by CJ Lyons
She remembered the paper he’d given her when he warned her to run. She pulled it from her pocket and unfolded it. It was a printout from a lab test with her name on it. And Michael’s.
She recognized the HLA tissue typing that her parents used at BioRegen. It wasn’t mandatory, but they’d found that closer matches helped to prevent complications and so offered it as part of their “premier concierge” service.
Why would the doctor have tissue-typed her and Michael? And why did they match? On almost every marker.
She sank back, her fingers tracing the test results. Only close relatives had matches that close. Like brother and sister.
It didn’t feel right—except it did. If her parents weren’t her biological parents, it would explain so very much. Like why she didn’t look like either of them or possess any of their grace and charm and poise.
The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. But then she kept thinking and looking at the HLA typing. Kevin had said Michael had a rare HLA typing. Yet she was a match.
A rush of cold surged out from her heart all the way down to her fingers and toes as the pieces clicked together. She ran for the door, stood on tiptoe to look through the tiny slit of a window, hoping to see someone who could help her, someone who would listen.
There was no one except the twisted grimace of the wide-eyed woman in the cell across from her. Maria spun in a circle, not knowing what to do, just knowing that she couldn’t just sit here and let it happen, let Dr. Carrera take her.
Because if Michael was her brother … and Kevin was a cardiac surgeon … and Dr. Carrera had him prepping for a transplant … then he’d want the perfect donor to save Michael’s life.
Maria.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The cold water swept Jake into the darkness of the tunnel leading beneath the mountain. This was such a huge mistake, he thought as the current banged him from one wall to the other. The LED lantern was too bright to be helpful, creating a blinding whiteout of glare as it reflected from the water.
The water. Greedy bitch. It tugged and yanked and pulled him in all directions. Time blurred as he spun, smothered by water, then gasping, then drowning once again. Thanks to Caitlyn’s crazy freezer-bag flotation system, he always ended face up.
Somewhere in the middle of the tunnel—he’d lost all sense of time or distance—the plastic protecting the LED lights ruptured. A few seconds later, the lights fizzled and died. Suddenly he went from an out-of-body, bright-light, tunnel experience to deep, cold, bleak, blackness.
His vision useless, he focused on his hearing. Not much help. All he could make out was a rushing and pounding that could just as easily have been his heart thundering as the water churned around him. Flailing, he fought to gain purchase against the wall—or floor, he no longer was totally certain which way was up.
The current grew stronger. Now when he was tossed above the surface, his hands scraped the tunnel ceiling mere inches from his face. Then he was spun around again, panic seizing him, and with good reason—this time when his hands struck rock, there was no air. Not in any direction.
He couldn’t reach the bottom, couldn’t find a space in the darkness where there might be air, couldn’t fight the current and go back.
A stray thought lanced through his terror. He had to make it through—if only to shout a warning back to Caitlyn. He had to live that long—and he wouldn’t if he used up all his oxygen flailing about like a idiot.
Calm overtook him. He forced his body to relax and let the current speed him through the tunnel. The bags strapped to his chest helped, they kept him face up so he could navigate with his palms pressed up, searching for any air pockets.
As he held his breath, his chest burning for relief, the pounding rush filling his brain increased to a crescendo. This was it. He couldn’t hold on any longer. He was going to have to take a breath.… No, no, no. Stubbornly, he overrode all his primitive instincts. Kept his mouth closed tight, refusing to release the pressure that had grown unbearable in his chest.
The thundering noise grew and grew. Then, suddenly, he was flying through the darkness.
He gulped in surprise, arms and legs not sure which way was up; then he plunged back into cold, black water. Hit bottom and bounced back. The current wasn’t so strong here, and there was the faintest light coming from somewhere above, creating gray on black on gray shadows. He kicked over to a boulder and pulled himself out of the water, flopping onto his back like a dead fish.
Not quite dead. The waterfall created enough ozone that he felt giddy as he hauled in a few deep breaths. Or maybe it was simply the joy of being able to taste oxygen again.
He sat up, ready to call out a warning to Caitlyn, but too late. A bright streak of light pierced the darkness above the waterfall, and then she was catapulted into the air beyond it, just as he had been. It was a lot more fun watching than living through it—maybe because she didn’t look panicked at all, instead she pulled her legs together, arms to her sides, and actually managed to appear graceful as she knifed into the pool of water below the falls.
When she popped back onto the surface, she let out a whoop of pure, unadulterated joy. “Helluva ride,” she called to him. “You okay?”
He just laughed and shook his head at her. “I am now.”
She climbed up beside him. “Why didn’t you let me go first?”
Pride didn’t let him tell her the truth—that he didn’t want to risk her seeing him panic. “Didn’t want to slow you down. Besides, why should you have all the fun?”
She stood and used her lantern to explore the cavern. “That light is coming from up ahead—I think I see the path out.”
Wearily he got to his feet, almost slipping on the wet rocks, but she reached a hand and steadied him. A lone lizard scuttled on the vertical rock face, proof that life could exist even here in this godforsaken hellhole—and he meant that literally. He could see why the Maya thought these caverns led straight to the underworld.
“Ladies first,” he said with a gallant wave of his hand.
*
It was painfully obvious that Carver wasn’t comfortable in the water. In fact, Caitlyn swore she’d glimpsed fear on his face, yet he’d put the lives of Itzel and her people first. As she held her hand out to him and they scrambled over the slick rock path together, she wished there were a way to let him know how proud she was to know a man like him.
But all she seemed to manage—all they either seemed to manage—was silly gallows humor. No matter. As daylight grew stronger and their path clearer, she knew he was going to get out of these caves alive. After that, it had to get easier.
She hoped.
They emerged onto a flat ledge, the silvery glint of dawn making the calm pool of water at their feet appear like a brilliant emerald. Dragonflies darted across the water, giving it a faceted appearance as their movement reflected in its still surface. Fish leapt and eagerly caught the insects, silver and gold scales like glitter.
“Paradise,” she sighed, wishing they had time to enjoy the beautiful setting. But of course, there was none.
As they unpacked their weapons, Carver said, “Can’t help but notice, there’s no smell of napalm in the morning—or C-4.”
“Hector would have reached the temple hours ago. What’s he waiting for?”
“Maybe he went after Maria? The guy did come all the way here to find her. With a bounty on his head, no less. Seems like Hector’s worth more dead than alive here in Guatemala.”
“He wants it all.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s all about his pride. He and his wife wanting Maria back, upset that she’d disobeyed them and snuck off the ship, him making a preemptive strike against the people he thought were holding her hostage. He can’t stand to lose.”
“You think he has gone after Maria. And after he gets her, then he’ll come back to destroy the temple?”
“And bury the evidence forever. Just like he thinks he�
��s buried us and Itzel’s people.”
Jake shoved a magazine into his AK-47 and stood. “That wasn’t even his first mistake. Guy doesn’t stand a chance.”
He reached his hand down to her and she let him pull her to her feet. Their kiss was quick but heated.
“So,” she asked, hating that she had to let him go without her, “what was his first mistake?”
Carver brushed his hand against her check as if embedding its curve into his memory. “He pissed you off. I heard it on the phone that first night. Knew you’d never give up. Not until you save the girl.”
Another quick kiss and he was gone, vanished into the jungle, heading for the temple. There was no time for regrets. Caitlyn climbed over the rocks until she reached the edge of the pool of water. The rocks formed a narrow gorge here—any increase in water flow in either direction, and the water would have no place to go but back into the mountain, flooding the underground chambers.
If she got to Hector first, Carver might not have anything to worry about—and neither would Itzel and her people trapped below the mountain.
If Hector already had Maria and was at the temple, then it would be up to Carver.
No one else she’d rather trust her life to.
She spotted two dugout canoes on the bank at the edge of the lowest pool. After emptying one of its fishing nets, she grabbed an oar and shoved off into the gorge and down the river. Just like the New River back home—except she hadn’t scouted this river and was blind to what she’d be facing.
The current swept her away and Caitlyn remembered her mantra from her days of being a river rat. Paddle, paddle, paddle. You don’t fall in if you just keep on paddling.
She fell into a nice rhythm but couldn’t help but wish that Carver were here with her. Where she could keep an eye on him. Then she hit white water and couldn’t think of anything except steering the canoe and staying afloat.
*
Maria paced the cell at least twenty times, searching for anything she could use as a weapon or to escape. The cot was bolted to the floor. Instead of springs or metal support bars to hold the thin mattress, it had woven ropes laced together to form a lattice. Which might have been helpful if she needed to climb out the window and down three stories to the ground, but she couldn’t move the cot under the window and couldn’t reach the window without something to stand on.
The door was strong, hinges on the outside, the lock not like any she’d ever seen—not that she knew how to pick one to start with, but at least it would give her something to do besides worry that the next sound she heard would be Dr. Carrera come to harvest her heart, still beating, from her body.
Calm down, calm down, panic would not help. Okay, not the door. What else, what else? The sink. Maybe she could loosen a length of pipe, use it to club the guards when they came for her? Better than hoping her little chisel was sharp enough to slice through clothing and flesh—which she sincerely doubted it was. The chisel she had was the thinnest one, and they’d pretty much ruined it while hammering against Kevin’s chain. The edge was nicked and didn’t feel sharp at all. But Pablo hadn’t found it in her jacket, so at least she had something.
She tried to remove the drainpipe below the sink. It was heavy steel or maybe lead, she wasn’t sure, it was so filthy. But whatever it was, it wasn’t budging. Decades of grime cemented it in place.
Not the sink. The toilet? It wasn’t like the toilets back home, just a seat over a wide drain hole, more like a latrine than an actual toilet. And goodness, the smell. She remembered hearing about prison escapes down the toilet drain and into the sewer system.
She rocked the toilet to see if she could move it from the drain. Like the sink, it was not budging, not even when she threw all her weight against it. After a dozen tries, she sat on the floor and leaned against the wall beside it, exhausted.
And, she had to admit, a little relieved. That stench would probably have suffocated her or made her pass out halfway down the pipe. What a way to go—trapped in a toilet drain.
She laughed. Okay, maybe it was a little on the hysteria side of the spectrum, but it wasn’t like her father was here to tell her to behave herself. Not like she’d ever see either of her parents again. They might never even know how she died.
And what a choice. Death by toilet or death by mad scientist reenacting his own warped Mayan human sacrifice.
Finally her laughter petered out and she just sat there, drained, pressed against the wall between the toilet and the sink.
That’s when she noticed the machine screws. Holding a steel plate in place. Plumbing access panel. It had to be. And that would run the length and width of the building. If she could get the screws off, she could slip inside the crawl hole beyond and climb down.
All she needed was a screwdriver. She pulled her old friend, her faithful companion, her chisel from her jacket pocket. Scraped away layers of paint and rust and dirt until the first screw was fully revealed. Then she raised the edge of the chisel.
Oh please let it fit, let it fit. Let it not be too big or too wide. Let it fit.
It fit. A perfect match. The screw was stubborn—it’d obviously been in place for a long, long, long time. But Maria kept at it, despite nicking herself with the chisel blade so many times that she had to wipe her palms every few minutes to keep the blood from slicking her grip.
It took a long time, but the screw turned. And then, finally, it fell into her palm. One down, seven more to go.
Maria wiped the sweat from her face and got started on the next. She was done hiding, done running, done being scared. No matter what happened next, at least she was fighting back.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
The small canoe handled the river’s twists and rapids nicely. If there hadn’t been so much at stake, Caitlyn would have enjoyed her swift passage down the river. When she drew close to the falls Itzel had told her about, she steered the canoe onto the north bank, where she was able to scramble over some boulders, and found a path leading out of the river’s gorge.
Below was the lake, and on its north shore was the doctor’s compound. There was a road leading to it on the far side of the lake. A tall brick wall created a boundary around the buildings.
Caitlyn grabbed her monocular to scout the best way in. There were two main buildings: a large mansion situated for the best views of the lake and mountains, and behind it the hospital building. Beyond the hospital were several smaller buildings that appeared to be barracks and storage facilities for vehicles and equipment. There was no movement on the grounds, no guards patrolling.
Had Hector and his men already been and gone, leaving her wasting her time on a fool’s errand? Or was the doctor simply complacent about security?
Given that Carrera had orchestrated Maria and Hector’s journey here, she doubted he’d leave his compound unguarded. Which meant a trap.
The good news was that if it was a trap for Hector and his men, she might have better luck going in alone than they would going in as a force.
Bad news was, it was a helluva lot of ground to cover alone.
As she scrutinized the brick wall surrounding the compound, she realized that beyond the front of the compound, near the road, the rest of the wall was in disrepair. There were areas where the bricks had crumbled or were leaning, lopsided, and one place in the southeast corner where the jungle growth encroached upon the wall and had toppled a small section of it, leaving a gap.
Her entrance. She pocketed the monocular, grabbed her Glocks, and made her way down the trail and through the jungle. She was still debating whether to clear the house or the hospital first when the rattle of weapons fire came from the front gate. Hector had arrived.
That made up her mind for her. If he was attacking from the front, he’d be at the house first, leaving her the hospital.
She reached the wall. The tumbled bricks were covered with ferns and small palm trees using them to leverage more sunlight. She climbed over them and jumped down into the clinic compound, f
inding herself in an abandoned cornfield. Not much cover or camouflage and no time to belly-crawl a stealthy approach, so she sprinted across the overgrown field, past a better maintained garden, and around to the rear of the clinic building. There was an entrance halfway down the building. She ran to it, the door was solid metal, no telling who or what was on the other side.
Holding her pistol at the ready, she reached for the doorknob. Unlocked. Gave it a yank. It swung open with protest, off balance, so she had to wrestle with it. She didn’t open it all the way, instead only cracked it wide enough to peer inside.
A stairwell. Empty as far as she could tell. She stepped inside, cushioning the door’s closure to make as little noise as possible. Not that it would have mattered. Above her the cries and shouts of women echoed through the staircase like the soundtrack to a slasher film.
She checked the hall on the main floor. All the doors were dark, silence beyond them. Returning to the stairwell she debated: Up into bedlam? Or down into silence?
Maria was a valuable hostage. And Carrera would need to be able to quickly produce her once Hector arrived. Plus, the less people who knew Caitlyn was here, the better.
Down it was. She crept down the steps and through the door at the bottom. Noted the tables with instruments in the hallway. The medical wing. Where Carrera dissected women for their body parts?
A shudder ran through her as she opened the first door, braced to find a horror show to match the screaming from the floors above.
She pulled the door open, stepped through it, assessing any danger. It was an operating theater. Sparkling white tile and stainless steel. Instrument trays and equipment for a procedure were lined up along the walls. A surgical bed sat at the center, awaiting its patient.
And on the floor in the corner sat a man in surgical scrubs, handcuffed to the base of the sink.
*
Jake had hoped with the sun being up that he’d have the chance to get dry again. No such luck. Instead, the jungle’s humidity clamped down and he felt as if he were moving while wearing body armor. Very thick, very heavy body armor. Armor that chafed in the most intimate places.