No One Lives Forever no-3

by Jordan Dane

  "I wish I knew." Christian shook his head. "We've got a lot to talk about."

  The downpour had come in waves, from a gentle patter to a gully washer. It kept the mosquitoes to a minimum, but had no other redeeming qualities as far as Raven was concerned. Now the rain came steady and unrelenting. She'd have mixed feelings about taking a hot shower when this day ended. The skin of her fingertips had begun to prune.

  Drenched head to toe, she kept watch over the villagers with binoculars, yet Chief Zharan drew her attention whenever he moved or spoke into his com set. She hadn't known the man long, but felt his agitation even from a distance. Christian and Fuentes had been gone for what seemed like an eternity. Soon, the villagers would notice the missing men and might go looking for them. They were sitting on a time bomb of their own creation.

  And Zharan knew it.

  Forcing a confrontation with these people would be hard to explain if Zharan's intel wasn't complete and Charboneau wasn't being held here. So much was riding on word from Detective Fuentes. When it finally came, she felt a fraction of the chief's relief. No one took it quite as hard as the guy in charge.

  "Fuentes reports he and your Mr. Delacorte have freed Nicholas Charboneau and he is able to walk. And Mario Araujo is in custody." He smiled.

  "That means we can pull out, right?" she asked. "These people have no need to know we were ever here."

  "Yes. I've ordered my men to fall back. We will meet Fuentes at the base of the waterfall and continue from there, back the way we came. It's been a good day." He tapped her lightly on the shoulder.

  She returned his smile. "Yes, it has."

  After the police chief left, Raven took one last look at the natives below while the tactical team maneuvered by her in silent retreat. The simplicity of the villagers' lives intrigued her, but their leader fascinated her even more. Given the choice of so-called civilization and this simpler existence, Mario Araujo had chosen to live here with his people. Not the mind-set of your typical kidnapper. The pieces to this puzzle didn't add up.

  But another thought shoved aside her questions about Araujo and his people.

  She found her heart racing with the prospect of resuming her life with Christian. Her future. He had rescued his father and now would have time to get to know the man. She understood the importance of family. And with Christian, she had a shot at starting one of her own. In that instant, Raven felt the pain and the joy of every moment she had shared with him and came to one conclusion. Finding Christian had been worth it all.

  "Yeah, I'd say it's been a very good day," she whispered, then moved out with the rest of the men.

  Fighting the lump in her throat, Raven forgot about the rain and the miserable conditions. None of it mattered. She couldn't wait to see Christian. He had anchored her world with his love. Now they would have a lifetime to figure out the rest.

  "This Captain Duarte, is he the kind of man who would kill Jasmine?"

  It took a long moment for Christian to answer his father's question. Charboneau had been through so much and didn't need this extra burden of guilt, yet his very lifestyle had exposed his bodyguard to this type of danger. What did he expect?

  "I really don't know." In the end, he couldn't lie to the man.

  "I have to get back. Find her," his father vowed.

  Christian nodded. "I'll help." But he doubted Charboneau heard his offer.

  His father clenched his jaw. Raindrops beaded on his face, then drained down to drip off his chin. He didn't bother to wipe them away. Kneeling at the water's edge, Nicholas stared across the undulating pool at the base of the falls, his mind as unsettled and turbulent as the water's surface.

  Clearly, the man didn't like what he'd heard about Captain Luis Duarte and the new situation with Jasmine. Christian got the distinct feeling it would not be a good move to trade places with the Brazilian cop. He had no idea what drove the enigmatic police captain, but Charboneau was another story. His loyalty to Jasmine, and whatever else he felt for her, would far outweigh his sense of right or wrong, assuming he had a conscience at all. Christian trusted his gut instinct. And it told him his father was a far more dangerous man than Duarte. How he knew this, he couldn't quite put a finger on it. Yet he knew it with certainty.

  Nicholas continued cleaning up, his emotions contained once again. "You haven't told the police I'm your father, have you?"

  Nicholas didn't wait for his answer. He scooped water into his hands and splashed it onto his face, scrubbing his skin. The rain had turned to drizzle, not enough to do the job. A layer of sweat and grime came off, and he doused his wavy hair, leaving it wringing wet.

  When he didn't reply, his father looked over his shoulder, prompting him with an expectant stare.

  "No. I thought it would . . . complicate things." Christian straddled a fallen tree and flicked a flat rock along the surface of the water. It skipped four times.

  "Or maybe you'd rather distance yourself from someone like me."

  "I don't want to pass judgment." The lack of conviction in his voice was hard to miss.

  "You may not want to, but it's hard not to have an opinion, isn't it?" his father pressed. The unusual violet color to his eyes turned to midnight blue under the overcast sky. "I'd rather we clear the air. It's more my style, and I hope yours too."

  Christian didn't answer at first. He took a quick glance to his right. Fuentes had taken Araujo and given them a wide berth. And with the rumbling waterfall, they would have their privacy. But they'd have little time alone. According to Fuentes, Zharan and his men were only minutes away.

  If his father wanted the truth, he'd lay it out for him—his way.

  "Why did you come here ... to Brazil?" he asked. "You've got a connection to Genotech Labs. You admitted that to Araujo. I heard you in the cave." Everything came out in a rush. Indignation mixed with hostility. "Hell, it doesn't take a genius to figure out you're manipulating genetics for the drug addicted, like they aren't already living in a hell on earth."

  Christian tossed another stone but didn't watch where it landed. He wasn't done.

  "And that so-called clinic? I caught some of the late-night action with Jasmine. Araujo was right. The cops were taking drug addicts off the streets and turning them over to Phillips. I got the distinct feeling it was a one-way trip."

  "Whoa." With a grimace, Nicholas raised both hands. "Good thing you aren't here to pass judgment. I'd hate to think what your opinion of the old man might be if you thought I was a lying conniving bastard who took advantage of poor helpless meth heads."

  "Don't try taking me on a guilt trip. I'm not buying a ticket." He piled on a heaping dose of sarcasm. "And do us both a favor. Don't deny you have a connection to drug trafficking. My father, the pusher."

  Christian hadn't realized the depth of his anger. Everything he'd learned about his father after coming to Brazil had welled to the surface. He tossed another rock across the water. This one sank.

  "Makes me wonder what Fiona ever saw in you. Correct that. Still sees in you." There it was. He'd said it.

  They sat in silence until Charboneau said, "Believe me, I wonder that myself. I never deserved her love, but oh, how I wanted it."

  Nicholas sat back on his haunches and stared at Christian, straightforward and unflinching.

  "Perhaps the best way to answer your question is to say I have many regrets in my life." Nicholas stared off into the distance, past Christian, his mind rooted in the past. "But the way I treated your mother is at the top of that long list. She was the road not taken. My dear sweet Fiona will haunt the rest of my days. It's the one constant in my life."

  He shut his eyes and sighed, but he wasn't finished.

  "And you? She never told me about you, for good reason. She was always the more pragmatic and rational one." Nicholas shook his head, then fixed his eyes on Christian. "It took a lot of guts to risk your neck for someone you don't know or respect. For whatever it's worth, I want to thank you for what you did."

  Chri
stian hadn't expected to hear Charboneau talk about regrets with such openness. Sad, but he had no idea if he could trust the words coming from his father's mouth. No matter how much he wanted to.

  "Thanks for sharing that . . ." Christian had no idea what to think. "But your involvement with this med clinic at Genotech is so damning."

  Indignation flashed across Charboneau's eyes. "Look, I already told Araujo I had nothing to do with any clinic at the lab. What's it going to take to—"

  He didn't get a chance to finish. Zharan and his men came up the trail and overtook the small clearing.

  When Nicholas saw a smiling Chief Zharan, he slowly stood with hands on his hips, a look of disbelief set in his eyes. "Well, I'll be damned. What the hell are you doing here?"

  CHAPTER 23

  "You two know each other?" Christian asked, standing between the two men. He raised his voice to be heard over the waterfall. But Fuentes and the rest of Zharan's team drifted into a circle around them, insulating them from the white noise of tumbling water.

  "All too well, I'm afraid," his father replied with a subtle shake of his head.

  "Does my presence here truly surprise you, Nicholas?" The smug expression on Zharan's face added to the tension already mounting between them. "Did you really think I would back off and let an outsider take from my country?"

  "What's he talking about?" Christian asked, shifting his gaze to Charboneau.

  His father ignored his question, the corner of his lip curled into a sneer. He drilled Zharan with violet eyes teeming with contempt.

  "It wasn't about an outsider taking anything that bothered you, Ricardo. You're not the kind of guy who likes being number two. You wanted it all. With you, it's all about greed and power."

  "You looked down your nose at what I could bring to the table. And you never would have thought I had the stroke to pull this off, but here we are. You underestimated me."

  "All you brought to the table was poor taste and unwarranted risk. You're the one behind this so-called med clinic with its illicit experiments."

  Zharan grimaced. "You weren't moving fast enough to suit me. And I was beginning to question your real motives."

  "And my kidnapping? That was you too."

  Zharan looked at Fuentes with a sideways glance. His number one man grimaced in question. But no one looked more confused than Mario Araujo himself. His father had struck a chord, but Christian didn't know how to read it. What the hell was going on?

  "Let's just say I knew what might have happened," Zharan said. "I had only recently become aware of Araujo's activities in my role as chief of police."

  "Oh, bullshit. You got Mario involved so you could blame the local natives. But why not just kill me from the start?"

  Zharan tensed, then seemed relieved to be off the topic of the kidnapping and eager to change the subject.

  "I'd face too many questions and the interest of your crime syndicate. I had to come up with a plausible reason that didn't land on my doorstep. Jasmine Lee was supposed to bear witness to it all and be the messenger when the time came for your Chicago business associates to hear the bad news of your demise. But she had to bring back help. And Christian Delacorte couldn't leave well enough alone. He had to spotlight the genetics lab and uncover the connection to Araujo. And as you can imagine, I had no interest in finding you alive. Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time before I had to step in and take care of things myself. I fed Delacorte just enough information to get him to trust me."

  "So why the rescue? A pretty big operation," his father asked.

  Zharan shrugged. "Who am I to deprive Mr. Delacorte and his cop lady friend of hope? I might have spared Ms. Mackenzie, but with her link to law enforcement back in the states, I couldn't risk it." The man shook his head and chuckled under his breath. "I'm not partial to loose ends, as you can see. Your man Delacorte was far too stubborn and determined. I was afraid of his connection to your business back in Chicago, so why not lead the lambs to slaughter by dangling a carrot? They came willingly. Captain Duarte, on the other hand, is a sly fox. He will be a challenge."

  The chief cocked his head and waggled a finger at Charboneau. "You know, for someone so perceptive of human nature, it amazes me you never saw this coming, Nicholas." Zharan didn't hide his amusement. He had the upper hand and he knew it. "That ego of yours made you vulnerable. You thought you'd come to this sleepy little Brazilian town on the edge of the great Amazon rain forest and take charge with all your financial resources. Well, down here, you're on my turf. My country. Using my people. I only claimed what was rightfully mine to take."

  Nicholas smiled without any real humor, a look of disdain forged in his eyes, and said, "You're right about one thing. I should've known better. Never trust a man you can bribe."

  "What's going on?" Raven asked, coming off the trail and slipping next to him.

  Zharan had played him. He even coyly listened while Christian pleaded his case to be taken on this raid. Damn! What an idiot! The bastard wanted that from the start, and Christian had made it way too easy. He'd gambled with his future to uncover the last piece to the puzzle of his past—and he just threw the dice and came up snake eyes—crapped out.

  And now Raven would pay the price for his mistake.

  "Glad you could join us, my dear. Now that we are all present and accounted for . . ." Zharan waved a hand to Fuentes. "Would you do the honors, Arturo?"

  Fuentes grinned and pulled his gun, barking an order to his men. "Take off the body armor and search for weapons, then cuff them. Remove all forms of identification." When he fixed his gaze on Christian, he added, "You can see in the dark, my friend. But I bet you never saw this coming."

  The detective laughed, a haunting abrasive sound. Christian wasn't likely to forget it.

  "Base Camp, this is Rally One. Do you read?"

  "Copy that, Rally One. Go ahead."

  "Rally One requesting clearance for landing. We're about five klicks from your position. You copy?"

  Rally One was the call sign for Detective Eduardo Silva's special ops team. Oscar Vasquez grimaced to his fellow officers and shook his head. Only seconds before, the com set had crackled to life. In the background of the transmission, Oscar heard the distinct sound of a helicopter rotor. The unexpected noise and the radio chatter jolted his brain like an electrical shock. He'd almost dozed off in the steamy heat of the jungle. Boring duty. The communication came on the radio frequency designated for the operation. And the call sign was legitimate.

  Oscar had met the undercover cop Silva before and didn't care for him much. The cabrão was nothing but a bully, both on and off the force. But Oscar had a job to do.

  "Stand by Rally One. Hold your position and wait for further orders. I repeat, hold your position. Do not advance until I give the order."

  "Copy that, Base Camp."

  Protocol was protocol. If Silva disregarded his authority, he might have to send a clear message. A kiss off the hull by a sniper round. The thought made him smile. This time, Oscar would be in charge, at least until he heard back from the chief.

  Before he made the call, one of the helicopter pilots sitting nearest him asked, "Are we expecting another chopper?"

  Oscar shrugged. "Not up to me to decide. I'm contacting the chief. Let him make the call."

  In unison, they all nodded. They weren't paid enough to think.

  "Base Camp to Team One. Come in, Team One." He waited for a moment, then repeated. "I say again, Base Camp to Team One. Do you read?"

  Over the ridge to the east, Chief Zharan heard the call in his earpiece.

  "Base Camp, this is Team One. Read you loud and clear. Go ahead."

  His man at the extraction point informed him of the arrival of Detective Eduardo Silva via a third helicopter. He had expected the call. His plan was coming together.

  "Affirmative, Base Camp. Rally One is approved to land. Do you read?"

  "Will comply, Team One."

  "Team One heading back to Base Camp." L
ooking at his watch, Zharan gave his best estimate for their arrival, then signed off. "Team One clear."

  Christian sensed a change in the man's demeanor. "You have an uninvited guest at the clearing?"

  "Not at all. Quite the contrary." Chief Zharan grinned at Christian and Charboneau. "A trusted ally and two very reluctant guests. You have not met my special ops man Eduardo Silva, but Bianca and Hector Salvador have. An unfortunate circumstance for them. And they have you to thank for that, Mr. Delacorte. The Macumba curse on your balcony was meant to point a finger at the native population, specifically Mario and his people. And it worked too. But you had to take it a step further. Involving a local Macumba vendor only meant another loose end for me. And today it will cost them dearly."

  Mario Araujo jerked his head toward Zharan with a scowl. Christian noticed the man's reaction to the news. The native man opened his mouth to speak for the first time since his so-called arrest.

  "I know Bianca Salvador and her nephew. What are you planning to do with them?"

  "I believe in equal opportunity. An idealist like you, Mario, should appreciate the concept. What will happen to them will also befall each of you. I wouldn't want them to feel left out, so Silva has brought them here." The chief and Fuentes laughed, starting a chain reaction with the rest of the men.

  Zharan walked in front of his prisoners, hands locked behind his back, glaring each one in the eye as he passed.

  "Once we arrive at the extraction point, you will be forced to kneel before my men with your backs turned, hands bound behind you. No resistance. No escape. No hope left."

  Nicholas rolled his eyes and cocked his head, a look of boredom on his face. Christian had no idea what was going through his father's head except a heavy dose of insolence. If this were his father's day to die, Charboneau would do it his way.

  The chief ignored the insult and continued. "Two quick shots to the back of the head, execution style." He walked slowly before each one. Cocking his hand like a gun, he imitated the action, as if they needed help to imagine it. "My men will not sweat over digging a shallow mass grave in this heat. No one will discover your bodies out here. In days, exposed to the elements and the animals of the Amazon jungle, there will be nothing left to find."