“You’re the disguise master.
Any suggestions?”
“You’ve never wanted to take the suggestions I made a few weeks ago, Samantha. Why ask me now?” Daniel’s eyes bored into her, demanded answers she didn’t want to face.
“I only-”
“Only what? You told me you could manage anything Finders, Inc. handed you. You accused me of misjudging you, of refusing to acknowledge your abilities. And a whole lot of other things.” His amber eyes glittered hard, cold. “I’m only here because you said you needed help.”
Meaning she’d proven she wasn’t able to handle this case on her own. If only she’d never said it, never uttered those horrible words. Sam had only counted on hurting him as he’d hurt her. What she hadn’t considered was that Daniel wouldn’t forgive her.
“You’re in charge here, Sam. What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll figure it out….”
LOIS RICHER
Sneaking a flashlight under the blankets, hiding in a thicket of Caragana bushes where no one could see, pushing books into socks to take to camp—those are just some of the things Lois Richer freely admits to in her pursuit of the written word. “I’m a book-a-holic. I can’t do without stories,” she confesses. “It’s always been that way.”
Her love of language evolved into writing her own stories. Today her passion is to create tales of personal struggle that lead to triumph over life’s rocky road. For Lois, a happy ending is essential.
Silent Enemy
Lois Richer
MILLS & BOON
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We are pressed on every side by troubles, but not crushed and broken. We are perplexed because we don’t know why things happen as they do, but we don’t give up. We are hunted down, but God never abandons us. We get knocked down, but we get up again and keep going.
—II Corinthians 4:8–9
This book is lovingly dedicated
to the men and women around the globe who
sacrifice so much to bring the good news to all
people. Thank you is not enough.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
DEAR READER
QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
PROLOGUE
“What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us.”
—Ralph Waldo Emerson
“The shipments came in short last time.”
“What would I know about that? I just deliver the merchandise.”
“El Señor does not like shortages.”
“Then he should talk to his supplier. I’m just the delivery man.” He tucked the cello-wrapped packets in under the boxes of supplies, adjusted the load so the tarp covered everything. When all was secure, he went to the office, used the pay phone.
“A small brown box will be waiting for you at the Grand Hotel Bolivia. You know what to do. Fail and you will pay dearly.”
“The money?”
“There are a list of stops. You will be paid at each. Don’t mess up.”
He hung up the phone, poured himself a cup of coffee and spent some time perusing a newspaper. When he saw the tired old car coming, he went back to the plane and adjusted his cargo one more time. Nothing was out of place.
“You have loaded it all?”
“Absolutely everything.” He helped the older man into his seat, then slammed the door shut. After radioing the tower, they taxied onto the runway. Soon the tiny plane crested over the rain forest.
“Why don’t you continue with your story, Padre?”
By the time he reached the airstrip bordering the compound, he had all the information he needed.
ONE
“The most effective disguise isn’t.”
Samantha Henderson drew the tattered edges of Bertha-the-street-lady’s shawl around her and wondered if her boss had ever been reduced to this.
Not likely.
The slap of footsteps paused, stopped just behind her. She made sure the brim of Bertha’s straw hat hid her face.
“Look around. She’s got to be here.”
Varga!
Sam hunched over, hacked out a loud, chesty cough and turned it into a long-winded rumble that suggested an unhealthy lung condition. After a loud expletive, the feet moved a safer distance away.
“What do I do now? He’ll kill me if he finds out I lost her.”
“Check the market. If I find her, I’ll hang on to her. We’ve got to be there at four. Now go. El Zopilote doesn’t like complications.”
Four? Sam checked her watch. She had to be ready to move, and that meant getting rid of this disguise. If that statue was going anywhere, she had to know. That’s why she was there.
El Zopilote—The Vulture. Was he the buyer? She’d assumed Varga was a small-time thief, the other guy a pal he’d paid to help. But if they both worked for this el Zopilote…
The wind played with her hat, tugged it against its thin strings. She reached to grab it, noticed Bertha’s nod. Time to go.
While Varga had his back turned, Samantha limped over to the black wrought-iron fence that led to a courtyard, one of many in Lima. This one had a bougainvillea tree in full flower—good cover. From here she could look out onto the square. Varga and friend loped across the busy street.
She tossed her hat onto the ground, peeled off her ratty shawl, voluminous skirt and peasant blouse until all she wore were her jeans and T-shirt. Relief from the heat of two layers of clothing swept across her darkened skin. Repeatedly