by J. M. Madden
Fontana glanced at the cages. Several of the men were looking at the front of the med center, like they knew it could be their turn at any time. He remembered that feeling, but more sharply the feeling of being vulnerable afterwards. And the fury and the shame. They’d been warriors when they’d come to the program, and left diminished.
He hadn’t seen abuse like he’d been subjected to, but probably because there were so many guards.
The pervasive atmosphere of depression and fear over the camp was really bothering him. He’d reinforced his mental shields, but it was still looming, like a thunderstorm rolling overhead, heavy with rain.
Fontana waited for hours, but nothing happened. The Collaborative mercenaries rotated, taking breaks for chow and what not. The military brought food and water for the prisoners, but it didn’t look like it was enough. The men ate voraciously, like they’d been starved. Maybe because the big boss was here they were settling back into what they were supposed to do. Fontana remembered perfectly how Smoke and the other guards would skim the food servings, keeping part for themselves.
Fontana drew in a swallow of water from his Camelback, as if the remembered thirst was real.
Then something interesting happened. A small engine plane circled the camp, then landed on the dirt airstrip beyond the line of trees. Six well-built men in black tactical gear climbed out of the plane and began walking toward the fence. Military stopped them at the main gate and Fontana wondered who the hell they were.
The camp was in chaos. The leader of the black-clad Collaborative mercenaries started walking toward the new group and even from a distance Fontana could see the relief in the man’s expression. He stopped in front of a tall, spare man wearing a red ball cap and the two of them began to talk. The mercenary in armor seemed to be explaining himself, and the new man nodded several times before finally slapping the supervisor on the shoulder in a good ole boy way.
As the men began to walk back toward the camp. Fontana used his small binoculars to watch them, and they seemed to be having an intense, in-depth conversation, but they were trying to keep their expressions pleasant. Fontana could see anger in the new man’s face, though, and he wondered what the hell was going on.
The new man walked through the cages, looking at the prisoners. It looked like he asked questions and expected answers of all the guards. Fontana couldn’t figure out what was going on because he’d thought that Scofield had come to the camp because he was running it. Now this guy was doing the same thing, putting on a show like he was the cock of the walk.
As they neared the west side cages, Fontana tried to take in as much information as he could about the man. He was about fifty feet from the last cage. He used the satellite phone to capture an image of the two men together, then went still. He tried to absorb what the men were feeling. The original mercenary was feeling anxious and worried, relieved, but the new guy was calm and cool. Not much ruffled him.
“I never expected the worm to come out here, honestly,” the new man said, a Southern drawl evident in his slow words. “Too much dirt.”
The mercenary snorted. “I don’t think he realized what he’d gotten into. As soon as he landed he had people hopping to do what he wanted. He went into Mattingly’s bungalow and started changing things. This morning he didn’t make it out until after eleven, and he’s been in the med center ever since then.”
“I’m sure it’s the cleanest place he can be,” the boss murmured.
“Yes, Mr. Truckle.” The man shifted. “I tried to explain to him that you had already begun implementing new procedures, but he reversed everything, threatening to clean us out.”
Truckle laughed. “He can’t get rid of the mercs. We’re the only thing keeping this company together. I’d like to see him try.”
The men moved away, leaving Fontana with a little more information than he’d had before. He had no idea who Truckle was, but he appeared to be a former Collaborative mercenary. Or a guard supervisor? He couldn’t tell exactly.
Fontana watched them walk back through the cages and he exhaled. The two of them had been a little close for comfort.
Unfortunately, if he wanted to learn anything he was going to have to get closer, because Truckle was heading to the med center. How the hell did he get in there?
The thought that flitted through his mind chilled him. No, he couldn’t do it. They had enough information on the Collaborative that they would be able to put them all away. What they were collecting now was just icing on the cake. Rose would be here in a few hours and they would annihilate this entire place. There was no need to endanger himself.
“Fontana! Where are you? The guards are onto something.” Madeira hissed through the radio.
As if the world were laughing at him, he realized that he hadn’t been paying attention to his senses like he should have been. Three black-armored mercenaries had closed in around him, searching. He wasn’t sure why they were looking here, but he had to decide if it was going to be fight or flight. Flight, definitely. There was no way they were going to put him back into a cage. He tried to project malevolence to make them turn away.
Shifting, he prepared to lunge out from beneath the tree. He’d put his hand on his weapon and was backing away from the men in front of him, who hadn’t seen him yet, when lightning struck his body. Agony tore through him and he screamed out, back arching. The lightning stopped for a moment, then struck again, and he couldn’t catch his breath or even see where it was coming from. Somewhere on his back. A fucking fourth guard.
Suddenly he was buried beneath men and fists were flying. Flinging up a hand to protect his head, he tried to focus on one of the guards, but the pummeling wouldn’t stop. His eyes connected with one guard and he opened his mind, just before a rifle butt came down on his face. The world went dark.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jordyn wanted to scream out against what she could see happening almost directly across the camp from her. Men had piled onto Fontana and were trying to beat the shit out of him. One man stood over him, yellow-handled Taser gun in his hand. Wires ran to Fontana’s back and in the midst of the pummeling, his entire body would arch when the Taser fired. She wasn’t sure why they hadn’t just shot him, but she was thankful. Yes, fists and Tasers hurt, but this wasn’t a lethal beat down.
They fought for several minutes before one of the guards brought his rifle butt down onto Fontana’s face, knocking him out cold. Jordyn watched him for a moment, praying she would see him breathing, but she was too far away to see even with the binoculars.
Payne prodded her. “You need to message Rose, then have him dismantle that damn satellite phone. If they find that, they’ll know exactly where his team is, and us.”
Jordyn snatched the phone from her pocket and pulled up the text function.
Fontana captured. Insertion at 0038. Sat phones compromised. Dismantle Immediately.
She sent the message to Rose, Willingham and Duncan, then powered down her phone and ripped the battery from the back. Tears pushed at her eyes and she breathed through the emotion. Their operation had just gotten ten times harder, and there was nothing they could do about it until the other team got here.
Her gaze drifted across the camp. They had cuffed Fontana’s hands and were dragging him across the clearing toward the med building. Oh, God. This was going to ruin him.
Payne snapped several pictures, then grabbed her arm. “We need to draw back. They’re going to send out teams looking for the rest of his team. We need to get out of here.”
“Team Alpha,” she breathed into the mic. “Draw back. I repeat, draw back.”
She received clicks for confirmation, then she allowed Payne to pull her away from their vantage point. Very carefully.
It took everything in her to not panic. Fontana was a badass former SEAL, one of the quiet professionals —trained for anything, but waking up in the Collaborative’s custody would terrify him because he knew exactly what they could do. He knew how evil they could be. The only hope she
had was the knowledge that the evil woman that used to be in charge was dead. Maybe the guy they’d seen walking into the medical building would treat him better.
She prayed it was so, because his mind was still traumatized from before. He couldn’t take any more.
Anton looked up from the paperwork in front of him. The doctors were trying to explain what they were doing to the man behind the glass but it was boring the hell out of him.
William, his personal guard, cracked open the door, furious frown marring his semi-attractive face. “Truckle is here, and they just captured someone watching the camp.”
Fury ignited in his blood and he couldn’t decide what he was angrier about, the fact that Truckle was here or that they’d been being spied upon. “What?”
William started to answer when there was a commotion at the door. Truckle shoved William aside and marched in with a phalanx of mercenaries behind him. Three of them were carrying a large, unconscious blond man wearing military fatigues. He appeared to be American.
Fear ran through Anton. “Who the hell is this? And what the hell are you doing here?”
Truckle grinned and tipped his hat back on his head, his brown beard looking wild. “Well, now, I should be asking you the same question,” the man drawled, moving toward the conference table. “Because last I heard Mr. Wilkes put me in charge of this part of the operation.”
Anton drew straight in the chair, refusing to react too defensively. He had every right to be here to fight for his job. “Well, Mr. Wilkes is dealing with a devastating loss right now and he doesn’t know exactly what he wants. Or what’s best for the company.”
Truckle’s dark brows raised at that. “I believe he is completely in his head, right now, and I don’t think he would appreciate your assessment. Or the fact that you’ve gone against his explicit orders.”
No, he probably wouldn’t. But if Anton could prove that he was a better option than Truckle he would do it.
One of the doctors stood up from the table and walked to the unconscious man. He didn’t move as the doctor rolled him over and checked for a pulse.
“So, assuming you’re in charge,” Truckle drawled, “what would you do about this threat to your security? I suggest you shoot the fucker.”
Anton drew himself up, fighting the curl of repugnance. “Guards should be checking the area. I doubt he’s alone.”
The woman in charge of the medical team was leaning over the man. Leaning down, she opened one of his eyes and hissed in a breath. “This is one of the subjects that broke out of the Teraza camp.”
Anton and Truckle both looked at the woman, then each other. “You’re joking,” Truckle said, voice incredulous.
She shook her head, face earnest. “No, sir. He was part of my test group.”
Anton laughed and pushed up from the table. “Well, isn’t this fun? We find ourselves with a gift in our laps, ladies and gentlemen.”
“What are you talking about,” Truckle demanded.
Anton gave him a condescending look. “Haven’t you realized yet Mr. Truckle? This is the answer to all of the company’s woes. The four that escaped, stole the formula for Dr. Shu’s serum. I’m sure he,” Anton pointed a little dramatically, “knows where the formula is, or how to get it.”
Anton found himself disappointed at the dawning look of understanding on Truckle’s face. The man wasn’t as intelligent as he’d originally thought.
Anton waved at the guards that had come in with Truckle. “Get that guy back to his cage,” he said, waving a hand into the testing room. “We need to make room for this gentleman.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
They ran for a solid hour, ducking through brush and thorn trees until they got closer to the bridge they’d come over on the night before. Shane and Zero caught up with them, but they never spotted Big Kenny.
There were tears filling her eyes as she braced herself on her knees and panted. They had left him behind.
A hard hand gripped her shoulder, and she looked at Zero as he knelt beside her. “We’ll get him out. Don’t worry. The spooks will be here any time and we’ll go get him.”
“What if they hurt him? Or kill him? What if they move him out?”
“I don’t think they’ll kill him. They’ll want to know what he’s doing there.”
She waved a hand in exasperation. “So, they’ll hurt him, then. Torture him.”
Zero’s eyes were cool, but his face calm. “They may. But you have to consider what he’s already lived through. A few hours of beating will not break that man. I promise you. He’s a Navy SEAL. We’re harder to break than that.”
She breathed through her nose, praying Zero was right. No, she knew he was right, but it hurt her heart to think about the fear Fontana must be feeling.
“We need to rethink this plan, okay?”
“Okay,” she nodded.
“When Officer Rose gets here we’ll put our heads together and decide the best plan of action. He has to cross this bridge to get to the camp, correct?”
She thought for a moment. “Yes. Unless he plans on letting them rappel from his helicopter, assuming that’s how he’s coming in.”
Zero shook his head. “It would make too much noise. He and his team will be coming in covert on foot, which means we’ll meet them right here. Okay?”
She nodded, looking toward the bridge. It was less than a half mile away from their location.
“Now,” Zero said in his best Big Brother imitation, guiding her toward the base of a tree. “Sit down, drink water and eat something. If you can, rest. We’re going to need energy tonight.”
Jordyn took his advice, but it was hard. The protein bar tasted like cardboard in her mouth and the water from her Camelback was swampy. She watched and listened for any kind of movement or sound from the guard shack at the bridge crossing.
At one point they all heard a mic click. They looked at each other to confirm that none of them had done it, then they listened even harder. But it didn’t come again.
It wasn’t until almost twenty-one hundred that the nocturnal creature sounds quieted.
A form they assumed was Officer Rose walked out of the brush, arms up. Jordyn had her NVGs on, and he looked equipped the same way they were, but he held a badge out before him to be seen. That was smart, and probably the only way they could have met up considering their communications were compromised.
“Who’s in charge?” the man asked.
Madeira stepped forward, into the small clearing. Officer Rose nodded to her.
“I’m sorry about Mr. Fontana.”
“Don’t worry about it. Let’s just go get him. Our team is at four. Big Kenny went out with Fontana and hasn’t found us yet.”
“I have twelve, not including myself, and I have a Chinook helicopter on standby. It can be here in five minutes.”
Madeira nodded. “We have a good ways to go.” She described the camp to him, and where everything was located. “We’ll lead you there, then follow your lead in the assault. Then I’m on the medical center and Fontana, no matter what.”
Officer Rose seemed satisfied with that. After they worked out a few details, they moved out together. Madeira wanted to run full-tilt into the camp, but she knew she needed help. There were just too many bad guys. So, she kept her pace at a jog, weaving in and out of trees. Once they got within a half-mile of the camp, they spotted a two-man military patrol. She’d barely had a chance to point before two of Rose’s men had taken them out, swift and silent.
Rose broke up his team into two-man teams, and by the time they crested the rise to look down onto the camp, they were already moving into position all the way around. Jordyn was amazed at the efficiency of his crew. It was obvious they’d worked together a long time.
She hoped that smoothness worked for them tonight, because their lives were on the line.
Fontana woke to the most terrifying thing he’d ever felt—the cold metal of the medical table he lay upon. He tried to lift his arms, but th
ey were cuffed to the table with iron shackles. Horror tightened his gut and he thought for a moment he was going to throw up on himself. His breaths began to chase each other, faster and faster, but he couldn’t get any oxygen into his lungs.
“You need to relax. You’re hyperventilating.”
If anything, that voice made him breathe even faster. He remembered that voice. It had usually preceded pain. Panic chewed at his mental shields, and he wanted to run. Jangling the cuffs, he knew that he couldn’t. Lifting his head, he looked around the room. People surrounded him, mostly mercenaries in black body armor, and the doctor that had spoken to him initially. She’d been one of Dr. Shu’s assistants from the old camp, eager, and her personality had an edge that allowed her to distance herself from her patient’s pain. It was what had made her such an effective assistant in the program.
Fontana realized he had a needle in his arm, and blood was draining down into a collection bag. Obviously, they were getting samples while they could.
Drawing in a deep breath, he forced the panic away, and looked for a way out of the situation. There were six people in the room, a lot to try to control mentally. One or two at a time was easier. His influence lost its power when spread over more people. The shackles shouldn’t be a problem. He could either manipulate the locks on them or get one of the guards to free him.
Timing, that was the thing.
Then the bearded man stepped forward in the red ‘Roll Tide’ ball cap, the same guy that had come in on the plane. Tall and strong, he stood hip-shot. His right hand rested casually on his sidearm, and his dark eyes were direct. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fontana. I don’t think we’ve officially met before.”
Panic surged again. How the fuck did they know his name?
The man must have understood his confusion because he nodded at the female doctor. “Dr. Levalee here remembered you from the Brazilian camp. It’s like old home week. It took a bit of digging to figure out which one you were, but we did it. It’s a pleasure to have you back, Mr. Fontana.”