by Anne Marsh
Levi eyed the approaching jungle cautiously. “You think they got snakes down there?”
Mason flicked him a glance. “You want me to lie to you? Or you want to just shoot anything that slithers?”
Levi shuddered. “I’ll take that as a hell yeah. And yes, please.”
“You got it.” He peered out at the approaching compound. “Almost showtime.”
Levi whistled. “Santiago’s squatting in a goddamned palace.”
The place did look pretty good. Since they were flying low, barely skimming the treetops to stay under any possible radar, their current view would have been a Realtor’s wet dream. In the predawn light, the walls protecting Santiago’s privacy were lit up with enough wattage to ensure no one got close without Santiago’s guards spotting them. The house was two stories with lots of windows and wrought iron French balconies. The Marcos brothers hadn’t skimped on the square footage, either, although jungle real estate probably came cheap. According to the plans Mason had reviewed, the mansion was eight thousand square feet. It had two pools, four guesthouses and a ten-car garage that housed a sweet collection of armor-plated Humvees. Cutting off Santiago’s access to that particular escape route would be a pleasure.
The teams needed to get in and out quickly, because this op was happening without official sanction. The Belizean army didn’t want to know what went down here, so this was a stealth operation.
“Status,” Gray said into his headpiece. He listened briefly, then flashed the team a thumbs-up. “We’re a go. Stand by.”
The Black Hawk descended rapidly over the compound to the garage as the team moved into position. The bird had been modified to make a quiet descent. The crewman tossed the rope out of the open door. Gray went down the line first. After counting to three, Mason followed. The closer they went out the door, the faster they all made it to the ground. Grabbing the rope between his gloved hands and boots, he rode it down like a firehouse pole, the soles of his feet inches above Gray’s head. The only thing standing between him and a brutal ground landing was his ability to hang on.
The next three men would be right behind them, moving equally fast because they’d be vulnerable to small-arms fire and Santiago’s security while they were on the rope. The rope spun through his gloved hands as the chopper moved slowly forward, dragging the rope. Gray dropped away. Mason counted to two and then let go. The impact vibrated through his body, but he was already weapons up. Ten seconds later, drop complete, the entire team advanced toward the mansion. The house was still quiet. The second squad fanned out to cover the exit points with a 360-degree security perimeter. If Santiago tried to make a run for it, they’d hit him hard.
Levi dropped away to play with his gadgets. He’d rig the garage to blow, the explosion providing a useful decoy. And fun. Blowing stuff up was always satisfying, and Santiago hadn’t earned the toys he had parked inside the garage.
Levi popped out of the shadows, moving lighter. “Five minutes to boom time.”
“Move in,” Gray ordered. “Let’s go find our boy.”
Breaching the compound was the work of seconds. The front door wasn’t locked—stupid bastard—and there were plenty of first-floor windows. The two bodyguards by the front door went down almost silently, clearly not expecting company. Muzzle up, Mason stepped inside behind Gray, sweeping the area with the barrel of his M4.
The plan called for them to sweep the house room by room and secure it. With the first two guards down, the entry was clear. Diego and Santiago lived like kings. Marble tiles lined the palatial entryway beneath a crystal chandelier like one he’d seen in the Liberace Museum in Vegas. He’d bought his mom a little version to hang over her dining room table. She’d have liked this one.
Gray motioned and they took the stairs. Gunfire erupted right as the garage went, the shock wave rocking the larger building. The chandelier bit the ground in an explosion of crystals. Good thing they hadn’t been standing there. Mason made a mental note to earthquake-proof his mom’s piece. Gray signaled for Levi and Mason to cover the left, and he and Sam moved toward the bedroom on the right.
According to the building plans, the bedrooms were located on the second level. Better yet, the first door they busted open turned out to be the mother lode. Not only was the room full, but the lights were on as the occupants reacted to the sound of gunfire and the explosions.
And...damn it. “We’ve got nonthreats,” he said in low tones into his mouthpiece. Muzzle up, he stepped inside and surveyed. Two women and four—no, five—kids. He’d almost missed the little girl hiding under the table. The minute he and Levi came in, the kids started crying and one of the females came out swinging. Maybe she thought they’d go for the kids, but that was a line he’d never crossed and never would. Mason subdued her, pinning her arms behind her and whipping out his zip ties. “Cálmate,” he growled against her ear. “No quiero hacerte daño.”
Or maybe she was a decoy, because Santiago sprinted away toward a door on the far side of the room. Shit. Nice for Santiago that he inspired such loyalty, but a pain in the ass for Mason.
“We’ve got eyes on Santiago,” he barked. “Get in here double-time.”
“I’ve got him,” Levi growled, already moving. “Show me your hands. Arrondilese y ponga sus manos en la cabeza.”
Levi’s move left Mason with seven noncombatants. Go him. Levi got to have all the fun. He kept his eyes on their hands. A five-year-old boy usually wasn’t a threat, but the best way to stay alive was to assume everything would go wrong. Maybe Santiago left firearms lying around. Maybe he’d taught Santiago Junior to shoot. Mason had also been fired on before by women—and by men dressed as women. So there was no way to know for sure who was friendly and who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Now that he had the first nonthreat zip-tied and down on the ground, the rest followed. He hated making little kids show their hands, but he’d seen good men shot by making assumptions. Who knew what Santiago and Diego had taught these little guys? Maddie’s face flashed through his head, and he knew what she’d think. This was the part of the job that sucked.
Across the room, Levi barked out more Spanish and then, when Santiago failed to comply, cursed. “You’ve got five seconds to drop the gun.”
Naturally, the guy raised the gun.
“Hooyah,” Levi said, sounding downright pleasant. “Rules of engagement say I get to plug your ass with my bullet, seeing as how I feel threatened. I’ll take Spanish lessons later and explain my feelings to you when you’re in US custody.”
Right. Time to take care of business. Turning his M4 toward Santiago, Mason squeezed off a round with surgical precision. The bullet smashed into the other man’s wrist.
“You took my turn.” Levi stepped over and kicked the gun away as Santiago alternated between cursing and bellowing in pain.
“You were taking too long,” Mason bit out. “Get him up.”
“You’re a lucky bastard.” Levi hauled Santiago to his feet, clipping his wrists behind him with a pair of plastic cuffs. “We brought our very own medic with us. Ask nicely, and he’ll share the Band-Aids with you.”
Mason swept the room one more time, but the nonthreats had wisely decided to stand down and leave this to Santiago. He flicked on the lights and eyeballed the man Levi frog-marched over to him. Damn it.
“This isn’t Santiago,” he said. “I wish I could tell you we’ve got our target, but we’ve got the wrong guy. Looks like him, and I’d lay money on a shared family tree, but we just struck out.”
Levi cursed and barked commands into his headset, pushing Not Santiago toward the door. Two minutes later, they were back in the front hallway playing show-and-tell with the rest of the team.
“Bloody hell,” Gray roared, before launching into a volley of Spanish. Their prisoner shook his head violently, firing back a few answers of his
own.
“Santiago left an hour ago,” Gray said. “This one claims to be the cousin. Since he’s parked in Santiago’s bedroom, cozied up with Santiago’s wife and kids, he’s either the decoy or a good liar.”
Levi’s fingers tightened on the man’s collar. “Then, we’ll take him along with us, just in case we’re looking at option B and a surgery job.”
Gray nodded. It wasn’t unheard of for the drug traffickers to pay a visit to a plastic surgeon and get themselves a new face. It certainly made Mason’s job harder, because how did you ID someone who looked nothing like his photos anymore? He suspected that wasn’t the case here, but they’d take the presumably fake Santiago along with them and let someone else check him out.
Sam popped his head out of a side room. “House is clear, but you all might want to take a look at this.”
Gray turned to the imposter and barked a question. For a moment, Mason thought the guy might not talk, but then he shrugged as if the answer wasn’t a state secret. “Es la oficina del jefe.”
After turning the perp over to two SEALs from the other unit for transport, Mason, Gray and Levi followed Sam. The dude was generally Mr. Levelheaded—maybe it was all that medical training—and unfortunately, he hadn’t been wrong. Nope. What was wrong was the contents of the small study. Not only had someone been watching everything that transpired on Fantasy Island through two video feeds of the main beach and the pier, but that someone had also been diligently surfing the internet and reading Maddie’s blog. And blowing up pictures of her.
Mason fought to keep his emotions under control. Right now it didn’t matter that he wanted to rip the watcher’s throat out for stalking Maddie. What mattered was finding the guy—fast—and making sure he was in no condition to do it again.
“You think this stuff belongs to Santiago or Diego?” Gray asked, grabbing the computer tower.
Good plan. What they were looking at was probably the tip of the iceberg, and maybe one of the computer techs could learn more.
Mason rifled through a stack of printouts on the desktop. The dates on the bottom were from yesterday and today. “Diego was already in custody when these were run,” he pointed out. “Makes it more likely to be Santiago’s work.”
“Whoever it is, he’s sick, you got me?” Levi shook his head, taking in the monitors and then the pictures briefly, before he started yanking cords and separating the stuff into four piles. “He’s got a real thing for your Maddie.”
“He touches her, he dies.” Which meant locating the guy stat.
“Not our call,” Gray cautioned him. “You follow orders.”
“And if we were looking at photos of Laney, you’d be the first to shoot.”
Gray nodded tersely. “I’m planning on sticking around for her, though, so I’d remember that not following orders tends to lead to unpleasant crap like a court martial.”
Duly noted. Unfortunately, shooting Santiago might not even be an option. The man was the king of escapes. He was always armed with an assault rifle and he’d spent the past two years in virtual lockdown in the jungles of Belize, hiding out in his fortified palace. No reckless spending, car racing or nightclubs for Santiago. Sure, they knew where he was more or less, but a single dirt road led to the guy’s front door and the Black Hawks echoed. Today, despite their best efforts, he’d either seen or heard them coming and he’d cleared out.
Gray cursed, conducting a last visual sweep of the office. They practically qualified as professional movers, Mason decided. The place was neat—just a whole lot emptier than when they’d entered. Santiago could bitch to the US government if he didn’t like his redecorating job. “If he’s not here, where did he go?”
“Three guesses. The first two don’t count.” Mason grabbed his load of hardware. Seriously, he didn’t want the souvenirs. Nope. What he wanted was action. The faster he got back to the Black Hawk, the faster they put the bird up in the air and made for Fantasy Island.
“Why would Santiago head for Fantasy Island? So what if he’s got a picture fetish for Maddie? Doesn’t mean he’s going to risk it all to meet her in person.” Sam didn’t hesitate, though. He hefted his pile of gear and hotfooted it out of the room.
“Because he believes he’s uncatchable,” Gray said grimly. “The man’s an escape expert and a pain-in-the-ass Houdini. He’s wriggled out of more tight spots than anyone else. Plus, the Fantasy Island wedding was a cover. It was going to be a high-level meeting of key players in the Marcos organization. A chance to party and spend some of the hundreds of millions they’ve made in the illegal drug trade.” He blew out a breath. “Our boy likes his fiestas, and instead of a party, he got a re-org. Marcos is down for the count, so Santiago moves up to the number one spot.”
Levi whistled. “You really think he’s going after Maddie?”
“It’s not a chance I’m taking.” Mason picked up the pace, running through the front door and out into the courtyard.
Boots hit the ground next to him. “Not your call,” Gray bit out.
“Seriously? You’re going to give me shit on this one?” Because leaving Maddie alone and vulnerable wasn’t happening. He’d left her alone in her room, sure, but he’d believed she was safe. That nothing bad could happen to her where she was.
Gray pulled ahead, tossing his armload of computer drives at the SEAL waiting inside the Black Hawk’s empty bay. “No,” he said solemnly. “I’m not. We’ll let the other team take our bonus boy for a little Q and A. We’ll go back to Fantasy Island.”
“Quickly.” Mason knew he’d catch hell for this one later, but he didn’t give a shit. Passing over his load, he climbed on board, Sam and Levi on his heels.
“I wasn’t proposing we stop and hit the duty-free,” Gray said drily.
Jokes weren’t cutting it right now. Mason wanted speed. “Santiago has a two-hour head start on us.”
“And we’ve got a Black Hawk, the US military and a roomful of DEA tech geeks.” Gray held up his phone. “DEA had been reporting plenty of chatter since Marcos went down. Santiago usually runs on radio silence—no email, no phone calls, no contact. His guys don’t talk to him directly, but they know what the boss wants them to do. Cut the head off the organization and the lieutenants still need to talk, right? Santiago’s boys are going to be itchy and looking for orders.”
Levi cracked a hard smile. “So has ET phoned home yet?”
Gray nodded. “Looks like it. The DEA has been monitoring all of the phone lines and email accounts associated with-known traffickers in Santiago’s network, waiting for someone to make a move. We didn’t have so much as a tickle this morning, but someone started making calls an hour ago. Santiago’s on the move, he’s pissed and he’s looking to ‘make a statement.’”
Mason’s skin tightened, awareness prickling over him. He didn’t need Gray’s air quotes to tell him that the “statement” in question could be Maddie. The chopper blades started up, drowning out all other sound as the bird got airborne. Maddie was supposed to stay safe. She hadn’t asked to be drawn into an international drug operation, and she had no idea that she was now the finish line in a race between a SEAL unit and a drug trafficker. He didn’t want her to feel threatened or scared. He’d keep her safe, get her through this and then he’d bug out like he should have done from the beginning. A woman like Maddie deserved a hell of a lot more than a man like him.
13
HURRY. HURRY. HURRY.
No. Turn the emotions off, let the training take over. Mason couldn’t afford to miss anything, and rushing could be fatal. Never mind that the moment the Black Hawk touched down on the naval aircraft carrier cruising Belizean waters, he was itching to move. Swimming to shore seemed like the better option, but he’d wait for the Zodiac like a good little SEAL.
“Gave Ashley a heads-up.” Gray prowled toward the railing that Mason was haunt
ing. “She’s armed.” A statement of fact. “If Santiago did come back here and somehow beat us, Ashley’s got your girl’s back.”
There was no point in pretending protecting Maddie wasn’t personal, so Mason nodded sharply. “I hear you.”
“Since there’s a credible threat, we’ll take her to a military base until we’ve found Santiago. We’ve got leads on the man. Cell phone and email chatter. That kind of stuff.”
“Santiago’s mine.” He’d enjoy taking the drug trafficker apart piece by piece. Those photos of Maddie had been creepy as hell, and the man needed to go down, fast and hard. No way Mason allowed the other man to get anywhere near Maddie.
Gray gave him a hard look. “We’ve got other orders. We pack up here; we ship out. Do not go vigilante on me.”
“Copy that,” he agreed, but they both knew he’d do whatever it took to keep Maddie safe. Gray would have felt the same way if it had been his woman in danger. No one hurt Laney on Gray’s watch.
Ten minutes later, they were in the Zodiac and gunning for Fantasy Island. As the sailor brought them in, focusing with laser-like precision on the small break in the reef, Mason kept his own eyes trained on the shore. If Santiago had made it here first, he could be laid up in the jungle, waiting to open fire, or he could be making his way to Maddie’s place. The island seemed as serene as ever, although a boatload of armed SEALs wasn’t going to help the look any. Mason had to hope no one was watching, or they’d attribute an inflatable full of armed men to the Belizean navy, but waiting until dark wasn’t an option.
As soon as the Zodiac hit the beach, he vaulted over the side, boots hitting the water hard. He’d get under cover. Fan out and head straight for Maddie. Gray’s hand on his arm pulled him to a halt. Not good.