Gideon

by Cherry Adair

  He’d murdered numerous men and kidnapped countless others. Extortion. Weapons brokering. Drug trafficking and prostitution. They used the profits from narco-trafficking to buy weapons and other necessities to fund their insurrection. The ANLF was a veritable smorgasbord of terrorism.

  Sin knew most of the past from anecdotes from his men, Mama’s bragging, and the press clippings she treasured. He remembered none of it. Not if it had happened more than five months ago.

  He had a son he’d never met. Product of a rape he didn’t remember.

  Sin slid his hand into his front pocket and fingered the slick, folded piece of paper he’d torn out of a magazine and carried everywhere. He should probably toss it. But for now he’d hang on to it. Maybe something in the image would jog his memory. His dreams spelled out a completely different life. Someone else’s life. None of it made any fucking sense. Because his friend was right. They’d been born and raised right here on the mountain.

  Mama had found Andrés at an orphanage in Santa de Porres and brought him home as a playmate for her son. Best friends from the age of six, they’d played together, been raised as hellions together, gone whoring together, and fought side by side. Closer than brothers, they’d shared almost thirty years. Twenty-nine of which Sin didn’t remember.

  He wasn’t sure if what he thought were memories were just images implanted from hearing the story so many times. It was maddening, frustrating, and now he’d exacerbated his constant fucking headache just by talking about it.

  “Well, everyone in camp remembers before the attack. You were a pain in the ass then, and you’re the same way now. You haven’t changed. You’re the best friend a man could ask for, and a hell of a fighter. There’s never been another man I’d follow this blindly. So whatever kind of man you think you were or weren’t before the accident, you’re still my blood brother.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that I don’t remember?”

  Andrés shrugged off his question. “You remember bits and pieces, right? It’ll all come back one of these days.”

  “Showing me those old newspaper clippings is pointless.” The piercing headache stabbed behind his left eye like a sharp, throbbing dagger. “I tell her I remember once in a while because I can tell she gets frustrated. But honestly, Andrés? I could be looking at reports and pictures of some other guy.”

  “Well, it wasn’t some other guy. You’re you.”

  That wasn’t an answer. He shouldn’t have bothered. Sin pressed two fingers into his temple where the severity of the headache made nausea well in his throat, but his concern had shifted from himself to Riva. He’d warned the guards to leave her alone, but the guards at the compound were the same caliber of men who had just broken an order and killed stoned, defenseless soldiers who were having fun with prostitutes. He’d left Riva tethered to the bed, naked, like a sacrificial goat in a compound where men had higher testosterone levels than IQ scores.

  The last strands of rope frayed between Riva’s teeth, allowing her bound wrists to drop to the thin mattress. For a moment she lay there panting, as out of breath as if she’d run a marathon. Who knew the frantic, gnawing movements of jaw and mouth to saw through the rope over the last hour would be so exhausting?

  God, her mouth hurt. Her tongue hurt, her cheeks frigging hurt. Sweat ran into her eyes, making them smart. Salty blood in the numerous small and large lacerations caused by chewing through the rough rope made her want to gag. Hell. The act of touching the rope with her mouth made her want to gag, because God knew who, or what, else Sin Diaz might have tied to his bed.

  The metallic taste of blood on her tongue and the musty flavor from the rope made her thirst even more intense. She lay still for a second, trying to figure out if there was any part of her body that didn’t hurt. Thanks to the injuries from her death-defying fall, the answer was no.

  But, damn it, she was finally free. Whoopdedoo.

  Still breathing hard from the exertion, she went down her mental checklist as she swung her legs off the lumpy, rock-hard mattress that smelled of Sin Diaz. Looking around, she noted it was still dark outside. Good. She made out a tall, narrow metal locker across the room, the kind kids used in school. Whatever it held, she’d use.

  The floor felt cold and smooth beneath her bare feet. Tile? Cement? Blocking the pain in her shoulders, and the pull and twinge of a long gash on her thigh, Riva hotfooted it to the locker.

  Locked? No! She gave a sigh of relief. She pulled the narrow door open, cautiously because she didn’t want it to creak. Thankfully, it didn’t. That made two things that had gone right in a mission gone to complete shit. Feeling around she encountered cloth. Clothes.

  Hell, she didn’t care if anything fit or not. All it had to do was cover her nakedness. She’d had enough of being an all-you-can-eat buffet for the local insects. Pulling on a soft T-shirt made her feel 80 percent better. It smelled of hot male, sun, and greenery.

  She was surrounded by Sin. Riva dismissed her ridiculous urge to bury her nose in the much-washed cotton. Instead, she found a pair of cotton pants by touch. Anticipating they’d be about a foot too long, she rolled the hems before dragging the pants up over her bare butt. There was a good chance they’d fall around her ankles, because his waist was as big as her hips.

  But they had belt loops to hang things on, and half a dozen pockets to stuff with whatever she could get her hands on. The man didn’t have many clothes, and a quick search at the bottom of the shoulder-wide locker didn’t net any shoes or a belt. And certainly nothing she could use as a weapon. Makeshift or otherwise. She glanced back at the hated rope tied to the bedpost and decided to make do. Unknotting and pulling a length of it out from the headboard, she threaded it quickly through the belt loops only to find it wasn’t quite long enough to tie together around her waist. Damn. So much for that idea. She stuffed the length of rope into one of the pockets in case she needed it later.

  As she searched for shoes and socks, a weapon, she kept her ears pricked for any unusual sounds from outside. She wiped sweat off her cheek on the shoulder of his shirt. Where was he? Probably sleeping. He’d been a busy boy all night. She presumed he’d presume she couldn’t budge from where he’d left her. Frightened woman left alone, God only knew where, tied up in the middle of the jungle, bare-assed naked and being eaten by mosquitoes, gnats, and whatever.

  She shuddered to think of what else could be crawling in that bed of his. Fleas? Oh God, crabs? Lice? Damn. She’d need to be deloused when she got home. She shrugged. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  “Nice try, buddy. Enjoy your nap. I won’t be anywhere near here by the time you wake up.” She had a flash-image of a rumpled Sin, sleepy-eyed, and naked. “Idiot,” she chastised herself. Her brain had clearly been shaken up by the fall.

  Assuming the large square outline of charcoal-black indicated a door, she headed there and cautiously pulled. Surprise, surprise. Not locked either. Perhaps, isolated in the middle of their compound and surrounded by his men, Diaz didn’t feel the need to lock his property. Goody for him. Better for her. Finding the handle in the dark by feel, Riva cautiously opened the heavy door inch by slow inch.

  Standing dead still in the darkness, she counted her own heavy heartbeats as she waited for her captor or a guard to come charging in, guns blazing. God, she just loved being underestimated.

  Luck was on her side, because other than her own heartbeat, it was relatively quiet as the jungle slept. The quiet was broken occasionally by the hum of the insects, a lonely bird call, or something substantial rustling the foliage. While she had a healthy respect for spiders, snakes, and other creepy crawlies, nothing even came close to the danger of her mother’s husband. Give her a jaguar or boa constrictor any day. Fear simply wasn’t an issue for her. Or an option.

  Adrenaline surging through her veins, Riva eased through the open door, stepping outside barefoot. Braced and ready for attack she half—no, three quarters—expected someone to grab her. No one did.

  Fellow o
perative Sebastian Tremaine had taught her how to move as silently as a ghost, using whatever was around to conceal herself. It was dark, but the shadows cast by trees, shrubs, and various buildings provided even denser black. She ran lightly from one deep shadow to the next on a narrow, dirt strip that could hardly be called a road, ignoring the damp ground.

  The muggy air smelled of wet earth, vegetation, and cooked meat from a recent meal. Her stomach rumbled; she hadn’t eaten anything on the chopper, or since. She wished briefly for one of the protein bars she’d stuffed in her pocket before the crash, then resolutely ignored her hunger. She’d deal with it later.

  She paused in one of the shadows, listening. The dark jungle pressed in on all sides like a living wall. Everything was made even darker by what appeared to be a net covering draped overhead between the trees. Camouflage for spy satellites, drones, planes. Clever, but claustrophobic now that she knew it was there. It blocked out the possible sighting of moon, stars, and passing aircraft completely.

  Focus. Breathe. Move.

  The ground, cool and slimy-damp, oozed up around her bare feet and between her toes. Once she ventured deep into the trees she’d encounter snakes, spiders, and various insects, not to mention spiny vegetation she’d need to walk through or over, and that couldn’t be done barefoot. Her own waterproof boots, SIG Pro SP 2340, KA-BAR knife, and the small knife she’d worn on a lanyard would be ideal right now. If she knew where they were. Which she didn’t. She’d take whatever she could lay her hands on.

  Hitching up the pants, she rolled the waistband down three times to keep them at least marginally at her hips. Riva crowded against the dense black tree line, blending into the darkness as she allowed her gaze to strafe the area for danger.

  Sin’s shack was separate from a group of other buildings several hundred yards across the clearing. Another stood even farther apart. Thick vegetation encroached on all sides of the small enclave as she ran lightly across the open space.

  Riva had an excellent sense of direction. Unfortunately, she had no idea where she was, since she’d blacked out after the helicopter crashed. While there were some stars visible between the branches of the tree canopy, once she was out from under the camouflage netting, there weren’t enough to ID her relative position and give her a sense of direction. And even if she knew north from south, she still wouldn’t know where she was, relative to the crash site.

  Focus. Shoes. Weapon.

  In the distance, someone snored unevenly. Get a C-PAP, el pendejo. Other than that, no unexpected sounds, no movement. The birds and animals wouldn’t be silent if there was a predator—animal or human—nearby.

  Riva stopped and listened, senses attuned to her surroundings. Moving with deliberate caution toward the group of low buildings, she sketched mental quadrants, sectioning off each area, making sure her way was clear. No lights showed, and other than the erratic snorer, all was dead-of-night jungle quiet. Leaves rustled, small claws skittered on branches, and insects buzzed, and an occasional bird cried out, sounding chillingly like a woman shrieking in pain.

  All of which masked her own footsteps.

  So far, so good.

  What wasn’t good was that she suddenly “saw” hostages nearby. Her vision was crystal clear, as if she was watching a television. Five—maybe four—of them. And not in good shape. Some had been in captivity for months. In two days, they’d all be dead and there was not a damn thing she could do about it. They’d definitely die if she’d left them where they were. At least she could give them a shot. And damn it, her visions weren’t always pinpoint accurate… Shit shit shit.

  Riva hesitated. Okay. How nearby? Close enough to rescue them? And then what? She couldn’t take half a dozen people with her while on the run and looking for Maza.

  Was it fair to give them hope and then just as quickly rescind it? Crapshitdamn. Even if she got their info to take back with her—whenever—it could very well be too late for them. Riva mentally swore. She couldn’t take them with her, and she couldn’t leave them here. She sucked a breath into her still-sore lungs and kept moving. Now, more than before, she needed weapons.

  The compound appeared to be about the size of a football field. Long, barracks-type cinder block buildings with galvanized corrugated iron roofs were covered with what looked like short grass or moss. More camo protection from scout planes above. A couple of small shacks stood slightly separated from the motel-type buildings. Sin’s was one of them. The hazy glow of the moon gave some illumination, painting the scene in stark black and gray. The dense jungle on either side seemed like a living, breathing entity.

  Riva slapped a bug off her cheek, then stumbled over an exposed root, stubbing her toe painfully. She sucked in a breath, pausing to allow the smarting to abate. She needed shoes.

  People would be up and about soon. She sped up. While stealth was necessary, speed was even more so if she had a hope in hell of finding the prisoners, then escaping while everyone still slept.

  She had no idea how many people lived here. A dozen, two dozen? A hundred? It was hard to tell how many buildings were clustered together.

  Damn, she needed to get out of there, and fast. If Sin realized she was Maza’s psychic, idle curiosity would become a power play. He’d come after her for sure. She’d be a damn good bargaining chip. One more valuable to the Abadinista National Liberation Front alive than dead at this point. But Riva had no intention of being captured. Again.

  Safety lay with Maza, and since there was no way to contact him, she had to get to him. He needed her. At least with him she knew she’d stay alive until she’d done what he’d hired her to do, or she killed him. Here, who the hell knew what her odds were?

  The first building she came to was the snorer’s. His sounds of a water buffalo in heat covered her helping herself to the thickly caked, muddy boots he’d conveniently left outside his door. They were damp with sweat and dew and probably stank, but who the hell cared as long as they prevented her from puncturing her feet.

  Hello, what do we have here? The kWh-meter on the wall near the front door indicated a power source in the settlement. Diesel, probably. With the covering overhead, not solar. Whatever the source, it would provide energy and probably communications. Finding and disabling it would be a nice going-away present. To delay them, it would be worth taking a few extra minutes to disable whatever comms they had.

  Backtracking out of sight, she crouched to put the boots on. Way too big, so not conducive to running, but better than her bare feet. Now, if only someone had conveniently left an Uzi or handgun for her…

  Hidden from view, she observed a two-man patrol heading her way. Ducking into the thick undergrowth, she hunkered down as the men walked past her hiding place. Something tickled, or rather crawled up her pant leg. Riva didn’t move so much as a muscle until the men passed ten feet from her.

  Moving cautiously she checked their position, then turned to see where the other two men from the second team were. Opposite direction. Not two. One. So there was a man on the loose. Mierda. Where the hell— Yes, there. Ducking between two buildings.

  Bad boy.

  Riva darted behind the row of buildings to follow him, jogging alongside Water Buffalo’s hut. The buildings on this stretch were cinder block, built in a long row, like a cheap motel.

  She sped up, then came to an abrupt halt as the soldier emerged into the clearing between the back of the building, and the trees. “It’s my lucky frigging day.” Not only could she see the bulky shape of a gun in the small of his back, but he leaned what could be an Uzi or Mk47 against the wall.

  “Muchas gracias, amigo,” she said under her breath.

  The sound of him peeing masked her rapid footsteps as she lightly ran up beside him. A good pee, apparently, as he gave a groan of satisfaction and kept going.

  A soundless neck lock.

  He crumpled to the ground.

  Riva went through his pockets lightning-fast. Two weapons, shoes, and a smart cellphone. A trifecta. />
  Except the phone had no signal. So, no GPS. A quick scroll showed her the guy had saved a few routes. One to Santa de Porres. Riva quickly memorized that. One to Abad, ditto, and a couple more places located in the jungle. Girlfriend? Bars? Brothels? Who knew. She committed them all to memory in case she needed them later.

  Rolling the dead guy beneath the concealing branches, she went back to the deep shadows of the building. The hostages were nearby.

  The phone was now a liability. Once the body was found, they’d ping it. Riva removed the battery and shoved it and the phone in her back pockets. Might be useful later.

  At the end of the row of conjoined block buildings stood several, freestanding smaller structures separated by narrow swaths of cleared land. All camouflaged with paint, and artfully placed vegetation.

  “Please,” a man begged, voice thick and hoarse. “We need water, por favor. Water.”

  “You don’t even know if they’re out there, Sol,” a woman said hopelessly. “They won’t give it to us even if they are. Save your breath.”

  Good news: She’d found the hostages. Bad news: She’d found the hostages.

  A large metal key hung off a nail pounded into the cement block a few feet from the metal door. That was nice of the kidnappers. Riva unhooked it and slid it into her front pocket. With her back flattened against the wall, she considered her slim options. They’d need weapons, supplies. Oh, for crapsake! Like herself, they probably needed shoes. Where the hell was she going to find any of that before dawn broke and everyone rose and shone?

  For a nanosecond she considered alerting the hostages she was there, or letting them out to find their own way… Couldn’t do it. They’d be just as dead out there as they would be if they stayed put. She decided she’d release them when she was ready to actually do something. Civilians were notoriously unpredictable, and she couldn’t allow anything to jeopardize her op.

  Weapons, food, water, medical supplies, shoes. Any and all of the above. She mentally gave herself ten minutes to hunt and gather. After that, they were on their own.