by Dee Davis
Which meant the older man had as much to lose as Ortiz if Madeline Reynard was allowed to talk.
“Clearly you hadn’t counted on CIA involvement,” Brecht said, eyes narrowed as he watched Ortiz from across the table.
“And you’re sure they’re the ones who freed Madeline?” He frowned, tearing the corner off a packet of sugar.
“Positive,” the other man answered. “A black ops group called A-Tac. I assume you’re familiar with them?”
“I’ve heard of them. Never come up against them, though.” He shook his head, thinking that it hadn’t been out of the realm of possibility, but thankfully their direct involvement wasn’t a threat—except as it related to Madeline.
“As you know, I’ve developed an extensive network of contacts,” Brecht continued. “On both sides of the law. And one recent acquisition is someone with intimate knowledge of A-Tac and their movements.”
“So you know where they are now?” The damned operatives had managed to blow up the munitions stash and escape by helicopter. And despite Ortiz’s best efforts, he’d been unable to obtain information on their whereabouts.
“Yes,” Brecht said, his gaze still speculative. “Most of the team is currently recovering at a military hospital in Ecuador. It seems despite their ultimate failure, your men managed to do some damage.”
“And Madeline?” Ortiz asked. “Is she there as well?”
“No,” the older man said. “She was left behind. And is most likely making her way to the coast with a man called Drake Flynn.”
“Did you say Flynn?” Ortiz asked, the words out before he could stop them, his surprise momentarily getting the better of him.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“Only by reputation.” It was a partial truth. He hadn’t ever met the man, but he’d certainly heard all about him—ad nauseam. “I’m afraid he’ll be a formidable opponent. Although his route is probably predictable. I’m guessing he’ll head for one of the smaller coastal villages.”
“I’m one step ahead of you on that,” Brecht said, taking a slow sip of his tea. “According to my sources, the most likely place for them to surface is Puerto Remo. It’s at the mouth of Rio Negro, which isn’t far from your weapons cache. So all they’d have to do is make it downriver.”
“Makes sense.” Ortiz nodded. “I’ll get my men on it immediately.”
“No need for that. I’ve already hired experts. Men I’ve worked with before. Of course I did it in di Silva’s name. You realize that if we can’t stop this, then di Silva is going to have to take the fall.”
“And me?” Ortiz asked hesitantly, afraid that Brecht was going to cast him out for his mistakes.
“You’re too valuable to dispose of. Although, make no mistake, should it become necessary, I’ve no problem at all letting you take the fall as well. I knew it was a risk when I took you on. But I’ve always believed your talents exceed your liabilities.”
“And these men you’ve hired,” Ortiz asked, “they’ll find Flynn and the girl?”
“I learned long ago that there’s no such thing as a certainty. There are always variables that one can’t possibly predict. But yes, I’m confident that my men will handle the situation. They’re both single-minded and rather competitive. And to take advantage of that, I’ve made it a competition. First man to find and eliminate the two of them—wins.”
“And the fallout from the destruction at the ruins? How do you want me to handle that? A hell of a lot of the weapons had been sold and were prepped for shipping. I’ve already had calls.”
“Again, worst case, the blame will have to be shifted to di Silva. But in the meantime, you have the secondary stash, and whatever you can’t make good on, I can probably procure replacements.”
“Why are you doing this for me?” Ortiz asked, shaking his head as he considered the enormity of Brecht’s involvement. “Basically, I totally fucked up.”
“Yes, you did. But as I explained to you when I first recruited you, we’re in the process of building a consortium, a group of like-minded individuals who want to make certain that the world’s confrontations continue to escalate.”
“So that you can make money.”
“It’s the entrepreneurial way.” Brecht shrugged. “Although there are certain political gains as well. Anyway, I’ve worked hard to integrate you into my network, so it’s in my best interest to make certain that the girl isn’t allowed to talk. Particularly to the Americans. That doesn’t change the fact, however, that you shouldn’t have put yourself in this position in the first place.”
“But she’s done excellent work. Without her, we’d never have had access to the information we needed. And I thought holding her sister hostage would keep Madeline in line.”
“Except that the sister died.”
“Yes. But it was strictly a fluke that Madeline found out.”
“You should have killed her then,” Brecht said, returning his cup to the saucer, his gaze inscrutable. “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”
“No,” Ortiz denied. “Just overconfident. I really did believe I had it handled. And she was truly an asset when I had her under control.”
Brecht paused for a moment, still studying Ortiz. “There isn’t anything else, is there? Something she knows that’s more dangerous than the workings of your day-to-day operations?”
“Of course not,” Ortiz said, his stomach knotting as he considered the real truth. If Madeline Reynard was allowed to reach Langley, there was a hell of a lot more at stake than his illegal activities on behalf of di Silva and Brecht.
“You’re certain?” Brecht queried.
“Yes. Absolutely.” Ortiz nodded. “But there’s no question it will be better for all of us when Madeline Reynard is dead.”
CHAPTER 11
The water was cold, and deeper than Madeline remembered, the current tugging her along with anxious fingers, the weight of her clothes sucking her downward. She had no idea how far she’d come. It could have been inches or feet; there was no way to know for sure.
The only thing for certain was that the river wasn’t going to let her go. The farther they traveled the more it held on to her, as if she were some kind of water sprite infrangibly bound to the rushing river. She struggled upward to break the surface for much-needed air, but the water refused to let her go, pulling her deeper instead, the stream agitated now, pebbles and stones abrading her skin.
She struggled against the current, her lungs contracting as she fought against the urge to breathe. The water spun her around as the current picked up speed, and she lost all sense of direction, up and down ceasing to have meaning. Panic threatened as the desperate need for air overcame everything else.
Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, amplified by the water around her. And finally, she gave in to the urge, opening her mouth even as the river pulled her deeper. Water flooded her lungs as a preternatural calm descended, her mind accepting the inevitable.
This was what it felt like to drown.
It was almost laughable—after everything she’d survived, for it to end like this.
She closed her eyes, but the river wasn’t through with her yet, pushing her back to the surface. Coughing and sputtering, she felt a hand close around her arm.
Drake.
Her mind was fuzzy, moving in slow motion, but she felt him yank her upward, his other arm grasping her around the waist as he hauled her out of the water and onto the muddy bank. She could feel his hands as he pressed on her chest, the motion forcing the water up and out of her lungs.
She gasped once, and then again, drinking in the air, oxygen filtering through her blood, relief singing through her body.
“Are you okay?” Drake asked as he helped her to sit up.
“Yeah, I think so,” she said, still coughing up dribbles of water. “Next time we decide on a river adventure I vote for inner tubes and ice chests full of beer.”
“Sounds like a plan,” he said, running his hands over her legs
and arms, checking for injury. “I’ll bring the beer. But first we’ve got to make it to the coast. Our adventure, as you so aptly called it, sped things along nicely, but best I can tell we’ve still got a ways to go until we reach the Rio Negro. You think you can walk?”
“I can give it a try,” she said, accepting his hand as he pulled her to her feet. Her legs wobbled for a moment, the world going wonky.
“Hang on,” Drake said, his voice calming. “I’ve got you.”
“I’m okay,” she said, sucking in a breath and finding her balance. “I can make it on my own.”
“You’re sure?” He frowned, pale blue eyes studying her.
“Yes.” She squared her shoulders. No way was she falling apart now. She’d come too damn far. “I’m positive.”
“Good.” He nodded his approval, and she grimaced at the little surge of joy that accompanied his praise. He’d saved her life now—twice—but that didn’t mean there was anything to be gained in getting attached to the man.
“How far have we come?”
“I’m not certain. But we were in the water almost fifteen minutes, and the water’s moving fast this time of year, so it’s possible we’re about a mile or more downstream.”
“I don’t think I’d have made it much farther,” she said, looking down at her feet. “Thanks for pulling me out when you did.”
“I told you I wouldn’t let you drown.”
“Although you did let it go to the absolute last possible moment.” The words came out of their own accord, and she was immediately ashamed of them, but Drake just laughed.
“Any sign of di Silva’s men?” she asked, lifting her chin as her gaze met his.
“No. But I expect it’ll take them a little time to figure out what happened. Although they will figure it out. Which is why, if you’re up to it, we really should get a move on.”
“I told you I’m fine.” Her jaw tightened on the words.
“Well, humor me and have a little water,” he said, handing her a canteen.
“Where did you get that?” She eyed the metal canister dubiously.
“Standard issue. I had it in my backpack. Filled it with water from the stream at the ruins when I started after you.”
“Thanks, but no thanks.” She held up a hand, shaking her head. “I think I’ve already had more river water than I can handle in one day.”
“Believe it or not, you need the hydration.”
“What about contamination? Aren’t we supposed to avoid drinking the water? Parasites or worms or something?”
“There’s always a concern with water in the tropics. But I’ve got purification tablets. So we’re good to go. Now drink.”
She took a sip and then gulped some more, surprised to find that she actually was thirsty.
“So what else have you got in that bag of yours?” she asked, handing him back the canteen.
“Not nearly as much as I’d like, but there’s enough to keep us alive for the next couple of days, if we’re lucky.”
“I’m guessing you’re not talking a four-star hotel with room service.”
“Sadly, no. But I do have chocolate. Although you’ll have to wait until we’re farther downriver to get your share.”
“The proverbial carrot.” She smiled. “I’ll let you lead the way.” She waved a hand toward the rushing river as he slipped the canteen into his backpack, the movement jostling Madeline’s memory.
“My bag,” she whispered, her heart slamming in her chest. “It’s gone. I can’t go anywhere until I find it.” She started for the bank, eyes searching frantically for the little carryall.
“Easy,” Drake said, reaching out to pull her back. “It’s right here. I snagged it when I pulled you out of the water.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, relief making her giddy as she grabbed the bag from him, pulling open the zipper. Everything inside was just as she’d left it. And remarkably dry, considering. She flipped through the file on Ortiz and di Silva, then pulled out a second plastic bag. Inside were the only things that really mattered in her life. Her passport, an old photograph of Jenny, a tiny gold cross, and the playing card. It was a sad testament of a life, but it was all that she had.
“I don’t suppose you’d care to share with the class?” Drake asked, his eyes alight with speculation.
“No.” She shook her head, dropping the plastic bag back into the carryall. “I wouldn’t.”
Their gazes locked for a moment, his probing. And then he shrugged. “Fair enough,” he said. “I know it’s important to you, so I’m glad it didn’t get lost.”
There was an invitation in his words, but Madeline wasn’t in the mood to open up to him. Instead she slipped the bag over her shoulder and started walking. “So do we keep following the stream?”
“Yeah, I still think it’s our best course of action. Once we reach the junction with the Rio Negro I’m hoping we’ll be able to commandeer a boat.”
“Doesn’t that seem a little unlikely?” she asked. “I mean considering this isn’t exactly the hub of civilization. The jungle around here is basically uninhabited.”
“Yeah, but there are still indigenous people around. Their settlements are scattered throughout the region.”
“Great, a dugout canoe will do wonders.”
“Beats walking,” he said, hacking at a thorn bush barring their path. “But I’m hoping for something a bit more modern. There’s an outpost where our river feeds into the Rio Negro—or at least there was one the last time I was in the area.”
“Rescuing another damsel in distress?” she asked, only half kidding.
“No.” He laughed, the sound warming her from the inside out. “I was working a dig. In college. Anyway, the place isn’t much more than a dock and shack, but it’s open to anyone in the area who wants to use it. I think it’s owned by the University of Colombia.”
“And you think there might be a boat.”
“I think it’s possible. But don’t get too excited. As I said, it’s been a long time. For all I know it isn’t even there anymore. In any case, we’re definitely not going to find it today.” He nodded at the canopy above, a small opening in the trees allowing them to see a patch of pink-tinted sky. The day was well past its zenith, the sky already fading as the sun sank behind the horizon.
“Meaning we’ll have to spend the night out here?” The thought was unsettling.
“I know we’ve got a lot of ground to cover, but we’re better off not trying to move at night.”
“Because of the animals,” she said, carefully stepping over the remains of a fallen tree.
“Not just them. Although pumas and bears are nothing to sneeze at. There’s still FARC activity in this area as well.”
“You’re talking about insurgents.” She frowned, her thoughts turning to Andrés. “But haven’t things quieted down in the past few years?”
“They have. But that doesn’t mean the threat is gone. FARC is still somewhere between six and eighteen thousand strong, depending on whose statistics you want to believe.”
“The government or the revolutionaries,” Madeline finished for him.
“Either way it’s more than we want to deal with. Finding two Americans roaming around the jungle would be like found treasure as far as they’re concerned. And I’m sure di Silva’s people would be more than happy to pay for your return.”
“So that they can kill me.” She blew out a breath, fighting a surge of fear. “So basically, we’re stuck in the jungle trying to make our way to an outpost that may or may not exist, in hopes of finding a boat to take us downriver while we work at avoiding the drug cartel from the north and the terrorists to the south. Sounds like great fun.”
“Glad to hear you’re up for the challenge.” His grin lacked any real humor, but she appreciated the effort. It was easy to blame him for their predicament, but the honest truth was that she’d dealt her own hand, starting with the Queen of Hearts, and now she had to accept the fallout.
; All of it.
Including her growing dependence on Drake Flynn.
They walked in silence for the next hour or so, all their energy spent on hacking through the jungle in order to stay with the river. And if that weren’t enough the river itself made their efforts even more difficult. There were fallen trees, thorny undergrowth, moss-slick stones, and always the cold rushing water. A second waterfall proved almost impassable, with a dicey series of fallen boulders bordered with jagged rocks that protruded at awkward angles, their sharp edges threatening to cut right through the soles of their shoes.
After managing to pick their way safely down to the bottom of the falls, Madeline was drenched in her own sweat. The idea of going farther was almost beyond comprehension. But Drake had produced the promised chocolate, giving each of them a square. And after a few minutes’ rest, they’d started out again, following alongside the rushing water.
The trees were thicker here, the hot humid air weighing down on them like a living, breathing thing, smothering in its intensity. The jungle itself had grown quiet, the only sounds the rush of the water and the occasional squawk of a bird high over their heads. The sky, when she could see it, had grown ominously dark, and the smell of rain pervaded her senses.
And then, as suddenly as if God had turned on the taps, the rain came, torrential sheets of it that cut through the trees, lashing against them as they worked their way through the river of mud created by the downpour.
Despite the heat, Madeline found herself shivering violently as the rain pelted down. Rivulets of water coursed down her cheeks, running into her nose and mouth as she tried to shelter her face and protect herself from the onslaught.
Drake was walking in front of her, using his knife to clear a path through the overgrown vegetation. Clearly unfazed by this latest turn of weather, he kept the pace fast, forcing her to push herself to the limit just to keep up.
Finally, when the shivers turned to shudders and she could hardly walk for shaking, she stopped to give herself a moment’s respite from the relentless fall of rain. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath and a warm bed, but the only way that was ever going to happen was if she kept moving.