back to Mathieu and passed her suggestion on.
Mathieu worked on the board for a minute, calling up the balance. Mariana held her breath, waiting. The next few seconds would be vital.
Mathieu’s old eyes widened and the men standing over his shoulder muttered.
He looked up at Mariana. Slowly he smiled.
She had bargained their way to freedom.
* * * * *
“I’m completely baffled,” Laszlo complained as they hurried across the clearing after one of Mathieu’s men, who was leading them to the transport Mathieu had promised. “What just happened back there?”
“A deal,” Mariana said complacently. “We reached an agreement, I paid Mathieu the amount we agreed upon and he is living up to his side of the bargain and giving us transport back to Macapá.”
“You conjured five hundred thousand up out of thin air! I watched you. You didn’t move a muscle.”
“I did, actually. So did you. We went to a great deal of trouble to get that money into his account in a way that couldn’t be traced.”
The guard stepped aside and waved his hand toward....
“Saints preserve us,” Mariana muttered, looking at the thing the guard was presenting.
“What on earth is it?” Laszlo demanded.
“A car. Just as Mathieu agreed to provide.” Mariana moved toward the vehicle.
“It looks ancient.”
“It is ancient,” she said. “It runs on gasoline.” She looked at the guard. “Keys?”
“ Clés ?” Laszlo added.
The guard thrust a thumb toward the rust-covered vehicle. In the moonlight it looked like there was very little left of the exterior that wasn’t a lacy, fragile pattern of eaten-away metal.
“Makes sense the keys would be in it,” Laszlo said. “Who in their right mind would want to steal it?” He moved around to the driver’s side.
“Have you ever driven a gasoline powered car before?” Mariana asked him.
“How hard can it be? Steer, accelerate and brake when needed.”
She looked through the glass-less window at the controls and stood up again. “This one has a manual transmission. Have you ever used gears before?”
Laszlo stared at her. “Are you telling me you have ?”
Two hundred years ago, I have . But saying that aloud would open up a conversation she couldn’t have with him. Instead, she moved around to where he was standing. “I’ll drive.”
Laszlo looked like he wanted to argue the point, so she rested her hand on his arm. “You can do all the fancy flying. You already have. But I can drive this and you can’t. Leave this bit up to me.”
He moved away from the door, letting her through. “Hell, it will probably break down a hundred meters down the road, anyway.”
“It won’t,” Mariana assured him and wrestled open the door. It slid aside with a squeal of raw metal on metal, making her wince. “Hop in,” she told Laszlo. “We’re going home.”
Chapter Seven
French Guiana, 2265 A.D.
The engine took coaxing, but it finally started with a roar and a cough of black exhaust that made Laszlo hiss.
“It’ll settle down once it warms up,” Mariana told him and dropped the car into gear. She waved at the guard, who was watching her with a scowl on his face. Mathieu had probably counted on neither of them being able to drive the car. They would have been forced to bargain with him again for a driver or a more modern vehicle. She laughed and deliberately took off hard and fast, spraying dirt and billowing fumes.
There was only one track. Mathieu had assured them it would reach the east-west road that would take them back to the highway. Once on the highway, they merely had to turn south and keep going, for the highway would take them all the way to Macapá.
Mariana settled into steering the car down the bumpy, wildly overgrown track. She kept it in low gear, not rushing it. It had been well over a year on her subjective timeline since she had driven one of these, although the skill was coming back in a rush.
“You’re a woman of very unexpected talents and
Mathieu worked on the board for a minute, calling up the balance. Mariana held her breath, waiting. The next few seconds would be vital.
Mathieu’s old eyes widened and the men standing over his shoulder muttered.
He looked up at Mariana. Slowly he smiled.
She had bargained their way to freedom.
* * * * *
“I’m completely baffled,” Laszlo complained as they hurried across the clearing after one of Mathieu’s men, who was leading them to the transport Mathieu had promised. “What just happened back there?”
“A deal,” Mariana said complacently. “We reached an agreement, I paid Mathieu the amount we agreed upon and he is living up to his side of the bargain and giving us transport back to Macapá.”
“You conjured five hundred thousand up out of thin air! I watched you. You didn’t move a muscle.”
“I did, actually. So did you. We went to a great deal of trouble to get that money into his account in a way that couldn’t be traced.”
The guard stepped aside and waved his hand toward....
“Saints preserve us,” Mariana muttered, looking at the thing the guard was presenting.
“What on earth is it?” Laszlo demanded.
“A car. Just as Mathieu agreed to provide.” Mariana moved toward the vehicle.
“It looks ancient.”
“It is ancient,” she said. “It runs on gasoline.” She looked at the guard. “Keys?”
“ Clés ?” Laszlo added.
The guard thrust a thumb toward the rust-covered vehicle. In the moonlight it looked like there was very little left of the exterior that wasn’t a lacy, fragile pattern of eaten-away metal.
“Makes sense the keys would be in it,” Laszlo said. “Who in their right mind would want to steal it?” He moved around to the driver’s side.
“Have you ever driven a gasoline powered car before?” Mariana asked him.
“How hard can it be? Steer, accelerate and brake when needed.”
She looked through the glass-less window at the controls and stood up again. “This one has a manual transmission. Have you ever used gears before?”
Laszlo stared at her. “Are you telling me you have ?”
Two hundred years ago, I have . But saying that aloud would open up a conversation she couldn’t have with him. Instead, she moved around to where he was standing. “I’ll drive.”
Laszlo looked like he wanted to argue the point, so she rested her hand on his arm. “You can do all the fancy flying. You already have. But I can drive this and you can’t. Leave this bit up to me.”
He moved away from the door, letting her through. “Hell, it will probably break down a hundred meters down the road, anyway.”
“It won’t,” Mariana assured him and wrestled open the door. It slid aside with a squeal of raw metal on metal, making her wince. “Hop in,” she told Laszlo. “We’re going home.”
Chapter Seven
French Guiana, 2265 A.D.
The engine took coaxing, but it finally started with a roar and a cough of black exhaust that made Laszlo hiss.
“It’ll settle down once it warms up,” Mariana told him and dropped the car into gear. She waved at the guard, who was watching her with a scowl on his face. Mathieu had probably counted on neither of them being able to drive the car. They would have been forced to bargain with him again for a driver or a more modern vehicle. She laughed and deliberately took off hard and fast, spraying dirt and billowing fumes.
There was only one track. Mathieu had assured them it would reach the east-west road that would take them back to the highway. Once on the highway, they merely had to turn south and keep going, for the highway would take them all the way to Macapá.
Mariana settled into steering the car down the bumpy, wildly overgrown track. She kept it in low gear, not rushing it. It had been well over a year on her subjective timeline since she had driven one of these, although the skill was coming back in a rush.
“You’re a woman of very unexpected talents and
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