Gemma folded her arms and lowered her gaze, examining the jungle floor while she appeared to be thinking it over.
“Okay.” She raised her head. “But I want to know the plan for when that boat and those drugs arrive.
The lieutenant looked over at Hunter and nodded. “You tell her.” He focused on Ben. “You have to know that you can’t repeat any of what’s being said here. Nothing.”
“Yeah, I know. IRS audits, feed me to the fish, or whatever it is you guys do.”
“They’ll have to come in on the high tide,” Hunter started. “The tributary is too shallow for a loaded boat to get to the sub. They don’t come in tonight midnight, it will be noon high tide tomorrow. Our intel says it’ll be tonight, which is best for us. We can stay hidden and our boats can get closer without being seen. It’ll take them a few hours to transfer the goods to the sub. Once loaded the only way the sub can leave is on the high tide at noon. We have plenty of time for the good guys to get ships and boats to block the river and to get boots on the ground and shut the fucking operation down.”
“Same plan if it’s the next high tide?” Gemma said.
“Yes,” the lieutenant and Hunter said in unison.
“If it’s the next tide we’ll move you back and settle you into a safe position. As long as you stay quiet and do what we tell you, it should all be okay,” Vegas said. Hunter looked from him to Gemma.
“That part is not negotiable. You do what we tell you.”
Ben looked at Gemma who was doing her best to hide her expression. Son-of-a-bitch she’d conned them slick as any sideshow carney he’d ever seen. She got exactly what she wanted and they thought it was their idea. The admiral had skills.
“I understand completely, Lieutenant,” she said in a deferential tone. He clamped his teeth together to stop the smile. He was beginning to understand her. That presence he couldn’t quite put his finger on before. She was so used to giving orders. She probably had to choke them back when they talked. The memory of her little survivor pilot routine forced him to put his head down and scrub a hand over his mouth to hide a smile. How would the SEALs have reacted to that one? Or even all her troops, or sailors, or whatever they were called.
“You have a problem with that, Doc?” Vegas said.
“Huh?”
“I said, you have any problem doing what we say?”
“Me? Nooo. As long as I don’t get slammed down on the ground and suffocated again I’m good.” And what was he supposed to say? No, I want out of here and I want out of here right now. The admiral would have smashed him herself.
“What do we do now?” Ben said.
“We, as in you two, do exactly as you are instructed,” Vegas shot back. “No questions, no ad-libbing. Do it the instant you are told. When this is over, I don’t even want to see a scratch on either one of you.”
“Sounds good to me,” Ben said, remembering Gemma, the admiral, said almost the same thing to him.
“We’re heading back before M&M and the Suit think we’re chillin’ at a beachside bar.”
“First we need to establish how we got together,” Gemma said slowly and carefully. Vegas gave her a what do you have up your sleeve? look.
“You mean get our story right,” Bambi said. “For when we’re standing tall in front of some pencil pusher’s desk getting our asses chewed.”
“I won’t let that happen,” Gemma said fiercely.
“We can say we found you,” Ben said. “We were on the beach, saw the boats and helicopters and headed your way.” Everyone turned to look at him. “What? If you guys could hear us walking, we’d certainly be able to hear the commotion you’d make taking down drug dealers. We can just hang back for a while and do a golly-gee-whiz we’re saved routine.”
“It would work,” Bambi said. “They don’t question our word on how an op went down, and if the admiral backs us up with that there won’t be a problem if we’re all on the same page.”
“Admiral?” Vegas said.
Gemma narrowed her eyes to slits and looked at Ben approvingly. “No falsifying an official report,” she said slowly. “If it gets hairy, I take full responsibility. I’m the senior officer here.”
“Ma’am, you have to know on a mission I’m not under obligation to take orders from you,” Vegas said.
Gemma stepped close to Vegas. “I understand and acknowledge your authority. You understand, I will not let you take any heat for this.”
An awkward moment of silence passed. Vegas and Hunter nodded, turned, and left as silently as they came, absorbed by the wall of green.
Ben figured Bambi, by virtue of being low man on the team, drew the short straw and had to stay back and babysit. The SEAL held up a green can that looked like a hand grenade. “Insect fog. No odor.” He pulled the pin and dropped the can. As the mist enveloped them Bambi used a wicked-looking machete to enlarge the tiny clearing, careful to avoid the ant tree. Gemma, spread out a couple of the cloths, giving the three of them enough space to sit and lay down. He and Bambi stretched out their legs and lay down. Gemma sat cross-legged, stick in hand, eyes darting to the edges of the cloth looking ready to do battle with any creepy thing that dared set a claw, leg, or antenna on the cloth.
They shared another delightful meal of jerky, gourmet protein bars, coconut and vine water, and sucked down protein gels Bambi provided. The SEAL went down the list of dos and don’ts expected of them, also teaching them basic hand signals to use in the no-talk zone.
“The LT’s risking a lot letting you stay here,” he said around a mouthful of protein bar. “We want to be real clear,” he exaggerated the words. “You follow the rules. Be aware this is the real thing.” He tipped his head in Ben’s direction.
“Couldn’t get any more real for me,” Ben said sarcastically.
“I know the admiral here knows her way around firearms, but what about you, Doc, you know anything about them?”
“I know you point them, pull the trigger, a missile flies out of the end, tears through a body destroying tissue, muscle, and disintegrating bones.”
Bambi gave him a what the fuck is up with you? look. Ben went on. “Said body is then brought to me to be restored to original condition.”
“You need to answer him,” Gemma said quietly.
Ben took a drink, carefully placing the water container beside him. “Because I’m not in your knuckle-bumping, chest-pounding group doesn’t mean I’m an idiot.”
Bambi’s gaze flicked to Gemma and then back to him. “Wasn’t implying you were, sir,” he said very deliberately. “You’re an unknown. A civilian. Like I said, this is not a drill. This is real-world. I have to get a feel for what you can and can’t do. I’m real particular where my safety is involved. My main goal out here is to go home safe.”
“Yeah,” Ben drawled. “I’ve heard about main goals.”
“Sir.” The SEAL leaned his direction, smiling. “I don’t give a flying fuck if your feelings are hurt. Understand, you go asshole on me I will slit your throat in a heartbeat and you will be officially listed as having died in that crash.” He took a large bite of jerky and stared him down.
“Okay. I get it,” Ben said. “I know about shotguns, rifles, and handguns. I’m from Texas.” He pushed himself up to sit. “I started hunting when I was six. I’m good with a knife. Cleaned and dressed everything I shot. I’m fucking brilliant with the scalpel. I haven’t fired a gun in years. If push comes to shove I suppose it’s like riding a bike, once you know how you don’t forget.”
“Let’s hope there won’t be any pushing or shoving and you won’t have to worry about handling a gun,” Bambi said. “Admiral? You and that gun you got tucked up under there.” Bambi jigged his thumb in the direction of her chest. “On good speaking terms?”
She said nothing but nodded.
“Automatic or revolver and you have a reload?”
“Revolver. Ruger .357 five-shot. One reload.”
Bambi nodded appreciatively. Ben blurted, “Je
sus.” To his mind a .357 had to have a barrel a foot long.
“Don’t use it, don’t even pull it out unless your lives are in danger. This is not negotiable. We’ll have you set up on the bank where the sub is tethered. We’ll be nearby. Each of us knows where the other is and your location. You won’t have a clue where we are. If you have no other option, fire at close range only. It not only will increase the odds of putting your target down, but will greatly decrease the odds of hitting one of us.” He scratched his ear and gave them a big smile. “Which is something I’d very much appreciate.”
“I’ve got it,” Gemma said gravely. “I don’t want to come to that either.”
“You hearing this, Doc?”
Ben stretched out on the tarp, hands clasped behind his head, eyes close. He said nothing.
“If anything happens to the admiral—”
“I’ve got it,” he interrupted Bambi. “Use the gun only in the case of imminent danger. Fire only at close range. Anything else?”
“If this thing turns into a rumble in the jungle, you two stay hidden until you know without a doubt it’s safe to move. If the admiral gets in trouble, do not, I repeat do not attempt to help her.”
That got Ben’s attention. He raised his head and squinted at the SEAL. “Why not?”
“You’re not trained for this,” Gemma said. “Statistics show people who don’t know what they’re doing generally die in rescue attempts. I get into trouble, you run like hell the other direction.”
Bambi nodded. “She’s right. You could even hinder her chances of survival.”
“Okay.” He wondered if he could really do that.
“You move south for a day and you set those emergency beacons off.” Bambi took up instructions where he left off.
“There a chance any of this could happen?” Ben said.
“Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.” Bambi grinned and reached for one of their packs.
“Then how about leaving us one of those guns you’re carrying.” Ben sat up.
Bambi shook his head. “No can do, Doc. If we get into a gunfight at the Ecuadorian O.K. sub corral, I’ll need every weapon I have.”
Bambi dug in Ben’s pack and came out with the emergency beacon. This”—he wore gloves with open fingertips and hovered the bare tip of his index finger over a square key with a red dot—“is what you push. Once is enough. You get a tone, a flash here.” He ran a finger over the area above it. “Stay put. Stay out of sight until you’ve confirmed any boat or plane is a friendly rescue.” Ben watched him replace the beacon in the pack. Gemma not trusting him enough to tell him about the locators didn’t sit well. Not saying she was related to Sam and an admiral didn’t make him feel good either.
“One more thing.” Bambi looked at each of them pointedly. “Either one of you have any martial arts, self-defense training? Been involved in an up-close and personal fight where you felt like your life was threatened?”
Gemma shifted uncomfortably. “Why do you need to know that?”
“So I can determine the kind of help we give if trouble finds you. Don’t want to pull part of the team away to help you when you can take care of yourself.”
Bambi looked to him. “Doc?”
“I do a little weight training, run a few times a week. A while back when you had me pinned to the ground I was worried,” Ben said, sitting up. “But it wasn’t as bad as fifth grade. Eileen Pinckney stabbed me in the arm with her pencil and I pushed her out of her seat. I’ve still got the scar.” He held up his left arm, looking for the tiny indentation.
Bambi took off his hat, rubbed his forehead, then washed a hand over his face.
“She was a head taller and said she was gonna kill me,” Ben added.
“Thanks for sharing,” Bambi said, trying to hold back a smile and not succeeding.
“Ma’am?”
Gemma hesitated.
“Ma’am, what about you?”
“Mixed martial arts and kickbox training two to three times a week. Hunter was the third time.”
When she didn’t expand, Bambi pressed her. “Ma’am, it’s important.”
“A female officer and I were . . . were confronted by some men.” She moved around. Her eyes darted between them.
“How many?” Bambi said.
“Five.”
“And?”
She made an exasperated cluck. “They went to the hospital. We went home.”
Ben was duly impressed and entertained an image of Gemma and another woman duking it out with five men. From the look on Bambi’s face he was also impressed.
“The other time,” Bambi coaxed.
“Involved weapons.” Gemma’s voice went so low Ben found himself leaning in to hear her answer. “People died.” Gemma’s gaze went up into the canopy and she hissed in a long breath and let it go slowly. “I was ordered to accompany some lawmakers on a fact-finding mission.” The last words were coated in bitterness. “To a country south of the U.S. A particular group took exception to the visit. People were killed. People wounded.”
Bambi went still. He kept his gaze on Gemma, then dipped his head in an unspoken nod of approval. Bambi knew what she was talking about. Ben searched his memory. He kept on top of incidents south of the border. It was necessary to keep the teams out of harm’s way.
“One of you gonna share? I told you about Eileen Pinckney.”
The hard look Gemma shot said there would be no sharing.
Bambi checked his watch and broke the silence. “We have a couple hours. Get some rest. I’ll stay awake.”
“What about the afternoon rains?” Gemma asked.
“None today,” Bambi said.
Gemma looked around her, brushed the tarp then laid down on her side, her arm folded under her head, her back to Ben.
Ben had been going south of the border for seven years. He searched his memory for any incidents and could only recall one. The medical staff were set to fly to Guatemala and the State Department yanked their approvals. Things south of the boarder were unsettled and their safety couldn’t be guaranteed. A drug cartel attacked U.S. and Mexican officials visiting a Mexican state. Local police and military refused to assist the group for fear of cartel reprisals. A handful of agents and military officers traveling with the officials protected the group for hours until U.S. special teams arrived in helicopters. In the suffocating jungle heat a chill skittered over him. Geezus. Gemma was there.
Chapter 7
Gemma woke to Bambi nudging her. “Time to move.” She rolled to her back and yawned. Ben was already standing.
“You get any sleep?” She stretched and yawned again.
“Not as much as you,” Ben said, offering a hand. She grasped it and he pulled her to her feet.
“I expect it to take a good hour to reach the rest,” Bambi said. “We’re going to be moving slow and quiet.” He handed a small plastic container over to Gemma. “Slather up with that skeeter repellent and ah . . . you have any bathroom business to take care of, now is the time. Once you settle in tonight you won’t be moving.” He headed off to take care of his business and Gemma and Ben took opposite points of the compass to do the same.
Bambi moved them at a slow pace, keeping the noise down, stopping several times to point where Ben should put his size twelves. Bambi nailed the time perfectly. They reached the others after an hour hike. Technically, there were still a couple of hours left before nightfall, but this deep into the jungle the light was already lost. Hunter took over and guided them to a spot at the base of a tree surrounded with dense growth. A small camouflaged tarp was stretched among the foliage. Gemma would have passed it by if Hunter hadn’t pointed it out. Inside, a downed palm trunk created a bench for them to sit more comfortably. Their backs were against a large tree, they were off the ground and could move their legs occasionally, preventing cramping. And, thank you very much, another tarp covered the ground. “Bet you never thought about spending the night with six men like this,” Hunter whispered as
he handed in the packs.
Gemma winked. “You’re right,” she whispered back. “When I think about spending the night with six men they’re naked and it sure as hell isn’t doing this.” Hunter’s eyes went wide. Ben stifled a laugh and Bambi snorted as he scrambled away.
“There’s been activity at the sub and we’re going silent. No talking or movement here on out. Bambi tell you the rules?”
“Yes,” they said in unison.
“You’re clear? Especially about the weapon?”
“We’re crystal,” Gemma said.
“Sleep,” Hunter said and backed out of the shelter. Gemma rested her hand on his arm. “Thanks for this.” She tipped her head.
“See ya round 0100.” His black and green painted face vanished behind the tarp he now anchored into the ground. Two slits in the tarp at eye level gave them limited view of the jungle directly in front.
Tension drained, replaced by relief. Walsh was now protected by six people instead of one. It was risky bringing him this close to possible action. The risk was far outweighed by the fact he now had many protectors. On the trek here she’d reminded Bambi that civilians in a hot zone were a number-one priority to be protected at all costs. Ben protested. She’d told him to be quiet and do as ordered.
The energy she’d gotten from her power sleep was long gone, drained by heat, humidity and the hike. Her bones felt soft and her muscles mushy. She was so tired the trunk they sat on felt like a Pottery Barn sofa. She pulled up the edges of the ground cloth around her and Ben did the same on his end. He scooted closer, encircling her with an arm, drawing her against him. Too tired to resist or care should the other men see she gave in, she rested her head on his shoulder.
Ben’s lips brushed the top of her head. “Why didn’t you tell me who you are?” he whispered. His chest rose.
What part of quiet wasn’t he understanding? Her cheek scraped the scruff on his jaw as she lifted her head to look at him. “Shhh.” She shook her head furiously, putting her fingers to his mouth and tipped her head in the direction she thought Hunter was. “Don’t . . . want . . . to give . . . away position.” The jungle gave up a grunt of agreement. Ben smiled against her fingers, then pressed her head down to his shoulder. She let him, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his warm sweaty body against her equally warm and sweaty bod. Her eyes closed and the next thing she knew a hand covered her mouth, launching her full awake. Ben’s body flinched against hers as he undoubtedly woke to the same experience. Unable to see anything more than eyes inches from her own, she wasn’t sure who belonged to the hand.
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