by Jeanne Adams
If Niko were to return, neither he nor his friend in the Jeep would leave.
This told him they were not Dav’s men, nor did they work for Gates Bromley or his woman.
The shadow player, perhaps.
Not good. Too many forces at odds. Too many pieces on the chessboard.
He continued to watch, unwilling to shift the balance yet. He gritted his teeth when the men turned to the hole as well, having finished with their work at the road. They crept over to the same place Niko had, but they were more intent. When they aimed their weapons downward, he could see both night-scopes and suppressors. Shifting to his work, Jurgens sighed, focused and let out a long, slow breath.
Idiots.
He squeezed the trigger, once, then twice. Pivoting fast, he shot again, taking out the sniper who had been watching the camp as intently as he had. The fact that that watcher hadn’t shot meant he worked with these men, therefore he had to be taken off the chessboard.
The mines were not in his purview, but he could prevent the direct murder of Dav and his woman, should they still be alive.
The men fell where they stood, crumpling to the ground. He felt the usual rush of elation as he exercised his skills. The shots were perfectly placed; death had been instantaneous. His shots had been exact enough that neither weapon had discharged.
Now, he would contact his Caroline.
She would no doubt shed some light on the shadows. And they could talk about chess.
Gates jerked in surprise as an e-mail pinged his inbox. It was marked URGENT! And it was from the Agency.
He opened it as Ana answered a call on the house phone, directed to her. Perhaps the Agency was doubling their efforts. He heard her murmured conversation as a background lilt, as he shifted over from his running program to the e-mail server.
They had convened the team at Dav’s estate. The Agency must have tracked her here.
He opened the e-mail, finished reading it just as Ana set the phone down. In her stillness, she vibrated with tension, distracting him from the e-mail. They’d been waiting for the package to arrive with proof of life. The ransom was ready to transfer from one account to the designated one the kidnappers had given them. They were trying to dig up more leads in the meantime.
“Did you get the same intel?” he demanded. “South America? There’s a lead in Argentina.”
She shook her head in the negative, a mute disagreement. Her inability to speak shocked him and Gates leapt to his feet to go to her.
“What? What is it?” he demanded, a hand on her arm. “They’re not dead.” He knew they weren’t dead, but his heart sank anyway at her refusal to answer.
“No. They’re not. That was about a location. It was... help.” Ana said the words slowly, as if feeling her way to them, which was odd.
“Who? Agency? Where? Why?” He shot the questions at her.
“No, not Agency, and not South America. As to the who, I’m not sure.”
“Not sure? What? A trace,” he began.
“No, she anticipated that, and said it wouldn’t work.”
“She? Who is she and why are you considering this?” He knew she had reasons. She wasn’t as good as she was at their business without good reason and without good instincts.
“Short answer is she’s helping because Dav helped her pull off something huge.” She stopped, looked him in the eye. “I think it’s legit. He’s in Central America,” she said, answering the questions out of order.
“Agency says South America,” Gates answered her, tension singing in every fiber of his being. “They have leads. Solid ones.”
She nodded, this time in agreement. “I know. They’re wrong.”
He ran a hand through his hair and paced. Pacing let the frustration out, helped him think. “Okay. Okay. Lay it out. Tell me why you think this is legit.”
“She found me,” Ana said with a puzzled shrug. “Here. At this number. Unlisted and untraceable. And I don’t live here.”
“Could be the kidnapper,” Gates said at once, calculating the odds. “They have some pretty sick skills to pull this off. Pretty easy to get a phone number, comparatively.”
“No. No mention of the ransom demand, nothing about the account in the Caymans and the money there, no hesitation in her voice. Calm, but quick. Sure.” Ana detailed the sense of the call; the very calmness with which the information was delivered had led her to “profile” the person. “She had nothing to hide,” Ana continued, “and nothing more to ask or offer. Just a direction.”
“A mislead.”
“A mislead would give us more, not less,” Ana argued.
He thought about it, checked his gut. When his gut agreed with Ana, he slapped his computer shut.
“Pack gear.” Gates shouted the order over his shoulder.
Georgiade was coming down the hallway toward them. He pivoted where he stood and started toward the security quarters at a trot.
Another shout from Gates stopped him, momentarily. “Full field outlay, night ops packs and weapons.”
Georgiade nodded and hurried on. Gates knew everyone would spring into action and be ready to go before an hour was out. “Where in Central America?” he said, turning back to Ana.
“Belize,” Ana snapped out the answer as she snatched the phone back out of its cradle. “I’ve got to get on the phone to the Agency. We need a smooth path, embassy help. We’re gonna need clearance to go in on search and rescue.”
“They aren’t going to like you disagreeing with their analysis.”
“I’m not going to tell them how scanty the lead is,” she snapped, defensive because she was going on her gut, asking him and all the team to trust that her instincts were correct.
He waited through the long tense minutes as she contacted the people who could help them. He listened with only partial attention as he simultaneously made mental lists, revising and shifting what gear they should take as he thought of scenarios.
“We’re good to go,” she said, clicking off the phone. “Let’s move.”
“Dogs?” he asked as they hurried down the hall after Georgiade.
“Yes,” she said, then saved her breath to run.
They got to the security area within minutes. The team was gearing up with an efficiency that made him proud. When he saw them, Franklin left his pack, coming to them.
“We takin’ the dogs?”
“Yes,” he said, and Franklin grinned.
Ana panted out a further order. “Make sure they’ve got that stuff on them, the flea stuff. That’s all the Belize people asked for.”
“Done,” Franklin replied, heading out of the room at a run. He’d gather his best dogs and be back, Gates knew, probably before the others had time to figure out which boots to wear. Franklin had been on this kind of op before and kept a bag packed and the dogs ready.
Ana turned and left the room as well, and Gates knew she’d be sorting through their gear in the car, making up packs that would go with them.
“Who’s staying here?” Callahan asked. Her hard gaze dared him to say it was her.
“New guy, Geddey. He’s coming in early. He’ll keep things tight here while we go hunting.”
“Ana?” Royce asked. He was by his locker, and never looked up from the task of strapping a clutch piece on his leg.
“Arming up and loading the plane.”
“Feebs comin’?” Damon wanted to know. He wasn’t going, with his injuries still healing. He’d get Geddey whatever he needed, and keep watch on Declan.
“Clearing the path for us, but they won’t be on the plane,” Gates answered for Ana, his hands busy zipping a pack as one of the new members of the team, Holden, zipped another.
“Landscape with Apaches,” Holden muttered.
“What’s that mean, Holden?” Callahan demanded.
“Like that old painting. They’ll be there, probably,” Holden said, shifting to face her. “But nobody’ll see ’em where they’re hiding.”
“Agency too,
but we won’t see them, either,” Royce muttered.
They all looked at Gates and he nodded. He didn’t say a word. They were right, but he couldn’t and wouldn’t confirm. With this late knowledge, all of the agencies would have difficulty keeping up with them, but they had people in place inside most of the Central American countries. Someone would be there unofficially.
“Let’s keep moving,” he said curtly. “We need to head out.”
Gates hauled gear and arranged it in the SUV. He was still waiting to find out about Ana’s contact. But with that, and his own equipment now humming with various searches and algorithms, he was digging out a web of transactions. The flights and the country had begun to hint not only to Belize but to a man.
A mastermind.
A shadow.
He’d begun forwarding data, and the Agency was interested, but only if they could be sure there was no blowback on them. They had little or nothing on the man in question, and nothing that pointed to a grudge of this magnitude against Dav.
With so little data to go on, they were unwilling to act overtly.
Gates had no such compunction. If there was a chance, even the slimmest, slightest chance that Dav was in Belize, he was going. If Ana’s contact—and he still needed to hear more about that phone call—was to be trusted, Belize was the place. He’d sent the yacht to the Gulf already. Now, with more intel, he shot off an e-mail that would have the yacht meeting them in Punta Gorda. He wanted a haven for Dav and Carrie if they found them alive. They couldn’t be taken to a hospital in Belize. The media would be all over that, and so would Niko if he was their kidnapper.
To bring them home safely, private transportation was the only way, so he made sure it was available.
If they were right about this shadow enemy, then they were flying blind. Not knowing left them unprepared for matching any subsequent actions if they got Dav out alive in the first place.
Meanwhile the private lab with the ransom materials, including the hair and the gold chain and locket, would forward results to Gates, Geddey and the various agencies as soon as they came through. The lab was being paid handsomely for putting everything through immediately, and it had promised results. He hoped that something in the box, on the hair or materials or the letter, would lead back to the mastermind, to someone who could be held accountable. He seriously wanted someone to pay, and pay dearly for taking his friend.
“Fifteen minutes, be ready to roll,” he said, sticking his head into the team’s locker room. He didn’t wait for an assent before leaving the room to pack the last of his own gear. There was enough on the estate that he could utilize; he’d bought it for Dav and the team, after all. Ana already had their personal gear sorted, he’d add some extra firepower to it.
When they landed at Goldson International Airport in Belize City, there were two cars waiting for them, along with three large black SUVs, their windows tinted both for privacy and to ward off the tropical sun. It was barely into April and he could feel the humidity weighting the air. Off to the side, Gates spotted the two motorcycles he’d requested. As the jet taxied to a stop near general aviation, a man stepped out of a dark blue Mercedes sedan. Ana’s CIA contact.
Gates watched as Ana went down the plane’s steps and approached him. They shook hands. Even watching for the exchange, Gates nearly missed it. He knew there would be keys, but whatever other items were passed over put a look of intense excitement on his wife’s face.
She hustled back onto the plane and demanded a laptop.
“Quick, quick,” she said, waiting impatiently for the computer to boot up. She inserted a portable thumb drive and began flicking keys.
Maps, satellite images, road markers, and a series of codes marked with cryptic names popped up on the screen as she opened the files.
“Printer?”
“Check the list, should be EleniOne, for this jet.”
“Got it,” she said, and was already printing files before they finished the exchange. Gathering the packets, she pulled the drive and strung it on one of the key rings. She passed that one to Gates. “Anything happens to me, make sure that disappears.”
“Right. Where are we headed?” Gates asked, snagging a gear bag as he followed her out to the tarmac.
“Small airport, south and west of Belmopan. That’s the capital,” she replied, pulling open the door to the Suburban.
Two of their team stepped up, strapping on motorcycle helmets. Gates gave them their direction, and Ana walked with them to the bikes, her animated hand motions indicative of whatever plan she was imparting.
“I thought Belize City was the capital.” Callahan put on her shades, got into the backseat of the same vehicle. “It’s the only city I know the name of, and isn’t the major airport usually in the capital?”
“‘Was’ being the operative word in terms of the capital,” Holden said as he got in the backseat on the other side, behind Gates. “A hurricane wiped most of the city off the map in nineteen sixty-one. They retired the name of Hurricane Hattie after that one. Relocated the capital inland, named it Belmopan.”
“And you know this because?” Callahan asked the question, but Gates was listening. It was always good to know about your team. Even if they weren’t your team anymore.
“I’m a weather nerd,” Holden answered with a sunny smile. “Used to chase tornadoes in high school.”
Callahan slumped down in the seat, getting comfortable. She’d once told Gates she could sleep anywhere at any time, and did, knowing that in their line of work you sometimes had to go without it for long stretches.
“Explains a lot,” she muttered.
“What?” Holden stared at her. When she didn’t answer he looked toward the front, meeting Gates’s eyes in the rearview mirror. To Gates’s surprise, he grinned. “Hey, it was something to do.”
Grinning back, Gates nodded, then focused on the road. It was going to be a long drive on roads that weren’t as well maintained as U.S. roads, nor as wide.
“Let’s do it,” Ana said impatiently, giving him a pointed look. He could tell she was amused by the discussions as well, but her anxiety won out.
“Right. On it,” he said, gunning the engine.
“We’re disgustingly dirty,” Carrie muttered, hours later when they woke. “And I do mean disgusting.”
Since he felt grimy and sweaty, he didn’t disagree. He was used to hot showers and clean clothes, like most, and having to live in the same clothes for days on end did qualify as disgusting.
“I think showers would be a great improvement to a place like this, underground palace that it is. We must speak to the management,” he said, struggling to wake up and force himself to get moving. He loved having her there, spooned next to him, small and flexible and beautiful, even in the dark.
“Hmmm, yes, if they weren’t so long-dead, it would be a good complaint. However, since I don’t think showers were invented when people were last here, I’m guessing they wouldn’t care to hear it. Besides, I think they beheaded trespassers.”
“Unpleasant thought,” he muttered, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “I know we should get moving, but I’m not eager to get up. My body is saying we just went to sleep a minute ago.”
“Mine too, but that can’t be right. I can see a little bit of light, way up above us.”
Now that she mentioned it, he could see it too, a small round, bright spot. When he looked across the floor of the open area, he spied a soccer ball–sized circle of golden light. Not enough to illuminate the area, just enough to alleviate the unremitting blackness.
“It’s nice to see it,” he said, “but it doesn’t help us much.”
“No, not really. But maybe this will.” She sat up, though she still stayed next to him. He heard the rustling of their belongings and a snick of sound as she opened something. She tilted the mirror this way and that until she got the right angle, then, using the mirror to spread the light, she illuminated a section of the wall.
Slowly tu
rning the mirror, she played the light along the curve, stopping at the first doorway. It was more of a hole, a broad, black hole. He could probably squeeze his shoulders through it, but not by much.
Carrie resumed her turning, only to stop when the reflected light hit the second hole. When the light penetrated the opening, they immediately spotted rubble. At some point, that path had caved in. He immediately found himself praying that it wasn’t the only way out.
“Oh, God, I hope that wasn’t the exit,” Carrie echoed his thought as she continued the turn. The third hole was just as dark and narrow as the first, but it was taller, more like a door than a window.
“I think we should try that way first,” Dav said, hoping it was the right path. He was having enough trouble with the dark. Squeezing through tight spaces made the journey even more unpleasant.
“That seems logical,” Carrie agreed. “Let’s get moving. I think some of our sluggishness is due to hunger and thirst. The sooner we go, the sooner we get out.”
“From your mouth to God’s ear.” He muttered the old saying, just as popular in Greece as it was in America.
Carrie stood, and so did he. “I think I will have to carry our makeshift knapsack by hand, rather than on my back. The passage looked very narrow to me.”
“I think you’re right. I’m going to turn on the flashlight, okay?”
“Good. Let’s go.”
Two hours of scraping and crawling and pressing through narrowing tunnel walls found them at a dead end. The tunnel’s terminus was as round as the area in which they’d spent the night, but littered with old, small bones, like those of rodents or small animals.
“Oh, Dav.” Carrie wept his name as she sat down on the bone-littered floor with a thump. “Are we mad? Are we going to wander in here until we just fall down and die?”