“With knives and how many bullets?”
Mike didn’t have to pat his pockets. He knew exactly how much ammo he had left. “Four.”
Clancy dug in the pack, then inside her flight bag and tossed him the magazine. Fifteen more shots. “Sorry, I forgot about it. You gave it to me in the jungle.”
“Clearly you two have had a long and fulfilling relationship.” Nathan glanced between them.
Fulfilling? Oh, heck yeah, she thought, meeting Mike’s gaze. Neither said a word, but Clancy felt a blush rise up her face. Nathan chuckled as Mike motioned her between him and Sal.
“Far right, then straight. We’ll figure out how to cross the road later.”
Morning sun spilled through the trees, casting the ground almost yellow, but Mike’s attention was on the ten or so men out there. They weren’t waiting for them, just milling near flatboats and some heading to the river. Mike realized Clancy was right. Richora was using the tribe to protect his operation, but the man wasn’t smart enough to create the rockets, so who did?
He brought Clancy’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss, and met her gaze. “Get ready to run.”
Eduardo’s heart pounded violently, as he waited for his death. He was underground in a narrow hole behind the urn’s chamber, and after a brief moment the tremors stopped. He could hear the panicked shouts of his workers and Gil. He tugged on the rope tied to his ankle and shone his flashlight into the area that had collapsed, behind the urn’s chamber. The tremors had opened it wider.
Someone tugged at the lead rope around his ankle. “I’m fine, I’m fine,” he said and had to shout.
He heard the faint reply. “Professor, please come out. We could have another tremor.”
“A moment or two, nothing more. Tug if you get nervous.”
Eduardo elbowed his way deeper. It would be much easier if the ceiling wasn’t so low. The icons on the stone triangle warned of passing through the tunnel. The depiction was of opening the urn and releasing a death, a plague of sorts. The chemist couldn’t understand what it was, and he chose not to open the urn or break the seal. He wasn’t superstitious, but so many traps and warnings were wise to heed. Other scholars were balking at his decision, but because the excavation was privately funded, he had the choice. Breaking a seal of human skin kept intact for two thousand years to learn the contents was simply selfish.
The breath of man stolen by the gods still held no logic.
Working forward slowly, he passed between the narrow corridor of stone and knew his wife would chastise him for doing this at his age, but he couldn’t ask his students to risk their lives. The rope was taut on his ankle and he was reassured, but cave-diving wasn’t his talent. Yet as he pulled himself into the chamber, he understood the path that led him here when he heard voices.
Voices.
The realization that he might be in something other than a cave made him cautious. Drug lords were all over the mountains. He shimmied through the opening like a worm, and for only a moment looked up. On his hands and knees, he scrambled into the darkened corner by some boulders under the shadows of a torch. His view was only slightly obstructed, but the scene before him left him breathless.
A village. Alive with movement. Women adorned in gold stirred pots in a communal area, children playing around them, laughing happily. Men converged in conversation, armed with spears and knives, yet beyond them lay a great cavernous mouth, yawing into the sunlight. It faces west, into the next valley. The area wasn’t inhabited by more than animals. More people vanished in the mountains than the Amazon. Yet here was a society on the edge, surviving. The cavern stretched wider than a football field, the ceiling over a hundred feet high. A maze of staircases led to the homes carved into the wall like a honeycomb.
Like the ruins in the north.
They were empty, the people living their daily life in the center of the village. His gaze swept high and left, at the urns secured in holes in the wall, straps anchoring them in. Like mine, he thought; then his gaze caught on an old woman, wrapped in a grass mat. With a bone instrument, she adorned an urn much like the one he’d found. How? he wondered. How could this entire society exist under the mountain with no one discovering them all these years? He didn’t for a moment believe this was a Moche tribe, but possibly the ancestors who chose to live this life. He would find no documented truth here. He didn’t wonder if what he’d found initially was false. Carbon dating had ensured against that. But behind it, in the belly of the mountains, they were surviving here, in private peace. It was more than remarkable.
At first, Eduardo thought of the find, what it would do for the culture locked in time, and wanted to study them. Live with them for a time perhaps. But interference would destroy this, and while Moche were barbaric, he didn’t think they did many sacrifices since there weren’t many people who ventured into this area without a skilled guide. But they could be the reason many vanished. He studied, absorbing as much as he could from the shadows. The modern touches blared back at him.
The metal tools of steel and aluminum, pieces of colored wire. Discards from those who ventured too far into the Andes?
Then he noticed the gray material one man was hammering into a bowl or a shield. The constant hammering would thin the material and allow it to be shaped. The metal technique was a modern one. Then he noticed the number on the underside of it. The crash of some plane, he realized, the one the Peru troops were sent to find and died trying. To protect their way of life, he realized, and they used what came to them.
He felt a tug on his ankle and he instantly made a decision. He turned back, slipping through the opening and working his way to the dig. He would not open the urn.
Remain undisturbed, my friends. He would keep the secret. Even from his beloved wife.
Mike bolted for thirty yards, then dropped to the ground. Clancy knelt beside him as a truck pulled up in front of the building, then backed in, a sailcloth canopy hiding it from the road. He pointed, then to his eyes. She saw the machine guns steepled near the building’s doors. There was no one near them now, but the warehouse was occupied. Another truck did the same, side by side. The building doors spread wide, men opened the rear of the truck before the engine died. With a forklift, they loaded a pallet onto the first truck, but didn’t touch the second.
A bald man hopped out of the second truck and walked to her left toward the river. From behind, Nathan grabbed Mike’s shoulder, and he glanced, but only nodded. Clancy saw it in his face. The change was instant, a look of pure hatred. Her gaze followed the short bald man. She didn’t recognize him, but that didn’t mean anything. All she knew was what was on the news. Mike went into the belly of the beast.
She reached, grabbing his arm and squeezing. He snapped a look at her and his hard expression instantly melted. He leaned, his mouth near her ear, then whispered one word.
“Hezbollah.”
Big terrorists. They made al-Queda look like hazing college kids. They denounced acts like 9/11, then dropped suicide bombs at weddings. A Lebanese militant army with direct ties to Iran and Syria. They had their own TV and radio station, intelligence network, and sleeper cells, teaming up with Hamas and Arafat’s Fattah to destroy Israel. When they weren’t busy doing that, they helped al-Queda target Americans worldwide. Then she realized the true reason behind Mike’s intense expression.
The Marine barracks, Lebanon. Two hundred forty-one killed at once.
Salache adjusted the laptop’s angle, and watched the exchange of money sail through cyberspace into his private accounts. Millions. He glanced up, nodded, and the man, a servant really, made a phone call. They could take their wares to their brother in arms, he thought, and Dehnwar would be pleased he could leave now with all the components. The Syrian had been completely annoyed that Salache insisted he oversee the loading. He was a leader of men and it amused Salache to watch him labor like the rest. They wanted his weapon that badly. Dehnwar had lost a shipment in Tunisia, sacrificing his brother, and Salache had
millions from the sale. This money would only pad his accounts. Now he could sit back and watch the world struggle to understand his creation and how it could have passed every security test in any country.
It was the reason they paid so much for each one.
A perfectly undetectable weapon. Sold in parts of the whole and assembled from common parts. He’d paid cartels to hold back the drug shipments, and the Americans and Peruvians were watching the jungle breathlessly for more to travel and seize. Timing was essential. Release the forged crates, and they’d find nothing but rocks. He assured all parties that the deal would pass without a single moment of interference from world agencies. And so it was.
He glanced to the right, the wind passing down the mountain and stirring the scent of flowers. The Americans were no longer a problem, and he smiled at the thought of them meeting the tribe underground. If they survived. He’d lived with them for three years, hiding in the mountains till the authorities stopped looking. It had taken years to rebuild; the urns had given him the perfect solution. Fund the dig and he could search for more powder without notice.
A car he recognized skidded to a stop on the dirt road, and he snapped the laptop closed and waved the others off. His wife left the car, storming toward him, and he thought, She is lovely when she’s angry.
Marianna didn’t stop, walking directly to him and slapping his face. He reeled back, feeling his cheek. “Marianna, my face!”
“Whose face are you wearing, Nuat? Because the man who lies to me is not my husband!” She threw the electronic components at his chest and he grabbed at them. He didn’t have to look to know what they were and waved for the people to leave and pick up their product.
“That came in the mail. Did you think I was stupid?”
“That you would betray me and go into my lab, yes, that was stupid.” He had given her everything a woman needed, a home, children, money, and was furious she’d pried in his affairs.
“I know what you’re hiding.”
He lifted his gaze to her and she stepped back.
“You went behind my back!” he said, then slapped her so hard she fell to the ground. “You are my wife, you are to obey me.”
Her eyes flew wide and she felt her love for him bleed away. The shock that he’d strike her overshadowed that he did it so comfortably. “You made rockets in my factory!”
“Yes. Who’d suspect you?”
Marianna didn’t know this man. “You have not escaped your past, Nuat. They know, they are watching.” His expression turned molten, and she could almost see the surgeon’s scars under his perfect skin.
“Who?” He loomed over her. “Who has spoken to you?”
“A tall man, thin. He’s been watching me and you for days now.” She pushed off the ground, scampering out of his reach. “You swore to me. I trusted you.”
“That was your mistake.”
He grabbed her arm, forced her toward the car, then opened his phone and hit Speed Dial. “Is it done? Is the cargo launched?” He needed the eyes studying this part of the world to watch the rafts, and not him.
“Yes,” Richora said cautiously. “Why?”
“We have a guest. Search the area now. Search it now!”
He closed the phone and pushed her into the car, then drove it toward the river.
Mike tapped Nathan, and he signaled Sal. He pointed once at the men and boats. Two went into the cave and brought out a crate on a wheeled wood cart, catching it when it rolled too fast, then unloaded it into a flat-bottomed boat. Rocks. He dismissed the cargo, his interest elsewhere. From his position he could shoot Dehnwar in the head and be done with it.
Tempting, Mike thought, but he needed to know the what and why of this first. He glanced at Clancy. She was staring at the machine guns and started to inch forward. He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. She met his gaze and Mike shook his head. She didn’t argue.
They waited as workers loaded crates and the flatboats moved onto the river. No noise, no motors, just a push and one man steered with a pole. The Quechua Indian way. Minus the bright colors, they were dressed like them as well. They didn’t push off yet, but Mike would bet anything that they dropped the crates off along the river. They were picked up by another set of people whose only instructions were “go here and drive the car to X spot, leave.” It’s how sleeper cells worked. Pieces to a puzzle. All but one hidden.
Then he saw Richora. I owe him, he thought, turning his attention to the cargo truck. Plain black and no markings. From the air, it couldn’t be seen well in this area because the rain forest hung heavy near the river’s edge. From a satellite, the trucks would be difficult to follow in daylight. Mike needed inside the building to see what was so important they faked a drug shipment as a distraction. If DEA types seized more than one shipment of rocks, someone would get wise. Why wait?
Mike slowly removed his GPS from his pocket. It was on in seconds and showing him the last map. They were damn close to Gantz’s calculations. He noticed several text messages from Jansen, but Mike couldn’t waste his battery to answer, not now. The rocket was fired from somewhere in the immediate area, and when Richora shouted something and moved farther downriver, Mike shot across the road and into the warehouse.
He ducked inside and turned, nearly catching Clancy in the chest.
“Jesus,” he hissed, pushing her behind him.
“Get me one of those.” She pointed to the rifles, her gaze on the people near the river. They were so close they could hear the swish of boots in the mud as Richora stomped upriver.
Mike moved back, and side by side, Nathan and Sal ran across. They retreated into the building, stepping slowly. Every sound was magnified and Mike circled.
Crates were open. A staging area? They only loaded one truck. The light coming from the doorway wasn’t enough to see clearly, and suddenly voices grew closer. They ducked behind the stacks as two of Richora’s men shut the doors. The slam of the locks clanked heavily. Not good. The trucks and cars pulled away and Mike looked through cracks to see the vehicles drive off. He drew his knife and stabbed it into the seam of the tin wall, cutting an inverted L, and then carefully ripped the metal like a can opener. Light spilled in.
Mike felt a ticking clock radiate up his spine. The trucks were full and en route. With Dehnwar driving. He’d get it out of the country the fastest way possible. A plane. But they were on foot without direction or ammo.
Scowling at the crates, Mike decided he’d blow this up for good measure, then pulled out the section of black block that Jansen had sent him, and picked one out of the crate. He compared the pieces.
“Where did you get that?” Clancy whispered.
“It was in the evidence we pulled from a mission in Libya.”
Clancy looked between the men and the parts. “That means they’ve already shipped this stuff out once.”
“At least.” He noticed the gold markings, the Inca look of it, and tried to make it gel in his head. “Kilos of dope and souvenirs?”
“Yeah, I don’t get it either.” Clancy pushed aside shredded paper and studied two pieces. They were larger and shaped like a temple. “Nothing fits. Can you crush it?” she whispered.
He squeezed. “It gives.”
“Plastics and graphite, maybe?” Her gaze ripped over the pieces, and she grabbed up three and worked them for a moment.
When they started to fit together, he glanced at Krane, arching a brow. She held a curved piece of black material like a portion of pipe, yet broader. “It looks like a fuselage,” he said.
“Or a vase.” She tried to break the pieces apart. “It’s locked in place.” She picked up another and tried to fit them. “Why pieces and why bendable? If it’s a weapon, it’s useless. Bullets and fuel combusts for thrust, but it would melt this.”
“There was no heat signature,” Mike reminded her.
“Impossible,” she said.
“He’s right, Clancy,” Nathan said. “We never saw it coming. It was suddenly just there a
nd hit. This stuff is just storage till they can load it.”
“They already did.” Mike moved quickly around the building, inspecting each box, and found the empty pallets. “Did the truck pick up both or just the souvenirs? What is this shit?”
“Hey, Boy Scout.” Mike looked across to her. “What’s that look like to you?” Her hands were wrapped around the black material already locked together.
A nose cone, black with a gold center.
Nineteen
“Good God,” Mike said, glaring at the boxes. “They’re rockets.”
“Oh yeah, that’s it,” Krane said, touching the nose cone. “Christ, they’ll try anything to kill us, huh?”
“I want to see the glue for this.”
“They wouldn’t need it,” Krane said and took the nose cone and started adding pieces. “It’s like a jet, like the SR-71, stealth. Leaks like crazy till the fast pressure of a launch expands the seals and locks it tight. The give in it makes the seal even tighter. Man, that’s some clever designing.”
“I have a vacuum like that,” Clancy said dryly. She grabbed several and kept fitting them together. “They’re marked with the gold. See, there’s the primer.” She showed the array of hieroglyphics on the sides. “It tells you which one is the first one. Then you can assemble them.” She worked quickly, then held up a long narrow black rocket. The men just stared. “It’s almost weightless.” She put it on her shoulder. “The latest in your terrorists’ fashion accessory.”
“It’s just a toy without fuel, and combustion would break it,” Mike said, watching out of the hole. “Sal, get us out of here,” he said, and while Sal worked on opening the wall farther, Clancy asked for his knife, then cut the plastic kilo. It spilled like salt onto the ground.
“It’s not cocaine.” She scooped some on the edge of her knife and carefully sniffed. They all looked at her. “Well”—she flushed with embarrassment—“it’s not.” She wasn’t tempted, there were other things that gave her a bigger high, she thought with a glance at Mike. She tapped it onto the ground, then checked three different pallets. “It’s all the same, not coke. Not crack, either. And it’s too sandy colored. Pure is white.”
Intimate Danger Page 29