When they had started up the trail she realized that this was the last place she wanted to be—in the rain and underdressed—with three killers chasing them. There had to be a better way to handle the situation. She berated herself for giving in to Steel’s macho silent crap so easily. This was another Army exercise for him.
She had read Steel’s file long ago, before she first met him. He seemed to thrive in extreme challenges. Something even his training routines reflected. In a perverse way he probably enjoyed this. Though his eyes had held obvious worry over the number of killers pursuing them.
What she hadn’t considered soon enough was that Steel probably had a narrow view of alternatives, given his training. All he could envision was some type of military tactic. To her it seemed absurd that she had played along with him.
The only thing that gave her any hope at all was Danker’s grudging admission that—among Blackhood operatives—Steel’s the best there is.
Her fingers tightened on her gun as she thought about Danker. She was equally upset at Steel for not confiding in her. Another deep ache inside kept her mood downcast. She didn’t want to admit there was more at stake with Steel than just her blown cover.
She looked ahead. They were jogging downhill again and coming to a sharp turn along a steep cliff.
Francis stumbled on the trail and did a skip. His arms swung out as he tried to keep his balance on the slippery trail.
Christie ran faster, dropping the umbrella so she could grab his robe from behind before he fell. She made the mistake of trying to brace her feet on the trail to slow Francis’ momentum. Her sandals slid on the mud and she went by the friar.
Francis toppled backwards.
Losing her balance, Christie was forced to release his robe so he didn’t pull her down with him. A small wisp of a tree to her right appeared and she flailed her hand at it. She hit her wrist hard and her fingers opened, her gun flying off to the side.
Catching a different branch with her left hand, her momentum swung her past the tree. She was forced to let go to avoid sliding off the side of the cliff. Wide-eyed, she glimpsed the view twenty feet ahead. A drop-off of jutting rock covered by low vegetation.
Her right foot slammed into a rock and she cried out. Her knees bent and she fell forward onto her stomach, sliding with her hands in front of her. Gasping, she tried to slow her momentum with her palms. Stones cut her skin as her fingernails pushed through pebbles and dirt. Trying to dig her feet in behind her, a stab of pain in her right ankle made her cry out. Rocks clattered down the incline with her fall.
With her left hand she grabbed a rock that held, and finally stopped her slide with her eyes peering over the edge of the cliff. Resting her head on her arm, she took deep breaths. Needles of pain burned her arms and stomach, and her ankle throbbed.
A hand gripped her left ankle. She looked back. Francis. His narrow, brown face was pale as he dragged her a few feet away from the edge.
Rolling to her back, she painfully sat up and looked at her aching ankle. Lifting her blouse, she saw fine scratches across her stomach, matching those on her forearms. Mud caked the front of her torso and legs.
“Help me to my feet, Francis,” she said.
The friar didn’t respond. She looked up.
He was doubled over, breathing fast, his face flushed. She thought he had been injured in the fall. But after a few moments she understood. Panic attack. It was a minute before his breathing normalized and he could stand upright again.
“I am sorry.” He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “They began after the first time they tried to kill me.”
He put both hands under one of her arms, and she used her good foot to brace herself upright. She put a little weight on the injured leg and gasped.
“My ankle is sprained or broken.” She shoved down her fear. “I can’t walk.”
He handed her the umbrella. “Lean on me.”
“Find my gun first.”
He hurried away. She watched him search near the tree, cautiously inching up to the cliff edge.
When he returned he shook his head. “I am sorry. There is no sign of it.”
She bit her lip. “Let’s get out of here.”
He helped her hobble back to the trail and then down it, their progress slow. The dark clouds above mirrored her thoughts. Worse than not having a gun, now she couldn’t even run and hide.
CHAPTER 70
Steel knew they were in serious trouble almost immediately. He had underestimated his opponents.
The Hawaiian appeared first, on the far side of the ravine. His dark-skinned body blended with the shadows on the trail and he moved fast, running at a steady pace.
Steel kept his head low and looked for the others. They weren’t visible on the trail behind the Hawaiian. Lowering to his stomach, he squirmed to the far side of the rock, out onto the trail so he could see farther behind the Hawaiian.
The bearded man was partially visible behind a tree across the ravine, his gun pointed at Steel’s position. Steel searched until he found the third man, running in the trees, ten yards in from the trail and parallel to the Hawaiian. Soon the tall man would be above the cliff bordering the trail and out of sight.
Steel didn’t think they could see him, but he understood the three men were executing a precise military maneuver. The bearded man would make sure no one would surprise the Hawaiian from the top of the hill. The ravine ran thirty yards across. Even adding in the hill’s elevation, the bearded man would have a good line-of-sight to Steel.
He crawled backward. When the rock provided cover, he moved to the other side of it and sat down. Pulling up his knees, he rested his gun on them and sighted down the path.
He wouldn’t see the Hawaiian until the man was halfway up the hill, but at least he would remain out of sight of the bearded man. In addition, the tall man in the trees would have an obstructed view of him.
As he waited, he concluded that Danker or Sorenson had probably set up a Blackhood Op to target him, Francis, and Christie. The men chasing them were not just hired killers, but professional Army elite. It would explain the killers’ skill sets. And they wouldn’t stop until they fulfilled their contract. It verified Christie’s story that Danker had sold her out—she was a loose end he wanted gone. It didn’t make him feel any differently about her.
The Hawaiian rounded the bottom curve in the trail and disappeared out of sight. In a minute he appeared running up the path. Abruptly he stopped, gun in hand, staring up the hill.
Steel squeezed the trigger just as the Hawaiian jumped to the side of the trail. He missed the shot.
A bullet whined off the rock he sat behind. That shot had to come from the bearded man. Steel glanced down the trail. The Hawaiian must have his back pressed against the hill along the path, remaining out of sight.
The tall man might run inland and try to get ahead of him on the trail. He had to get out.
After squeezing off two quick shots at the trail near the hidden Hawaiian—to hold him at bay—Steel twisted onto his belly and rapidly crawled away from the rock farther along the trail. Two more shots struck the muddy path in dull plops two feet to his side, startling him. The bearded man must have moved forward for a better angle.
The Hawaiian might be running up the hill, yet Steel couldn’t risk getting up until he was sure he was out of sight. He hadn’t planned this badly. These men were just that good.
He crawled to the safety of another large rock, got to his knees, and risked a crouch. A shot pinged off the rock. Remaining low, he ran for it. He rounded a bend and left the trail to head inland.
Sunset was closing in, creating dark shadows among the trees.
A hint of pale skin appeared some fifty yards ahead of Steel. The tall man. That startled him. If the Hawaiian caught up to him while he was in the woods, they would have him in a crossfire. He ran faster t
hrough the waist-high ferns, lush grass, and young eucalyptus trees with narrow trunks, trying to close the distance before the killer became aware of him.
The tall man disappeared for a few moments.
Wary, Steel slowed his speed until he spotted the shoulder of the man behind a tree. Dropping to one knee, he took aim.
A warning shout erupted behind him. The Hawaiian.
Steel squeezed the trigger twice.
He thought he missed, but the tall man stumbled out from behind the tree, toward the trail, firing at him. The killer had a bloody shoulder and made wild shots.
Steel was still trapped by the man’s position. He shot him twice more.
The man fell forward, face down.
Steel ran for the trail. Glancing back, he saw a flash of the Hawaiian’s blue shirt. Pausing, he took one shot at the man to make him worry, and then sprinted.
Some fifty yards farther down, he ran out of the woods onto the path, running as fast as the muddy trail would allow.
CHAPTER 71
Hopping on one foot, wet and chilled, Christie felt as if all the energy was expelled from her body. Like a pricked balloon. All that kept her moving was her will to live. The exertion exhausted Francis too, but he didn’t complain and supported as much of her weight as possible. His shoulders slumped beneath her arm on every step.
The path became more treacherous. With the arrival of sunset and the constant rain it became difficult to see where the ground was solid, instead of just coated with a deceptive layer of mud.
Her sandal kept slipping off. Eventually she just left it behind in the mud. They couldn’t waste time every few steps for her to put it back on. Her bare foot paid the price—whenever she hopped onto a sharp stone she winced. Soon several small cuts marred the sole of her foot, leaving tiny dark markers along the trail that the rain washed away.
Often she glanced over her shoulder, expecting the killers to gun them down. It kept her back stiff.
She tried to focus on their goal. The stream. She didn’t know how much farther they had to go. Even if they made it to the stream ahead of their pursuers, they had no weapons to stop the killers from crossing.
Fifty more yards of trudging brought the sound of rushing water to her ears, barely audible over the rain that pattered against the foliage around them. They were walking along a level stretch five hundred feet above the sea.
When it ended she could see the dark stream far below. They would have to navigate their way through a series of switchbacks to reach the bottom.
After glancing back again, she clutched Francis’ arm and they began their descent.
CHAPTER 72
Steel ran as hard as he could. His calf injury made him wince, but he knew the other two men were close behind so he couldn’t slow down.
He strained to hear sounds over the noise of his own squishing feet and the rain, imagining he heard their pounding steps. The image of a gun aimed at his back spurred him on.
On any stretch that allowed an unobstructed view for over twenty yards, he looked back to make sure he wasn’t in their gun sights. He had managed to stay ahead of them. Perhaps they were following him with more caution because of his previous ambush.
He ran to the top of another small hill and stopped to peer ahead. Christie and Francis were a good distance farther along the path, but they had just begun the final descent down to the stream. Alarmed, he watched them disappear behind a hill. Moving at that pace they would never get across the stream before their pursuers caught up with them. That part was crucial.
Looking back, he spotted the Hawaiian running down the trail a quarter mile behind him. The bearded man wasn’t in sight.
Standing behind a tree, he took two quick shots, sliding back behind the tree as bullets bit into the trunk. The bearded man was still covering the Hawaiian. He peeked out past the other side of the tree trunk. The Hawaiian had disappeared. They were being cautious. Slowly he backed away from the tree, and then turned and ran.
He continued running, knowing he had to make a decision. If he delayed their pursuers again he would lose whatever lead he had, and thus might not make it across the stream. And in a standoff he doubted he would be as lucky against the remaining two men as he had been the first time.
At the bottom of a hill he came to a gully. He heard a distinct slap against a nearby tree and glanced over his shoulder.
The Hawaiian stood on the path sixty yards back, taking aim at him.
He pumped his legs harder, running off the path but paralleling it. There was little chance the killer would hit him at this distance, especially in the dusk with the rain and surrounding vegetation.
Abruptly he tumbled head over heels, landing in a heap against a log. His head struck it hard and his outstretched hand slapped against the wet wood. He managed to hang on to his gun.
His numbed limbs barely responded, but he pushed himself up. Dazed and confused about what had happened, he looked down. Blood on his right thigh. His leg began to burn, as if it had just discovered the gunshot wound. He ignored it and ran. If he waited any longer he wouldn’t be able to.
Stumbling along the trail, he glanced back. The Hawaiian still stood on the hill. Thick ferns and trees grew on either side of the path near him so maybe his pursuers weren’t sure if he was hit or had just dove for cover.
As soon as he broke out of the vegetation, the two men ran down the path after him. He was relieved they couldn’t see his leg wound. Stopping, he fired two shots at the killers. They ducked into the vegetation and he kept running.
His chest tightened with ragged breaths. His pursuers brought back memories of another chase, through another rainforest. There wasn’t any choice about trying to delay the killers now.
He had to make it to the stream.
CHAPTER 73
Christie stood with Francis at the edge of the stream and stared at the dark swirling eddies in front of them. Under different circumstances it would be the perfect place for an ambush. She gave Steel that much credit anyway.
But what he had called a stream looked deep and swollen with rain. She quickly concluded that it would be too risky for her to try to cross.
The rushing current had stretched to thirty feet wide, covering a dozen large, flat-topped rocks that formed a path from bank to bank. Six inches of gushing water flowed over the stones. Other rocks poked up from the surface along the stream’s course as it ran to the ocean. She couldn’t imagine hopping across the rocks with her injured ankle.
Two thick cables ran four feet above the stream, stretching from a large tree on the near bank to another large tree on the opposite bank. The far bank rose six feet above the water’s surface to a sparse tree line.
“Go,” she said.
Francis looked at her calmly. “I’ll help you.”
“We can’t go together. It’s not wide enough.” She turned to him. “I can’t make it. You’re our only chance. If you get across in time, they’ll think we’re both over. I don’t know about Steel, but we have to assume we’re on our own. Don’t waste any more time arguing.”
She hopped to the side of the trail and pointed up the hill to a clump of rocks. “I’ll hide myself up there.” Without looking back, she painfully eased herself to all fours and began climbing.
After a minute she turned, relieved to see Francis clinging to the cables and stepping across the stones. The lines sagged beneath his weight.
She continued her crawl upward, dragging her injured leg. On every movement her knees scraped against the rocky ground. Searching for solid handholds to pull herself up, she pushed with her good foot. The slippery ground felt like it had a coating of grease. Rocks skittered down behind her.
Images of gunmen running down the trail and shooting her in the back made her efforts more frenzied. The climb took whatever strength she had left and her whole body was shaking by the time she
reached her destination.
She drew herself behind the low pile of rocks, put down the umbrella, and pulled a few hand-sized rocks to her side. Taking ragged breaths, she lifted her head to watch Francis finish the crossing and climb the bank. He waved once, and then withdrew into the trees.
Footsteps slapped the ground not far away. With her eyes riveted on the trail, she picked up a rock and waited. She quickly reconsidered and lowered herself out of sight.
For a moment she thought about her parents and brothers, wishing she had called them over the past month for one last talk.
CHAPTER 74
Steel felt half dead as he pounded down the last switchback to the stream, barely able to see the smaller rocks he needed to avoid on the trail. His leg burned and he felt nauseous and weak.
The empty trail ahead contradicted his expectations. Christie and Francis had crossed the water. That gave him hope. They would have two guns between them and thus a better chance against the killers.
He stopped at the stream, whirled, and saw shadowy figures at the top of the hill. To buy himself a minute, he fired twice at the killers, forcing them to duck into cover off the trail. Ejecting his empty magazine, he reached for his spare—and didn’t find it.
The fall. He must have lost it then.
Shoving the gun inside his belt, he held the cables and stepped out onto the first rock, then the second. On the fourth his injured leg wobbled and his foot slid off the stone. The hissing stream caught it and threw him off balance. Water quickly churned around his knees as he hung onto the cables.
Twisting around, he saw two dark shapes descending the slope. That image kept him still for one moment, then like a madman he pulled himself hand over hand to the next rock.
***
Christie bit her lip as she peeked over the rocks at Steel. She remembered how fast he went up the rope in the woods on their first run. He moved almost that fast now. But he was dragging one of his legs. She hoped he had his gun.
Steel Force Page 24