Dangerous Connections (Blackthorne, Inc.)

by Odell, Terry

  “Roger that,” Fozzie said. “Are the guys in the elevator yet?”

  Elle double-checked the harness. “That’s affirmative.”

  “Works better if you hang on to each other.” Jinx took one man’s hands and put them around the other’s waist.

  The two men rose into the treetops, then disappeared.

  “Can Fozzie get them in alone?” Elle asked. “Or will he leave them dangling?”

  Jinx laughed. “I never thought about it. I’m sure he knew what he’d have to do when he suggested the plan. Now, what can we do about finding Dalton?”

  Jinx saw the frustration cross Elle’s face. “Why would Dalton disappear?” she asked. “Poof. Without saying anything. Unless someone grabbed him before he had a chance.”

  “His pack is about two hundred yards from here.” Jinx looked at the GPS readout. “That way. You want to come along or wait with these two?”

  “They’re not going anywhere. I’ve got your six.” She demonstrated with a quick squeeze to his butt.

  “Which means I’m on point.” He headed off, picking his way through the undergrowth, seeking signs Dalton had been there. Trampled ground and broken branches said Dalton wasn’t moving in typical Blackthorne stealth mode.

  “Whatever he was after, he was in a hurry,” Jinx said.

  “Or he was running away from someone,” Elle said.

  “Dalton run from? No way. Dalton runs to.”

  As they hustled along, Jinx explained Dalton’s fixation with drug lord Raphael. “He’s never said why. He turns into a whole different person if there’s a chance he can find him. But Raphael’s a phantom. He and Ramon are half-brothers, so I can see why Dalton would be hunting him down. It’s not like him to disappear. He’s never completely violated protocol before.”

  “You think he’s in trouble.”

  “I do. The pack should be over that way.” Jinx pointed to the left.

  “We probably could have tracked him without the GPS,” Elle said. “Those plants are all ripped out where he veered off. Might as well be a street sign.”

  Jinx tried to get more brain cells firing. “If Dalton wanted to elude us, he’d never have left this obvious a track. And if he really wanted to hide, he’d have disabled the homer. What if someone else grabbed the pack, took what he needed, and tossed it? But then why make it so obvious? Hell, he could have thrown it anywhere.”

  “We should check it out.” Elle pushed forward along the newly-cleared path. “Found it.”

  She reached down, and Jinx had a sudden flash of panic. “Wait!”

  She jerked back. “What?”

  “What if it’s so easy to find because it’s booby-trapped? Someone caught Dalton, stole the pack and planted an IED inside? We find it, open it, and KaBoom.”

  “Shit.” She rubbed her eyes. “I must be too tired to think straight. Security 101. Don’t mess with abandoned luggage.”

  Jinx felt a slight twinge of pride at having out-copped the cop. However, if there was a bomb in there, he had no idea what to do next. Run like hell came to mind.

  “Safest thing is to get the hell away from it.” Elle’s words echoed his thoughts, although she delivered them in a much calmer fashion.

  The boss would not be happy if he had to send a full-blown rescue team after Dalton. And a lot less happy if it was a recovery team. He keyed his radio. “Fozzie. We have a problem.”

  “Give me what you have,” Fozzie said. “Let’s hope there’s a miracle of synchronicity that lets us head in one direction this time.”

  “Dalt’s pack—it’s lying here, but it was too obvious. Unless Dalton meant to make it easy to find because he knows Elle and I aren’t field operatives. But we’re afraid someone is using it as bait—and it might explode if we touch it.”

  “Leave it,” Fozzie said. “I can think of a dozen better ways to get us information about his location, and Dalton probably has half a dozen more up his sleeve.”

  “No problem. But what do we do now? Did Zeke find the hotel?”

  “That he did. Only thing that’s gone right today. Or yesterday.”

  “Can you find out if Trish is there?” Elle asked. “If she’s not, that saves trying to be in two places at once.”

  Although her words said she understood there were two missions here, possibly in direct opposition to each other, Elle’s tone carried more desperation than hope. Jinx didn’t think he could bear it if they were too late finding either Trish or Dalton. All he could do was take Elle’s hand, try to share what little strength, what little hope, he had left.

  “We’re working on it,” Fozzie said. “Hang on.”

  Their radios went silent, and Jinx moved closer to Elle—and farther from the backpack. “He’s probably talking to Zeke.”

  Elle leaned into him. He took a few slow, deep breaths. She still smelled like Elle—with lingering remnants of Ramon’s fancy perfume layered on top. She rested her head on his chest and he stroked her hair, wishing he could snap his fingers and make everything all right.

  Fozzie’s voice snapped Jinx to attention. “Get a wriggle on, get to the rendezvous point. I need to pick up the other two dirtbags.”

  “Does that mean you found Trish?” Elle asked.

  “It means I need you to get to the rendezvous point fast,” Fozzie said.

  Jinx grabbed Elle’s hand and high-tailed it along the path, reversing their route in twice the speed they’d used before.

  The whirring of the helo got closer. Then, Fozzie’s voice boomed through the air, not the radio. As if the heavens were speaking. With an Aussie accent.

  “Ladies. We’re from the US. You’re safe. Please come back to the road. We’re here to help you get home.”

  Fozzie repeated these words over and over. As Elle and Jinx came to the line of SUVs, women appeared from the jungle. Some alone, some in pairs. All wary, but they’d trusted what they’d heard enough to give up their attempts to escape. And, from the speed with which they arrived, they hadn’t gone far.

  Not surprising, considering they were wearing the standard-issue uniform of tees and flip-flops.

  Elle let go of Jinx’s hand, rushing up to each woman. “Please. Do you know where my sister is? Trish Sheridan? I don’t have a picture, but she looks like me. Short hair, blonder.” With each head shake, Elle’s shoulders slumped lower.

  “I count twelve,” Fozzie said. “Confirm.”

  Jinx did a quick head count. “Affirmative.” He turned to the women, now standing in a cluster, arms wrapped around their chests in the instinctive feminine display of modesty. “Were there more of you?”

  Heads turned, as if they were doing their own counts. “We’re all here,” a strawberry-blonde said. “Unless you meant the guards.”

  “You mean the drivers?” Elle asked. “We have them.”

  “No, there were two men in each car. A driver and a guard.”

  Elle shrugged in Jinx’s direction. “I said it was a guess.”

  “Did you see anyone else?” Jinx asked. “An American man, dressed like us?”

  The women exchanged more glances before the strawberry-blonde, who appeared to be their spokesperson shook her head. “It was crazy. We ran. If there was another guy, we didn’t notice.”

  Chapter 32

  “You think Dalton was chasing down the guards?” Elle asked.

  “Or he got a bead on Ramon,” Jinx muttered. “Or Rafael. Dalton’s been known to call his own shots.”

  “So, do we leave him?” Elle asked.

  “Of course not,” Jinx said. “Fozzie should be able to pick up heat signatures.”

  “I’m on it,” Fozzie said. “Helps to know I’m looking for five people.”

  Elle squelched the urge to scream. None of this was helping find Trish. And, given Dalton was Blackthorne, the search for Trish had probably been shifted to a back burner. She eyed the line of Wranglers. The first, second, and last in line were useless. She trotted over to the third. It had come to a halt ab
out two feet from the one in front of it. She jumped behind the wheel and twisted the key dangling in the ignition. The engine growled to life.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jinx asked.

  “Going to find my sister.” She keyed her radio. “Fozzie, give me the GPS coordinates of the hotel. Do what you need to do to find Dalton, but I have to get to my sister before it’s too late.”

  “Are you crazy?” Jinx shouted.

  “Probably,” she answered. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

  “Shit. What about the women?” Jinx looked at her, then up at the sky. “Fozzie—?”

  “How many?”

  “Twelve women,” Jinx said. “They’re small,” he added, thinking about the limits of the helo.

  A sigh. “Drive. I’ll take care of them. Hope they don’t mind that it’s going to get very friendly in these skies.” The radio cut off abruptly—probably so Jinx wouldn’t hear Fozzie’s colorful Aussie profanity.

  Jinx yanked the passenger door of the Wrangler open and jumped into the seat. “Go. I’ll input the coordinates.”

  Not caring whether she created a few new dings or scratches, Elle worked the vehicle out of the line. “Which way?”

  Jinx fumbled with the GPS. “Back the way the convoy came. We have to stick to what passes for roads here, unlike Fozzie’s crow-flying options.”

  “I’m not waiting for Fozzie. He’s got too much going on.” She did a quick three-point turn, swung behind the last vehicle, and gunned the engine. “You sure he’s okay by himself? Getting everyone into the helo?”

  “If he wasn’t, I’d be up there, not down here. He knows what he can and can’t handle.”

  “Either that, or he thinks I can’t handle myself alone,” Elle said.

  Jinx shrugged. “Or he wants me out of his hair.”

  Elle was busy making sure at least two of the wheels were in contact with the ground to bother answering. If Jinx’s ego needed a boost, it’d have to wait.

  She pushed the Wrangler as fast as she dared, her palms sweating, and it wasn’t because of the jungle humidity. All she could think of was getting to the hotel.

  She visualized finding Trish, sitting, standing, walking. Smiling. Holding her own. Laughing at big sister for worrying about her.

  And she refused to think about the odds.

  “Slow down,” Jinx said. “There’s a sharp left up ahead.”

  The dirt two-track disappeared into the trees. She tapped the brakes, then spotted the turn Jinx had warned about. Grabbing the wheel, she yanked it left, running the Wrangler over a fallen tree. The vehicle listed, then righted itself. As soon as the wheels hit the ground, she gunned it again. The wheels spun, then caught. The Wrangler leaped forward.

  “And I thought roping down from the helo—twice—was a thrill ride. Where’d you learn to drive like this?” Jinx said.

  “Like what? Rubber side down is all you need to know.”

  Jinx tightened his seatbelt and gripped the dashboard. “Arriving in one piece is part of the plan, right?”

  “You’re the navigator. Your job is to tell me where we’re going. I’m the driver. My job is to get us there. And yes, in one piece. If you can’t handle it, you can walk.”

  “Hey, chill. I’m cool. You’re an excellent driver. No worries.”

  Yes, worries, but they were all about being too late. She nudged a little more speed out of the SUV.

  “Is that Aguilar’s compound?” she asked, chinning toward the left.

  Jinx raised himself slightly. “I think so. What are the odds there’s another walled fortress out here?”

  She grinned. “I told you—”

  “I know. Never tell me the odds. But they’re slim to none.”

  They passed by the gate they’d entered through a lifetime ago. Open. Sparing a quick peek inside, she saw an array of police cars lining the asphalt drive. “Aguilar’s got company.”

  “I wonder if the cops belong to him,” Jinx said. “I can see him offering them a trip to his buffet, with lots of fancy wine.”

  “Not my problem,” Elle said. Although they were on the road they’d traveled as captives, there were no familiar landmarks. No way to judge distance. “How far?”

  “These excuses for roads aren’t on the GPS maps,” Jinx said. “We’re a blip on the screen. I don’t think we’ll get anything until we’re closer to the city limits. But look on the bright side. With only one road at our disposal, we can’t get lost.”

  Eventually, the jungle thinned. Roads were dirt, but graded. Then paved. “You have anything yet?” Elle asked.

  “Hang tight.” Jinx fussed with the GPS. “Yep. We have achieved mappage. Two miles, then a right.”

  Elle resisted putting the pedal to the metal. They had better roads, but were dealing with traffic. And, assuming there were any left who weren’t at Aguilar’s or Ramon’s, the cops. As far as she was concerned, the dangers of jungle driving were nothing compared with the anxiety of being so close to their destination, but having to take it slow.

  Elle followed Jinx’s directions through the streets of Santo Felipe as if she were on autopilot. “Another right at the next corner, which is Calle Septembre, and two blocks to the hotel,” he said.

  He sounded so calm. Wasn’t his stomach as jittery as hers? Of course not. He was here to help, but it wasn’t his sister. Her nerves jangling until she thought her entire body was vibrating, she confirmed the street sign. Turned. Drove two blocks.

  The building they sought was totally nondescript, as described. Four stories. Could have been apartments or an old office building. Only the word “Hotel” painted above the door in faded red paint identified it as the place they were looking for. Two narrow windows flanked the door. Curtains obscured any view of the inside. Cars lined the narrow street.

  Jinx’s hand appeared on her thigh, his touch comforting, if not relaxing. “Maybe there’s a parking lot in back,” he said.

  Driving past the hotel to circle the block still felt like abandoning her sister.

  “Cheap hotel,” Jinx said. “No valet parking? Honestly, I think we should take our business elsewhere.”

  Elle shook off Jinx’s attempt to lighten her mood. She gripped the steering wheel until her knuckles went white. Around the block, she found a small parking lot. Plenty of empty spaces. But in addition to a scattering of old vans, battered sedans and pickup trucks, there were three blue Jeep Wranglers. More of the cartel’s fleet? Or coincidence? There were plenty of SUVs in the area. And these weren’t identical to the ones in the convoy, or to each other, for that matter. Different years, different wear and tear. But her heart rate jumped.

  She scanned the lot for a rear entrance to the hotel. There were four doors, all a faded red. The only markings that identified them were rusted wrought-iron numerals.

  “Did you catch the number of the hotel?” she asked.

  “Seventeen,” Jinx said.

  Bless him.

  Heartened the other Wranglers weren’t parked side by side, or even in the empty spaces nearest the hotel’s rear entrance, Elle pulled the Wrangler she’d “borrowed” into a slot as close to the door marked seventeen as she could and shoved the gearshift into Park.

  “How are we going to play this?” Jinx asked.

  “You watch this door,” she said. “I’m going to go around front and ask if I can book a room. Once I’m inside, I’ll look for Trish.”

  Jinx laid his hand over hers. “I think we should stay together.”

  “No way. If they’re in there, and they come out the back, someone has to be here.”

  “Why don’t I go in the front, then?” Jinx asked. “You’re better with guns, if it comes to that. But I’ll take the knife if you still have it.”

  The last thing Elle wanted was a shootout, she thought as she unstrapped the sheath from her calf and handed the KA-BAR to Jinx. “How are you at disabling cars? Jeep Wranglers, to be specific.”

  Jinx’s eyebrows lifted, and
he gave her the grin that warmed her insides. “I can handle that.”

  Elle left him to it and hurried around the block to the hotel entrance.

  Please let Trish be in there.

  She pulled the door open.

  Musty air surrounded her. It took a moment for her eyes to adapt to the dimly lit foyer. Cracked tile floor. Dark wood wainscoting. Faded cream-colored paint above. Beyond a token seating area, a wooden counter took up most of the width of the room. Behind it, a huge painting of a bullfight, the matador poised to finish off the bull. On one side of the painting, a doorway, probably leading to an office. On the other, old-fashioned cubbyholes for keys and messages. Large metal key tags dangled from most of the compartments.

  She stepped to the scarred counter and hit the bell—another leftover from years gone by. It dinged. She waited. She rang it again. A scrawny man dressed in a sleeveless undershirt shuffled out of the doorway. He scratched his belly. What was left of his hair hung in greasy strands around his wrinkled face. The odor of beer preceded his approach.

  “Do you speak English?” Elle asked. “Habla Inglés?”

  This time he scratched his head. Shook it. “Guillermo.”

  “Your name is Guillermo?” Elle asked. “Um… Su nombre es Guillermo?” She pointed to herself. “Elle.”

  He shook his head, “No. Guillermo habla Inglés.”

  Trying to maintain her composure, she forced a smile. “Is Guillermo here?” She pointed to the space behind the counter. “Guillermo, por favor.”

  The man frowned and scratched his chin, but he shuffled into the office. To send out Guillermo, she hoped.

  The person who came out of the door a few seconds later set her stomach flipping.

  Chapter 33

  Jinx waited until Elle had rounded the corner before approaching the nearest Wrangler. A quick check showed no people, no security cameras. He unsheathed the KA-BAR and crouched beside a rear tire. He was about to slice the rubber, but second thoughts stayed his hand.

  If it was a cartel vehicle, he had no qualms about a major disabling project. But what if the car belonged to some poor schmuck struggling to eke out a living? Jinx didn’t want to deal with the guilt of screwing up an innocent’s life.