Buried Beneath

by Debbie Baldwin

  “But…” she protested.

  “No buts, Evan. Go.”

  He turned back to the room, then checked the time: four and a half minutes. It took at least three just to navigate the mine. They were out of time.

  Joseph scrambled over to the tidal pool and plunged a hand into the water.

  “Joseph, this mine is full of C4. You’ll be strip mining this mountain tomorrow.” Cam tried to reason with him.

  “I don’t care. Go ahead. I saw where it went into the water. It's right here.” He plunged his hand into the pool again and again. “It's so close. I’m so close.”

  Cam knocked the older man out cold with a well-placed punch. He backed out of the cave pulling Joseph through the hole.

  Two delicate hands grabbed the older man and heaved.

  “Damnit, Evan, I told you to run,” Cam snapped.

  “I’m not leaving you, Miguel,” she calmly replied.

  Cam growled his frustration, hoisted Joseph onto his shoulder in a fireman's carry, and moved to the door.

  “No.” Evan stood by the original hole Cam had made with the sledgehammer when he first caught her in the cave. “This way.”

  She was right. It would be tricky in the dark, carrying a body, but the distance to the beach was much shorter. “Go. I’m right behind you.”

  Together they made their way through the darkness, dragging Joseph through the tight openings, moving as quickly as the enveloping rocks would allow.

  When they emerged into the large entry cave, Cam yelled, “Get to the water!”

  Together they sprinted into the surf. Evan was a strong swimmer, and Cam had been trained to swim with an incapacitated teammate. Joseph regained consciousness after a few strokes, and together they maneuvered to a buoy and held on.

  It started as a low rumble in the darkness, like the sound of a freight train. Then came muffled explosions, one after the next. Cam and Evan stared up as the mountain seemed to collapse into itself. Finally, a violent eruption blew from beneath the ground. They could see the flames even from sea level. Huge chunks of rock and debris flew through the air showering the beach and falling into the water. Smoke poured from every cave opening along the shore.

  “You should have left me there.” Joseph stared without seeing. “The Panther's Eye is truly lost.”

  Cam turned to Evan, and she bobbed into the circle of his arm. He kissed the top of her head. For a second before he held her, she had the strangest look on her face.

  After the team had located them and Joseph was taken into custody, Cam told Tox he’d catch up, and the group had fallen back to give him a moment. Cam and Evan stood on the beach, facing each other in the dim dawn. He cupped her face in his palms.

  “I need to show you something.” Evan reached into her pocket and withdrew the diamond.

  “What the hell? How?” Cam stared at the stone in shock.

  “I threw my whacking rock. I switched them when you pushed me behind you to shield me.”

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  “Distraction and sleight of hand.” She spread the fingers of her free hand and fanned them in a circle.

  “My little magician.”

  “I need to get this to Doctor Emberton,” Evan said.

  “What’ll happen to it?” Cam asked.

  “I imagine it’ll be turned over to the Spanish government. The caves are public land. I know I don’t get to keep it.”

  “Well, you better get a finders fee or something. You earned it.” He brushed her hair back from her face.

  “Technically, you deserve the finders fee. You found it.”

  “Nah. I was never there. Remember?”

  She slipped the gem back into her pocket and laced her fingers between his.

  Cam looked at her. “I wish I could take a picture of you right now. This pink light…” He shook his head without finishing the thought.

  A tear ran down her cheek. “I don’t know why I’m crying. We’re safe. The good guys won, and we made the archaeological discovery of a lifetime.” She swiped at the tears.

  “Lost potential, I think,” he said sadly.

  “Maybe we can find it again, our potential. We’re good at finding things.”

  “Maybe we can.” He cupped her face. “I know I don’t want this to be the last time I see you.”

  “So… you’ll be in touch?”

  “I’ll be in touch.” He bent to kiss her.

  “I think I love you, Miguel.”

  Miguel. Her words cut him like a knife. She loved Miguel. It was more than Cam could process, so he continued the motion and placed the kiss meant for her lips on her forehead.

  “Bye.” He stepped back.

  “Bye for now. Right?” she clarified.

  He stared into tear-filled cinnamon-colored eyes, choking on words unspoken. Of all the things bouncing around in his fucked up head, the one thing that had come out was the last thing he ever wanted to say to her. Goodbye.

  “Right.”

  She smiled through her tears. “Bye.”

  Cam ran his fingers down her cheek in the now-familiar motion she loved, then turned and walked away.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Palma, Mallorca

  December 15

  C

  am emerged from the shower and dried off, careful to avoid his injuries. The pain was almost a relief. It was easier to focus on his marred skin than the pain in his chest. Evan had called him Miguel. She had wanted Miguel. Why? He applied a fresh bandage to his hip, pressing down on the raw flesh. Miguel was a lowlife out for his own gain and nothing more. How could she be drawn to such darkness? How could she want a man who had done the things Miguel had done?

  It was like a psychotic love triangle.

  He shook off the lament. It didn’t matter. His work with the CIA was over. He could now finally bury Miguel Ramirez. And Evan? His emotions were a knotted ball of twine that he just didn’t have the energy to untangle.

  He pulled on a pair of sweatpants and walked out to the bedroom only to halt when he spotted Chat sitting at the desk reading something on his phone.

  “Hey, hermano. Everything okay?” Cam asked.

  “I was going to ask you the same thing,” Chat's brown eyes met his.

  “Just bracing myself for the shitstorm of ribbing from the guys.”

  “Yeah, I can’t help you there, brother. A supermodel kidnapped you. It sounds like the title of a bad porno.”

  “That's exactly what I said!” Cam bellowed.

  When their laughter subsided, Cam pulled on a T-shirt and v-neck sweater.

  “So, how did you leave things with Evan?”

  Cam turned to the dresser to avoid his friends’ probing gaze. “There are no things to leave.”

  “You sure about that?” Chat probed.

  The simple question broke Cam's emotional dam. He sat on the bed and spoke to the floor. He shared how his undercover work had created this fracture in his personality, how he had taken all of his negative qualities and poured them into Miguel Ramirez. How he sometimes felt physically sick thinking about the things he’d done. Finally, he confided the worst of it. Evan had wanted Miguel. She had prayed in that cave for Miguel to help her.

  Chat listened, his bald head nodding along, his chocolate eyes understanding. When Cam had finished, Chat drummed a pencil on the desk. “That's a lot to unpack.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let me ask you, when you go under, when you take on the persona of Miguel Ramirez, you prepare, correct?”

  “Yes, for weeks. I study his background, establish the legend. I have to be prepared for any situation. I have to respond as Miguel without hesitation.”

  “But this time, you didn’t have time to do that, correct?”

  “Well, the identity is already established.” Cam countered.

  “Yes, on paper, you know everything about Miguel Ramirez, but were you him? Had you immersed yourself in the cover?”

  Cam thought about it,
keeping his eyes to the ground.

  Chat continued, “I ask because I think when you rescued Evan from the stingray attack, you were Cam.”

  Cam spoke to the floor. “She called me a seal.”

  “What?”

  “When I was carrying her out of the water, she said, ‘You’re a seal.’ She meant the animal, but I almost dropped her.”

  “That proves my point,” Chat insisted.

  “What is your point?”

  “That regardless of what you called yourself on this op, you were Cam. Would Miguel Ramirez have reacted to a SEAL reference? Would Miguel have even gone into the water to save her? You may have used the accent, changed your walk and your demeanor, but I think you know deep down that when you were with Evan, you were Cam. Think of all the things you would have done differently with her if you had been Miguel Ramirez.”

  Cam's eyes shot up to his friend. “How can you possibly know that?”

  “Because Miguel Ramirez is not capable of love. And you, my brother, are in love.”

  Cam didn’t deny it. Chat stood and sent a text. Cam's replacement phone that the team had delivered buzzed in the corner. “I can spot a man in love, but you may need some help with the other stuff. I texted you the name of a doc in Beaufort. He's a veteran and a smart guy. Nobody expects you to sort this shit on your own. Frankly, you’d be a fool to try.”

  “I seem that fucked up, huh?”

  Chat grinned. “Seriously fucked up. See you at lunch, brother.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  South Island, South Carolina

  December 20

  T

  he new deck smelled of cedar and varnish. Holding a mug of coffee, Steady tested the surface and, finding it dry, stepped out into a chilly morning.

  The beach was framed by a rosy sky, quiet but for the swoosh of the incoming tide. Steady turned the other way. The sky was not the only pink thing enhancing the beauty of the scene. A puff of a pink ponytail bounced away from him in the distance. His neighbor, Very. Yes, he thought, she was very. Very intriguing, very sexy, very smart—then when she turned and headed back the way she had come, he added another descriptor to his list—very beautiful.

  Her feet pounded the sand as she sprinted the final distance. Long legs in turquoise tie-dye flew. She slowed to a jog when she reached his stretch of beach. Then she stopped and faced him.

  “Are you Steady? Twitch's friend?”

  Delighted Twitch had mentioned him—hopefully as the handsome and handy guy next door—he nodded enthusiastically. “That's me.”

  She stared at him for a moment, her chest rising and falling under an orange University of Virginia hoodie. Then she shouted, “keep that telescope pointed at the sky, pervert.”

  And with that, she jogged off, the red neon stripes on her trainers fading like disappearing taillights.

  Steady set his mug of coffee on the flat railing and stood there for a full minute with his mouth hanging open. Then he threw back his head and laughed. This girl was aptly named. She was Very.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  South Island, South Carolina

  December 21

  “S

  on, let me educate you on the subtleties of poker.” Steady puffed on a cigar and fanned his cards on the table. “See these two ladies here? They are queens. And they beat that dumpster fire of a hand you’re showing me.”

  Steady, Tox, Herc, Ren, Chat, and Cam were on Steady's newly repaired deck, crammed around a makeshift card table consisting of a plank resting on two sawhorses. Platters of sandwiches and bowls of snacks, courtesy of Maggie Bishop, bookended the poker game. The folding card table Herc had commandeered from Charlie Bishop's garage served as the bar.

  It was a cool night, an Atlantic breeze blew in, and the full moon hung low on the horizon. It was an idyllic setting for anyone, but for these men who had camped on frigid mountain cliffs, trudged through swamps, and slept in critter-infested jungles, it was heaven.

  “Whatever.” Herc Reynolds shoved his pair of nines into the center of the table.

  Steady grinned around his stogie and gathered the chips.

  Cam tossed his cards back. “Let somebody else deal, Steady. I’ve had shit hands all night.”

  Tox shoved his shoulder. “Cam's just grumpy he has to look at our ugly mugs across the table.”

  Herc reached for a sandwich. “Gemini March. Jeez, I had her poster above my bunk at sniper school.”

  “And I bet you hit that target a few times.” Steady's jibe was met with a shower of popcorn from Tox.

  “Dude, spare us that image.” Tox puffed out his cheeks in a fake gag.

  Cam gathered his cards one at a time as they were dealt. “Who's the craziest woman you’ve ever met?”

  That popped the lid on a can of worms.

  Chat slid a hand across his bald head. “Who wants to go first? Steady? The omelet girl? Ren? The screeper?”

  “Okay, elaborate.” Cam urged, happy to have the attention off of him.

  Steady just stared at his cards. “Suffice it to say, I was getting raw egg out of shit for weeks.”

  “What's a ‘screeper’?” Herc asked around a bite of a turkey sandwich.

  Ren banged his forehead on the table. “Screamer, weeper.”

  Tox did his best impression. “Re-hen-hen-hen, Re-hen-hen-hen! I didn’t know if you were railing her or killing her.”

  Ren still had his head on the table. “She was doing that before I did either one, so, trust me, it was a tough decision.”

  Ren popped his head up and laughed out his question. “Remember that chick who showed up at the base claiming to be Tox's wife?”

  Steady slapped Tox on the back. “And she didn’t know his real name.”

  Herc sputtered, “Who did she say she was? Mrs. Tox?”

  “Yes!” Ren laughed.

  “So, take that crazy and multiply it by ten.” Cam traded two cards to the dealer.

  Herc smirked. “Still might be worth it.”

  “I don’t know.” Chat fanned out his cards. “Things worked out for her pretty well in the end.”

  “How so?” Cam asked.

  “Her beloved father dies in a suspicious plane crash, and a cousin she has every reason to despise swoops in and not only takes over the company but sets up a heroin operation. Meanwhile, she just happens to be hot as hell for a guy who just happens to be an undercover CIA officer, and she just happens to put him right in the middle of her cousin's drug ring. That's a lot of happy accidents for a flighty model who just wanted to get you into bed.”

  Tox drained his beer and grabbed another from the cooler. “Gentlemen, let's raise a glass to Cam.” The men all grabbed their beverages. “To the only motherfucker in the Navy,” he glanced around as if he were checking for eavesdroppers, then stage-whispered, “or the CIA, who could land himself neck-deep in shit because some broad was obsessed with his trouser torpedo. To the undisputed Boss of Fuck.”

  Cam shook his head, smiling as the men clinked glasses and bottles. “That fucking nickname is gonna haunt me.”

  “Till the day you die.” Steady spoke around the cigar as he arranged his cards.

  Cam set his cards down. “She called me that.”

  “Who? Gemini?” Ren asked.

  “Yes, Gemini,” Cam confirmed. “She called me the Boss of Fuck.”

  “How could she have known it? It wasn’t Miguel's nickname.” Steady asked.

  Cam stood and walked over to the railing like a zombie, images flashing in his head like a slideshow:

  Gemini walking into the club in Ibiza when his informant failed to show up.

  Who are you waiting for?

  You.

  You’re right about that.

  Joseph talking to him beneath the portrait of her late father.

  He was a brilliant businessman. A strategist. He wanted to take Gemini under his wing, but she never seemed to show any interest…

  Gemini is the star of the show.

&n
bsp; Gemini straddling him and whipping him.

  Tonight, the Boss of Fuck will work for me.

  The truth hit him like a bolt of lightning crashing through his being.

  Gemini March is The Conductor.

  He repeated the thought aloud.

  “Gemini March is The Conductor.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Steady said. “She's featured in Glamour Magazine this month discussing the pitfalls of liquid eyeliner.”

  Herc added, “You think the gorgeous supermodel thing is just some cover?”

  “No. It's not just some cover. It's the perfect cover.” Cam explained. “Her father, Ulysses, was a brilliant strategist with a global network. Joseph Nabeel told me Ulysses tried to bring Gemini into the business, but the more he tried, the more she became interested in modeling. What if her father laid the groundwork for The Conductor while she laid the groundwork for the perfect alternate identity?”

  “Calliope did make a note of Gemini's travel schedule when she interviewed her. Lotta hotspots on that list,” Ren noted.

  Tox said, “According to her official bio, she started modeling at fourteen when she was discovered in Paris. She's been in the business a long time. She’d certainly know how to work the system to her advantage.”

  “Exactly. She can be in Malaysia for a runway show or Somalia for a humanitarian mission. It's fucking genius when you think about it.” Cam turned to the group. “Where's Nathan?”

  “At home with his family, I imagine,” Ren said.

  “Call him and tell him I’m coming. I need to see that video.”

  Cam tore through the house and out the door, hopped into his car, and took off.

  Nathan was waiting on the front porch, barefoot in jeans and a T-shirt.

  “What's going on?” he asked.

  “You still have the flash drive?” Cam stood at the foot of the porch steps.

  “It's in my office. Come on in.” Nathan waved him inside.