One Grave Less

young people walked in front of his line of sight and his search shifted to the other side of the room. It would be a short respite. She could make a run for the women’s room, but he would see her for sure.
    Rosetta was busy playing with her doll and hadn’t noticed. Maria bent her head down and whispered in her ear, “Don’t get scared, okay, but the bad man is here. It just means we are going to have to work a little harder.”
    She felt the little girl go stiff. Maria looked into her face and saw her large brown eyes tear up.
    “It’s all right, baby girl,” she said. “I won’t leave you. I will get you home.”
    Maria was wondering if she should have stayed somewhere outside while they waited for John. She just thought the terminal would be more comfortable. She could leave now and they could hide. But what if Michaels had people outside? She and Rosetta would be away from anyone who could help them.
    They were trapped, but she hoped they were trapped in a relatively safe place. At least, safer than outside.
    “Remember and speak only English and the Cherokee I taught you, okay?” said Maria. “He’ll try to trick you, but you are smarter than he is.”
    Rosetta nodded. She looked determined and her tears receded.
    “You’re the bravest person I know,” said Maria. “I have faith in you.”
    Rosetta looked up at her. “I have faith in you too,” she said, and Maria smiled and hugged her.
    Maria watched Michaels go into the office. It wouldn’t be long. There would be an announcement over the PA and they would be stuck. She would have to obey the rules of the airport to have any hope of staying on the good side of the officials.
    While Michaels was gone she and Maria went to the ladies’ room. They waited in the small lounge connected to the room. It was a place where Michaels couldn’t just come in. Maybe he wouldn’t have them page her.
    They waited there for over an hour. She worried about Rosetta getting panicked. She worried about herself panicking. Calm , she thought. Be calm. Be who you are saying you are. Mother and daughter . Perception went a long way to convince people. That and a truckload of self-confidence from the two of them. They had been pretty convincing so far.
    “Maria West. Maria West, please come to the airport manager’s office.”
    Rosetta looked at her, fear all over her face.
    “We are mother and daughter,” Maria whispered in her ear. “We’ve been strong throughout all this. We’ve weathered the jungle, anacondas, crocodiles, hordes of bad guys with guns, and one scrawny, wimpy bad guy. We can kick this bad guy’s butt too. We are strong. Ready?”
    Rosetta nodded. “Ready,” she said.
    Maria put on her I have a right to be here unconcerned face and they walked out of the bathroom, hand in hand, carrying their backpack and tote bag. Maria was glad she ditched the gun.
    It wasn’t far to the manager’s office. Maria and Rosetta threaded their way through several people on her way to the office. The airport was getting crowded. It somehow made her feel safer. Though, really, there was nothing these people could do to help her.
    Another woman was on the way to the office just in front of Maria. She was young, dressed in khaki slacks and shirt, wearing turquoise jewelry. She had long black hair in a low ponytail and tanned skin. She looked Hispanic. She went into the office first and held the door open for Maria, smiling at Rosetta.
    “Thanks,” said Maria.
    “Welcome.” The woman patted Rosetta on the head. “ Papai ,” she said to the man behind the desk who rose when they entered.
    Maria couldn’t read the sign on his desk, but she assumed he was the manager. Especially since Michaels was standing nearby in his straw fedora.
    “Catia, what a surprise,” he said, speaking English.
    Good, he spoke English.
    Behind him Maria could see the single well-maintained runway the airport had. One plane was taking off.
    His office was modern, a lot of glass and shiny metal. Large photographs of the rain forest and Inca ruins decorated the walls. The woman Catia smiled at Maria’s interest in the photographs.
    “Did you take these?” asked Maria.
    “Yes,” she said.
    The manager beamed. He was Rodrigo Cordeiro, according to the plaque. “My daughter is an archaeologist and a great photographer. Mr. Michaels says you say you are an archaeology student. Is that true?”
    “Yes,” Maria said, “I am.”
    “Hello.” Catia’s smile widened. She