Page 38 of Hot Intent

“Where is this place?”

“Couple klicks up the road.” He pointed with his cigar to the north.

“Do people from this village work there?”

He nodded and took another long pull on his cigar. She coughed a little at the blue cloud of smoke he blew out.

Alex stepped out of the makeshift morgue and ripped off his surgical mask, breathing deeply of the fresh air. He looked shaken as he strode over to them. Which, frankly, freaked out Katie a little. He never looked rattled like this.

Alex asked the driver quietly, “Did you know these people?”

A grunt around the end of the cigar.

“Can you tell me where they lived?” Alex tried.

“On the plantations north of town.”

“Are the plantations near the Zacara Plant?” she asked quickly.

The man glanced at her. “Yeah.”

“What kind of farms were they?” Alex asked.

“Co-ops. Pigs. Chickens. Food crops—beans, plantains, vegetables.”

She looked over at Alex, who was frowning. She murmured in English, which the driver didn’t seem to understand a word of, “This Zacara facility is some sort of chemical factory. Makes cleaning supplies. Could the hurricane have breached storage containers of something poisonous?”

“It’s worth a look,” Alex replied.

The driver wandered away from them and into the ruined hull of a modest house. He emerged onto the stoop and took a long slug out of a liquor bottle.

Alex cursed under his breath. “So much for having him drive us. I can hot wire his truck?—”

She cut him off, saying quickly, “It’s all he has left. His wife’s in that tent. He lost his home and his job. He’s living in the truck.”

Alex huffed as if he disagreed. “Your choice. The truck or our feet.”

“Walking, it is.” She added with a groan, “And now I can’t complain about it, either.”

A brief smile flashed across Alex’s handsome face.

They headed out on foot, which probably wasn’t that much slower than walking along the trashed road. Katie commented, “The driver said no help or supplies have arrived here, yet. You’d think the government would send someone out this way to check on the locals. Maybe deliver some bottled water and basic supplies. Apparently, Baracoa is as close as any supply boats have come to this area.”

Alex merely shrugged.

“The driver said there’s a dock up at the Zacara factory. I thought maybe we could find someone who works the docks and chat him up. See if any ships are coming in at weird hours and on- or off-loading anything.”

Alex nodded. “We’ll have to take it slow. We can’t afford to make anyone suspicious.”

“See anything interesting in those bodies back there?”

“More evidence of chemical poisoning.”

“What does this mean?” she asked in dismay.

He shook his head. “I don’t even want to think about the political implications if it turns out to be a weaponized compound.”

“Could this Zacara factory have released a poisonous gas during the storm?” she asked.

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