TOTSS
"More Than Words"
by Beckers



Chapter Three:



"Where's Isabelle?" Grief and Mauriri had been examining the immediate surroundings, checking a few of the mutilated Bari bodies for signs of life, when it came to their attention that the female member of their reconnaissance effort was nowhere in sight.

"She was just here." Mauriri stood from his crouch and allowed his eyes to carefully rake over the disaster, which was once a thriving native village. Already the wind was beginning to pick up, turning over a table and chair and pulling half hanging thatch from a demolished roof. Thunder was heard in the distance. No better edict could be made that the second half of a violent storm was on its way.

"Isabelle!" Grief called, unthinking.

"David." Mauriri put a firm hand to his friend's shoulder and spoke quietly, "There may still be Tonga here somewhere."

'If there are Tonga here and they've harmed her I'll cut their hearts out.' The thought came to David Grief simply and emotionally. It annoyed him. A form of uncharacteristic panic was clouding his usually methodical judgment. He had stayed alive, had gone through and survived all the adventures he'd undertaken, because David Grief was able to think beyond his heart. True, he occasionally went with his gut feelings and there had been a couple times in his life - most recently with Jenny Duval - where he had completely lost his grip but this, the disappearance of Isabelle, certainly wasn't akin to Jenny ... or was it? The very idea of losing himself again to an unresonable passion frightened Grief and he kept it to himself.

Mauriri's grip on Grief's arm tightened. Silently, he mimed his friend's attention to a well constructed and still standing hut not very far from them. They could see movement, the flash of a bare dark shoulder, near a small hole which served as a window. Slowly, careful and quiet, they circled the hut. With purpose, Mauriri picked up a tree branch about the size and consistency of a medium sized club. Neither man were carrying firearms. When Isabelle said she was taking her gun they didn't think it necessary. They didn't want to provoke the restive Bari with a show of force.

Without warning, the swinging door to the small hut was thrown wide open and a tall but very young native ran outside. He was quick and Mauriri, caught off guard, swung wide with his branch, missing clean. The native continued to run, with an inexperienced warrior's cry, and did not look back. Grief and Mauriri watched as he bolted into the jungle and were about to follow when a feminine gasp met their ears.

Isabelle, in a sitting position and surrounded by litter, was leaning against a wood and grass thatched wall. She looked groggily up at Grief and Mauriri as they entered. "I didn't see him ..." she croaked, lifting the small needle the native, with his bamboo blower, had embedded into her neck.

Mauriri took it from her palm and examined the tip, carefully.

Grief knelt beside Isabelle, tilting her head back to look into her eyes, to examine the woman's pupils, "Poison?" he asked Mauriri.

"It's a sedative taken from the Shunez flower. Local vegetation. My great uncle said the Tonga use it to sedate their victims without releasing toxins into the blood. It's fast acting but doesn't last long."

"Smart. If they're going to devour a guest they don't want their meal tainted." Grief spoke with slight sarcasm, disguising relief, then touched Isabelle's cheek with reassurance. "You'll be fine."

She smiled weakly and nodded.

"Yeah, but she's going to need time for recovery." Mauriri glanced out of the opened door to the area of the jungle where the native disappeared. "David, one of us has to go after him." The Polynesian crouched down to Grief and Isabelle's level, "He'll lead us to the others. We've got to rescue those women and children."

"I know, Maur, but were still in the eye of a storm. If that wind outside is any indicator it's coming in fast. We won't stand a chance of getting to the Tonga encampment before it strikes."

"The three of us, no." Mauriri considered, "but that savage is leaving a trail *now*, David. If we wait it will be gone by the time we start tracking him. The storm will destroy it. Who knows how many will have died in the meantime." Mauriri looked from his friend to Isabelle then back to Grief again, pressing. "Children, David. I can't have that on my conscience."

"Me neither." Grief agreed with a sough, torn by their friendship, concern and what was right.

Isabelle, noting the conflict in both men's expressions, attempting to speak as clearly as she could under the circumstances, "You both go. I'll be fine. The hut held together through one storm. It will stay up again." Then, when she saw their skepticism, "I just need to rest a little. I'll follow. Promise."

Appreciating her spirit, Grief touched Isabelle's arm. "Nice try." he said then looked at Mauriri who was equally as impressed by their partner's mettle, "Go Maur, but be careful. If you get to a point where you can't move-on then find someplace to hole up. We'll wait here until it clears and catch up."

"I'll try to leave markers." Clasping Grief's hand, Mauriri said: "Good luck, my friend."

"And to you."

"Wait." Isabelle spoke softly, lifting her gun from its holster, "Take this, just in case." She then weakly smiled, "It didn't do me much good but it could help ..." she hesitated briefly, "You need to go home to your wife and children ..." and she trailed off, unfocused, losing the rest of her thought due to her drugging.

"Thank you, Isabelle." Mauriri took the gun, looking at the woman with fresh respect. "I'll see you both later."

***

The hut they were in was some kind of storage room. Barrels of native wine and other staples such as dried foods, woven bed linens and tools were strewn about the room to be used during some future time.

Outside, the wind gusts were constant and the first heavy drops of rain fell.

Inside, Grief and Isabelle got busy. Together they moved wine barrels near the one and only opening, blocking the door and it's excessive swinging. Isabelle took a blanket and nailed it over the window Grief and Mauriri had originally spied the Tonga warrior through.

"No rain will get in through here." she said, flinching during a lightening flash and finding it difficult to keep her arms raised for any length of time. The drug was wearing off but she was still exhausted. Her eyes cast upward. "Hope the roof holds."

"It held the first time." Grief quoted what Isabelle stated earlier, zig-zagging rope through a support beam and bamboo closures to keep the door and walls from fly loose and away from the hut during the brunt of the storm. It added an extra iota of stability to an already sound structure. "I think that should do it."

"I'm glad the Bari take construction seriously."

"They've gone through more than one tropical storm."

Finally, when there was no more they could do except listen to the wind howl and the rain fall, both Grief and Isabelle sat on a large mat next to each other on the dirt packed floor.

There was a contemplative silence between them for a few minutes.

"I'm sorry, David." Isabelle all at once said, troubled, bringing her knees up to her chin.

"Sorry for what?" he asked, struck by the vulnerability in her profile.

"You should be out there with Mauriri, protecting his back. I know, in your heart, it's what you want. Instead you're in here with me."

"It's true." he said, inciting a double-take from Isabelle. "I'd much rather be out there, facing gale-force winds and cannibals than being stuck in a one room hut, safe and warm, with a beautiful woman."

She smiled and chuckled with him for the first time in a long while.

Grief found himself pleased it was he who brought the sparkle back into Isabelle's eyes. Come to think of it, Grief considered, he hadn't seen total pleasure in her expression for a long time. 'For a month at least.' something inside him prompted. Wasn't love supposed to make a female 'glow with joy'? Seems Samuel Pederson hadn't yet managed to elicit all the responses necessary to make a woman come alive with that certain ambiguous something which told all she was his and would never belong to another.

Isabelle, listening to the wind and thunder, found herself disturbed by thoughts in a similar vein. Why was it earlier, when she had seen the native who attacked her, when she thought her life was at an end due to fast acting poison, it was not Samuel who popped into her mind but Captain Grief? For a split second she could see David in her mind's eye approaching William, Isabelle's brother, telling him how terribly sorry he was that she hadn't survived. Isabelle could see tears in Grief's eyes and, in a bizarre way, it was comforting for her to know that he cared enough to feel emotion regarding her passing. But, of course, that was just a fantasy ...

"Kerosene." Grief suddenly said.

Isabelle looked at him, "What?"

"Can you smell it?" he stood.

Isabelle followed, "Yes, I do. Stronger than ever."

Sniffing, both slowly approached the barrels in front of the exit. They kneeled when their senses told them where the offending smell was coming from. Grief turned a barrel about slowly. An invoice was stuck to the side and he gently peeled at the label and looked carefully to see where the kerosene came from, "Been doing business with the Bari, Isabelle?" he asked, handing the form to her.

She took it from him slowly, a deep fear then sorrow clouding her otherwise lovely features, "Until we came here I didn't even know these people existed." she said, staring at what *appeared* to be her signature on the bottom on the invoice. It wasn't but she recognized the handwriting. It sent a shockwave to her now rapidly beating heart.

"Not only the Bari but the Tonga have also been doing business with Reed Enterprises." Grief punched the top of another barrel. Inside was gunpowder. "The attack on the village earlier today, the horses and burning. The violence. The two tribes are at war, Isabelle."

"Someone is using my resources and my good name. When the whole thing blows up, "she glanced at the barrel of gunpowder, "a finger will be pointed. I'll be the naïve entrepreneur who will take the fall."

"Someone is making a profit off of this." Grief looked steadily at Isabelle.

She returned his gaze, pain in her eyes. "It's not me, David. I swear."

He believed her. No, it wasn't Isabelle. She was a steadfast business woman but not ruthless. She had learned a valuable lesson long ago about the taking of lives for profit. This treachery had been done by someone she trusted, a man who had touched her heart, a fiend who went behind her back, using her stellar commercial reputation and money for his own benefit. What had the Tonga and Bari given Samuel Pederson in return? Probably gold, silver or a number of other rare minerals found on these islands. Grief almost said he was sorry but knew Isabelle would hate sympathy, particularly from him. Instead, he touched her arm and nodded. "We'll work it out." he promised.

"Thought I was being so careful." she whispered, searching her memory for past signs of Pederson's lies. "Thought I *knew* him ..." Then her blue eyes, glistening ever so slightly with the pain of betrayal, looked up into his. "Is this the part where you say 'I told you so.'?" she asked with a near sob, recalling their conversation aboard The Rattler.

"No." David Grief spoke firmly but tenderly, "This is the part where a good friend puts his arms around you and tries to make it better."

Hating her frailty but unable to prevent the tears, Isabelle accepted his responsive embrace and cried against Grief's chest, absorbing his kindness, loyalty and, yes, perhaps even a little love.

*****

((continue))