Trapped (Delos Series Book 7)

by Lindsay McKenna

  For a moment, she dwelled on the fact that Ram had touched her in a very human way by comforting her. Somehow, he sensed what she was going through and had awkwardly reached out and tried to help her—oddly, it had.

  She was feeling so scared for Cara, knowing that she could be drugged, unconscious, and then raped and sodomized over and over again by drug soldiers standing in line to take their turn. Just Ram’s light touch, not sexual, not suggestive, but simply one human trying to console another, blew the rest of her construct about him apart.

  She couldn’t let the situation dissolve her focus. Ram was right: she needed to stay on point to what was actually occurring around them. The weather had changed. She knew that any chubasco came in bands of rain and wind. In between, the sky might be rainy looking, but it wasn’t going to be a downpour, either. The wind would die down, too.

  Ali knew they had a rough blueprint of the inside of Azarola’s fortress. But it wasn’t perfect because no one other than Azarola’s men had been inside that place except for her that one time when she’d discovered the tunnel. They’d be going into a huge unknown and it amped the danger up ten times more than if the hostages were kept in that outdoor cell.

  Randy Cross would be up in her hide with those two Marines. He would have to decide upon the chaotic weather conditions in a given time frame, and whether to try and fly the Raven or not. A good gust of wind could smash it into a tree, or worse, end up dropping it into the fortress itself. And if that happened, they were in deep trouble because the drug soldiers knew a Raven drone when they saw one. They’d know there was a black-op team nearby and the mission would blow up on them. No, Randy wouldn’t take that kind of risk, putting the team in jeopardy like that. Instead, he wouldn’t fly the drone at all.

  She felt antsy, anxious, and wanted to be on the ground, not in the air. Standing, she began to slowly pace the length of the C-130, moving around the anchored pallet, head down, thinking. The other operators were all standing around, too. Ali saw similar expressions on their face and knew they were cataloging the list of endless possibilities once they arrived at the op. That damn weather had just turned their mission upside down and inside out. Dammit!

  CHAPTER 17

  They landed on the dirt strip five hours later, but not soon enough for Ali. The shrieking whistle of the turbo-props combined with the shaking of the transport as it trundled slowly over the poorly-kept strip made her even more anxious to disembark and get going. It was 1700, five p.m., and the October sky was beginning to darken, socked in with low-hanging gray clouds that threatened rain at some point. Already, the chubasco in Baja was changing the weather so far inland.

  The C-130 cut two of its four engines, and the rear door yawned open and revealed, to her relief, Captain Gomez with two transport trucks ready to take them and their gear to their destination. In no time, the plane’s crew had slid the pallet down the ramp, and six Marines in a line started moving the gear out of it and into the trucks.

  Ali guided Ram over to meet Captain Gomez. She stood back, watching the two men as they shook hands. It was a warm, sincere greeting in Spanish, and confirmed to her that Ram had honestly changed from the man she had known in the SEAL team. He was clearly a leader and appreciated the Mexican Marine’s help in this joint mission.

  Above them, the sky was angry. Only a few faint stars peeked out in the October evening as the clouds moved above them. The wind was moist, warm, and gusty. All were telltale signs of a chubasco heading in their direction.

  She left Ram and José and set off to find her gear and get saddled up. The other ex-SEALs were doing the same thing. There was no talking. She saw the green duct tape used to ensure that no sounds would be created when metal hit metal on their body or the pack they carried. Even her dog tags, which she still wore, were taped together to ensure that a tinkling sound couldn’t be heard by the nearby drug soldiers as she moved around her hide in the pine tree.

  Ali felt comforted by the familiarity that came with working with SEALs. She knelt on the dry, dusty soil, rapidly moving her hands over her M4, slapping a mag into it but not placing a bullet into the chamber. Not yet.

  It was twenty miles via winding dirt roads to reach Azarola’s fortress, and it would have to be done without truck headlights or they’d be spotted. The drivers would don NVGs in order to snake the trucks over the narrow, rocky roads, while at the same time climbing in the elevated areas. When they were within three miles of the fortress, they would disgorge the team to make the rest of their way on foot.

  They would meet the two Marines in her hide and get the latest update from the radio headset on the channel available to everyone on this mission. And then, it would be show time.

  She felt Ram approaching and lifted her chin, seeing him in the glare of the aircraft’s inside lights as he came their way. One of the ex-SEAL’s, Cory Phelps, had placed all of Ram’s gear on the seat of one of the trucks. She saw he had his game face on—but so did everyone else. They were now in combat mode. Mentally, she counted heads: Randy Cross, Kelly Lomas, Tyler Hutton, Dave Barnett, Cory and herself, comprised the team. Ram had added another member before they left Artemis. All told, there would be seven going in for the rescue. Ram was still finishing off a quiet talk with José, nearby. All were professionals, hands moving quickly over their gear, turning and helping one another on with their heavy fifty-pound packs they’d be carrying in on this op.

  Talk was nil, except when necessary. There was no joking, no laughter, just a deadly, serious tension surrounding them all.

  Ali got all her gear ready and climbed into the rear of one of the canvas-covered trucks. There were wooden benches on either side, and she hefted her gear into it and climbed in. That heavy Kevlar vest weighed twenty-four pounds. The vest she’d donned earlier, also had pockets for magazines needed for her M4. Her .45 pistol rested against her hip.

  There was a CamelBak pack they would each carry on their backs that had plenty of water, but a gallon of water weighed roughly eight pounds. That three-mile hike was going to be brutal at eight-thousand feet as they headed into the dead of night.

  Earlier, she’d seen Randy checking the wind speed, his face tight with frustration. There was no way he could get a Raven up in these off-and-on gusts. The drone would be tossed around like a toy and he wouldn’t be able to control it.

  Disappointment washed through her. A Raven could make a huge difference in safety for them as they approached the fortress. Suddenly, she wondered if Cara was all right. She longed to call the Marines in the hide to find out, but resisted. They checked in hourly unless something went wrong and so far, no contact had been made. She pulled the headset into place, turned it on, and placed the mic close to her lips. Securing the wires and cables along the shoulder of her vest, Ali made sure the mic worked, testing it.

  “Hear you loud and clear,” Kelly responded.

  “Roger that. Thanks.”

  Ali knew that Ram would ride up front in the lead truck with the Marine driver. Both would be wearing NVGs. Ram would be riding shotgun, M4 ready, a bullet in the chamber, safety off. These M4s, like the SEAL variety, had no safety on them, for good reason. Without the Raven to fly in front of the trucks at a couple-of-thousand feet so its infrared camera could record body heat and humans, they were flying blind.

  It was amazing how much they relied on advanced electronic equipment. Yet, as Ali knew, so many times it couldn’t be used because of weather conditions or other geographic challenges—or the electronics simply failed. This mission boiled down to the good old ops trajectory of human eyesight, a set of sharp ears, strong intuition to sniff out anything that was out of place, walking quietly, and using hand signals to communicate.

  “Ali?”

  She looked toward the rear. Ram stood there, M4 over his shoulder. “Yes?”

  “Want to ride up front with me?”

  It was an order, although he made it seem like a casual question. That was another big change in Ram. “Can I leave my gear her
e or do I need to transfer it to the lead truck?”

  “Leave it here. Captain Gomez thought it would be best if you were up front with me and the driver. He said you know these back roads better than anyone.”

  “That’s probably true,” she said, standing up. “Walked hundreds of miles on them in the last two years.” She gave him a wolfish grin.

  He grinned back and held out his hand to her to help her out of the truck. Surprised, Ali hesitated and then grabbed his hand. “Thanks.”

  Ram stepped back, holding her hand firmly. “You’re welcome.”

  On the ground, he released her hand, but her fingers continued to tingle where he’d curved his hand around hers. He had rough, thick callouses on his palm as well as on his trigger finger, telling her he was in top shape in every possible way. Surprised by his assistance, she slung the M4 across her shoulder and followed him to the lead truck. It was being fired up, belching unseen blue clouds of diesel smoke into the humid night air.

  Ali climbed in, sitting between the driver, Marcus—a Marine she knew well, and Ram. The quarters were cozy but not too tight. The windows were down. There was no air-conditioning and she was already beginning to sweat, glad she didn’t have her gear on except for the ammo vest she wore as a matter of routine. Everyone answered when Ram asked the team to check in with him. Everything was packed in the two trucks. It was time to roll.

  Driving seventeen miles up into the Sierra Madre Mountains was slow and sometimes torturous. It hadn’t rained yet, and for that, Ali was grateful. These clay roads would turn into a slick mire that could spin even a heavy military truck off the road and down a cliff or into the woods below, all in a heartbeat.

  “Do we know when the rain’s coming?” she asked Ram.

  “Captain Gomez said it will be dry going in. The first band will reach the fortress in about six hours. We’ll be on station by that time.”

  “Randy wasn’t looking happy about not being able to get the Raven up to fly us in.”

  “Yeah,” Ram muttered, “I’m unhappy about it, too.”

  “With this kind of weather coming in, Azarola will hunker down,” she told him. “There aren’t going to be any roving Jeeps on the back roads tonight. They don’t like getting stuck in clay, either.”

  “Good to know, but we still need to be watchful.”

  “Absolutely.”

  *

  Ram tried to brace himself in the cab of the truck. The wind tore at the bulky military vehicles along the winding dirt road that would take them to the three-mile mark where they had to stop and exfil. The cab was tense and quiet, the grinding of the truck’s gears constant. It was almost too wide a beast for the tight curves that wound around a mountain rising thirteen-thousand feet above them. On the other side, with his NVGs on, Ram could see a thousand-foot drop-off. There were no guard rails up in this wild, untamed mountainous country. Nada.

  Sometimes, the swaying truck would pitch him into Ali, or vice-versa, and he savored those accidental brushes against her arm or thigh. Ram thought that if she could read his mind, she wouldn’t sit next to him at all. But something had changed between them and they both realized it.

  He hadn’t thought about offering her his hand to help her climb out of the truck earlier, but it had just felt like the right thing to do—and to his surprise, she’d accepted. It was dark, her face deeply shadowed, so he couldn’t honestly read her expression. But he heard the husky quality of her voice and it wasn’t cutting or angry. When Ali’s long, beautiful fingers curved around his, he felt his heart opening wide, wanting her. He felt the callouses on her fingers as well, the sign of a combatant. It had no effect, however, on her femininity in his eyes.

  They were going into a highly dangerous situation where everything was in play and in flux. A huge part of him, as always, wanted to protect her. Yet, he knew he didn’t dare do so openly. Ali was to take the lead in the tunnel because she had been in it before and knew it well. They didn’t. She was the point person for this mission, the one who would get fired on first if she was discovered.

  Trying to push all his need to keep her safe aside, he released her hand as soon as she landed on the ground. The sound of her voice when she thanked him was oddly husky and filled with emotions he couldn’t begin to sort out, but it made his heart swell with an even more intense need of her.

  How he wished he had seen the look in her eyes. It would have told him so much more. He was damn good at reading facial expressions. He had to settle for voice intonation, which was a green light for their connection to continue to grow and build between one another as far as he was concerned.

  His mind shut off his personal thoughts. Through the NVGs he saw their destination to their right, a partially flat area of the tall mountain on that side of the road. The driver carefully eased off the road and into the slightly sloping, oval-shaped meadow. It was October and the grass was no longer green, but yellow. According to the weather people snow came early to the Sierra Madres, and at eight-thousand feet, it had already happened. Indian summer was underway.

  But the fortress was at seventy-five-hundred feet and the forecaster had said rain, not snow, for that area. They weren’t prepared for snow, and all their uniforms and equipment were jungle colored, anyway. Still, it was another dicey situation they had to remain aware of. The truck ground to a halt.

  “Saddle up,” Ram ordered his team, opening the door and sliding out. He turned, and before he could offer Ali his hand, she’d come out of the cab and was looking around with her NVGs, trying to ferret out anything that might be moving at 1930, seven thirty p.m. She then walked quickly to the other truck and like the others, climbed swiftly and silently into her gear. By the time Ram got his assembled, his team was surrounding him, waiting quietly for his next order. The trucks and drivers would remain here and guard the trucks.

  Ram checked in with the two Marines in the hide above the fortress. They reported light rain coming into the area, nothing important, but the good news was that the weather had driven the sentries inside. The women were left in the cage outside, a fourth tarp dropped over the front of it to protect them from the incoming weather. He knew his team heard the same intel and he felt Ali step up beside him. She said nothing but he could swear he felt her relief.

  They needed some luck—a break—and they’d just gotten it. Now, they had to hoof three miles up a sloping dirt road, closing in on the villa. Everyone checked their gear, jumping up and down, moving sharply and from side-to-side to see if any sounds emanated from their heavy packs or their other equipment. The only thing Ram could hear was the wind howling off and on above them. The humidity increased and his skin glinted with sweat as he gave the order to move out.

  SEALs always jog, if possible, to their objective. They left fifty feet between each person. Three miles and carrying close to eighty pounds of gear on their person was going to test them mightily and Ram knew it. Ali was behind him, a good fifty feet away. Everyone would be alert, looking and listening. In the night like this, hand signals were useless unless they were close to one another. A click or what sounded like a beep from someone’s radio would warn them if they spotted something. They would instantly crouch, one knee on the ground, finger on the trigger of their M4s, looking around for the enemy and directions from the team member who made the strategic call.

  Ram didn’t want to hear that beep over his headset. He began a slow jog, not too fast, but not too slow, either. Three miles meant ten-minute miles. It would take half an hour to reach Ali’s hide tree. The wind slapped at him. He pulled his Kevlar helmet strap, tightening it beneath his chin, and then moved out, increasing the pace.

  Despite the danger, Ram’s thoughts were solely on Ali. So was his heart. His mouth tightened into a thin line, his eyes slits as he silently jogged through the turgid night, the wind buffeting him, tearing at his clothing, making sounds harder to discern around him.

  The old SEAL refrain, “the only easy day was yesterday,” was true. Tonight was going
to be a bitch.

  *

  Ali was relieved to reach her hide. The group stood silently around the huge trunk of the hundred-foot pine tree. Above them on the platform she’d constructed two years earlier, were the two Marines, giving them their latest eyes-on intel. It was dark, but that was good. The wind continued to rise and fall—sometimes a forty-mile-an-hour gust, sometimes just a breeze. The trees sang and moaned, depending upon the speed of the wind roaring through the area. The weather was fickle making it harder on them. The light rain continued off and on, just enough to force the sentries to remain inside the villa and not perform their security rounds.

  Ali had seen that before. Azarola was a poor disciplinarian when it came to protecting his fortress. Any time it rained or snowed, whatever the inclement weather that rolled across the area, he allowed the guards to remain inside.

  This was such a night. It was good luck for them. Bad luck for Azarola. If the sentries remained inside, it would be easier for them to reach the hostages. Fingers crossed. Ram gave the order to drop their packs and leave them at the base of the tree. Ali was glad to be free of the weight, pulling on her Kevlar vest and closing its Velcro seam. In two minutes, the team was lighter and ready for action.

  “Ali, take point.” Ram’s voice was low, but not a whisper. Few people realized it, but a whispering sound carried farther than an actual low, spoken tone.

  “Roger. Tyler?” He was to back her up as they went into the tunnel, the rest of the team behind him.

  “On your six, Ali.”

  She smiled a little, nodding her head. The six meant her backside. “Roger that. Let’s boogey . . . ”

  Tyler was a paramedic and it would be his job, if they found any of the four women injured and unable to walk, to call in their issues and order a Medevac helicopter to meet them in the meadow to assist. He was six-feet tall, strong, and able to carry someone if needed. According to the Marines in the hide, all four women were walking around and seemed unhurt. Again, fingers crossed.