Trapped (Delos Series Book 7)

by Lindsay McKenna

  Ali pushed ahead, aware of a path that could barely be seen in daylight or through NVGs. The wind was lighter as they moved down the slope toward the fortress. There was a lot of thick brush where the tunnel entrance was hidden, and Ali would bet that Azarola had it planted in the area for just that reason a decade earlier.

  She shivered. She was so close to getting to Cara! Her emotions welled up as she jogged in and around trees, following that path. Just a little longer, she told her sister. Please, Lady, help us get to them. Help us . . .

  Sweat was trickling down her temples, soaking into her clothing. Breathing through her mouth, she cautiously entered the opening to the tunnel, her M4 barrel raised, finger on the trigger. It was built of brick and concrete, seven-feet high and eight-feet wide. Ali knew the men over six feet would be crouching. It wasn’t a long tunnel, but the stale, humid air hit her solidly, increasing her sweat rate. The ground was dry, but leaves and limbs had fallen into the entrance, making it dangerous. If she stepped on one of those dried tree limbs, it could crack and cause a distinct sound—one that would have them surrounded in minutes.

  Ali relied on the fact that the opening to the entrance, about four-hundred feet long, opened up behind the huge garage within the enclosure. The adobe wall of the garage, ten-feet high, would hide their presence. If the sentries had been out doing their jobs, one of them would have been walking this route once an hour.

  She hurried along, the path becoming empty of rocks, limbs, or leaves. All she had to do was make sure she didn’t scrape against either wall and create a sound. Behind her, she heard the soft swish of her clothing, but that was all.

  She grew more and more tense as she drew close to the entrance. There was a round wooden door, bearing an old, rusty latch. She stopped and turned to see all of the team coming quietly to a halt directly behind her. She made two taps on her radio, a signal to the Marines in the hide to give them a verbal report in their ear pieces. What was going on outside in the dark fortress?

  “All clear,” one reported. “It’s a go.”

  That’s all Ali needed to hear. She’d put on her shooter’s gloves, the tops of the fingers cut off so she had direct contact with the handle of the door. Slowly, she turned it.

  CLICK.

  She halted. Waited. Breath suspended for a moment.

  Focusing her hearing, she heard nothing on the other side of the thin wooden door. Slowly, she let out her breath and eased it open. Through her NVGs all she could see was grainy green images. The distance between the garage and the opening in the ten-foot wall of the fortress was six-feet wide. It wasn’t a lot of width. They’d have to be really careful not to scrape the sides of either one, making undue noise.

  Before she went any further, she released the door, leaving it slightly ajar. Then, she pulled out a small can of WD-40, spraying the two hinges so they wouldn’t squeak. The odor of the spray drifted into her nostrils as she quickly shoved the small can back into a thigh pocket.

  The door yawned open without a sound. Her heart was pounding heavily in her chest as she quickly and silently made her way down to the end of the garage. There, Ali halted, waiting for everyone else to catch up with her.

  Kelly Lomas would remain on station at the entrance, watching and guarding the area. Tyler came up close to her, crouched, and waited. Ram, Cory, Dave, and Randy followed. Her fingers felt slippery with sweat. She was so close to getting Cara out of here! Fear shot through her but she gulped and barely turned around the corner, making sure no sentries where there. It was clear. She made a hand signal that all could see, telling them to move forward, and then disappeared around the corner of the garage.

  At the next corner of the building, Ali knelt down on one knee, Tyler nearby. She clicked the radio twice, alerting the Marines for another eyeball report on the inside of the fortress. Wind was picking up again and soon, gusts would hit the area. She could see the back of one tarp lifting on the huge cell, flapping and making a lot of noise. That wasn’t a bad thing in her estimation. It would potentially cancel out any sound they made by mistake. And mistakes were a natural part of any op.

  “All clear.”

  Ali made a hand signal and sprinted the six feet to the rear of the cell. Instantly, Tyler followed her, right on her heels. She went to one end of the tarp and he left her, approaching the other end of it. They both lifted it quietly and slipped beneath the folds, facing the cell itself. Now, they were protected by the tarp. No one would see them if they came out of the fortress.

  Ali saw the four women lying down on some thin blankets in the middle of the hard dirt floor of the cell. The bars were made of iron, rusted, and reddish. Ali was sure this cage had held many, many people over the decades from the looks of the worn metal. Breathing hard, trying not to make any sounds, she spotted Cara at one end, a pitifully thin blanket drawn across her shoulders, her legs pulled up against her body. There was no way to get to them to signal, so she whispered, “CARA!”

  Instantly, Cara sat up, her eyes wide, jerkily looking around.

  “Cara. It’s Ali! Wake the others! Come to the rear of the cell!”

  Ali heard her sister gasp. Then, overcome, she sobbed, pressing her fist to her mouth to stop from making any more noises. She quickly leaned over, grabbing each woman’s shoulder, awakening them. Whispering urgently to them, they stirred.

  Very soon, Ali had all four women crouched, hands on the cold steel bars, their faces pressed against them as Dave, in German, explained what would happen next. Tyler Hutton also spoke rudimentary German and Ram had decided to add him to the team because three of the women might need another translator. As the two ex-SEALs talked to them in very low tones, Randy, their lock pick expert, moved ghost-like around to the front of the cell, hidden beneath the tarp so he remained invisible to prying eyes. He quickly pulled out his lock picks and went to work on the old, rusty padlock that held the women inside the cell.

  “Ali!” Cara cried, reaching out, grabbing her extended hand. “You came! You came!” she sobbed.

  “Sssshhh!” Ali begged, gripping Cara’s hand, squeezing it. “Please don’t make any more noise! Let Randy get this lock opened.”

  Gulping, tears streaming down her taut, dirt smeared face, she gave a jerky nod.

  “Listen to me,” Ali said, “as soon as the door is opened, we want each of you, one at a time, to go with one of us. Cara, I’ll be there for you. The German women will be escorted by the other men, who speak their language, on our rescue team.”

  Dave and Tyler were quickly translating to the German women, who eagerly bobbed their heads, hope suddenly flaring in their dazed expressions along with real terror.

  Ali could tell that the German women knew very little English. They were sobbing and trying not to make noise either, but it was impossible. Their eyes showed their panic and desperation. What had they been through? Every woman’s hair was unkempt and had neither been brushed nor combed for a long time. They were dirty and unwashed; their body smells strong—they’d lived in filth.

  Ali thought she knew why. Cara was the most attractive but these other women, twice her age, and all in their mid-forties to early fifties, it appeared, had probably been sold to a sex trafficker in Asia to spend their days servicing men who couldn’t afford much to have sex with one of them. The truly beautiful women would have been cared for, cleaned, and their hair washed.

  But these three German women? No. They were what sex traffickers called “culls,” leftovers. And maybe that was just as well because they hadn’t, she hoped, been molested, physically examined, or their information put out on a black-market prostitution website. There, if an interested sexual predator liked what he read, photos of the woman were sent. That was how they were sold around the globe. If they had been put out on the dark web already, Ali didn’t think they’d still be at the fortress.

  Randy suddenly appeared. He gave Ali a thumb’s up, grinning, his white teeth against the dark, camouflaged grease paint on his face.

&nbs
p; Ali grinned back, nodding. She slipped around him, remaining beneath the tarps. Soon, she was at the open cell door. Cara came out first, hunched over, frightened, gripping Ali’s proffered hand. Together, they slowly, quietly moved to the rear of the cell beneath the tarps so they couldn’t be spotted. Once there, Ali opened the tarp, looked for sentries, and saw none. She checked with the Marines in the hide and they said it was clear. Gripping Cara’s thin, cold hand, she tugged at it, heading for the corner of the garage.

  Then, Ali hurriedly jogged her around the building and brought her to the entrance where Kelly was stationed. At the other end of the entrance, Ram stood guard. She was glad he was there, the eyes and ears to detect any enemy that might be nearby. She shoved Cara through the entrance, whispering, “I’ll be right back. Kelly here, will protect you. He’s going to give you a set of night vision goggles. Put them on so you can see in the dark. Stand quiet. We’ll be back with the rest of the women in a minute.”

  “Okay,” Cara rattled, her eyes huge. “I-I can’t see a thing, Ali! It’s too dark!”

  Gripping her little sister’s shoulder, she said, “In just a minute you and the other women will be able to see just fine thanks to our night vision goggles. Once we get everyone assembled here in the tunnel, and they have their NVGs on, we’re taking you to meet some trucks. Just hang in there. Okay?”

  Turning on her heel after Cara stuttered out an ‘okay,’ she slipped out of the tunnel. Randy, Tyler, Dave, and Corey had the other three hostages. They were making more noise than Ali liked. The wind gusted and rain began to splatter in earnest around them. Opening the door, Ali stood aside as they swiftly herded the women inside the tunnel. Quickly, Kelly pulled it shut, the lock latching with barely a whisper. He turned, giving Ali a signal to move to the head of the group.

  She clicked her radio three times, a signal to Ram at the other end they were coming out as soon as everyone received their NVG’s. She received a return click, telling her he got the message.

  Breathing hard, her mouth open, Ali quickly sidled down the line until she spotted Cara. Her sister had lost a lot of weight. Even in the grainy green of her NVGs she looked pathetic and helpless. Reaching out, Ali gripped her hand and drew close to her ear.

  “This tunnel only allows one person at a time to go down it. Grab my web belt, follow me,” and she placed Cara’s fingers next to it around her waist. “Try to walk lightly and carefully. Don’t let go of the belt, okay?”

  “Okay,” she whispered unsteadily.

  “This tunnel is one-tenth of a mile long, Cara. Do you think you can make it? Do you need help walking?” Ali could feel her trembling. Maybe the women hadn’t been given enough food or water after all.

  “I-I’m dying of thirst . . . I’m so weak, Ali . . . I’m sorry . . . ”

  Quickly, Ali opened up her canteen and placed it in Cara’s hands. “Shhh, it’s all right. Drink all you want.”

  Her sister glugged down the water noisily, the drops leaking out of the corners of her lips. Finally, Cara finished it, handing it back to Ali. In one quick motion, Ali affixed it to her belt and then guided Cara’s fingers back to her web belt.

  “Hold on,” she urged her softly in a low tone. Ali turned, giving a signal that she knew her team was waiting to see. Wanting to get the hell out of this stiflingly hot, humid, claustrophobic tunnel was her only objective. Right now, it was raining. This was a good thing as it would cover their escape. She didn’t know if the guard would come out and check on the cell or not. She hoped not. Let it start pouring rain.

  Ali’s mind worked like the sniper strategist that she was, going over every possible situation. Cara was dragging her feet, wobbling from side to side, and it was difficult to hurry with her at all. Frustrated, Ali knew there was nothing they could do until they could get them to her hide tree. There, Tyler could give them some much-needed medical attention. They still had a long walk in front of them because the trucks could get no closer than that meadow three miles away.

  Would they make it, or not? Would someone check on the cell and raise the alarm? Ali knew all hell would break loose if the woman were discovered gone. They would send out search parties with weapons and the intent to kill all of them. Even in this weather and rain, nothing would stop them. They were like rabid dogs, undeterred. Azarola wouldn’t allow the four women to survive to tell their story to the media or have it posted online. He’d cold-bloodedly track them down and kill them first.

  Ram had back-up plans for such a scenario—Ali didn’t want to go there, though. It was a dicey plan at best. And some of these women, and maybe some of her team, could get found and killed in the process. Without any Marine back-up on this op, they were on their own.

  CHAPTER 18

  Ram tried not to react when he saw how weakened the hostages were. Their captors had intentionally done this to prepare the women for the truck ride to Baja and the transfer to a container ship bound for Asia. Being weak meant there was no fight in them and no possibility of attempting to escape.

  The rain slashed at his face as he brought up the rear after checking on each woman. The sounds of the weather, the gusting wind, all conspired to hide them as they moved away from the fortress after exiting the tunnel.

  So far, they hadn’t been discovered, but Ram knew that would change sooner or later. The rain was coming down in sheets now, and it would keep the drug soldiers inside to stay dry. He knew none of them expected an attack. Maybe it was a good thing that Azarola wasn’t the smartest drug kingpin in Mexico. He had no military background and displayed poor discipline to his troops except when it came to transporting drugs to the US border. There, and only there, did the man’s strategy and tactics excel. But then, money was involved. His sex-trafficking trade was new, and Ram hoped to take advantage of his being a neophyte in this area of financial gain.

  Water ran in rivulets down his drawn face as he once more jogged up the line. Together, the team fought to move up the tree-encrusted slope, following the same path they’d come in on.

  The three German women were all out of shape, and struggling badly. His team took care of them, a steadying hand wrapped around each woman’s upper arm, keeping her upright, urging her to walk as fast as she could. Their gasps for air were loud, explosive sounding, and ragged. The ground was becoming slippery because dried pine needles, when wet, were like walking on ice if on a slant.

  Grimly, Ram rechecked the women. They were poorly dressed for this journey, and each man on his team had carried a rain slicker that they could wear in order to remain protected against the elements. Still, the German women were slow, making his concern ratchet up even higher. They had two-and-a-half miles left to go over rough, unforgiving terrain, weaving in and around thousands of pine trees on the mountain. The footing was slippery and fallen limbs around the area were causing them to stumble from time to time. They were too terrorized, distracted and weakened physically, but were doing the best they could. It didn’t help Ram and his team because they were slowed down far more than they’d anticipated during the planning of this op. It was a disaster waiting to happen and he knew it.

  Ram jogged up the line to Ali, who was holding onto her sister’s arm. With her, he could at least speak English.

  “How are you doing Cara?” he demanded, falling into step on the other side of her, placing his hand on the woman’s upper arm, giving her more stability.

  “O-okay,” she gasped, giving him a miserable look. “I’m sorry, I’m so slow . . . ”

  “Just do the best you can,” he coaxed gently. He lowered his voice, the mic close to his lips. Ram knew Cara wouldn’t be able to hear his low conversation with Ali as he hailed her on the headset.

  “Cara’s not looking well.”

  “That’s because she’s dehydrated and weak, Ram.”

  “They all are. They must not have been given enough food or water. Azarola kept them incapacitated so they wouldn’t try to escape would be my thinking of why he did this to them.”


  Ali snarled, “Yes. It’s a ploy often used by sex traffickers when they’re going to transport a group of kidnapped women to that container ship in Puerto Nuevo. That sonofabitch. I’d give anything to put him in my gun sites.”

  Grinning a little, Ram said, “I think that makes all of us. How are you holding up? You doing okay?”

  “I’m fine. I’m worried about my sister. The pine needles are slippery and she’s got poor balance. Not to mention, completely distracted and unfocused. I’m trying to continually warn Cara of a limb on the ground in front of her, or getting her to dodge something in her path, but it’s tough. Her mind is sluggish. She’s exhausted, sleep deprived, and her brain isn’t firing on all cylinders. It’s slowing all of us down and that has me worried.”

  “Yeah,” he muttered grimly, “none of us anticipated how slow they would be. Look, do the best you can. I’m going to take up rear position. Call me if you need anything.” He glanced over at her. The only way they could make their way across this darkened, rainy area was with their NVGs in place.

  “Yes . . . I will . . . thanks.”

  Ram heard the hidden emotion in her voice. “We’ll get them to safety,” he promised her. He told Cara he was going to let her go and she nodded. He released her arm, giving her a moment to get used to not having him there for support. She had labored, noisy breathing. Damn! The altitude was too much for her and the other victims. Cara had lived at sea level in Tucson all her life, not at seventy-five-hundred feet. It took a human body days, if not weeks, to adjust to such an altitude change. Looking up at the turbulent sky, water splattering against his face, he prayed that the rain wouldn’t turn to snow. At this altitude, it could happen either way, or as a mix.