Captive Of Fate. Lindsay McKenna

      Chapter One

      “Alanna, I want you to fly down to Costa Rica right away.” Senator Jameson Thornton frowned darkly, pushing a yellow legal pad around on the top of his large, mahogany desk. He peered up at his special assistant, his bushy gray eyebrows drawn together. “You’re my South American expert, and this is your chance to investigate something big.”

      Alanna suppressed a tired sigh. It was late Friday afternoon, and it had been one hell of a trying week. Well, now she had an explanation for that long-distance phone call from the Costa Rican minister. Thornton had been the ambassador to that country at one time and had maintained a parental interest in it ever since. She sat down, flipping open her notebook. “Big in what way, Senator?”

      Thornton pushed his heavy, aging body forward, resting his bulk on the desk. “An earthquake hit the heart of Costa Rica two days ago. Several mountain villages in the coffee district have been devastated—the loss of life has been terrible, and the number of injured is constantly rising. Our government has sent down a medical relief effort headed up by our mutual enemy: Colonel Breckenridge.”

      She looked up, her green eyes widening at the mention of the name. Her heart skipped a beat as she allowed the information to soak into her fatigued brain. In nearly two years’ working for Thornton, Alanna had rarely heard the Marine officer mentioned without undisguised anger and animosity. After all, Colonel Breckenridge was responsible for the death of the senator’s only son, Tim. And over the years, Alanna had grown to loathe the phantom military officer almost as much as her boss did.

      A catlike smile graced the senator’s fleshy features. “That’s right, Alanna. I’ve got him exactly where I want him this time. And you’re going to fly down there tonight and confirm the evidence already in our hands. God, how I’ve waited for this.”

      She pushed her dark, walnut-colored hair away from her face, sending the shoulder-length tresses back across her shoulders. “I don’t understand….” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral. She had already put in nearly seventy hours this week, and all she wanted to do was retreat to her Georgetown apartment for a well-deserved forty-eight hours of rest and relaxation.

      “That earthquake occurred yesterday near Chirripo Grande, the highest peak in Costa Rica. A little village by the name of San Dolega was severely hit, and nearly three thousand people are cut off and homeless. There are reports of a high death rate among the injured, and the government is fearing an epidemic on the heels of the devastation. Apparently the Organization of American States has mobilized to send relief. The U.S. will participate, of course.” He hesitated, his brown eyes narrowing. “Some fool assigned Colonel Breckenridge as our representative to the relief effort, and he has been placed in charge of all field operations.”

      “Is he qualified?” she asked.

      “Who knows? It’s just another ploy of the Defense Department to build a closer alliance between our military and the Costa Rican police force. If you ask me, a civilian agency should have been put in charge…. But that’s neither here nor there. Did you see the gentleman who just left?”

      Harried, she gave a quick shake of her head.

      “He’s a missionary from Costa Rica. He flew up here with evidence that a large part of the medical supplies intended for the relief effort is being stolen. Look here,” he urged, pulling several splintered wooden crate slats from behind his chair. He pointed to the black lettering. “The missionary obtained these from their sister mission in Nicaragua. The crates were found in the abandoned camp of a leftist guerrilla organization. Looks like our Colonel Breckenridge has started a little black market racket selling supplies meant for those hungry and sick villagers.”

      She cringed inwardly, knowing her next question would probably aggravate him. “Senator, are you sure Colonel Breckenridge is involved?”

      “Couldn’t be more positive, Alanna. And that’s where you come in. I’ve got you scheduled on the next available flight out of Bolling Air Force Base aboard a MATS C-130. It’s due to take off for San Jose in two hours, and you’re going to be on it. Peggy’s processing all the papers you’ll need as far as introduction goes. I’ve informed the right people in the government you’re coming, and you’ll be given carte blanche to get up to San Dolega and begin your investigation. The fact that you speak Spanish is a plus, as is your familiarity with the political and economic environment of Central America.” He smiled with satisfaction. “I made a wise decision in hiring you as my special assistant, Alanna. I know you’ve sometimes chaffed at the more mundane duties around here on the Hill, but I think you’ll jump at this chance to get right into the middle of the action. If I didn’t have this filibuster coming up on Monday, I’d be flying down there with you.”

      She blinked. “You want me to investigate Colonel Breckenridge and his relief efforts by myself?”

      “Yes, I do. And I know you’ll do a thorough job. I’ve got my chauffeur out front. You had best hurry home and throw some clothes into a suitcase. Peggy will have a travel package waiting for you at the airplane. When you get to San Jose, call me.”

      * * *

      This isn’t happening, she thought dully, leaning back against the rough corded cargo netting. The throbbing hum of the four prop jet engines lulled her close to sleep. She was cramped into a small space with twenty-four other passengers, military personnel who were also flying down to Costa Rica. Everywhere she looked in the wide-bodied fuselage, huge wooden crates were stacked to the ceiling. There was a tense quiet among the others, and Alanna had pulled herself into a tight ball, discouraging any talk. Her head ached from the events of the day. It seemed as though the entire situation had toppled