by CJ Lyons
Romero gave a snort, his gaze moving from Jake’s face down to his belt and back up. “Gut? More like your dick.”
Jake doubted Caitlyn had let the CIA officer get away with talking like that. Of course not. Being a spy was a lot like being undercover. What you said and did wasn’t about who you really were. It was all about who the person you were with was and what you wanted from them.
He didn’t miss that part of being undercover. By the end of his time with the Reapers, he’d hated lying to them, had been sorely tempted to just say, “Hey, guys, tell me who the bad guys are and we’ll call it a day, go have some beers.” But of course, he hadn’t said that. Not even to men who’d opened their homes to him, treated him better than family.
No way in hell could he imagine living his life like Romero. A chameleon changing colors based on the whims of his boss and what the politicians safe back home in D.C. wanted. Everyone he met, he might eventually have to betray.
“What did you hear from Caitlyn?” Jake asked.
“Nothing. But twenty minutes ago, there was an explosion near her coordinates. About the size of a Bell Ranger helicopter.”
Jake stopped. He whipped around, anger and fear colliding. He wanted to slap Romero’s nonchalance off his face. “What the hell we doing here? We need to get there. Now.”
Romero gave him a sad smile. “You don’t understand anything about this country, do you? ‘There’ is halfway up a mountain in the middle of the jungle. The only getting there involves several hours of travel over nonexistent roads that are near impossible to navigate in the middle of the day, much less at night. There’s no getting anywhere until sunrise.”
Jake whirled on Romero. “You mean to tell me that a helicopter could blow up and nobody is going to search for survivors? What kind of country is this?”
“The kind where people believe secrets should remain buried. Hector pulled a lot of favors to get that helo and those men; he still has friends here and his company provides an important revenue stream. But there’s a damn good reason this is his first time back to Guatemala in twenty years. He should have remembered that his enemies have a long memory.”
“You think the helo was blown to assassinate Hector? And Caitlyn just happened to be on it?” Jake scrutinized the CIA officer. Yes, it was a plausible explanation, especially after what Jake had learned about Alvarado’s work with the Kaibiles.
Maybe a bit too plausible? Besides, Romero didn’t know Caitlyn. It’d take a lot more than a downed helo to kill her. A helluva lot more. He grabbed a map from the glove box and smoothed it out on the dash. “Show me where.”
“I’m telling you, it’s no good.”
“Where did they go down?” Jake insisted.
Romero leaned forward and finally pointed to a spot on the map labeled Cubiltzul. “There’s nothing there but an abandoned Mayan village. It’s halfway up a mountain, rugged terrain. Middle of the jungle.”
The more Romero tried to convince him to give up on going after Caitlyn, the more Jake resisted. Not only for emotional reasons—at least that’s what he told himself. No, Romero was hiding something. Didn’t want Jake to go into those mountains to reach Cubiltzul. The name rang a bell—one of the Mayan villages Alvarado’s squad was accused of destroying, massacring the population. No survivors, no witnesses, no bodies, the UN Historical Clarification Commission’s reports had said. Which meant it never happened, at least not according to the history as rewritten by the post–peace accord government.
“How long have you been here, Romero?” Jake asked. “You must know everyone who is anyone.”
Romero relaxed at the change of subject. “Oh, yeah. I’ve been here decades—not always in Guatemala, not always for the Company. Honduras with the Marines, Nicaragua, a stint in Colombia, but mostly here in Guatemala. Do you want me to pull in some favors, see if I can get a rescue mission started in the morning?”
“No. I want you to tell me why you’re lying to me.” Jake slid his Glock from his pocket and aimed it at Romero. “And while you’re at it, start driving. We’re not waiting for morning.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The darkness in the jungle was different from any other darkness Caitlyn had ever experienced. She had hunted and camped in the woods a lot as a kid—not so much since she began her career with the FBI—but this wilderness had little in common with the Appalachian forests of her childhood.
The air was thicker, more than humid; walking through it felt like pushing through an unseen force field that left a sticky residue clinging to her skin. The smells were sharper, more acrid, a strange mix of spices, rotting fruit, and the tang of decay. And the sounds. High-pitched squawks of unseen birds, gentle rustles of small animals on the ground and racing up tree trunks, chirps and cricks and chugs popping through the air creating a cacophony of chaos.
But the worst was the howling.
It sounded human. Cries of pain and despair echoing from every direction. Some near, some far away. Monkeys, she knew intellectually. But every primitive reflex alarmed, disagreeing with logic.
The path was steep at times and she knew they must be partway up one of the mountains. Remembering the satellite images of the area, there was a village that had appeared abandoned, not far from Maria’s temple. Down the mountain from it were irregular patches of land where the jungle foliage had been burned to clear it for farming. They must have landed in one of those.
She could hear the river but the way the night distorted sound, couldn’t be sure how far it was. It was her best chance at escape—follow it downstream and she’d reach the clinic she saw on the map. Near that lake that started with an I, she couldn’t remember the name.
A short time later, they emerged into a clearing that was dimly lit by starlight and a faint moon. Jagged skeletons of buildings surrounded them and Caitlyn realized that this was the village she’d seen on the satellite images. All she’d been able to make out was a ragged church steeple and part of a caved-in roof as well as several patches of stone foundation. There hadn’t been any signs of inhabitable buildings, but maybe they were hidden by the jungle.
Could this village be one of the ones Hector and his squad were accused of destroying?
He’d also been accused of genocide, she reminded herself. But her job wasn’t to investigate crimes from twenty years ago; it was to save Maria.
Their guards motioned for them to halt. Flickering candlelight appeared at the gaping void that used to be the entrance to a building. The old stone church, Caitlyn realized as the person holding the candle drew closer.
Hector shouted something in Spanish—Caitlyn caught Maria’s name but nothing else. Whatever he said, the guards didn’t like: one of them butted him in the back with his rifle, sending Hector to his knees. He kept talking, not stopping even when the guard raised his weapon, prepared to smash it against Hector’s head.
“Stop!” Caitlyn shouted, taking a step toward Hector and his guard. Her own guard hauled her back, bruising her arm with his grip. She shook free. “Please, we’re here asking for your help in saving a girl’s life. Please listen.”
She had no idea if any of them spoke English, could only hope that Hector would translate her words. But his guard lowered his weapon and looked to the person holding the candle.
The woman raised her candle high, closer to her face. She was shorter than Caitlyn, with the high cheekbones and deep eyes of the Mayans. She wore a simple white blouse and jeans, appeared to be in her late thirties or early forties, and had thick, dark hair wrapped around her head in a braid.
Hector spit on the ground at her feet. “I’d hoped you were dead.”
The woman smiled. “Sorry to disappoint, Colonel Alvarado.” Her English was melodic, barely any accent but a cadence that was exotic. “And you are?” she asked Caitlyn.
“FBI Supervisory Special Agent Caitlyn Tierney.”
“FBI? You have no jurisdiction here.”
“I know. Which is why we need your help. We believe
Maria Alvarado, a nineteen-year-old girl, has been abducted and is in danger.” Caitlyn threw every bit of sincerity into her words.
The woman fingered a small cross she wore on a chain around her neck. The gold glinted in the candlelight. Finally she nodded to the guards, turned, and headed back into the burnt-out church.
“Who is she?” Caitlyn whispered to Hector as they fell into step with their guards and followed.
He said nothing, his lips pressed together tight, gaze centered on the woman. She wondered where his men were and if they had a plan. Every rule in the book said not to allow your captors to force you into a vehicle or building, but this entire encounter was already breaking all the rules.
She was glad she’d convinced Hector not to come in hot and heavy with a tactical strike. If he’d conveyed her opinion to his team and if they followed his instructions.
Although she counted only five guards and the apparently unarmed woman, she sensed that there were many more along the perimeter and in the shadows of the burned-out buildings. If Maria was here, a firefight would probably get her killed—not to mention her father’s squad as well as Hector and Caitlyn.
The stone arch entrance to the church still stood upright, although the walls behind it had fallen into a pile of rubble with small bushes and a tree growing out of them. The woman followed a path twisting between the debris, and crossed another threshold, this one with part of the roof remaining, casting it into deep shadows. Then she disappeared.
As their guards nudged them forward, below the roof, Caitlyn saw more candles lighting their path, leading down a set of steep stone steps. They were made of a different material from the rest of the church and appeared older. Much older.
Hieroglyphs chiseled into the wall confirmed her suspicion: ancient Mayans had built the stairs and the tunnels they led into. They traveled deep underground, heading into the mountainside, so deep that the air turned chilly and a crisp ozone scent replaced the jungle’s humidity. The candles flickered and there was the reflection of water, although Caitlyn couldn’t hear it. The place felt different from a modern church—still reverent and awe-inspiring, but somehow more calming. Maybe it was the low ceilings and narrow passages or perhaps it was the way even their footsteps were muffled by the thick stone surrounding them as they burrowed into the mountainside. Caitlyn stumbled and couldn’t catch herself with her hands tied behind her, but her guard pulled her back onto her feet.
The stillness and impenetrable blackness triggered a wave of claustrophobia—never a problem before for Caitlyn, but she’d also never been trapped belowground in ancient Mayan catacombs. Finally they traveled down a final set of stairs and the tunnel opened up into a larger cavern.
There was a pond at the center, several families gathered around fires surrounding it. Caitlyn could make out bedding and cooking areas. “You live down here?”
“Only when we’re being hunted,” the woman answered. She nodded to Caitlyn’s guard and made a slashing gesture with her hand. At first Caitlyn imagined the worst, but she met the woman’s gaze and saw no malice there. Instead of panicking, she raised her wrists and bent forward. The guard cut her bindings and her hands were free.
“Who are you?” Caitlyn asked, wondering about both the woman and the group as a whole.
“Tell me again about this girl you seek.”
Caitlyn moved her hand to her pocket. The guard stepped forward, his gun raised. “Just a photo.” The woman waved him off. Caitlyn handed her Maria’s picture as well as Prescott’s. “This is Maria Alvarado. She’s nineteen, a sophomore at University of Central Florida, studying Mayan archeology. She was lured here to Guatemala by this man who went by the name of Prescott Wilson. Have you seen either of them?”
To her surprise, the woman’s hand trembled and she dropped Maria’s photo. Before Caitlyn could retrieve it, the woman scooped it back up and clasped it to her heart. “She’s turned into such a beautiful girl.”
Caitlyn stepped back and watched. The woman wasn’t talking to Caitlyn; she was speaking to Hector, who reluctantly looked her in the eye and nodded. “She is.”
“Tell me, Colonel. Is she happy? Have you given her that, at least?”
“Yes. She’s happy. Please help.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, her hand closing into a fist. “You came here to ask me for help?”
“I’m here because I’d do anything for my daughter.” There was a hint of rebellion in his voice.
Silence for a long moment, the woman and Hector in a staring match that condemned everyone else to oblivion. The woman whipped her head around, staring at Caitlyn. “You asked who I am. I am Itzel Ytzab Tamay. Maria is my daughter. Stolen from me by this man.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
To Jake’s surprise, Romero merely grinned, ignored the gun pointed at him, and put the Land Rover in gear. “Okay, have it your way. No guarantee we’ll make it in time. Or in one piece. There’s more to these jungles than you can see, even in broad daylight.”
“Then why’d you let Caitlyn go?”
“I didn’t. Thought we were all set to wave Alvarado bye-bye when the damn fool jumped out of the car and ran after him.”
Sounded like Caitlyn. Jake scrutinized the CIA officer for a long moment. Clearly the only side Romero was loyal to was his own. “How long have you and Alvarado been working together?”
Romero’s demeanor changed. No longer jovial, he considered his words. A true chameleon. Or sociopath. “I wouldn’t put it that way. I wasn’t his handler or anything like that. But yes, sometimes he and his squad needed assistance with missions that had the potential to be mutually beneficial. And occasionally we needed a group like his that would ask no questions to take care of—well, let’s just call them nuisances. Altogether a profitable enterprise for both parties—and all government sanctioned.” He glanced at Jake. “Unlike your and Tierney’s escapades. Although many of our joint ventures could potentially be embarrassing if allowed to surface from where they’re buried in the annals of history.”
“So your job now is to help him as long as he keeps quiet.”
“All he asked for was transportation and a diversion for a certain tenacious FBI agent.”
The pieces fell into place. “You don’t care if Hector gets killed.”
“Dead men tell no tales.”
Jake wondered if the ransom demand Caitlyn had told Yates about was genuine. Maybe luring Maria here to Hector’s homeland had been simply to bait the trap that would end in Hector’s execution? “What about Maria and Caitlyn?”
“Outside my mission parameters.” Romero shrugged. “The thing about this business is you can’t make personal attachments. Because sooner or later everyone gets burned. It’s just the way the cookie crumbles.”
“Want to see what a forty-caliber Glock can do to a cookie?” Jake said, mimicking Romero’s carefree tone. “Or maybe to your head?”
Romero drove on in silence. They were on a narrow double-lane road with uneven pavement. But at least it was paved, so they made decent time. From the map, it looked like they’d soon be turning onto unpaved roads that went from a solid line to barely perceived squiggles as they headed into the mountains toward Cubiltzul. There was no other traffic to slow them. If they were lucky and the road didn’t deteriorate, they should make it in another hour.
If they were lucky. Jake hadn’t survived a year and a half living undercover by depending on luck. But right now he had no choice.
As the roads got worse, Jake was glad Romero was the one doing the driving. The CIA officer didn’t seem at all bothered by being taken at gunpoint—it was as if this was all a big game to him. Reminded Jake of some of the hard-core 1 percenters he’d met while with the Reapers. True sociopaths, focused only on their next hit of adrenaline.
“You know about the Kaibiles?” Romero asked, making casual conversation about Alvarado’s old death squad.
“I’ve read about them.”
“Take what you read and multiply i
t by ten. Those SOBs were crazy, did what they wanted, when they wanted. Hector was the worst of the worst.”
“How the hell did he end up running a biotech company of all things?” Jake asked, although he had his suspicions.
“Oh, well, that was kinda like fate stepping in. After a decade of his squad terrorizing the country, they suddenly found themselves in the spotlight once the peace talks began. They’d annihilated a village, Cubiltzul, massacred all the guerrillas—”
“I read there were no guerrillas there. Only innocent civilians.”
“Depends on who’s writing the history, doesn’t it? To the government back then, anyone blocking their seizing of land, any natives refusing to move into the city and become assimilated, they were all leftist rebels. Anyway, Hector had real bad timing. Fresh blood of hundreds on his hands—including a Catholic priest, a no-no regardless which side of the war you were on—and a public outcry. So the government promoted him.”
“Of course.” Typical.
“They put him in charge of their top secret prison at Lake Invierno.”
“U4.”
“You have done your homework.” Romero sounded both impressed and condescending. “Hector and his second-in-command, Dr. Carrera, they ran the place. Torture, interrogation, rape, murder, you name it. The prison had both male and female prisoners and Hector found a nice little sideline—he’d sell any babies the women had to fine, upstanding government-approved families. Or to rich Americans desperate to adopt.”
Jake sat up at that. He’d heard of the stolen infants in Spain and Argentina—many were taken by the Catholic Church, their leftist mothers told that they’d died in childbirth. But this? Raping prisoners in order to sell their children?
And the man behind it was with Caitlyn right now. She had no idea whom she had at her back. “Drive faster.”