Page 54 of Crocodile Tears
Cal
Iwakebeforedawnwith that automatic threat assessment that’s been drilled into me for fifteen years.I scan the room for exits, potential weapons, and defensive positions, but everything looks secure.The weight of Becci’s arm across my chest reminds me we’re safely hidden in Javier’s village, not in some hostile compound or military outpost.
Last night changed something fundamental between us.What started as me trying to transition from mercenary work to civilian dating has turned into something I never expected—complete acceptance from someone whose opinion actually matters.
Becci sleeps soundly beside me, her dark hair fanned across the pillow.In the early morning light filtering through the window, she looks younger and more vulnerable than the fierce scientist who systematically destroyed a laboratory while escaping armed kidnappers.One arm drapes across my chest with possessive comfort that makes something warm settle in my ribcage.
I need to extract myself without waking her and check on our transportation arrangements.Javier mentioned a boat leaving at noon, but in my line of work, plans change without notice, usually in ways that involve more shooting and less successful extraction of beautiful geneticists.
I carefully lift her arm and slide out from under her, moving with the kind of controlled silence that’s become second nature.She murmurs something that sounds like a chemical formula and burrows deeper into the pillow without fully waking.
Outside our hut, the village is starting to come alive with the quiet sounds of people beginning their day.Roosters crow in the distance, and I smell cooking fires and fresh coffee.The normality of it all feels surreal after yesterday’s chaos of gunfights and jungle escapes.
Javier waits by the communal fire pit with two cups of coffee that smell strong enough to wake the dead.He hands me one without comment, and I take a grateful sip that nearly strips the enamel off my teeth.
“Your transportation arrangements,” he says in Spanish, keeping his voice low.“Captain Miranda can take you to Puerto Limón at noon.Clean passports and commercial flights are arranged through my contact there.”
I nod while mentally reviewing contingencies.“What about security for the boat route?”
“Miranda knows these waters better than any Coast Guard patrol.Her boat looks completely legitimate.”He pauses to drink his paint-thinner coffee.“The militia activity increased overnight.Three more vehicles arrived with equipment that suggests serious funding.”
The information confirms what I suspected about the organization behind Becci’s kidnapping.These aren’t random criminals or opportunistic kidnappers.Someone with significant resources wants her research badly enough to deploy professional-grade pursuit teams.
“Alternative routes if our primary extraction fails?”
Javier produces a hand-drawn map from his shirt pocket.“These paths lead through different villages to secondary border crossings.More time required but better security if the boat option is compromised.”
“Thank you.”I study the map while finishing the coffee that’s probably dissolving my stomach lining.“Javier?This never happened.”
He grins and taps the side of his nose.“What never happened, my friend?”
When I return to our hut, I find Becci fully awake and conducting what appears to be an impromptu scientific survey of the local insect population.She’s kneeling by the entrance with a piece of broken glass as a makeshift magnifying lens, examining ant colonies with the same intensity she probably applies to genetic sequencing.
“The social organization here is remarkable,” she says without looking up from her field research.“These species create symbiotic relationships that could revolutionize our understanding of cooperative biology.”
Most people I’ve extracted from hostile situations spend weeks jumping at shadows and struggling with basic decision-making.Becci treats our escape like an opportunity for environmental research.It’s either incredibly healthy psychological adaptation or complete dissociation from reality.Given her systematic approach to everything else, I’m betting on healthy adaptation.
“We need to move in two hours,” I say while watching her document ant behavior with scientific precision.“The boat won’t wait if we’re late.”
“Understood.”She carefully collects specimens in a small container she’s improvised from something.“I’m just documenting these interaction patterns.The applications for complex systems theory could be extraordinary.”
Only Becci would turn a tactical extraction into a research expedition.“Can you document while we walk?”
“Absolutely.Fieldwork requires adaptability.”She stands and brushes dirt off her hands with characteristic efficiency.“Ready when you are.”
We pack our minimal supplies and prepare to leave for the dock.The process should be straightforward, but as we’re heading toward the village entrance, Becci spots a young child sitting by one of the huts.The kid looks miserable, and even from a distance, I see the infected wound on his arm that’s bothering him.
Becci stops walking entirely and stares at the child with obvious concern.“Cal, that infection looks serious.”
I check my watch and calculate our remaining time before departure.“Becci, we have a narrow window for extraction.”
She’s already moving toward the child, completely ignoring my tactical concerns in favor of what appears to be an impromptu medical consultation.The mother emerges from the hut and begins explaining the situation in rapid Spanish while gesturing at her son’s arm.
Becci’s Spanish is rough, but she manages to communicate through a combination of simple words and enthusiastic gestures.She examines the wound with clinical precision while explaining something that involves drawing diagrams in the dirt with a stick.
“This requires proper antibiotic treatment,” she tells me in English while continuing to work on her dirt-based medical illustration.“But these local plants can create an effective poultice that will reduce inflammation and prevent further infection.”
The mother nods eagerly as Becci demonstrates the preparation technique using vegetation she’s somehow identified in the local flora.Her explanation involves chemical compound names that definitely don’t exist in basic Spanish, but somehow, she conveys the essential information through pure determination and scientific gesturing.
