CHAPTER 10

"Down!"

"K-k-kay." Chet had already dropped to the ground when the first shot whizzed over his head, a second one went slightly wide. He realized then they weren't trying to hit him; it took another moment to be convinced they hadn't. He flattened himself out on the ground, lacing his fingers behind his head for good measure. The closest pair of boots crossed in front of him, prodding along his side with a toe.

"Put those hands behind your back, boy. Cross your wrists." The soldier crouched beside him, quickly tying off a knot between Chet's wrists and then sitting him up.

"Where are your friends?"

Chet put all his energy into not stuttering. "I don't know."

"I doubt that. The three of you left the hotel grounds together." He placed a hand of each of Chet's shoulders, their noses inches apart, and gave him a rough shake. "Now where are they!?"

"I – Don't – Know." The succinct words ground out, sounding braver than Chet felt.

The soldier stood, removing his cap long enough to run a hand through his clipped hair, then jamming it back down. "Fine - looks like we're doing this the hard way." He stomped a heavy boot down on Chet's ankle and turned back to his companions. "Fan back out and keep looking."

The one closest to him nodded, and then flipped the safety off his sidearm before leveling it at Chet. "Want me to take care of this?"

Chet jolted as he recognized the face. The waiter. He closed his eyes, certain this was the end of… well, the end.

The first soldier pondered it, enjoying Chet's frightened countenance for another heartbeat. "No. Bring him."

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Biff grimaced, the fuzzy surface of the leaf brushing against his tongue as he lapped water out of a divot formed at the stem. He and Joe had waited through the night in a strained silence only sporadically interrupted by a grunt or shuffle, Frank and Chet's names almost falling from their lips a dozen times. By the time the light broke on the third morning since the world became about gunfire and camouflage, they were exhausted, worried, and horrendously hungry.

Joe prodded Biff awake right after dawn, and they had been winding through dense brush until what he guessed was now afternoon. The furry broad-leaved trees were thinning as the trail meandered higher, limiting the best source of water they'd found. Everything in the drenched forest dripped or oozed, so some water could be caught simply by an open-mouthed look up, but most of the frond type foliage didn't yield any appreciable amount. Deciding to take advantage of the verdant miniature reservoirs, they finally stopped for a break, licking at the water and cautiously nibbling small orange fruits. Smelled edible. Tasted edible. Probably edible. Besides, when it came down to it, possibly dying of food poisoning beat definitely dying of starvation any day.

"Ow. For Pete's sake." Joe flicked at his shoulder, grimacing at his tiny winged attacker.

"Ow? I've been watching you pick monster splinters out of that mess you're calling feet for how long and all you've got to say is 'ow?'" Biff rubbed a thumb over a cut on his own foot, brushing the worst of the grime out of it.

"No, I have plenty to say about my feet. The ow was for the flies. I swear the last three chunks of wood I got out of this toe felt like totem poles."

Biff took a swat at a fly as well. "It's your shirt."

The totem poles are my shirt? Okay, didn't think I was that tired… "Huh?"

"Your shirt. There's still blood all over it from your busted nose; it's probably what's drawing the flies."

Joe considered that and shrugged. …We've basically been up three days. He's gotta warn a guy before random topic changes… "Probably. We better walk a little farther. We'll lose daylight soon." The late afternoon light was filtered by both drizzle and the dense tree canopy.

Biff nodded and the two boys moved on. After the first dozen steps, Biff's feet gave up on sharp protests at the volcanic rocks and vegetation, settling into an ache he could ignore. At least he didn't have Joe's broken nose induced headache to go with it.

An hour later the trail split again, Joe stopping to weigh their options. "Go left."

"Fine by me."

The two continued to travel nearly silently, neither eager to peer beneath casual comments to the throbbing worry below.

Eventually the anxieties pinging about in his brain pushed Biff into trying to rekindle the conversation.

"Why left?"

"It's downhill, so there's more chance of finding flowing water. The stagnant puddles are full of who knows what. Plus, there are two open valleys that direction. Might be big enough for a militia camp."

Biff shook his head, secretly impressed. Well, not about the water thing; he knew that, too, but the valleys? "When did you find time to memorize the topography maps?"

A muffled sigh met his ears. "I don't memorize maps – that would be Frank. Actually, when I was planning the hiking route I was looking for valley sites to take some pictures. I just didn't think I'd be using the information quite this way."

"Honestly, I thought you were doing all that landscape photography last year to humor Chet. That has to be eight or ten hobbies ago now, right?"

"Yeah, at least that many, I'd guess. I did only go those first few times to teach Chet about cameras, but when he got bored, it sort of stuck for me. Anyway, if he hadn't given me the outdoor photography bug, I wouldn't have wanted to go hiking and we'd have no idea which way to go, so don't knock it."

"Not knocking it, I knew Chet's hobbies must be good for something." Biff let his voice trail off, not willing to finish the rest of his thoughts about Chet aloud. He'd heard the soldiers yell "down" after the last gunshot, but did that mean "get down" or "he's down?" By the time he and Joe had emerged from the dugout, there was no trace of Chet or the gunmen.

Joe kept walking, the same questions circling in his head, his whispered answer not intended for Biff anyway. "Thanks, Chet…. for everything."

"Stop." Biff caught the hem of Joe's shirt from behind, ducking toward the ground at the same time.

Joe followed him to the dirt before scouting out what had caught the younger boy's attention. Fourteen young men in olive camo milled about in the clearing below, relaxed postures suggesting they hadn't spotted the pair on the narrow ledge above.

"Finally." Joe's mutter carried unexpected relief.

"You're glad they're here?!" Biff managed to stay quiet, but relief was the last thing Joe heard in his voice. "Think we can double back without them noticing us?"

"Almost certainly, but we're not going to." Joe altered his crouch to flatly sit on the damp earth, preparing to wait for full dark. "Looks like they have plenty of supplies. How are your cat burglar skills?"

"Um, pretty lousy compared to yours. You really want to go down there and steal provisions?" Biff tried to hide an incredulous note.

"Yeah, that and follow them home." Somehow this had sounded entirely reasonable sitting in the hotel lobby floor. "Find where they're going and there's a good chance we'll find Frank. Besides, I don't know about you, but those fruits parading around as half-ripe persimmons aren't lasting too well."

"You're seriously hungry enough to try this?" Biff's question was unfortunately punctuated by a rumble from his stomach.

"Yeah." Joe paused a moment, then continued. "I could go hungry, though. I can't go without my brother."

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"Mrs. Hardy? Mrs. Hardy? Laura?"

A smallish man in a rumpled suit smoothed his tie in a fluttery maneuver, then again attempted to wake the lady before him. He checked the seat number stenciled on the vinyl of the overhead bin and confirmed it against the manifest in his hand. She was the one.

"Laura Hardy? Ma'am?"

Tired red rims accentuated the deep blue eyes that eventually opened; marring what he could tell was a lovely face in other circumstances. The faint purple smudge across one cheekbone wasn't adding much to the ensemble. He wasn't surprised, according to the information he'd received, the passengers of this plane had slept at gunpoint on the floor of a hotel lobby, spent the next day on a bus, and the one following that squashed into this overloaded hulk. It was half a wonder they weren't all at the bottom of the Indian Ocean flying around in this tin can. The thing should have been donated to the Smithsonian a minimum of three decades ago. "Ma'am? You are Laura Hardy?"

She shifted in her seat, untucking a numb foot from beneath her, before clearing her throat to answer. "Yes. I'm Mrs. Hardy."

"Good. If you could come with me, ma'am."

Laura started to stand, eager to be out of the cramped space, when her brain made it to fourth gear. She abruptly sat. "And you are?"

"I'll be happy to answer all your questions once we're away from here." He straightened his tie once more, hands wandering toward the petite woman and then dropping awkwardly to tug at the hem of his coat.

"No."

"No? Mrs. Hardy, please…"

"No." She stared at him, letting the word sink in. "I have been herded and maneuvered for days, I'm worn out, and I have no idea what's happening to my husband and sons. Before I go away from here, I don't think it's unreasonable to at least know where here is. So once again, you are?"

The man's darting manner stopped as he raised an eyebrow. "Nicolas Shuman, and I'd rather not discuss this situation in public."

Somehow that notion led to a bark of laughter as she glanced at her fellow travelers. "Oh, by all means, let's not discuss this situation in front of them, seeing as how they were actually there for the coup. Might frighten the poor souls. You only answered half my question, Mr. Shuman."

"Fine. I'm Nicolas Sh-"

"I got that part."

"Right… Shuman, and we're at Soekarna Hatta International Airport in Jakarta. I'm here at the behest of the American Embassy. If you will please come with me now?"

Years with Fenton had taught her to evaluate exactly what was said. "'At the behest of the embassy'… You're not an embassy employee, then."

They'd warned him she was sharp. "No. The embassy has been kind enough to loan me some work space. Mrs. Hardy, please…"

"What about the others?"

He sighed and stepped back to make a general announcement. "The Indonesian government graciously has supplied representatives that will be here shortly to escort all of you to your respective embassies. Everyone will be interviewed and arrangements will be made for transportation to your home countries. I suspect it will be a few days before you can depart, but you should be able to contact your families today. If everyone will be as patient as possible, we'll try to expedite the process." He shook his head at the multiple questions launched his way. "I don't have any further information, I'm sorry."

"Now can we go, Mrs. Hardy?"

She paused another moment, inspecting the embassy identification he'd waved under her nose. There remained something distasteful about the nervous little man. "Lovely speech. Yes, I suppose we can. May I ask why everyone else isn't coming with you 'at the behest of the embassy'?"

"Everyone else isn't Fenton Hardy's wife, ma'am."

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to be continued...