Jungle Inferno

by Desiree Holt

  Except who? Someone besides you? Please tell me more.

  But this time she was sure he was gone. The sense of his presence faded away.

  She pulled out her cell phone and dialed Tia. “Hi. Just wondering if you’ve had a chance to pull anything together yet.”

  Tia laughed. “This must be some book running around in your brain. Usually you give me at least twenty-four hours.”

  “Yes, it is. I’m really anxious to get started on it.”

  “Well, lucky for you I couldn’t sleep last night, so I’ve made serious inroads in what you asked for.”

  “Great.” Excitement nipped at her. “Could you meet me at my house? I…had to run an errand but I’ll be home in about fifteen minutes.”

  “Sure.” Tia chuckled. “What else would I do with my life?”

  “You are a gem and a treasure,” Faith told her. “See you in a bit.”

  Chapter Five

  Tia was waiting at the house, sitting on the porch swing, when Faith pulled into the driveway. She picked up her briefcase and followed her into the garage.

  “I’ve been busy, boss,” she grinned. “Just like I said.”

  “I didn’t mean for you to stay up all night,” Faith told her. “Come on in. I’ll make tea for me and—ugh—coffee for you. I’ve had enough to last me for a while. I’ve switched to tea. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  Tia sat at the kitchen table while Faith set everything to brewing, then opened her briefcase and took out a thick folder of printouts. “I swear, I don’t know why anyone goes to jail in this country for leaking secrets. Most of it is on the internet for anyone to find.”

  “I guess it’s the secret secrets they’re guarding.” Faith gave her a wry grin. “Come on. Let’s see what you found.”

  Tia’s hands stilled over the papers for a moment. She let her gaze roam over Faith, taking in her strained face and disheveled hair. “Are you all right? Because you look like the devil’s chasing you and he’s waiting right outside the door.”

  Not so far from right.

  “I’m fine. Really. I just needed to run out in a hurry this morning.” She pulled a rubber band from her pocket and smoothed her hair back into a ponytail. “All right. Let’s have what you’ve got.”

  “I started with Special Ops, first, because believe it or not, that was the easiest.” Tia pulled out four sheets of paper and spread them in front of the two of them. “I found some good information on how SpecOps, as they call themselves, operates.” She giggled. “They even have their own website.”

  Faith raised an eyebrow. “There really are no secrets, are there? But good for me. Everything we find helps.”

  “That’s the truth.”

  Faith dug deep for patience. Tia was thorough in her research but then took a long time getting it all out. “So what did you find out?”

  “If you’re looking for an exciting background for the book this is it. SpecOps, according to their website, ‘plans, synchronizes and as directed, executes global operations against terrorist networks. They use men from the Army, Navy and Air Force, all working together.’ That should give you plenty of latitude for framing your plot.” She shuffled one of the sheets of paper. “Oh and all missions are planned and executed from there.”

  Faith tried not to let her voice show the panic she felt at the mention of terrorists. “Bad stuff there.” But then, what had she expected. She knew Mark hadn’t joined the Army to sit around somewhere in safety. “All right. Go on. What else does it say? What kinds of missions are they assigned?”

  “Actually the site has quite a history of some of the things they’ve done. They’ve been assigned to break up terrorist cells out in the mountains or the jungle. They’ve captured people like Noriega in Panama and taken down key government people in Haiti when it was overrun with corruption. Stuff like that. Dangerous stuff.” Tia fanned herself and grinned again. “Man, I could really get my arms around one of these alpha men after reading what all they do.”

  Faith had to grit her teeth to keep from shouting at Tia. This was Mark’s life they were talking about. Then she reminded herself as far as her assistant was concerned this was fiction. A story conjured up out of her mind. The research was to try to give her a clue where in South America Mark might be held. And what his mission might have been about. But as far as Tia was concerned, this was merely to give her book the accuracy for which she was famous. She needed something to keep her focused.

  “While you’re salivating, I’ll pour our drinks. But keep talking.”

  She busied herself at the counter. The remnants of last night’s dream and the red menace still clung to her. She was sure the more she learned the more afraid for Mark she’d be. She filled one mug with coffee for Tia and another with tea for herself, stirring sweetener into her drink.

  “Can’t I drool just a little?” Tia teased. “Never mind. I know you. When you’re in book mode all fun goes away.”

  Faith couldn’t help chuckling. “I didn’t realize I turned into such an ogre. I’ll try to do better.” But I need to find Mark, so let’s get on with it.

  “Okay.” She pushed her papers to the side and accepted the coffee from Faith. “You could say they’re the stealth force of the military. They get the stuff no one else can do. Or probably is capable of.”

  Faith already suspected that. The last time she’d seen Mark he’d looked like the poster boy for the battle-hardened warrior. And he’d had a look in his eyes that frightened her. When they’d made love the last time—long, erotic, exciting love—Mark had had a sense of desperation about him, as if he wanted to fill himself up with as many intimate memories as he could. While their time together thrilled her, it also frightened her, a fear that had nested in the back of her mind ever since. And now was coming out full blown.

  “I know they operate in units,” she commented. “I’ve read up on it some in the newspapers and a little bit for my other books.”

  Tia nodded. “They do. Each unit reports to a commanding officer, either a captain or a major, depending on the rank of the unit’s senior officer. Their missions are handed down from headquarters at MacDill.”

  “Good work.” Faith took a sip of her tea. “I, um, don’t suppose you had a chance to search any newspapers? Maybe see if there’s something particular the media is lusting after?”

  “As a matter of fact…” Tia shuffled through another stack of printouts and pulled out what she wanted. “There’s a lot of ink right now on Peru and Argentina.”

  Faith nodded. “But mostly Peru, I think, because Shining Path has both terrorist and cartel ties.”

  “You got that right.” Tia flipped through her notes. “Okay. Here it is. There’s a lot of chatter on the blogs about missions failing because information leaks out. Or because someone sells it. But you’ve come across things like that for your other books.”

  “I guess that corruption just keeps spreading.”

  “Well, the news services have people digging around in Peru right now and I’m trying to find out what kind of tips they got. What they’re actually focusing on.” She dropped her notepad back on the table and leaned back in her chair. “But about that time I decided to spend what was left of the night trying to get some sleep. I’ll keep on it, though.”

  “Tia, you’ve done a great job.” Faith gathered up all the papers on the table. “I’ll start a file with these, maybe do a little poking around myself. Why don’t you go home and take a nap?”

  She started to rise from her chair, when the stabbing pain hit her leg again and it buckled under her. This time it was so sharp it stole her breath.

  “Faith?” Tia was beside her at once. “Faith, you look like shit and you’re white as a ghost. I’m calling the doctor.”

  No!” Faith nearly shouted the word. “No, don’t. It’s just that spasm again.”

  “Uh-huh.” Tia’s eyes were filled with concern. “Tell me another one.”

  “Really. If you can just help me over to t
he couch so I can lie down a minute I’ll be fine.” Sweating, she managed to hobble to the sofa and stretch herself out. But just as the pain reached manageable proportions it hit her again, like a knife slicing through flesh.

  * * * * *

  Mark clenched his jaw and tried not to show how much the agony got to him. Escobedo, the group member who seemed to be running the little band of terrorists, had strolled into the tent and as casually as tapping his foot against wood kicked Mark viciously in the leg. The open cut where Escobedo’s knife had sliced him from knee to ankle the day before began to bleed again and the pain nearly made him pass out. One of the men had put a crude bandage on it but Mark was sure infection was setting in.

  He waited, sweating, until the worst of the pain subsided, forcing himself to breathe evenly. They could kill him but he’d never give them the satisfaction of beating him.

  “Hola, Capitan. You do not look so chipper today.”

  I’ll chipper you, you asshole. Just give me one of those wicked knives and five minutes and you’ll be filleted cleaner than a fish.

  But he held his tongue. He knew his silence disturbed them and to reply would mean he’d give them an edge. It frustrated them because they got no sound from him except for the screams he couldn’t hold back. He still hadn’t figured out why they kept him alive. He’d given them no information, answered none of their questions, yet still they gave him enough food to keep him alive while they tortured him for sport.

  He knew the arms dealer was still hanging around. That wasn’t usual for him. His habit was to show up where and when he needed to only long enough to transact business, then leave. Certainly this rough jungle camp was far from his normal fastidious surroundings. Mark had seen pictures of the man’s home in the Caymans. A virtual palace, built with blood money. But he wanted the leak plugged so it didn’t come back to haunt him again.

  Escobedo took a thin cigarillo from the pocket of his shirt and lit it. Smoke curled in a thin spiral up past his dark-complected face with its high cheekbones, past the deep-set black eyes and the thick head of black hair, touched at the edges with grey. To Mark he looked like a well-heeled businessman on a jungle vacation but he knew the man was a vicious, cunning animal.

  El Serpiente, they called him. The snake.

  “Our…guest…would like to be on his way. But he must be assured no one in your government has information about him they shouldn’t. The question of how you knew about the meeting to begin with must be answered. We cannot afford to have this situation disrupted.”

  He wants to make sure anyone who knows about this group can be silenced. And that his movements remain secret. Well, they can kill me before I tell them anything. God, just help me to last.

  “You’re being very foolish holding out this way. You know we’ll get the information out of you eventually. It’s imperative we find out who knows about us before we can move forward with our plans. You could die a much less painful death if you’d just be sensible.”

  Mark wanted to spit in Escobedo’s face but he controlled himself. He had to buy as much time as he could. Antagonizing the man further wasn’t the way to do it.

  “Still nothing to say?” Escobedo nudged the leg again, a little more viciously and his mouth turned up in a malevolent smile. “But you speak in your mind, do you not? A little secret you thought to hide from us.”

  Mark tried to control the anger he felt. Their man had obviously caught the psychic waves when Mark and Faith exchanged messages and been doing his best to interfere. Someone had told them about it but who? That was classified information that very few people were even aware of. But these people would have had to be aware of it for their man to concentrate on intercepting him.

  God, he could certainly use Chase Wohlmann now, the poor bastard.

  “Felix tells me you have the same ability he does. Somehow he knew when he laid eyes on you that you were a telepath and he’s been listening for your messages.”

  A name to go with the man attacking his mind. He tucked it away in his brain, knowing that putting a name to the person could make them more vulnerable. He would have to study Felix every chance he had, try to figure out how to get around the mental roadblocks the man kept setting up. Try to remember how Chase constructed the shields. He’d been training for it but they’d only just begun their work.

  “Unfortunately we only have incomplete fragments of what you are sending. And we do not know who you are sending to. So now we have one more piece of information we need from you. You become more valuable to us each minute.” He shook his head. “It will be a shame to kill you. And if you have managed to tell anyone—anyone at all—what happened here or where you are, we will have to take steps to, shall we say, eliminate that problem.”

  Don’t think of Faith. Don’t picture her. Think of something else. Like the bastard I suspect of leaking this mission. Someone in bed with the arms dealer.

  He’d had plenty of hours to go over everything in his mind, reviewing the prep for the mission and the names of the people who knew about it. The circle was small. Delta Force missions were devised at the highest level, filtered down through Joint Special Operations Command—JSOC—and through the commanding officer to the specific team. Then the team went into isolation to make their plans. Only they and their immediate CO knew the details.

  But the terrorists could only have been waiting for them if someone who knew the details had told them about the mission. Mark had finally narrowed his suspects down to two or three, one of them so high up he would be untouchable without complete proof. If he ever got out of this hellhole he’d take the man down. But first he needed to get away, impossible by himself with his wounds and as weak as he was.

  “Is this person you’re reaching out to someone in your government that you foolishly think can get you out of here?” Escobedo gave a malicious laugh. “I hear your people have a special unit for people with this ability but your government is weak and run by too many politicians. No one would give this out. They would certainly be unwilling to call attention to a failed assignment, whose very nature would bring them unwanted publicity.” He spat into the dirt. “They have left you here to rot like a dead animal. Tell us what we want to know and let us get this over with.”

  Mark kept his eyes open, focusing on a point past Escobedo’s head. He knew how it angered the man for Mark to treat him with a lack of respect. It almost always brought on torture of some kind. But he couldn’t allow even one clue to Faith’s identify to become known.

  “No answer?” One corner of his mouth turned up in a grin that was anything but humorous. “Perhaps Felix will be able to pluck the identity of this person from your mind. He is good at breaking through what you call mind barriers. Very good.”

  Mark watched the man study him through hooded eyes. Waiting, he knew, for Mark to show some sign of suffering. To grab his leg. To do something. But Mark would swallow his tongue before he would give this bastard any satisfaction at all.

  “If you will just tell us what we want to know, Capitan, we will make your death swift and merciful. If not…” Escobedo shrugged. “You choice. Perhaps tonight Felix will come and visit you and see what’s churning in that clever mind.”

  I will not let him into my mind. He can go to hell and take me with him.

  As Escobedo walked out of the tent he brushed the point of his boot across Mark’s open wound.

  Mark closed his eyes and in his head he screamed as loudly as he could.

  * * * * *

  They were eating lunch again, Mr. Brown and the heavyset one. The restaurant was actually the dining room of a country inn, a quaint, out-of-the-way place not frequented by any of their associates. Neither of them looked as if he was particularly enjoying his food, which was, indeed, the truth. The elephant in the room with them was enough to kill their appetites.

  “Escobedo has not been able to get any information from him,” Mr. Green said.

  There it was, the apprehension that someone had knowle
dge of their duplicity and could bring everything crashing down about them.

  Mr. Brown buttered a roll with slow, precise strokes. “I don’t know what exactly he expects to get. Why doesn’t he just kill him and be done with it?”

  “There’s apparently a problem.” Mr. Green stirred sweetener into his iced tea.

  “A problem? With an injured prisoner? What could that possibly be?”

  Mr. Green shifted in his seat. “It appears the man has telepathic abilities and is sending messages to someone.”

  Mr. Brown put down his fork and stared at his companion. “What the hell nonsense are you talking? Sending messages how?”

  “I told you. He’s a telepath. He communicates with his mind. Like one of Escobedo’s men, Felix.”

  “Bullshit.” Mr. Brown began eating again. “I don’t believe any of that psychic garbage and neither should you. Escobedo is working an angle and we have to figure out what it is.”

  Mr. Green took a drink of his wine and patted his mouth with the snowy white linen napkin. “Listen to me. This is not something to blow off. Psychic ability has become so important the military even has special units made up of men who have it. If this man is sending telepathic messages to someone, we need to know who it is. That person could be right on our ass any minute.”

  Mr. Brown leaned across the table. “And exactly what do you think he could tell this mysterious person? He doesn’t know anything.”

  “Now there’s where you’re wrong. With one exception he’s the sole survivor of his unit. He’s bound to know something was leaked and he may even have figured out who leaked it.”

  “Are you crazy? There’s no way to figure that out. Get hold of yourself.”

  They ate in silence. Then Mr. Green put down his silverware and took another sip of wine. “Mark Halloran is not a stupid man. He’s been around a long time and he knows far more than he should. If anyone can figure this out, he will.”

  “Then they should just kill him, like I said.”