“What?” she whispered. “What’s going on? I don’t understand. Why were people shooting at us? Are we going to die?”
Eden saw all of the people who’d been in the vehicle with Sharon looking at the woman with various expressions of disgust or pity. Apparently, she had been the group’s “Schlessinger.”
“Sharon, Señora Azua is injured. I need something to stop the bleeding so we can get her into the bank. Give me your pashmina.” She watched as Patel peeled away from the group to talk to a couple of men from the bank. She turned her attention back to Sharon who was still clutching the wrap around her shoulders.
“Give it to her,” Heinrich Becker commanded. Sharon’s hands reluctantly loosened and finally, she gave it to Eden. She then ran back to her Escalade.
“Eden, explain this to me,” Schlessinger practically screamed in French from where he was sitting on the ground propped up against one of the SUV’s tires. She ignored him and bent into the front seat to see Carlson with his t-shirt off trying to staunch the bleeding.
“Move,” Eden said. “I need to see what we have here.”
“Are you a medic?”
“I have some training,” Eden prevaricated.
“It’s just a flesh wound,” Carlson explained. “Didn’t hit anything major.”
“I’m fine,” Suzanne insisted.
She didn’t sound fine.
Eden pulled back Carlson’s shirt. All it was doing was applying pressure against the wound. Which, thank God, showed that the bullet had just grazed her neck. It could have been so much worse.
The shirt wasn’t helping much since it required someone holding it all the time, and Suzanne’s arms were now getting floppy and her eyes glassy. Eden pressed the shirt back in place and nodded to Carlson to hold it again. She looked at the light blue cloth in her hand and tried tearing it. No go. She took ahold of it with her teeth and tried again.
Success.
She started tearing it into strips. Now she just had to figure out how to hold the makeshift bandage in place tightly enough without strangling the woman.
“How is the Señora?” a man asked over her shoulder.
“Who are you?” Carlson demanded to know.
“I am Hector Ruiz, I am the manager of the bank. I need to know what to do next, but if Señora Azua can’t give us instructions, then I will need to take charge.”
Eden snorted. Yeah, sure, the bank manager’s going to save us. There was no way that Carlson was going to let banker boy take command.
“I’m fine,” Señora Azua whispered. “Tell them to get the gates closed now.”
Eden was the only one who heard her.
“She says she’s fine, and close the gates.”
Carlson yelled out in Spanish across the courtyard for the gates to be closed.
“Those are my employees, you shouldn’t be telling them what to do. Since the Señora is injured, I need to be put in charge—you understand this, si?” He ignored Eden, focusing on Carlson.
“We just need to get shit done,” Carlson growled.
Suzanne squeezed Eden’s arm again and she bent to listen to her. But she just gasped for breath.
“You see? Everyone must listen to me. It is the only answer.”
I hate these weasel types.
Time for some quick pushy bullshit. Eden again leaned down, and this time pretended that Suzanne had said something.
“Excuse me, Hector, but Señora Azua just said that she’s the owner of this bank, and that if you pull this stunt she’ll fire you when this is over with. Do you want to come over here and talk to her yourself?”
Carlson wiped his hand over his mouth. Eden knew damn good and well he was smothering a grin. She stole a glance at Suzanne. Her eyes were spitting fire at the officious little toad. He backed up a step.
“My apologies, Señora, I was only trying to assist you. Tell me what you want me to do.”
Suzanne squeezed Eden’s arm, and Eden bent down to listen to her.
“You and Carlson,” she gasped.
“I’ll be back,” Eden assured her.
Leland Hines, Heinrich Becker, and Maurice Schlessinger had all descended on Carlson. Well, at least Schlessinger did—he practically fell into his arms, still a blubbering mess, demanding to know what was going on. Leland pulled him off Carlson and handed him off to the man who Eden knew as Patel. That was when she realized that the third SUV was not in the courtyard.
Ah, dammit. No! There were good people out there. Please God, say they’re alive and safe.
She turned around so she could join in on the conversation. She came in when Leland Hines was talking.
“Bradshaw was positive that neither Maduro nor Guaido would come after us like this,” Leland’s lip curled.
“Well, he was dead wrong, wasn’t he?” Carlson said with disgust. “It was the secret police all right. Hell, they were wearing their uniforms. The bastards.”
“What? What is he saying?” Schlessinger demanded in French. Eden could care less; she was busy translating Carlson’s Spanish into German for Heinrich Becker. But she held up her hand, holding her fingers close together indicating she’d tell him shortly.
“How bad is Señora Azua?” Becker asked in German. “This is her bank, she told us to come here, we need her leadership.” Eden knew not to repeat the question in Spanish since Hector was still hanging around.
“It’s a flesh wound. I think the bleeding has stopped, but she’s hard to understand, and she needs rest. But trust me, she has all of her faculties, and we don’t need that self-important bank manager trying to take charge.”
Becker gave a sharp nod of agreement. “Speak for her. You know what she would say. You’ve been translating for all of us for weeks now. You have common sense. When it comes to the schematics of the bank, we’ll figure it out.”
“Eden?” Maurice Schlessinger grabbed at her arm, pitching her sideways.
“Stop! Release her at once.” Becker commanded in French. It was the first time Eden had heard him speak French. He’d been holding out. She couldn’t blame him—who in the hell really wanted to talk to Maurice if they didn’t have to?
In halting Spanish, Heinrich Becker addressed the rest of the people in the circle. “Leland, you and Carlson go with Hector and find out where we can set up in the bank.”
Carlson and Leland flanked Hector and marched him toward the entrance. Both men were peppering him with questions about the number of guards and clerical employees currently on-site.
Becker continued to ignore the pouting Schlessinger and motioned the other member of Nomad Security away from his SUV. Patel jogged over, leaving three other members of the banking contingent.
“Eden, translate.”
She nodded.
“Patel, I need for you to take control of all the bank guards. I want to know exactly how many there are, and I want all weapons accounted for.”
“They also have an armory on-site,” Eden explained to both men. “Come here, and I’ll let the Señora explain.” She led them back to where Suzanne was sitting in the SUV and found her sleeping.
Damn.
“Eden, you have first aid skills, right?”
She nodded. “I’m the one who applied the bandage.”
“Great, I want you to stick with the Señora.”
“What about Dr. Nilsson?” Patel asked.
“She’s a professor of economics.” Becker was impatient with the question. “Go find Hector.” After Patel left, he turned back to Eden. “I’m depending on you to get as much information as you can from Señora Azua. Got it?”
Eden nodded.
Chapter 4
The heavy gate opened up to a drive.
A drive that curved to a terra-cotta colored hacienda with sweeping arches covered with red and purple bougainvillea. A striking pregnant woman was waiting for them at the top of a grand staircase leading up to the front door.
Kane was the first one out of the back of the truck, followed b
y Max and Ezio. They had their weapons drawn. Asher saw them both reconnoiter the area and then Kane motioned for the rest of them to come out. While everybody evaluated Leo’s mobility, Ash lowered himself out of the truck instead of jumping. His head wouldn’t take the jarring.
Dammit, stop being a pussy!
“I heard that,” Cullen said as he sidled up next to him.
“Bullshit, I didn’t say anything,” Asher gave his friend a wan smile.
“You were beating yourself up and calling yourself names. If I had to guess, you just called yourself a pussy,” Cullen laughed at him.
It sucked having worked with the same people so damn long.
Raiden came up and handed him another mint. “I like Raiden better than you,” Asher grumbled as he popped the mint in his mouth and glared at Cullen. Raiden thrust the can at Asher with a head tilt.
“Thanks,” Asher said as he slid the tin of mints into his vest.
Kane jogged to the front of the truck to help Lenora Azua from the passenger seat. She was looking a damn sight better than how Asher was feeling. It had taken longer than they’d all wanted to get to her house because the streets were already beginning to fill up for the night’s festivities. They had all agreed that the confusion of Carnival could work to their advantage to get past the President’s secret police force and free the finance coalition from the Central Bank, then get them to the airport.
“Abuela,” the pregnant woman called out to the older lady. “We have news since we last talked.”
“Good or bad?” the old woman demanded to know.
“You need to stay calm,” the pregnant woman said soothingly. “The doctor has said stress isn’t good for you. He would have been angry if he’d known you were gallivanting all over the forest rescuing Americans.”
Rescuing?
“I’m not the one who should be resting, it’s you, Cynthia. Get inside. Where’s Rafa?” Lenora started up the steps, and Cynthia rushed down to meet her.
It was an accident waiting to happen as the old woman and the pregnant lady turned to make their way up the stairs. Cullen and Raiden followed closely in case they fell.
“Rafa is inside trying to talk to Mama.”
It took a minute for Asher to make sense of it all. He was fine understanding the Spanish, just not with everybody’s place in the family food chain. Suzanne Azua, the woman at the bank, must be the pregnant woman’s mother, and Lenora, the old woman who had driven the truck, was Cynthia’s grandmother.
He looked over at Cullen and saw that he had just done the math as well. Kane, meanwhile, was looking down at his tablet. He probably had the entire Azua family tree pulled up, and knew all of their ages, middle names, eye color, and favorite foods.
“Has anything new happened?” Lenora asked her granddaughter.
“I need you to stay calm, can you do that?” Cynthia asked when they got to the top of the stairs.
“Just tell me, child.”
“Mama has a slight injury. She tells me she is fine, but she’s having some trouble talking. Sometimes, the translator is helping us to understand her over the phone. There is one saving grace, and that’s now she’s at our bank, not the Central Bank.”
“What do you mean she’s at our bank, Señora?” Max interrupted.
A gangly teen shot out of the front door.
“Whoa, hold up.” The kid raised his hands as eight guns were pointed in his direction.
The old lady jumped—as well as an old lady was able to—in front of the boy. “Put your guns down, this is Suzanne’s sister’s son, my grandson Rafa. He’s harmless.”
“Tia, I’m not harmless,” the kid lamented. “That’s the last time I arrange wheels for you.”
“He is harmless and lacks common sense, but my grand-nephew is brilliant with computers.” She patted his head.
“You guys are American Special Forces, right? What branch? Delta? Raiders? SEALs?” The kid was jazzed.
“What’s your name?” Max asked with a blank face.
“Rafael Azua,” Kane answered for him. “He’s good, he’s the nephew. Real hustler. He owns the food truck. Just turned sixteen,” Kane said, looking up from his tablet. “He’s already got a record with Maduro’s men.”
“Explain,” Max demanded.
“They brought him in for questioning on their system being hacked. Because of his aunt’s pull, he got out before the questioning began getting intense.”
“Jesus, how old were you kid?” Max asked.
Rafa had paled. Cynthia had stood on the other side of the young man when Max started grilling him. But when that incident was brought up, her expression changed. She slapped Rafa on the back of the head.
“Hey, what’s that for?” he gave her a disgruntled look.
“You could have gotten yourself killed. It didn’t matter that you were twelve. They would have tortured and killed you if it hadn’t been for Mama. You remember to be good.”
“Fine,” he gave a long-suffering sigh as he rubbed the back of his head. “But they’re going to need me. You know that.”
She shook her head in exasperation as she looked at Asher’s team. “Come inside, gentlemen. Rafa’s right, he’s been talking to Mom and the translator, getting information together. It should help.”
Max motioned for them to lower their weapons. Asher glanced over at Kane—he was looking at Rafa with interest. “What kind of information, kid?”
“I have everything,” the teenager boasted. “I downloaded a ton of stuff from Tia Suzanne’s bank after she gave me her computer code.” He rubbed his hands together. “Do you know much about computers?” he asked Kane.
“A little,” Kane answered.
Asher kept his laugh inside, but Cullen laughed out loud. Max sent him a sharp look. Rafa was oblivious, but Lenora didn’t miss a trick.
“Well, after I got her code, I was able to get into everybody else’s computer in the bank. That included IT, security, and maintenance. We won’t even need access to keycards to get in because we can override the locks. Except for the gate surrounding the bank, but I’ll figure out something.” Kane smiled at Cynthia and Lenora as he fell into step with Rafa to enter the house. The last thing Asher heard was Rafa saying, “…otherwise the bank’s security sucks donkey balls if you know what you’re doing.”
Now the kid was sounding like a cross between Cullen and Kane. Even Max was laughing at that. Everybody but Nic, that was. He was going to have to bone up on his Spanish.
“We need to get your mother back on the phone,” Lenora said to her granddaughter as she put a comforting hand on the pregnant woman’s lower back.
“The President’s secret police are butchers, Abuela. I don’t understand why they haven’t broken in and killed them.” The pretty young woman’s voice was trembling.
“Honey, they won’t. Your mother and her friends are too important. It would cause an international incident,” Lenora assured the scared woman as they made their way inside.
Asher wished that was true. Cynthia was right, they were butchers. The President’s secret police had been recruited from many of the deadliest street gangs in all of Columbia and Venezuela. They had no regard for human life. They needed intel from Carter from CIA, and Kane better be getting it quick. As it was, everything going on here on the ground was so fluid it felt like they were in the middle of a flood. It was making his head hurt worse than it had been when he was riding in that blasted food truck.
Asher looked around the great room the women led them into. It was huge. These people definitely had money. Of course, if Lenora’s daughter owned a bank, what else could he expect?
“Where’s Marta?” Lenora asked Cynthia as she looked around the room.
“I told her to take the day off,” Cynthia said. “We didn’t want anyone here but family when the Americans arrived. Don’t worry, I’ve already made refreshments. They’re in the fridge, I’ll go get them.”
Asher saw the sheen of perspiration on the pregnant
woman’s forehead as she took a step toward a hallway. Nic, Raiden, Cullen, and Max all began talking at once. They were volunteering to get the food if she would just tell them what to get, and Cullen coaxed her into a large plush chair. Lenora laughed.
Great, I totally missed the mark on that one. This head injury must be worse than I thought.
“Nic, you and Raiden go get the food, and bring back ice for Leo,” Max directed. “Asher get over there with Kane. I want you checking out the entry points of the bank. Cullen, go park the truck around back so that it can’t be seen from the road.”
“The gate is very high, it should be fine,” Lenora Azua assured Max. Max gave a chin tilt to Cullen, who then left to go do what Max had requested.
“Señora, I’m sure it will be fine, but I’m just the overly cautious type. Ezio, when Cullen’s done parking the truck, I want the two of you to scour the outside perimeter and report back. I want to make sure that everything is as secure as it seems.”
Ezio nodded and went after Cullen.
Asher started over to the other corner in the room where there was a huge monitor. Two laptops and papers piled precariously on every other remaining flat surface. Rafa was pointing at something and Kane was nodding.
“Asher, wait a minute, what’s your status?” Max asked. Asher stopped mid-stride.
“I’m fine,” Leo said.
“Is your name Asher?” Max growled. “If not, sit your ass down, put your leg up, and shut the hell up.” Leo planted himself on one of the two sofas in the great room, and Kane absently kicked over an ottoman from where he was sitting next to Rafa so that Leo could prop up his leg.
“Now, Asher Thorne, answer me, how are you doing?” Max looked closely at Ash.
“The headache comes and goes. It’s a mild concussion. I’m going to cut out video games for a while—too many blinky lights will probably aggravate the symptoms.”
“Smartass,” Leo said from his position on the couch. “I bet it’s worse than it is, Lieutenant.”
Max ignored him. He gave Asher one more hard look.
“Serious, Lieutenant, I won’t put the team in danger. If it’s a problem, I’ll be the first to bench myself.”
Her Chosen Protector: Navy SEAL Romance (Night Storm Book 3) Page 4
