by J. M. Madden
Shane DeRossett was the youngest of this group, another former Marine, standing with his hands on his hips and chest forward, a smile splitting his handsome face. He had a Texas A&M hat planted on his thick brown hair and reflective wraparounds over his eyes. Duncan had said that Shane was a go-getter but plagued with some vertigo from the loss of his right eye and a percussive concussion in an IED blast just a couple of years ago. Of all of the men that had volunteered, Duncan worried that he would be their weak link, simply because he hadn’t been in therapy as long.
The statement had surprised him and impressed him. If the guy was cognizant enough to know that he needed help, hopefully he’d be just as aware on an op.
Fontana appreciated the ballsy attitude, though. He watched the younger man closely but didn’t see any hint that DeRossett had any issues. More importantly he didn’t feel any anxiety plaguing the younger man.
The volunteers hadn’t exactly been crawling out of the woodwork. Most of the people that worked at LNF had gotten used to a slower, less-dangerous way of life, and John had said that many were married now, with young families. Fontana couldn’t blame them for not wanting to possibly jump into the jungle from a helicopter and face armed mercenaries.
Fontana knew there was a very real chance of death with this op, but it would kill him not to know, for sure, as definitive fact, that there were no other servicemen being tortured as he had been. The past two years had been difficult, waiting for something to happen. It was no one’s fault, per se, other than the company’s, just keeping them on edge and apart for that long.
Now, though, things were happening, and it was hard to rein in his excitement. The men that had volunteered were top-notch and even if the entire operation was a bust, he would enjoy getting back out into the field.
Aiden began explaining to the men exactly what would be required of them, and broached the subject of the enhancements. The men seemed leery at first, then skeptical. Zero’s gaze flicked to the trash can, where the pile of glass had been swept away, and the bare fluorescent fixture above their heads. It was obvious something had happened, but Fontana wasn’t going to volunteer the information.
“Let’s just say that if we get into a pickle we might have a bit of an advantage,” he murmured, confident in his own skills.
“Sounds fine to me,” Kenny said, reclining back in the office chair as much as he could.
The rest nodded or shrugged, accepting. They would see what he would do in action before judgement.
Jordyn walked into the room to a round of hellos, then rousing excitement when Fontana informed them she would be flying them in. She waved a hand negligently before looking at Aiden and Duncan. “It’s a go. She’ll be fueled up and ready to go by the time we get there.”
Everyone looked back and forth, and they all realized that the entire op was a go, not just pieces of it. Fontana stood. “Let’s bug out.”
Chapter Three
John handed Fontana and Madeira each a satellite phone. “Just in case your radios cut out. They’re already programmed with the numbers. You can drop a pin on each location and we’ll be able to follow you, too.”
He also handed Madeira a small, handheld gray box. “That has the supposed locations of all three camps, and it’s so much more accurate than the sat phones. You should be able to measure in feet rather than miles.”
Brian handed Fontana a small zipped men’s shower bag. “Grease for palms,” he grinned. “If you need more, call me and I’ll direct you to one of the banks down there for a pickup.”
Then he handed each of the other members of the team separate envelopes with a stack of Venezuelan bolivars inside. Jordyn also got a company card that could be used for fuel.
Duncan watched them get ready and felt himself grow a little envious. It had been a long time since he’d been on the ground and in the heat of battle, but his heartbeat had picked up like he was about to jog into the fray. He looked at John, who had to be feeling the need even sharper. Yep, there it was, that longing in his dark eyes. As if sensing the need, Shannon rested her hand on her husband’s shoulder. When John looked up at her, Duncan was so thankful that the two of them had found each other.
Aiden seemed to be struggling with being left behind as well, and Angela wasn’t here to distract him. Duncan wasn’t sure where the detective was. Probably back at work today, if her bruises from the altercation with the Collaborative’s mercenaries had faded enough.
Wulfe, the big German, stood off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest, watching the men gather their gear. His expression was inscrutable. So far he’d been the most remote of the group.
They all had jobs to do. That was what they needed to remember. Yes, Alpha Team was heading into the jungle, but they had plenty to do on their own end. Aiden would be tracking their movements through GPS if they had a signal, and Wulfe would be heading back to Arlington to watch the main players in the company. There had to be some kind of fallout from Priscilla Mattingly’s death, and Duncan wanted eyes on it when it happened.
He’d been happy enough running his business and dealing with the day to day issues that popped up, but things had just gotten serious. He looked at Aiden and again, no matter how many times he looked at him, it was shocking to see him cleaned up and engaged with the people around him. There was no doubt that he was, though, and he had both vindication and justice on his mind.
With some final waves, the team clattered onto the elevator, each carrying bulging bags with helmets attached. They were all armed with sidearms and long black cases, which he knew were probably H&K MP5s, or some similar submachine gun. The weapon was sturdy and dependable, and the mags interchangeable if things got hot. Duncan was glad they had something to take with them anyway. It had only been a few months since Preston Harper began updating their armory.
Payne carried a camera bag. It was one of his hobbies and he’d offered to document anything they found. It was an excellent idea, because there was no way they’d be able to transmit video or anything. it was his personal equipment, though, so he’d have to make note to have Preston buy something for future use.
They needed to keep all of the money separate, and legal. If the Collaborative started looking into them for any weakness, Duncan didn’t want them to find anything that could be used against LNF.
What kind of hornet’s nest was he poking?
Jordyn laughed as Zero knocked into her shoulder. They were sitting in one of the plushest private planes she’d ever been in, and had just taken off, headed toward Venezuela, the country of her heart. They’d have to refuel before they got there, but it would still be easier logistically than trying to fly commercial.
“This is the life, huh?”
She looked around at the cushy accommodations. The seats were recliners, basically, nothing like a regular coach class plane. An attendant was handing out beverages. “It is pretty nice. I wouldn’t get used to it, though.”
“I know. Sounds like we could be dropping into a shit show. What do you think about all this?”
Jordyn shrugged, her gaze drifting over Fontana at the front of the plane. “Listening to those three, they seem pretty convincing. I think if there’s a chance that there are American servicemen being held captive someone needs to do something about it, and why shouldn’t it be us?”
Zero nodded, shifting to prop an ankle on the opposite knee. “True. It’ll be nice to do something a little more active.”
Jordyn chuckled. “I’ll remind you that you said that when we’re tromping through the jungle in the rain and the mosquitos are eating us alive.”
Zero sighed, rubbing a hand over his head. “I know.” He grinned. “Izzy wasn’t happy with me when I told her what I was doing.”
The sweet, slightly eccentric blonde was good for her buddy. He’d changed a lot in the short time she’d known him, and it had to be because of Izzy. “Well, you guys have pretty much been attached at the hip since you retired, right?”
“Y
eah, as much as possible working around her shifts at the hospital. It’s crazy Jordyn, but I’m not tired of her.”
Jordyn chuckled. “Well, that’s good to hear.”
“I’m serious.” He rolled his head to look at her. “I used to be an asshole— cold— I won’t lie. I could take a woman then leave her. But Izzy takes everything I give her and spins it around till I’m laughing my fool head off.”
Grinning, Jordyn nodded. “The right love will do that for you.”
“Have you ever been in love?”
She shook her head. “Nope. Lust, but never love.”
“You ought to try it sometime.”
She snorted. “Yeah, because there are so many men knocking on my door right now…”
Zero blinked at her. “That sounded a little self-pitying.”
Jordyn clenched her jaw, conscious of every single scar on the side of her face. The side next to him. “Not self-pitying. Realistic.”
Zero sighed. “I don’t think you look as bad as you think. A couple of the guys have asked me if you’re attached.”
She gave him a skeptical look, appreciating what he was doing.
“That Fontana has been watching you a lot. Do you know him?”
She shook her head, her gaze drifting forward in spite of herself. Fontana’s seat was turned as he spoke to one of the other men and she thought he might have just been looking at her, but she couldn’t be sure. “No, I don’t know him. Just his type.”
“Yeah, he seems a little wild, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah.”
That was the word. Wild. His golden blond hair was wild with curls, and something about his personality seemed wild as well. She couldn’t put her finger on exactly why. But seeing him standing at the base of the plane steps had given her a thrill. Fontana was as big as Zero, but seemed more…feral. She knew he had been a Navy SEAL, but it was like his nature had progressed beyond the training, if that made sense. She thought about telling Zero what had happened to her in the conference room, and the subsequent apology, but then closed her mouth. He would see what she had in a while.
Chapter Four
By the time they touched down at a small airport outside of the capital city of Caracas, their tension had ratcheted up. They were all eager to get moving, but it had taken them an entire day to get here.
Fontana looked at the fading light of the sunset and cursed inside. He had no idea what the woman’s skill level was, but he doubted she would be willing to fly a private chopper at night. The chances that it would be equipped with night flying gear were slim; that was a military thing.
He glanced at her. She had come off the plane looking refreshed and eager, but then, she’d been able to sleep on the plane. He hadn’t. The big guy with her, Zero, tried to take her packed bag, but she waved him off. Then flipped him the bird. Fontana snorted. The two of them had an interesting relationship.
The woman moved to one of the airport attendants and started speaking, waving one hand toward the lights of the city. She nodded a couple of times and he noticed that she kept the damaged side of her face away from the man as he spoke. With a final nod, she turned back to the men gathered behind her. “There’s a decent hotel less than a mile away. He’s going to call us a shuttle.”
Fontana acknowledged the man with a wave. “Gracias,” he said.
That was the smartest move. They could get started early in the morning. Fontana looked at Madeira, glad to have a reason to talk to her. “Do you need to call your contact?”
She shook her head. “I told him it would probably be tomorrow before he saw me.”
Fontana gave a nod. “Okay, then. Let’s get to the hotel.”
The shuttle arrived just a few minutes later and Fontana let Madeira take the lead in dealing with the driver. He knew a bit of Spanish, but it didn’t roll off his tongue as fluently as it did hers. She laughed with the driver, hanging over the back of his seat as the group piled on, looking dangerous. Maybe that was why she was being so friendly, to balance out their darkness. The thought made him shake his head.
The six of them were dangerous. Whether their weapons could be seen or not, there was an internal switch that had flipped as soon as they’d landed. Yes, most of them were friends and would joke around, but right now it was time to punch in and get down to business.
The driver apparently said something to Madeira that caught her off guard, because she blinked her big eyes. She pressed a hand to her chest as if in question. Fontana didn’t hear the words, exactly, but she bowed her head graciously. It was a strange interaction and he wanted to ask her about it, but he didn’t have any right to pry. It probably didn’t relate to the current operation.
The shuttle pulled into the paved loop of a decent looking hotel. It was several stories tall and well-lit, and seemed to cater to the more affluent. Not the most expensive in the area, but definitely one of the busiest. That suited him fine because it would be easier for them to blend in. The driver unfastened his seatbelt and tried to help them with their luggage, but they waved him away. There were dangerous items in their packs and it was the individual’s responsibility to guarantee their safety. A little lost as to what to do, the man turned back to Madeira.
She gave him a smile and pressed a folded bill into his palm, obviously thanking him for the ride. But the driver shook his head adamantly, shoving the money back to her. With a reproachful look at the line of photos of young children taped above the windshield, she pushed the money back into his hand. The man took it with a grateful bow of his head, and a movement from his heart to hers.
Madeira took the blessing with a smile, then headed toward the hotel lobby.
Fontana let her make the arrangements. It was why they’d brought her after all, but it gave him a reason to just watch her. Fontana looked around at the other customers. Several were watching Fontana’s team and it put him on edge. A brightly lit sign arched over a doorway to the right. It didn’t matter what country you were in or what language the signs were written in, bars were recognizable the world over. He lifted his chin toward the group. “Let’s see if they have food in there guys.”
They all knew he was just looking to get away from the crowd— they’d eaten on the plane— but they went along with him anyway, just for solidarity. He caught Madeira’s gaze as they walked by and she gave him the tiniest nod. She’d picked up the scrutiny of the crowd on them as well. It didn’t apply to her because with her coloring and obvious fluency she looked like she belonged there.
He'd worked long and hard to learn to block out external noise, but sometimes it was harder than others, like now. As tired as he was, his shields weren’t perfect, and the anxiety in the crowd had begun to get to him. Venezuela itself seemed… on edge or something. Like one shoe had dropped and they were all waiting for the other one to fall simply because they were used to being beat down.
The curiosity around them had spiked as well. Payne’s prosthetic arm and the fact that DeRossett refused to take his glasses off in the hotel had drawn attention, and he didn’t want to deal with it.
Fontana chose a fairly dark corner on the far side of the room and moved a couple of the square tables together, enough that they could sit as a group. A harried waitress wandered over when she had a minute, giving the group a wide-eyed look.
“Dos Equiis,” Fontana ordered, recognizing the bottle on the wall. He didn’t normally drink but it would at least give him something to do with his hands. Hell, it had been years since he’d actually sat down with a group of teammates and just shot the shit. He looked around the men assembled. They joked among themselves like he and his old SEAL team used to. There was a bit of distance between him and them though. He was more than just a new guy, he was the unknown element in the group.
“How did you all end up at Lost and Found?” he asked when there was a break in the conversation.
The men all looked at each other. “I think we all applied,” Payne said, leaning back in his chair. He wore a black t-
shirt, the arm on full display. Even in the bar they still had people watching them. Just not as many. “I heard about the position from a buddy of mine I’d been stationed with.”
“Same,” Kenny said, tipping back the bottle of Coke he’d asked for.
“My brother told me about it. He lives in Colorado and had seen a newspaper article about the company,” DeRossett said, tipping back in his chair. Even in the dimness of the bar he still wore the wraparound shades. “Zero is the only one hired recently that doesn’t have an actual disability.”
The man in question shrugged, light glinting off his shiny head. “I think I was mentally disabled for staying on the Teams so long when all the young studs moved in.”
They all laughed at him, nodding their heads.
DeRossett leaned toward Fontana to stage-whisper conspiratorially. “He doesn’t actually shave his head. He’s bald as a cue ball.”
Fontana grinned, liking the young kid.
“He does that so Izzy can find him in the night. It can be pitch black and that head will shine,” Kenny said, grinning and leaning over to pound a fist into Zero’s shoulder.
The older man grunted and lifted an eyebrow. “Just wait, Kenny. I don’t think you’re far off from taking a razor to your head.”
“Man,” the big man said, running a hand over his thick, short, black hair, “this shit ain’t going nowhere. It’s thick as it always was.”
Zero lifted his beer bottle. “Okay, buddy,” he said, but the tone of his voice said he was humoring Kenny.
Kenny ran his hand over his head again, his smile not so sure, and the men laughed even louder.
