"A misunderstanding, Miss Williams. Nothing more," the general replied. "Your brother has refused to take my demands seriously."
"What demands?"
"He knows." With that, General Vargas pulled the pistol from its holster and aimed the gun at her head.
For a breathless instant, no sounds interrupted the fear screaming through Mary Beth.
"Let her go," Mark said.
"We will talk." The general glanced at Mark, then brought his attention back to her. He kept the gun steady.
"What guarantee do I have that she will be unharmed?"
"My word."
Even beaten, his features distorted, Mary Beth could read the expression in Mark's eyes; he didn't trust this man.
"What you want is not in one place," Mark said.
"Do not lie to me."
Mark stared at the general through his good eye. "It's in the city. You can't get it without me."
"There is a simple solution, no?"
"You will never get it if I'm dead or she's harmed. It'll be waiting for you, like a ticking bomb." He straightened in the chair. "Waiting to blow up in your face."
"Ah, Mr. Williams. You are in no position to make threats."
"Just as you're in no position to threaten my sister."
Vargas laughed again. "I am holding the gun."
"You won't get what you want from me until my sister is safe and unhurt."
Vargas moved the gun off of her and aimed it at Mark. Mary Beth saw his steady hold on the weapon. No emotion whatsoever showed on the man's face. Or on Mark's. She was so frightened she couldn't move.
The general lowered the gun and smiled. "This is what your Western movies call a Mexican standoff, no?"
Nick came up behind Daniel's house. It appeared deserted, but he'd have to circle around to the front to make sure no men were posted there.
Careful to stay behind the shelter of trees and bushes, he moved to the east of the house as quietly as possible. He saw no one standing outside and decided to go in through the back door.
The doorknob had been broken off, so the door swung open easily. The house was empty, anything of value taken, probably long ago. Drawing his gun, he made his way to the back, to Daniel's room.
He checked the closet. There was nothing there. He closed the closet door and knelt beside it, his hands searching the baseboard for imperfections.
There! The notch he and Daniel had fashioned. Carefully, he pulled the wooden baseboard aside to reveal the crawl space and the dirt below. Momentarily confused, he sat back. If Daniel had something to hide, he would have put it here. The general wouldn't have gone to the trouble of confronting Nick about the house if he weren't convinced Daniel had hidden something there. Lying down on the dirty wooden floor, he felt inside. Finally, his fingers felt metal.
Stretching, he pulled out a small safe and twisted the lock. Snatching a packet of papers from atop something heavier in a rough cloth sack, he sat back on his heels and read the words written by his dead brother.
Days of wondering were over.
Now he knew the connection between Daniel, Mark Williams, Elliot Smith and Antonio Vargas.
Mary Beth bent over Mark and examined his face as soon as the general left the room.
"I'm fine."
"Yeah, you look great," she replied, gently wiping dried blood from his brow with her T-shirt.
"Ouch!" He pushed her hands away. "What are you doing?"
"Trying to see if you need stitches."
"Like the general is going to get me a doctor, Mary Beth. He's the reason I look like this."
"He's crazy, Mark."
"He's a criminal and a cold-blooded son of a bitch," Mark said.
In the silence of the little room, the words sounded harsh, deadly. Mary Beth hugged herself. "What does he want?"
"You don't need to know what he wants."
"It's a little late to be hiding things from me. He just pointed a gun at us! Of course I need to know!"
"What I want to know is how the hell you got here. Why?"
"I got a call saying that the Primero de Mayo terrorists were holding you for ransom."
"So you jumped on the next plane? Are you insane? Did you think you could travel to the far edge of nowhere without help?"
"I had help."
That stopped him. "Who?"
"Nick Romero."
"Damn, Mary Beth! Of all people!" He ran a hand through his filthy hair and winced. "How the hell did you get him tangled up in this?"
"I, um … asked, and he agreed."
She thought he said, "I bet."
"What?"
"So where the hell—"
"Your mouth sounds no better than it—"
"Where is Romero?" he asked through clenched teeth.
"I don't know. He came down to the valley this morning."
"We'd better pray Vargas doesn't get his hands on him."
"What does that mean?"
Mark ignored her, pushing himself out of the chair and onto his feet before Mary Beth could help him. "Do you see anyone outside the window?"
"You can't be serious. We can't outrun these men."
"Look!"
Mary Beth went to the window and looked out. The river was about fifty yards back. Pressing her face against the glass, she tried to see down both sides of the house. A Ranger sat on the ground beneath a short tree, his rifle across his lap.
"There's one man with a rifle, to the right."
"Okay," Mark said, slowly making his way to the open bathroom. "We wait."
"For what?" Mary Beth had to struggle to keep from yelling at him.
"For me to feel a little better and for something to give."
She didn't have the courage to ask what it was he expected to give.
Nick bent over a stream that fed into the Rio Hermoso. Splashing water on his face, he considered his options. He could go back up to San Vicente and get help. But Mary Beth would insist on coming back down. That was not acceptable. Or he could try to make everything work out. Find some compromise. For Daniel, for the Romeros. For Mark Williams, and for the woman he cared too much about.
Maybe even for himself.
He glanced at the towering cliff on the other side of the flimsy vine bridge across the Rio Hermoso and remembered Franco's question: Has your life been your choice?
His heart ached to choose Mary Beth. But before he could even consider the possibility, he had to remember duty, honor and the promises of two thirteen-year-old boys.
"What's going on?" Mary Beth asked.
"Someone has driven up," Mark replied.
"Can you hear anything?"
"No. You're talking too much," he whispered, limping to the door.
Mark hadn't told her a thing. He hadn't let her see about his wounds. He'd gone into the bathroom and washed, coming back out looking surprisingly better. He was in pain, she could tell, but now she wondered if he'd been faking in front of the general. She'd asked all her questions and gotten not one single answer.
The sounds of various voices came from the front of the house. Mary Beth could not pick out any words—just the mumbling that filtered through to the room.
Mark leaned against the door, listening. "Damn!"
"What?" she asked.
"Look out the window. Is the guard still there?"
She pressed her face against the glass, straining to see.
"No, he's gone."
"Anyone else?"
"No."
"Bring the chair over here."
He took the chair from her and jammed the back under the doorknob. "Won't hold 'em for long, but it might help." He hurried, still limping, to the window and tried to open it, but his left arm was next to useless.
Mary Beth pushed his hands away and struggled to raise the wooden frame that had been painted shut.
"Cough, really loud," Mark ordered.
Mary Beth coughed until her throat hurt as he used his right hand to pound against the window frame
in an effort to unstick the paint.
"Now try it," he said.
It slid up, with only a single squeak at the end. He leaned out the window, looked both ways, then ducked back inside.
"Okay. Go for the river. Straight back. Don't look to either side. Don't look back. If I don't make it, cooperate with them. Tell them you can take them to what they want. Tell them it's all in Ciudad San Mateo. Once you're there, tell them I sent it all to Dad."
Frightened, she asked, "What do they want?"
"Stuff I put in my safety deposit box."
She touched Mark's arm. "If it's those numbers, I have them with me."
He stared at her for an instant, then glanced toward the door. "Where?"
"In the lining of my bra," she answered.
"You've got both sets of numbers?"
"Yes."
He moved away, toward the window.
"Mark, what have you been doing?"
"The numbers have to get out of the country. Give them to Dad," he said, his one good eye focused on her.
"Tell me you've done nothing wrong."
He stared at her. "The only thing I've done wrong is trust someone I shouldn't have trusted."
Mary Beth nodded. "Do you really think we can outrun them?"
"There's a church, a little thing, if you follow the river down about two or three miles from here. Ask for Sister Ana. Use her phone to call Dad. Tell him not to work through the embassy." Mark paused, took a nervous step toward the window. "He needs to find someone he trusts…"
"I could call Rachel, my college roommate. She's married to Enrique Norton."
"The OAS chairman?"
"Yes."
"Do that, then, but call Dad anyway. Tell them both you need help out here. Tell them where you are." He took a deep breath. "And tell them not to trust either General Vargas or Elliot Smith. Whatever happens, don't give up the papers to the general or to anyone from the American embassy. Only to Enrique Norton or to Dad."
He wasn't talking as if he'd make it, Mary Beth realized. When she searched his face for reassurance, he smiled, his battered face distorting his features.
"You've got guts, Mary B."
She didn't. She wanted to cry.
Nick approached the Ranger compound from the banks of the Rio Hermoso. Only a few feet below, the river roared east, down to the Amazon basin. The rush of muddy water hid branches, even trees, as it swept eastward on its inevitable path to the sea, thousands of miles beyond. He found an outcropping of vegetation and drier earth that had not succumbed to the raging waters. Using this as a perch, he peered over the bank at the back of the three closely clustered buildings.
A San Matean flag flew from the first building, only fifty yards from where he stood. Beyond it stood two more buildings with two Jeeps parked between them. As he watched, the Ranger positioned to the side of the first building stood and ran toward the front. Looking to the right, Nick saw another Jeep approaching.
The roaring of the river made it impossible to hear the vehicles. Knowing he had to get closer, he pulled himself up the slippery bank and prepared to make the dash to the back of the first building.
Movement caught his eye. A man pulled himself out of the window and jumped down. Crouching low, he looked around, then turned and held his right arm up.
To Mary Beth.
She leaped to the ground, unwilling to take Mark's outstretched hand for fear of hurting him. As soon as she straightened, he pushed her back against the outside of the building as he looked both ways.
"Go," he said softly. "Run straight for the bank. Careful when you go over not to slide into the water. I'm right behind you."
Mary Beth nodded, automatically felt for the papers lodged in her bra, then sprinted for the river. Mark was, indeed, right behind her. She could hear his uneven breathing. As they got closer to the river, the damp earth gave way to mud. She tried to widen her strides, but couldn't without sliding.
Ten yards from the river, Mark stumbled, bumping into her. That's when Mary Beth heard the gun. She grabbed at his arm and felt the second shot slam into him before she heard it. Her fingers clutching his shirt, she tried to help him regain his balance, but he was already falling, pulling her down with him.
Chapter 15
« ^ »
Someone was shooting. Nick levered himself up the slippery riverbank, staying behind some thick bushes, and positioned himself to see what he could do without making the situation worse.
Mary Beth and Mark lay only a few yards away, sprawled on the ground. Nick's mind screamed, fighting the urge to run to her, but he couldn't give himself away and still hope to help her.
She sat up, instantly turning toward her brother, who lay immobile on the ground. As she reached out to him, another shot echoed around them, making her flinch.
Elliot Smith ran toward them, rifle at the ready. Nick pulled the Glock out of its holster and judged the distance between himself and Smith.
Then Nick saw the general and three Rangers coming from the compound. If he took the shot, Mary Beth and her brother would be caught in a deadly cross fire.
"Move away from him!" Smith yelled, standing only a few feet from her, aiming at Mark.
"He's bleeding," she said, her attention fixed on her brother.
"Stand up. Move away."
But she stayed down. Smith fired again, the bullet kicking up grass and mud a few feet away from Mark's prone body. The shot echoed across the river.
"Move!" Smith yelled.
"But he's—"
"Stand up!"
Taking steady aim, Nick concentrated on Smith, his finger on the trigger. Mary Beth stood and blocked his view.
Turning, Smith spoke, "Vargas, have one of your men check him."
Down the barrel of his gun, Nick saw the old man walking toward them.
"We need him alive," the general said.
"It doesn't matter. With both of them dead, there's nothing to find," Smith replied.
Mary Beth moved, slowly leaving Nick's line of fire. He aimed carefully, praying Mary Beth would give him a chance to get a shot at Smith.
"Mark said whatever you want will blow up in your face without him." Her voice rang out. "Get him a doctor."
"She's bluffing. When we couldn't find Williams, his sister was important. It doesn't matter now. It ends with them," Smith replied.
Nick picked his targets. He had only seconds to take out Smith and the other four men.
Elliot Smith aimed his rifle at Mark.
Blood roaring through his body, Nick willed Mary Beth to move just enough.
A shot rang out and Smith fell.
The general turned toward the compound in search of the shooter, and Nick trained his gun on his back.
"General." The voice came from the side of one of the buildings. Francisco Arenales, the Ranger colonel Carlos had said was now in charge, held a rifle, smoke coming from the barrel, aimed at Smith's body. Behind him stood a contingent of seven Rangers.
"Gracias, Francisco," the general said. "Have your men move Smith. Check Mr. Williams."
Arenales nodded at his men and they moved forward.
"General," Arenales said as one of his men examined Mark. "My men will take over here. Your men should join the rest of mine at the bridge. There is word that Primero de Mayo will destroy it."
Nick lowered his gun. The game had just changed.
Drastically.
"Miss Williams," the man who'd introduced himself as Colonel Francisco Arenales said. "My man is a medic. He will see to your brother."
Mark lay on a narrow bed inside the second of the buildings in the compound. A soldier was, indeed, working on him.
"He needs a hospital."
"I will see that he gets to one," General Vargas said from behind her. "But first, we will talk, no?"
Mary Beth had to force herself to look away from Mark. "There's nothing to talk about. My brother needs help."
"Calm yourself, Miss Williams. Now that you have
a reason to work with me, I am sure we will reach a compromise."
She glanced at Mark again, but couldn't see him because the medic blocked her view.
"What do you want?"
"First, I want to know where Nicholas is."
"I have no idea."
"Miss Williams," the general said. "Do not expect me to believe this."
"Believe what you want."
"Nicholas brought you here."
She stared into the general's cold eyes. It made no difference where Nick was. He'd betrayed her and Mark. "He left. I don't know where he is."
"He came into the valley?"
"That was his plan."
"What else did he plan?"
"I don't know."
"Miss Williams," the general said with exaggerated patience.
"His plan was to protect his cousin—your son."
"Ah, so he did come because of Daniel."
Nick had used her to protect his cousin. Used her … and she'd fallen in love with him. How rich was that? Now she and Mark were alone, at the mercy of this man.
"What have you done with Elliot Smith?"
The general smiled. "Your dependency on the American embassy was ill-informed. As you saw, Mr. Smith was not here to help you."
"And you are?"
"I can see to it that your brother gets medical attention."
"In exchange for what you want."
"Of course."
"Mark's unconscious. He can't tell you anything."
"Perhaps you know more than you think you know, Miss Williams. Perhaps if we discuss this further—"
"Coronel!" a voice from the front called.
"¿Qué pasa?" Arenales shouted back.
When no answer came, the general turned his attention away from Mary Beth. "Francisco, go see what is wrong," he said to the Ranger colonel.
Arenales left the room and made his way to the front door.
"How is he?" the general asked the medic in Spanish.
"He needs to go to a hospital. His wound is too much for field treatment."
The general addressed her. "I will get him to a hospital, Miss Williams. Tell me where your brother hid what I need."
Mary Beth wanted to give him anything that would get
Mark the help he needed. Her fingers itched to pull out the scraps of paper she had hidden in her bra. But she couldn't trust the general. She remembered what Mark had said. "It's in the city."
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