Page 57 of Crocodile Tears
As we continue toward our transportation home, I think about Dr.Martinez and her advice about civilian integration.She wanted me to find balance between my military background and normal relationships.What she probably didn’t expect was finding someone who appreciates both aspects of who I am and brings her own complications to the equation.
Normal is overrated anyway.What Becci and I have is better than normal.It’s honest, complicated, and perfectly suited to two people whose lives don’t fit conventional patterns.
Besides, if our first two dates are any indication, conventional dating advice probably doesn’t apply to relationships that begin with professional surveillance and involve international rescue operations.I’m looking forward to finding out what our third date looks like.
Chapter 15
Becci
PuertoLimónsmellslikesalt air, diesel fuel, and fried plantains.The combination should be unpleasant, but after three days in the jungle followed by a boat ride that involved more tactical maneuvering than I expected, the scents of civilization feel like home, even if this particular civilization involves dodging international criminals and operating under fake identities.
Cal guides me through the port town with a casual confidence that says he’s done this before.His hand rests on the small of my back as we navigate crowded streets filled with vendors selling everything from fresh seafood to questionable electronics.The protective gesture would normally irritate me, but considering recent events involving armed kidnappers and genetic weapons research, I’m willing to accept some tactical hovering.
“Our contact should be here,” he says while scanning the café tables with systematic attention that never fully turns off.
The contact turns out to be a woman named Selena, who could blend into any crowd of middle-aged tourists visiting Costa Rica for the coffee and bird-watching.She wears a floral shirt with sensible walking shoes and carries a guidebook that probably contains more than restaurant recommendations.
“Dr.Lawson,” she says in accented English while gesturing for us to join her at a corner table.“I have what you need for safe travel.”
She slides a manila envelope across the table with movements that suggest extensive practice in discreet document transfers.Inside are two passports that look completely legitimate, airline tickets for tomorrow morning, and credit cards that match our new identities.
I examine my new passport photo and discover I’m now Dr.Maria Santos, a marine biologist from San Diego.The photo somehow makes me look like someone who spends time on research vessels rather than in genetics laboratories.“How did you get this picture?I don’t remember posing for passport photos.”
Selena smiles with professional satisfaction.“Digital photography makes many things possible that were complicated in earlier times.”
Cal reviews his documentation with obvious approval.He’s become James Morrison, an environmental consultant specializing in sustainable tourism development.The identity suits him better than I expected, making him look like someone who combines outdoor skills with business expertise rather than tactical operations.
“Your flight leaves at eight tomorrow morning,” Selena says while checking her watch.“Hotel arrangements are confirmed under your new names.I recommend staying inconspicuous until departure time.”
“Staying inconspicuous in a port town that probably sees its share of unusual visitors shouldn’t be difficult,” I say while tucking my new identity documents into the bag Cal insisted I carry.
She laughs with genuine amusement.“Puerto Limón welcomes many people who prefer not to discuss their backgrounds extensively.You will blend in perfectly.”
After Selena leaves, Cal and I find ourselves with an entire afternoon and evening to kill in a coastal town that feels surprisingly normal after our recent experiences with kidnapping and jungle warfare.The transition from survival mode to tourist mode creates cognitive dissonance that my brain struggles to process.
“We need clothes,” I say while examining my current outfit, which has survived jungle escape, river travel, and emotional revelations but won’t pass casual inspection much longer.“Also, I’d like to buy a proper specimen collection kit if possible.”
Cal stares at me like he’s trying to determine if I’m serious.“You want to continue collecting biological samples while we’re in hiding?”
“I want to maximize the educational value of international travel experiences.”I gesture toward the diverse plant life visible throughout the town.“This ecosystem represents research opportunities that don’t exist in my usual location.”
“Right.Of course.”
We spend the next two hours shopping in local stores that cater to both residents and tourists.Cal approaches clothing selection with the same methodical precision he applies to tactical planning, choosing items that balance comfort, durability, and the ability to move quickly if necessary.I focus on finding a simple dress that doesn’t make me look like I’ve been living in the jungle and sandals that won’t fall off if we need to run from additional international criminal organizations.
The shopping expedition reveals interesting aspects of Cal’s personality that don’t emerge during tactical operations.He has opinions about fabric quality, understands color coordination better than most men, and somehow knows exactly which local vendors offer genuine products versus tourist-targeted merchandise.
“Military training includes cultural adaptation and local integration skills,” he says while helping me select a lightweight cardigan that coordinates with my new dress.“You learn to blend in with different environments quickly.”
“Including knowledge of women’s fashion coordination?”I grin at him.
His ears turn slightly red.“Including observation skills that apply to multiple situations.”He holds up a scarf that complements my coloring perfectly.“Also, I pay attention to details that matter to people I care about.”
The casual way he includes me in the category of people he cares about makes something warm flutter in my chest.I’m still processing when he moves on to examine the specimen collection supplies I requested.
The local pharmacy stocks basic scientific equipment that exceeds my expectations, including glass vials, magnifying glasses, pH testing supplies, and even a portable microscope.
Cal watches me organize my improvised field research kit with obvious amusement.“You’re building a mobile laboratory,” he says while I test the microscope’s focusing mechanism.
