by J. L. Saint
"Yeah. Make it a double ass chewing. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir." Roger disconnected and dialed Mari's number.
"Mr. Wes- Uh, Roger, are you all right? You've been gone a long time."
He cleared his throat, thinking her voice sounded like an angel's, something every man on death's doorstep craved to hear. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just…just delayed. I had a few extra minutes and thought I would check on you. Is Holly still with you?"
"Yes. She has been very kind."
"Good. Humor me a minute. There's been so much happening that I never got the chance to ask. Tell me about the baby. What your and Neil's plans were for the little one. Names, hopes, dreams. I'd like to know." Roger shut his eyes as Mari spoke. The flood of things he'd yearned for from the bottom of his soul, but had never found the time to make happen, was overwhelming considering he might be living the last minutes of his life.
1600 Hours
"What other clues or discrepancies can you point out?" the man called Rash asked as he handed her Bill's letter. They'd changed their interrogation room from an office to the kitchen, likely hoping the cozier atmosphere would get them better results. The only two things that had changed was the once welcoming scent of coffee now turned her stomach and she'd come to the realization that these men didn't make a move without calculating it first. Cold. Methodical. Relentless.
All the men surrounding her in her cozy little prison-Rash, two guards outside the front door, maybe more on the grounds, and Jack-were strong, capable, trained fighters. Men whose mere existence made her want to shake them and scream because they were completely equipped in every way to rescue her sons. They had the skill do it. The force of the government behind them. And they were DOING NOTHING to rescue Matt and Mitch and Angie. They just sat here asking HER questions.
She scrubbed her face with her hands, staving off the tears that kept clawing to the surface. Were she to give into them, she wouldn't be able to stop. Couldn't these men see she was bleeding all over the floor as if someone had slit her spiritual wrists? Her sons. Dear God, her sons and her best friend were in the hands of a murderer. Angie wouldn't be in danger now if Lauren hadn't brought her into this mess.
Several deep breaths helped Lauren gather enough calm to survive-for another few moments at least. She could only think about making it through one minute at a time, telling herself to breathe, telling herself that Matt and Mitch would be all right, telling herself that at any minute she'd be able to hold them in her arms and never let them go.
She had long passed the point of being able to tell the authorities anything new or significant about Bill. And since learning about Matt and Mitch, she'd answered all of their questions the same. "Until you bring me Matt and Mitch, I have nothing else to say."
THAT was the only relevant or important point at the moment.
Everything around her was filtered through the thick fog of pain that her sons had been taken, and she couldn't seem to think or feel about anything else. Even what happened with Jack yesterday and this morning was removed from her by layers of hurt, anger, fear, terror and frustration. She had to get to her sons. She had to get to Andreas Miles, but how?
Sure she understood the global ramifications of the terrorist acts Bill had helped orchestrate. And she realized the CIA, NCS, and every other acronym had to aggressively investigate in order to stop any future attacks, but she didn't know anything about any of it. Meanwhile her sons were in immediate danger.
That the men were agitated with her was an understatement. Except for Jack, he'd leaned back in his seat with an angry smirk. He didn't like being held prisoner either and her stubborn resistance either amused him or satisfied his desire to stick it to the bowling ball SOO and the scary Rash McGuire at the moment.
Everything that had happened over the past forty-eight hours plus since Matt and Mitch's birthday party ran through her mind like a sick reality show, one with a garish billionaire with a chimp and- Oh, hell yes!
She stood up so fast that the blood drained from her brain and her vision wavered a minute before settling out. "I need some fresh air."
"There's plenty of air inside," the SOO said.
Lauren glared at him. "Afraid I'll leap the deck in a single bound? Race like a speeding bullet?"
"Better call your watch dogs." Jack rose, opened the French doors, and gestured for her to precede him out the door. "Because I think she could very well do both right now. Why don't you two smarten up and give her some news about her kids."
She passed him, praying the idiots would take Jack's advice. Then she went directly for the steps leading down to the ground. The sun, already low on the horizon wouldn't be around for long. Nights were cooler in North Carolina, with a hint of fall in the breeze. She turned her face to the brushing wind and the fading sun and blinked back the bite of tears in her eyes. God she was a mess.
A fountain and a goldfish pond centered the perfectly landscaped grounds and she went directly to it. The perimeter of the Better-Homes-And-Garden yard eased into thick trees and, Lauren suspected, a walled security fence with guards beyond that. Nothing like being hog-tied while having her heart ripped out.
An apt description for her situation.
Jack kept pace with her and she spoke low, where only he could hear, making sure she faced away from the house. These kind of people read lips and she didn't want them to know what she had to say. "Do you think they can hear us now?"
"Technology wise it's possible. Odds are they aren't that equipped here. This whole situation came about so last minute that I don't think so. Why?"
"First tell me about the Alvarado family in Colombia."
"Lauren, you don't need to do this to yourself."
"Just tell me, Jack. For once be open and don't hold back what you can tell me just because you think it's for my own good, or God forbid, you do what those guys back there do, and coldly calculate and control everything."
He exhaled as her sharp words hit home. "An attempt to rescue the Alvarado family was made, but by the time the operatives reached the family inside the compound, they had been executed."
"And the drug lord who did it, was it Menendez? The man who now has Matt and Mitch?"
"Rumor has it the Colombian drug lord was a peon for Menendez's cartel. Menendez had likely ordered the executions."
"This Rash person. He led the rescue attempt?"
"Yes."
"So my sons are in the hands of brutal killer who is criminally insane, and the government has appointed a man to save my children whose whole purpose is focused on revenge against Menendez?" Tears of frustration and fear flooded her eyes. "My sons aren't important to anyone."
"They are to me." Jack grasped her shoulders, looking into her eyes.
The turmoil she saw, gave testament to the fury of the emotions within him. He might be calm on the outside but inside he was raging.
She drew from that strength and placed her palm over his heart, pressing against the soft cotton of his pullover. "Then help me, Jack. I might know how to reach my sons without alerting Menendez," she whispered, her own heart pounding with hope and fear. Jack had to take her seriously.
"Lauren, this is not-"
"You expect me to wait around for a repeat of the Alvarado family? Just listen to what I have to say. The live CNN interview with him is tomorrow afternoon. Remember Angie saying that Latimoor Live would feature Andreas Miles at his research facility in Peru? If he hasn't cancelled, then we can go in as part of the camera crew. There'd be equipment to hide the weapons and a filming entourage for cover. Matt and Mitch have to be with him. Or we can at least find where they are being held prisoner."
"The US has probably picked up Menendez on satellite by now. Once his plane lands there will be pictures of all activity around the plane, including vehicle arrivals and departures. If they identify the landing site in time then they'll have agents on the ground monitoring as well. If your sons, and I pray, Angie and Rico are removed from the plane and taken somewhe
re, we should know. But what you're asking to do is to coordinate a high profile government operation with a news reporting team on a case with worldwide ramifications. That's practically impossible."
She grabbed his shirt. "No. Jack. Not the government. Not those guys in the house. But you and a few good men could do it and would do it if one of your own was a prisoner and was about to be executed. I know it. Make the impossible happen, Jack. Save my sons. Don't let them end up dead."
The last thread of control holding back her pain broke and the tears flooded. Her heart hurt so much for those she loved that she could hardly breathe.
Jack didn't answer her as he pulled her into his arms, but he didn't say no either.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Every muscle Roger owned had spasmed and cramped in the two hours he stood without shifting a fraction of an inch from the waist down. The bomb squad was on the scene, as well as several explosive experts from Bragg, sent to consult thanks to some major string pulling by General Dekker. And all of the experts were focused on one thing-saving his ass.
He had no complaints.
Though the full bomb regalia covering him was heavy as a tank. He hoped, but doubted, it would save him if the IED detonated before they disarmed it.
And before the squad could do that, the police had to evacuate the area, shut down the natural gas, and search for other bombs first.
They found two more. One in the bathroom attached the commode flusher and the other in Mari's bedroom, wired to explode when she turned on her bedside lamp.
The sick mind behind the booby traps chilled Roger to the bone. Vindictive. Personal. Lethal. And insanely obsessed. Frank Dugar had declared a war on Mari and just as soon as Roger made it out alive, he was going to war.
It wouldn't be much longer now. An expert was currently working at Roger's feet. He had to hand it to the bomb squad team. There wasn't a rushed bone in their bodies. Every movement was painstakingly slow as if they were in some time warp. Considering every natural instinct was to run like hell, Roger concluded that the men who did this day in and day out had to have titanium balls.
"Commander Lt. Col. Weston, sir. Are you ready?"
"Yes." Was anyone ever ready?
"Just so you know, sir, had you backed away from the trip wire, you would have been a goner. On my count of three, I want you to step back."
"One. Two. Three."
Roger moved back and kept easing back until he exited the front door. The bomb suit was designed to protect against the blast in the front. In the back it provided cushion, especially to the spine, to absorb the shock of impact. With every step he thanked God and then prayed like hell for the man who was still defusing the bomb. Once outside, other members of the bomb squad were there, helping him, leading him off the porch into the yard and removing the bomb suit. He clearly would now live no matter what happened inside, but Roger didn't breathe with any relief until the man he left behind made it out safely as well.
He didn't see the media circus at the police barricades until then. Every major news station in Fayetteville was on the scene with their high-powered cameras rolling. They were likely giving Dugar the biggest jolly of his life. Any hope of Roger's name staying out of the news was practically nil.
Roger faced the cameras with the full force of his rage. Bring it on, he silently muttered to the coward after Mari. You want a fight, then fight like a man.
Mari couldn't believe it. She sat glued to the television screen with Holly right there with her. After she'd spoken to Roger earlier, she'd been unable to just rest or read. She'd kept thinking about all the things brought to the surface by Roger's question about her baby. All of her hopes and dreams, all of Neil's that he would never see come to fruition, and the almost desperate need she had detected in Roger's voice.
It had reminded her of his nightmare and vulnerable, hurting depths behind his solid facade. Something was wrong. It wasn't until she turned on the television that she found out what. There on the screen was her house, front and center. The bomb squad was on scene, hoping to save a man trapped inside. It was then she realized why Roger had sounded so strange. With every passing second of the drama, her heart wrenched both in fear for Roger and in the realization that she had to leave the safety he'd given her.
"Son of a bitch," Holly said as the camera zoomed in on Roger standing in Mari's front yard. "I'm going to kill him for not telling us."
"As long as I am here, he will be in danger." Mari was filled with her fear for Roger and the resignation that she'd have to leave.
Holly rolled her eyes. "Haven't you realized the dudes around here totally thrive on danger?"
"Danger in a war zone when they are expecting enemy fire. Not danger in their home. He was almost killed today because of me."
"You can't look at it that way. You have to realize that if someone else had gone inside your home-you, a neighbor, a friend-they would likely be dead now. Here, we train day in and day out for things like this."
Mari's eyes widened. She hadn't asked Holly any personal questions and had assumed she was the wife of one of the soldiers. "You? You train. What do you do here?"
"Mainly, I teach the men how to think like a woman sniper. Occasionally, I get into a pissing match with one of the guys on who the better shot is, especially when they start ragging that I just got lucky with my record holder. Then I have to prove myself on the range where I usually win their respect. Guys are like that with women. You can't tell them anything and have them really believe it. They've got to see it with their own eyes."
"So you teach them how to shoot too?"
Holly shook her head. "Don't know how well that would go down in the ego department. Besides there are snipers in the war whose kill range are close to a mile and a half. They are the legends a man wants teaching him. What I do here is tell them how a woman sniper might think and react in different situations. I also try and make these men realize that when a woman joins an army and uses guns or bombs to fight in a war, she becomes another soldier and they have to reprogram their minds when it comes to gender if they are going to survive."
Mari looked down at her bandaged hands. Would she be in this shape if she'd learned some of what Holly must know? Would she have been raped by those men? Would she be putting Roger's life in danger now? The possible answer to those questions spoke volumes to Mari. She couldn't do anything at that moment. But she would.
She'd probably have to leave to keep Roger from being killed by the madman after her, but she didn't have to be helpless anymore.
2200 Hours
Jack quietly paced the floor. It was time for him to break free of their cushy prison. The guards would be expecting him to try something in the o'dark thirty sweet spot, which is why he was bailing now. Conveniently for him, Lauren had fallen asleep, despite how impossible she believed it. Sometimes the body overruled the mind. Her physical and emotional exhaustion had been past the point of staying sane, but she'd kept it together, hoping beyond hope that her plan to rescue her sons would come to fruition. She'd been watching CNN since they'd come upstairs to rest. She'd looked for any news on Menendez/Miles and whether or not the live show scheduled for tomorrow night had been canceled. So far it hadn't. In fact, the host of Latimoor Live had made an announcement earlier that she'd be seeing everyone from the wilds of Peru tomorrow evening.
Whether Jack wanted to admit it or not, and as impromptu as it would be, Lauren's idea had taken root in his mind. Provided satellite data backed up the facts and all assets were available, going in disguised as part of the camera crew could even be considered ideal. He"Now an update on the averted bombing in Fayetteville, North Carolina involving a high ranking military officer."
Jack whipped around at the headline and stood stunned at the video feed. The Sandman's house was on national news as was the man emerging from the bomb suit. What the hell? Jack shook his head in disbelief. Commander Weston's image, though at a distance, was unmistakable. Jack glanced at the time the video
was taken. A little over two hours after he'd left here.
Jesus. Where was Mari? The bastards after her had to have planted the bombs. He reached for his cell only to find his pocket empty. He clenched his fists. Damn. Enough was enough. More determined than ever, Jack left the suite of rooms he was in with Lauren and quickly made his way down to the kitchen. Nodding at each guard he passed, he mentioned food. One guard accompanied Jack into the kitchen and watched Jack's every move. He wasn't sure why any highly usable utensil had been removed. No sharp knives or skewering forks, but then, any professional worth his salt didn't need the obvious. So it was almost an insult that they'd removed them.
He raided the refrigerator, piling high two plates with sandwiches, potato salad, fruit, pickles and chips. Before he left the kitchen, he put popcorn in the microwave. The aroma would quickly permeate the house and set every man's mind on his stomach. It was the munchy hour of the late evening. That time just before bed when everyone human got antsy for a taste of something good.
Plates held prominently, Jack returned to the bedroom, enjoying the envious looks on the guard's faces. The CIA might have a hidden listening device, but Jack found no evidence of video surveillance. Not that he didn't think the SOBs capable, he just didn't think time had permitted them to set up a fully equipped prison. With the TV running, Jack left it up to their interpretation of what was going on in the sitting room. He placed the food plates on the coffee table, pulled two Coke cans from his pockets then turned to Lauren.
The urge to wake her up and tell her he was going and would see her soon was overwhelming as was the urge to kiss her one last time, to simply hold her one last moment and recapture the way she'd made him feel when wrapped in her arms.
But she'd want to go with him and she couldn't. She was safer here.