Jake removed the gas mask from his belt, fixed it over his head, and walked to the center of the room. Through the gas, he saw the soldier he’d shot in the ass continue to cough. Jake kicked him in the head, too, and the man slumped over. He scooped up the canister and pressed its button, killing the gas.
At the console, he scanned nine monitors. On one, an armed soldier rounded the cellblock corner on the third floor. On another, Maria climbed the metal stairs to the fourth level. And on another, a man was reading with his back to the camera in the only cell with a light on.
Andre Santiago.
Jake searched the buttons and toggle switches, but they were labeled in French, so he tried them all. With each movement, he glanced at the windows looking out on the cellblock. Lights went on and off. Fans started and stopped. The cellblock doors unlocked.
Bingo.
Gunfire erupted outside, creating a patch of spiderweb cracks in the bulletproof glass. Glancing at a monitor, Jake saw a soldier unleashing his machine gun at the control station.
Cat’s out of the bag.
On the monitors, Jake watched Andre dive to the floor of his cell with his hands over his head; on the fourth level, Maria raised her machine gun to her shoulder and blasted away.
Bullets strafed the cement floor outside the station, and the soldier firing at Jake screamed and dropped his gun as he fell.
Good girl.
On the monitors, he saw the soldier on the fourth floor run around the corner.
Maria!
Jake bolted across the room and out the door, ripping off his gas mask just in time to witness the dark soul of the soldier Maria had shot rise from his corpse and fade. The cellblock’s architecture prevented him from seeing Maria or the soldier advancing on her. He called Maria’s name but doubted she could hear him over the machine gun fire. Backing up against the far wall with tall windows, he saw Maria stop firing. He didn’t see the soldier she had just shot, but he glimpsed the flickering dark light of the man’s soul.
Maria headed for Santiago’s cell, but fresh machine gun fire pressed her back, bullets ricocheting off the bars around her. She opened the door to an empty cell. Jake spotted the soldier who was firing on a catwalk perpendicular to the cell block, level with Maria. He aimed his Glock but knew the man was too far away to hit with accuracy.
Then Jake heard footsteps behind him, coming from around the corner of the closet they had used to enter the prison. Turning, he saw two soldiers running in his direction twenty yards away. Without giving them the chance to get any closer, he dropped to one knee and opened fire. It took four shots to bring them down and two more to finish them off. Their souls rose in tandem.
The soldier on the catwalk continued to fire at Maria, who dropped to the floor for safety.
Jake ran to the corpse of the man Maria had shot outside the control room and seized his machine gun. Holding the gun over his stump, he fired a blast at the guard on the catwalk, strafing the wall below. The man spun in his direction. Jake fired again, covering a wide area in a haphazard manner. The man screamed and slumped against the wall.
Jake didn’t wait to see the soldier’s soul rise. There’s got to be one more around here somewhere, he thought as he charged up the stairs, his boots clanging on metal. When he reached the third level, he saw the missing soldier duck around the far corner. Faced with going after the man or joining Maria, he continued upstairs.
On the fourth level, he made eye contact with Maria, who had trained her machine gun on him. He pointed at the far end of the platform, and she joined him. They stood still, listening. Footsteps echoed on the ground floor, and the last soldier bolted for the control station.
“I can’t aim this thing!” Jake said. “Take him out before he sounds the alarm.”
Without hesitation, Maria raised the machine gun’s stock to her shoulder and took aim. Jake stepped away and she fired. The gunfire cut across the soldier’s back, toppling him.
She lowered the gun, a shocked look on her face. “I shot him in the back …”
“This isn’t the street; it’s a war. Come on.”
They ran across the platform to the illuminated cell.
Its occupant backed up against the wall beside his toilet. He appeared to be sixty, tall and slender, with tight gray hair and reading glasses.
Jake raised his machine gun in a nonthreatening manner. “Come with us, Mr. Santiago.”
The man’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”
“Your wife sent us,” Maria said. “We’re taking you to Miami.”
Andre rushed over to a small table and hefted a boxful of hardcover books.
“You can’t bring those,” Jake said.
“These are my journals. Thirty years’ worth of writings. I’m not going anywhere without them.”
“Whatever you say. Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
“There’s another prisoner below us.”
“Sorry. He’s on his own.”
They hurried along the platform to the stairs.
“Are you mercenaries?” Andre said.
“No, just Americans who want to police the world,” Jake said.
“Thank you!”
They descended the stairs, and on the third level heard a voice call out, “Maria!”
Oh no, Jake thought as all three of them turned their heads.
A man in priest’s robes stood outside a cell, clinging to its door for support.
“Father Alejandro!” Maria ran over to the man.
“No, no, no, no,” Jake said.
Andre leaned close to him. “It looks like your partner has broader concerns than you.”
Jake grunted. “Let’s hope her compassion doesn’t get us all killed. We’ve gone through a lot to get you out of here.”
“No doubt for great reward.”
Jake pressed his machine gun into Andre’s hands. “Stay here.” He hurried along the platform as Maria draped one of the priest’s arms around her shoulders.
What the hell?
Then he saw the bandaged stump where the man’s right foot should have been, and his stomach twisted.
“This is Father Alejandro from St. Anthony’s,” Maria said. “He helped save my life.” Her tone made it clear she did not intend to leave him behind.
“Let me take him. We need your hands free.” Jake wrapped his right arm around Alejandro’s back. “Father.”
Alejandro put an arm over Jake’s shoulders, and Jake grasped his wrist.
“I’ve heard about you. I thought we’d never meet.”
They made their way to the stairs.
This isn’t good, Jake thought.
Andre held out his hand to Alejandro. “It’s good to see you face-to-face.”
“Same here.”
Jake sighed. “Can we just get the hell out of here? Hopefully our men took out the guard towers, but according to our intel, there are still two soldiers left.”
A deafening alarm rang out, and Jake and Maria glanced at each other.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Maria touched down on the dimly lit station’s floor first. Shining her flashlight up the shaft, she watched Andre descend with his box of books clutched under one arm, then Father Alejandro, who hopped down one rung to the other awkwardly, and finally Jake, with only one hand.
What a motley bunch, she thought.
“Problem number one,” Jake said. “There are four of us and only three dollies.”
“That’s not a problem. Father Alejandro and I are both small. We can share my dolly.”
Jake glanced at the dollies with a skeptical expression. “That will mean twice as much weight.”
“That’s okay. We’ll have four hands instead of two to push the bar.”
“Fine. You two go first.”
“Uh-uh. We’ll go last. If anyone tries to follow us, I’ll be able to use this.” Maria tapped her machine gun. “You go first. If there’s any trouble at Jorge’s end, you’ll be able to deal with it a hell of
a lot easier than Mr. Santiago.” She glanced up the shaft. “Hurry!”
Jake climbed on top of the first dolly.
Maria set her foot on the dolly’s edge and shoved it forward, sending Jake into the dark tunnel. She gestured at the dolly. “Get the picture?” she said to Andre.
“Vividly.” Andre clambered onto the second dolly and grasped its bar.
Maria set the box containing Andre’s journals on his thighs. “It’s a quarter of a mile to the other end. You’ll be there in no time.” She sent him on his way, then reached for the dolly leaning against the wall.
Up above, fists pounded on the supply closet door.
Maria set the last dolly on the tracks. “You first, Father.” She helped him onto the dolly. “Go on. Grab the bar.”
“What about you?”
Machine gun fire blasted the door above.
Jake arrived at the other end of the tunnel, and Jorge helped him to his feet.
“That was a hell of a smoother landing than the first one,” Jake said, grateful to be out of the narrower tunnel.
Jorge raised the lantern, which cast gloomy light around them. “Armand and Stephane took care of the guard tower sentries.”
“Yeah? Too bad they didn’t get the patrol in the yard.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. For all we know, extra men were posted out there. There’s no accounting for the unexpected.”
“Did you get Le Père?”
As if on cue, Andre emerged from the tunnel. Sitting up, he grabbed his box of books, and Jake and Jorge helped him out.
“Mr. Santiago, I’m Jorge De Jesus. I’ve looked forward to this day for a long time.”
“Not as long as I have.” Andre clasped Jorge’s shoulder. “But thank you for everything.”
“Step away from that opening,” Jake said as he cleared the second dolly from the tracks.
They stared into the tunnel.
“What’s taking them so long?” Jorge said.
Jake bit his lip. “Maria had to set the last dolly on the tracks, and we had an unanticipated complication.”
“Father Alejandro,” Andre said.
Jake didn’t see Jorge’s reaction because he was staring into the tunnel’s darkness. A faint light appeared, like a firefly. “Here they come!”
Jorge held the lantern above the opening, and Jake waited for the last dolly to arrive. He heard the wheels on the tracks and the steady sound of pumping. The dolly rocketed out of the tunnel and ground to a halt in the dirt. Alejandro released his grip on the bar and sat up, shaking his head.
Jake felt numbness spreading through him. “Where the hell’s Maria?”
Using the dolly’s arm for leverage, Alejandro stood. “We didn’t both fit. She told me to take the dolly and said she’d crawl behind me.”
“And you listened to her?”
“She’s a very persuasive woman with a machine gun, and I’m a priest with one foot.”
“Help me get this dolly back on the tracks,” Jake said.
Andre set down his books, and he and Jorge lifted the dolly.
“Turn it around. I need to see where I’m going in case she really is crawling in there. If I crash into her I’ll kill her.”
They positioned the dolly as Jake ordered, and Jorge switched the arm from one side to the other.
Jake climbed aboard. “Give me that machine gun. I can’t pump and shoot at the same time, but maybe Maria will need it.”
Andre fit the machine gun under Jake’s leg.
“You’ll never both fit,” Alejandro said.
“We’ll manage. Give me a headlight.”
Jorge wedged Jake’s flashlight into the side of the arm. “I don’t think this will help …”
“You guys get going. We’ll catch up. Send me to El Miedo!”
Jorge set his foot behind the dolly and gave it a sharp kick, sending Jake back into danger. Jake pumped the bar with all his strength.
Stubborn. Fucking. Woman!
He promised never to allow Maria to use logic to sway him against his gut instincts again. Raising his head, he saw little but darkness. The flashlight made the tunnel on Jake’s left-hand side gleam but provided no more illumination than the spotlight on the arm.
I’ll go as fast as I can, then slow way down when I reach the halfway point.
He saw something ahead: faint orange light, growing brighter.
Oh, shit!
He pulled the bar in reverse as hard as he could, braking the dolly, then grabbed the arm, jerked it out, and shoved it into the opposite hole. Throwing his head back, he pumped the bar. The orange light grew brighter, closer. He pumped faster and harder, but the fireball gained on him. In seconds, he felt the light and heat on his face. Then he shot through the tunnel’s opening and slammed into the dirt.
“Get down!” Jake rolled off the dolly and over to the side wall, where he lay facedown in the dirt. A sheet of orange flames escaped the tunnel, followed by another and another. When the fire seemed to have abated, he jumped up and sprinted over to the cinder-block wall beside the tunnel’s opening, where he felt safe. “Is everyone okay?”
“Oui!” Jorge called out. “Our feathers are just a little singed.”
Bending over, Jake stared into the tunnel. If Maria had been in there, the fire would have burned her to death. If she hadn’t, there was no way he could safely travel the tunnel if the soldiers on the other end discharged another fireball.
Damn it!
Pounding the cinder-block wall, he wanted to call out for Maria, but under either of the scenarios he had envisioned, it was best that the soldiers considered the rest of them dead for as long as possible. With tears in his eyes, he joined his companions.
“What the hell was that?” Alejandro said.
“A flamethrower.” Jake saw that Jorge and Andre supported the priest between them. “What about your precious books?”
“Fuck ‘em,” Andre said.
“I’m sorry about this, Mr. Helman,” Alejandro said. “So very, very sorry.”
“Maria’s Catholic. I should have figured she’d take a chance like this. You boys run ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute.”
As the three men hobbled off, Jake retraced his steps until the beam of his flashlight revealed Andre’s box of journals. Jamming the flashlight under his left arm, he scooped up the box.
I really hope you’re the real deal, Andre.
Making his way through the oppressive darkness, he rejoined the others.
“Thank you,” Andre said. “You didn’t have to do that. I’m sorry about your friend.”
Jake didn’t care if they noticed his tears in the glare of his flashlight. “You can thank me and honor Maria’s wishes by moving faster.”
The sounds of their scuffling grew more urgent.
“Why are you doing this if you’re not a mercenary, Mr. Helman?”
Jake pointed his flashlight at the ground ahead. “Your wife had a niece.”
“Ramera.”
“Among other names. She flooded New York City with Black Magic and turned my best friend into a raven. My friend managed to kill her anyway. I’m told that because of their shared bloodline, Miriam is the only Mambo who can reverse the spell. Your freedom is the cost of her services.”
Silence hung in the air. Jake realized he had not discussed Edgar’s condition with anyone on Pavot Island. Now he didn’t care if they believed him or not.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” Andre said. “And I’m sorry my wife probably got Miss Vasquez killed on what amounted to a suicide mission. I’m afraid her devotion to the concept of my freedom has become an obsession.”
“Edgar was—is—Maria’s friend, too. She wanted to come here. No one forced her. She knew what chances she was taking, and when she sent Alejandro into the tunnel alone she knew what sacrifice she was making.”
Jake needed to shut down his emotions. It was the only way he could survive this ordeal. He intended to send Andre
to Miami without him. At least Edgar would be saved. He didn’t care about Malvado, Andre, Father Alejandro, Mambo Catoute, Jorge, Armand, or Stephane. He didn’t care about Russel or avenging Maria’s death.
You can’t get revenge against an entire army.
He didn’t give a damn about Pavot Island or anywhere else for that matter. With Maria dead, he wanted only one thing: enough Black Magic to make his pain go away, regardless of the consequences. He felt dead already. And Pavot Island was the perfect place to find Magic.
“Jorge! Jorge!” Armand’s voice came over Jorge’s hand radio.
“I couldn’t break radio silence to call him,” Jorge said as he unfastened the radio from his belt and raised it to his mouth. “Go ahead.”
“They’re closing in on us. What the hell’s going on down there?”
“We have Le Père. We’re halfway through the main tunnel.”
“Hurry. We have to get out of here!”
“We’re moving as fast as we can. We have an injured member of our party.”
“They have Maria.”
Jake jerked his head up. “What?”
“They’re loading her into a helicopter in the prison right now.”
Jake’s heart beat faster.
“Go ahead,” Andre said. “You’re not doing anything now except hold that flashlight anyway.”
Jake glanced at the box of books in his hands, then at Andre.
“Like I said before: fuck ‘em.”
Jake looked at each man, then dumped the box and ran ahead.
It was like running blind. Jake pumped his arms for speed, and the beam of the flashlight in his hand bounced around the tunnel walls, floor, and ceiling, disorienting him more than lighting the way.
She’s alive! Maria’s alive!
He tripped, flew through the air, and crashed to the ground, tasting dirt. With one hand missing, just getting up required extra effort. His feet projected him forward, he regained his balance, and he plunged ahead.
Jorge had said a man in decent shape could run a quarter mile in sixty-eight seconds. Jake doubled that figure to account for the darkness. Then his shoulder slammed into a support beam, and he plowed into dirt once more. He reached up to massage his right shoulder, praying he hadn’t dislocated it again, only to flail at empty space with fingers he no longer possessed.
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