by Elle James
Marly shook the wet strands of hair out of her face and glared across the table at the man with the shadowed face. “What do you want?”
The edge of his mouth turned up in a smile, the corner of which escaped the shadow. “That’s better. Now that I have your attention, tell me all you know about the American SEALs you brought to Kenya.”
She spit at the man’s face. The bastard wasn’t getting anything from her.
A sharp command from the man behind the desk yielded an explosive backhand that caught her chin and knocked her backward, chair and all.
Marly slammed against the floor, her head bouncing off the dirt. She lay still for only a moment, pain radiating from her chin and the back of her head.
Then she was jerked upright again before the table. Her head spun and she fought the bile roiling up her throat.
“You will tell me why you’ve transported these men from one country to another in Africa. What is their mission? Why are they here?”
Clamping her lips shut, she sat silent, refusing to respond.
Another command in Swahili, and this time Marly saw it coming. She cringed and shifted her head to the side as the big hand with the gnarly knuckles whacked her, this time catching her ear. She teetered in the chair but didn’t topple over.
“We could do this all night. Perhaps you need a different kind of incentive.” He spoke to the guard by the door, who then turned and left.
“We like to know who is muddying our operations on the continent and who is behind sending covert operatives. Whether you tell us or we find out another way, we will neutralize the problem and continue what we set out to do.”
Marly’s jaw tightened. “Oh, you mean human trafficking and stealing animals from preserves to sell for profit? You must feel all tough and powerful, preying on those weaker than you.”
He chuckled. “It’s business. A profitable business.”
The man was the lowest of low.
Marly’s anger spiked, pushing her to lash out. She lunged forward, tipping the chair enough that she could stand on her feet, albeit at an angle. Then she rushed forward, ramming the desk and hopefully the face of the man responsible for the people and animals trapped in cages.
He scrambled backward, knocking over the chair he’d been sitting on and falling over it to sprawl on the ground.
Marly’s momentum carried her onto the table. The legs on one side collapsed and she slid to the ground, landing on her side.
The guard with the killer backhand yanked her up and set her and the chair back where she’d been. He held out his hand to his boss and pulled him to his feet.
Marly’s hair hung in her face, obscuring her view of the man in the boonie hat. She wanted to see his face to be able to identify him when she made it back to the authorities. He had to be stopped.
He pulled the hat back in place, shadowing his face again, and set his chair back on its legs but didn’t sit. Instead, he walked around the table and stood in front of Marly, wiping blood from his chin. “You will pay for that outburst,” he said.
The second guard entered the building, pushing a woman in front of him. She was a beauty, with soulful brown eyes and skin the color of roasted coffee. She’d been crying, the salty traces of tears still evident on her cheeks. She wore a torn business suit incongruous with the rural village.
She spoke in French, appearing to beg the man in charge.
He ignored her pleas and addressed Marly in English. “Ms. Simpson, meet Celeste.”
Marly fought to keep from showing any sign of recognition. So this was the woman she’d been talking to on the other side of her cell wall.
“Since you refuse to cooperate with us, Celeste will pay for your obstinacy.”
Marly’s eyes narrowed. What did he mean?
“Shall we start over?” he asked and continued without waiting for her response. “What are the SEALs doing in Africa?”
“I don’t know,” Marly said.
Her captor spoke in Swahili.
Celeste’s eyes widened and she cried, “No!”
The guard who’d brought her into the building punched her in the gut.
Celeste doubled over and dropped to her knees.
“You dirty bastard!” Marly tried to get up again, but the guard behind her planted his hands on her shoulders and held her down.
“Celeste, darling,” the sadistic barbarian said in a calm and coaxing tone. “Ms. Simpson is the one responsible for your pain. Because she won’t answer a few simple questions, you will be punished.”
Celeste shook her head, clutching her belly, tears streaming down her cheeks. “S’il vous plaît. S’il vous plaît.”
Marly’s eyes stung. The bile threatened to rise up her throat again. “Don’t. She did nothing to deserve this.”
“Then tell me what I want to know,” the boss said.
Marly swallowed hard. “The SEALs went to Kenya on vacation.”
The boss spoke in Swahili. The guard behind Celeste yanked her to her feet and cocked his arm to hit her again.
“No!” Marly yelled. “Don’t hit her. Please, don’t hurt her. She did nothing. I’m telling the truth. They came for vacation.”
“You’re lying.”
The guard punched Celeste in the belly again. This time, she crumpled and landed on the floor hard, lying as still as death.
Guilt swelled in Marly’s chest. “They came for a safari. That’s all they came for,” she said, tears welling in her eyes.
“Then why did they interfere with my men?” he asked, his voice harsh. “Why were they armed?”
“They didn’t come to interfere with your men. But they couldn’t stand by and let your men kill the animals and steal their babies. That’s just who they are. As far as I know, they’re not on a mission. They came to relax.” Marly stared at Celeste lying so still on the floor, wondering if the guard had punctured her lung or ruptured her spleen. She prayed the woman was alive.
Even deeper in her heart, she prayed the SEALs would somehow find them and rescue them from this impossible situation.
Chapter Thirteen
Pitbull and his team searched inside and the outer perimeter of the resort compound and past the landing strip. They didn’t find any Tangos lying in wait to kill them or take out more guards, but they did find tire tracks in the dust on the far side of the aircraft landing field. They led away and connected to a road leading to and from the resort.
Buck had volunteered to stand guard on the dead men to keep the buzzards from making a meal out of their bodies. Everyone converged on Buck when they’d completed their search.
“Let’s go back to the house,” Harm said. “Maybe Talia could send the other guard with one of us to the nearest town to ask questions.”
Buck nodded toward the house. “Looks like the authorities are finally here.” A couple of men in official-looking uniforms strode toward them, followed by four more men carrying two stretchers.
The Kenyan detectives asked questions and made notes, took pictures and then motioned for the collection crew to load the bodies onto the stretchers.
Relieved of their bodyguard duties, the SEALs returned to the house and the office where T-Mac was working. The sun was well on its way toward the horizon, and as far as Pitbull knew, they still didn’t have a clue as to where Marly and her plane had been taken.
Talia paced the far end of the room, talking on the satellite phone. When the men entered, she nodded, acknowledging their presence. “Look. I need more guards to keep my clients safe. Do whatever it takes, but have at least two more out here before midnight.”
Pitbull headed straight for T-Mac. “Anything?”
T-Mac held up his hand. “Hang on.”
A kernel of hope sat in Pitbull’s belly, waiting for whatever T-Mac had to say.
The team’s compute
r guru’s fingers flew across the keyboard as he messaged someone on the other end of cyberspace.
“Ha!” T-Mac said as he clicked on a link the other guy provided. A dark screen appeared with numbers, letters and a lot of stuff Pitbull didn’t recognize.
“We found the plane,” T-Mac said. He pointed to the screen, where sets of numbers and letters flashed. “Our Marly was smart enough to set the transponder code to the hijack frequency 7500.”
“How did you know that’s the hijack code?” Pitbull asked.
“I told you I had a buddy who knows about airplanes. He helped me download the software that can monitor flights in the area. It took a while, but between the two of us, we found the airplane.”
The kernel of hope swelled, filling Pitbull’s chest. “Great. Where is she?”
“Looks like she’s headed into the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”
“Then what are we waiting for?” Pitbull started for the door. “Let’s go get her.”
T-Mac laughed. “We can’t get there on foot. We have to wait for the 160th Night Stalkers to arrive.”
As much as Pitbull wanted to be there when they found Marly, he wanted Marly to be safe, first and foremost. “Would it be faster for them to go directly after her?”
“They’re in the air now. It might be faster to divert them to her location than to come here first—if we knew where the plane would land.”
The blip on the screen blinked, giving Pitbull a little bit of reassurance that the plane was still flying, and Marly could be the pilot, alive and well. Getting to her would be his next hurdle, but as long as she was alive and okay, he could take a moment to be a little relieved.
Except not really. Until she was back with him, safe and sound, he would continue to worry and wish he wasn’t so hampered by time and space.
He stared at the monitor, the only lifeline he had between him and Marly.
Suddenly the blip disappeared.
Pitbull’s heart leaped into his throat. “What happened?”
“I don’t know.” T-Mac leaned toward the screen and keyed a message to his friend. Why did it disappear?
The friend instantly sent a message back. Let me check.
T-Mac waited, tapping his fingers on the desktop.
Pitbull paced behind him, his gaze on the monitor, willing the blinking light to reappear.
T-Mac’s friend messaged, Either someone turned off the transponder or the engine stopped running.
Pitbull leaned over T-Mac’s shoulder, reading the message. “What does he mean, the engine stopped running?”
“They could have landed and shut down the engine.” T-Mac glanced up at Pitbull. “The alternative is the plane crashed.”
The blood rushed out of Pitbull’s head, making him dizzy.
T-Mac touched his arm. “Look, I like Marly as much as you do. Okay, maybe not as much, but I choose to believe they landed.”
“Damn—” Pitbull cleared his throat of the knot forming there and started again. “Damn right, they did.” He strode toward Talia. “We need to find out where the 160th is and divert them to the plane’s last coordinates.”
Talia handed him the satellite phone.
“T-Mac, you got those coordinates?” Pitbull demanded.
“Got ’em.” T-Mac jotted the numbers on a pad and leaped from the chair.
Pitbull started to place the call to the 160th and stared across the room at Big Jake. “Do it.” He handed the phone to his teammate and waited while Big Jake made the call.
A moment later he was in touch with the 160th flight dispatch. “Where did you say they are?” Big Jake held the phone closer, his eyes narrowing. Then his face busted out in a big grin. “Great. Thanks. BJ out.” He ended the call and handed the phone to Talia. “Come, on team, we have a flight to catch.”
“Where are they?” Pitbull asked.
Big Jake pounded Pitbull on the back. “Landing as we speak.”
“Landing where?” Buck asked, yanking the gauze bandage from his head.
“Just outside the compound. Let’s go!” Big Jake took off running toward the back of the big house with Pitbull on his heels.
As soon as he exited the building, Pitbull could hear the reassuring thumping of rotor blades beating the air.
They ran through the stand of trees and emerged near the landing strip in a cloud of dust spun up by the two helicopters just touching their skids to the ground.
Pitbull had never been happier to see those helicopters with the gunners hanging out of the side doors, waving for them to climb aboard.
Other members of their team from back at Djibouti were on board, spread out between the two choppers. The men high-fived each other and helped them get settled and strapped in. Once they were all aboard, the helicopters took off.
“They know where we’re going?” Pitbull yelled over the roar of the engine and rotor blades.
Big Jake nodded. “They have the coordinates.”
As they flew toward Marly, their teammates pulled out weapons and handed them off to Big Jake, Buck and Pitbull. Diesel, Harm and T-Mac would be outfitted similarly on the other chopper. Their unit had been looking out for them. Of course, they’d give them hell about stirring up trouble on their vacation. But that would wait until they got back to Djibouti and they were all sitting around drinking beer.
Pitbull didn’t care, as long as they got to Marly in time to save her from the killers who’d taken out two guards to steal her and the plane she flew.
The sun descended to the horizon, slipping lower until it melted into the savanna. Darkness settled in and the stars popped out one by one, filling the sky with a blanket of diamonds.
Marly would have liked watching the sunset from the helicopter, and then she would have told him how much she liked viewing the sky without all the light pollution of the big cities. If he got her back...
Pitbull shook his head. No. When he got her back, he’d still have to let her go. She’d want to stay in Africa, and he had a job based out of Virginia. Hell, that bridge he needed to cross was coming far too fast. First things first, though. He had to get Marly back.
He wished he could fly in the cockpit as he had with Marly. At least then he could see where they were going and get a feeling for how much farther they had left to travel. Marly’s plane had flown for a few hours. To catch up to them, they’d have to fly for as long, maybe longer. He wasn’t sure how fast Marly’s plane flew, but it had to be faster than the Black Hawk helicopters.
Pitbull stared hard at the front of the aircraft, willing it to fly faster than it had ever flown before. The sooner they got to Marly, the better.
* * *
BECAUSE CELESTE HAD passed out, the boss decided to slap Marly around some more until she couldn’t see straight and barely hung on to consciousness. Finally, she let her head droop and half feigned unconsciousness. One more hit and she’d be out, but really, she could care less if they hit her as long as they took her back to the holding cell she’d left. At least there she had a chance of escaping. And she’d get Celeste out, even if she had to carry her out herself.
When the boss got bored with slapping her around, he waved to the guards, spoke in their language and then got up to leave.
The guards tossed the women over their shoulders like sacks of potatoes and carried them back to their respective cells.
Thankfully, Marly ended up in the one she’d worked on so hard. She was glad she’d done the work before they’d beaten her. After the way they’d treated her, she wasn’t sure she would have had the strength to dig all those holes in the wall. She wasn’t even sure she’d be able to climb up the wall and push her way through the thatch with her vision blurring and pain shooting through her head.
Once the guards dropped her on the ground, she lay there for a few minutes, listening to the sound of their boots as t
hey walked away. When she was sure they were gone, she dragged herself to her feet and leaned her head against the wall. “Celeste.”
No response.
“Celeste, please wake up.”
A moan sounded through the wall.
“That’s it. Wake up. I’m going to try to get out of here. Be ready for when I come to get you.”
“Non,” she said softly in her lovely French accent. “Je ne peux pas. I cannot.”
“Yes, you can. If I can get out, you can come with me. You have to help me get the others out. I can’t do it alone.”
Silence stretched for a few moments. Marly thought Celeste had slipped into unconsciousness again.
Then Celeste spoke. “I will be ready.”
Strengthened by the knowledge Celeste wasn’t dead or still out cold, Marly stood, fought back dizziness and climbed to the top of the wall. The underwire from her bra still hung in the thatch. She used it again to hack away at the thatch bindings, putting everything she had into the effort, finally breaking through.
Parting the thick grasses used to make the thatch proved to be harder. Dirt, dust and mildew had fused the strands together. She cut through it with the wire and despaired of ever seeing the stars again.
Suddenly the thatch parted and she could see clear sky with a plethora of twinkling diamonds shining down at her. A rush of tears stung her eyes. She blinked them back and continued widening the hole until she could fit her shoulders into it. Then she pulled her torso through, braced her feet on the wall below and pushed the rest of her body out. With her calves and ankles still trapped, she swayed, drinking in fresh air and freedom.
Footsteps crunching on gravel made her hunker close to the roofline. Below, a guard walked by, carrying a semiautomatic rifle slung over his shoulder, the barrel pointed at the ground. He appeared bored, his feet shuffling pebbles as he moved past.
Marly waited until he was out of sight around the corner of another structure before she pulled her feet out of the thatch. No sooner had she gotten them out than she fell backward, landing on the slick grass and sliding toward the edge of the roof.