“I’m staying here.”
“Coward.”
Roan grinned. “This isn’t what you think it is. Trust me.”
Flashing a disdainful look at him, Inca muttered, “I will. And I will see where it leads me.”
Chuckling, Roan touched her proud shoulder. “Sweetheart, this isn’t going to be painful. It’s not that bad.”
Inca thrilled to the endearment that rolled off his tongue. She liked the way it made her feel, as if physically embraced. Roan was not aware of his power at all, but she was, and Inca indulged herself in allowing the wonderful feelings that came with that word to wrap around her softly beating heart.
Turning, she scowled and pushed forward. Might as well get this confrontation with the colonel out of the way so they could get out of this dreaded swamp today.
Jaime Marcellino looked up. He felt Inca’s considerable presence long before she ducked beneath the open tent flaps to face him. She stood expectantly, her hands tense on her hips, her chin lifted with pride and her eyes narrowed with distrust.
“You wanted to see me?” Inca demanded in a dark voice. She steeled herself, for she knew Marcellino was her enemy.
With great deliberation, Jaime placed the gold pen aside, folded his hands in front of him and looked up at her. “Yes, I asked for you to come so that we may talk.” Flexing his thin mouth, he said with great effort, “Most important, I need to thank you for saving my son’s life. I saw firsthand what you did. I cannot explain how you saved him. I only know that you did.”
Inca held herself at rigid attention. She did not trust the colonel. Yet she saw the older man’s face, which was gray this morning and much older looking, lose some of its authoritarian expression. His dark brown eyes were watery with tears, and she heard him choking them back. It had to be hard for him to thank her, since he accused her of murdering his eldest son.
Her flat look of surprise cut through him. Her facial expression was one of continued distrust. Jaime wanted to reach inside that hard armor she wore. What could he expect? He’d treated her badly. Lifting his hands in a gesture of peace and understanding, he whispered, “I wish to table my earlier words to you, my earlier accusations that you murdered my eldest son. Because of what has happened here, I intend, when this mission is over, to go back to Brasilia and interrogate the drug runner who accused you of shooting Rafael. And I will use a lie detector test on him to see if indeed he is telling the truth or not.” His brows drew downward and he held Inca’s surprised gaze.
“I owe you that much,” he said unsteadily. “My logic says that if you saved Julian, why would you have murdered my firstborn? All that I hear about you, from the gossip of my soldiers, as well as the villagers we have passed on this march, is that you heal, you do not kill.”
Inca slid her fingers along the smooth leather sling of her rifle. “Oh, I kill, Colonel,” she whispered rawly. “But I do it in self-defense. It is a law of my clan that we never attack. We only defend. Do you really think I enjoy killing? No. Does it make me feel good? Never. I see these men’s faces in my sleep.”
“You are a warrior as I am,” he replied. “Killing is not a pleasure for any of us. It is a duty. A terrible, terrible duty. Our sleep is not peaceful, is it?” He cleared his throat nervously. “I have heard legends surrounding you, of the lives you have taken.” Jaime rose, his fingers barely touching the table in front of him. “And judging from what I’ve seen, you do not enjoy killing, any more than I do.”
Inca’s nostrils flared. Her voice quavered. “What sane human being would?” She waved her hand toward the encampment. “Do any of us enjoy killing another human being? Only if you are insane, Colonel. And believe me, I have paid dearly…and will continue paying for the rest of my life, for each person’s life I have taken. Do you not see those you have killed in your sleep at night? Do you not hear their last, choking cries as blood rushes up their throat to suffocate them?” Eyes turning hard, Inca felt the rage of injustice move strongly through her. “Even the idea that I would murder anyone in cold blood is beyond my comprehension. Yet you believed it of me.” She jabbed her finger at him. “I told you I did not kill your other son, Rafael. Father Titus has an affidavit, which is in your possession, that tells you I was nowhere near that part of Brasil on that day.”
The colonel hung his head and moved a soiled and damp sheet of paper to the center of his desk. “Yes…I have it here….”
“Since when did you think priests of your own faith would lie about such a thing?”
Wincing, Jaime rasped, “You are right, Inca….” He touched the crinkled, creased paper that held Father Titus’s trembling signature. “I have much to do to clear your name of my eldest son’s death. And I give you my word, as an officer and a gentleman, that once I return home, I will do exactly that.”
Inca felt her rage dissolving. Before her stood an old man worn down by grief and years of hatred aimed wrongly at her. “I will take your words with me. Is that all?”
Nodding, Jaime said wearily, “Yes, that is all. And I also want to let you know that you were right about this swamp. I’m afraid my arrogance, my anger toward you, got the better of me. From now on I will listen to you. You know this land, I do not. Fair enough?”
Inca hesitated at the tent opening, her fingers clenching the strap of the rifle on her shoulder. “Yes, Colonel. Fair enough. In five more days we will reach the valley, if we follow my route through the jungle.”
Inca lay on her belly, the dampness feeling good against her flesh in the midday heat as she studied the valley below. Roan lay beside her, and his elbow brushed hers as he took the binoculars from her and swept the narrow, steeply walled valley.
“Do you see the factory?”
Roan kept his voice low. “Yes, I see it.”
Inca watched as the colonel’s company spread out in a long, thin line along the rim of the valley. They had a hundred men ready to march against the Valentino Brothers’ factory, which was half a mile away, nestled at one end of the valley. The factory was large, the tin roof painted dark green and tan so that it would not be easily spotted from the air. They had positioned it beneath the jungle canopy to further hide its whereabouts from prying satellite cameras.
Eyes narrowing, Inca watched as her Indian friends moved ceaselessly in and out of the opened doors of the huge factory. A dirt road led out of the area and down the center of the valley, more than likely to a well-hidden villa up the steep valley slopes. They carried bushel baskets of coca leaves, which would be boiled down to extract the cocaine. Other Indians were carrying large white blocks wrapped in plastic to awaiting trucks just outside the gates. That was the processed cocaine, ready for worldwide distribution. Guards would yell at any Indians who moved too slowly for them. She saw one guard lift his boot and kick out savagely at a young boy. Her rage soared at the bondage of her people.
“It looks like an airplane hangar,” Roan muttered, adjusting the sights on the binoculars. “Big enough to house a C-130 Hercules cargo plane.”
“I estimate there are over a hundred Indians in chains down there,” she said, anger tinging her quavering tone.
“There’s a lot of guards with military weapons watching every move they make,” Roan stated. “A high fence, maybe ten feet tall, with concertina wire on top to discourage any of them from trying to escape.”
“At night, the Indians are forced to live within the fence. Sebastian and Faro Valentino are down there. Look near that black Mercedes at the gate.” She jabbed her index finger down at them. “That is them.”
Roan saw two short men, one with a potbelly and the other looking like a trim, fit athlete. Both were dressed in short-sleeved white shirts and dark blue trousers, and they were talking with someone in charge of the guards, a man in military jungle fatigues. “Got ’em.”
“They look pitifully harmless,” Inca growled. “But they are murderers of my people—hundreds of them over the last four years. The one with the pig’s belly is Sebastian. Faro
is the thin one, a pilot. His helicopter is over there.” She pointed to the machine sitting off in the grass near the compound. “He has a fleet of military helicopters that he bought from foreign countries, and he uses them to ferry the cocaine out of the area. He has also used his helicopters to shoot down Brazilian Air Force helicopters that have tried to penetrate this area. He is dangerous. He is here to pick up a load of cocaine and fly it to Peru. The Indians are carrying it to the machine right now.”
Roan heard the grating in her voice. Faro had a military helicopter, dark green in color and without markings. “I’ve read up on these two. Sebastian is the lazy one of the family. He stays put in Brazil, which is his territory. He’s satisfied with doing business from here. Faro has his own military air force, with choppers in nearly every South American country. He wants to dominate not only all of South America, but eventually Central America, as well. We’re lucky to catch the brothers together. I was hoping we’d get Sebastian.” His voice lowered with feeling. “I’d like to take ’em both down.”
“Do not be fooled by the piglike expressions on their faces. They are as smart as jaguars.”
“And you think the best time to attack is at night?”
“Yes, under cover of darkness. The guards go inside the factory at night to package the cocaine into blocks and wrap them, while the Indians sleep outside. I will go down, contact the chief who leads all the people there, and they will spread the word quickly and quietly as to the coming attack. I will break open the chain around the gate and open it. They will run. That is when the colonel will attack.”
Roan nodded and counted the guards. “I see twenty guards.”
“There are more inside the factory. Perhaps an equal number.”
“Forty men total. Against our hundred.”
Snorting, Inca gave him a cutting glance. “Do not think forty men cannot kill all of us, because they can.” She glared at the line of Brazilian soldiers hunkering down on their bellies along the rim to observe their coming target of attack. “While these soldiers have gotten stronger over the last ten days, no one says that they are battle hardened or can think in the middle of bullets flying around them. The Valentinos’ men are cold, ruthless killers. Nothing distracts them from the shots they want to take. Nothing.”
“I understand,” Roan said. He reached out and touched Inca’s cheek. Time was at a premium between them. And as much as he wanted to kiss her, he knew that she had to come to him. Inca had shyly kissed him two more times. The enjoyment was mutual. He could almost feel what she was thinking now, as if that invisible connection between them was working with amazing accuracy. Inca had told him that because a bond of trust was forged between them, he would easily pick up on her thoughts and feelings—just as she would his.
Roan watched her eyes close slightly as he touched her cheek. “I worry about you. You’re the one taking all the chances. What if the guards spot you at the fence?”
Inca captured his large hand and boldly pressed a kiss into the palm of it. Smiling widely, she watched his eyes turn a dark, smoky blue, which indicated he liked what she had done. The last five days had been a wonderful exploration for her. She felt safe enough, trusting enough of Roan to experiment, to test her newfound feminine instincts. He made her happy. Deliriously so.
“Do not worry. They will not see me coming. I will use the cover of my spirit guide to reach the fence. Only then will I unveil myself.” She released his hand and turned over on her back, her gaze drifting up through the canopy. Above her, a flock of red-and-yellow parrots skittered among the limbs of the trees. “You worry too much, man of my heart.”
Roan gave her a careless smile in return. He lay on his back, slid his arm beneath her neck and moved closer to her. When she pressed her cheek against him, he knew she enjoyed his touch. “I like where we’re going, Inca,” he told her quietly as they enjoyed one of the few private moments they’d been able to steal during the march. “I don’t know where that is, but it doesn’t matter.”
Inca laughed softly. She closed her eyes and fiercely enjoyed his closeness, the way he nurtured her with his touch, with his hard, protective body. “I do not know, either, but I want to find out.”
A sweet happiness flowed through Roan. “So do I.” And he did. In the last five days they had bonded so closely. Despite his fear, Inca had somehow surmounted that wall within him. Roan was scared. But he was more frightened of losing Inca to the danger of her livelihood. Did she love him? Was there hope for their love? There were many obstacles in their path. Was what she felt for him puppy love? A first love rather than a lasting love built upon a foundation of friendship and mutual respect? Roan wasn’t sure, and he knew the only way to find out was to surrender his heart over to her, to the gift Inca had given to him alone.
Inca opened her eyes and looked at Roan, a playful smile on her face. “You are the first man to open my heart. I do not know how you did it, only that it has happened.” She lightly touched the area between her breasts where the bandoliers of ammo met and crossed.
More serious, Roan held her softened willow-green eyes. “What we have…I hope, Inca…is something lasting. That’s what I want—what I hope for out of this.”
“Mmm, like Grandfather Adaire and Grandmother Alaria have? You know, there is gossip that they are a thousand years old, that they fell in love on an island off the coast of England. They were druids on the Isle of Mona, where they were charged with keeping the knowledge of druid culture alive for the next generation. When the Romans came and set fire to the island, destroying the druid temples and thousands of scrolls that had their people’s knowledge recorded on them, they fled. It is said they came by boat over here, to Peru, and helped to create the Village of the Clouds.”
“And they’re husband and wife?”
Chuckling, Inca said, “Oh, yes. But Grandmother Alaria is the head elder of the village. Grandfather Adaire is one of eight other elders who comprise the counsel that makes decisions on how to teach jaguar medicine and train students from around the world.”
“A thousand years,” Roan murmured. “That’s a long time. How could they live so long?”
Inca shrugged and gazed up through the trees. “I do not know. It is said that when humans have a pure heart, they may live forever or until such time that they desire to leave their earthly body.” She laughed sharply. “I do not have a pure heart. I will die much, much sooner!”
Roan moved onto his side, his body touching hers. He placed his hand on her waist and looked deeply into her eyes. “You have the purest heart I’ve ever seen,” he rasped. Reaching out, he brushed several strands of hair away from her brow. “The unselfish love you have for your people, the way you share with others…if that isn’t pure of heart, I don’t know what is.”
Just the touch of his fingers made her skin tingle pleasantly. Reaching up, Inca caressed his unshaved jaw. “Roan Storm Walker, you hold my heart in your hands, as I hold yours. You think only good of me. Those of the Jaguar Clan are charged with seeing us without such feelings in the way.” She smiled gently.
Leaning down, he whispered, “Yes, you hold my heart in your hands, my woman—”
“Excuse me….”
Roan heard the apologetic voice just moments before he was going to kiss Inca. Instead, he lifted his head and sat up. Captain Braga stood uncertainly before them, clearly embarrassed for intruding upon their private moment. “Yes?”
Clearing his throat, Captain Braga said, “A thousand pardons to you both.”
Inca felt heat in her face as she sat up. She picked several tiny leaves out of her braid. “What is it?” she demanded. More than anything, she’d wanted Roan’s kiss, that commanding, wonderfully male mouth settling against her hungry lips.
“The colonel…he asks you to come and help him with the attack plans. Er, can you?”
Inca was on her feet first. She held out her hand to Roan, who took it, and she pulled him to his feet. “Yes, we will come….”
Roa
n tried to quell his fear for Inca’s safety. He’d followed her down the steep, slippery wall of the narrow valley in the darkness, but Inca had disdained his offer of a flak jacket and headphone gear. Roan adjusted the microphone near his mouth. He was in contact with the officers of the company, who also wore communication gear. He wished Inca had agreed to the headset and protective vest. She had told him it would hamper her abilities to shape-shift and he’d reluctantly given in. The one thing he did do, however, was take off his medicine necklace and give it to her—for protection. The urge to give it to her had overwhelmed him, and this time he’d followed the demand.
Inca’s eyes had filled with tears as he’d hung it around her neck, the beautiful blue stone resting at the bottom of her slender throat. She’d smiled, kissed his hand, knowing instinctively the importance of his gesture.
The clouds were thick and a recent shower made the leaves gleam. The rain had muffled their approach to their target which was fortunate. The factory was less than two hundred yards away. The road to it was deeply rutted, and now muddy. Trees had been cleared from the edge of the road, but otherwise the valley was thickly covered by rain forest. Faro’s helicopter sat tethered near the factory. He and his brother had disappeared inside the main facility hours earlier.
Roan’s heart beat painfully in his chest for Inca as he followed her, for her raw courage under such dangerous circumstances. She didn’t seem fazed by her duties, and if she felt fear, he didn’t see it in her eyes or gestures. How brave she was in the name of her people.
Inca carefully removed her bandoliers and put her rifle aside. She took off the web belt. There was a guard outside the gate, his military weapon on his shoulder as he walked back and forth in front of it. Hidden in the forest above and around the factory were the Brazilian soldiers, who had crept carefully into position. The attack would take place in a U-shaped area. The only escape for the Indians would be down the road. Inca would urge them to run and then take cover in the rain forest. There was a squad of Brazilian soldiers half a mile from the front gate, their machine gun set up to stop any guards from driving away from the factory once the battle began.
Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart Of The Warrior Page 17
