Wolfsbane

by Ronie Kendig

Now … where …? Oh yes. The strike. The very word terrified our warriors. We had seen such things close by. Villages burned. Bodies burned. Ground burned.

  “No, no air strike,” Bayani said again to the big Spaniard.

  “Listen.” He grabbed Bayani’s shirt. “We can take the people up into the mountain. Get them to safety, but the strike—”

  Bayani shoved the man back. “We both know they wouldn’t be clear of the site in time.”

  “It’s our only choice.”

  “I said no.”

  Bayani and the others made choice to fight. The big dark man told our warriors to run and get more weapons. Bayani, who still looked confused or upset, told the women and children to get supplies. So we hurry, hurry. We all run here and there to get ready. The children and women and I prepared to climb into the hills. While we packed up, I heard noise. Like fights. And more noise like big thunder.

  Through the reeds, I saw Bayani and his outsiders searching the skies. A feeling came to my stomach that made me feel sick. As I stepped outside, I saw Bayani’s face go very angry. Red angry. He shouted at his outsiders. They started running. I knew something very bad wrong. I ran to find Chesa. She and I saw Bayani coming very fast toward us. He was screaming, shouting. But we must get …

  I cannot go on. I cannot.

  “Please, Mrs. Mercado.” Matt leaned over the bed and mopped the silky skin with a cool cloth. “I know it’s tiring, but please finish.”

  She tried to swallow but gasped. Tears streaked down her face as she shook her head. “No, it hurt too much.” A wail ripped through her, awakening the child.

  Carrie eased into the woman’s personal space, speaking softly, holding her face and comforting her.

  “Remember, Mrs. Mercado,” Matt began, hating himself for reminding her, for pushing her. But the truth hovered on the aged lips. “For Chesa.”

  Carrie eased a glass of water and straw toward her.

  Mrs. Mercado took a sip and slumped back. Her arthritic hand curled around the little girl’s body at her side. “For Bay … ni. Tal … say.”

  “Yes.”

  “The bombs they come.” She shuddered. “Everyone die. But not me. Not Chesa.” Her watery brown eyes drifted to the ceiling. “Bayani try to save us, but the bomb blew him backward. Fire like a wall held me and Chesa back. The outsiders picked up Bayani and carried him to helicopter and they leave.” Her chin trembled. “Chesa and I go hide from the Higanti and Muslim, scared they kill us. We wait for a long time for Bayani to come back.” Sniffles overtook her as they morphed into outright sobs. “We not see him again.”

  “Mrs. Mercado?” Matt began slowly, hoping he wasn’t pushing too far. He’d tried to allow the elderly woman to take this at her own pace, but her focus in telling the story was for her daughter, for her people.

  Matt needed more specific information. His purpose was clearing Canyon Metcalfe. Finding the truth. “Who is Bayani, Mrs. Mercado? Can you tell us?”

  “I tell you.” She smoothed the dark hair of the three-year-old cuddled against her side.

  Matt waited, then realized she meant she’d already told him. “I … I don’t understand.”

  The woman blinked. “He soldier who come, who fight and teach our sons to fight.”

  “Yes, but—” How did he ask this without confusing her? “Do you know his Christian name?”

  She shook her head. “He no tell his name. Awa give him name when they first come.”

  “Did this Bayani order the strike on Tres Kruces, Mrs. Mercado?” Major Hartwicke asked softly but firmly.

  It might seem insensitive. But time—and apparently Mrs. Mercado’s life—was short.

  Silence hung in the gap, deafening and rank.

  More tears. Her eyes squeezed closed. Then all the tightness in her face vanished. She went limp. Her pulse flatlined.

  CHAPTER 24

  Bruzon Estate, Venezuela

  16 May

  This way, sir.”

  Olin Lambert fell into step behind the Latina who escorted him across the marble foyer. With a practiced gaze, he did a split-second recon on what lay before him. Four possibilities: to the right, a dimly lit hall that seemed to dead end into another hall. The same on the left. Directly ahead and down two steps provided the last set of options: a sweeping staircase that stretched to an upper level, guarded by marble sentries lining a hall that disappeared into darkness. Somewhere up there, light spilled from a lone source.

  But it was the last path that the woman took. Down three steps onto a tiled inner terrace complete with a fountain, plants, and brightly colored tiled benches. A teasing mist coiled around him as they maneuvered around the fountain and flanked left, under the stairs. Carpet now quieted his steps.

  Somewhere in the maze of lavish excess Danielle languished.

  His heart thumped at the thought.

  “Here you are, sir.” She placed a delicate hand on the gold swirl handle and pressed down. With a click the door swung inward.

  A cacophony of voices swarmed them.

  “Gracias,” Olin said as he entered the room and took in those gathered. Politicians, dignitaries, prime ministers, secretaries, but no senator seeking veep.

  “General Lambert?” A man in a slick suit moved toward him. “What a surprise!”

  “Minister Ochoa, forgive me. My trip was unplanned but …” He glanced around the room. Had he missed Senator Roark? “As I’m sure you know, our government is anxious to see these talks go well. Colombia has long argued over your borders and claimed you’re encroaching. These talks will prove what we already know—you’re innocent, of course.”

  “Indeed.” Ochoa turned back to the others. “Would you—?”

  “Forgive me.” Lambert pressed a hand against his lower side and whispered, “I haven’t had a minute’s break since getting off that jet. Do you know where I can …?”

  Ochoa laughed. “Of course. Down the hall, directly past the fountain. You can’t miss it.” He started away then stopped. “Oh, and be sure not to deviate. Bruzon has a pretty rough welcome committee.”

  “Understood.” All too well, in fact. Bruzon had things to hide, and if the society here realized that, he’d never get his agenda past them.

  But Olin didn’t care. He was here for one purpose—to find Danielle.

  Swiftly he made his way back to the foyer. Bruzon wasn’t stupid enough to stow Danielle here in the house. So the most likely place … not out front. The driver had come up from the south to the house. Olin had seen nothing but open fields till the high wall barricaded the house from the rest of the world.

  As he drifted into the open foyer, a form moved from a shadowy alcove.

  Olin pushed himself in the direction of the bathroom, hustling when a shout erupted behind him. In the bathroom, he locked the door and slumped against the wall. Panting, he prayed he didn’t die of a heart attack. There was a reason the team called him Old Man—he was too old for field tactics. One reason he should’ve left this little venture to Nightshade.

  But he couldn’t risk Danielle’s safety. She’d been missing a week already. He had to find her; he owed it to Jacqueline. He’d never forgive himself if he failed.

  A few seconds later, he flushed the toilet. Washing his hands, he formulated his plan. With the guard out there, he’d have to play it cool. Figure a way to search the house without arousing attention or suspicion. Opening the door, he feigned surprise as a guard appeared before him. “Oh!”

  “You should be in the meeting!”

  “Manuel, be kind to our guests,” a woman spoke from the side.

  The guard flinched, then gave a curt bow and tucked himself into the shadows.

  Olin met a pair of incredibly beautiful eyes, the soft yellow glow of the hall lights caressing her face. “Thank you. I didn’t realize it was against the rules to relieve myself.”

  Her face remained stony. “Perdón.” She stared at him. Hard. “They are used to my husband’s barked orders. We do not enterta
in here often enough. Come, we should return you to the meeting before you are missed.”

  As they walked back to the foyer, he noticed she’d slowed. Not a lot, but enough to seem to delay their course. “And how do you like my home, General?”

  “It rivals the palaces of the most notable.”

  Her chin rose a notch, but the expression in her gaze seemed to speak disgust instead of pride. “Have you seen the pool?”

  The guard, who’d remained with them, jerked forward. “Se van a permanecer en la biblioteca.”

  “¡Silencio!” The woman could kill with that expression. But then her face softened. “Come, it’s my favorite part of the house.”

  So Bruzon wanted everyone to stay in the library. Since it would be foolish for the man to have anything illegal at this home while the delegates were here, the only conclusion filling Olin’s mind was that he had Danielle on the grounds. And … it would make sense, wouldn’t it? If this woman, the lady of the house, wanted Danielle found.

  Olin’s pulse sped. What if this woman knew why he was here?

  “There.” She nodded as they navigated around a cluster of brown leather sofas and a fire pit. As they moved, reflections from the lit pool danced on the ceiling of the room and over the walls. “Is it not beautiful?”

  Indeed. Olympic size. Surrounded by a lush garden of flowers and shrubs, meticulously manicured. A gazebo anchored the right corner.

  “The waterfall is my favorite aspect.”

  Olin’s attention shifted to the far left.

  “Would you believe there’s a hidden path behind there?”

  His breath caught in his throat. Though he felt her gaze on him, he did not meet it for fear of giving himself away. Thrilling at the idea that behind there … a hidden path. To what? Was that where Bruzon had hidden Danielle?

  Two forms emerged from the cascading waters.

  A quick, quiet intake of breath. “We should return,” the woman said.

  Though he felt her tug at his arm, Olin could not tear his gaze away. Molars clamped, he worked to temper the fury bubbling up his spine. Bruzon strode toward the covered patio, laughing, talking … with none other than Senator Roark.

  “Hurry!”

  Olin threw a glance over his shoulder, surprised to find the woman a dozen feet away and motioning to him frantically. With one more look at the three men heading his way, he pulled away from the doors. Six large strides carried him to the woman’s side.

  “Catalina!”

  The booming voice froze her. She gasped.

  “What are you doing—?”

  “Lambert!” Michael Roark stormed across the living room. “What are you doing here?”

  Had it been Bruzon who yelled at him, the reaction might’ve been different. But it was Roark. His old nemesis. And the man demanded respect that was not earned.

  Olin slowly turned. “Michael.” He smoothed his jacket, which bore the medals of years of service and combat. “Nice to see you again.” A nod to the host. “General Bruzon, thank you for the warm welcome. This young lady—”

  “She is my wife.”

  Which meant her little excursion with Olin might cost the woman her life. Unless … “You should be proud of her, General. She found me admiring your artwork in here and insisted I return to the meeting.”

  The hesitation seemed to buy points with the burly leader. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Had the man held her hostage the way he’d done with Danielle? Were the children a product of that captivity?

  Michael spun. “What are you doing here? You have no business here. This is politician’s work, not war. This is my job.”

  “Then why aren’t you doing it?” Olin would brook no argument. “I spoke with the president directly. You’ve filed no report since your arrival here a week ago.”

  “I am not his puppet. When my report is ready—”

  “Your disregard for executive orders puts your loyalty in question.” Olin let his gaze drift to the pool. “Among other things.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “We are in the home of the very man suspected of kidnapping and raping Danielle.” Olin rolled around to face the man and inched closer. “And you’re cavorting and laughing with him, taking a tour of the grounds. Hmm …” He stroked his chin. “Wonder what you found behind that wall and hidden passage.”

  Michael grabbed Olin’s jacket and yanked him forward. “I’m not afraid of you anymore, Olin. I don’t answer to you, and I don’t care what you think.” With a slight shove, he released him, his lip curled.

  “Understand, Michael,” Olin said as he started away. “If I find you knew what Bruzon did to Danielle—or if I find out”—Careful. Don’t tip your hand—“I will personally—”

  “You don’t have what it takes, you washed-up four-star.”

  Oh. If only the man knew. Olin’s glare morphed into a sneer. And he walked away.

  Naval Base, Cuba

  Early morning air embraced Max as he hustled across the air base that had come alive with the sirens and searchlights. He jogged toward Colonel Hamer. “What’s going on?”

  The sirens droned.

  “Your men, that’s what happened.” Hamer shot daggers from his eyes as he stomped toward a building. “You hear that C-130 powering up? That’s your personal escort back to the States.”

  “Whoa, hang on a minute—”

  “No, son. I’m afraid not.” Hamer pushed through a door and stomped down steel-grate steps. Through another door, Max hustling to keep up. “Your men are loose cannons, and I can’t risk an international incident. Now, my men here will walk you to that plane.” He sneered. “Or carry you.” Arms folded over a toned chest, the colonel dared them to challenge him. “Your call.”

  “Look,” Max said. “We need to get this back under control.” Man, did they ever. This was like trying to drink from a fire hydrant. Any more bad news and they’d drown.

  “Oh, we’re getting it under control all right.” The older man’s eyes twinkled as he motioned behind Max.

  He spun and found Midas and the Kid sitting on low-slung cots, their hands cuffed. Clenching his fists, Max wished he could reach through the bars and strangle the two. But first, he had to stop the colonel from shipping off the whole team. “Colonel, listen, I’ve … I have a legitimate concern that the general has gone rogue.”

  Though the news hit Hamer hard, the iron colonel shook his head. “I sure hope not. But that doesn’t change things.” He wagged a finger at the Kid and Midas. “They were stealing government property. Do you realize what kind of hell would’ve broken loose if they’d made it into Venezuelan airspace during a lockdown?”

  Max pinched his lips together, livid. “Look, send them back.”

  “No!” Midas’s shout blasted into Max.

  Max glared at the man. “But let me and the others stay. As soon as you get the green light, drop us in there.” He inched closer. “Lambert won’t survive. He needs us.”

  Hamer hesitated, then looked at the cell. “No, no can do. Blame whomever you’d like. Your men in that cell. Your fists. The good general. But it’s not happening. You’re all on that C-130 out of here in twenty.”

  Max drew back. “My fists?”

  “You put one of my guys in the hospital.”

  “He was compromised, put the lives of my team—”

  “Your fists tell me you’re a loose cannon. Their actions tell me you all are. This is a military installation, and we’ll have the devil to pay if you cause any more trouble.” He pivoted, negotiated a path around the rest of the team, and left. “Get ‘em off my base, Major.”

  A man stepped through the door with two armed guards. He unlocked the cell and eased back the door. “This way, gentlemen. Orders are STK, so please don’t make us.”

  Shoot to kill.

  Yeah, Max would kill all right. And he’d start with Midas and the Kid.

  CHAPTER 25

  34,000 Feet Above the Atlantic Ocean
/>   17 May

  Numbing vibrations wormed through his legs as he stared down at the red lines cut around his wrists. The cuffs had been tight, but nothing like the feeling in his chest knowing that each minute flung them hundreds of miles farther from Roark. That she was alone there, most likely in the claws of Bruzon. What that sicko did to her the first time roared through Canyon’s mind, furious that on board this plane, bound for the States, he could do nothing to stop the man.

  Like a fast-forwarding mental projector, complete with whirrp noises and flickering stills, his brain showed him horrible scenarios of what could be happening to Roark right now. Beaten. Raped. Beaten. Humiliated. Raped. Canyon clenched his fist tighter and tighter.

  Something hit his booted foot.

  Canyon ignored it, knowing the two facing rows of web seating rigged in the forward section of the cargo hold in the C-130 Hercules made it impossible not to trip and bump the others. Besides, he wouldn’t look any of them in the eye for a while. Not without a fight.

  Leaning forward dumped all the blood to the edema around his eyes and nose. But he didn’t care. A dull pain compared to what Roark probably faced. He pinched his lips and crinkled his nose—eliciting more pain. Fist balled again, he honed in on the image of her, of kissing her.

  Bruzon cut into the mental image. He laughed. Hit Roark. Shoved her to the ground …

  Both fists balled, Canyon pressed them against his forehead and tried to squeeze the puke out of his mind. He’d kill Bruzon. Kill Max and the others for leaving her there.

  Thud! His toe tingled from the hard hit.

  Without lifting his head, he snapped his gaze to the other boot, but there were two within striking distance. He glanced up. Cowboy and Aladdin. Red halos wreathed the faces of both men, whose heads were propped on the webbing, eyes closed.

  He dropped his gaze and pushed back against the seat. Unlike them, he couldn’t sleep. Not with Roark missing.

  Somehow … some way … he had to get back down there. Find her and get her to safety. There had to be a way.

  As fat clouds and minutes slipped by, he searched for a plan. Why had God allowed this to happen to Roark? She was an angel, the most intelligent and beautiful woman he’d ever met. Everyone in his family saw that, which is why they told Canyon to steer clear. Someone like her belonged with his little brother who never screwed up, who did everything right and won everyone’s heart.