“This is the first rain we have seen in years, and they come with your arrival. The gods, I think, are pleased that you are here.” He turned. “What say you, priest?”
The priest bowed. “The gods are indeed pleased.” He motioned to Cheng. “The blood of this one may bring rain for a day, but”—he raised a bony finger and pointed it at Balam—“the blood of this one, one who has accomplished so much in their name, could bring us rain for a lifetime.”
38
South of Tepich, Mexico
Present Day
Acton frowned as he tried to get comfortable, his head resting on a pile of leaves covered by his thin spring jacket, something he was thankful he had thought to don while waiting for the help Laura was supposed to have sent. He squeezed his eyes shut as he thought of the woman he loved, and the last time he had seen her.
But it was an imagined image.
The dust thrown up by the truck had obscured everything, his imagination creating the memory of her smiling and waving at him. She was dead, and it was because he had let her go with the survivors. He should have insisted she stay with them, though at the time he had assumed leaving the area was the safe choice.
He growled in frustration.
“What’s wrong?”
He looked at Reading as the big man struggled to roll over without yanking on Morales who lay beside him, all three tied together at the waist, their captors having decided their bound hands were slowing them down too much. “Just thinking of Laura.”
“Uh huh. Listen, it wasn’t your fault. Leaving with the others was the smart choice based upon everything we knew at the time.”
Acton sighed. “I know. But right now I’m in the mood to blame myself.”
“You know who’s to blame.”
Acton glanced over at their captors, sitting around a large fire. “Yeah, I know.”
Reading changed the subject slightly. “What are they talking about?”
Acton listened for a moment. “The ransom. They’re wondering how much they’re going to get.”
Reading grunted. “I don’t want any paid for me. Every ransom that’s paid means another person gets kidnapped. I don’t want that on my conscience.”
Acton agreed. “Yeah. I only offered it to stop them from killing us. I had assumed Laura would reach town and send help.” He shook his head. “Now I couldn’t care less if they killed me or not.”
“So no ransom?”
“Only if we all agree.”
Morales rolled over, yanking Reading slightly. “Sorry, Hugh. I’ll just add that I’d like to see my family again, but you’re right. The cycle needs to be broken. Let’s keep having them think they’re getting paid. There are still good police in this town. When that many women don’t come home for dinner tonight, their families are going to start asking questions. We may yet be saved.”
“You’re right. There’s still hope.” He glared over at their captors. “But they’re not getting a damned penny of Laura’s money.”
Reading lowered his voice, leaning toward Acton. “I was thinking about something.”
“What?”
“Who slashed their tires?”
Acton’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Who slashed the tires? We were the only ones there. Everyone else left in the trucks. So who slashed the tires?”
Acton perked up slightly. “You don’t think…” He shook his head, wishful thinking too often leading to false hope then crushing disappointment all over again.
“You know your wife. She’s a survivor. She’s been trained to react, not panic. You too. I’ve seen the two of you in action. If these guys ambushed the vehicles like they said, maybe she managed to escape and come back to try and help us. By slashing the tires and forcing them on foot, she probably saved our lives. We’d be wherever we’re going by now, and probably dead.”
Now that did make sense. Laura’s head of security, a former British Special Air Service colonel, had been training them for several years in all manners of self-defense. And they were good. They weren’t Delta good, though they certainly weren’t civilians anymore. They knew their way around guns, knives and other ordnance, and hand-to-hand combat was something they both excelled at, especially Laura.
And Reading was right. One of the most critical lessons taught to them was how to react in an emergency. While most froze, they had been taught to move. And with so many guns, knives, and grenades directed at them over the past few years, they had too many opportunities to put that training to the test. Sometimes he felt they had seen more combat than the average soldier today.
Which meant Laura would have reacted.
He smiled slightly, it no longer wishful thinking. “If she did survive, where do you think she is?”
Reading chuckled. “Knowing her, very close.”
“Shut up!” shouted Javier Diaz, glaring over at the prisoners, one of them laughing. “If you’re comfortable enough to be laughing, maybe I’ll tie you up tighter!”
An apology was murmured, though it didn’t sound sincere. Diaz didn’t care, already feeling better about himself as the others laughed at his alpha male display.
“Do you think El Jefe will let us keep the money?”
Diaz stared at the youngest member of their group, Rivero, the question revealing his naiveté. “Ahh, no. But, if he does get paid, there’ll be perks.” This wiped the disappointment off the kid’s face.
“Like?”
“Pucha! Lots and lots of pucha!” shouted Ybanez.
Grins rounded the fire.
Judging by the look on Rivero’s face, women were a satisfactory perk. “I can live with that.”
Ybanez elbowed him. “Ha! I bet you could. You probably haven’t even popped that cherry yet.”
The kid flushed, it apparently true. “Shut up. I bet I get more than you!”
“I’m married. You should!”
More laughter and Diaz leaned against the tree behind him, smiling as he thought of his wife and kids. He glanced over at the one whose wife had died by their hand earlier, and had to admit he felt a little sorry for the guy.
Though it wasn’t enough that a few million bucks couldn’t cure.
He chewed on his cheek.
Ybanez noticed. “What’s wrong, Javier?”
He frowned, not pleased he had revealed something was troubling him. “There probably won’t be any ransom.”
Grumblings rounded the flames.
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t need the money. We need the money, and you know El Jefe doesn’t give a shit about us. If it serves his purpose, he’ll keep them alive, but we were sent out today to kill all the witnesses, not take hostages.”
“So you think he’ll kill them?”
Diaz glanced over at the prisoners, the American staring back at him, probably having heard every word he said. “I don’t think they’ll last five minutes.”
Rosa scratched her shoulder as she watched the woman named Laura, work at setting up camp. In the distance, they could see a large campfire casting a bright glow where the men they had been following had settled in for the night. The moment they had stopped, Laura had set to work, and it was impressive. She had found a large tree with a massive root system that gave them cover on three sides. She had swept it clear of debris with a bundle of sticks, then cut down dozens of leafy branches, laying them down as a floor for their tiny camp. She rigged up several branches and strung a large tarp between them at an angle, providing them with a roof over their heads, and more importantly, a fourth wall.
A small fire was lit and Rosa smiled, holding her hands over the flames, it now chilly. “Won’t they see it?”
Laura shook her head. “No, their fire’s too big. Their eyes will have adjusted so they won’t be able to see this, not with the tree in the way.”
“You’re very smart.”
Laura smiled. “Just experienced.”
Rosa scratched her shoulder again. “Why are you following them?”
&nb
sp; “One of them is my husband. The others are my friends.”
Rosa took the sleeping bag handed her by Laura, thinking of her own husband. A wave of guilt swept over her. This was a good woman, trying to save the man she loved, just like she was. She worked for El Jefe only to put food on the table for her family, to buy medicine for her husband. She would do anything for them, including risking her life.
She hid the shame that threatened to overwhelm her, instead climbing into the sleeping bag and turning her back on the woman who had been nothing but kind to her. A tear rolled down her nose. She could have headed back to town after surviving the shooting, but instead had stayed with this woman, knowing that death awaited her should she return.
She had stayed with this woman for one reason.
She wanted El Jefe’s men to capture them then reward her for her loyalty by letting her and her family live. She scratched at her shoulder again, the implant that would allow them to be tracked having gone unnoticed for months until now.
What I’m doing is wrong.
39
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
“Hi, sir, got a minute?”
The National Clandestine Service Chief for the CIA, Leif Morrison, glanced up from his desk, his eyes burning with fatigue. He checked his watch and frowned. “My God, is it that late?”
Chris Leroux chuckled as he stepped into the office. “Yes, sir, I’m afraid it is.”
Morrison leaned back. “Speaking of the hour, what are you doing here?” He motioned toward a chair in front of his desk and Leroux dropped into it.
“I got a call from Dylan. Professor James Acton, Interpol Agent Hugh Reading, and a Mexican archaeology professor named Morales, have been kidnapped by a Mexican drug lord named Jesús Lepe, or El Jefe to those who love and admire him.”
Morrison sighed, shaking his head. “Professor Palmer isn’t mixed up this time?”
Leroux smiled. “Oh no, she is. She’s the one who got the message to Dylan. We don’t know what her status is at the moment, but knowing her…”
Morrison grunted. “Knowing her, she’s in the thick of it. Okay, what do you need?”
“I’ve notified State of the situation and they’re running with it. I’d like to put some feelers out to the Delta team that they know personally, to see if they can get themselves assigned somehow—”
“That’s a stretch.”
“Agreed, but there’s been a lot of cooperation between us and the Mexicans in the drug war, so I figured it was worth a shot. Maybe they can get assigned as DEA advisors.”
“Good thinking. What else do you need?”
“Drones over the area.”
Morrison frowned, leaning back further, steepling his fingers in front of him, the tips tapping his chin. “That might be difficult. I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, go ahead and retask a satellite if you need to.”
Leroux smiled. “Umm, already done?”
Morrison chuckled and pointed toward the door. “Get out of here before I have to reprimand you.”
Leroux leaped to his feet with a smile. “Yes, sir!”
40
Fayetteville, North Carolina
“I think we may have overdone it a bit.”
Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson squeezed his fiancée’s hand a little tighter, concern written on his knit brow. “Do you want to turn back?”
Maggie Harris, the love of his life, and the first woman to truly capture his heart, shook her head, pointing instead to an inviting bench. “Just get me there and we’ll sit for a while.”
“I could carry you.”
She stared at him. “There’s only two times I want you carrying me. To the bedroom to rock my world, and across the threshold the day we get married.”
“When I’ll rock your world again.”
She grinned. “I’ve heard wedding night sex can be disappointing.”
Dawson’s eyebrows shot up. “You’ve obviously never been married to me.”
“Ha! Nobody’s been married to you, so how would you know?”
Dawson channeled his James Bond theme songs. “Umm, nobody does it better?”
She patted his chest. “You may be Delta, but you’re no spy. Now, Dylan on the other hand…”
Dawson feigned a mortal wound, clasping at his chest. “Oh, darlin’, now I have to kill him, and I like the guy.”
Maggie collapsed on the bench, breathing out a deep sigh. “In all seriousness, though, I was reading in one of my magazines that some experts say you should refrain from sex for one month before the wedding. That way you get some of the excitement back on your wedding night that you lost from all that pre-marital sex that’s so common nowadays.”
Dawson pursed his lips as he regarded her. “Umm, okaaay, I guess we could do that.”
Maggie beamed. “You’d do that for me?”
“Babe, I’d do anything for you.”
“Including not having sex for a month?”
Dawson nodded. “Sure, I’ll let the Colonel know so he can deploy me to Syria. I’ll singlehandedly take care of that little ISIS problem, come back, marry you, then make sure you never think of Dylan Kane again.”
She grinned. “Deal!”
Dawson paused. “Umm, really? So you’re serious?”
Maggie laughed, slapping his arm. “Oh, you men, you’re so easy.”
“This is true. The answer’s always yes. Wait, what’s the question?”
“There was no question.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss. “Do you honestly think I could keep my hands off you for an entire month?”
Dawson breathed a sigh of relief, silently thanking God this had all been a joke. “I’ve never known you to be able to.”
She rested her head on his shoulder and stretched her bad arm. “One of these days I’ll be over this stroke, and we can get married.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her tight. Maggie had been shot in the head over a year ago, nearly dying, and had suffered a major stroke a couple of months ago. It had been a struggle, emotionally and physically, though she was finally making progress. Her speech was almost normal now, and she was up and walking, though only for short distances.
Her doctors, supplied by two of the most generous civilians he knew, James Acton and Laura Palmer, assured them that she would make a full recovery eventually. Yet that wouldn’t be enough. Maggie had once had long, beautiful blonde hair. Most of it had been shaved off when she was first shot, and had nearly returned to enough of its former glory that she might entertain wedding photos with it, when she suffered her relapse, requiring the side of her head to be shaved again.
It was a crushing defeat for her, though she seemed to be coping with it better than before. The first time, she had refused to leave the apartment until her scar was at least covered. Now, she was unconcerned with the vanity side of things, and more concerned with reclaiming her life.
Which was fine with him.
She was the strongest woman he knew, and it was one of the many reasons he loved her as much as he did. She wasn’t a quitter, and she wasn’t a complainer. She had nearly given up a couple of months ago, but had soldiered through, and he was immensely proud of her.
He squeezed her tight as they sat and people-watched, soaking up the sunshine and fresh air.
“Hey, look who it is.”
Dawson followed Maggie’s gaze and smiled as Sergeant’s Carl “Niner” Sung and Leon “Atlas” James jogged over to them.
“Hey Maggie, it’s a perfect morning for a jog. Want to join us?” asked Niner, his body glistening with sweat. He jabbed a finger at the massive and chiseled Atlas. “I bet you can outrun this lug, he’s slowing me down.”
Atlas’ impossibly deep voice rumbled a reply. “I’m like a juggernaut. If you get this much man moving too fast, it never stops.”
Maggie giggled, always enjoying the friendly banter between the two men, both members of Bravo Team, a group of Speci
al Forces operators led by Dawson, all members of what the public commonly referred to as the Delta Force, though in official circles they were 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment–Delta.
Maggie dug an elbow into his ribs and motioned at the two new arrivals. “Remember that article I was telling you about, where they’re going to try a human head transplant?”
Dawson nodded. “Uh huh.”
“Can you picture it?”
Dawson smiled, realizing where she was going with this. He stared at Niner then Atlas. “I don’t know what would look more ridiculous. Niner’s head on Atlas’ body, or vice versa.”
Niner stared up at Atlas. “Ugh. I’m afraid of heights. I wouldn’t want to be up there.”
Atlas regarded Niner with disdain. “I don’t think I could take being so tiny.” He leaned over and stared at Niner’s crotch. “Everywhere.”
Niner eyeballed him. “Hey, I might not hit bottom, but I’ll scrape the hell out of the sides.”
“Yeah, something only said by men with tiny—”
“Umm, lady present!” interrupted Maggie, waving her hand.
Dawson pulled his vibrating cellphone from his pocket. “Hello?”
“Mr. White, you’re needed.”
“Okay, thirty minutes.”
“We need you sooner than that.”
“Okay, fifteen.” He ended the call. “Gotta go.” He rose, holding out his hand to Maggie. “Let’s get you back to the apartment.”
Maggie took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. “Problem?”
“Something urgent at the Unit.”
Niner took her other arm. “You go, we’ll get her home.”
Dawson looked at his friends then at Maggie. “You okay with that?”
“Sure, as long as they stop talking about their junk.”
Niner grinned. “No promises.”
41
Municipal Police Detachment
Tepich, Mexico
Officer Hector Santana stared at the temporary morgue set up in a back room of their humble police station. Over a dozen bodies from the two vehicles at the dump, then another couple of dozen bodies from the drug lab, had it appearing World War Three had broken out in his tiny town.
Wrath of the Gods (A James Acton Thriller, #18) (James Acton Thrillers) Page 10