Black Ops Bodyguard

by Donna Young

  The first time he killed had been in this same area. The sounds of monkey chatter, the buzz of the insects.

  His target had been a young kid barely out of adolescence, only a few years younger than himself at the time. With acne, no less. But still old enough to run illegal arms. Old enough to sell explosives to third-world countries at war. Explosives used to kill women and children.

  An easy kill at one thousand yards. One shot to the forehead. Two to the chest.

  After a year or so, he lost count.

  A metallic click of an assault rifle ricocheted off the trees. Heavy steps pounded through the thick of the vines and branches. Cal crouched in the shadows and waited.

  Soon, one of Delgado’s soldiers stepped past.

  Cal slid his forearm around the man’s neck, shoved his head far to the right. He heard the snap, felt the body go lax. Waited. A short breath desperately taken through a broken windpipe.

  Cal settled the dead man in the undergrowth. Quickly he retrieved the boot dagger, ammo and equipment vest. He grunted when he discovered infrared goggles attached to a strap, a flash bomb clipped to the dead man’s belt.

  Cal put as much distance from Julia as he could manage. He secured the infrared goggles and the flash bomb, knowing Solaris and his men would also have them. Good, he thought.

  He’d been in this situation before. On the run in city streets, in the mountains.

  But the scent of the rooted vines and dirt brought back intense memories of his run from Solaris years earlier. And the first time Cal had met Jason Marsh.

  Solaris had him dead on the river’s edge.

  Then without warning, gunfire broke from the jungle. Most of Solaris’s men collapsed, riddled with bullets. The others dove for cover.

  Solaris took a hit in the stomach. The force knocked him back into the river.

  Cal managed to crawl to a break in the brush for cover before the blackest part of his pain carried him over the edge into unconsciousness.

  Soon after, he awoke in the cave. It was there he met Jason Marsh for the first time.

  In blackface and camouflage gear, the deep-set eyes held an edge of insanity at first glance. But within a few minutes, Cal realized it was an edge of anger, the heat of revenge that inflamed those eyes.

  “What the hell were you thinking, West?”

  Cal stiffened. “Do I know you?”

  “No, but you’re MI6 and way out of your league here, mate.” The man dropped to the floor and checked Cal’s wounds. “Jason Marsh, DEA.”

  Cal looked past the camouflage paint. “You’re one of Solaris’s men.”

  “Not anymore. I just shot the son of a bitch. I consider that a resignation, wouldn’t you?”

  Jason reached into a nearby first-aid kit.

  Cal raised an eyebrow.

  “Took it off a dead compatriot,” Jason said. He pulled Cal’s thigh bandage free. “I removed the bullets from your leg and side, but you’re going to have to find a doctor. One that isn’t in Delgado’s pocket.” He opened a small bottle of alcohol. “This is going to hurt like hell, but it’s all I have to stop the infection. No noise.”

  Jason poured the alcohol over the open thigh wound. Fire exploded, shooting Cal to the pits of hell and back. He struggled through the worst of it with gritted teeth.

  “This cave is far enough away from the river, you won’t be discovered. Give you a few days to recover.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Deep undercover. And I was right there, too, under Delgado’s nose. You owe me for this, West.”

  “Maybe I can help you get back in.”

  “I haven’t shown up. They’ll think I’m dead.”

  “Or wounded,” Cal reasoned. “I’ll shoot you.”

  “No thanks—”

  “If I put a bullet in your leg or some other non-vital organ, you’ll stand a better chance. Give it a day or so, then show up wounded. Hurting and maybe a little delirious.”

  “Might work,” Jason acknowledged his lips grim, his brows drawn. He handed Cal his pistol, grip first. “Remember, nothing vital.”

  The crack of gunfire brought Cal back to the present with a start. Swearing, he slid through the muck, using a handful to blacken his face. Ignoring the taste of foul vegetation in his mouth.

  Jorgie broke through the brush. His arrogance or anger driving him to charge through trees shouting orders to his men.

  Cal shoved the infrared gear to his forehead and reached into his bag for the flash bang stun grenade.

  He blinked, allowing his eyes time to adjust to the darkness, his ears tuned to the sound of men crashing through the jungle.

  When Jorgie and his men burst into the clearing, Cal threw the stun grenade. The explosion split the air. On its heels came the loud, painful cries of the men in range, now blinded by their infrared gear.

  Cal grunted. Jorgie lay in the middle of the men, unconscious. He thought to finish it, but he understood others were nearby. Silently, Cal withdrew, understanding it would’ve been better if Jorgie had died and saved Cal the trouble of killing him later.

  IT TOOK CAL SEVERAL HOURS TO REACH Miguel’s home. Not near the time he needed to cool his anger and fear from the last few hours.

  Several times he stopped and backtracked to make sure he hadn’t been followed.

  He opened the door without knocking.

  First thing he saw was Julia sitting at the table, dressed in a clean navy blue muscle top with the word Corona across the chest and a pair of loose black cargo pants that hung low on her waist.

  “I’m fine,” she said, but her hand rested nervously against her face, not wanting him to see the damage.

  Consuelo stepped forward. “Cal, I took care of it. It looked worse than it really was. The swelling will go down quickly.”

  Cal’s gaze didn’t leave Julia. He removed her hand from her cheek and let out a long hiss between his back teeth. “I’ll kill him.”

  She saw it then, underneath the rage. The fear. “This wasn’t your fault, Cal—”

  “You’re bloody hell right it wasn’t. It was yours,” he snapped. “And you can bet we’re going to discuss what ‘stay put’ means when you and I are alone.”

  She straightened her spine, indignant. “Care to hear what I found out?”

  “No, I don’t,” Cal said. “Right now, we need to deal with the fact that Jorgie is less than two hours behind me.” Cal turned to Miguel. “He’ll suspect Consuelo’s involvement with this. He’ll come here first to ask questions. He’ll be looking for Julia.”

  Consuelo visibly paled. “Why would he question me? I was injured and brought my cousin here to help. That is all. It is not unusual to bring in relatives to help.”

  “Your timing is too coincidental. When was the last time anyone attacked the compound?”

  “No one has,” Miguel answered, his features grim.

  “Because it’s suicide. Jorgie will realize the gunshots were a diversion. It won’t take him long to figure out the rest and end up here.”

  Cal glanced at Miguel. “You must leave. You and your family need to get out of the country.”

  Miguel shook his head. “We have no place to go.”

  “We can go to the mission,” Consuelo suggested. “Padre Dominic will help us.”

  “No, our family is too large for my uncle to hide,” Miguel stated in a hard tone. “Jorgie will search the mission. And if he finds us, he will take us to Delgado and most likely kill my uncle in the process. An attack on the villa might be enough for Delgado to ignore his superstitions and attack the church.”

  “I agree with Miguel. You can’t risk being found,” Cal told them.

  Consuelo nodded, but was visibly shaken. Her face pale, her hands trembling. Julia placed a comforting arm around her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll think of something, Consuelo.”

  “I already have,” Cal answered. “But I need something to write with.”

  Consuelo found him a pencil from the
other room. “Memorize this, then get rid of it.” Quickly, he wrote a phone number down on a card, handed it to the other man. “Can you get your family into Caracas by tomorrow, Miguel?”

  “Yes,” Miguel said. “I believe I can.”

  “Good,” Cal replied. “Once you’re there, call the number. Call collect. The man who answers is a friend of mine. His name is Renalto.”

  “Not Renalto, Cal,” Julia interrupted. “Jason told me today that Renalto met with Cristo. That he’s not to be trusted.”

  “And if I tell you Renalto can be trusted, no matter what Jason thinks,” Cal replied. “Who will you believe? Me or your ex-husband?”

  “Is this some sort of test?” Julia snapped. “You are risking Miguel and his family.”

  “I guess I have my answer,” Cal replied. He turned to Miguel. “Tell Renalto you are in trouble, that you helped me and now you and your family need covert transportation into the United States. We have a contact in Washington, D.C., by the name of Cain MacAlister. He and Renalto will take it from there. You understand?”

  “Sí, I understand, amigo.”

  “Don’t ask for help from anyone else,” Cal warned. “Too many people are Delgado’s paid informants.”

  “I won’t,” Miguel agreed. “And what will you and Julia do? You cannot stay here, either.”

  “The mission,” Consuelo suggested. “Padre Dominic can hide them easily enough, Miguel.”

  “It will be too dangerous—”

  “My wife is right, Cal,” Miguel interrupted. “Julia is in no shape to escape through the jungle. My uncle will have no problem hiding you.”

  Cal glanced at Julia, saw the fatigue in her features.

  “Go to the mission,” Miguel urged, then he reached out and shook Cal’s hand. “When you find my uncle, tell him I am in need of a vacation. He will understand.”

  Consuelo stepped up to Cal and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”

  “Amigo, if there is any way I can return your favor, please let me know,” Miguel said sincerely.

  “There is one thing,” Cal replied. “When you contact Renalto, tell him to meet me northwest of the villa in twenty-four hours. Tell him to bring his arsenal with him.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Padre Dominic Seymour was no longer a young man of twenty. Balding and dressed in a long cassock, he was more than three times that age and it showed.

  Thunder cracked and lightning flashed through the mission window, destroying the shadows of the old building.

  The mission had been built from rocks and cement. Its tower, absent a bell, still loomed over the adobe roof. Cracks and faded white paint webbed the walls, showing the mission’s age, its losing battle against the elements.

  The bell at the front door clanged, but not unexpectedly. He had already heard of the attack on Delgado’s villa earlier. Understood many of the locals were afraid. And when they are afraid, they seek reassurance from the mission.

  Still, Padre Dominic had learned in those forty years to be cautious, especially when greeting those at the door. Most came for charity, others for blessings, but some to steal what little the mission held.

  He swung the large door open. “Hello?”

  “Padre Dominic?”

  “Yes?” A man and woman stood at the step, their clothes wet, rivets of water ran down their faces.

  But even in the lantern glow, the woman was beautiful.

  The man’s features were more defined, the eyes dark, cynically so.

  “I am a friend of Miguel’s. He sent me here, hoping you could help us.”

  “Miguel?” Padre Dominic did not move from the doorway, but he gripped the pistol a little harder. “And how is my nephew?”

  “He told me to tell you he is in need of a vacation.”

  A smile broke over the older man’s features. “I am glad.”

  He pulled his hand from his pocket and revealed a small pearl-handled pistol. Quickly, he set the safety and returned it to his pocket.

  When Calvin glanced down, Padre Dominic smiled. “Sometimes a bit more than prayer is needed on a dark night.”

  “I understand,” the man responded, his mouth lifting into a small, polite smile. One that did not reach his eyes.

  “Please come in out of the rain.” Padre Dominic stepped back into a large entryway of stone and tile.

  “Excuse the lack of light,” he said, slightly raising the lantern. “Our generator decided to die tonight of all nights.”

  The woman rubbed her arms against the chill.

  “May I ask your names?”

  “Calvin West,” the man said without preamble, then he nodded to the woman. “Julia Cutting. Miguel told us that you would give us shelter for the night and Julia shelter for the next few days while I take care of some business.”

  “We would be willing to pay, Father,” Julia said.

  “Well, I never turn down a donation, but it is not necessary.” He turned toward a large room on the right. “Come this way. I have a fire going and some blankets in our community room. You’ll be more comfortable there.”

  The room itself was large. At least twenty feet long and just as wide. Two love seats sat in front of a huge stone fireplace. Flanked on either side were nearly a dozen straight-back chairs.

  Several paintings of men, presumably saints, decorated the walls. Above the fireplace hung a large wooden cross.

  Once they were settled onto a love seat, covered by the blankets and close to the fire, Padre Dominic went to the wall and pulled on a rope. “Excuse me if I seem inhospitable, but I would like to know why you seek shelter here.”

  “I have a friend who might be held prisoner in Cristo Delgado’s villa. I came here to find out and to rescue him if possible.”

  Another priest appeared, his demeanor quiet, slight in stature with sharp features. “Yes, Padre Dominic?”

  “Padre Mateo, could you please make up two of our guest rooms in the south wing?” He glanced at the couple. “Also make sure some hot tea and the leftover stew and bread from our evening meal is brought to their rooms.”

  “It will be my pleasure.” The priest turned to leave when Padre Dominic stopped him. “Please take care of this yourself. Do not tell the others that we have guests. No use rousing them from their sleep. I’d prefer to keep it to ourselves for now.”

  Padre Mateo bowed his head. “As you wish, Padre.”

  After the younger priest left, Padre Dominic turned to Calvin. “He is a good man.”

  When Calvin raised an eyebrow, Padre Dominic decided to ease the younger man’s suspicions. “His family was killed by Delgado’s men, Mr. West, when his father refused to cultivate his crops for cocaine. Rest assured he will keep your secret.”

  “Thank you for helping us, Father,” Julia said and pulled the blankets tighter. The warmth of the fire took the chill from the room. “Miguel mentioned that this isn’t the first time you’ve protected someone from Delgado’s men.”

  “Unfortunately, more than there should be,” Padre Dominic admitted. “But sometimes we are too late. All I can do is pray for some and bury others.”

  Anger filled the older lines on the priest’s face. “We have a cemetery that’s located halfway between here and the villa. Its ground is full of men, women and children who could not escape the wrath of Delgado and his men.”

  “Maybe soon his own body will be buried there,” Cal suggested.

  “With God’s blessing, of course.” Cal studied the older man before him. Saw the experience that hardened his features, shaped the determination in the dark eyes.

  “I have heard about your friend,” Padre Dominic stated. “Some who come to Sunday services whisper about the villa’s comings and goings.” He rubbed his nose. “It will not be easy to save him, Mr. West.”

  “I know. That is why I would like Ms. Cutting to stay here with you, under your protection. Miguel assured me that Delgado and his men leave your mission alone.”

  “We must le
t you know, Father, that Delgado is looking for me,” Julia said. “He thinks I have something he wants. Something that can stop his drug operations. My presence could be putting you all in jeopardy.”

  “There are worse things I am afraid of, my child. And none of them scoundrels like Cristo Delgado.” Padre Dominic smiled. “But you are right. His man Jorgie visited us earlier. He and his men searched the grounds and the rooms. Of course they found nothing.”

  “They could come back. Once they find Miguel’s house deserted.”

  “Are he and his family unharmed?” the padre asked.

  “They are heading on that vacation we spoke of. They’re going to visit some very trustworthy friends of mine in Washington, D.C.”

  “That is good,” Padre Dominic said, pleased. “Of course you could be right about Jorgie coming back. But I think the chances are very unlikely. The fact that Cristo let him search here once is a surprise. Cristo has a terrible fear of the church. One that his mother instilled in him as a young child. She was what you would call a fanatic. Preached brimstone and fire. But it is a fear that I do not mind taking advantage of on occasion.”

  “I hope you are right, Padre,” Julia commented.

  “Come, I will show you to your rooms. Rest easy tonight. No one will seek you in this weather.” Padre Dominic rose slowly.

  “After morning prayers,” Padre said, his eyes on Julia, “we can discuss your plans for the immediate future.”

  ONE CANDLE LIT THE ROOM, GIVING it just enough light to reveal the long shadows, the severe angles of the concrete wall, the spiderweb cracks on the dull brown linoleum floor.

  The red and blue and yellow patchwork of the bed quilt stood out, the only splash of color provided in the stark room.

  A pine nightstand with a simple whitewash basin and pitcher of water and a couple of towels stood on the opposite side of the bed. And in the far corner stood a solitary chair with a pair of white cotton drawstring pants and a matching white T-shirt.

  Padre Mateo had left a tray of soup and bread on the bed; its strong scent made Julia’s stomach grumble.