Jungle Inferno

by Desiree Holt

  She had no idea how long she sat huddled in the chair, her body consumed with the fiery pain, her brain unable to function. But when the pain suddenly disappeared it frightened her even more because it left nothing behind. No feeling. Nothing.

  Oh, God, is he dead?

  Mark! Oh, please, Mark. Can you hear me?

  She strained for any response, panic stealing her breath as much as the pain had.

  Need you…

  Oh, thank God. Thank God. He was still alive.

  I’m here, I’m here. Please can you help me find you?

  A long silence, then …moved me…try to hold on…

  She waited and waited but that was the end of it. No matter how much she focused there were no more messages to hear.

  She called back to her mind the one other time they’d managed to be together. Splinters of scenes. Her lying naked on the bed. Mark’s body looming over hers. His eyes dark with passion. His hot, thick cock pressing into her. More, more, more. Finally filling her. Stretching her. Bringing down the little tremors that shook her just from feeling him inside her.

  Wrapping her legs around him to pull him in deeper.

  The pull and thrust of his movements.

  The crashing orgasm that always shook her and made her bones melt.

  Mark!

  Traces of panic still clung to her. Whatever was happening to Mark it was getting worse and worse. She knew he was mentally tough but even Mark couldn’t hold out forever.

  Maybe it was time to contact someone who could give her some answers, like his commanding officer. Somewhere in all her notes she’d written down the information from one message he’d sent her—where he was stationed and who his commanding officer was. She could use the book as a cover in an attempt to pry information loose from him.

  Not that she expected him to be very forthcoming but she’d be grateful for any scrap he fed her at all.

  She dragged herself upstairs and rummaged in the bathroom medicine cabinet for aspirin. She popped three in her mouth and washed them down with tepid water, then sat on the closed lid of the commode until the worst of the shaking subsided. When she felt somewhat functional, she stripped off her clothing and tossed it in the hamper. Then she turned the shower jets on full force and waited until the enclosure was filled with steam. Then she stepped into the spray and let it pound over her body, trying to wash away the vestiges of pain.

  Mark. Don’t give up. I’ll get you out. Somehow. I promise.

  * * * * *

  Joey Latrobe lay silent and unmoving, the beeping of the monitors and the rise and fall of the sheet covering his body as he breathed the only signs he was still alive. The doctors had hustled him into surgery the moment they took him off the chopper, removing one bullet from his arm and two from his leg. And pumping enough blood back into him to counteract the massive amount he’d lost while he lay in the jungle.

  “How is he doing?” Green asked the nurse changing the IV bag.

  She shrugged. “As good as can be expected under the circumstances.”

  ““He hasn’t regained consciousness at all?”

  She shook her head. “No. We’re doing everything we can for him but he was in pretty bad shape.”

  “We may be moving him to a long-term care facility. Government orders.” He opened his badge wallet and flashed his identification.

  “Goodness. He must be somebody special. Special classification and now the possibility of the move.”

  Green and Brown looked at each other. “Yes. Someone special indeed. Well. We’ll get our paperwork together and make the arrangements.”

  The two men followed the nurse out of the room, neither of them noticing the fluttering of the patient’s eyelids or the sudden acceleration of his heart rate.

  Chapter Seven

  “I need answers, damn it.”

  John Gregorio slammed the telephone down, ready to bite nails. The impossibility of making anyone see reason was driving him to a murderous rage. He was tired of talking to people intent on stonewalling him. Politics wasn’t his strong suit. Never had been. Now he was trying to wade through a political minefield to find out what happened to his men. They weren’t going to end up being “collateral damage”, no matter what people more used to the conference table than the battlefield had to say. That wasn’t the way he was made.

  At least he’d taken care of Joey Latrobe. No one would be able to get near him now. Or even find him, if things went according to plan. And that, at the moment, was his only hope. Joey’s new medical caregiver would call Gregorio the minute the young soldier regained consciousness and could give them any information at all. He prayed hourly for Latrobe’s recovery.

  He was so focused on his anger he didn’t notice the tall man who quietly entered his office.

  “Answers? I wish I had them for you, John.”

  Gregorio looked up at the sound of the familiar voice. Frank Ryan stood in the doorway to the office of the Delta Force commander carrying his flight bag, fatigue and worry etched deeply on his face.

  “God, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Gregorio stood and saluted.

  Ryan waved him off and held out his hand. “I think for the moment we can dispense with military formalities.”

  “I didn’t know you were coming or I’d have met you at the flight line.”

  Ryan dropped his bag on the floor and took a seat. “I hitched a ride on a flight with a friend. I thought it best to keep a low profile for this visit.”

  Gregorio frowned. “Oh-oh. Bad news?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I didn’t like what I heard in your voice last time we talked. You’re not given to uncontrolled anger or rash actions and that’s what came through to me. You’re the Special Ops Forces commander here, with a lot of units on your plate. All these men—and women—of the Seventh Special Forces need your full attention. I’m here to see if I can move some mountains for you, so you can give them what they need.”

  “I’m sure not about to turn down any help. You can bet on that.” Gregorio rubbed his hand over his face. “But Jesus, Frank. This is an impossible situation. And don’t forget, we have to protect our source at all costs.”

  Ryan nodded toward the telephone. “I gather you’ve been doing some head-pounding trying to get the orders changed.” He gave the other man a tired smile. “Been there, done that.”

  “I’m not trying to go around you, just keep you from getting your shoes dirty with my mud.”

  Ryan let his eyes wander to the tiny window. The afternoon sun was slanting into the small room, bringing the heat of the day with it. Outside, on the largest and busiest base in the country, boots pounded on macadam, voices called to each other and engines roared as people went about their business. A peaceful scene for a far from peaceful business. He sighed and turned back to Gregorio.

  “You called Latrobe’s brother? Told him of our concerns?”

  Gregorio nodded his head. “He got on it right away. I’ll guarantee you that by now they’ve gotten someone sitting on the kid to keep unwanted visitors away and they’re getting ready to snatch him.”

  “You know, neither Halloran nor his men are novices at this.” Ryan stood with his hands in his pockets, still staring out the window. “They’ve gone through the hard training and successfully executed some very difficult and sensitive missions. They were critical to our success in the drug battles along the Andean Ridge. How sure are you they aren’t just holed up somewhere until they can make contact?”

  “Positive. Joey Latrobe would never have been left alone like that, as wounded as he was. If there was danger they’d have figured out a way to hide with him and set up a different rendezvous point. Losing a team like that means someone deliberately leaked the mission. It’s the only way they could have been ambushed.”

  “I’ll ask you one more time. You’re sure that’s what happened?”

  Gregorio pounded his fist on the desk. “Yes, damn it. I’ve been doing this a long time. You know that. Would Jo
ey Latrobe, one of the best snipers in the world, be lying almost dead at Walter Reed if the mission had been successful? Wouldn’t his unit have made the rendezvous point and been extracted with him?”

  Ryan held up a hand, palm outward. “All right. I’m going to see what I can do. Off the cuff,” he added. “And I didn’t want to do it from HQ. You never know whose ears are listening around corners.”

  Gregorio shook his head. “I appreciate it but I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for you to stick your neck out this way.”

  Ryan smiled again. “I guess it’s my neck to stick out.”

  “By the way. I made arrangements to secure Latrobe. He’s the only one who made it out and he’s still unconscious. You can bet, if what I suspect is true, there are people out there who’d like to get their hands on him, try to wring information out of him then dispose of the body. So I had to get ahead of the game here.” He proceeded to outline the steps he’d taken. “At least I got that done, before the buzzards could get hold of him.

  The major nodded, reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Then I guess it’s time for me to take my turn at bat.”

  * * * * *

  The four men sat in the main room of the small cabin off the coast of Maine, the environment a complete opposite of their well-equipped offices in one of Baltimore’s newest office buildings. But from the moment Rick Latrobe had received John Gregorio’s call, they knew that whatever needed doing, they had to do it away from the public eye, away from any chance for someone to spy on them. They were used to being evasive and this cabin had served the purpose more than once.

  The log structure was more than a hundred years old. Crude and rustic in construction and design, electricity and running water had been added just twenty years ago. The cabin sat perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking a desolate stretch of beach and the pounding surf of the Atlantic Ocean. It was only accessible by a narrow rutted road that wound in a five-mile ribbon from the highway, or by climbing the almost invisible steps carved into the rock face of the cliff. It was perfect for their needs.

  The men had grown up together in Michigan, each enlisting in a different branch of the service but always in contact with each other, always connected. The idea for their cover company had come up on a weekend they were together just before each of them was about to complete his service obligations. They’d chosen Baltimore for their home office because of its proximity to DC but the cabin was their bolt-hole, their secure hiding place.

  Dan Romeo, six five, olive-skinned with dark hair and darker eyes, a former Force Recon Marine, was the nominal leader of the group, although they all had equal decision-making powers. Next to him sat ex-SEAL Troy Arsenault, as big as Romeo and as light as the other was dark. Next came Mike D’Antoni, as dark as Romeo. A flyboy, who’d trained with England’s crack SAS. And finally Eric “Rick” Latrobe, former Special Ops and a sniper like his brother, his tall, muscular body well-tanned, electric blue eyes blazing from beneath dirty blond hair. Each brought highly specialized skills to the company known simply as Phoenix. A good name for a group that rose from the ashes of war and one that now contracted to both private citizens and the United States government for jobs that had to be conducted “off the book”.

  The cabin belonged to D’Antoni, inherited from his grandfather and a perfect place for them to retreat after particularly difficult missions. Or plan and implement those missions away from any prying eyes. The one on the table today was personal and therefore far more important than any contract could ever be.

  Dan had done some heavy digging when Rick first got the call about Joey, looking for anything he could find about Joey’s situation and his unit. The trouble sign in his brain flashed full strength when there wasn’t a smell or a hint of what happened to anyone else, especially the leader, Mark Halloran. A man they’d all spent time with when the unit was between missions.

  From the moment they’d met him there’d been an instant connection. He was a man like them—focused, determined, dedicated. And no bullshit. The four of them often discussed the possibility of offering him a place in Phoenix when his current term was up.

  All of them were aware the mission had to have been leaked for the unit to be ambushed. They thanked God that Joey had survived. If anyone else was still alive, they didn’t know about it. That they’d have to find out when the kid woke up. And whoever had set them up, for whatever reason, would not want Joey in a position to reveal any information about what happened. The fact that no one officially notified Rick, Joey’s only family, that the young man had been extracted, was wounded and in a critical condition was a good indication someone wanted to put a lid on this as quickly and quietly as possible.

  “Those bastards didn’t give me the time of day,” Rick had barely been able to conceal his anger when he returned from DC. “They were shocked when I showed up. Everyone ran around like scared chickens trying to figure out what to do, because someone’s got Top Secret stamped on his hospital file. Joey could have lain there until Christmas as far as they were concerned. Or until someone got hold of him who shouldn’t. If his CO, Major Gregorio, hadn’t called and shared his concerns with me I still wouldn’t know.”

  “What about the rest of the unit?” Dan had asked. “Any hint about what happened to them?”

  Rick shook his head. “Not about everyone, but Halloran’s not dead.” He’d been unmovable on that. “I can’t tell you how I know. I just do.”

  None of them discounted gut instinct. It had kept them alive more times than they cared to remember, so they took Rick’s feelings very seriously.

  “If he’s alive…and that’s a big if…it’s because they want information,” Mike pointed out.

  “Mark will never give away the source. You know that. He would be dead first.”

  “I damn sure hope so. It’s your source and I’d hate to see him given up.”

  “Then we’d better get Joey and keep him out of harm’s way. And hope when he wakes up he can give us some answers,” Romeo pointed out. “And we’d better do it quickly.”

  “Rick, who’s sitting with Joey while you’re here?” Troy asked. “I know you didn’t leave him alone.”

  “A buddy who owes me a lifetime of favors. They won’t be able to budge him unless they blow up the chair he’s in.”

  “And we’re pretty sure our inside source is still safe?”

  Rick nodded.

  “Then let’s get our act together.”

  Now they were in final countdown mode, reviewing the details one last time. They’d planned and discussed and memorized but Romeo always wanted that one last run-through.

  “Okay.” Romeo had diagrams laid out on the rough wooden table they used for eating. “Let’s get to it, Rick.”

  They’d obtained diagrams of Walter Reed and sucked every detail of the layout and scheduling from Rick when he came back from seeing Joey.

  “Here’s what we’ve got.” He pointed to a segment on the diagram outlined in red. “Here’s where Joey’s being kept, with twenty-four hour monitoring. Anything that has to do with him must go through the charge nurse. Her desk is in the central part of the area.”

  “How often do they move him? Say, for x-rays or tests,” Troy asked again.

  “Not too often. I was there almost all day and any testing they did was in the room, with portable equipment.” His finger traced another red line. “Here are the elevators. They’re just off to the side of the nurses’ desk. Joey’s room is behind. If we do this properly we can have him out before we get asked too many questions.”

  Dan looked around him. “I’ve got the fake doctor’s orders. They’ll pass muster if no one looks too closely.”

  Rick had taken photos of the chart with his cell phone and sent them to Dan from the room.

  “Good, good.” Dan consulted a list on the pad in front of him. “Troy, Rick’s given us a good list of the equipment in his brother’s room. How are we coming on that?”

  Ar
senault had been a medic in the Navy and responsible for medical support on his SEAL team. He made notes on his own pad of paper.

  “Got almost all of it. Mike and I will be fitting out the van as soon as we land in DC.”

  “And the medicines listed on the chart?”

  “All set. I called our usual source and they’ll arrive here when the chopper comes to pick us up.”

  Romeo turned to D’Antoni. “Mike, you’ll waylay the doc right here.” His finger stabbed a spot on the diagram. “And neutralize him. Expect any problems?”

  Mike snorted. “No sweat. But you guys better be set to go the minute I show up in the room.”

  Arsenault glared at him. “We’ll be ready. Aren’t we always?”

  “All right, then.” Dan shifted the papers to slide another on top. “As usual, my brother’s flying the copter. He’ll take us to DC where the vehicles are and we can get the van ready. Then he’ll be waiting at the Discount Records Warehouse.”

  They all smiled grimly at the use of the name. Phoenix had purchased the abandoned warehouse to give them a place separate from their main operation. They’d left the faded Discount Records sign up but a twelve-foot-high chain link fence topped with razor wire surrounded the property and big signs ordered “Keep out, this means you.” They’d modified the inside of the building to contain four different vehicles and the helicopter and the entire place was booby-trapped, the sensors and codes known only to the four men.

  “Rick, you’ll be up in the room with Joey,” Dan continued. “As soon as Mike gets the doc out of the way, he and Troy will show up in scrubs with orders for an MRI. That’s one test they can’t do in the room.”

  “Are you sure it’s safe to unhook him from all that stuff to move him?” Rick asked.

  “No problem,” Troy answered. “We’ll leave the IVs in place and it won’t be more than a few minutes before we get him hooked up to everything else in the van.”

  “I’ll be waiting at the ambulance exit with the van,” Dan said. “We’ll only have seconds once the elevator hits the ground floor, so don’t dawdle.”