Peter's Return

by Cynthia Cooke

  “This is quite an impressive operation,” Robert said.

  “Each duffel will hold about fifty kilos. He’s planning on dumping five hundred kilos into Colorado Springs.”

  “That’s incredible,” Robert muttered.

  “And the root cause of all the problems the Springs has been facing lately, especially in the last few months.”

  Suddenly, lights along the runway lit up, and far in the distance Peter could see the twinkling glow of an approaching plane.

  “What are we doing here?” Robert asked. “Do you have a car stashed close by? And where’s Emily.”

  “She’s still with Marcos. Don’t worry, by tomorrow morning we’ll all be back in Colorado and you’ll be eating breakfast with your wife and kids.”

  “From your lips to God’s ears,” Robert said softly.

  “Stay out of sight,” Peter commanded as the plane approached the runway. He moved in as close to the airstrip as he could without being seen. The plane landed with a loud screech and rolled to a stop not fifty feet in front of him. Several of Baltasar’s guards started running toward the plane.

  The fuselage doors flew open and agents poured out onto the runway, diving into the jungle, moving out of the line of fire. Understanding what was happening, Baltasar’s guards started calling out warnings, guns were raised and shots fired. From his position in the bushes, Peter started firing, giving as much cover to the agents fleeing the plane as he could.

  A unit in black swung around behind him, popping up from the thick foliage to fire on the guards. Once all the agents were on the ground, Peter hurried back for Robert. “Follow me,” he called, and they both ran toward the plane.

  As they approached, Peter noticed most of Baltasar’s guards had fallen, but there was still sporadic gunfire in the jungle. What concerned him was that he hadn’t yet seen Baltasar. The man must still be back at the compound with Emily. That was one complication Peter hadn’t planned on. He didn’t like the idea of Emily alone with Baltasar once the guns started firing. Who knew how he’d react?

  He helped Robert into the plane, then climbed up behind him and quickly took off his pack. Jake Montgomery, FBI computer expert and one of his best friends, dropped his helmet onto his seat as he saw them. “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you.”

  A large smile spread across Peter’s face as he stared at his friend. “Good to see you, too.”

  Jake cocked a grin. “I knew you were out there causing trouble somewhere.”

  “Yep, and I’m still not done.” He handed Jake the pack. “There’s a disk drive in there with the computer files I was able to download off Baltasar’s computer. We believe there’s another agent of Baltasar’s working in the Springs, but I haven’t been able to determine who he is yet. I really hope the information is on that disk.”

  Jake nodded. “I’ll get right on it.”

  “This is Dr. Fletcher. He needs a lift back to the States.”

  Robert sat down and immediately strapped himself in. Peter turned toward the door.

  “Wait a minute,” Jake said. “Where are you going? I have orders to bring you back. Your dad has a plane standing by to take you directly to Chicago. He said it’s important that you be there in the morning. The rest of the team will stay here and round up what’s left of Baltasar’s agents.”

  Peter looked into Jake’s face and realized that his dad had given him one last chance to save his career. “Emily’s still back at the house, Jake. I won’t leave her.”

  “You can trust me. I’ll get her.”

  “Jake, I love you like a brother, but I can’t. We’ll be back. Both of us.” With that, Peter jumped out of the plane’s opening and disappeared into the jungle. He promised Emily he’d come back for her, and he wouldn’t let her down.

  Emily’s heart kicked up a notch as she heard the sounds of an approaching plane. She had to think up an excuse to get out of there. She couldn’t miss that plane. Peter must be outside waiting for her now. She glanced over at Baltasar. He was reading aloud from a storybook, not seeming to notice the noise from the aircraft, or that Marcos no longer had his eyes open. As if his voice alone could keep Marcos there with him. She supposed on some level the sound of his father’s reading must be a comfort, though she couldn’t help wondering if Marcos could even hear him any longer.

  Suddenly Marcos’s eyes flew open.

  The boy reached for his father, then his eyes widened and he went still, his hand dropping away. The monitor started an even, relentless tone, ringing through the room.

  Then the gunfire began.

  Baltasar stood, the book falling to the floor with a resounding thud.

  Emily rushed forward.

  Baltasar turned to her. “Do something!”

  “I can’t. There’s nothing.”

  “Don’t say that! Do something now!”

  Shocked, she stared at his bulging eyes, his flushed skin, his breath coming in quick harsh gasps. “There’s nothing,” she said in her most professional voice. “He’s gone. He’s not suffering any longer. There’s no more fear, no more pain.”

  “Don’t say that! Bring him back,” he ordered.

  “I can’t.”

  He pulled a gun out of his pocket and pushed it against her temple. “You will or you’ll die.”

  Desperate, Emily turned to Marcos and began to pump on his chest. Tears streamed down her face at the feel of his little body beneath her hands. She knew it was too late, knew there was nothing she could do to save him. She also knew it was better for Marcos where he was, with the Lord and his mother and away from the pain and sickness.

  She felt Baltasar’s menacing presence behind her, heard his breathing grow raspier with each breath. She pumped over and over on Marcos’s chest, and still the monitor blared on. “There’s nothing I can do,” she pleaded.

  Baltasar flew into a rage, knocking over carts, tearing pictures off the walls, screaming. The harsh sounds of tortured grief echoed through the room. She flinched, jumping at each outburst. Her tears caught on the fear rising in her throat. She choked on them then coughed as she continued to pump on Marcos’s unmoving chest.

  “You’re sick!” Baltasar bellowed. “You did this. You shouldn’t have gone near him. You knew his immune system was weak. You killed him.”

  “No!” she stepped away from the child. “I didn’t. I cared for him. Don’t do this!”

  He moved toward her, cold fury in his eyes. Emily felt the wall at her back as she moved to escape him. But there was no escape, she was cornered.

  Esteban came running through the doorway. “We have to go, señor! There are U.S. agents all over the compound. They’ve confiscated the merchandise!”

  Emily looked from Baltasar to Esteban. The plane. It was full of agents. She was saved. She blew out a deep breath.

  Confusion filled Baltasar’s horrified expression. “N-no,” he stammered. “You’re mistaken. It cannot be.”

  “I’m sorry, señor. There is no mistake. I’ve seen them myself. We must leave, immediately. I have a Jeep out front with your computer and important files loaded in the back.”

  Baltasar didn’t move. He stared, unblinking.

  “Señor?”

  Then something diabolical snapped behind his eyes, and he became alert, his gaze cruel and deadly.

  “Gracias, Esteban,” he said, his tone once again even, his stature straight and in control. He hurried past the guard and out of the room.

  Emily’s shoulder’s sagged with relief as she watched him go.

  “Bring the doctor,” he called over his shoulder as he disappeared around the corner.

  Emily’s gaze shot to Esteban. A large leering grin split his face. Her mind filled with numbing coldness. He walked toward her. Panic threatened to consume her. She looked around, searching for anything she could use to stop him. She stared at the mess strewn all over the floor from Baltasar’s rampage. But they were just objects, she couldn’t seem to get her mind to think, to focus on any on
e thing. He stepped close, reaching.

  “Oh, Lord, please,” she cried and backed away from him.

  “The Lord can’t save you now, chiquita.”

  She couldn’t let that man touch her. Wouldn’t. She’d rather die right there in that room than out in the jungle at the mercy of Baltasar and his twisted sidekick.

  Esteban lunged. Emily threw the intravenous cart against him. She ran past him, but he grabbed hold of her shirt. The fabric ripped, but still held. He had her. She looked at Marcos and thought how hard he’d fought for his life, thought about how much love he had in his heart, and how that love had kept him going. She wouldn’t give up.

  She whipped around and kicked Esteban in the stomach as hard as she could. As he doubled over, she picked up a lead crystal vase and crashed it onto his head. Then she ran, pulling as many items behind her into his path as she could find as she sped down the hallway and toward the back door.

  She knew how Esteban felt about her, remembered well the smell of his rancid breath on her neck. At this point, she would rather face the biggest snake, cat or spider in the jungle than be left to the mercy of that beast.

  “Please Lord, please let me make it into the jungle,” she prayed as she ran out the door.

  “I’m going to get you, chiquita,” Esteban yelled and she knew he would give everything he had to get his hands on her.

  Peter was right; there are worse things out there than the creatures in the jungle. She told herself that over and over again as she left the manicured lawns, bursting through the bushes and moving far away from the cobblestone path.

  Where was Peter? He said he’d meet her out back, but he wasn’t there!

  “Chiquita?” Esteban called in a high-pitched mocking tone. A tone that told her it didn’t matter where she went, or how far she’d run, he would find her.

  He did have an advantage. He knew every square inch of the estate. He probably even knew which trees the snakes and jaguars lived in.

  A branch swiped painfully at her cheek as she made her way toward the sounds of gunfire and the lights of the runway. Peter must still be there. He must not have been able to get away; otherwise he would have been there to help her. He wouldn’t have left her to the mercy of Baltasar. She believed that with all her heart. Why hadn’t she taken her chances with him? Why did she ever go back into that room? Why couldn’t she listen to someone who tried to give her advice? To guide her?

  Because she had to be in control, she thought bitterly. She ran, her legs pumping, her mind racing, her body trembling. Maybe that’s why she’d never fully given her heart to the Lord like so many of her friends had done. To relinquish herself that much…it was something she’d never been able to do. Being in control of her own actions, her own destiny, was everything to her. And look how much that control was costing her now.

  “I see you, chiquita.” Esteban’s voice skittered down her spine like the many legs of a spider scurrying after a kill.

  She heard the engines of a plane revving and pushed herself to move faster, holding her arms out in front of her to knock away anything in her path and hoped she’d be moving too fast for anything icky to stick.

  She saw lights up ahead, and prayed she was almost there. She burst through the last bush and pushed into a clearing, and stared in horror as the plane raced down the runway and rose into the sky.

  Peter?

  Oh God, he wouldn’t have left without her, would he?

  “Chiquita, I see you!”

  Where would she go? What would she do now? The motorcycle, it was her only hope. She would climb the wall, and even in the dark, she would ride the motorcycle through the jungle and get as far away from Esteban and Baltasar as she could.

  Before she could duck back into the bushes, a hand clasped over her mouth. Her eyes bulged in terror as she was slammed against a hard chest and pulled into the brush. In horror, she realized this hand was different—rougher, thinner, drier, and the chest was not warm or protective. This was not her Peter.

  She fought the fear threatening to overwhelm her and felt her knees weaken as her mind went numb. Oh, please, Lord, not Esteban.

  Peter ran back to the spot he’d told Emily to meet him. He knew the plane wouldn’t wait much longer and if they didn’t want to be stranded in South America, then they needed to be on that plane. “Emily,” he called softly.

  No answer.

  He circled around to the front of the hospital wing, hoping to glance through a window, to see if she was still in Marcos’s room. As he approached, he saw a Jeep parked out front, but no sign of a guard, Baltasar or Emily. He entered the wing and ran to Marcos’s room, then stood in the doorway, shocked by the equipment and medical supplies smashed and broken on the floor.

  The child was lying in the bed, his eyes wide open and staring at nothing. Peter approached him and pulled the sheet up over his head, then said a silent prayer. Suddenly, he heard Baltasar bellowing for Snake and Esteban. “Bring me those doctors who killed my son!”

  Peter cringed at the crashing sounds throughout the house. Baltasar was completely out of control, but at least he didn’t have Emily yet, which meant they still had hope. He hurried forward then stopped as Baltasar loomed in the doorway, his face riddled with confusion. “Pietro?”

  “That’s right, Baltasar.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m here to bring you to justice.”

  Baltasar stared at him for a long moment then let loose a loud laugh. “No, Mr. Presti, or whatever your name is. You’re here to die.” He pulled a gun out of his pocket but before he could take aim, Peter dove, flying into Baltasar, knocking him off balance. The gun went off, the bullet piercing the wall. They both fell to the floor in the hallway, rolling, fists flailing, legs kicking. Peter got in a good punch that left Baltasar dazed and reeling. He shoved the muzzle of his gun under Baltasar’s chin.

  “You get up real slow and I’ll let you live, although for what you did to Emily and Robert, I’d prefer to blow your head off right here.”

  Baltasar’s hate-filled eyes focused on his. “You’d do well to blow my head off, Mr. Presti. It’s the only thing that’s going to save you.”

  “Big talk for a man on his back.”

  “It won’t be long before you’re on you’re back, begging me for mercy. You and that little doctor friend of yours.”

  Peter smiled. “Get up.” He stood back as Baltasar rose then led him into the kitchen where he tied him to a chair. “I’ve wanted to muzzle you for days now,” Peter said as he placed a large piece of tape over Baltasar’s mouth. “My friends will be here soon, to escort you to a nice jail where your only companions will be rats and roaches.”

  Baltasar scoffed through the tape.

  Peter didn’t like the look in his eyes. The man should be concerned, he should be worried that his entire organization was crumbling around him; instead he had a look of triumph, as if he knew something Peter didn’t.

  Prudence and experience dictated he should stay with him until the other agents arrived. It would be a mistake to let this animal out of his sight, but he had to find Emily. He had to find her before Snake or Esteban did.

  Without looking back, he tore out the front of the house and once again circled around back. He heard the plane making its way down the runway. It was leaving without them.

  He ran toward the airstrip. Had she gone without him? There was no sign of her anywhere. And worse, every one of the agents he’d passed hadn’t seen her, either.

  The motorcycle.

  Perhaps she’d recognized how desperate her situation was, put aside her earlier reservations and done what she should have done before—climbed that wall and rode to safety. He ran through the jungle heading toward the wall, hoping and praying.

  As he reached the wall, he quickly climbed to the top and looked down. The motorcycle was still where he’d left it.

  Frustration teetering on panic filled him. Where could she be? He took out his infrared ni
ght-vision goggles and scanned back inside the compound, but saw only agents tracking down the remaining guards and storming the estate. Hopefully they’d find Baltasar and he could put that worry behind him once and for all. But where was Emily?

  As he continued to scan the area, his breath caught as he focused the goggles on a man pushing the small frame of a woman into a Jeep, before climbing behind the wheel and driving away from the estate.

  Emily!

  Chapter Nine

  Panic clutched hold of Peter’s heart. He jumped down from the wall, pulled the motorcycle out from behind the bush and tore off after the Jeep. Peter’s hands clutched the handlebars as he flew down the dark road, his night-vision infrared goggles showing him the way. He took several deep breaths, squeezing and releasing the handlebar grips, trying to rein in the overwhelming urge to ride up on the Jeep and take out the driver. He had to play it safe and make sure whoever was driving that Jeep didn’t hurt Emily.

  Biding his time and wrestling a strong hold on his patience, Peter followed the Jeep hour after hour as it wound through the countryside down one dirt road after another. As dawn finally broke, he pulled off his infrared goggles as they entered a small village on the Orinoco River. Peter stopped his bike on the outskirts of the village and hid it behind a bush. He stood back and watched to see who would get out of the Jeep. Snake! Peter took a deep breath and watched as he and Emily walked into a small thatched hut.

  From what he could tell, she looked all right. Snake didn’t have to pull her kicking and screaming into the small house. She was holding up a brave front. Pride swelled within him. That was his Em. He stuck to the bushes as long as he could, then pulled his gun and ran across the opening before throwing himself against the hut. He crashed through the front door, rolled, then leaped up onto one knee and aimed his gun squarely at Snake who was standing against the wall, arms raised, shock playing across his face.