She glanced at the vet. “Keep him that way.”
“I can’t, not for long.”
A veterinarian who worked for the government keeping animals caged for experiments didn’t have many morals. “Until I understand this change, yes, you can.”
Mike squatted, working the GPS, Gantz’s mathematical triangle superimposed over a map of the area. They were in the highlands. San José de Lourdes was north of his position, the valley and the Marañón River stretching between.
He looked upward to the ruins of ancient dwellings, the crude windows like eyes in the side of the mountain. Good location for the night, he thought. It was already getting dark under the canopy of trees. He traced back toward Clancy’s position, sliding down the hill on the side of his boots. The ground dipped deeply and Mike lost his footing, the GPS flying out of his hand as weeds and plants fell with him into the pit. He winced at the impact of rocks against his shin, and grappled for purchase, sliding deeper, then abruptly stopped. Flat on the inside of the gulley, his feet braced, he climbed out, grabbing exposed roots to hoist himself the last few feet. He searched for the GPS, and frowned when he found it cracked. He tested it, tapping the side. The screen blinked and appeared clear. He looked where he fell.
Suddenly he jumped into the gulley and started digging with his hands. Fresh, damp earth clawed between his fingers and an odor wafted up. Mike brought a handful to his nose. An electrical burn, some metal, some rubber, he thought. The UAV was powered by battery, not fuel. Yet the odor of seared leaves and the lack of burned earth told him Gantz was right, it crashed here. The impact was deep and wide, and he knew the Hellfires didn’t explode. At least not both. The damage was minimal and if the rocket had been armed when they were surveying, then the hole would be a hell of a lot bigger. There wouldn’t be any trees for a few hundred yards too.
He dug greedily, hoping to find something that proved him right. It was clean and empty. The only remains of the crash was the piece Clancy had found. Pushing out of the hole, he dusted off, marked the location, then combed the area for a trail. It was intentionally cleared. Not even a gouge left from dragging. The Hellfires weren’t large and could be dismantled, but as far as he was concerned, they were still on the loose.
Through binoculars, Mike surveyed the mountainside. There was a cliff face above the ruins. Probably why the ancient Indians chose it for their homes. Attacking from above was next to impossible, the cliff shielding them and making it difficult to get to the dwellings below. He imagined the view from up there. They could see anyone approaching, and while the mountain stretched on either side of the plateau, they could protect it from the stronghold. Strategic. Planned. A one-eighty view of the valley, he supposed, an endless ripple of green mountains stretching through the country to Chile.
He thought of the sniper that picked off the guys at the flatboats. Mike could see for miles, and with the right equipment he’d be accurate at long distance. Timing and leading the target were all it took. He scanned, backing out of visual range.
He needed to find Clancy.
Alejo Richora moved swiftly, climbing the mountain without a struggle. The Americans were slower, unaccustomed to the thin air. He’d run these hills as a boy; he knew them. He could find the Americans in the dark, but this was easier. He needed them out of his way, and while he could leave this matter to a few of his men, he wanted to eliminate them himself. It was a matter of pride, he thought as he moved faster, his spiked boots giving him traction. Family vengeance drove him. He would force them to run.
A frightened prey made mistakes.
Francine couldn’t sleep. Her mind wanted to rest, but she couldn’t. Her brain was in overload as if she’d put in long hours at the lab, her mind tripping over facts and then doing it again and again like a spinning wheel. Her body felt keen, tight, and packed with new energy. The proof was that at three in the morning, she was running on her treadmill. In the dark. She could see clearly, the room almost glowing with sharp edges. She’d lost weight, despite her increased appetite, and she kept careful notes, testing her blood pressure, her heart rate that surprisingly maintained a normal even rate, and yet she’d already run ten miles.
She wasn’t winded, or perspiring, and she made a note of that. The pod could shut down adrenal glands. She hit the remote for the TV, watching channel after channel, and yet it only suited to tear her mind in several directions. Bored, she stopped the machine and hopped off, stretched, then moved to her hand weights. She ran her finger down the series of black dumbbells, then picked up the last, slinging it to do curls.
It flew out of her hand and hit the wall, crashing through the drywall to the studs. She looked at her hand, flexing her arm. It didn’t look different or feel different. She crossed to the dumbbell lodged in the wall and thought, How do I explain that to the super?
She removed and replaced it on the rack, then tested her strength with a bench-press. She knew better than to take it to the limit. She might have added strength, but her muscles would scream at her for it tomorrow. And she’d still be awake.
Awake for three days, she thought. She wasn’t exhausted or stressed. Insomnia was the only side effect beyond her increased appetite. She’d eaten a half dozen eggs and a rasher of bacon this morning and was suddenly thankful for those open twenty-four-hour diners. She’d already cleaned out her own kitchen and hadn’t had time to restock it. She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, and drained it before she reached the other side of the room.
In her town house, she dropped into a chair and felt her blood racing through her veins. She squirmed in the seat and wondered if a good round of sex would settle her down. She didn’t want to drug herself, and she was so horny she’d already used some toys. It wasn’t enough and not thinking of anything else, she reached for the phone.
Clancy waited for Mike to find her. He had the big electronic compass, she reasoned. She heard him coming only because he wanted her to and she turned, aiming. Just in case.
He winked, a bit of pride in his smile. “I found the UAV site.”
“I did one better.” She gestured up the mountain and he looked.
The mass was huge, and covered with deep green camo netting. “No wonder we couldn’t see it.”
Clancy stared at the treetops and pointed. “Look there, you can see the damage where it fell.” The sides of the trees were scraped, exposing the wood and weeping with sap. They could see where it dropped out of the sky, the part in the dense scalp of the treetops open nearly a hundred feet above them. “From here it doesn’t look that large.”
“It’s not. Maybe thirty feet. Pure luck that it didn’t take down some trees. This was clever as hell.” Then he reached for the edge and pulled, but it wouldn’t budge. “It’s caught on all the metal,” he said and drew his knife. He cut, the blade slicing open holes and exposing the side of the craft.
Clancy inhaled and back-stepped.
The pilot was in the seat, his helmet still on and a scream on his lips. “Look at him, he’s like the Peru soldiers.” Dried up, she thought, then noticed the tortured look on Mike’s face as he stared at the pilot. “Oh God, Mike, I’m sorry, you knew him?”
“Mad Dog Carson. He’d been our pilot for a couple years.” Mike had been in the copilot seat enough to know that if Carson had seen the rocket coming, he was the one man who could have flown well enough to avoid it. At least his wife would have some peace, he thought, and leaned in to remove his dog tags.
He looked at Clancy and wasn’t surprised to see tears, yet beneath it was a diabolical gleam. She suddenly drew her machete and hacked at the netting. Mike helped her pull at the heavy mesh enough to see inside.
“They’re not here.” She stumbled back, shocked and grateful. “They’re not here.”
“Then where?” Mike looked over the terrain. Villages were clustered, yet there were miles of densely wooded forest between them. Hundreds of people perished in this wilderness. Eight years ago, it had almost taken him.
Mike wasn’t listening, already looking for one as he passed around the wreckage. “The rotor blades are sheered off, but it’s barely scorched.”
She searched the ground, bending to follow footprints.
“Those are your footprints,” he said and she looked up, chagrined as he leaned inside the wreckage and yanked something free. He tossed a box at her feet. “Food.”
Clancy leaped on it.
“Equipment is still here. The guys would never have left it behind.”
“Not willingly.”
He shook his head. “They’d have destroyed it first.” Heck, Krane didn’t need a weapon, the man was lethal with just his hands. Mike moved to the outer edge of the site and kept making a circle, wider with each pass. Then he found it.
Clancy was at his side, eating an energy bar. “Leaves stripped off plants?”
“It’s Krane. Marking a trail. His hands were in front of him at least.” Mike touched the bare stalks, then moved on and found another. He paused when he saw an overturned rock and the toe print in front of it. For a small moment, he let himself hope.
“They left here alive.”
“But with no gear,” she said, pointing to a vest.
He moved closer, looking around for a second, then grabbed a dead stick and shot it at the vest like a javelin. Booby traps, she thought, and he kicked it over. “No blood. It’s standard issue, no markings.”
“You had the permission of the Peruvian government, right?”
“Yes, but that’s not who rules this part of the jungle.” If they didn’t run into members of a drug cartel, he’d be surprised.
Clancy’s chewing slowed as she looked around. “I don’t think anyone rules here but the jungle.”
After stripping the chopper of food and water supplies, Mike motioned her to join him, and when she caught up, he touched her shoulder.
Clancy looked at him. His gaze flicked to his right and she let hers drift past him. The Indian. She tried not to notice, glancing quickly away. “Ya know, I thought we were being followed.” She kept walking.
“It’s your friend.”
“Come to see if the competition is up to snuff?”
“I hope that’s all.” Mike caught up, then pulled her close.
Her hands flattened to his chest. “What are you doing now?”
“Proving I’m up to snuff.”
“You assume a lot, Gannon.”
“No. I don’t.”
He leaned down and she leaned back. He frowned. “This kiss had better be for me, not him,” she said.
His grin was slow, challenging. Then he proved it was for her.
Oh. My. There is a God.
Clancy had kissed him before, but nothing like this. She swore her toes curled in her boots, and as his mouth slid over hers, her hands crawled around his waist. She held on. He was ferociously warm and tight against her. Not an inch of him soft, and all of it getting harder. Excitement coursed through her blood and chiseled at her composure. His mouth molded with a fragile pressure that was such a contrast to the man, and made her body tingle with expectation. He toyed, coaxed her to play, and she smiled against his mouth. Who knew? Yet when his hand slid down her spine and pushed her into him, she would gladly have stripped for him right there.
Then his tongue came into play, sweeping and bold, and her mind had somewhere else to live. She could tear into him right now and never look back. His hand slid upward, over her waist, molded her ribs, fluttered across her breast to her throat, gathering her fraying nerves as it went and making her unbearably greedy for more. Then his fingertips spanned her jaw, holding her as if she’d vanish. It was so damn sexy, and she wanted to get closer, unconsciously pushing her hips into his. He drew back a fraction.
“Jesus,” he whispered against her mouth. “He needs to go the hell away.”
She breathed hard and not because of the thin air. “Well,” she said shakily. “If that didn’t do it, you’ll get a spear in the back.”
“Your concern is touching.”
She rubbed her thumb across his lower lip. “I don’t see him.”
“I don’t give a shit.”
He kissed her again, fast and hot, and she thought, it was a little hard to run from anything when her knees were mushy. “That was so…amazing.”
It was incredible, but he didn’t need to say it. “You’re vocal,” he groaned.
She laughed softly; that just plain dared her. “I keep nothing inside, Mike. That’s what got me in trouble.”
“I could get you there again,” he said darkly, and the sly look in his eyes said it had nothing to do with the Indian or the corrupt police—and everything to do with misbehaving somewhere in the dark.
“Oh, don’t say stuff like that, I’ve got a weakness for bad boys in white hats.”
He groaned, half smiling, in the best agony he’d been in for too damn long. She was such a turn-on, he thought, and finally let her go.
If he didn’t they’d have been giving the Indian one hell of a show in short order.
She blew out her breath, looking him over with a sexy promise in her eyes that drove blood to his groin. Again. She’s killing me, he thought, and ushered her along.
“Don’t look around for him. He has to think we didn’t see him. Takes away the threat. Confrontation is out of the question unless forced. No interaction with the local populous, and if so, the absolute minimum.”
That sounded straight from the regulations. “What fun is there in that?” She hacked through the foliage.
“That’s the job.”
“Not all the time.”
“I don’t have much else going on.”
“You expect me to feel sorry for that?”
He scowled at her back. “Hell no.”
“Good, because I won’t.”
He shook his head, smiling. “Have you always been such a hard-ass?”
She was quiet for several steps. “No. I had a normal life with friends and family and I ignored it all, thinking I deserved more attention than I was getting.” She glanced and met his gaze. “I’m sure you know the rest.”
“I’m curious about one thing, how did someone so intelligent, get into so much trouble?”
She paused and looked back. “I wasn’t always smart, Mike.” She wiped sweat from her eyes with her sleeve, then raised the machete. Mike touched her arm and moved past her, making a corridor in one pass with his blade.
“Show-off,” she said, and they walked for a while before she said quietly, “How well do you know them?”
Her voice sounded so frail just then. “We’ve been a team for four years. They’re my brothers.”
She understood the kinship. She’d made a lot of friends in the military. “Have any blood ones?”
“Yes.”
Clancy opened another energy bar, and tapped him with another. He took it, stuffing it in his pocket. “Not Marines?”
He scoffed. “Oh, hell no.”
“Cowboys?” He glanced over his shoulder and made a face. “Ah, bikers.”
“They’re geeks like you.”
“So you’re the black sheep?”
“Sorta, yeah.”
“Me too. Sorta.”
Suddenly, Mike shot forward and scooped something off the ground. He turned to her and held it out. A rifle. More specifically, an MP5.
She nearly choked on the energy bar, swallowing to talk. “Are you kidding? Who in this part of the world would leave that behind?”
Mike checked it. “It’s loaded.” He pulled the clip. “Never fired.” They’d been positioned to repel from the chopper, Mike remembered from the radio transcript. Maybe they were thrown clear. Mike slung the rifle and walked farther out from the wreckage and found a load-bearing vest, then the flack jacket with Kevlar. It was as if they were stripped of their gear as they were pushed along.
Clancy met up with him. “More prizes.” She held a pist
ol holster, and a Camelbak water system. “Who wouldn’t want this?”
“Locals. They wouldn’t know what to do with it, and no one packs heavy in the jungle.”
“Except us.”
“Maybe they had enough to carry.”
“Like a teammate?” she said.
He nodded. “They’d strip down to weapons, comms, and water.” He dropped the vest, then removed anything useful from the gear, and she crouched, helping. “Stay here, I’m going to make a circle for more.” But he came up empty. No Indian either. He held the GPS and compared the crash site and this one, to the GPS of the guestimated launch site possibilities opposite the impact areas. Mike turned sharply. “Gantz’s calculations put the rocket launching from there,” he said, pointing.
“That’s the other direction.” South.
“Yeah, and it isn’t any more logical than leaving the gear behind.”
They widened the search again, each turning in the opposite direction, and made a circle to the original point. No prints, no stripped leaves. Plucked out of the jungle, he thought, like Denner. But they were here, he thought, and that’s more than he’d had.
Mike looked at the woods, expecting to see Clancy any moment.
But she didn’t come back.
Fourteen
Mike felt an unfamiliar sliver of fear just before Clancy came trotting down the slope, holding out a piece of cloth. It was covered in blood and it wasn’t fresh.
“It’s a T-shirt, one of those under-armor wicking things.” The material stretched to fit skintight and draw the sweat away from the body so it would dry faster. Only recently developed for the military, it was used in tropical and desert warfare. “It’s been cut, too.”
He reached for it.
It was a split-second moment. He didn’t have time to shout, or shield her. The bullet splattered through the piece of cloth and Clancy jerked, then dropped to the ground with him.
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