Absolute Doubt (Fallen Agents of T-FLAC Book 1)

by Cherry Adair

  Daklin watched as Gibbs moved from shadow to shadow, pausing as the spotlight panned the area, then running like hell to the next island of darkness. Turley went next. Daklin covered their asses as they moved.

  The racket of yelling and laughing at the front gate was layered over the rustle of the jungle at Daklin's back, an occasional bird call, something large moving through the undergrowth, and the soft crunch of his men's footfalls as they ran across the gravel. Under all that, the rasp of his own ragged breathing rang in his ears, as he cleared the fence, then rose to his feet.

  Gibbs made it into the cone of shadow at the corner of the building. He'd cover Daklin, and Daklin moved fast. Shadow to shadow, to-— Fuck! A motion sensor light on the building suddenly blinked on between the brilliance of the strafing light. This light wasn't as bright, but it shone directly on the machine behind which he hid.

  The levity at the gate stopped. In the ensuing silence, Daklin heard the pounding of dozens of pairs of feet. Night patrols, two dozen strong, crisscrossing the compound, twenty-four seven.

  He waited, about to haul ass, when he heard, "Yo. Anyone here? Fuck. There's never anyone out here, right, Bagdan." The voice was Russian. Young.

  Adrenaline surged through his body. Instinctively shifting his hold on his Uzi, Daklin eased the strap free of his pack, as he listened to better pinpoint their location.

  "Better check." This voice was older. Also speaking Russian. "Maybe new guys snuck pretty girls in for us tonight."

  "I don't care if ugly girl," Bagdan said. "If I not shooting some person, I want fuck girl."

  His friend laughed as their heavy, booted footfalls crunched loudly on the gravel. "Is almost over. We find prostitutka in Santa de Porres tomorrow night. Sisters, da?"

  Almost over? What was almost over? Their job here? A prickle of unease made the short hairs on the back of Daklin's neck stand on end. A warning, a premonition? Whatever. He always listened, and right now, years of experience as an operative told him there was more going on tonight than what he and his men were doing.

  "We here six months, Yuri," Bagdan protested, his footfall getting closer. "No army come. Don't be shooting me by mistake."

  Daklin was waiting for the spotlight to rotate again, leaving him in shadows. His hand inside his pack, he curled his fingers gently around the monkey's belly. The animal rewarded him with a sharp bite to his finger, drawing blood. Good thing T-FLAC was adamant about rabies shots.

  "Anyone there?" Yuri shouted in Russian, then repeated it in atrocious Spanish.

  Daklin tossed the monkey at a low trajectory out into the open. Monkey and men intersected ten feet from his hiding place. All three screamed. Daklin bit back a smile as he crouched, ready.

  "Your podruga, Yuri? She very pretty. Here, pretty one, here, pretty one." Laughing, the two men stayed put as the monkey darted across the gravel toward the fence and the trees.

  The smell of sulfur and two small, brief flashes of light indicated cigarettes had been lit. The stink of strong, unfiltered Russian cigarettes drifted to his hiding place.

  He'd been about to run, balanced on his bad leg, ready to take off on his stronger right leg when they'd stopped. The vice-like pain--excruciating enough to cause him to see bright specks of light in his vision--made Daklin fight to remain conscious. Don't move, dickhead. Do not fucking move an eyelash.

  Knowing the flask was in his pack blurred reason. One slug. Maybe two. Take the edge off. Hell, he'd function better if his brain wasn't clouded and distracted by pain.

  A drink would get him through the next three hours.

  A drink would mask the pain.

  A drink would numb his brain enough to follow through with his original plan.

  Damnit to hell. No.

  He was stronger than the craving to drink.

  Fuck. No he wasn't.

  Stealthy as hell, Daklin's hand went to his pack. Through the red haze and gritted teeth, he suddenly imagined River's soft gray eyes filled with gut-wrenching disappointment. Curling his fingers into a fist, he struggled to breathe through the wanting. Breathe through the pain.

  Gravel crunched as the two soldiers started walking back the way they'd come. "Stop," the younger Russian suddenly whispered. The guy dropped his voice and Daklin heard the familiar sound of a slide racking back on an M4. "You hear?"

  The crunch of returning steps. Fuck. Ignoring the sparklers obscuring his vision, Daklin switched direction. The revelry at the gate hadn't abated, as more voices joined in. Still, a gunshot would bring them running. They weren't too drunk to respond to a threat.

  "Da," whispered. "Come out here, bop," Louder. More bravado. He, too, racked the slide on his weapon.

  The blinding light strafed the area.

  No gun. Slowly moving his hand down from his pack, Daklin soundlessly slid the Ka-Bar out of its leather ankle sheath. The custom grip fit his hand as one lethal unit. He counted off the seconds until the spotlight moved on.

  The area plunged into darkness.

  Now!

  Bursting out from behind cover without warning gave him seconds of surprise. He used those seconds to grab the closest guy around the neck, slitting his throat before he could call out. He dropped the body before the second guy could turn and finish raising his weapon.

  Kicking out with his bad leg, Daklin used his good leg as ballast. The heel of his heavy boot struck the guy on the jaw, causing him to stumble, then stagger back, fumbling to right his weapon.

  Daklin grabbed the barrel as the guy fumbled for control. Yanking him forward, he elbowed the soldier in the face, hearing the gratifying crunch of bone and cartilage as the man's nose and cheekbone shattered.

  Using the M4 as a fulcrum, Daklin swung the guy around as he choked on his own blood, then finished him off by plunging the Ka-Bar up high, into his kidneys.

  Eliminating the two threats had taken all of four seconds.

  Staggering back into the deep shadows, Daklin fell against the giant earth-moving machine as the world spun. He couldn't pass the fuck out or puke. Dropping his head back, he struggled to remain conscious.

  Those bodies had to be dragged into the shadows before the floodlight swung around again.

  Sweat beaded his brow as nausea welled.

  Timing the light from behind closed lids, he waited. Evened his breathing. Tamped down the nausea. Contemplated amputating his own fucking leg to get rid of the pain.

  The light moved.

  Dashing out into the open, he grabbed the first guy by the shoulders, and dragged him behind the machine. Then he hobbled out, grabbed the second man by his shirtfront, and pulled him out of sight, too.

  He was panting like a little old lady walking up a fucking hill. The light covered the area again. Breathe. Get a fucking grip. Breathe. The second the light moved on again, Daklin took advantage of the darkness to dash to the corner of the building three hundred feet away.

  "You good?" Turley whispered.

  "Had company."

  "Saw."

  "Move." Daklin didn't have the breath or the energy to have a convo.

  A couple of dim lights shone from two windows on the east side of the building. Crouching, Uzis and Glocks in hand, they raced across the gravel, staying tight against the wall in the deep shadow cast by the building. Daklin indicated the lights. "Anyone?"

  Gibbs shook his head. "It’s lit up 24/7, but no one works at night."

  Good, because they'd be dead in a couple of hours if that was the case. Now all they had to do was scale a thirty foot tall, tungsten steel gate that blocked access to the yard between the back of the plant and mine entrance, get into the loading area behind the building and break through the other tungsten steel door, this one barring entry to the mine shaft, their ultimate goal. And, accomplish this while in the kill zone of close to a hundred, highly trained, Russian soldiers, bored and eager for action.

  "Keep moving, ladies," Daklin urged. "Time's a wasting.”

  Eighteen

  With
each step on the mountainous road leading up to the guard gate, River hoped to hell she’d figure out a viable plan before she got there. And Oliver would contact her. And Ash would receive her telepathic S.O.S.

  The air, thick with pungent smoke from the helicopter crash, and the burning trees, lit the sky an eerie orange.

  She tried her phone every few minutes. Still no text or cell service. The useless device was nothing but dead weight and occasionally, when the darkness freaked her out too much, a flashlight.

  She'd hot-wired an ancient, beat-up VW Beatle she had found parked on a narrow side street in town and drove it up the road as far as she dared, using just the parking lights to show the way when necessary. Not knowing what to expect, she left it down by the bridge and out of sight. It was a four-mile jog up to the guarded gates; the same gates where the heavily armed soldiers had tried to kill her.

  Four miles.

  In the dark.

  With wild animals lurking on either side of the narrow road.

  With overhanging trees that might harbor spiders, snakes, and God-only-knew-what-else. The night wasn't quiet at all.

  Leaves rustled, branches creaked, birds squawked. An animal off to her left kept giving a low, rough grunt that had her heart in her throat and goose bumps on top of her other fear-induced goose bumps.

  Franco had made his bed. She wondered how someone so freaking pious could be so evil. She wondered if, now that Franco was dead, Oliver would be free to go? Just walk away? She almost anticipated seeing her brother strolling toward her, hands in his pockets, pale hair catching the moonlight, that typical, slightly quizzical look on his face as he tried to figure out a problem. River wished things could be that simple. Unfortunately, nothing about Oliver was ever simple.

  With no starlight or firelight visible, it was dark under the trees overhanging the narrow road, and uncomfortably muggy. She was not a stupid woman. She'd never walk alone at night in a dangerous area. In fact, she never walked alone at night anywhere. Yet, here she was.

  If the guards didn’t ultimately kill her, some wild animal would probably rip her limb from limb. Only Marcus knew where she was. They'd find her bones licked clean on the side of the road come morning. "What were my options?" River's whisper sounded louder than the ambient noises of the jungle. But hearing a voice, even her own, helped. A little.

  "Go with Marcus, and return home? Leave my brother, my only family, here to die? Not an option. Would it be better to have sent an army armed to the teeth to rescue Oliver? Hell yes. Double hell yes. I'd be thrilled to wait in Marcus's kitchen sipping lemonade."

  That wasn’t an option either.

  One foot in front of the other.

  Something nearby made a hell of a lot of noise: branches snapped and leaves whipped in its passage as it screeched, swinging from branch to branch in the nearby trees. Was the damn thing following her?

  She picked up speed, going from a fast jog to a flat out run. Everything about the situation scared the living crap out of her. The thought of Oliver helpless somewhere. Ash getting ready to blow up the mountain and himself. A jungle full of terrifying creatures, and a welcoming party of God only knew how many men with guns--or worse--waiting for her.

  "Being a lingerie designer did not equip me for thi—- Fuck!" She rarely said the word, but a giant pig, a wild freaking boar, darted across the road ahead. The animal swiveled its head to size her up as it ran. It looked as if it was going to veer right down the middle of the way-too-narrow road and mow her down.

  Responding out of instinct and fear, River opened her arms wide, waving them like a windmill as she stomped her feet. She would've screamed if she hadn’t thought more animals, not to mention people with guns, would come running. Finally, the beast lumbered off into the bushes, making a racket as it crashed, unseen, through the underbrush.

  "The animals are more scared of me than I am of them." Her spoken voice didn't sound nearly as bracing as it did in her head. And she knew she was lying. If any denizens of the jungle were hungry, she was their hot meal for the night.

  She started running again, her fast pace steady as her lungs labored for air. Something growled low to her left. She stopped, freezing on a dime as a pair of yellow eyes glittered at her from beneath dense undergrowth, close enough to touch. Standing still, with her breathing quiet, an unexpected and welcome sound greeted her.

  Noise. Drunken noise. Men shouting, laughing, and glass breaking. It sounded like a frat party. The sound of men having a good time was incongruent to the surroundings, and with what she knew Daklin had planned for the night. Maybe it was all part of the plan, yet another ruse he’d dreamed up, like his bishop disguise.

  Deep down, she’d started to question if his interest in her had just been an act in an attempt to get information on Oliver, one that just happened to have some fantastic perks.

  The continued party noise amped up her fear as she resumed jogging, then walking, up the hill toward the plant.

  There was barely enough starlight to light her way. At least she could see where she was running now, as the clouds drifted off the moon for a moment. She saved the light on her phone for emergencies. She wanted enough battery power so she could keep trying Oliver's number.

  The laughter and carousing grew, getting louder and louder, and now she saw pinpoints of light through the trees. Once she walked around the next curve, she'd be in sight of the plant. Then she had another three miles to traverse, out in the open.

  Exactly where she'd been shot at yesterday.

  Stumbling on the edge of a pothole, her ankle rolled and she almost fell. Taking several hobbling steps, she righted herself before her tired legs stopped her forward momentum.

  Hands on her knees, River paused to catch her breath. The stress of the night and the altitude were both wearing on her, and now her ankle burned. That just made her think about Ash's leg and she started to worry all over again, about how he was going to run when he could barely freaking walk.

  "He knows what he's doing; I'm the one who hasn't a freaking clue." Great pep talk.

  She hit the number Oliver used to text her again. An animal’s sudden screech nearby had her instinctively freeze, prepared for an attack. Heart in her throat, she searched the darkness. Listened. Waited. There was no indication anything was about to jump out at her. Yet.

  River breathed deeply to center herself.

  Should she walk right up to the gate as bold as brass and get them to take her to Oliver. Not the best idea. Who knew when those men had last seen a woman? Taking her to her brother was probably the last thing they'd do. Shit. Unfortunately, that was the only plan she had for now. She'd make another plan after that. And another, until they were safe. It wasn't a great plan. In fact it was a shitty, possibly lethal one, but it was all she had.

  Squinting against the brightness of the phone screen, she listened to it, then straightened when the ringtone stopped. The line was open. "Oliver?"

  "Jesus fuck, River! Go away!"

  "You're alive! Thank God, I—"

  "I told you not to come!"

  "Yes, you did." Cold trepidation filled her insides as his words registered. "Wait. How did you know I'm in Los Santos and not at home in Portland?"

  "That's immaterial now. Where are you?"

  "On the road. Almost to the mine. After the bridge." Dead silence. Shit, had the phone died? "Oliver?"

  "There's a reflective stake, about a foot off the ground. Red. It’s on your right between where you are now, and the main gate. Take a right. There's a narrow road there, which leads to a side gate. It's kinda rough going. What kind of car are you driving?"

  "A beat up 1960 VW Beatle that I hot-wired and freaking stole to come and get you."

  “How many people do you have with you?"

  I wish. "Nobody. I'm alone."

  "That's inadvisable. Be that as it may, follow my directions and come quickly."

  "I left the car at the bridge, so I'm running as fast as I can." Slowing her pace, she
continued at a brisk walk as a stitch bit sharply into her side. If she was faltering because of a stitch, how was Ash managing on that leg? River made a concerted effort to focus on her own situation. She had to trust that Ash could manage. She just didn't have the capacity to worry about all of them at the same time. "Are you badly hurt?"

  "Just drive up to the gate, River."

  Typical Oliver. Not even listening. "I'm not driving, I'm running. Alone. In the middle of the jungle. Sweating." She swiped at her wet cheek. "I'm scared out of my mind, Oliver. Please."

  "I have one of the security people on my side. He'll let you in. I'm being held in the lab on the East side of the building. Second door to the left."

  Something was on her. She brushed off her butt. The something, wet and slimy, stuck to her finger and with a grimace, she flicked it off, impatient to get some damn answers.

  "If one of the security people is on your side, why can't he help you get out? Oliver? Oliver, damn it, don't you dare cut me off like that. I am going to kill you the moment you're safe, you little shit!"

  After running for another five minutes, and only because she knew where to look, River saw the small reflector off to the side of the road. Oliver's “narrow road” was a damned dirt-- muddy as hell--path. Using the flashlight on her phone, she forged up the track, walking as fast as the dense vegetation and slimy mud allowed. Sweat rolled down her temples, and glued her shirt to her clammy skin. The only way she managed to put one foot in front of the other was to block out the knowledge of what surrounded her, block out the sounds and smells, block out anticipation of impending and imminent death.

  The sound of the party indicated she must be getting closer. The pungent stink of cigarette smoke was incongruous amidst the damp green smell of the surrounding jungle, and different from the wood burning smoke from the fire. Someone was close by. Since her heartbeat was already manic, the knowledge barely caused a flutter. She kept her eyes peeled and stepped lightly on the balls of her feet, redistributing her weight in case whoever it was attacked.