"I said she wasn't here." Randall gestured expansively. "Look around. You won't find her."

"That will be unfortunate ... for you."

Randall rose to his feet. "Are you threatening me?"

"I'm telling you that I want her back and that you won't like the trouble I cause if you don't produce her."

"We're used to trouble here. It's what we train these men to face."

"Cut the crap. The authorities in Panama City don't like you parked on their doorstep, and they'd jump at a chance to close you down for illegal activities."

"What illegal activities?" he said, outraged. "No one touched her, dammit."

"Kidnapping."

"She came to me. Hell, she forced herself on me. She'll tell you herself."

"And I'll tell everyone you kidnapped her and then brainwashed her. It will make a great story for the tabloids." Nicholas smiled. "What do you think?"

"I think you're a son of a bitch." He added sulkily, "Who is she to you? Your wife?"

"Yes," he lied.

"Then you should keep the bitch home and out of my hair."

"Tell me where she is and I'll be glad to take her off your hands."

Randall was silent and then smiled maliciously. "Why not?" He opened the desk drawer and pulled out a map and unrolled it. "She's on maneuvers. She wanted to prove how tough she could be. I can't tell you where she is right now, but she'll be here at nightfall." He stabbed his finger at a point on the map. "They always bed down at the same place. Cypress Island. You should be grateful to me. She's going to be real glad to see you after the day she'll have." His smile broadened. "But you may not be so happy to see her after you finish wading through the swamp to get to the island."

"There's no other access?"

"It's in the middle of the swamp. The closest road is two miles away." Randall tapped a line on the map. "See?"

"I see you're entirely too pleased with yourself."

"You could always stick around here and wait for them to get back. It will only be another four days."

Nicholas took the map and turned to leave.

"Have a nice trip. Give my best to the little lady."

Randall was beginning to annoy him. He stopped in midstride. No, he didn't have the time. Too bad.

He left the office.

"Keep up, Billings," Wilkins said as he pushed through the hip-deep water. "You're lagging behind. We ain't going to wait for you."

Nell ignored the jab. She wasn't falling behind; there were four men trailing her.

"Anyone who falls back gets left for the alligators."

Another fear tactic. She tried not to let him see that it was working. She had caught a glimpse of one of those horrific beasts a few hours earlier.

"I'll stay with you," Peter whispered from behind her. "Don't be afraid."

She was afraid. Afraid and exhausted and wanting nothing more than to be away from this eerie place. She had been in mud-clouded water for almost seven hours. The straps of her backpack were cutting into her shoulders, and she- A silent shape undulated through the water beside her.

Snake.

She hated snakes.

"Keep moving, Billings."

She pulled her gaze away from the menace just below the surface and pushed through the water. One step at a time. One minute at a time. She could make it. No nightmare could last forever.

Except one.

Nicholas parked the rental car at the side of the road and rifled through his carryall on the seat beside him. He drew out his knife and a white handkerchief, tied the handkerchief around his forehead to keep back his hair, and stuffed the knife into the waistband of his jeans. Not exactly the approved attire for trekking through the swamp, but it would have to do.

He got out of the car and looked down sourly at the yellow water on the far side of the road. According to Randall's map, this was the closest he could get to Cypress Island without venturing into the swamp. He bent down and retied his tennis shoes tighter. He'd be lucky if he got through that mud and fetid water without losing one of them.

He hated swamps. It would have been too much to ask for Nell to have chosen a nice, clean mountain survival camp like the one in Washington. No, she had to plunge into a hot, muggy marsh crawling with mosquitoes and alligators and two-legged predators like Randall. He wanted to strangle her.

He gritted his teeth as he jumped into the water and started into the swamp.

"It seems we have a small problem." Wilkins smiled as he waded back toward them. "I need a volunteer."

Nell gazed at him dully, barely comprehending his words.

"Who's it going to be?"

She waited for him to turn to her.

His gaze fell on Peter. "You volunteer, don't you, Drake? Good. You're just right for the job. Young and quick. Go up front to the head of the column."

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just a little disposal problem. Our way is being blocked."

"Okay." He started toward the front of the column.

She stiffened warily. Young and quick. Why would he have to be quick? She hurried after Peter.

Dear God.

She stopped in her tracks.

The snake was draped like a colorful garland on the lowest branch of the cypress in front of them. They wouldn't be able to pass beneath the tree without brushing against it.

"Want to get a good view?" Wilkins asked beside her. "Get rid of the snake, Drake."

"Wait." She moistened her lips. "What kind of snake is it?"

"Just a little milk snake."

"Why don't we just go around it?"

"Good soldiers don't run away from problems, they solve them."

Milk snake. Memory was stirring. There was another snake almost identical to the milk snake. Only the layering of the stripes was different. She vaguely remembered a doggerel verse her grandfather had told her to tell them apart.

But she couldn't remember the other snake or the verse.

"Go get it, Drake," Wilkins said.

He stepped forward.

Coral snake. The other reptile the milk snake resembled was the deadly coral.

"Stop!"

Peter looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Don't worry, I used to have a pet snake when I was a kid. You just grab them behind the head and they can't bite you."

"Don't do it, Peter. It might be poisonous. The milk snake and the coral look a lot alike."

"It's just a little milk snake. See, the yellow stripes next to the red. That means it's harmless." Wilkins's gaze narrowed on Peter's face. "Go on, kid."

Peter started toward the snake.

Red next to black ...

Why couldn't she remember that verse?

"Easy." Peter was crooning at the snake. "I'm not going to hurt you, pretty thing. I just have to get you out of the way."

His voice was almost affectionate, she realized with a chill. He'd probably be stroking the snake in another minute.

Wilkins was smiling as he watched.

The sergeant doesn't like me.

But Wilkins wouldn't deliberately endanger a child like Peter, would he? Just because he held Peter in contempt? Maybe the snake was harmless.

Or maybe Wilkins was mistaken.

Red on black ...

"No!" She pushed Peter out of the way and lunged forward. She caught the snake behind the head and hurled it away from her with all her strength. The snake splashed into the water ten feet away.

"You shouldn't have done that," Peter said reproachfully. "The sergeant said it was my job."

"Shut up," she said through her teeth. It probably had been a milk snake, but she hadn't been able to take the chance. And now she was going to be sick. She could still feel the clammy coldness of the snake's scales on her palm. She watched dazedly as the snake cleaved swiftly through the water away from them.

"The kid's right," Wilkins said stolidly. "It wasn't your job, Billings."

"You wanted a volunteer." She tried desperately to control her shivering as she started again through the water. "I volunteered."

"You didn't have to be so rough," Peter said reproachfully as he fell in beside her. "You might have hurt it."

Was that trailing moss or another snake on the branch of the tree up ahead? Just moss. "I'm sorry."

"My snake was green. Not pretty like that one. Yellow and red and black-what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

It wasn't true. She had just remembered that bit of verse.

Red on black, venom lack

Red on yellow, kill a fellow.

Nine.

They reached Cypress Island an hour before sunset. It was more of a moss-covered sandbar than an island, but that didn't matter. It was dry ground, and it looked wonderful to Nell as she staggered out of the water.

"Hello," Tanek said.

She stopped short in shock.

He was sitting beneath a cypress tree on the mossy ground. "You'll forgive me if I don't get up. I'm not feeling very polite at the moment. You might say I'm even a little irritated with you."

He was more than irritated, she thought warily. He looked muddy and wet and extremely bad-tempered. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you."

Wilkins shoved her aside. "You ain't got no business here. Who are you?"