The Soul That Perishes

Chapter 6

Steve had lost the trail of the militants. They had traveled much more quickly than he could hope and were stealth enough to travel through the jungle without leaving a trail. At last, he sat down to rest, adjusting the sling where Esteban slept fitfully. It was hot, but the baby's skin was even hotter and flushed. How much longer can I go on? He noticed a small hollowed stick that still contained an ounce or so of rainwater from the night before and drank it down thirstily. I told Danny that the team would stand together. There is little I can do to help him now. He could feel exhaustion and hopelessness crawling like some reptile up his body. The urge to just stay here and give up was overwhelming.There were thirteen living when we started, now there is just me and this baby who will not live much longer. Will I be the soul survivor again? He could remember the elation of surviving, the bitter anger and remorse at living when others died. Why did I live? Why am I alive now? I stayed alive because I had the desire to. I must have that desire again. I can still do something to help Danno. I just need to find him. The way to find him is to find a rescue team - and maybe that will be at the river. He swatted at bugs, trying to find the energy to rise. The jungle was alive with the sounds of nature. He squatted where he was, listening, unable to move. I have to move, but I cannot. His attention was taken by a colorful snake moving slowly amongst the leaves a short distance away. It's skin glistening as it moved silently without seeming to take note of the humans nearby. The thought suddenly struck him that the snake was food.

With a quick strike, he hit the snake with the butt of the rifle, it transformed into a coiling, writhing serpent. With two more blows, it was dead. Not completely certain the best way to eat it, he picked some of the skin away and bit into the raw flesh. Watery fluid ran over his hands and he hoped he was not ingested some kind of poison, but he kept gnawing away on the snake meat.

Half an hour later, hands covering with sticky fluid, he did the best he could to wipe them on his slacks and rose with a renewed sense of purpose. We head for the river. He prayed it would not be much farther. The ground beneath his feet had been growing steadily softer, the undergrowth getting thicker. He missed the machete that had vanished when Danny was taken.

The weight of the baby pulled on his shoulders, the smell of old blood was attracting insects and Steve wondered what else. He had not seen a jaguar since the accident and hoped the good luck would hold. He had only six shots left and would not have liked to use one on a wild animal. He glanced down at Esteban who gazed back through half-closed disinterested eyes - the look of the eyes of the old, not the eyes of a child. He gently patted the child's back hoping to provide some bit of comfort. The only sound the baby uttered was an occasional raspy cough.

He heard a sound and stopped. Yes, it was the deep sound of fast moving water. The river! Steve hurried ahead, scrambling over obstacles of fallen trees, scrub brush and rocks, getting faster and faster as the sound grew and swelled. It would be glorious to fall into the open arms of rescue teams, but he could not believe that would happen. He parted some large rubber tree branches and it was suddenly before him. The large, muddy brown river flowing towards the ocean was impressive under any conditions. It was easily a fifty yards across, cutting through the mountain. Steve was only about ten feet above it, but a cliff rose majestically to his left. He breathed a sigh of relief that he had not approached it from above. The steep cliff would have been nearly impossible to climb down. The river narrowed towards the right twisting from sight. There must be settlements in that direction.

Panting and sweating from the exertion, Steve sat down to rest for a few minutes, waiting to see if any kind of traffic would appear along the right and whether it would be friend or foe. He loosened the sling and examined the baby. With the change of position, Esteban whined and coughed.

The group of insurgents with Danny in their midst left their camp traveling with almost as much speed as they had earlier. The rope had been retied around Danny's wrists, the other end tied to the belt of Geraldo who seemed to think it was a bit of a sardonic joke. Emmel was towards the rear, AK-47 posed and ready all the time.

The men seemed to travel the route effortlessly, used to both altitude and the exercise. Danny had been exhausted after the first hike. He had trouble keeping up now. Geraldo kept tugging the rope and calling back for him to keep up, periodically intentionally taking the difficult path just to watch Danny struggle. After a near run for about twenty minutes, the group suddenly stopped.

Danny leaned against a tree, gasping for breath, trying to wipe perspiration from his face. The left side of his face was swollen and throbbed from the blow earlier. His ribs ached from the kicks he'd received.

"You," Emmel called out stepping over to him. "Where from here?"

"What?" Danny replied, between breaths.

"Where are they?"

He straightened some. "Hell, I don't know where we are. How should I know where they are?"

"You say the river."

Did I? I don't remember saying that. "So?" he replied.

Emmel spun him around to face the other direction. "Rio Umpala."

Danny gasped. They were at the top of a nearly 100 foot cliff. Beneath them the chocolate colored river spread out, rushing for the sea. He noted immediately that it was wide and quick moving and, hopefully, deep.

"Where now?" Emmel repeated.

The rope was still tied to Geraldo's belt. Danny tugged it gently, getting a little closer to the edge. The Colombian militant moved with him, but looked nervous. Danny took two more steps closer to the edge motioning Geraldo to come with him.

This time, Geraldo did not move.

Danny noticed a slight movement below the cliff to the right. It can't be. He heard a faint cough of a child.

Emmel heard it too. "¡Escuche!" he shouted running forward, creating a small pandemonium amongst his men.

Steve looked up from the bottom of the cliff hearing men's shouting voices. Is it a rescue team? He knew better than to assume that. He could not see much from where he was, buried himself more deeply into the brush, one hand lightly over Esteban's mouth. Do not cry now!

Danny took the moment and the only opportunity he saw for both distraction and freedom. Tugging on the rope, he got Geraldo's attention back. "Come, look," he commented drawing the man closer to the edge.

Geraldo came a little closer.

"Come closer," Danny said and pointed towards the river. "See, there? See?"

"No, see," Geraldo admitted, his brow knit as he looked across the cliff, taking only one step closer.

The rope between them was lax, actually touching the ground. Danny glanced at the distance he had to go. "You'll have to come closer to see," he commented, taking Geraldo's arm.

The rebel pulled away from Danny's touch, stepping closer to the edge.

"Let me give you the best view," Danny muttered, then broke into a full speed run towards the edge of the cliff, a distance of about six feet, clearing it just before the rope snapped taut.

Geraldo issued a panicked scream, losing his balance as he was pulled forward. Another of the men reached to grab him, but missed.

Danny plunged towards the water, trying to get his feet downward, but became quickly entangled in the rope, knowing that his former captor was just a moment or two above him. He prayed the water was as deep as it looked. He hit the water hard and was almost instantly slammed by the full weight of the falling Geraldo. He hit a rock at the bottom of the river with his right knee, but not as hard as he would have feared.

Steve both saw and heard the splash and knew that two men had gone off the cliff. That could only be one thing. How high was that cliff? Certainly Danny wouldn't jump. It's suicide. He strained to see what was happening in the water, but not give their position away.

The men at the top of the cliff were shouting and began shooting into the water.

Danny, entangled in the rope and the flailing limbs of the panicked Geraldo struggled desperately to free himself. He broke the surface, just as a bullet hit the water next to him. Geraldo came up beside him, grabbed for him, and he ducked under the man using him as a shield. Geraldo, unable to swim, grabbed hold of Danny's head, trying to climb upward out of the water over his prisoner, ignoring the bullets were peppering the surface of the river. The two men, roped together in a life and death battle had already been gripped in the current that would carry them away from the cliff in just a matter of seconds. Geraldo suddenly stiffened, then went limp - shot by one of the men above. Danny ducked beneath the water again, trying again to free his hands. The eddy beneath the surface was quicker and the water turbulent from rocks along the bottom. They began to move faster.

The militants were running and scrambling down the steep cliff, following the body of Geraldo laying face down in the river. It would take them several minutes to climb down. Steve gathered the baby into his arms and picking up his rifle, ran ahead over the rough terrain, keeping the body in view. Until Danny gets free from that man, they will be able to find him easily. And it won't take long for the body to come an anchor instead of a buoy.

Danny surfaced for air, realized for that the instant he was out of sight and no longer a target. The wet knotted rope was tight about his wrists. The only way to get free would be to cut the rope. As the river swept them on, he tried to pull the bleeding body closer to see if Geraldo had a knife.

Danny collided with a large submerged rock with the same already injured right knee, letting out a shocked cry as the pain fired up to his hip and down to his toes. He slammed into a second rock across the ribs. The river's speed was still increasing. Desperately, he grabbed at Geraldo's belt buckle and began working it open. The roar of the river was increasing, the river narrowing as it began to work through a ravine. Rocks were rising up through the water, others just submerged beneath the water, and he could hear the tell-tale throaty roar of churning water. We are headed for rapids. He got the belt open and pulled with all his might. It did not come free. He would have to pull it from each loop. They entered the white foaming water.

No longer able to focus on the belt, Danny fought to keep his head above water and away from hitting a rock. There were outcroppings of rocks from the shore and he attempted to grab hold of something to pull himself from the water, but the speed and weight of Geraldo's body snatched him away before he could get aground.

Steve had hurried along with banks as quickly as he could, keeping one eye on the men who were being drawn rapidly farther ahead in the water, the other eye on the foliage behind hoping not to be overtaken by the militants. He was out of breath, sweat poured off him. He paused a moment and also heard the roar of rapids.

The churning water yanked Danny one way, dead Geraldo the other, the rope snapped taut with violent force pulling Danny backward through the current for a moment, dragging him underwater. They were thrown back against each other a moment later, rope once again tangling amongst limbs of the living and the dead. They were swept over a flat rock and dropped to the next level, banging against rocks as they went. The rope ensnared in a root and the two men were slammed together face to face. Danny stared into the bloody face of Geraldo, tried to pull himself away as the water surged over them making breathing almost impossible. He felt the root give, he moved a little, then the rope wrapped around his foot, pulling him beneath the surface. He struggled in a near panic - it seemed the dead man was grabbing him, holding him down. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The root broke free.

The force of the river lifted him back above the surface.

The large rocks seemed to have been dropped into the river here like some careless giant child's play blocks. Several piled up in small heaps, others just beneath the water's surface as the racing water flushed over them. The deep channel in the center of the river was interrupted by a large flat rock with a column of mounded rocks poking above the surface about two feet on either side.

The churning current slid the knot of men over the smooth face of a large rock. The rushing water was less that six inches deep, looked like a shining glass surface against the rock face, but was deadly on the far side as the flow converged with the hundreds of gallons of water rushing around the immovable objects to either side creating a downward spiraling vortex.

The body of Geraldo rolled over the rock first, plunging headlong into the large odd depression in the surface. Danny, his bound hands clawing for a finger-hold on the slick rock tumbled after. He kept hold of the edge of the rock for a split moment - just long enough to realize if he went under, he would not come back up. The water closed over his head.

Something had hold of his tattered aloha shirt from the back, the T-Shirt beneath suddenly went tight against his neck and throat, but he was pulled backward against the vacuum-like pull. He got his face out of the water as an arm wrapped under his chin and right arm from behind, still pulling against the powerful drag of the vortex. The spinning water pulled the rope weighted by the 200 pound body tight against his hands, tearing flesh and cutting the circulation.

"I've got you, Danno," Steve's voice assured him. Steve huddled against the rocks trying to keep Danny above the surface with one hand, the rifle ready in the other, gripping the rocks with all his might to keep from being dragged into the water. "Your friends are right behind us," he murmured.

"A knife," Danny gasped.

Steve shook his head. It took all his might to just keep Danny's head above water as the suction and dead weight threatened to pull him in. Steve saw one of the militants out of the corner of his eye and wondered how long it would be before the Colombian saw them. He tried to move the rifle, but knew he would be unable to aim with any kind of accuracy and still hold onto Danny. He could feel the pulse racing in Danny's neck under the grip of his arm.

Danny tried to pull back to get the rope off his hands, but the drag from the water was so hard, it took all his arm strength to keep from dislocating his shoulders. He could not feel his hands. Any chance of slipping the rope over them had vanished about the time he and Geraldo had hit the water.

There were shouts from the men running down the riverbank, still about a hundred yards away. One fired a shot.

"Let me go," Danny gasped, spitting water. "Save yourself." Above the ringing in his ears he could hear the drill master:

"You live only for the mission. And if the mission's success means you die - you die. No tears, no flowers, no heroes. You are not here to be a hero. You gonna die for your mission? Williams?"

"Yes, Drill Master."

"The man down knows he will pay for your freedom with his life! You let him!"

In spite of the desperate moment, Steve cracked a half-smile. "Not a chance." He ducked as a bullet whined off the rock surface beside him. He gripped the rock surface tighter with his knees and turned the rifle in his right hand. He fired one shot in the direction of the approaching men. They scattered for cover under the trees.That just bought us a minute or two.He pulled harder. The only possibility is to pull him out. What then? There is a heavy dead body on that rope. His mind played out the impossible fantasy of shooting through the rope to free Williams, the both of them managing to duck through the rocks and somehow get back to where he's hidden Esteban…

…a second shot struck the rock much closer than before.

Steve fired a second shot, but as he did, he lost his grip under Danny's arm and Williams slid out of his grasp. Frantically, he grabbed into the water, getting a hold of the edge of the back of the shirt collar, pulling with all his might and fear, staring at Danny, face-up just beneath the surface, blue eyes staring back at him through the water, the shirt tight against his throat. The abused shirt collar tore. Steve twisted the back in the T-shirt into his fist, till it could stretch no more. If he doesn't drown, I'm strangling him. He could see that Danny kept trying to find a foothold, kicking with his feet, but was rapidly losing energy. His face was purple-red.

Having no choice, Steve let go of his weapon by propping it against the rock, and reached down with his other hand. He got a grip under Danny's arm and pulled Danny's head above the surface again. The rifle slid from the rock, splashed into the river and vanished.

Danny was coughing, each cough bringing spasms to his over taxed arm muscles. With two arms around him, Steve was able to keep him out of the water to nearly his shoulders as they huddled against the rock, awaiting what now seemed to be the inevitable. "Let go or we both die," Danny gasped. "Let me go."

Steve gritted his teeth. "I never cared much for being the sole survivor," he answered. Is there anything left I can do?

There was the sudden thundering deep rhythm of whop-whop so intense it vibrated the water around them as a Chinook helicopter seemed to suddenly drop from nowhere, Colombian soldiers in the open doorways firing at will into the trees along the river. The militants fled back into the cover of trees as the chopper dropped close to the bank, six armed men leaping to the ground and charging after them. Steve and Danny both watched, openmouthed in disbelief as the chopper kicked up whirlwinds of mist and dust. It continued to hover a moment, then another man jumped to the bank. The man in a black suit looked in no way prepared for the jungle and was running across the slippery trail of rocks out into the river towards the two men stranded in the rapids.

Chin did not take time for pleasantries, but upon reaching them, slid down next to Steve, reached out into the frothing water to locate the binding rope and with a mighty sweep, sliced through it with the large machete borrowed from the chopper pilot.

The weight instantly fell away and Steve pulled against the greatly reduced vortex feeling elation as Danny came free. They both dropped backward into the rocky outcropping, exhausted, Steve's arms still wrapped around Danny's chest. They lay there, too exhausted to move.

Chin carefully cut the rope away from Danny's bruised and bleeding hands. "You boys okay?"

Steve gazed up at him, totally unable to comprehend how Chin came to be here. "Boys?" He could feel Danny shaking and wondered if he was doing the same.

Chin, ignoring his soaked suit and soggy shoes waved towards the chopper. "Steve, are there others?"

"A baby," he replied, still overwhelmed at both the near disaster and sudden rescue. "On the shoreline…he's sick."

Steve barely remembered the short trek to the chopper. He allowed the chopper crew to wrap him in a blanket although it was over ninety degrees. He could dimly hear the coughing cry of Esteban to which he had become so attuned. Good, they found the baby. He's alive. He glanced over at Danny, also mummified in a blanket, but Danny's eyes were closed.

Chin squeezed onto the metal bench of the chopper next to Steve.

"We owe you a suit," Steve remarked.

Chin grinned and wrung out the hemline of the jacket. A small stream of water puddled onto the floor. "Good, it was old anyway."

"How did you find us?"

"They found the plane. Two men alive. One in a coma, the other Catava's former body guard. He told them you all were alive. He did not know how you had gone, but thought Catava would have headed over the mountain although it was more dangerous."

Steve blinked in surprise recalling Catava's insistence that they go to the river.

"We took the chopper over the ridge of the mountain and found Catava there."

"Catava went over the mountain?" Steve questioned in unbelief.

"He told us you all had gone to the river. He went back over the mountain hoping to draw the guerrillas away from you."

Steve shook his head a bit sadly. "He planned it," he muttered. "He got Carlos to go along with it. We were the decoy so he could make his escape over the mountain uninhibited." He wanted to be angry with Catava, could not find the energy to do so.

A Colombian soldier with a first aid kit knelt down to examine Steve's head wound. It seemed like forever since the plane crash that had created the injury. The man started to put peroxide that stung onto the cut. "Usted se sentirá mejor pronto," the soldier offered in comfort. "¿Recuerda usted algo acerca del choque? ¿Había cualquier otros sobrevivientes con usted?"

Steve did not know what he wanted and just looked at him. The chopper suddenly gave a loud whine and with a stomach wrenching jerk shot skyward headed back towards Bogota.

"¿Me puede oír usted?" the medic asked. Forgetting his patient did not speak the language, he was concerned about medical complications that would make Steve unable to reply. The soldier glanced over at another Colombian. "Quizá él no es muy listo. O quizá él tiene el daño de cerebro."

The second soldier issued a small smile at the medic's questioning Steve's intelligence.

From the depths of the craft came an unexpected response. ""Él no habla español. Es mi hermano y un héroe. Muestren respeto por el hombre que arriesgó su vida por todos nosotros," Danny, suddenly alert, declared, anger replacing exhaustion in his expression.

A third soldier pushed the other two away angrily. "Many sorry," he issued to Steve in broken English. He waved again at the two soldiers who scrambled back onto their metal seats of the craft. "They no English."

Steve glanced from Danny to Chin and then the new soldier and nodded. He looked back at Danny. "A lot of words to ask for the bathroom. I would have thought we'd both pissed enough back in those rapids to hold us a week."

Danny gave a half smile, leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Steve touched the arm of the soldier. "What did he say?" He motioned his head towards Danny. It seemed odd to ask a national to interpret what his partner had just said. Partner? I hope so.

The man glanced at Danny then back to Steve. "He said you are a hero. You risked your life. He called you his brother." The man stepped away back to his seat.

Steve looked at Danny, knowing he had heard the exchange. Danny did not move, but Steve noticed the half smile had lingered on his lips.

Steve knew that airlift back to Bogota would not be long and it wasn't. It seemed somehow ironic that it took less that fifteen minutes. We were fifteen minutes from safety. Fifteen minutes - by air anyway. He glanced out of the bay door as Bogota came into view, white against the green jungle. Moments later he picked out the ribbon of runway at the airport. The helicopter hovered momentarily, then zeroed in on the airport terminal. Steve could see several people coming towards them.

"Um, MaryAnn and Clara are here," Chin suddenly announced.

"What?" Steve asked in surprise. "Here? In Colombia?"

He gave a quick nod. "They were worried."

"Of course they were worried, but-" Steve hesitated. He glanced at Danny who had not opened his eyes. He wondered if the junior detective was awake. "Danno."

"I heard," he answered, opened his eyes and sat up a bit straighter, also glancing out of the bay opening. He gave a half smile. "Price you pay for getting into a place crash, huh? They're going to be very emotional."

No kidding. Steve decided giving a response to the obvious was not necessary. For a moment he felt a twinge of guilt at having frightened MaryAnn so badly.

The Chinook settled down lightly onto the runway right outside of the terminal, the pilot cutting the engines almost instantly so that the large rotating blades very quickly came to a halt. By the time Steve and Danny could be helped from the craft, MaryAnn and Clara, tailed by a host of media including the Associated Press were upon them.

Chin tried to block the way, permitting only the women through, but was only partially successful.

MaryAnn grabbed her brother in a fierce hug, tears springing to her eyes. "I was so frightened for you!" she exclaimed, noting his bandaged head, but choosing not to speak of it. "I thought I'd never see you again." She wept.

Clara embraced her nephew. "I knew you'd be all right, I just knew it," she affirmed, smiling proudly at him. In spite of her more reserved character, she blinked back her tears. "I knew you'd be fine."

She need never know just how close we came to not making it, Danny thought, trying to return her hug, but his arms were so tired, he could barely lift them.

"McGarrett!" The press parted as Catava strode through the group. The ambassador spread his arms wide, a toothy smile across his face. "You are here at last! They find you as I had hoped."

"We aren't all here," Steve replied somberly. "Pedro Ortiz is dead."

"The priest?" Catava blinked in surprise. "A great shame. You see," he added loudly enough for the press to hear, "those ELN are not really of the people; they are just trying to bring their Communist ways here and destroy our good democratic government. They even kill a priest!"

Steve did not see the connection between Ortiz' death and Colombia's government, but let the comment pass. He shot a warning glance towards Williams that told him to do the same.

"This time we get them, McGarrett," Catava continued. "This time they pay."

Catava, you really need to stop talking, Steve thought ruefully.

"The ones that were ambushing you, trying to kill you when my soldiers who saved you arrived - our army followed them, found their rebel camp. We sent reinforcements and destroyed the guerrilla camp."

"You what?" Danny commented, recalling the village of women and children.

Catava smiled for the cameras. "Those evil men will not put fear into other innocent visitors," he declared gesturing towards the southwest where a thin column of black smoke was rising into the blue sky the other side of the mountain top.

Steve glanced at Danny again. "Not now, Danno," he added quietly.

Williams ignored him. "Guerrilla camp? What Guerrilla camp? It was a village, Catava - a village of women and children. You blew up a village of innocent people! Those guerrillas are long gone into the jungle!"

The cameras are rolling, don't embarrass him in front of his people. Steve gripped Danny's elbow fiercely, knowing Williams could not miss the message.

Catava never missed a beat. He shrugged and smile. "My young friend has suffered a great deal. You must excuse him."

"Excuse!" Danny picked out the AP team. "Go there. Get them to take you there! You'll see for yourself!"

By now Steve thought he might twist Williams' elbow off if he did not stop. "Not now," he growled quietly at Danny's side. "That is enough."

Danny's angry gaze met the icy steel blue one of McGarrett, then Danny dropped his eyes.

Catava, a little unnerved by this time nodded placidly to the press. "Yes, when it is safe we will arrange for inspections if anyone would like. Please forgive him. This has been a terrible couple of days for all of us."

Father Ramone stepped forward before anything else could be said, suggesting that the party complete their journey to the mission hospital where they could receive proper care. Steve followed him towards the waiting minibus, leaving Chin to move Williams along.

"Chin," Danny muttered, anxiety on his face. "They don't know - they have to know. They have to care."

"Danny," Chin murmured, pulling him towards the minibus, "I know it probably is as you say - but it is also already too late."

Danny and Steve had been provided with clean clothes from the stores at the mission. The clothing was poor quality hand-me-downs that were threadbare, but they were clean and dry. Having showered, their wounds were redressed, the two sat side by side on the old stuffed sofa in a parlor of the mission. It was quiet, the stucco walls kept out most of the street noises and the high ceiling and fans kept the temperature at an acceptable level. There was an oriental carpet of subdued colors spread across the hardwood flooring and on the walls were paintings of St. Christopher, the Blessed Virgin, and a crucifix.

Steve was uncomfortable around the icons of his memory, but found himself thinking about Pedro Ortiz. I know that for some people these things provide them foundation and comfort. I would rather rely on the concrete of everyday that I can see, feel and touch, but Ortiz made this all just a little more believable. He was the exception.

The door opened and Father Ramone entered. "The report on Esteban is that he will recover. The mission will attempt to locate his family, but we are told that no one arrived in either Bogota or Mexico for his mother or him. The search will go on, but there may be no family. We will become his family. He will not be abandoned to the streets." He held out his hand and dropped the rosary into Steve's hand. "I believe Pedro wanted you to keep this. I would like to thank you for being with him in the end."

Steve fingered the beads for a moment, recalling those last moments of young Pedro's life once again. He put the rosary back into Ramone's hand. "Give them to Esteban. Let him grow up remembering the man who died for him." He remembered Pedro's desire to save souls. "Pedro completed his mission. Maybe it will live on in Esteban."

Father Ramone turned back with a nod. "You would make a fine theologian, McGarrett."

He gave a quiet smile. "My mother thought so, too."

A plane is coming from the United States in the morning to return you and your families to America," Ramone told them. You are welcome to spend the night here at the mission."

"Thank you," Seve replied.

Ramone nodded and left. Silence closed over the parlor once again.

Steve and Danny rested back on the soft pillows of the couch, both gazing up at the cracked and yellowed plaster ceiling.

"Steve."

"Yes."

"Catava made it."

"Yes."

"And he rescued us."

Steve paused. "In a manner of speaking."

"Then he arranges for the murders of a village full of innocents."

Steve did not give a reply.

Danny did not speak again right away, then finally said: "Pedro died. That doesn't seem fair."

"No, it doesn't," he agreed.

"Steve, you know there's an old saying about someone who saves a life."

Steve glanced at him, cocking an eyebrow.

"That the person doing the saving is responsible for the life he saves."

Steve forced a quick grin. "Gee, I've heard that a bit differently. The one saved owes his life to the rescuer and becomes his servant forever."

"Hum," Danny replied and glanced away.

"Either way, I think we're even," Steve concluded. "Unless you'd like us to be responsible for each other and servant to each other for life."

Danny did not reply right away. Yeah, maybe that is just what I want. "Steve."

"Yes."

"When we get back…." He hesitated. "There's a letter from me on your desk. Don't read it."

"What?" Steve asked in mild curiosity.

"There's a letter. Don't read it."

Steve gazed up at the ceiling and smiled. "Okay, Bruddah."