Silently, sneaking like a black cat, I approached her and concealed myself near a darkened doorway. Hiding in the shadows, I watched her slender body rhythmically sway back and forth to the music. Her dark Cuban eyes sparkled, reflecting the nearby firelight. Her music, to me, spoke of love. It was passionate, alarming. Her firm breasts expanded with each breath. Her hands, delicate as they were, continued their task. I can almost feel her touch; hear her voice whispering to me.
I watched from the doorway and wondered what it would be like to make love to her. Reluctantly, I brought myself back to reality. I continued to watch as she, holding the duct tape, delicately wrapped the four sticks of dynamite, then cut the red wires. I silently counted.
‘One-two-three-cut, strip. One-two-three-cut’. I watched as she secured the wires to the fuse. Her movements happened in one continuous motion. There was no doubt she knew what she was doing. I surmised she had done this many times before. Intrigued, I continued to watch as she went about her task. She appeared to be unaware I was watching.
Unseen, I approached from the shadows, but she sensed my approach. Startled, she quickly rose, turning toward me, raging fire flashing from her dark eyes. In one swift, clean motion, she pulled an unseen knife from somewhere in her tight-tight pants.
Screaming like a Comanche warrior, she charged wildly toward me.
Suddenly she stopped charging, her knife inches from my throat.
“You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that. You might get hurt.” She smiled, winked at me, then slipped the knife back into her tight pants.
“I saw you watching me—from over there by the doorway.” She pointed toward the shadowed doorway from where I had come.
“I knew you were there.” She delicately placed the explosives into a backpack sitting near the table. She heaved the pack onto her shoulders.
“Perhaps, someday, I’ll see you again.” She smiled, turned, and quickly left the hut—disappearing into the thick underbrush of the jungle trail.
I watched for a moment, then tried to follow. Only a sweet, captivating scent, drifting here and there along the jungle trail, she left behind.
A tropical bird, flushed suddenly from the vine-tangled path, screeched an alarm. It quickly flew away, disappearing into the approaching dawn. For a moment, I thought it was my friend, my new lover, the lady saboteur, but I was wrong. She was gone.
My memories of the ‘Lady Saboteur,’ the jungle hut, and my desire to find her, still, today, haunt me.