"You mean like an underground tunnel?"
"Yeah, maybe."
Sam considered the possibility. There had been rampant fighting in this area eighty years earlier. How likely was it that either side had dug tunnels into the sandy soil? Or maybe the terrorists themselves had shoveled out an escape route.
Only one way to find out, he thought to himself, but the CO wouldn't want to shake things up this early in the game. Standard operating procedure entailed a forty-eight hour reconnaissance before any kind of action was recommended, not to mention the fact that Mad Max insisted on waiting for JSOTF's direct orders. And just because the camp appeared empty, that didn't mean that they should search it. The whole goddamn place could be booby trapped.
"Well, we've got it from here," he said, relieving Cooper. Clapping the younger man on the shoulder, he wished him a good-night's sleep. What he wouldn't give to tuck into his own rack about now. Instead, he'd sacrificed his sleep for a stolen interlude with Maddy.
And what an experience that was! Cravings, doubly potent for having gone unsatisfied, left him hankering for fulfillment. He marveled at how recklessly close he'd come to burying himself in Maddy's welcoming heat. He'd had no intention of going all the way with her but, honestly, if Bronco hadn't interrupted them, that might have been exactly what happened. No woman had ever tested his resolve the way Maddy did.
If they'd gone all the way, he would truly be entangled now, irrevocably involved with a woman whose father he didn't trust. For that matter, he wasn't sure he even fully trusted Maddy not to be informing on the SEALs for her father, who perhaps wanted to know whether his oil wells were safe. He might not be the CEO anymore, at least not technically, but he had to be deeply interested in the fate of the corporation he had founded. For Maddy to be here in Paraguay, so close to the SEALs, it still struck Sam as utterly suspicious.
Adjusting his NVGs to better keep an eye on the enemy camp, he tabbed the mike on his radio, requesting a status report from each of his platoon members.
One by one, fourteen members of his sixteen-man platoon reported that they'd relieved their Charlie counterparts. Bronco had taken the place of two men since Bamm-Bamm had been left behind to keep an unofficial eye on Madison Scott. The leadership, Mad Max and Kuzinsky, had no idea Sam had assigned Bamm-Bamm that special detail, and so long as his men didn't rat on him, they would never find out. Sam had promised Maddy that he wouldn't let anything happen to her, and he meant what he'd said.
Doubt speared him briefly as he wondered whether one junior SEAL afforded her enough protection. Austin Collins didn't have much tactical experience but he was one hell of a scrapper, and being as green around women as a blade of grass, Sam didn't have to concern himself with whether he'd steal Maddy out from under his nose.
Not that he considered her in any way his exclusive property—but no other man with less-than-honorable intentions had better come near her.
Digging his elbows into the soil, he adjusted his position so that he could see over the vegetation without straining his neck. The terrorist camp lay beneath a gossamer-thin blanket of silvery moonlight. Aside from the wind, it lay as still and deserted as an old mining town. With a pulse tapping at his temples, he studied the dark windows and plumbed the shadows for the barest suggestion of occupation.
Could the terrorists have realized already that they were being watched—by no less than the Americans whom they loathed? Certainly it was not beyond possible that some enterprising villager had identified the American soldiers' uniforms and sent gossip spreading throughout the region, alerting the terrorists to their presence. What if they blamed Maddy for summoning the American forces?
The possibility made Sam's scalp prickle. If the terrorists weren't here at their camp, or if they'd sneaked out via some unseen tunnel, then where the hell were they?
* * *
"I saw the woman in the vehicle behind us as we drove away. She is alive," Ashraf Al-Sadr declared with wild-eyed accusation. The whites of his black eyes had turned red for lack of sleep. "You let her live!" he hissed, pointing an accusing finger at his leader. "And now the Americans hound us!"
Salim Ghazal heaved an inward sigh. He'd suspected when he'd spared the lab technician's life that he was going to regret his decision. Still, he would not have been justified in killing her. Her cooperation in locating the nitric acid amidst hundreds of vials of mysterious reagents had earned her a reprieve. Salim wasn't a cold-blooded murderer like Ashraf Al-Sadr, who'd shot the guard unnecessarily.
But reports of an American military presence had circulated almost immediately following their impromptu raid on GEF's lab. The rumors let him know that Madison Scott, despite her promise to keep their encounter secret, had betrayed him. He had not expected treachery from a woman so beautiful.
Meeting the furious gazes of his top soldiers, he paused to formulate his response to Ashraf's accusation. Their situation was already tenuous. Claiming a volunteer army of just seventy soldiers, they couldn't hope to drive out the Americans, who appeared to be about half that many in number but whose arsenal certainly surpassed their own and whose resources were endless.
Not even Ashraf and Musa's experience in warfare could tip the scales in their favor. Their only recourse was to disband. Salim had sent their volunteer soldiers back to Asunción from whence most of them hailed. Rigging their camp to explode when the Americans forced their way inside, the four leaders had then fled via a crumbling underground escape route that spat them out half a mile away.
It was now dawn, and the first suggestion of sunlight framed the shuttered window of the private home they occupied, situated on the edge of town. Paid for with Hezbollah funds, the safe house was where they gathered when they were not actively in training.
"Your suspicions are correct, Ashraf," Salim acknowledged, meeting that man's baleful gaze with a calculated mix of authority and humbleness. "I did not kill the woman as I led you to believe. Forgive my deception, but I conceived then, as I believe now, that she is of more use to us alive. Hear me out," he suggested when the man made to cut him off.
The room, one of six that comprised the large house, had been strewn with rugs. They sat cross-legged in a circle, a loaf of bread and an empty ewer between them. Their mugs of chai perfumed the small space with its pungent aroma. The single light fixture, a lamp in the corner, illumined each man's skeptical expression.
"As we know, the lab is owned by the Global Environmental Facility, a group comprised of esteemed scientists from all over the world. Imagine the pressure those scientists would put on Scott Oil should one of their employees be held hostage until Scott Oil sells a majority of its shares to Paraguayan investors or leaves the country altogether."
Interest lit the faces of his captive audience.
Ashraf Al-Sadr stroked his thick beard. "It would be simpler just to blow up the wells as we had planned."
Salim frowned. "The American force has eliminated that option. They have come here to annihilate us. We would not be able to escape their notice."
"So, that's it? We abandon our objective without a fight?" The scar on Ashraf's face stood out starkly as his anger mounted.
"Of course not," Salim soothingly replied. "Scott Oil has robbed Paraguay of her natural resources and robbed her of profits that are rightly hers. We cannot stand for that."
Ashraf, a mercenary, snorted. He could care less about Paraguay's citizens or even the National Liberation Army which he helped to train. His only goal and the goal of Hezbollah who sponsored him was to undermine U.S. interests so that Hezbollah could claim the area for themselves. Salim wasn't fooled into thinking their objectives were any more lofty than Scott Oil's, but for now, Hezbollah aided his personal agenda.
"We could seize the woman tomorrow," proposed Salim's younger brother, Nasrallah. "We will stop her on her way to the lab."
"She has not been to the lab since the incident," Salim informed them. "I've had her under surveillance. I know where she lives," he added.
His brother eyed him curiously. Salim knew more than that. Prompted by his persistent visions of the blond beauty and intrigued that her last name was Scott, he had researched his prospective hostage thoroughly. What he'd found out about her made her a very desirable target, indeed, only he could not afford to let his colleagues know that Madison Scott wasn't just an environmentalist with GEF. She was the daughter of the founder of Scott Oil, himself.
How better to force Scott Oil Corporation to accede to his demands than to use Madison Scott to make his ultimatum?
But the Hezbollah warriors mustn't learn the truth for then they would use her to further their own objectives, none of which resembled the objectives of the NLA. Moreover, they wouldn't hesitate to abuse her, rape and defile her, regardless of her political value.
And Salim could not have that. Her beauty was not made to be destroyed but rather cherished. He would take her hostage—yes. But he would protect her as he leveraged her value for the sake of his adoptive country.
"It's settled then," he announced, appeasing Ashraf's rabid desire to attack the enemy the only way they could. "We will seize the environmentalist tomorrow night."
* * *
Maddy awoke late the next morning. Even with sunlight beaming around her tightly closed curtains and with Sam long gone from her bed, his essence still enveloped her. She reached for her phone, checking for messages. GEF had called while her phone was on 'silent' to say they had yet to find her a replacement partner—she had the day off.
Relieved not to have to scour the countryside alone, Maddy jumped out of bed and stripped her sheets. Washing her linens ought to eradicate Sam's scent, which continued to fill her with continuous longing for more of the same. She gave a soft moan as a ghost of that exquisite experience haunted her. How could she not long for more?
She'd never come across a man she desired so desperately. And yet... she wasn't ready to belong to him. Knowing Sam, commitment to him would surely mean having to surrender her personal quest to improve the world and to follow in her mother's footsteps.
Feeling restless, she threw herself into cleaning her condo. At noon, she popped next door to check on Lucía and the baby, both of whom fared well. Lucía had heard that Ricardo's surgery was underway, and she asked Maddy if she would drive her to the hospital that afternoon to visit him. That way she could bring the baby for Ricardo to see. It would motivate him to heal faster.
With a couple of hours to waste, Maddy called her father; after all, he'd been kind enough to gift her a phone that made international calls so easy.
"Sweetheart!" he answered, clearly pleased to be hearing from her. Under normal circumstances, Maddy preferred to keep her calls to a minimum. For one thing, the long-distance calls could not be cheap and her father paid the bill. For another, the news she had to share invariably agitated him. "How's your work with GEF?" he asked. "Is Scott Oil defiling El Chaco like you expected?"
"Probably," she replied, eliciting a skeptical grunt. "But I can't prove it yet," she admitted.
"And you never will," he said with certainty. "Scott Oil does good things for the world."
"Is that the reason you got me this job?" Maddy demanded, recalling Ricardo's accusations the other day. "Are you counting on me to report to the press that I couldn't find any toxins leeching from Scott Oil wells or refineries?"
"Of course not, honey. I got you the job because I knew you'd love it the same way your mother would have loved it. Besides, Scott Oil's not my company, anymore. If anything, I'm counting on you to hold my successor accountable, even if he's family."
Maddy pictured the second most powerful man in the corporation. "You made Uncle Paul the CEO," she guessed. Of course he had. Her father and her mother's brother had been friends since high school. They'd started up the company together, using her father's money, and they'd been running it like a captain and his first mate ever since.
"He's holding the position for me until I'm free to take it again," her father explained.
"And you trust him to keep the same high standards?" Maddy stood up and started pacing. "I know he's your best friend, Daddy, but he's not like you." Uncle Paul was handsome and robust and charismatic, but he was essentially self-centered, something her father failed to see.
"He's family, Maddy. He would never intentionally harm me. But, you're right. He might cut corners in the way we handle waste. It wouldn't hurt for you to keep an eye on the job he's doing."
"Gotcha." It was just as she'd suspected, then. Her father had gotten her this job for a reason—to monitor Uncle Paul's handling of waste. She heaved a sigh of frustration at finding herself under his thumb, yet again. But at least his motives were pure and his first concern was for the environment, just as her mother would have wanted.
"Any news?" he asked, changing the subject before she could take him to task.
She thought about her run-in with the terrorists, but couldn't tell him about that without arousing his immediate concern. Her thoughts skipped to another subject, like Sam. "You'll never guess who I ran into down here," she began, hating the way her blood heated and her pulse raced at the mere thought of him.
"Who could that be?" her father asked.
His smug tone aroused Maddy's suspicions. Wait just a darn minute. It sounded like he already knew what she was going to say. In running for the Senate, her father had become privy to all sorts of top secret military information. Lyle Scott might not be the catalyst behind the SEALs' presence, but he might certainly have known that they'd be down here, addressing the growing terror threat.
"Lt. Sasseville," she said, her ears pricked to the slightest nuance that her father already knew.
"No kidding." He sounded more pleased than surprised, cementing Maddy's suspicions.
"You knew I'd run into him again," she accused.
A nervous chuckle sounded in her ear. "Now, why would you think that?"
"I don't know, Daddy. I just have this feeling that you're throwing us together. Is that true?" she demanded.
"Well, even if I were, I couldn't think of a better man to look out for you."
That confirmed it. Her father was trying to play matchmaker. The realization made her more determined than ever to remain her own woman, free to carve her own path. "I have to go check on a friend right now," she said, too annoyed to continue speaking with him.
"Sam?" her father asked.
"No, my colleague, Ricardo. He was injured in an explosion."
The sudden quiet on the other end made her realize that she'd said too much.
"Not the explosion at the future well site," Lyle Scott guessed.
"Yes, actually," she replied, not at all surprised that her father had heard about it. He might not be running Scott Oil, but he would always keep his finger on the pulse of the enterprise he had built from the ground up.
"What the hell was he doing snooping around the well?"
She'd asked herself that very question. "I have no idea."
"Honey, you be careful down there. I don't like those rumors of terrorists in the region."
They're not rumors.
"It's bad enough that they're targeting Scott Oil Corporation. I don't want them going after you."
A vision of the man with the blue-green eyes assailed her. "I'll be fine, Daddy." Sam had promised he would protect her—though how he intended to do so while chasing after terrorists remained a mystery. "I've got to go," she repeated.
"I love you, sweetheart. Be careful."
"I will. Love you, too." She put her phone away and flopped onto the bed with her mother's journal, a little bound booklet into which Melinda Scott had scribbled her philosophies about global and societal issues, opinions that Maddy had embraced as her own. The final entries in the journal discussed her mother's objections to her father's prospecting in El Chaco. Melinda made it clear she didn't want her husband sucking oil out of one of the last pristine wildernesses in the world.
It'll ruin the delicate ecosystem, she'd pe
nned in her elegant scrawl. Toxic waste will spill into the waterways and leach into the flora. The livestock of the local ranchers will die off first. Eventually, the people living off their meat will develop various cancers and perish painfully.
Maddy thought of the dead cow and the symptoms the older natives were experiencing—God forbid that their illnesses would become long-term. She had hoped her work with GEF would corroborate her mother's assertions, but so far the tests she and Ricardo had run hadn't indicated at all that the environment was being adversely influenced.
It's just a matter of time, she assured herself. And when she finally substantiated her belief that the oil wells had to go, she would appeal to her father to dismantle them, just as her mother would have wanted. Out of love for her mother, Lyle Scott would reluctantly agree. Except, if he didn't run the corporation, he'd have to convince Uncle Paul to pull the plug.
An hour later, Maddy set the book aside. It was time to drive Lucía and the baby to the hospital. Leaving her condo locked, she crossed to the Jeep to start it as she waited for her neighbor to join her. The sun beat down on the Jeep's roof, encouraging her to lower all the windows. She turned the key in the ignition and a click, click, click greeted her ears. Puzzled, Maddy tried again to no avail. Either the starter had given out or the battery was dead.
Seeing Lucía step out of the adjacent condo, Maddy pushed out of the driver's seat to explain the situation. "We'll have to walk," she apologized with a grimace. "I'll help carry the baby."
Lucía peered off into the direction of the hospital. "It's not too far," she answered, patting the little bundle in the front pack. "I'm fine with her."
"You just had a baby," Maddy protested.
"Ricardo's waiting," Lucía replied and started walking.
Admiring the woman's spirit, Maddy hurried ahead to lead the way.
As they skirted storefronts and simple dwellings, the sun burned ever brighter, heating the top of her head and making her long for the straw cowboy hat she had thoughtlessly left in the Jeep. Her blond hair tended to drew unwanted attention from the male population. Giving them a show wasn't her intention.
Danger Close (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 1) Page 11
