Janice and Mel: The War Years
1942: Traitors in Our Midst - Chapters 5 - 8
by L. Fox

Continued from Chapter 4

Chapter 5
Janice watched in amusement as Mel finished off her breakfast and downed the last of her orange juice. "Well I'm happy to see that bum arm of yours hasn't affected your appetite."

"Honestly, Jan," replied Mel between bites, "I don't see how you can get by like that with only a cup of coffee for breakfast."

With an impish smile Janice said, "I guess my little frame doesn't need as much fuel as all those muscles of yours." She grinned slyly and added, "Especially those two big chest muscles of yours."

"Janice Covington, you are an evil person and I simply don't know what it is I see in you." She reached out and touched Janice's hand and for a moment the two of them shared love's warm glow, totally oblivious to all the activity around them.

Finally Janice said, "Come on, we've got work to do."

Their first step was a shop down the street where they were fortunate enough to locate boots that met Janice's rigid standards. In particular she wanted the leather to be soft enough that it would not take too long to break them in. Once this was accomplished Janice made a beeline for the nearest pawn shop. There she bought a Smith & Wesson snub nosed .38 and a twenty round box of ammunition. As always this made Mel most uncomfortable. She hated guns. However she knew how much Janice disliked being unarmed so she kept quiet and looked over the surprisingly nice jewelry on display while Janice bargained with the broker.

"You drive a hard bargain, señorita," said the broker as he handed Janice back her change. "A few more customers like you and I shall starve."

"Stop it, you're breaking my heart," Janice retorted. "You and I both know you probably doubled your money on this."

The man broke into a faint smile and gave a barely imperceptible shrug of the shoulders. "What can I say? I have a wife and eight little niños to feed."

Janice tilted her head back slightly in a gesture of comprehension and began idly browsing around the shop.

"Is there something else I can help you with?" the man asked hopefully.

"Yeah. I need a pack of some kind," said Janice.

"A pack?"

"You know, like a field pack or a haversack or something. Something tough, with a strap and some way to secure the flap," explained Janice.

The man looked down at the floor and scratched behind his ear. Then, as if struck by some sort of revelation, he raised on finger into the air and smiled. "One momento, please..." He quickly strode out from behind the counter and went into the back room of his shop. Janice and Mel looked at each other quizzically as they heard him rummaging about. Presently they heard a loud thud followed by a low muttering in incomprehensible Spanish. Janice allowed it was just as well they did not understand him because from the tone of his voice it sure sounded like cursing to her.

At last the man came out with an olive drab colored item and handed it to Janice. "It is all I could find," he said.

It was a gas mask pouch Janice saw--something a little smaller than what she really wanted but she figured what the hell. "Yeah, that'll do," she declared. She picked the Smith & Wesson up off the counter and dropped it and the box of ammo into the bag.

"Um, Jan?" By now Mel had wandered over to the far end of the shop and was staring up at a rack of some sort.

"What is it," asked Janice, joining her.

With a smile Janice thought somewhat queer Mel rolled her eyes up to the rack and said, "Looky." There on the rack was a hat identical to the one Janice always wore when in the field.

"It's my hat!" exclaimed the archaeologist, almost gleefully. "Hey you!" she called out to the broker.

"Si?"

"Lemme see that hat up there."

The man looked at her oddly but complied. What does she want with a hat like that? he wondered. First a gun and now a man's hat...the broker by now had come to the conclusion this one must be muy loco.

Janice took the hat and immediately checked the size. It was a quarter inch larger than her own size but then again her hair was longer than usual so she sort of figured that would provide some compensation.

"Go on, Janice, try it on," Mel urged.

Janice put the hat on. Oh yeah, she thought, this is more like it. "I'll take it," she announced.

"Bueno."

After paying him for the hat and the pouch Janice, with Mel in tow, stepped outside and looked up the street.

"Now what?" Mel asked.

Janice turned to her and put the palm of her hand on Mel's shoulder. "Mel, I've got something I need to do." Then with obvious reluctance she added, "Why don't you to go back to the hotel and wait for me, okay?"

Melinda was stunned. Never before had Janice made such a suggestion."But....Jaaa-yun! Where are you going?"

The crestfallen look on Mel's face was one that plucked at Janice's heart strings but the archaeologist had made up her mind. "Can't say for sure," she said evenly, "but where I have to go the company is not going to be very polite and I will feel a lot better knowing you are some place safe."

All Melinda could do was softly repeat, "But, Jan?" It was not a whine nor was it a whimper, just a simple appeal from a concerned lover not to be left behind. After a couple of extremely uncomfortable moments Mel added, "Janice, no matter where I am I always feel safest when I'm with you."

What a sweet thing to say, Janice thought. She's saved my butt twice now and here she is telling me she feels safest when I'm around. For a millisecond she almost relented. Almost. No, she decided. She's not going. "Mel, please," she said with a soft sigh, "I don't want to butt heads with you over this, okay? I'll be back soon. I promise."

Why is she doing this? Mel wondered dejectedly. Doesn't she trust me?

Almost as if reading her mind Janice said, "It's not that I think you'd be in the way or anything but I really should do this alone. You understand, don't cha?"

"No," Mel replied frankly. "No I don't understand. But...I'll, I'll do what you want. I'll wait."

"Atta girl," said Janice, squeezing Mel's arm.

"Now you won't be long, will you?"

"I'll be back before you even know I'm gone," Janice assured her.

"Well all right. But be careful, Jan."

"Careful is my middle name. And, Mel?"

"Yes?"

"I'll make this up to ya. I swear."

"I should say you will," Mel said, smiling suggestively.

"Uhh boy," grinned Janice, with mock trepidation. "Just remember, you're bigger and stronger than me."

"Ah reckon you'll survive all right," Mel replied.

Janice winked at her and slung the pouch. After looking around to make sure they were not being watched she ran her hand into her pocket and took out their money. Handing it to Mel she said, "Hang on to this--and don't let anybody see it, understand?"

Mel nodded.

"Stick close to the hotel," Janice cautioned her. "I don't want you assing around and getting lost."

"I will," promised Mel.

Janice folded up the hundred dollars she had kept for herself and stuck it in her shirt pocket. Buttoning the flap she said, "Good. I'll see you around three o' clock if all goes well."

Melinda watched the smaller woman turn and make her way up the street. She wistfully stood there watching her until she had disappeared into the crowd.

**********

Janice knew securing overland transportation to Costa Rica would be difficult. The limited amount of gasoline now available to the civilian populace was bound to be having an adverse effect on travel. And as always whenever shortages occur, it is those that abide by the law that suffer most. Therefore Janice knew she needed to find someone who, well, was not quite so concerned with the niceties of the law...in other words, a crook.

After a long morning of making discreet inquiries supplemented by the judicious use of a few sawbucks, Janice at last learned that one Miguel Guevara, a local smuggler, black marketeer, and all around bad egg, might be willing to do business with her. After learning where Señor Guevara, also known as "Oso" or bear, might be found Janice went straight there.

Janice found Guevara sitting behind his "desk"--an old door laid flat across some crates. At first Guevara was what could mildly be described as uncooperative. In fact he was downright insulted. How dare this measly little gringo just prance in here like she owns the place!

"Are you Miguel Guevara?" asked Janice.

The burly man grinned slyly. "No habla inglés."

Janice now found herself in the company of three other well armed men.

I'll just teach this one a lesson, Guevara smugly told himself. However, to his complete surprise, it would be Janice Covington who would be conducting class on this day.

"I'm gonna ask you once more," said Janice. "Can you help me or not?"

"No comprende," sneered Guevara.

"Don't give me that bullshit," growled Janice. "A guy doesn't get to be the primero around here without knowing a few good old Americanisms."

"You are mistaken," said Guevara, finally dropping his act. "I am but a simple businessman."

"Listen, Palooka Joe, I didn't just fall off the fuckin' banana boat you know. So let's cut the crap okay? You say you're a businessman, well all right. Let's do some business--or are you too chickenshit to deal with a woman?"

"Get her out of here!" Guevara shouted in Spanish. The three men, up till now loitering by the door, stepped into the room. Now they began to rue the fact they had not bothered to search the little woman for anticipating this very scenario Janice stepped back and pulled her .38 out of the pouch. They froze in their tracks when Janice turned and pointed the gun directly at Guevara's nose.

"You've got five seconds to tell the Three Stooges here to take a hike," she announced calmly.

"And if I refuse?"

Janice pulled back the hammer on the .38 and replied, "Then that big schnozz of yours gets a third nostril."

"Manuel! Felipe! Vamanos!" The men who were by now staring open-mouthed at this little she-devil meekly obeyed and withdrew without as much as a grumble.

After they had departed Janice eased the hammer on the .38 back down and positioned one cheek of her buttocks on Guevara's makeshift desk.

"Stupidos!" scowled Guevara. "They should have searched you." He then grinned up at the fine looking American woman. "You know, not many would have the nerve to talk to me like that. You have ah, what is it they call it in your country? Balls?"

"Not here," replied Janice with a grin. "Besides you don't get very far in this world by bein' a candy ass now do ya?" She stuck the .38 back in the pouch but Guevara noted she kept it on her lap within easy reach.

He leaned back in his ancient swivel chair and took a cigar out of his shirt pocket.

"Ya got another one of those?" asked Janice.

Guevara eyed her with some amusement and taking out another one, tossed it on the table. "Be my guest." He lit his cigar and then leisurely propped his feet up on his desk. "So now," he asked, tossing the brand new Zippo lighter to her, "how can I be of assistance?"

Janice lit her cigar and slid the lighter back across the table. Before answering him she took a long, luxurious puff and slowly blew the smoke up in the air. Damn! she thought, I'd forgotten just how much I like these. Janice's cigars had been the normally amenable Mel's number one peeve. For the better part of a year she had harped practically every single day to Janice about the evils of tobacco. At first Janice had been somewhat resentful of it, then as she grew to like the Southerner more merely annoyed, then downright defensive. But it was only after she and Melinda became lovers that Janice had said "Aww what the hell," and given them up for good.

Clinching the cigar in her teeth, Janice nonchalantly said, "I understand you might be making a run into Costa Rica tonight."

Guevara's feet slid off the table and he bolted up out of his chair. "You devil! How do you know such things?" he demanded.

Janice eyed him casually and blew a puff of smoke toward him. "I didn't for sure...until now."

It was then Guevara knew he'd been had. A huge grin slowly broke across his pock marked face and he sat back down in his chair. The woman had set him up. He knew that now. "Hoooo, ho ho ho." His guttural laugh was completely without mirth but it did hint of respect. "I like you, mi amigo. All right so what if I am ah, working tonight? What is this to you?"

"I want you to take me along," she answered.

"Impossible!" Guevara then muttered a few words in Spanish. Janice could not be certain but she thought it was an invitation for her to kiss a certain part of his anatomy.

Calmly she stood up, placed both palms down on the table and leaned forward. In a low tone she said, "Come on, be a pal. I have to be in Costa Rica PDQ."

"NO!" But already he was mentally calculating just how much he could squeeze out of the woman. While he had in fact been doing rather well lately, there was always room in his pocket for a few more greenbacks. Especially if they just waltzed in own their own like this.

"Not even for three hundred smackers?" Janice asked.

Guevara closed one eye to a squint and leered up at her. "How do I know you are not working for the army?"

With her cigar still clenched in her teeth Janice said, "I think the army's got a lot more fuckin' things to worry about than some two bit black marketeer, don't you?"

Guevara leaned back in his chair and let out a loud guffaw. "So this is why business has been so good. Okay, gringo, maybe we can work something out. You be here at dark. You not here--too fucking bad. We leave your pretty ass. And by the way, the price is five hundred American. And another thing, why do you not just go directly to our neighbor instead of taking such a roundabout route?"

Janice shook her head. "Three oh one," she countered. For some reason she really liked getting under this guy's skin. "And these days you take what transportation you can get."

"What kind of bargaining is this?" Guevara asked in exasperation. "Hokay, make it 475."

"Three oh two," Janice offered, smiling sweetly.

Again Oso grumbled a few words in Spanish before replying, "All right, all right! Four twenty-five! This is my last word."

"Janice took the cigar out of her mouth and cooed, "Three ninety-nine."

"Little one, I don't know what it is you do for a living but if you ever need a job... come and look me up, hokay?"

"For the record I'm an archaeologist," said Janice. "And I tell you what. When they finally bust your ass and send you off to the big house, you come and look me up after you get released. I'll give you a job."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. You see, I can always use a man with experience in bustin' up rocks."

Guevara roared with laughter and stood up. "If you were my partner we could become very rich, little one."

"Maybe some other time," said Janice. She crushed her cigar under her boot and then reached into her shirt pocket. She took out what was left of her money and tossed on the table. "Consider that a down payment," she said. "But just remember, I don't want any billing errors, comprende?"

"You offend me, little one," said Guevara, with mock indignance. "Ask anyone, they will tell you Miguel Guevara is an honest man."

"Yeah right." Janice turned and started for the door. Halfway there she stopped and turned back. "Oh by the way, you'll have two passengers tonight."

"Two? No. No. Impossible!"

"Now we're not gonna go through all that again, are we?" sighed Janice.

Guevara eyed her keenly. He liked this woman. He liked her guts. "There is more risk," he said finally. "You must pay more."

"Okaaay," Janice said matter-of-factly, "we'll make it an even four hundred then."

Guevara threw up his hands in disgust and grumbled, "Dusk, little one. Be on time. Now get out of here before you cheat me out of my pants."

**********

Back at the hotel Mel waited impatiently. Three o' clock came and went. No Janice. 3:15, 3:27. No Janice. 3:41, 3:52, 4 o' clock. No Janice. Mel was becoming very concerned. Where is she? 4:08. 4:17, then 4:30 came and went. Unable to take the waiting any longer, Mel leaped to her feet and exited their room, locking the door behind her as she went. She bounded down the steps to the lobby and then quickly strode to the front door, her long legs eating up impressive distances. No sooner had she exited the building when a hand caught her by the ear and tugged hard.

"Owww!" Mel bleated. "Darn it, Jan, that hurt."

"What did I tell you about leaving the hotel?" Janice asked through gritted teeth.

"I know what you said," frowned Mel, still rubbing her ear. "But you're almost two hours late and I wasn't just going to sit on my hands and continue to do nothing."

With only the barest hint of a smile Janice said, "Well I'm here now. Come on."

Ten minutes later they were in their room. "Golly Janice, aren't you going to tell me anything about what you did today?" Mel entreated.

Before responding Janice took a sip from her Coke and stretched out her tired legs. "Let's just say I was able to make some travel arrangements for us."

Melinda knew well enough she would get no more on the subject from the stubborn woman.
 
 

That evening, after dinner, Janice and Melinda made love for the first time in almost a week. As always, it was as thrilling for Mel as if this was her very first time because Janice had a real talent for making it so. It seems the brilliant archaeologist had learned a lot more during her extensive travels than just the proper way to brush off a rock. She sometimes wondered how many there had been before her. Several? Maybe. Janice was just too good at this. And men? Probably but it was hard to say for sure. Janice had never brought the subject up and Melinda surely was not going to.

In truth Melinda had never really seriously considered the possibility of having another woman for a lover until she met Janice. In her hellish days in high school she had been attracted to boys but none of them had been very interested in the gangly, painfully shy girl with the horn rimmed glassed. Then when she got to college the combination of her new found love for swimming and her heavy study load had served as a somewhat convenient excuse for her lack of social activity. Also she was very much the late bloomer. The more or less plain looking freshman had, by her senior year, become a very beautiful young woman--the classic ugly duckling story. She had also, to a certain extent, managed to suppress her chronic shyness but by then her interest in a relationship had more or less waned. Upon graduation she decided to concentrate fully on her work.

Then her father had died and while going through his papers Mel had found the fateful telegram from a certain Janice Covington. Intrigued by the idea of a female archaeologist in charge of her own dig, she had found her way to Macedonia and the rest, as they say, was history.

From the first day it had been apparent there was a special bond between the ill-tempered Janice and the mild-mannered Melinda and over time this bond had grown stronger and stronger. The tough, often cynical, and beautiful Janice opened up a whole new world for her. A world where her deepest passions could be evoked and her desires fulfilled on a scale she never dreamed possible.
 
 

As the last throes of Mel's second orgasm began to die away, Janice raised up and sat back on her knees. She then flung herself down on the bed beside the still throbbing Mel. Propping herself up on one elbow, she leaned over and whispered breathlessly, "God, Mel! What are you trying to do to me?"

Melinda rolled over on her side to face the petite woman. "Just making sure you kept your promise. What's the matter, Jan, she smiled puckishly, "you gettin' old?"

Janice cocked her head to one side. "You were trying to hold it back, weren't you?" she asked accusingly.

"Janice Covington, I simply don't know what you are talking about," replied Mel innocently.

A little too innocently to suit Janice. A broad grin slowly broke across her face and in one swift move she swung a leg across Melinda and sat upright on top of her. She wiggled her fingers ominously in front of Mel's face and in the cheesiest of German accents said, "Ve haf vays of making you talk, fraulein."

"Oh no!" pleaded Mel, already beginning to laugh. "Not that!"

"Tell me, Amerikaner, vhy do you hold off on your partner und make her vork so hard? How you do ziss?"

"Drop dead, Heinie!" smirked Mel playfully.

Janice dug her fingernails into Mel's ribs and savagely began to tickle her.

In between squeals of laughter Mel gasped, "Okay...you, you win. I...I thought...I thought of...baseball."

Janice stopped her torture and looked at Mel. In all earnestness she asked, "Really?" She was a huge baseball fan and was forever trying to indoctrinate a largely indifferent Mel to the intricacies of the National Pastime.

"No!" Mel smirked. She then shot her powerful arms up and caught her lover by the waist. She pulled the smaller woman down to her and rolled over on top of her. The much larger Mel now sat astride Janice, towering over her.

God! thought Janice. She's so strong! If Mel ever really go mad at me..."Darn it, Mel, that's cheating," she said aloud.

Janice saw her smile triumphantly and lean forward. Mel kissed her and with a taunting whisper said, "Suc-kerrrr!"
 
 

Chapter 6
Forty-five minutes later the surly desk clerk had the other half of his hundred dollar bill and Janice and Melinda were standing in front of Miguel Guevara's old warehouse.

"This is it?" Mel asked.

"Yep." Janice pulled open the screen door and stepped inside. The man guarding the door recognized her from earlier in the day and let the two women pass unchallenged. Guevara stood supervising his men as they loaded a black 2 1/2 ton truck. In the background a radio was playing rather loudly. Rather than just walk in on them and risk startling someone, Janice put two fingers in her mouth and emitted a loud, very shrill whistle.

The men stopped loading the truck and reached for their guns. Guevara spun around, saw who it was, and raised his hand to stop his men. "Ah, so you come at last," he said with a big toothy grin. "You had me worried. I was beginning to think you might have had a change of heart."

"Uh huuh, sure," said Janice with a wry little smile.

Guevara then locked his eyes on the statuesque Mel and emitted a low whistle. "Covington, you didn't say your friend was so, so...."

"Oh didn't I? Well I guess I forgot," said Janice. She did not care at all for the way he was gawking at the beautiful Melinda.

Guevara bowed to Mel with surprising elegance and asked, "May I be so bold as to ask what is your name?"

"Mel--Melinda Pappas," Mel answered with a nervous smile. For some reason this man was making her very uneasy.

"Miguel Guevara, at your service." He stepped forward to take her hand but both women misinterpreted his intentions.

Oh my! thought Mel.

Janice stepped in front of him, cutting him off. In a voice close to a growl she glared up at him and said, "Now that the passenger list has been confirmed, when do we leave?"

Guevara looked down at the formidable little woman with the slightly bared teeth that merely hinted at the boiling rage within her. Most odd, he thought. He wondered why the Covington woman was so protective of the tall, raven--haired beauty. He understood it was natural for one friend to want to look out for another but... Mentally he shrugged it off and said, "Ten minutes."

Janice jerked her head toward Guevara's makeshift desk and said, "We'll wait over there."

"As you wish."

Actually it was more than a half hour before the truck was loaded and ready to go. "Hokay, ladies, time to go," said Guevara, clapping his hands. For a minute he considered asking the obviously more delicate Mel if she would care to ride up front but he then recalled the seething anger in Janice's eyes and thought better of it. That one is loco enough to do anything, he thought. To the two of them he said, "You two--in the back."

Janice nodded to him and then looked at Mel. She jerked her head toward the truck and said, "In ya go."

Melinda climbed in the back of the truck aided by a gentle boost from Janice. As Guevara turned to go to the cab of the truck Janice caught his arm. Miguel Guevara was not a timid man. He had been in his share, more than his share of trouble before--even going so far as to kill a man once. But the look this young woman now gave him was enough to make his blood run cold.

"Listen you," Janice hissed just barely loud enough for him to hear. "Just so we understand each other. My friend in there is not too thrilled about all this. In fact she's a little scared. So I'd better not see any more of you fuckers making goo goo eyes at her, comprende?"

"No one means either of you any harm," said Guevara in all sincerity.

"Glad to hear that," replied Janice. "And let's not get any ideas about trying to pull a double cross either. Otherwise there will be some mighty sorry hombres."

Guevara looked down at her and slowly shook his head. He then tapped her on the chest and said, "All that anger you have inside is muy malo, mi amigo." With that he turned and made his way up front.

Janice stared after him for a moment before climbing up in the back of the truck. One of Guevara's men pulled the flap of the tarpaulin down and tied it off. She sat down by the tail gate and pulled the tarp back enough to see out. "Well, Kid, this is it," she said to Melinda.

The driver hit the starter and the truck's engine turned over one time before coming to life. From her place in the back Janice noted the engine was well tuned. This was really no surprise to her. After all this vehicle was money to Guevara. Now the truck lurched forward. They were on their way.

"You might as well try to get some rest if you can," said Janice. "It's gonna be a long night."

By the time they were across the Medio River Mel's head was in Janice's lap. By the time they made it to the Arrieros River the belle was fast asleep. All during the long night Janice sat there at the tail gate. She was grateful the main road was not a particularly rough one thus sparing her and Mel from having their kidneys jarred into jelly. However every so often she noticed the truck leave the main road and ease its way down one of the many little dirt roads that intersected the main artery. Janice's guess was they were probably trying to elude road blocks set up by the local authorities.

Finally at about 4:30 in the morning the truck crawled to a stop. Janice then heard the door on the passenger side open. Just be safe she pulled out her .38 and laid her hat over it.

"Covington!" Guevara whispered loudly as he untied the flap. "We're here."

After satisfying herself that all was as it should be, Janice discreetly stuck the gun back into the gas mask pouch and jammed her hat down on her head. "Mel. Mel, wake up."

"I'm up," her friend moaned softly. Quietly she sat up and rubbed her eyes before putting on her glasses. She had really gotten only about an hour of sleep all night but just lying there with her head in Janice's lap had been very comforting to her.

By now Guevara had the flap open and Janice was dropping cat-like to the ground from off the truck bed. "That road leads to where they are doing the digging," said Guevara, pointing to a narrow dirt strip running perpendicular to the main road

"How far?" Janice asked guardedly.

"Do not worry," said Guevara, sensing her mistrust. "It is only five hundred meters or so. I swear by the grave of mi madre."

"Well it had better be," retorted Janice, "'Cause if you think you can pull a fast one on me..."

"Tsk, tsk. Such hostility," Guevara whispered good naturedly. "Now, señorita, the diñero?"

Janice dug her hand into her shirt pocket and pulled out several folded over bills. Although the first hint of dawn was appearing in the eastern sky, it was at the moment still too dark to see much.

"Covington, I trust you," said Guevara, taking the bills and stuffing them into his pocket.

"It's all there," Janice assured him.

"I wish you luck," said Guevara.

I think we're gonna need it, thought Mel.

"Thanks," said Janice. "And Guevara?"

"Si?"

"Try to keep that can of yours out of prison, huh?"

"That is my most fervent wish,"said Guevara, bowing grandly. "Adios."

With that he quickly strode his way to the cab of the truck and climbed in. The women watched the truck roll away and soon it rounded a bend in the road and was gone.

"Well this is it, Mel?" said Janice with a deep sigh. "Now remember, when we meet Price let me do all the talkin' okay?"

"Yes, Janice."

"And whatever I say, no matter how outrageous, you act as if it's the gospel truth."

"Yes, Janice." Privately, however, Melinda wondered, Oh Lord, just what is she going to say?"

**********

It was slightly after 5:00 AM and already John Price was at work. A notorious early riser, he often marveled at how peaceful and calm these sites could be in the early hours before the beehive-like activity began. As the lead archaeologist in charge of excavating this large Guaymi Indian village he was responsible for making the bees perform their work efficiently. The only problem was he did not have enough bees at the moment. Despite offering to pay the grandiose sum of five American dollars per week he found most of the locals did not wish to be within five miles of the site. They considered it cursed. He was therefore somewhat pleased when his foreman rapped on his tent pole and said he had two people outside looking for work. That is--until he saw who they were.

"Covington!" he blurted out.

"Price," replied Janice, nodding.

"What the devil are you doing here?" he asked suspiciously.

"What else? You've got the only active dig in North America, I'm an archaeologist. You need people, we need work so--"

"Not a chance!" exclaimed Price heatedly. "I still haven't forgotten how you cheated me out of the Star of Turkey."

Janice smiled faintly. "That was just business, that's all. Nothing personal."

Price eyed her up and down. "Well this is just business too," he said coldly. "I don't need you."

"C'mon, John," said Janice, almost pleading now. "I didn't squawk when you beat me to Ceylon and got the Death Ruby, did I?"

"Oh, so it's John now!" said Price, his voice rising. "Let me see now, what was that you called me at our last meeting? "A 'pussy?'"

"Things were...different then," said Janice meekly.

"To use one of your vulgar expressions, 'No shit, Sherlock,'" said Price absolutely gloating now. "Tell me, do you really need work or are you just trying to spy on me?"

"No no!" Janice replied quickly. "Nothing like that. It's just that well..." Janice took a deep breath and gave out a heavy sigh of resignation. "I'm broke, John. I haven't had a job since the war started and I'm up to my eyeballs in hock. I'm about to lose everything, I've got the IRS on my ass..."

Melinda noted the little shudder in Janice's voice as she said 'everything.'" Oh, Janice, you are sooo good. she thought admiringly.

"Spare me the melodramatics," said Price, with a mocking sniff.

"Please, John, you know how good I am. I can be of use to you. Don't--don't make me beg. You can't stand there and in all honesty tell me you can't use me."

This might be fun, thought Price. "Maybe," he said aloud. He found himself warming to the idea of the coarse, arrogant Covington doing his bidding. He tilted his head toward Melinda. "What about her? She doesn't know anything about archaeological work."

"She's worked with me for over eighteen months now," said Janice. "She's learned a lot. Besides, she's an acknowledged expert on ancient languages."

"That's of no use to me," said Price. "You know very well the Guaymi Indians had no written language. Tell you what, Covington, I need monkeys. I'll pay you twenty-five dollars a week as a common laborer."

"But--"

Price held up his hand to cut short Janice's protest. "Take it or leave it."

Janice slumped her shoulders in resignation. "Okay," she sighed. "You win. But what about Mel?"

"I told you I can't--"

"Wait!" cried Mel. She pointed to an old Royal portable typewriter on Price's desk. "This sheet has a lot of errors on it," she said, bending down to inspect the page in the typewriter.

"Well the secretarial pool is just a little thin down here," growled Price.

Without a word Mel sat down at the desk and pulled her chair up close to the Royal. Looking at Price's notes, she began to hammer out words on the typewriter with incredible speed. Price and Janice both leaned forward in amazement as her fingers flew over the well worn keys. After two minutes she stopped and looked up expectantly at Price.

"Way-ul, Mister Price? Can yuh use me?'

"My God!" exclaimed Price. "I've never seen anybody..." He pointed to a steel filing cabinet in the corner of the tent. "Uhh, can you file?"

Oh, for goodness sake, of course. An' I can take dictation an' I'm very good at bookkeeping too." She smiled sheepishly and said, "Yuh might say I have many skills."

For some reason this struck a chord deep inside Janice. Where have I heard that before?

"All right, I guess I can use you," Price admitted. "You can get started organizing this mess. I'll pay you forty a week."

"Why, thank you, sir," said Mel.

Price stepped to the open flap of the tent. "Carter!"

"Yes, Mister Price?"

Without taking his eyes off his foreman Price jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Take the little one there out to the north slope and put her to work."

"But Mister Price, that's--"

"Do as you're told!" barked Price. "And make sure she earns her pay."

Carter nodded and waved for Janice to follow him. "Come along, you," he said gruffly.

Janice cast a glance at Mel and gave her the barest hint of a wink and tossed her the gas mask pouch. "Take care of that," she said.

As she passed Price he caught her by the arm. "Just remember, Covington, I'll be watching you."

Janice merely looked at him blankly before following Carter out of the tent. She soon found out why the foreman Carter had protested putting her on the north slope. Digging had not begun there yet because the area was extremely rocky and therefore needed to be cleared off first. Naturally the only way this could be accomplished under such primitive conditions was to do it by hand. She and five others were put to work loading what rocks they could lift into individual hand carts and wheeling them some fifty yards down the hill to a parked truck. Some of these rocks were quite large and it taxed Janice's strength to the limit to get them in the cart.

Having been lead archaeologist on all her excavations over the last three years, she had not been required to do very much, if any, heavy labor. As a result by noon her back was aching and her hands were covered with scrapes and scratches. Only by fantasizing about how she was going to get even with Price was she able to stagger through that first day.

By contrast Melinda spent that first day in a cool tent sipping tea and lifting nothing heavier than a stapler. After instructing her as to what she should do, Price had gone out for most of the day. Uncertain as to what she should be doing to help, she merely carried out her orders and waited out the day. She would have to wait for Janice to fill her in as to how she could help.

At exactly five o' clock Carter blew a whistle and work was halted. "Thank you, sweet Mother of Jesus!" Janice whispered breathlessly. As they made their way down the hill she felt someone tap her on the shoulder. It was Carter.

"For a little gal, ya did good, Covington."

"Thanks," mumbled Janice.

"Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"You know, that you're an archaeologist," replied Carter.

"Not here I'm not," Janice said ruefully, arching her aching back. "Here I'm just a rock monkey."

"Well maybe you won't be for long," Carter said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Janice.

"Well I admit I don't know much about this sort of thing, you understand. I'm just here to supervise the labor."

"That's Price for you," sneered Janice. "On my digs I supervise the labor."

All I know is we have been here for about a month now and as you can see we don't seem to be gettin' much done."

"So I've noticed," said Janice. It was true. As far as she could tell they had not done much more than lay down a few grid lines and perform some preparatory work. She knew if this had been her site she would have had half that hillside excavated by now. Price was not known for his sloppiness. Something was definitely amiss here--something that could not be blamed on a shortage of labor.

"Maybe Mister Price will change his mind and ask you to assist him," said Carter.

It was the almost hopeful way he said it that rattled the alarm bell in Janice's head. Be careful here, Covington, she told herself. I think this one's taken a liking to you.

"Well you never know," she said aloud.

Carter smiled at her and said, "I hope so. Now come on, I'll show you where to sleep."

By the time Carter led her to her quarters, an old tent one fourth the size of Price's, Melinda was already there. Upon seeing Janice she put her hand to her mouth and softly gasped, "Oh, my!"

"Hi, Honey, I'm home," Janice grinned wearily.

Mel rushed to her and led her over to one of the cots and sat her down. "Golly, Jan, you look awful."

"Then you can imagine how I feel,"

Mel looked at Janice's blistered and bloodied hands and shook her head sadly. "That Price fella is no gentleman. Imagine takin' advantage of his position like that."

"I'm okay. I'm just...tired, that's all. And besides, we wanted to get in remember?"

"I suppose you're right," said Melinda reluctantly. "But still, there was no call for him to be such a jerk." She turned Janice sideways on the cot and placed her hands on the woman's shoulders. "Here, let me just..." She began to massage the archaeologist's neck and back.

Janice felt Mel's strong fingers dig into her flesh and press against her aching muscles. Just like that, much of the soreness began to melt away--not all of it but enough to make it bearable. "Mmmm," she moaned, "that feels good. How do you do that?"

"It's something my Daddy taught me," said Mel modestly. "He said he learned it when he was in the Far East."

"So, how's your elbow?" inquired Janice.

"Aww it's okay. We Pappases are known for our ability to recuperate. Now let me help you." She gently pushed Janice down onto the cot and began to untie her boots. "Ja-yun?"

"Hmm?"

"What is it you want me to do while we're here?"

Janice had been thinking about that. "Do you have access to all his files?" she asked.

"There's this old trunk that he keeps locked," replied Melinda.

"Figures. Okay..." Janice grunted softly as she shifted her position on the cot. "...here's what you do. Look for unusual stuff."

"Unusual? Like what?"

"You know, things that don't belong here. Suspicious characters, people that look out of place. You've been on enough digs now to know what belongs and what doesn't."

Mel nodded.

Just on a hunch Janice added, "Try to find out just how much high explosive has been brought in here."

"Right."

"Mel?"

"Yes?"

"If ya do find something be sure you don't write anything down. Try to memorize it put it back."

"I will," Mel promised.

"We're going to find out..." Janice let out a huge yawn. "...what this SOB is up to if it kills us."

At the rate you're goin' it just might, thought Melinda. She leaned over and kissed the woman on the cheek and then stood up. "I reckon I'd better go see what they've cooked up for supper. You jes' take it easy, Jan. I won't be long."

"Mmmm," Janice murmured, almost asleep."

Melinda stepped out of the tent and took a look around the campsite. Ever since her arrival she had felt a sense of uneasiness about the place. "Jan," she said, under her breath, "I sure hope you know what you're doing."

Chapter 7
Over the next and Melinda worked diligently at their jobs, all the while keeping their eyes and ears open. From the very first day Janice noticed Price was not spending as much time at the site as he ought to have been. By the end of the week she saw his routine varied little from day to day. Up early, give morning instructions to Carter, leave about 10 A.M., stay gone for several hours, and back by five o' clock or so. Janice didn't need Sam Spade to tell her Price had his finger in another pie someplace else. But where? And more importantly, why?

One side benefit to all this was that Janice found by concentrating on the problem of Price and his "pies" she was able to block out much of the pain her arms and back were experiencing. On the second day Carter had given her an old pair of leather gloves and while they were a big help, they tended to make her hands sweat thus causing her abrasions to sting.

As to Carter himself, Janice found she was treading a very thin line. It was as plain as the glasses on Mel's face he was interested in her. Janice Covington was no stranger to sex. She had been to bed with her share of men. As with most other things some had been better than others but even the best of them had left her feeling...empty somehow. She sometimes wondered why she had never really been attracted to a woman before and had come to the conclusion that one can't become attracted to something that is not there. She did not have much opportunity to make contact with other females in her line of work. Not until that sweet, shy, Southerner took possession of her heart had she known what was missing .

Janice Covington was no fool. She was well aware that out here in the middle of nowhere it was easy for a man, or a woman, to become lonely. She had experienced it herself. Carter seemed to be a nice enough fellow but whether he was genuinely interested in her or just wanted to get between her legs was something she had not figured out yet. But she would. Personally she hoped it was the latter for it would play much lighter on her conscience. Like it or not she was going to have to string him along a little in the hope she might glean from him some little bit of information that could be used against Price. All week he had been making excuses to talk to her, to be near her. Excuses like correcting the work of others working near her or giving her special little jobs to do. Janice could see he was in reality merely trying to work up his courage. Finally, as she trudged down the hill on a muggy Saturday evening, he did.

"Ahh, Covington?"

"Yeah?" she replied, mopping off the back of her neck with her handkerchief.

"I uh, I saw Mister Price today and he ahh..well..."

"He what?" pressed Janice. Something is up, she thought.

"He, he said it was okay for you to start drivin' the truck next week."

"Oh yeah?" Already her back felt better. She smiled at him and said, "This was your doing wasn't it?"

Carter grinned boyishly and looked at his feet. "Well, maybe a little. There ain't no cause for someone as nice as you to be out here sweatin' like a plow horse all day."

Like Melinda, Carter was roughly her age. But also like Melinda, he was nowhere near as worldly. He was easy to read. She had now her answer. Carter was just trying to be a nice guy. She knew this was going to make her job more difficult. If she thought he was just one more guy looking for a piece of ass she would rip out his guts and not think twice about it but this would have to be handled more delicately now--in more ways than one.

"Well thank you, Ca--"

"Dave," Carter blurted out.

"Thank you...Dave," said Janice. She turned in the direction of her tent.

"Janice?"

Here it comes, she thought. "Yeah?"

"Uhh as you know, we've got tomorrow off and I was wondering it you'd care to, you know, maybe let me show you around a little?"

"Oh?" She was very careful not to seem too interested.

"Yeah. We could go into Golfito for lunch and then maybe drive to the coast--it's not that far from here."

Steady, Kid, she told herself. Don't take the bait too soon. "Gee, I don't...know," she replied. "See, my friend...Mel, she..." She let her voice trail off and saw the man's face fall just a little. That's enough, she thought. "Oh what the hell," she said, smiling. Mel's a big girl. Besides, she will be glad to get rid of me for awhile."

"Great!" said Carter, absolutely beaming. "So it's a date then?"

"If ya want to call it that," she answered, pulling up one corner of her mouth in a little half-smile. "Yeah." She then turned again and started to walk toward her tent.

"I'll be by at about nine," said Carter, calling after.

The archaeologist raised her right hand up to acknowledge him. She made a mental note to retire early because she knew tomorrow could be a crucial day for them and she wanted all her wits about her. As she neared the tent she saw Melinda standing outside the tent waiting for her. Uhhhh boy, she thought. I just hope Mel will understand.

**********

"I don't understand, Janice."

Janice wet her peeling lips and said, "Look, Mel, it's like this. I think Carter might be able to point us in the right direction here if we just sort of, you know, nudge him a little."

"We?" Mel huffed, pointing her nose slightly in the air. "You mean you." Her mind was telling her Janice was right but her heart was telling her something else.

Janice slumped her shoulders in exasperation and settled in closer to Mel on the side of the cot. "All right--me. God, what are you getting so worked up for? It's not like I'm gonna fuck him, damn it. We're just going for a drive, that's all."

"I never said you were going to fu-- do that," Mel replied curtly, through tight lips.

Janice knew her well enough to know she never talked that way unless she was very upset. "C'mon, Mel," she said soothingly, "don't act like this."

Melinda Pappas turned to her friend, her nose again a little up in the air. "Go ahead, Janice," she said. "You go on your little date. But don't expect me to jes' sit around here and pine for you to come home."

Janice raised up both her palms in incredulity and said, "Where the hell you gonna go, Mel? The jungle?"

Melinda tilted her head almost to her shoulder and replied airily, "Oh I don't know. That Mister Price might be willin' to take me somewhere."

Janice knew Melinda was only kidding (Wasn't she?) but even so, this was too much. "Ohh no," she said. "Not him. Anybody but him."

"Golly, Jan," she asked innocently, "are you sayin' you can go out galavantin' around but lil' ole faithful Mel has tuh stay here all day and do nothing but sweat?"

"Damn it, Mel. Cut it out will ya?"

Melinda looked at her slyly and said, "Oh all right. I guess that was a low blow."

"Darn right it was," Janice said. "You had me going there for a moment. I thought I was going to have to use my secret weapon on you."

"What sort of--secret weapon?"

"This," replied her lover.

To Melinda's utter astonishment Janice looked at her dolefully and immediately began to produce huge tears. "Land sake's, Jan, how do you do that?"

"Beats me. I've always been able to do it. I can turn 'em on and off at will almost."

Melinda gingerly reached up and wiped one of the tears off Janice's cheek with the knuckle of her finger. For once the belle was practically speechless. However she did manage to whisper a soft "I'll be damned."

Janice smiled and leaned over to kiss the still wide-eyed woman. Just before their lips met she whispered, "Never in a million years."
 
 

The next morning found Melinda waving good bye to her friend as she and Carter pulled away in the old Ford panel truck they used for bringing in supplies.

"Bye. Have fun."

She stood there watching until the truck had disappeared from view. She gave out a soft sigh and stepped through the open flap into her tent. Darn it, she thought, why is it Janice is always the one that gets to go off and do things and I'm the one who has to stay behind? Why can't one time, just one time, I be the one that makes things happen? With a sad, rueful whisper she answered her own question. "Because you don't know what you're doin', Mel Pappas, that's why."

Sometimes when her companion was not around, Mel wondered what it would be like to be a leader instead of a follower. Every now and then she even went so far as to fantasize that she was the one who made all the really important decisions. She would even go so far as to put voice to it, acting out both parts with more than a little relish.

"Janice, National Geographic called today and offered me a choice of excavating either one of two sites for them."

"Golly, Mel," her friend would say. "Where?"

"Either Ceylon or Egypt. So what do you think?"

"Oh for goodness sake," Janice would reply, "that's an easy one. Egypt is the prize plum of archaeology and Ceylon is a thousand miles from nowhere."

Then would come the most delicious moment of her fantasy. In her best imitation of the woman she loved so much, Mel would say, "You're right, Kid. It is an easy choice--we go to Ceylon."

Then she would have Janice sputtering, "But...but..."

"Yeah," Melinda would say, cutting her off, "Egypt has been done to death. Thanks for your help, Jan." This silly little bit of whimsy never failed to bring a smile to Melinda's face.

Mel Pappas had little problem with self-esteem anymore. She knew she was smart. She knew she was very attractive and a lot tougher than most people perceived her to be. She did not feel inferior to anybody. The one thing she did not have was something that Janice had in spades--that certain forcefulness that allowed one to say, "Here I am, world, like it or not." And hardly a day went by without bringing an illustration of the differences in them. If somebody short-changed Mel a dollar likely as not she would merely accept it and go on but not Janice. No, not Janice Covington. She would rip the clerk up one side and down the other for such an offense. Mel had seen her say things and do things that she could not see herself doing if she lived to be a million. While she did not approve of all her lover did--she did have a temper--she nevertheless wished she could be more like her when it came to asserting herself. But she also was aware of the painful fact that some people are just more foreward than others and while it is easy for others to tell one to be more aggressive, the fact of the matter is it is never that simple. It would be like asking Janice to come to afternoon tea in a designer dress.

Melinda lay down on the cot and stared up at the roof of the tent. All kidding aside, she found the thought of Janice--her Janice--out with that Carter fellow a little bit vexing. She just could not help it. What if he tries to kiss her? Worse still--what it he tries to... Oh, God, she thought. She didn't even want to think about that.

"Melinda Pappas," she rebuked herself, "you're being silly. Janice is not gonna let that guy do anything." But from waters deep within her soul two little words floated to the surface. Is she?

**********

"And so the other guy says, that was no lady--that was my wife!"

Janice laughed at the old joke she had heard so many times before. She and Carter had now been gone for almost six hours. Their first stop had been Golfito where they had a surprisingly good meal and where she bought what she hoped would be a nice peace offering to Mel. Janice knew the woman was none too happy about what she was doing and she really could not fault her. After all, if it had been the other way around...well she could not rule out causing bodily harm to any bastard she thought was trying to take Mel away from her.

For the past three hours or so they had been traversing the countryside on the mostly dirt roads just talking. For both of them it felt good to get away from the oppressive monotony of the work site.

"So, do you know any jokes?" Carter asked.

Did Janice Covington know jokes? When one had been in the number of bars she had over the years and worked around rough men as much as she had one would have had to have been a absolute moron not to know a goodly number of jokes. She knew hundreds of them. Unfortunately most of them were highly sexual in nature and she didn't want to tell one of these lest Carter perceive it as some kind of "come on" signal. After racking her brain for a moment or two she came across a short one that could be altered enough.

"Yeah," she said. "I got one. Hitler walks into this bar and sits down beside Mussolini. Old Benito sees him and says, 'Hey, Sickelgruber, what's got four arms, four legs and eats shit?' Adolph says, 'Holy shhhtuka! Vat?' Mussolini says, 'You and your brother.' Well! Naturally Der Fuehrer flips his swastika and says, 'Vee see if you shhtill laff ven I blitzkrieg your ass, Pizza Boy.' So here the bartender breaks in and says, 'Hey, Pal, it's just a gag. Come on, lighten up.' So Hitler calms down and says, 'Okey dokey, I'm appeased. I'll get the next zee next vun zat valks in here.' Right then Tojo comes in and sits down on the other side of Hitler. He says, 'Hey, Four Eyes, what's got four arms, four legs, and eats shit?' Tojo says he doesn't know. Hitler says, 'Me and my brother.'"

Carter broke into a very big grin. All those looks, he thought, and a sense of humor too. Janice, I like you. "You tell a good joke," he said aloud.

"I'm a little rusty," Janice said modestly. "Those things always make Mel uncomfortable so I don't tell them anymore."

Carter saw this remark as the opening he had been waiting for. He had not failed to notice how many times Janice had mentioned the other woman's name during the course of their time together. "Ahh, I was wondering. How long have you known your friend?"

"Mel? Oh, close to two years now."

"You guys must be pretty close to travel around together like you do."

Janice could just hear the AWWOOOOGA! going off in her subconscious mind. She eyed Carter a little sharply and said, "I can't speak for her but she's the best friend I've ever had."

"She uhh, she seems rather nice," observed Carter.

"Mel?" Janice snorted. "Dave, to say she is nice is like saying Crosby can sing a little bit. Mel is a hell of a lot more than 'nice.'" Try wonderful, breathtaking, perfect...God's gift to an undeserving sinner, she thought.

Carter, sensing her indignance, decided to drop the subject. He did not know why but he felt what he thought to be a hint of defensiveness on her part. Why? he wondered.

Janice also felt it was time to talk about something else. "Dave, don't you find it odd that Price stays gone from the site so much?"

"He is a pretty busy guy," Carter answered.

"How so?"

"Well he's constantly having to go into San José to deal with the underwriters for this project and then he has that other site to manage too."

This bit of news struck Janice like one of Kapitanleutenant Beck's torpedoes. "Oh, he's got another one?" she asked nonchalantly.

"Yeah, bigger than ours, I think."

"Have you ever been to it?" she asked.

"Nahh. It's being handled by a whole different crew. That's why we're always so short-handed at our place. Mister Price is always siphoning off the best workers to the other site."

"It that so?"

"Yep. Heck, they even have a bulldozer there."

Ding! As Elmer Fudd would say, "There's something awfuwwy scwewy goin' on awound here." she thought. Why the hell would Price need a bulldozer anyway?

"Umm, just where is this other site anyway?" Janice asked, innocently she hoped.

"Not far from here actually," came the reply. "In fact we'll go right by it on our way home."

"Could we stop and see it?"

"I, I don't know he replied haltingly. "Mister Price...he doesn't..."

"Look, I don't want to get you into trouble with Price," said Janice. "I know what a jerk he can be."

"I gather you two have had your differences in the past," said Carter.

"You could say that," Janice allowed. "But right now I'm just needing the work and if he's willing to take me on then who am I to hold a grudge? So, what are you doing in Costa Rica anyway?"

"You mean as opposed to being in the military, don't cha?" asked Carter.

"Well now that you mention it..."

"I got turned down for the Marines," he said. He pointed to his left leg and said, "Bad knee. I hurt it playin' football in high school. I can get around on it all right but I can't run a lick."

For Janice it was hard to decipher whether he was sorry about that or not.

"Anyway," he continued, "I couldn't see myself working in some defense plant for the duration so when this came up I jumped at the chance."

"I see."

Suddenly Carter slowed the truck down and then stopped.

"Is something wrong?" Janice asked, knowing full well there wasn't.

Carter pointed to a field on the opposite side of the road and said, "There. It's over there."

"You mean, the other site?" asked Janice, desperately trying to remain calm.

"Yeah. It's supposed to be a few hundred yards back off the road so you really can't see anything from here."

Janice leisurely scanned the field looking for a road of some kind of but all she saw was a place where the weeds and tall grass looked as if they had been ridden down. She knew that one way or another she would have to check the place out. Suddenly she found herself wanting to get back to Melinda.

"Uhhh, Dave?"

"Yeah?"

"I think it's time we started back. I'm beginning to feel a little woozy."

"Gee, Janice, is there something I can do?" Carter asked anxiously.

"Nah. It's not your fault. I shouldn't have eaten that fish for lunch that's all. It always does this to me." She felt a little badly for pulling such a juvenile stunt and she was not quite sure if Carter bought it but she really had had enough. She missed Mel.

Carter eased the truck back out onto the road and forty-five minutes later they were pulling up in front of Janice's tent.

"You're sure there's nothing I can do for you?" Carter asked again.

"No," replied Janice, swallowing hard for effect. She turned the handle on the door latch and looked at the young man. "Look, Dave, I had a very good time...really." She opened the door and slid off the seat onto the ground.

"Oh, Janice? You forgot your package," said Carter.

"Oh yeah. Thanks." Janice took the bundle from him and pushed the door closed.

"See ya in the morning," said Carter.

"I'll be there," said Janice. She stepped back from the truck to allow Carter to pull away. Not a bad guy, she thought, watching the truck disappear on the other side of the camp. She stood there for a moment and then entered the tent. "Mel, look I--"

But Melinda Pappas was nowhere to be seen. Janice's first thought was, Jesus Christ she really did it. Her fears were soon calmed, however, by the sound of Mel's soft humming. The woman had merely been to the outhouse. A couple of seconds later the long, lean figure stepped through the flap and into the tent. "Why, hiya, Jan!" she gushed.

"Hiya, Melinda," she said softly. Only now did she realize just how much she had missed the woman.

Mel tilted her head to one side and looked at the woman quizzically. "Why, Jan, what's the matter. Is there something wrong?"

"Not now," came the reply. "Why do you ask?"

"Well it's jes' that you never call me Melinda."

"Hmm? Oh that. Well it was just a slip of the tongue," said Janice. Melinda, what a beautiful name. She picked up her bundle and held it out in front of her. "Here, I have something for ya."

"Oh my. For meee? What is it?"

"I guess you'll just have to open it, won't you?" Janice replied.

Mel undid the string and eagerly tore off the paper. "Ohh, Jan," she sighed softly. "This is marvelous."

In her hands was a copy of "Selected Poems of Robert Frost"--in English no less.

"Ya like it?"

"Oh boy, do I?" Mel looked at her friend and beamed, "Janice Covington, you never cease to uhmaze me."

"Kid," Janice said, returning her smile, "sometimes I amaze myself."

In the gloom of the tent the two of them hugged tightly and sat down on Mel's cot.

"Mel?"

"Yes, Janice?"

"I love you," the archaeologist whispered in a voice so low it could hardly be heard.

The tall beauty blinked hard and in that sweet drawl of hers replied, "Janice, you know my heart belongs to you...now and forever." She then gleefully rubbed her hands together and said, "Now, tell me all about your date."
 
 

Chapter 8
"Now you're sure you don't need Pablo to go with you?"

Janice took the roughly drawn map from Carter and tucked it into her shirt pocket. "I'll find it all right," she assured him. She was about to make her first trip off site in the truck and Carter was anxious that she be sure of the route. Already it was almost noon and she had spent the better part of the morning hauling truck loads of rocks to a remote part of the site. That is, until the generator that produced electricity for the camp cracked a piston. As usual Price was nowhere to be seen but Carter knew he would undoubtedly place a high priority on getting that engine overhauled. As a result he and two other men had just finished hoisting it into the back of Janice's truck with a block and tackle and another man was busy making it secure.

"Now remember," said Carter, "be sure to tell Ernesto--that's the guy's name--that this is for Señor Price and that he wants a rush job on it."

"Right," nodded Janice.

The man that had been at work securing the gen-set dropped down off the truck and nodded to Carter.

"Okay," he said to Janice, "you're all set."

The archaeologist turned the key and depressed the starter switch located on the floorboard. The engine in the old Ford was not as finely tuned as Guevara's so she had to let it turn over several times before it finally started. She shook her head at Carter and he grinned back at her.

"Yeah I know," he said. "It's a piece of shit."

She depressed the clutch pedal and moved the floor shift into low gear.

"I wouldn't go too fast if I were you," warned Carter. "Especially with that load on the back. You saw how bad some these roads are in some places."

Janice nodded and eased the clutch out. As she began to pull away, Mel breathlessly ran up to the truck.

"Ja-yun, wait!"

"What's the matter?" Janice asked, stopping the truck.

Mel handed her what looked to be two sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and said, "It's a long way tuh Puerto Cortes," she said. "You might get hungry." Janice's indifference to food was forever a cause of concern for Mel.

Janice smiled and patted her rock hard tummy. "Why, Mel, haven't you heard? The scarecrow look is in this year."

Mel was not amused. She clamped her hand around Janice's wrist. "Eat," she said, squeezing hard.

"I will, I will," Janice assured her. "What is it anyway?"

"It's canned tunafish," came the reply.

"Oh goody," Janice said, rolling her eyes. "My favorite." She smiled warmly at the tall beauty and said, "I'll see ya tonight."

Mel released her grip and patted Janice her on the arm. "Be careful."

Janice winked at her and nodded. Mel stepped back and Janice again eased the truck forward. In a few minutes she was gone leaving Mel standing there wishing they were both in that canopy bed back at home in Annapolis. After sighing softly she went back to work.
 

An hour later the belle sat there with her long legs propped on her little table staring at Price's trunk. I'd give a peach pie to know what's in there, she thought, as she idly rotated her pencil between her teeth. She cast a guarded eye toward the tent flap and then stood up. After once again making sure no one was around she nonchalantly strolled her way over to Price's side of the tent. All week she had been discreetly riffling through Price's papers in the hope she might find something Janice could use. As a proper Southern lady she really did not care for this sort of thing but if that was what Janice wanted her to do then, by golly, that was what she would do. So far she had found nothing even remotely incriminating.

She ran her fingers over the trunk and, under her breath said, "My goodness, this old thing is filthy." It looked like it was a hundred years old. How can I get this thing open without Price knowing it? she wondered. In what she knew was a futile gesture of wishful thinking she grasped the lid and gave it a fierce tug. Naturally nothing happened. Then she remembered something she saw in an old movie once. At first she thought, Naah. But what did she have to lose. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bobby pin. While she never used them herself Janice sometimes did and she was always losing them so Mel usually kept a couple in her pocket for her. Straightening it out, she muttered, "Mister Chan, I sure hope you're right."

She inserted the pin into the old lock and began to jiggle it around. To her complete surprise she heard a satisfying click. "Ooh my," she softly gasped.

Mel shifted her body around to where she could keep an eye on the opening in the tent and quickly plunged her hand into the drawer. There was nothing in the trunk to organize the papers so they merely lay flat on the bottom. She walked her fingers along the edge of the stack before taking hold of several pages. She shot one more nervous glance at the opening, took a deep breath, and pulled out the thick sheaf. Cradling the sheaf in her left arm, she quickly began to scan through them, stacking them up against her breasts as she went. It was difficult to see very well in the gloomy tent but so far she had found nothing of interest. Bills of sale, old letters, cash receipts, and other mundane records were all she saw.

"Hmph," she snorted, "I almost gave myself a heart attack for this?"

Satisfied there was nothing in the pile she could use Mel replaced the stack of papers and picked up another one. At first she thought the pile another dead end but, as she neared the bottom of the stack a document caught her eye. It was worded somewhat ambiguously in Spanish and she didn't understand every word but what she could make out troubled her. She glanced again at the tent opening before, in express disregard of Janice's instructions, quickly writing down a word she found on the paper--a word she did not know the definition of. As she replaced the papers the tips of her fingers brushed up against what she thought to be a packet of some sort.

After extracting it from the trunk she learned it was, in fact, an envelope, the kind with the metal tabs that allow it to be securely closed over and over again. After one more glance at the door Mel undid the tabs on the envelope and pulled out its contents. It was a small book with a reddish orange cover.

"Oh my!" she gasped, placing a hand to her cheek. A cold chill ran up her spine and she felt her throat becoming very dry. For on the front cover of the little book was a black eagle perched on an encircled symbol that all freedom loving peoples had come to loathe. Contrary to common belief this symbol was not the creation of some propaganda machine for it had been used by some religions and even by certain tribes of the American Indians for centuries. However this former emblem of peace had by now come to represent everything that was evil in man--war, racial hatred, mass slaughter of innocents, rape of individuality. These and a thousand other crimes were enthusiastically, even gleefully, carried out with incredible attention to detail by warped men who believed whole heartedly that the flag under which they goose-stepped, the flag with the crooked cross--the swastika--was destined to be the terrifying banner under which they, the "Master Race" would subjugate those less pure that themselves into a New World Order.

It was no wonder Melinda Pappas felt to uneasy just looking at it. Her hands were now shaking a little and she almost dropped the book before she managed to open it. The belle half expected Hitler himself to leap off the pages and grab her but all she saw were groups and groups of numbers in neat columns, letters of the alphabet, and more numbers with strange symbols beside them. As she leafed through the pages she wondered what the thing could possibly be used for. It was not a technical manual as far as she could tell. What then? There was no doubt about it now. Price was clearly up to something rotten. But what?

Mel's concentration was broken by the sound of a harsh voice nearing the tent. Price!

Oh God! she thought. She quickly slipped the little book back in the envelope and folded over the tabs. To her horror one of them broke off. After replacing the envelope back in the trunk she hastily stepped to the center of the tent and tried to look as nonchalant as possible. She no sooner reached her destination when the ominous figure of Price appeared at the front of the tent.

"Why...hello, Mister Price," Mel squeaked as Price entered.

Price merely grunted and sat down at his desk. "Did you get my report typed up?" he asked gruffly.

"Why uh, yes. Yes I did." She picked the document up from her little table and brought it to him. "I must say, I just did manage to finish it before that generator thing went bad."

"You would have finished it outside then," replied Price. Stupid woman, he thought. He did not even bother to look at the woman but merely sat there scanning her work.

"Well I reckon I never thought of tha-yat," she drawled meekly.

Of course you didn't, thought Price. Why are women so incapable of applying logic?

You Nahh-zee bastard, thought Mel, sensing his smugness. She had been uncomfortable around Price from the very start but now she found she was disgusted by the mere sight of him. Traitor! For a brief moment she felt an urge to take Price by the neck and crush his Adam's Apple. She knew where this came from. From what she could learn of her illustrious ancestor, Xena, she knew the woman had a special hatred for those who were treacherous. "Death to traitors in our midst!"

When he was finished Price folded the report up lengthwise and placed it in his ever present leather case. "Miss Pappas, my notes please"

"Oh golly, I'm sorry. I forgot." Mel quickly retrieved Price's notes from her little table and handed them over to him. Price took the notes and walked his fingers over the edges of each page as if he were counting them--which of course, he was. "I assure you they are all there," said Mel.

Price looked up at her with an expression totally devoid of emotion and replied, "Of course." With that he abruptly stood up and put on his hat. "I'm going to San Juan," he said. "My associates are very anxious to hear how were are progressing."

Uh huh, surrre, Mel thought bitterly.

He reached into his pocket and extracted a folded sheet of paper. "I may not be back today," he said. "Here are Carter's instructions for tomorrow."

"But he was just outside," said Mel.

"I didn't see him and I don't have time to look for him," Price answered impatiently as he strode out of the tent.

She was just about to sit back down when Price stuck his head back inside the tent. "I won't need you for anything else today," he said sharply, startling her. "You can have the rest of the day off."

After he was gone Mel stood there gaping at the portal and ran a hand through her jet black hair. Now what in the world was that all about? she wondered. To her way of thinking an act of kindness from a cold fish like Price was something one should be suspicious of, not grateful for. As she prepared to leave the tent she happened to cast a glance over to the trunk she had so recently been rummaging through. To her horror she now noticed the lid to the trunk was not completely closed. In her haste she had left it open about a quarter of an inch. "Oh my," she gasped, putting her hand over her mouth. "Ohhh my God." Three quick steps and the thing was closed but the damage had already been done. Did Price notice? Oh God, what if he did? He'll know it was me.

What was she going to do? And more to the point, what was Janice going to do when she found out? For Mel sadly knew she would have to tell her. Would she be angry? Mel Pappas why do you always screw things up? Can't you do a simple thing like close a lid? Mel took off her glasses and rubbed her temples. "Calm down now," she murmured. "It's most likely he didn't see it or else he would have named it." Yeah that's it, she thought hopefully. Price didn't notice it. But despite her best attempts to convince herself otherwise, Mel could not help but worry.

She stepped outside the tent into the bright afternoon sunlight. She wandered back to her tent totally oblivious to the hustle going on all around her. I screwed up, she kept repeating over and over in her mind. I screwed up.

When she reached the tent she immediately went inside and sat down on her cot. For the first time she considered the possibility that a good stiff belt of something 100 proof might not be such a bad thing. Maybe more than one. There was no denying it, Mel Pappas was just plain scared. To her it seemed Janice had already been gone a lifetime. She was alone. What would she do if Price came back and confronted her? Deny it, of course. But Mel knew she was not a very good liar. Even when she told teeny fibs to Janice the woman could always tell.

She worked her way to the end of her cot farthest away from the opening and positioned herself facing out. A grim thought crossed her mind. Should she get Janice's gun? She did know how to use one because Janice had a long time ago more or less forced her to learn. After mulling it over for a few moments she decided against it. She doubted she could shoot anyone--even Price.

So Melinda Pappas just sat there and waited, hoping the next voice she heard would be Janice's.

**********

However at that very moment Janice and her voice were just finishing up their business in Puerto Cortés. "So you say it's gonna take at least a week to get a new set of pistons?"

Ernesto nodded, "And two more days to install them." He broke into a toothless grin and added, "Come back in two weeks."

"Come on," said Janice. "You ought to be able to put those in in less than a day. This is supposed to be a rush job remember?"

"This is a rush job," said Ernesto. "Otherwise Señor Carter would have to wait a month."

"Okay," said Janice. She didn't really care if it took him two years but she had to make it look good in case somebody got nosey. "Ya got me. I'll tell Carter two weeks."

"Bueno."

Janice nodded to him and climbed back into the truck.

Americanos, thought Ernesto, always in such a hurry.

But the only real hurry Janice Covington was in was to return to the place Carter had shown her the day before.
 
 
 Ninety minutes later she was there. After pulling off and making certain this was indeed the correct place she turned the truck around and drove back the way she came. Close to five hundred yards later she spied a place where the truck could be driven off the road and hidden. She pulled the truck into a thick stand of bushes and slipped the key into her pocket before making her way back to the road. First listening carefully to make sure no vehicles were approaching she trotted across the narrow road and melted into the dense underbrush. It's about time, she thought, wiping her forehead with her handkerchief. The humidity in the undergrowth was stifling.

For close to half an hour she slowly picked her way through the brush until at last she saw it begin to thin out up ahead. She eased her way a few more feet when suddenly she heard something that made her freeze in her tracks. It was a voice. As far as she could tell it was some distance away but she decided it was better to be safe than sorry. She stood there for a few very tense seconds just holding her breath and slowly swiveling her head from side to side. Satisfied no one was nearby she ever so carefully made her way to the edge of the clearing and once there dropped to one knee. Here the dense undergrowth gave way to a large grassy field. At first she thought she had not made the angle of her approach acute enough for she saw nothing. The she heard the voice again. To her it was like a lighthouse beacon for she now knew where to look.

She got to her feet and carefully moved about fifty yards off to her right along the edge of the clearing. There, about one hundred yards directly across the field, she saw several men milling around idly. Damn, she thought, I wish I had some binoculars. But soon she saw an object that did not need binoculars to be identified. It was Price's car. As it rolled up the men gathered around and she saw Price get out and begin conversing with them. Soon she saw him reach into his pocket and pull out something. It did not take her long to realize what he was holding was money. From the way the men eagerly queued up it was obvious he was paying them. "What the hell are you up to, you bastard?" she mumbled.

For the next ten minutes she observed the men depart as, one by one, they were paid. As last they were all gone leaving only Price remaining. She saw him get into his car and drive in a straight line crossing her line of sight from right to left. Presently she saw him stop, turn the car around, and drive back the way he had come only much, much slower this time. Twice she saw him stop the car, get out, and bend down as if looking for something. Finally he reached his original starting point, got out one more time, and looked back the way he came.

What's he looking at? she puzzled. Price then got back in the car and drove off leaving the place, as far as Janice could tell, totally deserted. Already she had decided to find out just what was over there. She was still not 100 per cent sure the place was unguarded but fortunately for her the approach was well covered by waist high grass. Bending low, she entered the grass and soon wound her way through it to the other side. She listened intently for a few more minutes in an attempt to make certain no one else was around and then crawled out of the grass.

For the first time she saw the object of Price's meticulous scrutiny. It was long and straight, about twenty-five yards wide, and while not paved it was packed down very tightly. To her it was very plain it was not a road and it was surely not anything even remotely connected to archaeological work. Janice Covington knew full well what it was.

"Jesus," she said, under her breath, "it's a fuckin' airstrip!"
 
 
 It was just after 4:30 when Janice rolled the truck to a halt in front of her tent. Even before she had the door open Mel was bounding out to meet her. "Janice," she whispered urgently. "Janice, thank goodness you're back."

The archaeologist immediately picked up on this sense of urgency in her friend's voice. "What's happened?" she asked the belle.

Mel glanced about nervously and said, "I've got something to tell you."

"Inside," said Janice, tilting her head in the direction of the tent.

Once they were inside Mel described to her the strange book she had seen. "Golly, Jan, what do you think?" she asked upon finishing.

"It's a code book," replied Janice, matter-of-factly.

"A code book?"

"Yeah. It's used to send and receive encrypted radio transmissions. Did you find anything else?"

"Well, there was something else in the book," said Mel. "There was another set of numbers written in pencil on the fly leaf." She picked up her poetry book and, using the pencil she kept for a bookmark, wrote these figures down in it.

79° 55' W

9° 16' N

"Now I don't know much about such things but to me that looks for all the world like a longitude and a latitude," said Mel.

"That's exactly what it is," said Janice. She nodded to the figures and said, "Erase that." As Mel complied Janice turned the numbers over and over in her mind. Nine degrees north, that's about where we are, she thought. Eighty degrees west, well that's--

Then it came to her. "My God, Mel," she said in a low voice, "that's the Panama Canal Zone. I'd bet a dollar to a doughnut whatever the hell Price is up to it has something to do with the Canal."

It was then Mel remembered that word. She furrowed her brow and withdrew the scrap of paper from her shirt pocket and unfolded it. "Jan, do you know what this is?"

"Let's see," said Janice, taking the paper.

"Accordin' to what I saw Price has acquired over 2200 pounds of that, whatever it is."

Janice looked down at the scrap of paper and read the word "trinitrotoluene." "Jesus Christ, Mel, that's TNT."

"Yuh mean like, dynamite?" Mel asked.

"It's a hell of a lot more powerful than dynamite," Janice replied grimly. She did not like the direction these clues were leading her at all. Price certainly had not gotten his hands on over a ton of TNT in order to celebrate the Fourth of July. "Mel," she said, "you know that other site Carter told me about?"

"Yeah?"

"Well it's just like we thought. It's not a dig at all. Price has constructed an airstrip there."

"Golly, Jan, what does it all mean?"

"I'm not quite sure yet," said Janice. "But you can bet your pretty ass it's not good."

Now Melinda figured she had delayed the inevitable long enough. She folded her hands in her lap and looked down at her feet. "Jan, I--I may have done a bad thing," she said meekly.

Despite the gravity of the situation Janice almost had to chuckle upon hearing this. It was inconceivable to the archaeologist that Melinda Pappas could be capable of doing anything "bad."

"What did ya do?" she asked Mel.

"When I heard Price comin' I got in such a rush to replace the book I didn't..." She took a deep breath to gather herself before finishing..."completely close the trunk lid." As she reeled off the last five words Mel winced a little as if expecting the worst. Instead all she got was a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," said Janice with a kindly smile. "From what you said I think Price was in too big of a hurry to notice."

"Janice, I'm sooo sorry," Mel blurted out. "I just--"

"It's all right, Mel," Janice assured her, the voice much more tender now. "Look, it took a lot of guts on your part to do what you did. I'm proud of you."

"Really?"

Janice leaned over and ever so lightly kissed the tall beauty on the lips. "Really." Damn it, Mel, she thought, I'm always proud of you.

Melinda broke into that enchanting smile that Janice loved so much. "Ah guess I did help you a little bit, didn't I?"

"More than a little," Janice corrected her. "But I wouldn't go around thinking I was another Mata Hari just yet."

"God, I reckon not," smiled Mel. "After all, look what happened to her."

**********

For perhaps the tenth time that evening Price unfolded his map and went over the details of the plan with his cohorts. As he finished one of his associates, a man named Strolin, gave the mission's two unfortunate principals some very hollow words of encouragement.

"The Fatherland has mercifully allowed you men this chance to redeem your filthy souls. Succeed and your names will forever live gloriously in the annals of the Reich. Fail and..." Strolin conveniently allowed his words to trail off.

For an American like Price used to living in freedom it seemed ludicrous to threaten men who were already condemned to die but to Karl Wessel and Wilhelm Mueller the threat was very real indeed. These two men had been selected with the usual German efficiency to end their lives in fiery explosions thousands of miles away from their homeland instead of by more conventional methods of execution. They had been chosen because both of them were excellent pilots and both of them had been "convicted" of crimes considered among the most abominable by the state; Wessel for being "mad" and Mueller for the simple fact he was a homosexual. In the eyes of the Nazis there was no place for such "imperfect" people in the New World Order.

In Wessel's case his "madness" had been made manifest when he made the mistake of letting the wrong ears hear him speak of his fear that the Nazis were going to lead Germany to ruin. To the Nazis' way of thinking one would surely have to be mad in order to criticize the perfect society they had created. What else could explain dissent? That it had been Wessel's own sister that had reported him was further proof that the man was a dangerous enemy to the state. In Hitler's Germany one could never be certain whose ears were friendly and whose were not.

As for Mueller his fate was particularly ironic because some of the very ones that vilified him during his "trial" as a morally depraved individual were in truth some of the most degenerate men in Germany. Sadists, murderers, sexual predators, these men were drawn to the Nazi Party like green flies to dung. Here their craven pursuits could be carried out under the protection--even auspices--of the of the all powerful police state.

Given their circumstances it would seem Price could be allowed his incredulity at Strolin's threats to two men already doomed to die. However most Americans, even one such as Price, could not possibly understand just how deeply the slimy tentacles of National Socialism reached into the daily fabric of ordinary Germans' lives. Yes Wessel and Mueller were in effect dead men already but they would nevertheless do as they were ordered. How could they not? They knew all too well the consequences of refusing to obey.

That their sentences would be summarily carried out was the least of them. The real teeth in Strolin's threat was the dark implication that their entire families would be rounded up and hauled of to a concentration camp should they fail to cooperate.

"We will not fail, Herr Strolin," said Wessel quietly.

"Good," snapped Strolin. Though supposedly a banana grower he was in reality the chief of German espionage for Central America. It had been he who had conceived the plan that was now within a few hours of being brought to fruition.

Had Janice Covington been there she would have taken little solace in knowing her deductions were correct. The objective of the Nazi plot was the Panama Canal.

Continue on to Chapter 9 of Traitors in Our Midst

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