She reached for her satphone then cursed, remembering she had given it to one of the students. And it forced a decision. If they were dead, then what she did now meant nothing. Though if they were alive, and were to be taken hostage, she had to delay things. She searched around her feet and spotted a fist-sized stone. She picked it up and quietly stepped into the clearing, striding swiftly and surely toward the man as he flicked his spent cigarette into the mud. She swung, smacking his head hard. He collapsed in a heap, never having seen his attacker.
She pulled a knife from his belt and ran around both vehicles, slicing all of the tires while keeping a wary eye on the path leading to the library. As she stabbed the last tire, she rose, her eye spotting something sitting on the dash.
A satphone.
She opened the door and reached in, yanking it free of its charger. She rushed back toward the woods as Rosa arrived, gasping for breath. She opened her mouth to say something when Laura pressed a finger against her lips then grabbed Rosa by the arm, pulling her toward the trees as voices sounded behind her.
“What the hell is this!” Javier Diaz stood, staring agape at the flattened tires of their vehicles. “Where the hell is Ybanez?”
“Over here.”
He stepped around the front of the lead vehicle to find Ybanez sitting in the mud, rubbing the back of his head. “What the hell happened?”
“Dunno. Something hit me in the back of the head. I must have blacked out.”
Diaz kicked him in the side. “Not something you idiot, someone. Look at the tires!” He drew his weapon and emptied the mag into the trees, roaring with rage. He spun on his hostages. “You said you were alone!”
The gringo replied. “We are. We sent everyone to town in our only two trucks. We’re just waiting for help to arrive.”
Diaz glared at him then grunted. “You’ll be waiting a long time.” The others chuckled and he flicked a wrist across his throat, cutting them off. “Get me the phone. I’ll call for someone to pick us up.”
Ybanez, now on his feet, opened the door of the SUV and cursed. “It’s gone!”
“What?” Diaz joined him, Ybanez pointing at the charging cable, still plugged into the cigarette lighter.
“It’s gone. I left it on the dash to charge.”
Diaz tilted his head back again and bellowed, birds cawing in protest, leaving their peaceful perches at the disturbance. He grabbed an AK-47 from his nearest man and sprayed the jungle until it was spent, then hurled it back at its owner. “Come out of there, or I kill your friends!”
The gringo raised a finger. “Just a reminder, they’re no friend of ours. All our friends left almost an hour ago. Whoever is doing this has nothing to do with us.” Diaz glared at him, but the gringo wouldn’t shut up. “Perhaps it was whoever blew up your lab?”
Diaz paused, resisting the urge to pistol-whip the arrogant American. The man was right, and it wasn’t something he had thought of. It wouldn’t make sense for there to be someone out here alone, especially someone who would have the cojones to knock out one of his men, flatten the tires, and steal their only means of communicating with the outside world. These were just scared teachers, or archaeologists, or something.
It had to be one of Galano’s men.
Or more than one.
He eyed the surrounding jungle, suddenly very aware of how alone they were. “We can’t stay here.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the hostages. “Someone might come looking for them.”
“We could walk to town.”
Diaz shook his head. “No, the wrong person is liable to come by. Police or Galano’s men.”
Ybanez, still nursing his head, pointed to the north. “If we cut through the jungle, we can probably reach El Jefe’s by end of day tomorrow.” Groans from the others caused Ybanez’s cheeks to burn. “Hey, just an idea.”
Diaz nodded. “And our only choice. It’ll keep us out of sight, and get us to where we’re going eventually.”
“Won’t El Jefe send someone to look for us if we’re not back soon?”
Diaz shook his head. “No, he told me to take you guys out on the town tonight to blow off some steam. Nobody is looking for us until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest, and we’ve got to warn El Jefe about Galano’s attack on the lab. We’re at war, and he doesn’t even know it.”
Laura slapped a hand over her mouth, resisting the urge to scream her terror and rage. Instead, she cringed as her husband was pistol-whipped from behind, the man she loved more than anything in the world collapsing in a heap on the ground.
“Why the bloody hell did you do that?” bellowed Reading, his hands tied behind his back as her husband’s, as they were herded away from the disabled vehicles and into the jungle.
Her Spanish was limited—very limited—and she was dying to ask Rosa what had been said among the furious men now holding her husband and friends hostage. The fact they were alive, suggested Acton had convinced them they were worth more alive than dead, which meant a ransom payment was in her future. She didn’t mind that, she had the money. What concerned her was that too many people in this country were taken hostage, the ransom paid, then the bodies discovered days later.
She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
For now, they were alive and on foot, apparently their only means of communication now in her possession, and her foe concerned enough about something that waiting for help wasn’t an option.
When the last of them disappeared, she waited until she could no longer hear them crashing through the jungle, then emerged from the trees. She signaled for Rosa to remain quiet, then headed back to the archaeological site. She debated going inside to check on the priceless artifacts, but decided against it.
There was no time.
She scanned the camp for supplies, spotting two backpacks nearby. She grabbed them and emptied the contents onto the ground, repacking them with two sleeping bags, a tarp, a first aid kit, a fire starting kit, half a dozen bottles of water, and some tins of food left at the camp’s makeshift kitchen.
And a large hunting knife in its sheath.
Satisfied she had everything salvageable she might need, she handed a backpack to Rosa, who had stood silently, watching her with what appeared to be a combination of awe and curiosity. “Take this. It’s not very heavy.” Rosa nodded, shrugging her shoulders into the straps. Laura tightened them so they wouldn’t chafe, then donned her own. “Now, tell me what they were saying. What’s going on?”
Rosa looked toward the path leading to the parking area. “They’re mad, and I think scared. They think Galano’s men might be coming here, or police, so they decided to walk through the jungle and not on the road. They think they can get to El Jefe’s house by tomorrow night.”
Laura checked her watch. It was already early evening, the sun low on the horizon, there not much time left to travel safely. If she could get a message to the right people, help could potentially be here before tomorrow night, especially with the people she had access to.
But help could be here in minutes if she just called the local police.
“Do you know the number for the police in town?”
Rosa’s eyes bulged and she waved her hands in front of her, shaking her head. “No! You can’t trust them. They mostly work for El Jefe. They’ll just kill us.”
Laura’s heart slammed as her stomach tightened. They were friends with several Delta Force members, though not close enough for her to have a phone number that could just be called. Her only choice was Acton’s former student. She pulled out her cellphone, thankful it was still working, and pulled up the contacts list.
Dinner, Kraft.
Phone calls were far less reliable than text messages, so she didn’t bother trying, their friend and savior Dylan Kane, a CIA Special Agent, rarely readily available.
Which could be a problem.
He might not get her message for days, and by then it would be too late. She hesitated.
Maybe you should try BD first
?
She shook her head, the Delta operator even harder to reach.
Second.
She quickly typed a text message, giving the pertinent details in as concise a form as possible, then hit Send. She watched the indicator and it showed the message sent.
Then the screen flashed and went blank, the battery dead.
Oh no!
26
Pacific Coastal Region
Maya Highlands, Maya Empire
1092 AD
Something splashed on the ground in front of Captain Tai, some hitting his feet, the odor distinct though unfamiliar. Others around him growled in frustration as they too were hit by some viscous liquid, many taking direct hits. He looked up and saw one of their enemy high in the trees, pouring something out of a clay pot. He stepped aside as the thick substance hit the ground.
It had been a frustrating day, with his men falling prey to the far too clever traps and sneak attacks. He had little doubt that in a direct, head-on battle, they would be victorious, but this tit-for-tat battle couldn’t be won, not in the long term. He had to assume his enemy had an unlimited number of men to throw at him, and he had but what Admiral Khong had brought.
He growled in frustration as he realized they were being doused with oil. This wasn’t the way this journey was to have been. They were supposed to have been welcomed by the natives, embraced as the superior race, then showered with gold and jewels in thanks. They were to return to the empire laden with bounty, to be hailed as heroes who had proven the legends of this far off land once visited by their ancestors and almost forgotten to history.
He frowned as he spotted small fires ahead.
And cursed the ground he walked upon as his fate and those of his men were about to be sealed. He turned, pushing his men aside as he struggled back toward the boats, his heavy armor now a hindrance that could cost him his life.
Someone shouted and he glanced over his shoulder to see dozens of arrows, their tips afire, sail toward them, some embedding themselves harmlessly in the trunks of the surrounding trees, others hitting the oil-laden ground, flames flashing forth, engulfing his men. Their cries stabbed at his heart as he fled, shedding his armor as he tried to gain speed, painfully aware his own legs were covered in the flammable liquid.
And that this battle was lost, his only hope of survival to escape with the ships, then face the wrath of the Emperor for not only failing in their mission, but losing the Imperial Seal.
27
Grand Hyatt Macau
Cotai, Macau
Present Day
CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane stared at the woman lying across from him in bed, and frowned. She was gorgeous, sexy, and talented.
But he didn’t love her.
Normally that wouldn’t be a problem. In fact, it had never been a problem until recently. Now he was in love, in love with a woman his equal in every way, though right now, he felt so guilty, so ashamed, she was probably his superior in the ways that were important.
Lee Fang meant everything to him, and was the first woman to ever break through the barriers he had put up over the years to shield his heart from pain, and from inflicting pain on others, his job simply not conducive to serious relationships.
But Fang had changed all that.
She was Chinese Special Forces, knew the job, understood the sacrifices, and had made the ultimate herself—she had betrayed her country to protect it, now living in exile in Philadelphia, probably at this very moment waiting for him to return home.
And here he was in bed with a woman he had made love to all night. Unfortunately, that was the job—at least sometimes. He had slept with dozens of women—scores of women—over the years, many for God and country, most to drown out the pain of past transgressions.
Yet none since Fang had entered his life.
Until last night.
The job had demanded it. His handler had given him the target, told him to sleep with her so they could get compromising photos, photos that would be used to blackmail her into planting a bug in her brother’s house, a brother well-connected in the Chinese Communist Party. He had seduced her easily, his charms effective, especially when a target had a penchant for Caucasian men.
It had been easy.
Too easy.
Many women wouldn’t have cared enough about the photos to betray their family or their country. In this case, however, her brother was hoping to be the next First Secretary of the Chinese Youth League, and any suggestion his family was anything less than perfect, anything less than completely devoted to China and all things Chinese, could scuttle those plans. This poor woman had been used, and she would pay the price.
Yet he felt no guilt over that.
That was the job.
The reality was she had done what she did voluntarily, had definitely enjoyed herself, and for her indiscretions, she’d plant a bug that could never be traced back to her, and she’d be told the photos and videos were destroyed. The reality was Langley would keep them on file, his bare ass chewing up gigabytes of video in the storage servers back home.
Today, though, he did feel guilty as he stared at the bare back of this woman, picturing his trusting love lying in their lonely bed.
I can never tell her.
That much was obvious.
She probably suspects it, though.
He frowned. She knew the job. She knew what it could entail. But if they didn’t speak of it, then he would never have to lie to her. Lies of omission were part of the job, yet an innocent question could shatter the delicate façade built up between their relationship and his chosen profession.
She knew enough to never ask him where he had been or what he had done, but pillow talk could be dangerous, especially when it came to matters of the heart.
Promise me you’ll never break my heart.
It was something she had never said to him, though if she did, could he honestly make that promise? Every time he made love to another woman, he was potentially breaking her heart. If he were to slip up, or confess, he would break it.
Ugh. This is why agents don’t have relationships.
Nobody to love, nobody to betray.
His CIA-issue watch sent a small electrical pulse into his wrist, indicating an encrypted message. He glanced at it then pressed the buttons along the sides in a coded sequence, a short message projected on the crystal. His eyebrows popped at what was shown, one of the encrypted messaging servers he had set up around the world indicating a message from one of the few civilians he had let into his life—the wife of his former university professor.
And they never contacted him for pleasure.
Something was wrong, and in mid-mission, there was little he could do to help, perhaps for hours, if not days.
28
Pacific Coastal Region
Maya Highlands, Maya Empire
1092 AD
Cheng Jun watched in horror as the fire spread, lighting the dark forest enough to see the silhouettes of his comrades as they writhed in agony, engulfed in flames. Some fled the carnage, though none escaped whatever was poured on them.
The battle was lost.
Though there was still time for revenge.
“Attack!” He rushed forward, his sword drawn, and swung, slicing open the back of the first unsuspecting enemy as the others turned, shocked at the ambush from the rear. They had the upper hand, they had the element of surprise, and they were winning the day as the enemy quickly fell.
One of his men cried out to his left, a spear embedded in his stomach, another to his right grasping at a hatchet in his chest, but the superior numbers of the enemy were proving no match for the close quarters combat of Cheng and his experienced troops.
Though as his force slowly dwindled around him, he noticed with a heavy heart that they hadn’t been joined by the others supposedly on the right flank, apparently having fallen prey to the traps and ambushes of the enemy.
And with the main body afire, he and his men were all that was left
of almost two hundred, and as he focused his attention on the young leader, surrounded by the last half-dozen of the enemy, he snarled, determined to avenge the death of his Admiral, and his comrades.
Balam Canek jabbed his spear through one of the gaps formed by his men, lancing one of the enemy in the arm, the man dropping back as Balam yanked his weapon free. They were now evenly matched, though in numbers only, and his loyal warriors, dying to defend him, were no competition up close with these demons.
He was going to die, like his father, his tenure as chief barely lasting a day.
Yet that wasn’t his greatest regret.
That was reserved for Nelli.
The very thought of leaving her alone crushed him, and renewed the fight in his belly as he jabbed again, another of the enemy falling, though not before another friend died beside him.
And then he was alone.
The cries of the burning soldiers behind him filled the air, their screams growing fewer as the bulk of the enemy succumbed to their wounds. Now he faced five of them, alone, unscathed, their fierce eyes glowering at him, their horrific, grotesque faces snarling, leaving him to nearly tremble with the thought of what fate might await him should they take him alive.
He couldn’t let that happen.
They inched closer and he thrust with his spear, swinging his ax as he readied himself. Someone shouted to his right and he smiled as the enemy spun toward the new arrivals.
It was his friend Kawil and the other banished refugees, surging from the trees, axes and spears held high as they set upon the enemy. He thrust forward with his own spear, plunging it deep in the side of one of the distracted enemy, as a wave of hope rushed through his body at the sight of his friend, at the sight of those his father had banished only yesterday, not content to let him die, but instead proving they were true members of their adopted home, true Mayans willing to risk their lives to save their own, unlike the cowards from the surrounding villages he had thought were his brothers.
Wrath of the Gods (A James Acton Thriller, #18) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 7