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Then came another voice. "The line is clear. Please go ahead."
"Flidais?"
"Yes, Epona, I'm here."
"Why are you calling on an open line from a hotel?"
"We have an unexpected problem."
"Yes?"
"A NUMA research boat looking for the source of the brown crud was not deceived by the hologram and destroyed our yacht."
"Understood," said the woman called Epona, without the slightest trace of emotion. "Where are you?"
"After our yacht sank, I was captured by the NUMA people, who held me prisoner. I escaped and am now sitting in a room at the Rio Colorado Lodge. It's only matter of minutes before the local police trail me here."
"Our crew?"
"Some were killed. The rest escaped in the helicopter and abandoned me."
"They will be dealt with." The voice paused. "Did they interrogate you?"
"They tried, but I gave them a phony story and told them my name was Rita Anderson."
"Keep the line open and wait."
Flidais, alias Rita, went to the closet and found a flowered-print summer dress that was a size ten to her size eight. Close enough, she thought. Better large than too small. She pulled it on over her bikini and found a scarf, which she tied around her head to hide her red hair. It didn't bother her in the least that she was stealing another woman's clothes and running up a large phone bill, certainly not after having killed Renee. Next she pulled on open sandals that were a close fit. A pair of sunglasses were sitting on a bed stand, so she slipped them on.
She smiled to herself as she searched the drawers of the dresser and found the room occupant's purse. Why women never used any creativity in hiding their valuables was a mystery to Flidais. It was well known among hotel thieves that women invariably hid their purses, including their wallets, under their clothes in a drawer. She found eight hundred dollars American and a few Costa Rican colones. With an exchange rate of 369,000 colones to the dollar, most monetary transactions in Costa Rica were handled in foreign currency.
Barbara Hacken was the name below the picture of the face on the driver's license and the photo inside the passport. Except for a different hair color and a few years' difference in age, they might have passed for sisters. Flidais cracked the door to see if the room's occupant was coming up the walkway, when Epona came back on the line. "All is arranged, sister. I'm sending my private plane to pick you up at the airport. It will be waiting on the tarmac when you arrive. Do you have transportation?"
"The hotel should have a car to carry guests to and from the airport."
"You may have to show identification to get past airport security."
"All is established on that score," answered Flidais, slinging the purse strap over her shoulder. "I'll see you and our sisters at the ritual in three days."
Then she hung up and walked to the hotel lobby past two local uniformed policemen who were checking the grounds. Looking for a woman last seen in a bikini, they gave her a quick glance, thinking she was a guest of the lodge, and passed on. She spotted Barbara Hacken sunning at the pool. She looked to be dozing. When Flidais reached the lobby, the owner of the lodge was standing behind the desk and smiled when she asked for a car.
"You and your husband are not leaving us, I hope."
"No," she said vaguely, scratching her nose to cover her face. "He's still out on the river after the big ones. I'm meeting some friends who are dropping in at the airport to refuel before continuing on to Panama City."
"We'll see you for dinner?"
"Of course," Flidais said, turning away. "Where else would I eat?"
When her car reached the airport gate to the tarmac, the driver stopped, as the security guard stepped from a small office.
"Are you leaving Rio Colorado?" he asked Flidais through the open window.
"Yes, I'm flying to Managua."
"Passport, please?"
She handed him Barbara Hacken's passport and sat back looking out the opposite window.
