Mark bit his tongue at this new development. There was no way to save the girls now. They were obviously on their way to execution.
“I can’t watch this,” Rory declared. “Come on, Boss. Let me take these bastards out.”
With his heart pounding in his ears, Mark made the hardest call of his life. “Do not fire,” he ground out. “Stand down. Hold your positions.”
“But I—”
“Hold fire,” Mark growled at Rory. The girls were already dead. Just because it hadn’t happened yet didn’t mean Mark would endanger his team for something he could no longer prevent. The daring rescue was a no go. They’d missed their only window of opportunity.
“I have to do something,” Rory bit out, and Mark totally agreed, but one shot would sign all four agent’s death certificates.
“Stand down, Dennison,” Mark ordered firmly. “We’ve already lost this battle.”
“Shit,” Rory hissed, and once again wholeheartedly Mark agreed.
He scanned back to the disgusting couple still in the rose garden. Alejandra’s daughters were noisily upset and being woefully mistreated, yet she seemed unaffected. One of the guards ran to her and her pig of a brother. The guard stood smartly at attention and relayed a message. She waved him off dismissively.
Acid poured into Mark’s gut. He was looking at two dogs in heat who could care less about the suffering babies less than ten yards away from them. His finger twitched to finish Alejandra and Javier off right there and then.
“Mark?” Ember asked timidly.
He didn’t answer. Mark tracked his scope back to Christina and Sophia instead. Damned, they reminded him of his own dark-haired JayJay. His stomach lurched as the little ones were escorted by four brutish bastards away from the rose garden. Sweet Christina turned around and called something to her mother. Alejandra didn’t give any indication she heard, much less cared.
A sudden calm enveloped Mark. His talent. His God-given gift beckoned. The universe had automatically offered a damned good plan. The first shot would go through Alejandra’s pretty black hair. The next, straight into Javier’s left eyeball. All hell would break loose. By then, Rory would know exactly what to do. Body shots for all four guards. The girls would scream, run and—
The cold hard truth of reality intervened. Mark gulped past the anger in his heart and came back to his senses. The girls would still be out of reach and dead within seconds. All his heroic act would do was get his team killed and the girls killed. His heart pounded at his powerless position.
“I don’t think they’re going to execute them, Mark,” Cassidy spoke up. “Check out the concrete bunker inside the front gate. Closest to me. North side. Bars on windows. See it?”
He did as directed. Sure enough. The guards appeared to be taking the older woman and girls to the bunker. Concrete blocks and bars? He rolled the stabbing knot out of his right shoulder. It took four tough guys to contain two tiny children and an old woman. What the hell kind of people were these?
They came to a halt at the door to the bunker. One guard pulled the door open. The older woman seemed intent on shielding the girls from the men. She turned on one of them after he shoved sweet little Christina through the doorway. The guard’s response was an instant and cruel pistol-whipping to the poor woman’s face. When she fell, he kicked her back. Alejandra never turned once to see what all the crying was about.
Mark ground his teeth and planned that fiendish guard’s early death. The older woman crawled to her feet and ushered the wailing Sophia inside. Two guards took post outside the bunker while the others walked away.
“We got recon inside that bunker?” Mark bit out. He knew he hadn’t thought to secrete a Tattle Tale inside the building. He’d been focused on finding a way to taunt Ramirez, not outbuildings.
“No,” Rory answered. “There are no electrical lines running to it either. That means no air-conditioning for those babies trapped inside. They’re in a sweat box.”
Mark heard the tenderness in Rory’s very astute observation. His right shoulder just plain hurt like hell, Mark’s muscles were clenched so tightly from not being able to execute any plan of defense for the defenseless. He scanned the rose garden for the girls’ devious mother. Alejandra and Javier had moved their disgusting antics to the shaded porch where she and he sat dining. Laughing. Enjoying each other’s company.
“Are you going to talk to me or not?” Ember asked, and Mark had to admit. He’d forgotten she was on the line.
“Sorry, Ember. I need you to get hold of Alex. Tell him what we now know. Assume we’re looking at a power merger, not a hostile takeover. Looks like the Sonoran and Sinaloa cartels are one. Also assume the grieving widow is conducting a purge of all things and everyone related to her husband.”
“Wow,” Ember breathed. “These cartels were scary before. Consolidation will make them more powerful than any of the ones in South American.”
“If Governor Baxter thought he had problems before....” Rory left the warning unfinished.
“Change of plans,” Mark continued. “Come sundown, we go in as two teams. We go over the wall together. Team One will be Rory and me. We will take out the two guards at the bunker. It has to be clean and silent. Once that part of the courtyard is secure, Team Two will enter the bunker, grab the girls and retreat to safety. We leapfrog out of there, two by two, covering each other on the way back to our van. Our only object is to protect those girls. And their nanny.”
“Now we’re abducting three people?” Rory asked quietly.
“Rescuing.” Mark emphasized his choice of words. “We don’t have the means to take care of two children. The nanny does.”
“How will we keep them quiet?” Brigham asked.
“I’m thinking once we explain that we’re there to rescue them, that won’t be a problem. She’ll take care of the girls. Talk, people. If you’ve got something to say, now’s the time. Spit it out.”
“I’m with you,” Rory answered as Mark knew he would.
“Count me in,” Cassidy said.
“And me,” Brigham concluded.
“Me too,” Ember said quietly all the way from Alexandria.
“Team,” Mark said as calmly as he could. “When we go in tonight, we go silent. Remove the batteries from your cell phones now. Don’t carry anything that might make a noise, not even a plastic bottle of water.”
Obedient silence answered. Mark rolled to his back with a deep sigh. He knew it. His team knew it. Despite the fact that they were the absolute best, their quest for payback had turned into a suicide mission.
Twenty-Three
“I’ll be back before you know it,” Connor whispered into her hair.
Despite the SOS sign, he and Izza knew there was no choice. They were stalling. So they prepared for him to walk to the closest mountain in search of help. If he walked during the cool of night, he was certain to make it by sunrise. Once there, he hoped to find something that would help their predicament, maybe a camper, a cabin, or a hunter.
Water would be an added dividend, but they both knew that was a long shot. Izza loaded him up with as many water bottles as he could carry, keeping just one for herself. She had the spring inside the cave. He’d used a discarded shirt they’d found to improvise a backpack. He didn’t plan to stay more than the time it took to get there, spend the day exploring and walk back the next night. The only thing she had to worry about was a thieving coyote. He hoped.
In the slim possibility that someone from the cartel returned, she was to hide in the deepest recesses of the cave. He’d made two torches for her. One to get her to safety, and the other to bring her back to the surface once all was clear.
But leaving Izza was hard. They stood wrapped in each other’s arms as the last rays of sunlight faded. Their logical plan seemed full of more risk than certainty. Neither of them was in prime condition for the undertaking. And Izza had transformed from a hardcore drill sergeant to a moody, emotional, and prone to tears pregnant woma
n.
“I should get walking, you know.” His chin rested on the top of her head as she burrowed into him, clinging for all she was worth. Despite his words, he made no attempt to untangle himself from her arms. Evening turned to night. Boomerang barked in the desert somewhere, no doubt on the hunt for a midnight snack. The crescent moon hung high in the western sky casting just enough light for the long walk.
With eyes brimming, she looked up at him. “I know you’ll be back, and I know you’re strong enough to do this. I know this is what we need to do, but I don’t want you to go. What if something happens? What if I lose you, too?”
That made him smile. Izza had changed so much since he’d stood up to her. Holding her on the verge of their first separation, he felt like he was holding his whole world.
“Everything will be okay. Remember us? We’re two of the meanest Marines in the Corps.”
She didn’t even smile at his reminder of what he’d said seven months ago.
“You take care of that little girl of ours,” Connor whispered as he kissed her forehead and nose until he finally made it to her lips. She was an easy armful, her feet off the ground as he kissed her hard enough to take her breath away. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d be back, if only for another kiss. He set her feet back on the ground. “I love you, Isabella Ramos.”
“I love you, Connor.” She looked so sad.
He blinked hard. “I’ll be home before you know it.”
“Ha.” She choked on her tears. “This isn’t our home. It’s a piece-of-shit hole in the rocks.”
Connor gave her another hug and patted her belly. “You’re right, but I meant this home, as in us. You, me, and this little rascal in your belly are the home I’m coming back to.” He kissed her again and stepped away before he changed his mind. Damn. Leaving her was hard. Every step away from her stabbed a hole in his heart.
The cool night air filled the void between them. He headed east. When he got far enough away that he knew he couldn’t change his mind or reach her, he turned around once to wave. Izza sat on the ground where he’d left her, her hand raised in a quick wave back. And that made him sad to see her sitting there alone in the dark. She was crying. He choked back his own tears as he faced east again and kept walking.
Damn. I hope I’m right.
Connor knew he wasn’t in shape for the endurance test ahead, but walking during the cool of night made a huge difference. He figured he was going at least three miles an hour. He could do it. At what he thought was the halfway point, he turned and faced west again. Like an idiot in love, he waved just in case. Izza couldn’t see him anymore. It was too dark, but she was there and maybe looking in the same direction.
Damn. I hope I’m right.
He trudged onward, dodging cactus and stones, pitfalls and the occasional shadow that looked like a rock in his path. The going was smooth and easy until he heard the distinctive whump-whump blade slap of a helicopter in the distance. It wouldn’t have caught his attention if it hadn’t sounded like it was drawing closer. Soon, the damned thing zipped right over the top of him, hugging the ground like it was looking for something. Someone.
He turned to the west again. The helicopter circled in a wide arc around his and Izza’s cave. Sweet Mother Mary and Joseph, was it possible? Was that a search and rescue chopper? Were he and Izza found? Relief flared for the first time in weeks. God, yes! Izza’s brilliant SOS signal must’ve worked. They should have thought of it sooner.
Connor started to run. She’d be thrilled. No more rotisserie bunny. No more sleeping on the dirt. He ran faster. Crap. My side. I can’t run like this.
He slowed to catch his breath, keeping his eyes on the chopper. Black as night, all he could make out was its running lights while it skimmed low back and forth almost directly over their camp. Suddenly, a spotlight from the underside of it turned the desert below to daylight. Did Izza not see or hear it? He was too far away to see her.
Connor gulped a deep breath and willed his body to comply. Rest later. Run now. He set a steady pace back to camp. At last the chopper touched down, but he was still too far away. He waved his arms and yelled as he ran, but no one heard or saw. Several men with bright spotlights jumped out of the aircraft door. Dogs barked.
Oh, thank God. They’ve brought search and rescue dogs. Connor could only imagine the joy on Izza’s face when she was rescued. He willed his legs to pump faster. This was without a doubt the best time to celeb—
A gunshot split the air. Connor froze in his tracks. S&R teams didn’t shoot the victims they rescued—not unless they weren’t S&R to begin with. He dug the toes of his boots into the sand and took off with a burst of speed. It was the cartel, not S&R. Izza was alone. The need to protect her and his unborn child flared hard and heavy. His legs pumped as he put everything into making it back to her in time.
Another gunshot, and he ran faster still. God, save her!
Almost there. He couldn’t make out any figures in the dark anymore. They’d doused their searchlights. Either Izza was safely hiding in the lowest tunnels of that cave, or—
They had dogs. His heart sank. Connor couldn’t force any more speed out of his screaming muscles. He was still too far away. The chopper lifted up into the dark silence of this remote desert. He couldn’t hear the blade slap over the roar in his heart. A rescue chopper wouldn’t have left without him. Izza wouldn’t have let them. Anguish at what he’d done flooded his soul.
CRAP!
The black aircraft zipped over his head again, headed southeast. He stopped to suck in a burning lungful of air. No searchlights scanned the desert below any longer because they weren’t looking for anyone else. They had what they wanted, and it was not him. It was her. Izza. Connor watched it veer to the east and fade into the night.
His heart pitched. She might still be safe. Izza was smart. Mean. Nasty. All those good qualities for a Marine. Maybe she’d gotten the upper hand. Maybe they’d left because they couldn’t find her. Maybe she’d killed one of them and they had to go for medical help. Izza could surely give them more trouble than they’d expect. His brain kept tossing out pieces of hope to hang onto. At last he burst into camp, out of breath and out of his mind.
“Izza!” He stumbled up to the cave entrance. “Izza!”
Connor panicked. He ran to the back tunnel of the cave. “Izza! Izza! Are you down there?”
But all he heard was his own voice echoing back. Connor flew out of the cave, searching their meager campsite for the torches he’d made. Both lay burnt in the campfire. She’d lit them, no doubt thinking, as he had, that she was welcoming rescuers. How could she have known the cartel would return in a helicopter?
He relit one of the torches from the dying embers in the fire-pit. There was still hope. She might have gotten away. Entering the cave, he made his way to the tunnel and headed down. “Izza? Answer me, baby. God, please answer me if you’re down here. They’re gone now. It’s just me. You’re safe.”
The only thing he could hear was his own heavy breathing and an out of control heart rate thrumming though his entire body. Finally convinced she was not there, he turned back again.
As Connor made the last sweep of their camp, a glint from the sand caught his eye. There lay the bottom of the old soda bottle that Izza used for lighting campfires, only it was broken into smaller fragments. He dropped to his knees. This was Izza’s pride and joy, proof that she could beat the odds and survive. Blood smudged the glass. He saw the tracks in the weak firelight. Connor jumped to his feet to follow them. Men’s boot prints along with an irregular pattern of smaller boot prints intermingled with long slashes in between.
The evidence was clear. They’d dragged her to the helicopter. She’d resisted and tried to cut one of them. A stab of fear sliced through him. Had she been successful? Had they retaliated? Did they hurt her? Were they hurting her now?
Jose Ibarra’s ugly words came back to him. Your first order is to make an example of this piece of shit. The grotes
que memory of Maka Taufa and Roger Paxton’s decapitated heads knocked the breath out of Connor. A shiver ripped his soul apart.
The cartel had Izza.
“The bitch stabbed me. Look at my hand. I’m bleeding.”
Damned right I stabbed you, you creep! Blindfolded and mad as hell, Izza struck out with a booted foot toward that whiny voice. Reprisal came swiftly when the coward at her left punched her stomach.
She gasped in pain, lurching forward protectively over her unborn daughter, but he shoved her backward into the seat. An arm clamped across her neck while a heavy hand slid over her breasts to stop at her stomach. “Now I have your attention. It is time you understand that you are not in charge anymore, not even of your own body. I will do whatever I want to you.”
She turned away from his stinking breath. His fingers drummed one by one on her belly. “I see you have something to live for. Is it a boy or a little girl like you?” The man leaned into her cheek and sniffed. “I like them both, you know.”
That did it. Izza turned her hard head into a battering ram, and then he was bleeding, too, the bastard. A string of Spanish profanities exploded from his big mouth. One of the other men in the back of the helicopter chuckled. “I told you. She’s a mean bitch. We may have to tame her before we hand her over.”
She heard it coming. The man she’d head-butted struck her across the chest with his open palm. The blow left her reeling. At least he hadn’t punched her stomach again. He growled and she guessed he was wiping his nose or mouth. This time when he spoke, he kept his distance. “You have no idea who you are dealing with, Chica.”
An involuntary shiver rippled over her shoulders and up her neck.
Her father used to call her Chica.
“Where the hell are you?” Alex muttered to himself while he stalked the hallway outside the Governor’s office. Mark’s cell phone kept transferring instantly to voice mail. An incoming call from the Alexandria office interrupted.
“This better be good,” he growled.
Connor (In the Company of Snipers Book 5) Page 24
