Free Demon Lover by Kathleen Creighton Page B

occurred to her as she scrambled back over the ridge that this would be a good time to retrieve her bra from the camper. She would ask Rita where she could wash out her clothes.
    As she angled upward across the beach toward the camper, she had to pause every few steps to shake the annoying grit out of her huaraches. Finally she just sat down to take them off, and it was then that she heard the voices. The same voices she had heard discussing her fate while she lay bound hand and foot in the camper loft, except now there was no bawdy banter, no coarse laughter. The discussion was terse and businesslike, and conducted in low tones Julie had to strain to hear.
    Casting a quick glance around, she carefully hitched herself backward on the seat of her pants until she was snuggled right up against the camper’s rear wheel, directly under the window.
    The discussion was in Spanish, of course, and Julie had to listen hard for a few minutes before she could make sense of it. They were discussing the last smuggling run—the near disaster. And how it might affect their next run—the "big one." Geraldo and Pepe seemed concerned about using the same route again; Chayne was pointing out that using the same route would be like hiding in a place that had already been searched.
    "It’s the safest route we could possibly use." Julie heard a muffled thump, as if he had brought his palm down on the tabletop for emphasis. "It’s too late to try out a new route. The risks involved in attempting an untried trail through the desert are much greater than the remote possibility that the patrol will pick that moment to be in that spot. No—" another thump "—we must stay with our plan."
    He was so adamant that the others capitulated; the unshakable note of certainty in his voice was a powerful influence. Julie wondered how he could be so sure, and then realized with chagrin that he was quite right. It had been a fluke, her being in that particular place that day. She had missed a turnoff and gone perhaps ten miles beyond her usual patrol range. She had topped the ridge, realized her error, and had been turning her vehicle around when she had spotted the camper’s dust.
    But how had he known that?
    "Has Gabriel decided how many?" There was a note of asperity in Chayne’s voice. "May we at least know whether we are going to be able to do it with one truck?"
    "One squad," Geraldo said promptly. "Six men. Plus the three of us." He gave a dry chuckle. "It won’t be first–class accommodations, but this truck is adequate."
    "Just six," Chayne murmured, adding something in a mumble too low for Julie to catch.
    A cold, clipped voice answered him.
Pepe.
"Surely you know a small force, properly trained and equipped, can accomplish as much as a larger one, and has the advantage of being easier to transport and conceal. With these six men we will make Lebanon seem like a fiesta."
    Chayne cut in impatiently. "All right, agreed. Have the targets been set?"
    "The convention center will be the primary target, of course. We will be given details of the secondary targets when we arrive at the depot to pick up the rest of the dynamite."
    "And the location of the depot?"
    Pepe’s voice was steely. "That too is something we will learn when it is necessary for us to know."
    "Of course." Chayne’s voice sounded taut with frustration. "And in the meantime, we sit here and wait."
    Geraldo laughed, the same lazy chuckle Julie had heard from him last night outside the hut. "Oh–ho, I know how hard that will be for you. You gringos do not like to wait for anything. Listen, my friend. Relax a little. Fish a little. Make love…maybe more than a little!"
    There was more laughter; the business meeting was over. But in any event Julie had heard more than enough. Now she only wanted to get clear away from the camper before she was discovered. If she was discovered she was as good as dead. Not even Chayne would be able to save her. She felt cold and sick; her knees were