Intimate Danger

by Amy J. Fetzer

  “Goddamnit,” he muttered. He’d let his guard down, and they almost bought it. Stupid, he thought, damn stupid.

  Another shot came, a couple of feet from his boot, and Mike fired back.

  Clancy aimed, squinting.

  “Don’t waste your ammo.” Mike held the assault rifle.

  “You get all the fun,” she said, and was already crawling higher.

  “Good thinking, get out of range.” He couldn’t see shit in the jungle, and when the shooter fired again Mike rolled and laid down suppression fire, cutting a line through the jungle.

  “Not exactly my first thought, but yeah.”

  He crawled with her for a couple of feet, motioning her on, and he faced the shooter, almost daring him. Mike needed to see the muzzle flash. Then she slapped her hand on his shoulder, gripped a handful of shirt, and jerked hard. “If it’s Richora, he’s got men. Today they’re ruling the jungle.”

  Mike rolled around. She was right, damn it. “Ya know, I’m supposed to be the expert.”

  “That’s okay, you’re stupid from my fabulous kisses.”

  “Got that right,” he muttered under his breath, low-crawling away from their last position. Mike pulled into a crouch and watched behind them.

  Nothing moved. Maybe he hit the bastard.

  “Mike,” she whispered and he inched up near her. She pointed to footprints.

  Mike pushed aside vegetation to see the detail. “They’re combat jump boots.” He followed them, and after a few feet realized they went toward the ruins. “It’s too out in the open. They wouldn’t have gone there, not with all this left behind.” He meant the discarded equipment, and weapons.

  “Where else? I don’t see a door. We can at least see someone coming.”

  He shook his head. “It’s strategically ideal as a fortress, but escape? There’s nowhere to go.”

  “There has to be.” She shifted to the tree line, her weapon down. “They wouldn’t be that stupid to lock themselves in their homes.”

  “Two thousand years ago, they weren’t that slick.”

  “Stop being a cynic. Have you ever seen the Inca and Aztec stone mechanisms? They were brilliant.”

  Mike watched behind them, his back to a tree. “I’m not convinced.” It was still a good half mile away.

  Then automatic weapons fire blistered through the trees and they took cover. There wasn’t much of it, the terrain rocky, and thinned of trees. But Mike saw the muzzle flash. It wasn’t wide. He’s got a suppressor.

  He fired and heard the yelp of pain, hoping there was only one out there, then urged her on. Neither stood until they were at the west-side base of the ruins. He could barely make them out, the sun long past behind it. They skirted the forest edge, the ruins to the right, sun-bleached orange shapes in the mountain, below it a deep gulley, a moat that had protected the inhabitants. The footing narrowed, the rise of stone wall forcing them to move like rock climbers.

  Mike glanced down. The excavated dig site below was nothing but a stone framework of corridors that looked like they might have been tunnels, and he thought, She could be right. Those corridors could lead into the homes cut into the sides of the mountains.

  Clancy moved with Mike, her fingers gripping the stone and shifting sideways. They had to move fast. They were too exposed despite the low light. She could see where he was headed, and with the angle of the sun they were visible more by shadow than themselves. Just a few feet, she thought, and he slung himself inside the small doorway. Then he turned and reached for her. Clancy moved her feet carefully and lifted her hand to him. The ground crumbled under her right foot, sending her forward.

  Mike grabbed her shirt and held on. Then it started to rip.

  Alejo limped through the forest, pausing to snap off his bandanna and tie it over his leg, slamming his eyes shut as pain vibrated up to his hip.

  He took several deep breaths, angry now, and kept them in sight, then brought his weapon forward. He could see them higher up on the mountainside and he shouldered the rifle, then peered into the scope. They’d already found the crash site. It was unfortunate and he suspected they were sent to find it. Not much left to find, eh? The men who were on the helicopter were dead, tossed out of it when it was going down, he didn’t know. When they found it, the fire was out and the men were gone, as if they were never inside it. He’d sent his own soldiers to cover it, and it worked well till these two arrived. He’d called for some help, yet wouldn’t wait and took careful aim, the pair close enough now that he could get them both.

  He put them between the crosshairs, smiling.

  The bitch needed to die.

  Bullets chipped the stone, fragments peppering his face. Mike pulled. “Grab my arm!”

  She reached. It was too far, her balance leaning on one foot. She stretched, her right foot searching for purchase. Shots came close, and Mike knew he didn’t have much time before the bastard got a clean bead on them.

  “I’ve got a foothold,” she said, but he didn’t care. He heaved her up into the narrow doorway, then rolled with her deeper inside.

  “You okay?” He kissed her forehead, held her face in his hands. “All right?”

  “Yeah, yes.” She nodded. “Shoot him, will you?”

  Mike moved to the edge with his weapon, sighting through the Cyclops binoculars. He turned on the night vision. The area was black and he switched to thermal. “We’ve got someone out there, but he’s not moving.”

  “I hope he has a hole in his ass.”

  Mike smiled slightly, keeping watch. He’s wounded, he thought. He heard it.

  Clancy scooted back on her rear and felt for the ground, the inside too dark to see beyond her face. Mike eased back from the window, then pulled a Chem-lite from his pack and cracked it. Green light shone as he highlighted the walls and floor, ancient paintings faded and barely visible on the walls.

  “We’re in some fix, huh?”

  “Maybe not.” He moved toward another opening in the wall. “It’s another room and I can see one beyond that. It looks communal,” he said softly.

  There was an open hole near the floor and a dug-out section in the center of the floor. “They shared the fire.” He flicked between the two spots. An open hearth was in the next wall and he could see into another section. One family fire warmed inside and offered light to the next. Ingenious, he thought and eased into the next room, the expanse smaller than his shoulders and he had to turn sideways. He stood, careful of his steps. Trusting thousand-year-old floors just wasn’t wise.

  “I bet they connect.” Clancy moved up behind him.

  “They go off in different directions like a maze,” he said, shifting the Chem-lite to the right, and the glow flared off more openings in the earth.

  Clancy looked up, an uneasy feeling spinning through her. “We’re under the mountain?”

  “Inside it.” Yet something in her voice made him turn back and he shone the light. “You okay?”

  “I’m beat, hungry, and people are shooting at us in the dark.” She was whining, but she could barely stand without support.

  “It’s as good a place as any to hold up till sunrise.”

  She dropped to the ground, shouldered off her pack as Mike looked over the exits and defense. Clancy just wanted to sleep.

  “This place wasn’t on the tours?”

  “It was, but there are more near the coast, in Trujillo. It’s gorgeous over there and I guess the appeal is greater.” She yawned widely. “This site doesn’t have easy access.”

  His back to her, Mike blocked the doorway. “I think I know who’s out there.” He flicked on a penlight and shone it on the back of a room.

  Clancy leaned up to look. “Oh, man.” There were stacks of wrapped kilos against the wall.

  “Yeah, we’ve crossed over into someone’s territory all right.” He moved in closer. “There are footprints here.”

  “Combat boots?”

  “Yes.” He looked back at her. “They go deeper into the m
ountain.”

  Her gaze flicked around. “To where? It’s solid rock. We can’t follow, we have no light, and morning sunshine isn’t going to light that any better.”

  “It will some. The holes in each dwelling line up and must shine light into here till evening.”

  “See, I told you they were smart.”

  “Yeah, yeah, but we need to find the way out.”

  “Go for it.”

  He looked back and she squinted against the light as she unstrapped the machete.

  “Stick a fork in me, I’m done.” She shoved her pack into a corner and used it for a pillow.

  His lips quirked. “Well, I guess there’s no discussion.”

  “It’s not a democracy, Gannon, but feel free to investigate.”

  Mike knelt and gently kissed her forehead.

  “You’ll protect me, I know.” She patted his knee.

  He really had pushed her hard, he thought, and admired her resilience. It’s not every day someone gets shot at and springs back. He scanned beyond the opening that served as a door. The forest was nearly soundless except for the whisper of a breeze coming through the holes in the ruins. Not even a monkey moved out there. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard any birds and this would be a prime place for them and bats.

  With his penlight in his teeth, he checked his gear. Enough food and water to keep them alive for a day but no more. Mike set a trap near the door, then settled down, feeling the warmth of the adobe walls against the chilly air coming into the ruins.

  He held the satellite phone near the opening, and didn’t want to risk speaking and having the sound echo out. He sent a text message to Colonel Jansen, informing him of his findings and that Clancy was with him. Jansen wouldn’t be expecting it. Mike rarely made contact till he was bugging out. Done, he flashed a light toward the kilos, wanting to destroy it all right now.

  While the boot prints led inside here, that didn’t mean they belonged to his guys. With jump boots the exception, combat boots were pretty generic. But that the kilos were stored in the ruins meant they were sitting with some cartel’s stash.

  It wouldn’t be long before someone else knew they were here—and came hunting.

  Years of practice sprang the lock easily, and Antone slowly pulled the heavy chain free. Opening the door a foot, he slipped inside the factory. It was a long low building with several windows and a back veranda for employees. He’d seen it in daylight, the soothing colors of it, the accommodations made for the staff. The factory created items for the tourist trade, anything from statues to straw hats. There were two locations on either end of the town. He chose this one to start because it was nearest her house.

  Marianna Salache was the owner. She owned the lavender paper he’d found, and the deliveries from the paper mill were split between the two factories and her home. Inside he flicked on a penlight and passed it over the office. His search would take a while and he truly didn’t know his target, but even a cursory look didn’t bring up anything peculiar.

  He moved to the factory floor. Presses and machines sat like ghosts. They created a lot of small items, all sold at a low price to local vendors for resale. He knew enough that Marianna was generous and not a good businesswoman. It cost her nearly as much to make the items as to sell them at a discount as a wholesaler. Near the machine press were barrels of dark pellets, and Choufani removed his gloves and passed his fingers through the pellets. It’s not plastic, he thought, shining the light on his hand. It was stained as if he’d had his hands in ash. He scooped up a handful, weighing it. Not all of it, at least. Too much weight and density.

  Something familiar slipped through him and he started searching boxes, moving directly to the die-cut press. He found molds, small ones, some no larger than the width of his hand. He glanced at the windows, aware that the light could be seen from the street. Shielding the bulb, he flipped on the machine’s light. It spotlighted the operational board of the press. He moved to the left, pulling it through one revolution, and smelled the scent of scorched plastic.

  He used his penlight to closely examine the press. Molded pieces that didn’t connect to anything and some that were like the little statues sold all over South America. He took a piece, and gripping it in his hand, he headed to the door. It felt familiar, the weight of it, and the realization hit him.

  Marianna, he thought, what have you done?

  Mike felt the warmth of her body curled around him as he woke. Her hand was on his chest, her head tucked against his shoulder. He enjoyed the moment and couldn’t remember the last time he woke with a woman in his arms. One he wanted around later. He lay still, listening to her breathing, and heard the scuffle of stones. Carefully he disengaged from her and went to the opening. He scanned through the binoculars on thermals.

  It was still dark, but the land was alive with red and orange. Christ. He could make out the four figures closing in, trying hard to be silent and deadly. He turned to Clancy, his hand over her mouth as he woke her. She grabbed at his hand, her eyes wide for a second; then she softened.

  “We have company again,” he whispered.

  “Uninvited, how rude. Shoot them.”

  He shook his head. “They don’t know where we are in here exactly, and shooting will give us away. We can’t be exposed.”

  “They want their drugs.”

  “Then we let them have it.”

  Her brows knit as she met his gaze. “What do you mean? How can we?” she whispered. Then it dawned on her. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding!”

  Francine watched the screens show four images of the primate home. For days now, Boris and Natasha were going through the mating rituals, picking fleas off each other, bringing food, chasing each other through the forest that was completely man-made. She typed in her findings, smiling at her speed, but she frowned when she made a few mistakes. Her skills hadn’t improved. She had the primate habitat speakers off or she would have noticed sooner. When she did, she wasn’t shocked. Boris and Natasha were mating, vigorously.

  Then she looked closer. She was out of the chair and flying down the hall to the lab, frantically hitting locks and codes to get inside. She rushed to the glass wall and hit the intercom speaker. “Boris, Boris! Stop!”

  She hit the emergency pad and the blare of it inside the compound jungle shook the windows separating her from the apes. But Boris kept mating. Faster and harder, and Natasha was grabbing for anything to pull herself away, and screaming horribly.

  Oh God.

  Forced mating wasn’t uncommon but Boris was violent, out of control. It’s rape, she thought, but didn’t dare enter the habitat or he might turn on her. Francine loaded a tranquilizer dart into the handgun and hit the compound locks. The glass shifted slowly back and she took aim between the bars.

  From behind, Boris pounded into the orangutan wildly, caught her shoulders, then pulled her back against his hairy body. The orangutan climaxed, and let out a harsh roaring bellow that sent the few birds in there to the sky-blue ceiling, and a shiver down Francine’s spine.

  She fired, but it wasn’t soon enough. Boris gripped Natasha’s head and in one hard motion, snapped the ape’s neck.

  Francine lowered the tranq gun as the drugs kicked in and Boris slid to the ground, unconscious. She laid the gun aside and rubbed her face.

  “Dr. Yates.”

  She flinched around, and stared into blue eyes blistering with rage.

  Colonel Jansen.

  “I think you’d better tell me exactly what you did to my men. Now.”

  Gantz bit into the fleshy cherimoya, slurping sweet juice and reaching for a napkin as he listened to Renoux’s phone call.

  He’d been doing it for a couple of days. Since Mike mentioned that Renoux had a client who wanted space on his ships. To keep his nose clean, Renoux had to abide customs and international laws. He wasn’t. His ships were sitting in a port on the coast of Peru. That was a damn long way to transport illegal contraband—right through the drug cartels. Passin
g through territory was costly, and the price would increase with each leg. Someone was cutting him a deal, or he was airlifting it out.

  Since Renoux had pissed off the Peruvian government with a trash drop of weapons that ended up in the hands of the cartels, the inspections were thorough. He wasn’t getting anything out of Peru without the Navy or Army down his throat.

  Howard didn’t hear anything about the Hellfires. Renoux coded his conversations. He’d been tracking the little bastard for years. He understood them. He was waiting for his money before he’d agree to transport.

  That could be done electronically and be over in a matter of minutes. Damn difficult to trace too; Gantz had a transaction alert on Renoux’s accounts. So far, nothing. Bet that’s pissing him off, he thought.

  But one thing that really bothered Howard was the sound of Renoux’s voice, as if defying the buyer for up-front money was not something he did often. He’s scared of his customer. He replayed the conversation, listening to the tone again, how Renoux hurried to explain between the stretches of cold silence. He tried a trace, but the phone number was routed through several countries. It wouldn’t matter; the caller kept his tone even, almost droning. It kept him from getting a voice analysis ID. This guy is smart, he thought.

  As he listened, his second computer ran a search for Mike on watch list scientists. So far there were a lot of names to go through, and as Renoux ended the call Gantz changed Mike’s search to add last known locations. He didn’t think he’d get much and kept the program running as he pulled off the headphones and stood. He started packing his cases, and his personal gear.

  Renoux was leaving the country.

  It was time to get up close and personal with his favorite adversary—again.

  Then the search pinged and Gantz knew, change of plans.

  They went deeper into the ruins.

  Clancy rushed ahead of Mike, feeling her way in the dark.

  “Come on, Irish, they’re climbing.” He could hear them out there.