Badass: Jungle Fever (Complete): A Billionaire Military Romance

by Leslie Johnson

  Janine crosses her arms over her chest. “It won’t matter if we let the piranha dispose of her. I still think it’s stupid to let her live.”

  Antonio gets in her face, his finger raised to her nose. “If we do that, you stupid bitch, we’ll be looking over our shoulders for the rest of our lives. Her brother and her boyfriend — the one you never told me about — will hunt us across the face of the earth. Do you get that? And her daddy will hire people. We won’t have anywhere to hide. Not much fun spending a hundred million dollars when you’re cowering in a cave somewhere.”

  Janine simply rolls her eyes. “How was I to know those two big bastards would sweep in and rescue her after the robbery? No way could I have known. You can’t blame that on me.”

  Antonio gets in her face again. “If we’d just snatched her like I wanted that first day, none of it would have happened.”

  Janine gave as good as she got. “Oh yeah. She looks like a fucking zombie, Mr. Medicine Man. You said she would be fully functional. If I hadn’t been smart enough to get that police report, those banks would never have bought our story, and you know it.”

  Josiah steps in and wraps his arms around Janine. “Come on, you two. No more sibling squabbles. It wasn’t perfect. It didn’t go exactly as planned, but the end result is the same.” He points a finger at me. “We got her. We’re three hundred grand richer and we’ll be a fuck load richer in a few days.” He nuzzles Janine’s neck. “Then we’ll all fly off to our favorite beaches and live happily ever after.”

  “Yeah. And no one will ever know it was us. The kidnapping will be blamed on this country.” Janine smiles at her brother. “I told you Colombia was perfect. The past drug problems. The current tourist warnings. The robbery.” She snaps her fingers. “They’ll think some thug or some drug lord snatched her up, and we can take off and enjoy our money the way we deserve.”

  Antonio shakes his head, and his actions change to slow motion. I swallow the bile forcing its way up my throat. “You really are stupid, aren’t you? If you’ll remember, the fucking photography crew saw her leave the hotel with us, because you,” he points a finger at the man holding onto Janine, “were late picking us up. You said you were ready and—”

  “Fuck man, you saw the traffic. Not my fault it took for freaking ever to get back because you,” Josiah points his finger back in Antonio’s face, “said that was the best time to avoid traffic.”

  It’s Janine’s turn to break up the fight. “Come on, boys. This isn’t getting us anywhere.” She looks at me and scowls. “Look. She’s sweating again. All red and everything. Now we’ll have to wait until she calms down to do the video message.” She stomps over to me and grabs my arm. “Come on, let’s see if a cold shower helps.”

  “I’m scared, Daddy,” I say into the camera.

  “Now say … I haven’t been hurt, but they will kill me if you don’t respond.”

  “I haven’t been hurt, but…”

  “But they will kill me if you don’t respond!” Janine yells at me. “Say the whole thing, you idiot. Cut the camera. Start all over.” She picks up a pillow and screams into it.

  I don’t know what I did wrong.

  “Janine, honey. She can’t remember long lines, remember. Shit, she probably doesn’t remember what she did an hour ago or hell, a minute ago. Lighten up.”

  Janine tosses the pillow onto the bed. “You’re right, Josiah. This is just so frustrating. I just want this over with so we can go away together.” The man takes her into his arms and kisses her on the lips, then runs his hands over her breasts.

  “I know, babe. It will be over soon and we’ll buy that boat you want and just sail away, okay? But you need to hold it together.” He lowers his voice. “I don’t like these thugs your brother hired to help with this. They give me the creeps.”

  Janine lays her head on Josiah’s chest. “I know. Me too. But Antonio is good friends with the guy who owns this farm. It’s totally isolated. And the men were already here. Antonio didn’t hire them. All drug farms have a lot of security. Just part of the deal.”

  Josiah’s voice grows even lower. “Do you trust him? Do—”

  Janine pulls away from him. “Of course, I trust him. He’s my brother.”

  “Shhh.” The man puts his fingers over her lips. “Not Antonio. His friend. He knows we’re after a hundred million dollars. Maybe he wants more than half.” He lifts her chin. “We’ll have to keep that in mind. Plan for the worse if it happens?”

  Janine shudders. “I didn’t know there would be so many…” she trails off and presses her lips against the material of his shirt.

  “Come on, let’s get this part over with. We’ll have to worry about one thing at a time.”

  They kiss and I watch them cling to each other. I blink and a memory floats across my mind, like a cloud. Next lifetime. I remember now. The words came from Tate just before he left.

  The lovers break apart and Janine turns back to me. “Do you think you can get it right this time?”

  Do I?

  “Roll the fucking camera,” she says to Josiah.

  “Rolling.”

  “Camille, look in the camera and say, ‘I’m scared, Daddy.’”

  I move my eyes to the cold black lens gazing back at me. “I’m scared, Daddy.”

  Daddy, I really am.

  Chapter Seven – Tate

  After nearly six hours on a street bike, my ass is sore, but nothing can stop me from reaching that little green dot on my phone.

  Green dot equals Camille, and the green dot has been stopped for over a half hour. They’ve either reached their destination or taken a break.

  Accelerating around a curve, I lean into it, then into the next, and the one that follows. In spite of the reason I’m on it, I’ve missed this. Missed being on a bike. The speed. The adrenaline rush. The freedom.

  The roads have steadily gotten worse since my green dot led me away from the interstate. I’m heading deeper into the Amazon rainforest, into the basin section, where trees and vegetation hug the road. It’s been twenty minutes or more since I’ve seen another vehicle. Another human. I come to a split in the road and stop the bike.

  The moment the engine stops, the sounds of the jungle close in. Insects and birds, a thousand species of frogs, combine into a symphony both beautiful and annoying as hell. At least it quit raining. Fucking rained on me the last hour or so. I look at my phone. The battery is at eighteen percent.

  Scanning the territory around me isn’t a simple task this late in the evening and with the canopy of trees folding over me like a roof. The green dot says go left, so I’ll go left. A mile or so ahead, the dot cuts sharply left again. Based on what I see on the map, it could be a driveway. A driveway means I’m almost there.

  Powering off my phone to save juice, I start the bike and drive the mile in adrenaline punching speed. I pass the driveway before I see it, do a quick U-turn and pull over to the side. Driveway is too generous a word.

  Phone powered back on, I confirm the rutted trail is indeed the one I’m searching for. A check of the grass and surrounding bushes confirms it’s been recently used. I search the trees for cameras, the entrance for any alarm triggers. IEDs. I’m in drug country now. I’ll need to be careful. Drug runners stop at nothing to protect their territory. Nothing.

  As hard as the country has worked to remove drug farms that once thrived in these jungles during the Pablo Escobar era, the vast space makes the task of controlling narcotráfico nearly impossible. That and the immense power of the cartels as well as the massive resources available to them has prolonged the ongoing war between the rival narco-paramilitary groups, guerrillas and drug gangs that continue to fight each other to increase their influence and wealth. And who also fight the Colombian government intent on stopping them.

  Rolling the bike deeper into the forest, I hide it behind a bush, covering it with additional vegetation. I have a two-mile hike ahead of me, but stealth, not speed, is the secret this time.
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  Tapping the call button, I get Deakins on the line and report my status and location. “I’m tracking you, sir, but your battery is dangerously low.”

  “I know. I’m powering on Camille’s iPad now. Let me know when you locate it.”

  Pulling the iPad from my bag, I shake my head at it. This all started because I’d picked up the wrong damn iPad this morning. I look at her case, which isn’t even a close match to mine. Leather, yes, but mine is a darker brown. I’m pissed off at myself for not noticing.

  If I hadn’t left my iPad, Camille wouldn’t have tried to run me down and been picked up so easily on the street.

  But she would have been taken at some point, I know that as the truth it is. They’d simply taken that opportunity to initiate their plan. And if she hadn’t had my iPad in her possession, I’d never have found her.

  Maybe fate had my back on this one.

  “Sir, I highly recommend that you stay where you are. Mr. Duffy is an hour away. Teams One and Two are an hour and a half. I’ve just sent them your location. When they land, they can be to you in approximately two hours. We’ll fast rope them down.”

  I’m already walking, searching for triggers as he talks.

  “Sir, you’re moving. Please wait. Team One has a drone. We’ll recon the area—”

  “Can’t. The canopy is too tight here. It’ll be spotted in twenty seconds. And you know what can happen in twenty seconds.”

  There’s a pause. “Yes, sir.”

  I take a step and nearly come down on a wire. My foot hovers while I follow it to its end point. Moving back a step, I drop to one knee and dig through my bag for a marker, then place an X on the closest tree. “Deak. I’m marking trees, so make sure they follow my path. Each X is for a trigger. A circle will be my direction.”

  Deakins speaks to someone and I know he’s ordering the team to bring the black light so the marks will be visible. I open the front pouch of my bag and remove the Sig, pocketing the extra ammunition. I screw a silencer on the tip, then dig for my knife and pocket it too. There’s a reason ex-military men wear pants with half a dozen pockets.

  You just never know.

  Cursing my lack of additional weapons, I trudge forward, scanning the territory around me. I mark trees as I go, carefully stepping high to miss any hidden wires. The slow pace irritates my brain cells, the feeling of urgency fighting against common sense.

  I can’t keep my mind from straying to Camille and what could be happening to her right now. Janine will want to play with her, torture her, show her who’s boss. I don’t doubt it. And there will be men there who would never consider stopping her, and will most likely want to participate in the game.

  The biggest blessing about the drug they used on her is that she won’t remember what was done in the morning. She’ll have a gap in time that will be confusing. Of course, post-traumatic stress will try to fill that void with horror. Imagination can be a wicked companion; sometimes the unknown is worse than facing the truth.

  After about a mile, it’s nearly total darkness, and the green dot is still another mile or so ahead. I detest having to use my small penlight, but I have no other choice. If I step on a wire, I’m done. If someone spots my light, I have a fighting chance.

  I reach a clearing, a patch of about an acre. Cocaine. Coca bushes thrive in the space that’s been cut out for only them. I keep going and run up on a dozen patches of the plant. This is a big damn farm. I stop at one and reach down in the rich, dark dirt. I find a puddle of water and mix a generous helping of mud, then swipe it over my face and up my arms.

  In another mile, I see a spot of light up ahead and adrenaline punches through me, even as I slow down my pace. The closer to headquarters I get, the more dangerous it becomes. I search the ground for an IED before every step. The pace is excruciatingly slow. Slow because Camille is close to me now. I feel her.

  When I reach the clearing in which a small house sits, I’m surprised at the lack of buildings surrounding it. I look down at my phone. Yes, the green dot is exactly there, but this isn’t right. Drug farms have barns, several bunk houses to house the men. Warehouses. Many large vehicles for transport, or even a plane.

  No buildings. Nothing.

  Just a little house, sitting in a small clearing. Based on the surroundings, I know this is a caretaker’s house, someone responsible for this section of the farm.

  I shake my head, trying to imagine the immense size of this establishment. Janine is in bed with some very powerful people.

  On a positive note, it’s better they’ve taken her here. There should be less security. More possibility to get in and get her out.

  As I watch, a man comes out of the house and sits down on the steps of the porch. Fire flares as he lights a cigarette, but I’m not close enough to see his face. I search the jungle around me, looking for other men. They’re there, but without night vision goggles, I can’t see them. If they have goggles, they can see me.

  One painful step at a time, I walk the perimeter, calculating distance and watching for movement. Eleven men that I can spot surround the house and at the back is a tiny outbuilding. A pump house. Crouching low, I hurry to the small block building, pressing my back to the cool surface when I get there.

  I wait. Listen. And hear a murmur of voices.

  “I don’t like this, Hector,” a deep voice says in Spanish. “This is not our business. I don’t feel good about this.”

  “I know,” says the man I assume is Hector. “I told that to the boss. He said to wait. He’s angry at his son for mixing us up with these Americans, but wants to see how it plays out. If they get the money they say they can, it is worth a year of crop.”

  The scrape of a match is followed by the scent of tobacco. “Easy money also has its risks.”

  “The girl’s father is already prepared to wire the money.”

  Fuck. Does Duff know that?

  “He needs to send it before the girl has another seizure. Too much. They gave her too much. Stupid gringos think they know everything. Even I don’t mess with that evil.”

  “I’ve spoken to Thomas and Andres. They are prepping the elimination site. Carlos and Alexander will take the two men, once the wire transfer is confirmed. Luis and Jhon will take the girls.”

  The man’s voice lowers. “I still say I have a buyer for the girls, especially the blonde. Blondes are high value. Boss doesn’t need to know. We can split—”

  “Oscar, no.” The voice is a harsh whisper. “That is stupid thinking. You know we couldn’t keep that quiet. Hell would rain down on us. No. Don’t even think it again.”

  A long silence stretches between the two men. Then, “Yes. Let me know when the elimination site is complete. There can be no mistakes in this one. There will be much publicity, says the boss. No hair. No blood. No skin. Understand?”

  No response, just a noise that sounds like someone clapping a hand on a back or shoulder, then footsteps walking away. But only one set. The other man is still smoking only feet from me.

  Moving around the building, I step behind the man and take him down with the twist of his neck. Dragging him backwards, I pull him into the building and pat him down, taking the small Uzi in his hand. Perfect. I take the ammo, a knife and a book of matches I find in his pocket, transferring them to mine. You never know when a good fire will come in handy.

  I do a quick search of the building, looking for something I can use. Nothing. Empty pump house. Stepping over Oscar or Hector, whichever son of a bitch this is, I peer around the corner of the building, making sure we didn’t make any noise to alert the guards, before taking out my phone.

  Damn. Five percent battery.

  Pulling out Cam’s iPad, I open the messenger and type a group message to both Deakins and Duff. Overheard that Mr. Duffy is sending ransom. Confirm.

  Duff’s message comes back first. Better the fuck not be. Hold.

  Deakins’ follows. Will attempt to intercept messages from father. Link Duffy, do you approve?r />
  Duff answers. Yes. Do whatever it takes. Blow up every communication tower in South America if necessary.

  I scowl at the screen. I suspect there will be a serious conversation about protocol with the Duffy clan when all of this is over. But I also know Charles Duffy is not a stupid man. He wouldn’t have breached hostage protocol if he didn’t feel backed into a corner.

  Speaking of which. Duff, confirm your dad’s whereabouts and safety.

  Duff responds. In process.

  Hostage video scraped from Mr. Duffy’s files. I nearly drop the iPad when the message from Deakins pops up.

  Holding a breath, I click the attachment, making sure the volume is all the way down.

  Camille appears on the screen, sitting in a chair, staring straight into a camera. I pause the footage and click the volume button up one notch, then hit play again.

  “I’m scared, Daddy,” she says, in an almost robotic voice. The video glitches, then she says, “I haven’t been hurt.” Glitch. “But they will kill me.” Glitch. “If you don’t respond.”

  The glitches continue through the segment, but they don’t matter.

  “Please send one hundred million dollars to this account number.” I lose sight of her, as a piece of paper is held up to the camera. “For every thirty minutes you delay, they will cut off a piece of my body and video tape it happening. Starting with this…”

  No.

  No.

  No.

  I sink to the floor of the building as someone from off camera cuts off the tip of her left pinky.

  The screaming is horrible and the bastards videotape the whole thing. I hit pause and tears drip on the screen, as I stare down at her beautiful face, now twisted into a horrible mask of pain.

  God, no.

  I will kill them all. Every last one of them. Quick or hard, it doesn’t matter.

  Focus.

  I need to focus.

  Emotions get people killed.

  I look at the timestamp of the video. It was sent to Charles Duffy twenty-three minutes ago. Seven minutes until she’s tortured again.