Covert Pursuit by Terri Reed Page B

everything.”
    He looked back at her and took her hand in his. “I’ll try to remember that.”
    Warmth from his skin sent ribbons of heat up her arm to burn in her cheeks. Forcing herself to concentrate on driving with one hand, she turned the car into the parking lot of Jason’s condo and halted in a space near the walkway.
    He gave her hand a squeeze. “Come up. We can look at the pictures from Corrinda’s office. At least the treasure story is a bit interesting.”
    She nodded. He released her and climbed out. She followed him to his condo. Once inside, he removed the button camera from her jacket. Then he hooked up the handheld device he’d been using to a USB cable attached to his laptop. Within moments, they were watching video of her visit with the Corrindas.
    When they reached the part where she’d entered the office, he slowed the frames down. The first desk drawer was uninteresting, filled with normal office stuff: pens, stapler, scissors. The other two drawers were deeper and filled with hanging file folders.
    The desk calendar came into view. “What do you think the notation about the blasters means?” Angie asked, staring at the screen. “And it’s on the date I saw that boat dump what I still believe was a body bag.”
    “I believe you saw a body bag, but like I said before, I’m doubtful there was a body in it. No way would a boatload of men chase us away from a dead body. More likely drugs, guns or even explosives considering the work being done in the cove’s tunnel.”
    She frowned, not liking the eerie sensation stealing over her. “That was an awfully big and heavy bag.”
    “Enough C-4 to blow the whole island to kingdom come.”
    “Or at the very least a big hole in the side of the cliff. But how can they be using explosives without anyone noticing?”
    “If they timed their blast to coincide with the storm, anyone who heard the boom would just assume the noise was thunder.”
    “I’m not liking this,” she said. A bad feeling rooted itself in the pit of her stomach. What if something went wrong and the Corridinas brought the whole side of the cliff down on themselves? What a rescue nightmare that would be.
    On the computer screen, the images of Horatio Corrinda’s journal entries appeared on the computer screen. Jason stilled each page and printed them.
    He was about to shut the video off when Angie said, “Wait. Look at this.” She pointed to the screen, her finger over the desktop calendar.
    Jason highlighted the area and enlarged the view. The word Mabuto and a time written in bold strokes appeared on a dated square.
    “Mabuto,” Angie read aloud. “What do you think it means?”
    When Jason didn’t reply she turned to find him staring transfixed at the screen. “Sounds like a Congolese name.” He turned to pin her with an excitedlook. “My gut tells me something is going down at the cove in two days. And we’re going to be there.”
     
    Two days later, after careful planning and consulting a topographical map, Angie and Jason set out by boat to scout the best position for the surveillance of the Corrindas’ private cove via the ocean and the beach to the west of the rock barrier. Unfortunately, the weather also decided not to play nice by brewing another tropical storm and threatening to turn into a full-blown hurricane. Jason quelled any nervousness about the weather. The mission was a go no matter what.
    But he’d given Angie another chance to bail before they left the marina. She’d declined.
    Despite the increasingly choppy water, Jason maneuvered the Regina Lee over the ocean to a short dock along a stretch of beach meant to be used by day picnickers. The Corrindas’ private cove wasn’t visible from the dock since the protruding land formation of rocks and foliage made a neat blockade. He cut the engine and coasted toward the wooden dock.
    Angie stood beside him beneath the canopy over the helm, which provided little shelter from the slanting rain and