My Spy: Last Spy Standing

by Dana Marton

  He should have taken the kid before they’d gotten this far. He’d thought about it several times during the night at their makeshift camp in the jungle, then again during the long trek that had brought them here. Yet he hadn’t acted.

  Something had stopped him, and if he wanted to be honest, he had to admit—at least to himself—that something was Megan. He wanted her to be able to save her brother. Even if she’d used him. If he was going to catch any flak for that from the Colonel, he would just have to deal with it.

  The jumble of structures that made up the compound didn’t seem to have been built according to any logical plan. It didn’t seem possible that law enforcement hadn’t discovered the place. The two-acre clearing in the jungle had to be clearly visible from the air. On top of the largest building, a two-story Spanish-style house complete with a balcony, there was even a helipad. A chopper was parked there at the moment.

  Juarez’s camp—with its roughly made wooden shacks—had an air of impermanence. He camped like a man who knew he might have to disappear at any moment, putting as little work as possible into the place and spending as little money on it as possible.

  Here, only half of the dozen buildings were the traditional wooden abodes with palm-frond thatching that were native to the area. The rest were made from brick and cement. Every building had power—the hum of generators filled the air. The lights were on behind almost every window and more were strung between the buildings, holding back the night.

  A semidecent road led to the compound’s gate, the only entry through the barbed wire fence that guarded the perimeter to keep out the wild animals. Mitch didn’t think the policía ever came here, unless it was to pick up bribes. From the sweet setup, it sure looked like Don Pedro had friends in high places who provided him with protection against such inconveniences as police raids.

  “Tequila, amigo?” A man who could barely stand propped himself against a building and waved his bottle at Mitch.

  “No, thanks. I’m good for now, I think.” He gave a friendly laugh as he moved on.

  The place buzzed with people; it was crowded with all the newcomers. Juarez wasn’t the only visitor. At least four other captains had come with their posses, from what Mitch had been able to overhear. Cristobal was among them. A mean one, from the looks of him.

  His eyes said he’d shoot you if you so much as sneezed. A heavyset man, but not in the way Juarez was. Cristobal had the build and demeanor of a prizefighter. His face was scarred and his nose was crooked—it must have been broken in the past. Mitch had caught a glimpse of the man when the captains had gone up to the don’s big house together.

  He headed toward the cantina and nodded to the men already there, but didn’t join any of their conversations or arguments. Didn’t say anything but “Gracias,” when a quarter bottle of homemade tequila was offered to him. He settled on a log in the corner, his back resting against the rough-hewn wood of the wall, his eyes half-closed, the very picture of a man exhausted by the long trip.

  He listened. Also, he kept an eye out for Megan, but didn’t see her. She was probably looking for her brother.

  The talk centered on guns and women. Nobody was talking about Zak, or where any prisoners might be kept. After half an hour, Mitch slipped away. A useful clue could have saved him considerable time, but from the way the conversation had gone, sticking around would just have been a waste of time.

  He shouldn’t have let the kid out of his sight. But Juarez had wanted him to help unload the Jeeps, and there had been no way to refuse the boss without arousing suspicion. And by the time Juarez had been done with him, the kid had disappeared into one of the buildings.

  Except, he was no longer there. Mitch had checked that building first, the moment he’d been able to get away. He didn’t find any bloodstains on the floor, at least, which gave him hope that the kid was still alive. They’d just moved him when Mitch hadn’t been looking.

  Don Pedro was busy this evening receiving his captains, who’d probably give him reports on their activities and his cut of the cash from all the shady businesses they ran. But the grace period wasn’t likely to last beyond morning. Tonight, the men ate and drank. They would do that long into the night, at the rate they were going. But in the morning, they would remember Zak, the man who’d shot the don’s half brother. Then there would be a reckoning.

  Mitch had until then to get the kid away from here. That was all the time Megan had, too. When Mitch disappeared with Zak, her close association with him would get her into trouble. She couldn’t afford to linger. He hoped she was making headway.

  He stopped to adjust his left boot, glancing around surreptitiously to make sure no one was watching him. Then he ducked into a narrow space between two buildings.

  Nobody called out after him.

  He moved quickly, looking for entry into either building. Eventually he found a padlocked door on the right. It took him less than two minutes to get in.

  The lights were out, but enough moonlight came in through a row of windows that he could see the half-dozen long tables that lined the walls. And scales, wrapping materials, all the paraphernalia of a serious drug operation.

  He glanced up at a narrow walkway suspended from the roof beams. When the workers were getting these packages ready, a couple of armed guards probably stood up there, making sure nobody stole anything, making sure there was no trouble.

  He walked around and checked every shadowed corner, knowing if Zak was tied up in here somewhere, he might not be in good enough shape to call out for help, even if the kid did see him in the semidarkness.

  A ten-minute search turned up no sign of him. No sign of Megan’s brother, either. Zak was his priority, but if he found Billy, if the man was still alive, he would help Megan. He might not have had a brother, but he did have Cindy, a sister he would have killed or died for.

  He understood where Megan was coming from. Understood it and respected it. That was why he was still here, instead of already cutting through the jungle on his way back home with Zak.

  It didn’t have anything to do with the way his heart stumbled every time he looked at Megan Cassidy. Definitely not. That would be stupid.

  He eased back out the way he’d come in and snapped the padlock closed behind him.

  “Que pasa, gringo?”

  The voice made him spin. Juarez. The meeting with Don Pedro must be over.

  Mitch made a point of craning his neck around. “I thought I saw a woman come in here.” He put a confused look on his face as he came forward from between the buildings, making himself sway on his feet. “I swear the mujer disappeared into nothing.” He blinked hard. “What do they put into the tequila around here, anyway?”

  The boss laughed at him. “A mujer, eh? Come with me.”

  He hesitated for a second, calculating how quickly he could grab his knife and sink it into the man’s heart, how quickly he could drag him into the shadows of the narrow space.

  Quickly enough, if there weren’t any others around. But a handful of men played a dice game in the dust in front of the building opposite them and, alerted by Juarez’s voice, they kept looking his way.

  He joined Juarez with a forced grin. “Lead the way.”

  Half an hour went to waste before he could get away again, leaving one relieved woman behind. With all the strangers in camp and all the drinking, the women had plenty of requests and were plenty tired. The woman Juarez had introduced him to hadn’t taken offense when he’d changed his mind. He even got an affectionate pat on the back. Judging by the noises coming from the loft above the stables that housed the packing mules, Juarez was oblivious to anything but his own satisfaction.

  Mitch checked the stables on his way out and found two more couples who were taking advantage of the soft hay, but no sign of Zak or Billy.

  He ducked out the door, heading for another building he hadn’t checked yet. The main house, the one with the balcony and the helipad on the roof, he was leaving for last. Don Pedro’s private
quarters had to be well guarded. His chances of getting caught would be the highest there.

  He snuck into the barracks and found them mostly empty, save for the few men who’d drunk themselves unconscious and had somehow dragged themselves back here to crash. In the darkness, he stumbled over a boot someone had left in the middle of the room.

  “Hey, chica. Come here,” one of the drunks called from his bunk, his words followed by a hiccup.

  Mitch moved on without response, shaking his head. He worked his way back to the narrow alley where Juarez had almost caught him and rounded the building he hadn’t been able to get into before. It was dark inside. At last he came to a door in the back.

  He wiggled the doorknob. Unlocked. He stepped into the darkness, closing the door quietly behind him. He knew at once that he wasn’t alone. Tension hung thick in the air.

  “What do you want?” The barked Spanish words came from the far end of the room. People moved in the darkness. “Turn on the light.”

  Not a chance. He wasn’t about to make himself a target. He ducked low and readied his gun.

  Someone groaned. Two muffled shots were fired. As if the barrel of the gun was pressed into something that dampened the sound, like a body. Not Zak, Mitch thought. Zak would be called to task in front of the don, made an example. Not Billy, either. If Megan was right, they’d had Billy for a year now. Why execute him suddenly and in secret?

  He opened the door at his back and rolled out of the building a second before a bullet shattered the door frame. This one would be heard. He dashed into the bushes behind the building and laid low. Three men rushed out, but they only looked for him for a few seconds before taking off. They knew the gunshot would bring the don’s guards.

  Sure enough, shouts rose in the camp. Mitch couldn’t move without being seen. But if they found him here... He couldn’t afford to be held and questioned. As the night wore on, Zak was running out of time.

  He couldn’t slip into the jungle, either. The fence was at his back. He was trapped.

  * * *

  MEGAN HAD BEEN HIDING behind the cantina for at least twenty minutes when the gunshot sounded and all the men she was watching ran off in that direction. Hopefully, Mitch wasn’t in trouble. She shouldn’t have cared as much as she did. Of course, she shouldn’t have slept with him, either. There was something about him that made her break rules she’d never broken before, something that put that funny fluttering in the middle of her chest.

  But it wasn’t anything she could stop and contemplate at the moment.

  When the area cleared at last, she headed for a double-padlocked door in the back, which she thought might lead to her brother. No other place she’d checked so far held any clues. She prayed to God this would be it.

  She picked the lock and stepped inside the dark space. Her senses told her she was in a small room. Wood planks squeaked under her feet as she stepped forward tentatively. Her heart beat faster.

  Every cell of her body was alive and alert. After a year of planning and jockeying for Juarez’s attention, she had finally made it; she was here. Billy had to be somewhere nearby. This was it. She grinned into the darkness, then reminded herself not to get too carried away on the rising tide of hope. She needed to keep her focus, now more than ever.

  She moved forward by feel, bumping into a soft, solid mass that could have been a dead body, but turned out to be a sack of something. Her hands, held out in front of her, grazed jars. Glass clinked in the darkness. She felt a shelf. She was in the pantry. Well, all right. Logical for a room built right into the side of the cantina.

  She didn’t dare turn on the light, so she lit a match and looked around carefully to make sure she didn’t miss any hidden doors or crawl spaces where a prisoner could be stashed.

  She saw nothing. No way out of the pantry except the way she’d come in. Disappointment tightened her throat as the match went out. She only let the feeling touch her for a second. She shook off all negativity before she exited.

  A couple of drunks were singing about love and war in the distance. Didn’t hit a single note between them. She cringed as she snuck in the opposite direction. She had one more building to check before she moved on to the main house, the most well-protected place in the compound.

  Everything she saw she cataloged, every crate of guns she found she tagged, every word she overheard she remembered. She was still a CIA operative and planned on filing a report when she got back to the office. She hoped that would make up for her gross breach of conduct here at least a little.

  She made a note of the helicopter on the roof up ahead. She hadn’t flown one in years, but in a pinch... She snuck toward another cement building that was a quarter of the size of the main one. This one had a double lock instead of a padlock. Her hopes rose. They must keep something important here.

  But as her heart raced, she heard the sound of a few men approaching and pulled herself into the shadows.

  “Then what the hell was the shot about?”

  “Guard said he couldn’t find anything.”

  “Probably Jose got drunk again and couldn’t help showing off his new pistol to his buddies.”

  “The man could never hold his liquor. He’s worse than a woman.” The speaker spat into the dust as his friends laughed in agreement.

  She didn’t move back to the door until they were well away. She pulled her set of picks from her back pocket. But before she could put them into the lock, the door opened. The building wasn’t dark—the windows had just been blacked out from inside, she realized, too late.

  “Chica.” An immediate grin spread on the man’s pockmarked face as he looked her over. “I saw you earlier.” He lifted a bottle toward her. “You want to go someplace for a drink?”

  He was better dressed and more well-spoken than most of the others. He probably had a higher position in the organization, which didn’t impress Megan.

  “No thanks. I like to stop while I can still stand.”

  “A woman with principles.” The man nodded. “Can’t find many of those in the jungle.” He watched her thoughtfully for a second. “You belong to Juarez?”

  “Gotta have a protector in this business.” She shrugged.

  “True enough.” The man looked her over again, this time with regret. “You better find your man before you get into trouble. The boys had too much to drink tonight. They see a pretty girl... They aren’t thinking.”

  “I was just looking for him.”

  “He’s not in here.” The man locked the door behind him, then took off for the barracks without a backward glance.

  She moved on, circling around the building. When a large cloud covered the moon, she tried the front door again. The double lock was tricky to pick, but not impossible. Then she was in, with the door closed behind her.

  Since the windows were blacked out, not a smidgen of light filtered in from the outside. She reached for the light switch, but couldn’t find it. Some of the small buildings she’d been in had pull switches that hung from a light in the middle of the room. This place probably had the same. She moved forward.

  Then a small noise made her freeze.

  She held her breath, listening.

  She didn’t hear another sound, yet every instinct she had screamed that someone was moving toward her. The short hairs at her nape stood on end. She pulled her knife. The gun would make too much noise and draw an audience.

  She backed away slowly, silently, until her back bumped into the wall. Pulse beating, she waited.

  No attack came.

  The silence continued until she thought she might have just imagined the noise earlier. But, no, she definitely felt a presence.

  She turned toward the door. She would come back later.

  A solid wall of flesh blocked her way. She bit her lip hard to keep from screaming. Then steel arms came around her to restrain her, knocking the knife from her hand.

  “It’s me,” Mitch whispered into her ear just as she brought up her elbow to launch an at
tack.

  “Was that necessary?” She smacked him on the chest, both angry with him and relieved beyond words. Something inside pushed her to lean against him. She checked that impulse and didn’t give in to it.

  “I didn’t know who you were until you came close enough that I could smell your shampoo.”

  He’d made that up. She hadn’t washed her hair since they’d been at Juarez’s camp. No way he could still smell that.

  “How did you get in?” She moved away from him in the darkness. Maybe a little distance would stop her from being so aware of his body.

  “Back window, while you were chatting up your guy up front.”

  “He’s not my guy,” she snapped, annoyed with the situation, and the fact that she still hadn’t found Billy. “Did you find anything?”

  “Two extra rooms in the back. All locked up tight.” His sexy voice skittered along her skin.

  “Been inside yet?”

  “I was about to see to the locks when you interrupted me. Careful.” He took her hand and led the way back through the darkness. “Where have you been?”

  She shouldn’t have enjoyed his touch so much. They weren’t holding hands in a romantic way. He’d already been across the room and knew the path, leading her only to make sure she wouldn’t bump into anything and give them away.

  Knowing that didn’t stop heat spreading across her skin, however. She tried not to think of his hands on other places on her body, but she failed. The night she’d spent in his hammock refused to be forgotten.

  Focus on Billy.

  “I’ve checked everywhere but here and the main house. Did you have anything to do with that gunshot?”

  “No, but I was there. Would have gotten caught, too, if not for a hole in the fence.” He lit a match so they could see the lock.

  There was a hole in the fence. Good to know. “What was it about?”

  “Not sure. Could be Cristobal is making his move. Or private business between the don’s men? Could be about drugs or a woman.”

  They reached the door and he let go of her hand.

  She immediately missed his touch. “The don’s men were shooting at each other?”