Hot Ice

drawing her closer. “And when we do, we’ll have it all.”
    They walked through another day to dusk while Whitney’s stomach rumbled and her legs went to rubber. Like Doug, she fixed her mind on the goal of Diégo-Suarez. It helped keep her feet moving and her mind from questioning. They’d come this far for the treasure. Whatever happened before, after, or in between, they’d find it. The time for thinking, questioning, analyzing would come after.
    She shook her head at the fruit Doug offered. “My system would punish me if I sent any more mango down.” As if to soothe it, she placed her hand over her stomach. “I thought McDonald’s had franchises everywhere. Do you realize how far we’ve walked without seeing one golden arch?”
    “Forget the fast food. When we’re finished with this, I’ll fix you a five-course dinner that’ll make you think you’ve gone to heaven.”
    “I’d settle for a hot dog with everything.”
    “For somebody who thinks like a duchess, you’ve got the stomach of a peasant.”
    “Even serfs had a leg of mutton now and again.”
    “Look, we’ll—” Then he grabbed her and shoved her into the bush.
    “What is it?”
    “A light, up ahead. See it?”
    Cautiously, she looked over his shoulder and angled her head. It was there, faint and white through the dim light and thick foliage. Automatically, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “Remo?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe.” He went silent as he thought of and rejected a half dozen ideas. “We’ll take it slow.”
    It took them fifteen minutes to reach the tiny settlement. By then, it was fully dark. They could see the light through the window of what seemed to be a small store or trading post. Moths as big as the palm of her hand batted against the glass. Outside was a jeep.
    “Ask and you shall receive,” Doug said under his breath. “Let’s have a look.” Crouching, he made his way over to the window. What he saw inside made him grin.
    Remo, his tailored shirt stained and limp, sat at a table scowling into a glass of beer. Across from him was Barns, balding, molelike, and grinning at nothing in particular.
    “Well, well,” Doug breathed. “Looks like our lucky day.”
    “What’re they doing here?”
    “Running in circles. Remo looks like he needs a shave and a husky Norwegian masseuse.” Doug counted three others in the bar, all giving the Americans a wide berth. He also saw two bowls of steaming soup, a sandwich, and what looked like a bag of potato chips. Saliva pooled in his mouth.
    “A shame we can’t order something to go.”
    Whitney’d seen the food as well. She barely stopped herself from pressing her nose up against the glass. “Can’t we wait until they leave and then go in and eat?”
    “They leave, so does the jeep. Okay, sugar, you’re going to be lookout again. This time do a better job.”
    “I told you I couldn’t whistle last time because I was busy staying alive.”
    “We’re both going to stay alive, and we’re going to liberate ourselves a set of wheels. Come on.”
    Moving quickly, he circled the hut. With whispers and hand signals, he positioned Whitney near the front window while he crept to the jeep and went to work.
    She watched, gasping when Remo rose and began to pace. Eyes wide, she looked back at the jeep. Sprawled on the floor, Doug was hidden from view. She gritted her teeth and pressed her back to the wall as Remo passed the window.
    “Make it fast,” she hissed to Doug. “He’s getting restless.”
    “Don’t rush me,” he muttered as he freed wires. “These things take a delicate touch.”
    She glanced inside in time to see Remo shove Barns to his feet. “You better get your delicate touch moving, Douglas. They’re coming.”
    Swearing, he wiped sweat from his fingers. Another minute. All he needed was another minute. “Pile in, sugar, we’re almost there.” When she didn’t respond, he looked up to see the little front porch of the hut was empty. “Sonofabitch.” Struggling with the wires, he searched for her. “Whitney? Goddamn it, this is no time to take a walk.”
    Still swearing, fingers working, he scanned the settlement. Nothing.
    He jolted at the sound of squeals, barks, and confusion as the engine roared into life. As he started to leap out of the jeep, gun raised, Whitney raced around the side of the hut and jumped inside.
    “Hit the gas, sugar,” she panted. “Or we’ll have company.”
    The words weren’t out of her mouth