car he threw open the rear door and dived in.

Melanie was trying to start the car. “What happened?” she screamed.

“Soldiers!” Kevin croaked. “A bunch of them!”

The car engine caught and roared to life. At the same time, the soldiers spilled into the clearing. One of them yelled as Melanie stomped on the accelerator.

The little car leaped forward, and Melanie fought the wheel. There was a burst of gunfire and the rear window of the Honda shattered into a million cubic shards. Kevin flattened himself against the backseat. Candace screamed as her window was blown out as well.

The track turned left just beyond the clearing. Melanie managed to keep the car in the tracks and then pushed the car to its limit. After they’d gone seventy yards, there was another distant burst of gunfire. A few stray bullets whined over the car as Melanie navigated another slight turn.

“Good God!” Kevin said, as he sat up and brushed the glass from the rear window off his torso.

“Now I’m really mad,” Melanie said. “That was hardly a burst over our heads. Look at that rear window!”

“I think I want to retire,” Kevin said. “I’ve always been afraid of those soldiers and now I know why.”

“I guess the key to the bridge is not going to do us much good,” Candace said. “What a waste after all the effort we went through to get it.”

“It’s damn irritating,” Melanie agreed. “We’re just going to have to come up with an alternate plan.”

“I’m going to bed,” Kevin said. He couldn’t believe these women; they seemed fearless. He put a hand over his heart; it was beating more rapidly than it ever had before.

CHAPTER 14

MARCH 6, 1997

6:45 A.M.

NEW YORK CITY

WITH a burst of speed, Jack made the green light at the intersection of First Avenue and Thirtieth Street and sailed across without slowing down. Angling the bike up the morgue’s driveway, he didn’t brake until the last minute. Moments later, he had the bike locked and was on his way to the office of Janice Jaeger, the night forensic investigator.

Jack was keyed up. After near conclusive identification of his floater as Carlo Franconi, Jack had gotten little sleep. He’d been on and off the phone with Janice, finally imploring her to get copies of all of Franconi’s records from the Manhattan General Hospital. Her preliminary investigation had determined that Franconi had been hospitalized there.

Jack had also had Janice get the phone numbers of the European human organ distribution organizations from Bart Arnold’s desk. Because of the six-hour-time difference, Jack had started calling after three a.m. He was most interested in the organization called Euro Transplant Foundation in the Netherlands. When they had no record of a Carlo Franconi as a recent liver recipient, Jack called all the national organizations whose numbers he had. They included organizations in France, England, Italy, Sweden, Hungary, and Spain. No one had heard of Carlo Franconi. On top of that, most of the people he had spoken with said that it would be rare for a foreign national to get such a transplant because most of the countries had waiting lists comprised of their own citizens.

After only a few hours of sleep, Jack’s curiosity had awakened him. Unable to get back to sleep, he’d decided to get into the morgue early to go over the material that Janice had collected.

“My word, you are eager,” Janice commented as Jack came into her office.

“This is the kind of case that makes forensics fun,” Jack said. “How’d you do at the MGH?”

“I got a lot of material,” Janice said. “Mr. Franconi had multiple admissions over the years, mostly for hepatitis and cirrhosis.”

“Ah, the plot thickens,” Jack said. “When was the last admission?”

“About two months ago,” Janice said. “But no transplant. There is mention of it, but if he had one, he didn’t have it at the MGH.” She handed Jack a large folder.

Jack hefted the package and smiled. “Guess I got a lot of reading to do.”

“It looked pretty repetitive to me,” Janice said.

“What about his doctor?” Jack asked. “Has he had one in particular or has he been playing the field?”

“One for the most part,” Janice said. “Dr. Daniel Levitz on Fifth Avenue between Sixty-fourth and Sixty-fifth Street. His office number is written on the outside of your parcel.”

“You are efficient,” Jack said.

“I try to do my best,” Janice said. “Have any luck with those European organ distribution organizations?”