Blake (Lighthouse Security Investigations Book 5)

by Maryann Jordan

  Josh acknowledged but warned, “I’m going off of CIA and military maps because the rainforest is so thick satellite sightings of your roads are almost impossible. But you know what you’re doing.”

  “Gonna wait till I can go in under cover of darkness, find where they have her, and get her out. What have you got on her location?”

  “She’s traveling, going too fast to be on a road, so we’re assuming she’s flying. Of course…”

  Grimacing, he said, “I know, I know. You can only follow her phone, and who knows if it’s still with her, or if she’s okay.” He scrubbed his hand over his face, trying to ignore the ache in his chest as he ignored the look he knew François was giving him. “I’ll be in touch.”

  He pulled two protein bars from the pack, unwrapped them, and handed one to François before taking a bite out of the other. For several minutes, they traveled along, neither speaking. The concrete road was two lanes with just enough grass on either side for someone to pull off if they needed. Beyond that, there was nothing to see other than the thick forests on either side of the road. He was grateful they were not in the rainy season yet, but the air was still hot and humid.

  François finally broke the silence. “Are you married?”

  Swinging his head around, he looked at the other man in surprise. “What?”

  “Married? Are you married?”

  He shook his head and replied, “No.” Uncertain why François asked that particular question, he remained silent.

  “I am. I have been married for five years. I have a four-year-old son.”

  François’ sharing of personal information continued to surprise Blake, but with a long drive ahead of them, he did not mind conversation.

  “How’d you get into the police? Were you military?”

  François nodded, his gaze focused on the road. “Our military is part of the French Armed Forces. I did two years in the service before getting out and going through our Police Academy. The military is based in Cayenne and Kourou, where we have a space program. Beyond that, the gendarmerie and the police are divided into sixteen brigades. One was out of Grand Santi, and that was where a friend set us up with this Jeep. There’s another at Maripasoula, but…” his voice trailed off.

  “Do you trust them, or do you think they’re bought off by Boutillier?”

  Sighing, François finally admitted, “It’s hard to say. I think it’s a difficult job to serve in the middle of Amazon where enough money can buy anything and buy off security. But whether I completely trust them? Let’s just say no one there knows of our mission.”

  “Tell me what we’re walking into.”

  “We are fortunate that you noticed the tattoo on the wrist of one of the thieves and kidnappers, pointing us in the direction that hopefully will take us to Ms. Lancaster. Otherwise, we would have little to go on. René Boutillier is a man who figured out the easiest way to become rich in our economy is to do so by illegal means. As a country, we are still heavily dependent on mainland France for subsidies, trade, and goods. The main industries are fishing, gold-mining, and timber.”

  “Gold mining?” Blake’s head swung back around to look at François. “I would think that would bring in a whole realm of problems.”

  François barked out a rude noise. “That’s why there are military and police presences even in areas that aren’t inhabited. But even with the lure of illegal gold mining, drugs are a much easier commodity for cash flow.”

  Both men settled into their seats, knowing they had a long ride ahead of them, and the scenery did not change. François continued, “The Boutillier family has been around for a long time. René’s father actually made money with gold mining and timber exports. He died about six years ago, leaving his massive compound to his son. René determined that the easiest way to continue being wealthy was through drug trafficking. As far as we can tell, he runs drugs between Venezuela and France through Suriname. Most are brought by boat, then across the land, not by air. Once they arrive here, René makes sure they get to Cayenne where drug mules smuggle balloons of drugs in any orifice they can shove it into.”

  “Fucking hell.” Blake heaved a great sigh, lifting his hand to squeeze the back of his neck.

  “A lot is found at the Cayenne International Airport, and as you can imagine, when passengers arrive in France, there is an even greater drug police force scrutinizing everyone coming in. They catch a lot, but there is always more that gets through.”

  Blake nodded slowly, his gaze scanning the forest surrounding them. “It’s the same everywhere. America’s got their fair share of drugs running in and out of the country, and sometimes I think it’s a losing battle with the gangs.” The two men remained quiet for a moment, and then he asked, “How do you manage what you see in your job and being married with a child?” He watched as a slow smile curved François’ lips.

  “My wife, Marie, is as sweet as she is beautiful. My son, Louis, is the light of my life. I see the dark. I work in the dark. I know the dark exists in our world. But each day, when I step into my home, I leave it on the doorstep and walk into the light.” He looked over at Blake and said, “I wish that for you, my friend.”

  Blake nodded, silently thinking of the other Keepers that had women in their lives. And as the rainforest passed in a continuous blur on either side of the road as they headed into the dark unknown, he also wished that for himself. Interestingly, it was the beautiful, redheaded Sara that stayed on his mind. Memories of their night together filled his thoughts.

  7

  The plane landed roughly, its sharp angle of descent causing Sara to tumble forward, having to brace her body with her legs straight out against the backs of the pilot and co-pilot seats. As they bounced along the runway, she had to reverse the strain on her muscles to keep from falling backward.

  The pilot taxied to a stop and shut off the engine. Twisting around, he opened the door over the wing. By now, she had learned her captors’ names. Henri climbed out first, jumping to the packed dirt ground below. Simon was already climbing out of the passenger door on the other side. Yann, now awake, pulled his weapon out once more and jerked it toward the door, indicating for her to move.

  She crawled to the opening, climbed out onto the wing, then slid to the ground, her legs giving out from under her as she toppled forward. Landing on her hands and knees, she tried to catch her breath through the sting from her abraded skin.

  Yann hopped onto the ground next to her, bent and grasped her arm again, hauling her upward. Her body ached as she looked around. The airport terminal was nothing more than a small building, and the runway was a double-wide concrete strip, barely bigger than a road. The rest of the area was flat, covered with grass or packed dirt to the edge of the jungle which created an impenetrable wall.

  She could see people milling about in the distance but knew no one would come to her assistance. Yann would shoot her before she would be able to get close to anyone who might help.

  Another open-top Jeep was parked to the side, and she watched as Simon and Henri jogged over to it. She did not need Yann nudging her with the butt of his gun to tell her what to do. Battling tears, she followed the other two men toward the vehicle.

  Her legs felt leaden as exhaustion pulled at every muscle, and she wondered how much more she would have to endure. That thought terrified her, knowing that there were fates worse than death. She now wished she had fought on the beach before Yann wrestled her into the boat. She might have been killed, but she would not be enduring what she feared was coming.

  She climbed into the Jeep, sliding gratefully into the back seat. At least I have my own seat. Finding the rough interior to be far more comfortable than the hard metal floor of the plane, she almost laughed aloud at that ludicrous thought. I’ve got no idea what’s at the end of the drive.

  Henri and Simon seemed to be jubilant as they drove down the road, and she began to see a few concrete houses along the way. A sign for Maripasoula came into sight, and she realized they were
in a town at the southwest border of French Guiana, in the middle of the Amazon rainforest at the edge of Suriname.

  Thank God we’re still in French Guiana! She felt a modicum of happiness that she had not left the country, having been uncertain when she crawled out of the plane where they had landed.

  The houses on either side of the road became more prevalent as they entered the town. The buildings were low but plentiful, and the streets were paved, even though they were filled with potholes, once more threatening to rattle her teeth.

  To her right, she saw what must have been a school, children laughing and playing outside. On her left, they passed by men and women walking in and out of the shops, going about their day. It was surreal to note that for everyone around, their life was normal. A day like any other. School. Work. Shopping. And yet, for her, she had witnessed a robbery, been kidnapped, and dragged across the country to an unknown future.

  Henri was driving, and he and Simon occasionally waved to somebody on the street that they knew. She noticed that if anyone thought it was strange that a pale, redheaded female was in the Jeep, no one indicated their interest. She looked around, hoping to see someone in a police uniform, but saw no one that was dressed in anything other than street clothes.

  As they passed open markets, there were people cooking food over fire pits, the scent of roasted meat and spices wafting through the air. It reminded her that it had been a very long time since she had eaten.

  Continuing to bounce along the roads, they came out on the other side of the town, the houses now fewer and farther between. Henri turned the Jeep onto another road, leading them straight into the jungle. Oh, Jesus, where are we going now? Her heart beat an erratic staccato, and once more, tears threatened to fall.

  The road they were on now was dirt, but the ride was smoother. It appeared well-graded with the potholes filled in. Suddenly, the trees fell away on either side, and she could see a tall concrete wall that appeared to rise straight from the sides of the jungle. A wooden gate stood open, but there were men with automatic weapons assuming the position of sentries.

  Henri barely slowed the Jeep as they were waved forward by the men. Once they were through the gate, they seemed to be in a small village. Her gaze shot around while she tried to keep her head still, not wanting to draw undue attention to herself. There were grassy lawns that led to a few low concrete buildings. Several people walked around, men and women in clean, casual clothes, smiling and chatting with each other. No one seemed to be concerned about the occupants of the Jeep at all.

  As they drove between several of the buildings, they came to another area that was unlike anything she had previously seen. A well-manicured, mown lawn with a fountain in the middle. A pea-gravel path led from the lawn up to a large, two-story, whitewashed villa with a wide front veranda.

  The tall concrete wall circled around behind the villa, and from her vantage point, she could now see some men walking along the top of it, sporting the same weapons that the gate guards had slung over their shoulders.

  Her mind raced to make sense of what she was seeing. Obviously, someone wealthy lived here…certainly wealthy compared to most French Guianans. She had read that gold was mined in this part of the Amazon, but the mines were government-owned. She held little hope that whoever owned this villa compound had gotten their gains legally. But what could they want with me?

  Uncertain of the answer to that question, she had no doubt she would find out soon as the Jeep drove past the front of the villa, around to the back, and came to a stop near a wide-open door. Henri and Simon climbed from the Jeep, the bag of stolen jewelry clutched in Henri’s hand. A quick glance toward Yann, and she knew she was expected to alight from the vehicle as well. As soon as her feet touched the ground, she wondered how long her legs would be able to hold her up. Weak from fear, she forced her feet to move as she followed Henri and Simon through the door.

  They entered a room that was filled with cabinets and counters loaded with containers of food. Bags of flour and sugar, bowls of fruit, dried herbs hanging from the rafters, and the scent of spices gave proof that they had entered a kitchen’s pantry. Continuing to follow, she moved into a large tiled kitchen.

  Here they encountered several women bustling about, surrounded by pots bubbling on a large stove, dough being pounded and kneaded on a woodblock table, and meat sizzling on a grill. Sara weaved on her feet, catching the eye of one of the cooks. The round woman looked up and began to shout.

  The woman had called the men foolish and told them to give Sara some food. She had no idea how her captors would feel about being called foolish, but she was more than willing to take whatever food the woman wanted to give her.

  Henri and Simon came to a halt, hesitating as they looked back toward Yann. He merely growled for the cook to mind her own business.

  Sara watched as the older woman snarled at him, and the hope that she would soon be able to eat disappeared. Yann pushed her forward, and she battled the urge to turn around and slap him, thinking that the older woman would probably cheer her on.

  She followed Henri and Simon through an eating area, plainly furnished. Assuming this was not the dining room for the owners of the villa, her thoughts were confirmed as they walked into a wide, tiled foyer. To the left were the front doors that they had previously driven past. Several heavily carved tables were placed against the walls, pots of flowers adorning the tops. Through an open doorway, she could see a dining room that was much more elegantly furnished than the room she had just walked through. To the right of the front door was a living room, furnished with several elaborate sofas and armchairs, with more ornately carved wooden tables holding lamps and more pots of flowers.

  While the house would not rival the rich and famous homes of much of the world, for French Guiana, it was opulent.

  Directly across from the front door was a wide, curved staircase that led to the second floor. Below that, a door opened, and a man walked into the foyer. A quick glance behind him exposed what looked like an office, but as the man stepped forward, her eyes stayed glued on him. Her heart pounded furiously as each step brought him closer to her.

  He was of average height, but that was the only average thing about him. His dark hair was well styled. He was wearing dark slacks with a crisp, white shirt. He was not wearing a tie but only had the top button unbuttoned on his shirt. His feet were encased in dark shoes that made little sound as they crossed the tile floor. Handsome, there was an intense look in his dark eyes that caused Sara’s breath to halt in her lungs. She instinctively knew this man was dangerous. Powerful and dangerous.

  She swallowed, her body not moving as it locked into place, wishing she could sink out of sight. He stopped five feet from them, his eyes moving over her before barely glancing at Henri and Simon, finally resting on Yann. Unlike some of the villagers, this man did not seem overjoyed to see them.

  Still not speaking, his gaze dropped to the bag in Henri’s hand, and Henri immediately held it out.

  “Voici les bijoux,” Henri announced, the bag of jewels dangling from his grip.

  Sara observed two neatly dressed men walking out of the office, their size intimidating. She wanted to shrink and disappear but was focused on the drama playing out in front of her. Bodyguards? They now flanked the man in charge. He gave a slight head jerk, and one of the men stepped forward, taking the bag from Henri’s hand. Opening it, he peered inside, then gave a nod to the man.

  His eyes settled once again on Yann, not speaking, but asking a question with only a slight tilt of his head and a lifted eyebrow.

  Yann began speaking rapidly, giving the same excuse Sara had heard before…she was in the shop, and taking her was their insurance for getting away.

  “Et tu l'as amenée ici?”

  Yann blustered, defending himself, sweat dripping off his face.

  "Vous n'êtes pas payé pour penser." The man’s voice dripped with disdain, and for the first time, Sara was afraid not only for herself but wondered ab
out the three men who had taken her. When he had questioned why Yann continued to bring her all the way, Yann’s reply was that he thought it was the right thing to do. He was curtly disavowed of that notion when told that he was not paid to think.

  No one spoke, and the man stepped closer to her. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted Henri, Simon, and Yann falling back.

  “English?” he asked, his dark eyes penetrating.

  Her head nodded in jerky motions, but when she tried to speak, she merely produced a croak. Swallowing, she cleared her throat and managed a reply. “Yes. American.”

  His gaze dropped to the purse still slung across her body. She flinched as he brought his hand up toward her face, but he simply snagged the strap at her neck and lifted it carefully over her head and down her shoulder. He looked inside and pulled out her translator badge with her name and photograph. He held it up to her face. “Sara Lancaster.”

  It was obvious he not only spoke but also read English. Her stomach clenched in fear, but she managed to jerk her head in a nod once more, having no idea if being an American was seen as being an asset or liability.

  Looking down into her bag again, he pulled out her cell phone. Holding it between his thumb and forefinger, he lifted it toward Yann, who simply stared at it with an expression of confusion on his face.

  He spoke in rapid French, exposing their stupidity to the three kidnappers as he told them they had just given away her location because of her cell phone. She watched their eyes widen in fear. With another jerk of his head, several men stepped forward, herding Henri, Simon, and Yann through the wide front door and down to the path in front of the fountain.

  With the double doors standing open, Sara was able to see outside, although she was vastly unprepared for what was to come.