“What the hell?” Kelly demanded, trying to keep the fear from her voice.
He forced her to the threshold of the shack. When she saw what was inside, Kelly’s stomach turned and she nearly threw up.
Lying in a coagulating pool of blood on a pile of rags was the body of a young boy, or what was left of him. All the skin had been stripped from his body. Long pieces of it hung from a clothesline draped across the room.
“This wasn’t me,” Kelly gasped, fighting for air. “It was him, the man I was fighting…”
They either didn’t understand or didn’t care. A pair of handcuffs slapped down on her wrists, and they led her away.
“Well, goddamn.” Brown’s face split in a grin. “If it isn’t Mark Riley.”
Mark didn’t return the smile. When he and Decker had first spotted the Tyr unit, they’d fallen back to discuss their options. Not knowing who to trust, they’d decided their best move was to observe from a distance. When Brown split off from the rest of the group, it presented them with the perfect opportunity to get some questions answered. With that in mind, he kept the LMT’s barrel aimed at Brown’s chest.
Brown’s smile faded. “You got some sort of Stockholm Syndrome, Riley? We work for the same people.”
“Someone ratted us out.” Decker materialized beside Delano. “Zetas were waiting when we showed up.”
Brown’s eyes narrowed. “Well, it sure as hell wasn’t me.”
“You and Calderon are buddies, right?” Mark cocked his head to the side. “Funny that you weren’t in charge of this snatch and grab.”
“Smiley’s decision, not mine.” Brown grunted. “Hell, I wanted to come. He said I was still needed on the Colombia job.”
“He’s with you,” Mark said. “Why?”
“Dunno. Thought that was kind of strange myself.” Brown eyed him. “We got Sock back there, too.”
“Wysocki? How the hell did he get away?”
“Said he left Kaplan and Flores and went for some food. When he came back, they were gone.”
“But he decided not to wait for us?” Decker said.
“Yeah, that struck me as kind of strange, too. Plus he showed up without a scratch on him,” Brown replied.
“That son of a bitch.” Decker spat on the ground.
“Kaplan’s dead,” Mark said. “We found his body when we got back.”
“Sorry to hear that. We worked together a few times, he was a good man.” Brown shook his head. “This has turned into one giant clusterfuck, that’s for damn sure.”
“Why’d you take Sock along?” Mark asked.
“Figured it was the only way to keep an eye on him. Listen, we’re both navy men. You mind lowering that weapon?”
Mark hesitated a moment, then dropped the barrel down. Decker kept his up. At a glance from Brown, he shrugged and said, “I’m a marine. That navy shit doesn’t fly with me.”
In the canopy above them, the sudden rustle of birds taking flight. They all froze, then Mark waved for everyone to follow him farther into the undergrowth. There was a small clearing in front of a giant ceiba tree. Brown settled down on one of the enormous roots, using it as an ad hoc bench. “Damn, I’m tired. Ran around all last night trying to find this place. You know your brother’s here?”
After a second, Mark nodded.
Brown squinted up at him. “He seemed dead set on getting you home. Yet here you are.”
“Never leave a man behind,” Mark responded. “We think Flores is in there.”
Brown nodded. “I know it’s not company policy, but I’d have done the same. Any good intel yet?”
Decker and Mark exchanged a glance. After a pause, Mark begrudgingly acknowledged, “We did some recon, but couldn’t figure out a way in.”
“It’s tight, all right,” Brown agreed. “And you don’t exactly look native. We’re going to send in Valencia.”
“That’s a good choice,” Decker said. “I worked with him in Ecuador.”
“Yeah, so. We figure he’ll get a bead on Calderon, see if he can locate Flores, too. Then we get them the hell out of this taco stand.”
“You got fifteen guys, not including Smiley,” Mark said.
“Oh, we’re not including him. Men only.” Brown grinned. “I’m sending him back to town to wait this out.”
“And I wouldn’t take Sock if I were you.”
“Wasn’t planning on it. Especially now.”
“So that’s fourteen of you against a small army,” Decker noted.
“Well, we got a little inside info you’re probably not privy to.” Brown smirked. “Seeing as how you don’t trust us anymore.”
“What kind of information?”
“We should probably come to some sort of arrangement first,” Brown said. “I could use more manpower and equipment, and thanks to your baby brother, you’ve got access to it.”
“In exchange for what?” Decker asked.
“Am I wrong, or don’t you two technically still work for me?” Brown’s eyes narrowed. Decker raised the barrel of his gun again. “Right now, I’m only interested in saving my own ass.”
“You two could have headed north, crossed the border by now. You came here to try to complete the mission, right?”
“Mostly to save Flores. Calderon would have been a bonus.”
“If you did some recon, you already know there’s no way you’re getting anyone out alone,” Brown said. “I don’t trust Sock or Smiley any more than you do. But this is my operation. You decide to trust me, we can help each other.”
Mark thought it over. Brown was right, even if Syd and Jake came up with some sort of genius plan, it was unlikely they’d even get so far as infiltrating the camp. And without knowing where Flores was being held, they might as well just pack up and leave. “Fine,” he finally said. “But I want Sock handled.”
“Trust me.” Brown grinned again. “It will be a pleasure.”
Jake paced back and forth in the motel room. He’d spent the past few hours futilely attempting to get some sleep. Maltz and Kane had pulled out a few hours earlier, headed back to Mexico City for heavier artillery. Syd was in her room, ostensibly trying to catch a nap in their down time. There hadn’t been any more news from his brother. For the moment, he had nothing to do except beat himself up for betraying Kelly.
He fell back on the bed, going over it again. What the hell had he been thinking? Even if Kelly weren’t in the picture, sleeping with his business partner counted as the dumbest thing he’d ever done, and he’d done some insanely stupid things in his life. The fact that he’d cheated on Kelly when she was at such a low point made it even worse. He’d never cheated on anyone before—hell, this was the first time he’d been in something that qualified as a real relationship. And he’d just blown it. Typical.
Jake watched a cockroach wander across the ceiling. The dark stains that mottled the stucco occasionally camouflaged its small body, then it reappeared. The truth was, he was lousy at every type of relationship. He and Mark had been best friends growing up, and now they weren’t even on speaking terms. He had lots of acquaintances, mostly guys he could grab a beer with. But people he could actually talk to? For the past few years, there had only been Kelly. He wondered how the hell that happened. He was in his mid-forties, and for all intents and purposes, he was utterly alone.
In retrospect, the falling out with his brother marked the beginning. Their father took off when they were kids; aside from sending crappy Christmas presents, he was completely out of their lives. Their mom got a job as a secretary at the local army base and worked her ass off for twenty years, doing her best to give them a good life. Not that they’d appreciated it at the time. He and Mark had given her more than a few gray hairs. Still, the four of them had been close, a tightly knit unit.
Then a decade ago their mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. Jake had taken a leave from work, flying home to be with her during each round of chemo. He and Chris had taken shifts caring for her. Unfortunatel
y the treatment at the base was less than subpar. Jake had fought the establishment, trying to get approval for a transfer to a civilian hospital. They refused, and she died a few months later.
Of course, none of that had been Mark’s fault. What pissed off Jake was that through all of it, his brother hadn’t even made the effort to visit. He sent postcards from wherever he happened to be deployed, most arriving weeks after the postmark. It nearly killed Jake, seeing their mom’s face light up when one was delivered, the way she devoured what was usually just a few sentences about the food and weather. His mother claimed that she didn’t expect any of her sons to stop their lives on her account. She was so excited when Mark finally sent word that he’d be home for Christmas. Unfortunately she only lasted through Thanksgiving.
During the funeral Jake had seethed as Mark stood there, eyes concealed by a pair of sunglasses. After they both had a few drinks, it came to blows. And they hadn’t spoken since. Until now, that is.
Yet he’d flown to Mexico the minute Mark was in trouble. Jake wondered if his brother would have done the same for him. Probably not.
A knock at the door jarred him out of his reverie. He opened it to find Syd standing there, looking worried.
“We should talk,” she said.
“Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.” Jake stepped back to let her move past him. She settled into the only chair, leaving him to perch awkwardly on the bed. “Listen, about last night—”
“Oh, Christ, not about that!” Syd rolled her eyes. “I heard back from Mark. They’ve run into some complications. Could be a good thing for us, or it could turn into a shit sandwich.”
Jake flushed, but said, “I don’t think that’s a real expression.”
“Whatever, you know what I mean. Anyway, they ran into the Tyr unit. He thinks it’s a good idea to partner up.”
“What? Mark was the one who said they couldn’t be trusted.”
“I know, but Brown offered some information in exchange. He’s got a guy who can infiltrate the camp, figure out where the friendlies are. Mark doesn’t think he’ll be able to narrow it down without that intel.”
“I don’t know.” Jake had a bad feeling. An already complicated situation just kept getting worse.
There was another knock at the door.
Syd’s eyebrows shot up. “You expecting someone? I didn’t think they had room service here.”
Jake crossed to open it. Syd slipped to the side, drawing her sidearm. “You can never be too careful,” she said in response to his look.
Jake opened it a crack. Isabela was standing there. “Can I come in?” she asked.
“Jeez, Jake. The bed was barely even cold yet,” Syd muttered as he slid back the bolt and opened the door.
“What?” Isabela looked puzzled.
“Just ignore her,” Jake said. “You need something?”
“I have information,” Isabela said. Her demeanor had brightened considerably since last night.
“What kind of information?”
“I know how we can get into the camp,” Isabela said. “But it has to be tonight.”
Twenty-One
Every time someone passed by their pen door, Flores’s head jerked up. He kept waiting for a guard to usher them out for another tête-à-tête with the general. Although he figured it was equally likely they’d be shot inside the pen to serve as an example to other prisoners.
Yet the morning passed uneventfully. Lunch trays were brought, then taken away. Calderon had exchanged a few words with the guard, requesting another audience with General Gente. And still, nothing. Flores was climbing out of his skin.
Calderon, on the other hand, was almost preternaturally calm. He’d suggested a game of chess to pass the time. Flores had agreed, since there wasn’t anything else to do, but sitting there facing a tiny board only made him edgier. Flores still hadn’t figured out the damn game, but whenever Calderon gestured that it was his turn he moved a piece somewhere. So far he was down ten games and counting.
“You must concentrate, amigo.” Calderon grinned as he swept another of Flores’s pieces from the board.
“What if he doesn’t care that you’ve changed your mind?” Flores said.
“Then we will be killed,” Calderon said flatly.
“Great.”
“It is out of our hands.” Calderon glanced up at him. “Some things you cannot control.”
“And some things you can.” Flores jumped to his feet. He’d cased the perimeter of the pen in its entirety. There was a weak section in the back, near where they slept. The chicken wire wasn’t buried as deeply into the ground there, and the wires were looser—he assumed that a previous tenant had worked away at them. It was the best way out, somewhat sheltered from the guards’ view by the tarp. Calderon’s knife was dull, but with enough muscle power behind it he should be able to fray the wires until they tore. What he wouldn’t give for a pair of wire cutters.
Flores still wasn’t sure how he felt about Calderon. There were holes in his story, but Gente’s version didn’t make complete sense, either. He suspected both of them were mixing truth and lies. Part of him was tempted to make a break for it and leave the guy to rot. But that would be condemning him to death, and he didn’t feel right about that. Holding the blade to Calderon’s throat that morning, he’d just felt dirty. He kept seeing Maryanne’s face, and in the end he hadn’t been able to go through with it. Hopefully that would be a decision he wouldn’t regret.
He was down on his knees, examining the surrounding wire for weak points, when a shadow fell across the pen. Flores’s heart leaped into his throat. He slowly stood and turned around. A guard was on the other side of the door, gun drawn. Calderon had frozen, one hand still clutching a chess figurine.
The guard appeared uncertain. He raised the brim of his hat an inch. Calderon exhaled sharply and rose to his feet.
“What?” Flores asked, coming up alongside him. “Is he going to bring you to the general?”
“No, amigo.” Calderon kept his voice low, but the excitement was unmistakable. “He is one of ours.”
Kelly was in a dark place. Ripples moved across the ceiling, like it was made of water. She was so cold. Dampness clung to her skin, her clothes sopping wet. The air reeked of something burning.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” she called out.
The silence was broken by a flutter of wings. Something brushed against her, and she reared away from the oily silk of feathers.
There was someone in there with her. She felt their presence, heard their steady breathing. Footsteps echoed through the gloom, sure and steady, as if they knew exactly where to find her. She felt for her gun, but it was gone.
An icy grip suddenly closed around her arm.
Kelly shot up, breathing hard. She wiped a hand down her face, trying to shake off the nightmare. Glancing around, she realized that the one she’d awoken to was in a way much worse.
She was in a dingy holding cell. When the federales had brought her in that morning they’d done the usual, fingerprinting her, taking mug shots, then shoving her in a cell with a motley assortment of other women, mostly prostitutes based on their appearance. They’d taken her in with a glance, then left her alone.
It was odd to be on the other side of things for the first time.
A short while later she’d been ushered into an interrogation room. A red-faced cop whose uniform strained at the seams barked at her, an unintelligible mishmash of Spanish and English. When it was clear she had no idea what he was saying, he finally slammed her FBI badge down on the table and sat back, arms crossed. She shrugged. “Soy policía,” she repeated.
That only served to irritate him further. He exploded in another tirade, spit flying as he leaned over her. Kelly kept her expression stony. When he finished, she simply said, “Teléfono.”
He stormed out of the room. Kelly remained there alone for ten minutes, then another cop came and led her away. She tried to impress on him the importance of allowi
ng her a phone call, but apparently that right wasn’t automatic in Mexico. She knew next to nothing about their judicial system. Kelly wondered how long they’d be able to hold her, and if they’d actually gone so far as to charge her with anything. More than that, she wondered where Stefan was now. And how many other people he’d manage to kill before she got the hell out of here.
Even though she’d requested a telephone, she honestly wasn’t sure whom to call. Jake was probably in the middle of the jungle somewhere. Her former boss at the FBI, ASAC McLarty, wouldn’t want to touch this with a ten-foot pole. The sad truth was, there was no one else.
But no matter what, she intended to stop Stefan. And to do that, she’d have to get out of here.
Kelly sat up, unhooked her prosthesis and massaged the spot where her leg ended. They’d originally taken it, probably assuming it could be used as a weapon. But after a thorough inspection, they’d returned it to her.
Her whole right side throbbed from the fight this morning. Kelly winced as she encountered sore spots—Brandi would not be pleased, she thought with a grim smile. With all the abuse her body had suffered in the past few days, she’d probably set herself back months’ worth of physical therapy. Everything was bruised and sore. Her head ached from lack of sleep and the beating Stefan had given her, and it still hurt to swallow. But all in all, she felt okay. In fact, oddly enough, she felt a hell of a lot better than she had for a long time.
An image of Stefan’s expression when he realized he was losing the fight popped into her mind. Tough not to feel good about that. Even unarmed and missing a leg, she’d almost beaten him. That was something to be proud of.
Approaching footsteps echoed off the concrete floor. Kelly wondered if they’d finally managed to locate a translator. Or maybe they were going to let her make a phone call after all. A guard appeared, fussed with a key ring, then unlocked the door to her cell.
“Where are we—”
Kelly froze at the sight of the man accompanying him.
Twenty-Two
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