To the Limit (Shadow Heroes Book 3)

by Virginia Kelly

  The road in the valley was in much better condition than the one on the mountainside. They drove for a few minutes, first across a single-lane stone bridge over a raging, muddy river that had to be the Río Hermoso, then through rows and rows of coffee trees. Finally, a few, small wood-frame houses with tin roofs came into view. They pulled up in front of the one closest to the riverbank.

  She was ordered out of the Jeep. The lieutenant led her inside. The driver, his hand on his sidearm, followed.

  The inside of the house was surprisingly modern for this rural part of San Mateo. Air conditioned—a real surprise—it also had two computers and what had to be a large industrial printer, one that ran along one wall. Boxes were lined up against another wall. An open door led to a small kitchen. Another door was closed, a Ranger standing in front. From beyond the door came the sound of a chair scraped across the wooden floor. Moments later, the door opened from the inside.

  Nick’s uncle, Antonio Vargas, dressed in Army fatigues, opened it wider. She looked past him.

  A man sat in a chair, his hair long and tangled, one side of his face bruised, brow cut and bleeding, one eye swollen shut, his lower lip split open.

  Her heart stalled. “Mark?” She tore free of the lieutenant’s grasp, but he grabbed her before she took a single step.

  A bloody bandage rode high on Mark’s left arm. Handcuffs dangled from his right wrist, as if he’d just been released from the left one. His head was down.

  “Let her go, teniente,” General Vargas said.

  Mary Beth ran past both men, knelt beside her brother, and took his hand. He jerked, as if she’d woken him, shaking the chair, and opened bleary eyes.

  “Mary Beth?” His voice cracked. “What—”

  Ignoring his words, Mary Beth hugged him. He winced when she touched his back. “What have they done to you?”

  “Mr. Williams,” the general said.

  Mary Beth turned.

  “Perhaps now you will cooperate with us.”

  “Let her go, Vargas,” Mark said in a hoarse whisper.

  The general laughed and shook his head. “I admire bravery, not stupidity. She will go when you tell me what I need to know.”

  Mary Beth clutched Mark’s hand. It was ice cold. “My brother needs medical treatment,” she said. “We demand to contact the American embassy.”

  Vargas laughed again. Mary Beth noticed that the lieutenant who had brought her here wasn’t smiling. He stood beside the open door. The general walked around behind Mark’s chair.

  “Your sister is fierce, no? That is good.” Turning to the lieutenant, he said in Spanish, “I will deal with them from here. Leave us.”

  As the door closed, Vargas moved around so he faced them both. “Now, Mr. Williams, we will continue our discussion.”

  “There’s nothing to discuss,” Mark said, his voice only slightly stronger.

  “Then I must persuade you.” The general’s hand rested on the pistol he had strapped to his hip.

  “Mark,” Mary Beth said in what she hoped was a fearless tone. “What’s going on?”

  “A misunderstanding, Miss Williams. Nothing more,” the general replied. “Your brother has refused to take my demands seriously.”

  “What demands?”

  “He knows.” With that, General Vargas pulled the pistol from its holster and aimed the gun at her head.

  Mary Beth froze.

  “Let her go,” Mark jerked to his feet.

  “You will cooperate first.” The general glanced at Mark, then brought his attention back to her. He kept the gun steady.

  Afraid she might collapse, Mary Beth took a tentative breath.

  “What guarantee do I have that she will be unharmed?” Mark asked.

  “My word.”

  Even beaten, his features distorted, Mary Beth could read the expression in Mark’s eyes; he didn’t trust this man.

  “What you want is not in one place,” Mark said.

  “Do not lie to me.”

  Mark stared at the general through his good eye. “It’s in Ciudad San Mateo. You can’t get it without me.”

  “There is a simple solution, no?”

  “You will never get it if I’m dead or she’s harmed.’ Mark swayed on his feet. “It’ll be waiting for you, like a ticking bomb.” He straightened. “Waiting to blow up in your face.”

  “Ah, Mr. Williams. You are in no position to make threats.”

  “Just as you’re in no position to threaten my sister.”

  Vargas laughed again. “I am holding the gun.”

  “You won’t get what you want from me until my sister is safe and unhurt.”

  Vargas moved the gun off of her and aimed it at Mark, his hold steady on the weapon. No emotion whatsoever showed on the man’s face. Or on Mark’s. She looked from one man to the other, insides trembling.

  The general lowered the gun and smiled. “This is what your Western movies call a Mexican standoff, no?”

  ***

  Nick silently picked his way through high weeds to the back of Daniel’s house. It appeared deserted, but he’d have to circle around to the front to make sure no men were posted there.

  Careful to stay behind the shelter of trees and bushes, he moved to the east of the house as quietly as possible. No guards, no one around. He walked to the back again.

  The doorknob had been broken off, so the door swung open easily. The house was empty, anything of value gone. Drawing his gun, he made his way to Daniel’s room.

  He checked the closet. Empty. He closed the door and knelt beside it, fingers searching the baseboard for imperfections.

  There! The notch he and Daniel had fashioned. Carefully, he pulled the wooden baseboard aside to reveal the crawl space and the dirt below. Empty. Momentarily confused, he sat back. If Daniel had something to hide, he would have put it here. The general had demanded that Nick burn this house, that it could hold secrets that would harm Daniel’s reputation. If the general believed that, then there might be something. Stretching out on the dirty wooden floor, Nick reached inside, searching. Finally, his fingers felt metal.

  He pulled out a small safe and twisted the lock. A packet of papers lay atop something heavier in a rough cloth sack. He sat back on his heels to read the words written by his dead brother.

  Days of wondering were over.

  Now he knew the connection between Daniel, Mark Williams and Antonio Vargas.

  ***

  As soon as the general left the room, Mary Beth bent over Mark and examined his face.

  “I’m fine,” he said, easing into the chair.

  “What in the world is going on?” she asked, gently wiping blood from his brow with her T-shirt hem. How could anyone have done this?

  Mark winced.

  “Is the general out of his mind?

  “No. He’s a criminal and a cold-blooded son of a bitch,” Mark said, no longer sounding as rough or weak.

  Mary Beth looked around at the room. Empty shelving occupied all the walls. An open door led to a small bathroom with a toilet and sink. She stood.

  “What are you doing?”

  “There may be something in the bathroom we can use to clean the cuts out before they get infected.”

  “That’s hardly my problem, Mary B.”

  She took a breath. “What does he want?”

  “You don’t need to know.”

  “It’s a little late to be hiding things from me. He just pointed a gun at us! Of course I need to know!”

  He touched the tip of his tongue to his cut lip before saying, “What I want to know is how you got here. Why?”

  “I got a call saying that the Primero de Mayo terrorists were holding you for ransom.”

  “So you jumped on the next plane?” He shook his head. “Are you nuts? Did you think you could travel to the far edge of nowhere without help?”

  “I had help.”

  “Who?”

  “Nick Romero.”

  “Damn, Mary Beth! Nick Ro
mero is—!” He ran a hand through his filthy hair and winced. “How the hell did you get him tangled up in this?”

  “I, um … asked, and he agreed.”

  She thought he said, “That’s great, just great.”

  “What?”

  “So where the hell is Romero now?” he asked through clenched teeth.

  “I don’t know. He came down to the valley early this morning.”

  “We’d better pray Vargas doesn’t get his hands on him.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Mark ignored her and pushed himself out of the chair, onto his feet before Mary Beth could help him. He leaned against the door, as if listening. “Do you see anyone outside the window?”

  “You can’t be serious. We can’t outrun these men.”

  “Just look, okay?”

  Mary Beth went to the window and looked out. The river was about twenty five yards back. Pressing her face against the glass, she looked down both sides of the building.

  “There’s one Ranger with a rifle, to the right.”

  “Okay,” Mark said, slowly making his way to the open bathroom. “Give me a minute.”

  “For what?” Mary Beth had to struggle to keep from yelling at him.

  “For me to feel a little better and for something to give.”

  She didn’t have the courage to ask what it was he expected to give.

  ***

  Nick bent over a stream that fed into the Río Hermoso. Splashing water on his face, he considered his options. He could go back to San Vicente and get help now that he knew the truth. But it would take too long and Mary Beth would insist on coming back down. That was not acceptable. Or he could try to make everything work out. Find some compromise. For Daniel, for the Romeros. For Mark Williams, and for the woman he cared too much about.

  Maybe even for himself.

  He glanced at the towering cliff on the other side of the raging Río Hermoso and remembered Franco’s question: Has your life been your choice?

  He ached to choose Mary Beth. But before he could even consider the possibility, he had to remember duty, honor and the promises of two thirteen-year-old boys.

  ***

  “What was that?” Mary Beth asked when she heard something that sounded like an engine.

  Mark came out of the bathroom, his right arm tight across his body, as if in pain. He’d washed his face, but the cut over his brow oozed blood.

  “Someone has driven up,” Mark replied. “Be really quiet,” he whispered, limping to the door.

  The sounds of various voices came from the front of the house. Mary Beth couldn’t pick out any words—just the mumbling that filtered through to the room.

  Mark leaned against the door, listening. “Damn!”

  “What?” she asked.

  “Look out the window. Is the guard still there?”

  She pressed her face against the glass, straining to see. “No, he’s gone.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Bring the chair over here.”

  He took the chair from her and jammed the back under the doorknob. “Won’t hold ’em for long, but it might help.” He hurried, still limping, to the window and tried to open it, but his left arm was next to useless.

  Mary Beth pushed his hands away and struggled to raise the wooden frame that had been painted shut.

  “Cough, really loud,” Mark ordered.

  Mary Beth coughed twice as he used his right hand to pound against the window frame in an effort to loosen it.

  “Now try it,” he said.

  It slid up, with only a single squeak at the end. He leaned out the window, looked both ways, then ducked back inside.

  “Okay. Go for the river. Straight back. Don’t look to either side. Don’t look back. If I don’t make it—

  She sucked in a breath, silencing him for a moment.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders, then pulled her in for a quick hug. “Listen, okay? This is important.”

  She nodded and he continued. “Tell them you want to give it to them, but that half of it is Ciudad San Mateo, be sure you say that, half, okay?”

  “If you don’t make it? Mark!”

  “Listen to me, Mary B. Please. Just listen.”

  She bit her lip to hold back a sob.

  “They won’t get the other half until you’re back in the States.”

  “What do they want?” she asked, afraid to know.

  “Something I don’t have.”

  She laid her hand on Mark’s arm. “If it’s the things from your safe deposit box, those numbers, I have them with me.”

  He stared at her for an instant, then glanced toward the door. “Where?”

  “Wrapped in plastic inside my bra,” she answered.

  “You’ve got both sets of numbers?”

  “Yes.”

  He blew out a breath, then glanced at the open window.

  “Mark, what have you been doing?”

  “The numbers are important, but they’re only half of what Vargas wants. The numbers have to get out of the country. Call my office,” he said, his one good eye focused on her, the other swollen shut. “Get ahold of a man named Jonathan Ethridge. If they give you any bullshit, tell them you who you are and that you have what Ethridge wants.”

  “Tell me you’ve done nothing wrong. That you’re not into counterfeiting or gunrunning.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not. The only thing I did wrong was trust someone at the embassy.”

  “Elliot Smith?”

  “The son of a bitch.”

  “Do you,” she had to stop and take a deep breath, “really think we can outrun them?”

  “There’s a church, a little thing, if you follow the river down about two or three miles from here. Ask for Sister Ana. Use her phone to call Ethridge. Tell him not to trust either General Vargas or Elliot Smith.” Mark paused, took a nervous step toward the window. “Ethridge needs to get someone trustworthy from the office down here.”

  “What can your office possibly do?”

  Mark ignored her question. “Tell them where you are.” He walked back to her and took her hand. “Whatever happens, don’t give up the papers to the general or to anyone from the American embassy. Only to Ethridge or someone he vouches for.”

  He wasn’t talking as if he’d make it. Heart in her throat, she searched his face for reassurance. He smiled, the beating he’d taken distorting his features.

  “Damn, I wish you weren’t here.” He hugged her with his good arm. “But you’ve got guts, Mary B.”

  She didn’t. Tears choked her throat.

  ***

  Nick approached the buildings Daniel had drawn on the map he left in the box at his house. Non-descript, they sat about twenty meters from the banks of the Río Hermoso. Behind him, a few feet farther down the eroding bank, the river roared east, down to the Amazon basin. The rush of raging water hid branches, even trees, as it swept on its inevitable path to the sea, thousands of miles beyond. Perched on an out-cropping of boulders that had not succumbed to the raging waters, he peered at the backs of the three closely clustered buildings.

  Two Jeeps were parked in front of one building. Four soldiers, corporals from what he could tell, walked the grounds. As he watched, the Ranger positioned to the side of the first building stood and ran toward the front, where a muddy drive led to the road. Another Jeep approached, followed by a small pickup with several men in the bed.

  The roaring of the river made it impossible to hear the vehicles. Knowing he had to get closer, he pulled himself up the slippery crumbling bank, prepared to make the dash to the back of the first building. Movement from a window stopped him.

  A disheveled man pulled himself out and jumped down. Crouching low, he looked around, then turned and held his right arm up.

  To Mary Beth.

  ***

  Mary Beth leaped to the ground, unwilling to take Mark’s outstretched hand for fear of hurting him. As soon as she straight
ened, he pushed her back against the outside of the building and looked both ways.

  “Go,” he said softly. “Run straight for the bank. Careful when you go over not to slide into the water. Crouch and run downriver. I’m right behind you.”

  Mary Beth nodded, automatically felt for the papers lodged in her bra, then sprinted for the river. Mark was, indeed, right behind her. She could hear his footfalls and uneven breathing. As they got closer to the river, the damp earth gave way to mud. She kept running, but the mud made each step treacherous as she slid and slipped, trying to balance herself.

  Ten yards from the river, Mary Beth heard Mark gasp and turned to see blood running from his leg. That was when she heard the gunshot. She grabbed his hand and felt the second shot slam into him before she heard it. Clutching his shirt, she tried to help him regain his balance, but he was already falling, pulling her down with him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Fear roared through Nick at the sight of Mary Beth and her brother falling to the ground. He levered himself up the steep riverbank, prepared to help, when he saw someone running toward them, rifle aimed.

  He lowered himself again, then moved toward high weeds that would provide cover as he tried to see what was happening. He couldn’t give himself away, not until he was sure of the situation.

  Mary Beth sat next to Williams, who lay immobile on the ground. As she reached out to him, the man with the rifle—Elliot Smith—fired into the air. The shot made her flinch.

  Nick pulled the Glock out of its holster, but at that moment, the general and three Rangers came from the compound, all with rifles at the ready. If Nick took the shot, Mary Beth and her brother would be caught in a deadly cross fire.

  “Move away from him!” Smith yelled, standing only a few feet from her, aiming at Williams.

  “He’s bleeding,” she called back, her attention fixed on her brother.

  “Stand up. Move away.”

  But she stayed down. Smith fired another shot, the bullet kicking up grass and mud a few feet away from Williams’ prone body, causing Mary Beth to flinch again. The sound echoed over the sounds of the river, but she stayed beside her brother.