Behind the Mask (Undercover Associates Book 4)

by Carolyn Crane

  Nearer, now. He melted into the shadows beside a moonlit tree. Somebody was sneaking up the ATV path that led to the greenhouse.

  He pulled his blades and moved toward the sound. People spoke about building up a store of goodwill; couldn’t he have a store of fear? Of soldiers staying away from him a while longer?

  He spotted the man moving along the side of the road, assault rifle at the ready. Was this man playing the hero, checking on the buildings up the road, or had he drawn the short straw?

  Mask fixed in place, Hugo stepped out onto the trail. He threw a warning knife, aiming it so that it whizzed by the man’s nose and stuck into a nearby tree. “The next hits you in the eye,” he said.

  “You are not Kabakas.” A blast of strobe lighting assaulted Hugo’s eyes as gunfire sounded. Hugo reacted instinctively. Even blind and diving for cover he could put a blade in a man’s eye.

  The shooting ceased as Hugo hit the ground. He rolled and came to a squat, bringing his hand to the stinging pain in his shoulder. Sticky wetness. It was beyond a nick and it stung like hell; his burn scars were torn and searing now, too, thanks to the roll.

  But nothing like the other guy, judging from the unholy moan he’d heard so often, that begging kind of moan, not quite a wail.

  The sound pierced Hugo to the core. He stood and spotted the guard on all fours on the trail. The strobe from the man’s rail mount still flashed, giving the bloody scene an unholy look. As Hugo approached, the man hovered his hand near the blade handle, wanting to pull it out of his eye, yet not. Sometimes they didn’t die right away.

  Hugo continued slowly toward him.

  The moaning had stopped, but even from yards away he could hear the man’s breath, frantic and ragged, more animal than human. Even his posture was animal-like, on hands and knees.

  Hugo had chosen the knife through the eye for its effectiveness, for the fear it inspired, but it really was barbaric. How had he become such a fighter?

  The man whimpered as Hugo crouched next to him.

  “Hermano,” Hugo said, placing a hand on the man’s shoulder.

  The man scrambled and fell onto his side. Blood streamed from the wound. “No, no, no…” Hands up defensively.

  “Okay, okay, it’s okay,” Hugo said in Spanish.

  The man trembled. He couldn’t see anything, but he knew Hugo was there.

  Hugo squeezed the man’s shoulder.

  “Qué Dios me proteja!” the man cried, terrified.

  Hugo’s heart slammed inside his chest. Even his help terrified the soldier, who moaned again, more quietly now, as the strobe flashed on, harsh and cold. The moan twisted painfully inside Hugo, and he reached down, grabbed the blade handle, slipped it from the man’s eye, and drew it cleanly across the man’s throat. The man jerked, then stilled. Hugo kept his hand on the man’s shoulder, feeling the terror, the waning life.

  He’d killed dozens like this, and this would be how they all had died—terrified, bewildered. He’d never stayed with them as they died.

  “You’re okay now,” he said softly. A lie. Nothing was okay—not for either of them.

  The man had doubted that he was Kabakas. Perhaps they both had.

  Hugo stood and crushed the strobe mount under his boot. The darkness was back. He left the body on the trail. A sign: Take heed. Kabakas is about.

  He prowled the perimeter, ignoring the sting of the bullet wound and the tearing pain of his burn scars; the feeling of being with that dying man cut deepest. He’d never stayed with them.

  The birds had quieted. Even the jungle floor had grown gloomier. How many had he killed like that? Hundreds?

  Time was up. He headed back in, glad for the mask that covered his face.

  “It’s you.” She emerged from the shadows and flicked on the flashlight, revolver in her hand. “I heard shots.”

  “One man. Handled.”

  She looked beautiful in the ambient glow. “It’s nearly cracked. Ruiz is a motherfucker.”

  “You have the recipe?”

  “Almost. We’re going to kick this thing.” She set the weapon and light on a table. “It’s simple. This is a simple, vicious recipe. Not even elegant.”

  He nodded.

  “Take off your mask and stay awhile.” She cocked her head. “What’s wrong?”

  “We’ll have company soon. Not now, but soon.”

  “I’m waiting for something to process. I need fifteen minutes more.”

  His heart sank. “I’ll see that you have it.”

  His breath hitched as she rounded the table, coming to him, eyes meeting his, even through the mask. If only he had a mask to cover his soul.

  Again he saw that fury, as though he was a living thing she needed to save, even as he stood there soaked in death. “You’re shot.”

  “Grazed.”

  She eyed the wound, Then she pushed up the mask, baring his face. He closed his eyes.

  He couldn’t stand being bare to her so soon after that kill. Who was he to love this woman? To raise a boy like Paolo? He could still hear the man’s terrified last breaths.

  “Hey, you.” She kissed him.

  He received it stiffly. He didn’t want her to see him like this or to touch him like this.

  She gripped his forearms. “What?”

  He shook his head.

  “Say more,” she said.

  “I can’t.”

  “Whatever you did, you had to, okay? Somebody out there was shooting at you. I see the evidence. Don’t forget that I’m a trained operative.”

  “I went to him as he died,” he told her. “The sounds he made…”

  She listened, steady as sunshine.

  “I pulled the blade from his eye and cut his throat. I told myself it was to end his pain, but in truth, it was to end mine.”

  “Oh, Hugo.” She pressed her fingers into his arms, as if to go deeper into him. Best if she didn’t. For her, anyway. “You had no choice out there.”

  He shook his head. He could barely hear her now.

  “Don’t shut me out.”

  Too late. It was as if she was speaking through a tube at the other end of the night, and he was still down there feeling the man’s terror.

  She pushed him back against the door and took hold of his hand, pulling off his gloves, loosening the fingers as he had. “You were protecting our mission. You were protecting me.”

  His gaze returned to hers. “I always will.” He let her work him like a rag doll.

  She pulled off the gloves and tossed them aside. She brought his hand to her mouth and pressed her lips to his palm, kissing him softly there. Then she pressed his hand flat against her pounding heart. “This is how my man feels to me. This is what my man does to me.” She gazed up at him. “You make me feel alive again. Because I love you.”

  She loved him.

  Her words were a jolt. He had never imagined the world could become even more dangerous and brilliant than it already was. He gazed down at her, full of unruly love for her. She destroyed him, this woman.

  “Everything you are.” She kissed him then, trapping his hand between them. “Everything.” Right then a bell dinged. “Damn. I have to mix something.” She went to a glass vessel.

  “You need more time,” he said.

  “Just a little.”

  “You’ll have it.” He lowered the mask and stumbled out. He had the boy and he had the village and he had her, now, and he loved her and he would forever, and by some miracle she loved him, too. He would be this hateful thing for her. He would be whatever she needed.

  The jungle was quiet. He walked a pattern that bisected every possible approach, running the logistics in his mind. He’d been on plenty of fighting forces that needed to move out and mobilize quickly, and that was what he was pondering now: how fast could El Gorrion pull all of those men off the compound, down the road and up to the labs? How ready were they? Would he leave his compound vulnerable?

  The one soldier had doubted he was Kabakas. Wo
uld that embolden them? Did sparing those few men mean that he would now have to kill many?

  Surely he and Zelda would be gone by the time any large group could get to the greenhouse. Moving that many men was never quick. It only meant that they couldn’t leave the way they came.

  He traversed the area quickly now, playing the guard dog. He thought they were home free when thirteen minutes were up. That was when he heard the engine, gunning for the greenhouse. A Jeep.

  He doubled back toward the trail.

  He heard the shouts when they discovered their fallen comrade. Four or five of them, it sounded like.

  He moved forward and watched through the trees as they pulled the body onto the back. They would leave now. And he’d get Zelda out of there. Guns came off backs. Voices raised.

  The driver shoved the Jeep into gear, but they didn’t turn or head back down. They continued on up, speeding toward the greenhouse.

  Toward her.

  Everything in him sprang to attention as he sprinted madly after the vehicle, using everything. They were moving fast, but he was faster. He put a blade in the tire. The vehicle jerked. One of the men twisted around, caught sight of him, and shouted. The driver gunned it.

  Damn.

  They pulled away, speeding around a curve. Hugo crashed through the woods and threw, hitting the driver in the jugular. The Jeep smashed into a tree and the soldiers scrambled out and took cover behind the vehicle. The soldiers, the vehicle, him stalking. Like the airfield in miniature.

  Hugo was out in the open, coming for them, an invitation soldiers never seemed to resist.

  Soon a soldier raised his head over the edge of the Jeep to shoot and Hugo took him in the eye.

  You always needed an eye to shoot.

  Silence. Another came up to shoot and he took him, then two came up and he took them both.

  He didn’t wait for them to die. He ran the half mile up to the greenhouse. She was ready.

  “We take the long way,” he said. “Hurry.”

  “You had trouble,” she said, following him out.

  “I don’t know why they didn’t wait for backup,” he said. “Brave. Stupid.”

  They took off into the deep foliage. They used his swords to cut through the worst of the undergrowth. More vehicles were coming up the mountainside—you could hear them in the distance. Why hadn’t the men in the Jeep waited for their people?

  Shouts rang out.

  “We’re leaving a massive trail,” she breathed.

  Nothing to be done. They zigzagged through a clearing and made a loop. It would confuse them. After an hour of hard going, they hit another ATV trail, yards down. They stole an actual ATV, and then a Jeep, probably El Gorrion’s. It wasn’t long until they found the main road.

  “Home free,” she said.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Hugo drove. The sting of the wound was worsening, but he knew the roads.

  Some miles beyond El Gorrion’s compound, they passed a row of stalls set up to the side of an overlook—a cliff edge enclosed by railings. It was the sort of place tourists liked to photograph themselves in front of, the great green valley sprawling below the wild peaks of the Andes.

  “Jelly Belly jelly beans!” she exclaimed, pointing at one of the stands. “We have to stop! It’s my successful mission treat. Please, Hugo. I always have to have Jelly Bellies at a time like this. Let me buy some for you. If they have a good assortment, I’ll show you how to make a blueberry muffin in your mouth. That’s the absolute best kind.”

  “The savinca,” he said.

  “Five minutes won’t make a difference. It’s bad luck not to stop.”

  So few things would drive him to such a frivolous stop. He hurt, but that didn’t mean she had to. He found a place to pull over and they walked back toward the overlook together, passing the few vehicles that were parked along the side. No people, though. Hiking, perhaps. “Strange, I think, that they should have such a candy for sale here.”

  She took his hand and pulled him along, smiling. “It’s a good sign that they have such a candy for sale.”

  They paused at the railing together. She insisted on checking his wound. He allowed it. She could do nothing, but he enjoyed the feel of her care.

  Back at the lab, her tests had come out beautifully, she told him. She’d worked out a formula, like a recipe—the amount of crushed Luquesolama stone to put in a gallon of water. He’d teased her, of course—you need a recipe for everything, he’d said.

  She’d just smiled. She loved him.

  He wanted to say it back to her, but more than that, he wanted to show her, to make it feel real to her. He would not have her imagine that he was saying it merely because she had.

  They passed the outlook. A few of the stands stood unattended. Where were the vendedores? They would not leave their stands like this. But then, he looked over at her and he felt warmed by her smile and the way her dark hair glowed in the sunshine and the knowledge that the Savinca verde would now be saved. She drew him to the Jelly Belly stand with its many rows of plastic boxes, each with different colors of jelly beans. So many flavors. She pointed at a box with just two blue ones in it and asked the woman there if she had more blueberry ones in her perfect Spanish.

  “Only two left,” the old woman told her.

  Zelda nodded. “I’ll take both of those…” She went on to select two dozen candies. The woman collected them into a paper sack. Zelda insisted on paying.

  They headed back to the scenic overlook, Zelda rooting in the bag as they walked. Hugo steered her around the potholes. She knew he would do that, and he did.

  She picked out two blue ones and a yellow for him. “This is how you make a blueberry muffin taste. Put the yellow in your mouth first, then the two blues.” She held them out. “It’s the best ever.”

  “There were only two left. They are for you.”

  “I want you to have them. Please.”

  “If this is your favorite…”

  “That’s why I need you to have it,” she said. “If you don’t taste it, how can we discuss how delicious it is later on? Come on—you’ll love it.”

  He could not resist her. He ate the yellow first, as instructed, then the blues.

  She popped reds and browns into her mouth. “Chocolate-covered cherry,” she said, chewing. “Second-best taste.”

  “Americans,” he teased.

  She watched his face as he ate the muffin combination, wanting him to react.

  “Strange and sweet,” he said. But then, everything was strange and sweet when she was around.

  “Did it taste like a blueberry muffin?” she asked.

  He pulled her close and breathed in the scent of her hair. “I will tell you when I eat a blueberry muffin.”

  She rolled her eyes and pushed him away and leaned over the rail, gazing out over the valley. “It’s beautiful, the way the shadow and light go in streaks. It makes this crazy feeling in my heart to look at it.”

  It was how he felt, looking at her.

  They stood in silence for a moment. “The one on the airfield—when you take them down with the barongs like that,” she began, “is it him you’re killing? Your father, I mean? The one who beat you?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “Does it help?” she asked.

  “Sometimes,” he said, trying to conceal the weariness in his voice. He tightened his arms around her. He had the impulse, suddenly, to lay his head on her shoulder and rest his eyes. He hadn’t realized how weary he was. He fought it.

  “Does it bother you if I ask questions like that?”

  “It’s not the questions that bother me.”

  She rested her arms over his. “If we can follow up the solution with a good fertilizer, next year could be even better for the savincas.” She turned to him with her back on the rail.

  He held her shoulders, feeling a sudden sense of vertigo. “Don’t fall,” he said.

  “You won’t let me.”

  He kissed
her, then, and he realized that he was happy. Simply happy. It was astonishing, this feeling. But the dizziness—the dizziness was not right.

  She fished more jelly beans from the paper sack. “Oranges are good, too.”

  He gripped the rail, caging her, squinting out over the valley. What was happening?

  The sweet cherry scent of the candies she chewed wafted up to him. “Running the Associates, I know we make a difference out there, but it’s all felt so theoretical for so long,” she said. “But with Buena Vista…if we can start treating the soil, we can bring those livelihoods back. There’s this other situation out there, this tanker crisis the Association is concerned about. It’s bad but there’s always another solution, you know? There has to be. If not the one that I offered…” She seemed to be talking to herself, about solutions, finding ways to solve things. One door opening when another closed. He wasn’t listening. Deep breaths made the dizziness better.

  The sack crinkled. She had another candy for him. “Cherry. Open up.”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Come on.” She tugged on his lip and he opened and she put another candy in, and then closed his jaw and kissed him. What this how normal people acted? Silly like this?

  “You like?”

  He took her hand. He’d never imagined that he could have this. Somebody who saw what he was and still loved him—not just a part of him, but all of him. He loved her, too. He needed to get his balance back, to tell her, to show her. “Zelda—” Alarm shot through him as the world became fuzzy.

  “Hugo, what is it?”

  “Drugged…” He grabbed onto the rail. He was losing his balance. The candies.

  She clutched his shoulders. Urgent, animated words came from her lips but he felt consumed by the dizziness. She seemed surprised and angry and so far away. Who was she speaking to? Him?

  He went to his knees. She was trying to pull him up, voice raised. He could no longer focus.

  He felt several pairs of hands on him—experienced hands—fighters’ hands—guiding his fall.

  His limbs felt heavy, trapped in taffy. Zelda’s voice—arguing? Giving orders? He turned toward the sound, trying to focus on her face.