“Provided those stitches hold,” Brent said, motioning to Tristan’s arm.
“He’s fine,” Quinn insisted.
“He’s right. I’ll be fine.”
“All right.” Brent secured one end of the vine rope to a tree. “Put on that harness you made. We’ll have you use both ropes as far as they’ll go. That way if the vine one doesn’t hold, you’ve still got something to hang on to.”
Quinn did as Brent suggested and tugged on both ropes to test their strength.
Brent watched him back to the edge of the cliff and waited for him to give the final go-ahead. His own impatience mirroring Quinn’s, Brent fought his doubts and nodded his approval. “We’ll talk you down to that ledge.”
“I’ve got this,” Quinn insisted. He tugged one more time on the rope Jay and Seth had used three days earlier, then took his first step off the edge, his weight falling backward as he started his slow and steady descent.
Brent watched him reach the narrow outcropping, where Quinn took advantage of the opportunity to rest.
Now was the time for the test. Rather than rappelling, Quinn would have to use the ropes as a safety harness and begin free-climbing down the cliff. He made the first few feet without any trouble, though Brent could see the way he had to grope and search to find the hand- and footholds since he had no one to guide him from below.
“If you don’t think you can make it without help, I can come down to the ledge.”
“I’m okay so far.” Quinn came to the end of the rope, and Brent sensed his reluctance when he let go of it and was forced to rely entirely on the braided vines.
He felt his own muscles tensing as he watched Quinn shift from one side of the narrow ledge to the other in search of more handholds. When he reached the section Seth had warned them about, the vine supporting a good part of his weight, Brent saw Quinn’s foot slip on the rock just below him. The surface was smooth as glass and slick with last night’s rain.
“Reach six inches to your left. I see a break in the rock.” Brent continued to help guide him the best he could from above. Adrenaline pumped through him as Quinn reached the point where he would have to trust the rope rather than rely on himself to free-climb.
Quinn’s foot slipped, and Brent saw the first sign of another problem. The rope Quinn had trusted had been rubbing up against the protruding ledge, and the vines had cut away and were fraying badly. “Hold on, Quinn! The vines are fraying.”
Brent cursed himself for letting Quinn go first. He should have led the way and made sure it was safe for the rest of his men. Quinn fought to regain his previous position, gripping the narrow grooves tighter.
The vines continued to fray, Quinn struggling for a solid hold. Brent saw his dilemma and struggled for the right answer. Quinn could either trust the rope to hold his weight despite the weakening integrity or cling to the rock, knowing he had nowhere to go. With so few hand- and footholds, Brent doubted he would be able to get back up by himself.
Determined to find a third option, Brent grabbed the rope. “I’m going down to help him climb back up. Tristan, guide me to him.”
He hadn’t yet taken that first step when he heard the low rumble of an aircraft. Brent identified it as a helicopter without looking, and a new sense of uneasiness came over him. What had he been thinking? He should have trusted Seth. Or more precisely, he shouldn’t have let any of his men trust the wrong rope.
Images of bullets spraying from the helicopter several nights ago drove home how vulnerable they all were at the moment, especially Quinn.
Tristan grabbed his assault rifle and handed another one to Brent. They all knew they were outmatched if this helicopter was loaded with armed men.
Clearly aware of the possible threat, Quinn struggled to climb back up. He tried to find purchase with his right foot without success. A second attempt caused his other foot to slip, his arms and fingers tensing as he hung on for dear life.
The helicopter drew closer, the downdraft from the rotors making it even more challenging to hold on as it circled above them.
Torn between wanting to climb down to help Quinn and facing the new threat, Brent lifted his weapon and took aim. If someone started shooting, he wasn’t going to be able to help Quinn if he was hanging on to a rope too.
He saw the helicopter circle three times before coming to hover over them. A rope dropped, dangling out the open door of the helicopter above, three knots tied at the bottom. Code three. It was a signal from his teammates. They had come to take them home.
Brent signaled for the helicopter to come closer, and he reached for the rope. As soon as he had it firmly in his grip, he tied the rope around him and used hand signals to communicate his intent. He waited for the weightless sensation to come over him when the helicopter lifted up again, this time with him dangling from the rope below.
His teammates lowered him until he was even with Quinn. Brent shouted to Quinn over the noise of the rotors, but he wasn’t sure he could be heard. As soon as he was close enough, he hooked his hand under Quinn’s arm.
Knowing his grip was the only thing standing between Quinn and a thirty-five-foot drop, Brent tried to position himself so Quinn could also grab the rope.
The helicopter lifted them both until they were over the clearing at the top of the cliff. Their feet touched the ground, and they both collapsed onto it.
Brent looked up again, expecting to see Seth or Jay in the open door. When he saw Damian’s face, he wondered if perhaps his impression to leave the new kid behind wasn’t so much for his protection as it was for theirs.
Chapter 36
Andrea looked at the screen on her phone, instantly alarmed when she saw the number was blocked. She answered it, her concern heightening when she heard the familiar irritated voice on the other end of the line.
“We have a problem. The Saint Squad is flying out of Canaima today.”
“How did they manage that? They were dropped off where there’s no access, and Morenta said his men killed them all.”
“Obviously they survived, and there was better access than you thought. This whole plan isn’t going to work if Vanessa Johnson knows her husband is safe.”
“Then we’ll have to change his circumstances,” she said.
The voice turned harsh. “See that you do.”
* * *
Seth didn’t like this. He didn’t like the complete absence of intelligence, the lack of knowledge about the motivation behind whatever was at work against Vanessa. He needed to put the pieces of the puzzle together, to understand them so he could keep his wife safe. He also worried that he had yet to receive a response to the e-mail he’d sent last night.
The breakdown in communication they had experienced was beyond frustrating, not only the sabotaged comm gear his squad had received but also his inability to talk to Vanessa. Whoever had dumped them in Canaima had done their research. Without a satellite phone, the only means of communication was through the outdated Internet service or the hotel phone systems. Not only were the phones not secure, but they also weren’t private.
The one positive about Canaima was the complete lack of security at the small rural airport. Since air travel was the only way into the park, the airport didn’t worry about checking identifications of those flying out.
Since he had been able to purchase his travel all the way through to Maracaibo, he was also able to bypass security in the Caracas airport. Surveillance cameras had been easy enough to avoid when he had moved from one gate to another. Hopefully he could remain unnoticed now that he had arrived at his destination.
His height alone typically caused people to take notice of him, but he tried to stick with the crowds.
He deliberately stayed to the far side of the hall when he exited by the security checkpoint. He had given his assault rifle to Damian in Canaima, but he had kept his sidearm with him, unwilling to travel unarmed, especially knowing he wouldn’t have to go through a full security check.
Staying close t
o the wall, he took the time to circle to the far exit so he could hail a taxi. He saw a policeman wander in the same direction he was heading, and Seth decided it was a great time to check his shoelaces.
He leaned down, retying the left one, his eyes still tracking the cop. When he stood, the person who had been behind him bumped into him.
“Siento,” Seth mumbled, using some of his limited Spanish to try to blend in.
“I’m sure you are,” a man responded in English.
Seth turned halfway around, but that was as far as he got before he felt a sharp pinch in his arm. The room went dark, and his muscles went lax as he dropped to the floor.
* * *
The courier hadn’t moved from Morenta’s villa in Cali. That fact alone unsettled Vanessa. Why would Morenta need more than one courier? If there really was going to be an exchange today, the courier would have been on a plane hours ago.
Also, why hadn’t her backup ever shown up? The question rattled through her head, and an uncomfortable possibility wound its way into her brain. For years, she had trusted Warren above all others within the agency. He had been the one to send her undercover in Akil Ramir’s organization. He had ultimately been the person to send the Saint Squad in after her when her handler had suffered a heart attack.
Now she questioned why she was here and how information only he had been privy to seemed to keep falling into the wrong hands. Of all people, Warren would know the only thing that could possibly bring her back into the field was a threat against her husband.
With his position in the agency, he would have access to military personnel. He could easily have facilitated the rappelling “accident” and the wrong coordinates for dropping off her husband’s squad. But why?
She needed to leave for the bank in a matter of minutes, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t as it seemed. Warren had given her a second opportunity to meet her backup, and again, the guy hadn’t shown. She supposed it was possible that it was her contact who was messing up rather than Warren, but she found herself afraid to trust anyone in the CIA right now.
Needing someone to brainstorm with, she turned her phone on with the intent of calling Kel. She saw the indicator that she’d received a message and opened it. Gratitude and relief flooded through her. Seth was safe. She let it sink in for a minute before she dialed the phone and called Kel to pass along the news.
She then confided in him her suspicions.
“Don’t go to the bank, Vanessa,” Kel insisted. “The only intel you have is unreliable, and you can’t be sure it isn’t a trap. Wait until the squad catches up with you. We can always track the courier and set something up when we have adequate personnel in place.”
“I hate to let this possibility go, but I think you’re right. I don’t like this whole situation. If Warren is involved, he would have to know I would be suspicious by now.”
“I agree. Wait for Seth to come to you. When we know everyone is safe, we’ll figure out a plan of attack,” Kel promised. “In the meantime, I’ll have Amy coordinate with the squad of SEALs I have on standby aboard the Truman. They’ll figure out how to get you all out of Venezuela.”
“I would appreciate that. I’m sure all of us are ready to go home.”
* * *
Jay landed the borrowed helicopter near Lake Maracaibo, several miles away from the city. Eager to clear the area so they wouldn’t draw attention to themselves, the Saint Squad and Paige hiked two miles in silence before Damian suggested another mode of transportation. “Brent, how would you feel about me calling my uncle for a ride?”
“I don’t know about involving your family, especially at seven in the morning,” Brent said.
“We can trust my uncle,” Damian said. Unlike his uncle who drank himself to death, this particular uncle had always demonstrated a well of integrity and faith. He lowered his voice and added, “Paige can’t keep up this pace much longer, and we can’t leave her behind.”
“I don’t want anyone to know where we’re staying.”
“I’ll have him drop us off somewhere else, and we can take taxis from there,” Damian suggested.
“Okay,” Brent relented. “Make your call.”
Damian called his uncle, giving a brief explanation of why he hadn’t let him know he was in town and then asking him to meet him a short distance away. Fifteen minutes later, he and Paige slid into the cab and the rest of the squad climbed into the bed of his truck.
“Uncle Fernando, this is my girlfriend,” Damian said in Spanish, not giving her name so he wouldn’t have to choose between her real name and the alias she was currently traveling under. “Thanks so much for picking us up. We had some engine trouble a ways back.”
“Anything for family.” He looked speculatively at Paige. “Your girlfriend. She doesn’t speak Spanish?”
“Not much.”
“You’ll teach her,” Fernando said confidently. “Now, who are these men in the back of my truck, and where am I taking you?”
Damian saw his uncle’s uneasy glance over his shoulder. “Don’t worry. They’re friends.” He gave Fernando the name of a hotel on the way to his uncle’s home. After his uncle dropped them off, Damian promised to visit him later and said his good-byes. When he turned to Brent, he said, “I think we should split up. We’ll be harder to find that way.”
Brent nodded in agreement. “Quinn, you and Tristan stick together. I’ll go with Damian and Paige. Switch cabs a couple times to make sure none of us are being followed.”
“Where’s our final destination?” Quinn asked.
Damian rattled off the address. “Whoever gets there first can hang out in the restaurant downstairs. There’s a bar area in sight of the front entrance. Then we can all meet upstairs on the fourth floor.”
“See you there.” Quinn and Tristan started down the street, waiting until they were a block away before Quinn raised a hand to hail a cab. As soon as they were safely on their way, Brent flagged down another taxi.
Paige slid into the middle of the backseat, with Damian on her left and Brent on her right. A moment later, the taxi was headed toward the hotel.
* * *
“What do you mean Seth isn’t here?” Damian asked. When they had abandoned their helicopter, he had thought their biggest challenge of the day would be to make it back to the hotel without being followed. Now they were standing in the hotel suite with Vanessa only to find Seth hadn’t arrived yet. He sensed Vanessa’s concern but couldn’t bring himself to hide his own worry. “He should have been here last night.”
Vanessa’s face paled, but her voice was rigid. “Why wasn’t he with you?”
“He was worried we wouldn’t get back before you were supposed to go to the bank. He wanted to stop you or at least make sure he was here to back you up in case you didn’t get his e-mail.”
“Maybe his flight was canceled or delayed,” Vanessa said hopefully.
“It’s possible. He would have had to connect through Caracas.”
“I’ll check,” Tristan offered. A few seconds passed. His voice was edgy when he gave them the news. “His flight was late, but he still should have been here seven or eight hours ago.”
Brent put a hand on Vanessa’s shoulder, but he looked at Tristan. “See if there’s any way to tap into the surveillance video for the Caracas and Maracaibo airports.”
“Maybe he was being followed and didn’t want to take a chance of leading anyone back here,” Vanessa said.
For the next two hours, they utilized their various resources to search for Seth. Damian tried to help Quinn and Tristan access the surveillance video feed, and Brent contacted Amy and Kel to have them join in the search.
Tristan was the first to access the videos. All of them split up the possibilities, no one finding any sign of Seth.
“Maybe he didn’t get out of Canaima. He could have gotten detained,” Brent said.
“He didn’t have identification on him,” Tristan said.
“
And he kept his sidearm with him,” Jay added. “Either of those things would have flagged him if the airport had more security than he expected.”
Hours crept by. The tension in the room continued to rise, the chatter between them limited to direct questions and answers. Paige quietly left to get everyone food at lunchtime and again when it was time for dinner.
Vanessa barely managed to eat anything, worry consuming her. When the proximity alarm sounded on her tablet, she automatically silenced it. The only surveillance equipment she had activated since arriving had been stolen from her first hotel room.
The alarm sounded a second time, and she nearly turned it off again. Then her thoughts caught up with reality. The hidden camera hadn’t been destroyed. It had been turned off.
Quickly, she picked up her tablet again and accessed the surveillance program.
Her breath backed up in her lungs, her chest tightening painfully as she stared at the image on the screen. She blinked hard against the tears that threatened.
Paige was the first to notice the extreme change in her expression. “Vanessa, what’s wrong?”
She couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. She held up the tablet to show an image to the rest of the group. Blindfolded, with his hands bound in front of him, her husband lay in a heap on a concrete floor.
Chapter 37
Seth kept his breathing deep and steady, not stirring as he woke. He could feel the drugs still in his system, the pounding in his head, and the sluggishness in his mind.
Unsure of whether he was being watched or not, he remained motionless as he fought against the fuzziness in his brain, his senses waking.
His eyes still closed, he began analyzing his surroundings. The texture of cold concrete against his face, the scent of meat and spices, the sound of a man’s voice followed by silence. A nylon cord bound his wrists together, but thankfully they were tied in front of him instead of behind his back.
A minute passed, and he heard another voice, this time a woman’s. “This had better work.”
“It will. Trust me,” the man responded. “If Vanessa was able to figure out the exchange at the bank was a trap, she’ll figure out where we want her to go now.”
Drop Zone Page 23
