“What’s happened?” Mark asked.
“It’s said that Ruiz is flying to Puerto Escondido. From there he will direct his loyalists to try again.”
Ruiz had lost his fucking mind. His failed attempt to take over the government would turn into civil war, never mind the likelihood of war with Monte Blanco.
The menacing rumble of the tank drew nearer.
Mark took Laura’s hand and started running.
Chapter Sixteen
Minutes later, Mark found himself hunkered down on the floor board of the church van’s back seat, covered with what he thought was an altar cloth. Laura’s cousin, a fresh-faced twenty-something nun, had a point when she said she should drive or they’d be arrested.
Sister Carmen changed from her jeans and T-shirt into a loose gray skirt, white blouse and no-nonsense black shoes. She made Laura change her shirt to a white blouse. With a colorful native blanket over her jeans, Laura sat beside her cousin in the front seat, quietly fingering a rosary.
At the first checkpoint they reached, manned by soldiers who believed they were defending the country from invading troops, the nun proved to be the best liar Mark had ever come across. He listened as she told her tale of woe. She’d fallen behind in her duties and now had to pray to be delivered to San Felipe in time for the midday Mass.
With a “Bless you!” Sister Carmen drove on. They cleared another road block, then she said, “When we reach the church, I’ll tap twice on the roof when it’s clear for you to get out.”
“Got it, Sister.” The nun would make a great undercover officer.
They turned and stopped. Sister cut the engine and got out. Moments later, he heard the two taps. He threw off the white covering, levered himself up, and carefully peeked out the van windows. They’d pulled over beside a church on the dirt road which led to the back of the small airport. Ruiz would have taken the paved road to the front.
“Do you have a cell phone, Sister?” Mark asked as he got out.
“Yes, of course,” she replied.
“I need you to make a call for me.” Quickly, he gave her Ethridge’s phone number. “Tell him Juan Marcos believes Ruiz is headed for the San Felipe airport with Arturo Herrera’s grandson. If he doesn’t answer, try again. Keep trying, Sister.”
Passing Ethridge’s number to a civilian would send the CIA man into a rage. Rightly so. On the upside, Ethridge would have the information he could give to whoever he saw fit. That would include Sam’s Delta team who could swoop in and grab Tony if Mark didn’t get there in time.
“He’ll ask how we met.” Mark slid behind the steering wheel. “Tell him everything you know about me.”
Sister Carmen, now bent to look inside the van. “I know nothing about you.”
“That’s all he needs to know.” He watched the nun digest his response and pushed aside any more thoughts about Ethridge.
“Who are you, Juan Marcos?” she asked.
Mark glanced at Laura who watched the exchange from the passenger’s seat, a wary expression on her face. She had to wonder what was going on.
“Will you do this?” Mark asked.
Sister Carmen pursed her lips for a moment, then glanced at Laura before meeting his gaze. “If your intentions are good.”
“They are. Thank you, Sister.”
He closed the door.
“You don’t work for my father,” Laura accused.
It was past time he took control. If Ruiz had Tony with him and was at the airfield, Laura could get killed. Mark reached across and opened her door.
“Stay here. You’ll be safe.” She was so close he could see each of her dark lashes, but she didn’t back away.
“You’ve been lying to me.”
Her words stung, but he didn’t have time for sentimentality. “Get out.”
***
“No.” Laura slammed her door closed. “You will get me to my son and you will to tell me who you are.” She crossed her arms and sat back to control her fury.
“There’s no time for this. Out!” Mark’s jaw tensed, his hands gripped the steering wheel.
“I’m not getting out, so drive.”
He shook his head, blew out a breath, and muttered, “Shit!” He jammed the van in gear and slammed down on the gas pedal.
She held on to the armrest. “Is your name really Mark?” Just how badly had she been fooled? “Who are you? Who do you work for?”
He shook his head again. After a quick glance at her, he turned his attention back to the road.
Clutching the seat and bracing herself against the dash because of the bumpy road, she scrambled to think of what she’d missed.
His name. He never told her his last name. Had he ever said he worked for her father?
She’d been so taken in by him because he seemed to want what she wanted. Her son back. Seemed being the operative word.
“Answer,” she demanded as they hit a large pothole.
The hilly desert-like terrain stretched out on either side. Ahead, a river, muddied a dark yellow and appropriately named Río Amarillo during the rainy season, rushed to the Pacific. Reeds, bushes and grasses created a strip of green along the shore.
“You can trust me.” His sharp reply mocked her.
“I’m supposed to believe that now?”
He glanced at her once again. This time she tried to read something in his face. But he’d reverted to the man who’d challenged Ruiz at the restaurant. Stern. Hardened. No sign of the man who’d loved her so passionately last night.
The man she thought she was in love with. What a laugh!
“You owe me the truth.”
His jaw tensed before he spoke. “My name is Mark. I work for the US government.”
“You’re… What?”
No answer. They hit another pothole.
“The river will be high,” he continued. “There’s no real bridge this way.”
That was a lie. She’d crossed it when she picked up José Antonio when he’d flown drug interdiction with American Special Forces.
“Are you a Green Beret?”
“I was.” He concentrated on the road. “Once.”
“Damn it! Who are you?”
“I’m the person who’s going to get your son back. That’s all you need to know.”
His terse reply felt like a blow. “Really? That’s all?”
Mark slowed the van as the road sloped downhill. Ahead, beyond the reeds at the river’s edge, the muddy waters of the Río Amarillo overflowed its banks. To the east in the distance, rocky, barren hills stacked higher and higher as they rose toward the Andes. The road narrowed and stopped. A single track led to the right, toward the main road. Laura could see the bridge she’d crossed years ago in the distance.
“Is that path the way to the bridge?”
“I told you, there’s no bridge this way. Ruiz will be on the main road. You’re going back to your cousin at the church.”
She grabbed his arm before he could open his door. “I’m coming with you.
“Ruiz will have guards.” He pulled free, opened the door, and got out. Over his shoulder, he said, “Wait at the church. Come back here in an hour. If I’m not back by then, go to the American Embassy.”
She grabbed the keys, scrambled out of the van into the morning heat and met him as he rounded the front end.
“What the hell? I told you to go!” He pointed up the road.
“We’re wasting time,” she said.
He took her by the shoulders, his grip firm, and forced her to look at him. “Go so you and your son can survive this.” He released her and stormed onto the narrow path in the weeds.
She chased after him, grabbed his arm. “How can I trust you with my child?”
He gave her a look that…
She couldn’t describe it. His mouth was set in a stern line. He practically bristled, as if fighting to keep from saying something else. And under it all was resignation.
Finally, he bent toward her. “My name is
Mark Williams. To do this, I have to go now.”
She stared, trying to understand. “You can’t be State Department. You’re too—” Then it was so clear she pulled free of his grasp and backed away. “You’re CIA.” She felt breathless, betrayed. Hands clenched, she said what she should have known from the start. “You’re here for Ruiz.”
“There’s no time for this. Go back.”
Go back? She shook her head. “No.” It took everything she had to keep her voice steady. “Without me, you wouldn’t have gotten close to Ruiz.” Her fingernails bit into her palms. “You used me.”
He seemed to recoil. “Please go back.” Did he sound sad?
She didn’t need his remorse. Didn’t want it. She’d been a fool.
Before he could stop her, she continued on the weed crushed path that snaked through the tall grasses. He followed, but she ignored him. She would find Tony.
The ground squished beneath her shoes. The river, along her left flowed quietly, but from ahead came the roar of rushing water. She tiptoed to see over the tall reeds. A short distance upriver, amber water sprayed skyward as it crashed onto boulders. A few eucalyptus and willow trees, their roots inundated by the flooding, edged the shores. The soggy worn path turned sharply into the reeds, toward the river.
One tall sturdy wooden pole stood well away from the fast flowing waters. It matched one on the other side. Suspended over what she guessed to be a fifty yard expanse were three cable lines. Two ran parallel to each other, the third, three or four feet below, centered between them, only a few feet above the water line.
“That’s the way we have to cross?” But she knew without asking.
“Yes,” Mark said.
She looked at the cables, at the rushing water, and swallowed hard. “I’m coming with you.”
***
Guilt, like a heavy weight, pressed against Mark’s determination. She didn’t trust him anymore, so of course she was willing to cross the fucking cable lines. He’d considered forcing her out of the van at the church, but he’d been afraid he’d accidentally hurt her. Hell, she’d probably have run after him.
“You could fall in and drown, Laura. Go. Back!”
Her eyes blazed. “And let you do whatever the CIA wants, never mind my son?” She spun around and walked toward the cables. “I’m going after my son. You can do whatever you want.”
Shit. Shit! “Laura, please stop. Don’t. It’s too dangerous. I made you a promise. I won’t break it.”
She turned. “Do you really expect me to believe you?”
He couldn’t blame her, which cooled his anger at himself, at the choices he’d made. There was no choice now. He could see it in her eyes, in her stance. And if Ruiz sent any of his men this way, she’d be in danger.
“You stay with me, no matter what.” He shrugged out of the long-sleeve shirt he wore over his T-shirt, then using the knife of his mini-multi tool, cut off the sleeves.
He caught up to her as she scrambled onto a boulder beneath the three cables. “Wrap these around your hands. That’s braided wire. It’ll cut you.”
Without even a glance at him, she looked at the worn and rusty cables then back at the sleeves he held out before wrapping them around her palms.
He pulled what was left of his shirt back on. “If both of us cross at the same time, we’ll bounce each other off. Try it here, over land, before you start.”
She didn’t acknowledge his words, hell, she wouldn’t even look at him, just reached up for one of the two higher cables, placed her right foot on the lower one, and pulled herself up. Holding on to the other hand cable, she wobbled, but then slid one foot in front of the other, an arm over each of the higher cables, bent at the elbow, held on and took several steps.
She focused on the single cable as she continued gingerly forward.
Mark’s heart stalled with every cautious step she took. Her balance was good, but her arms shook as she moved forward, her wrapped hands clutching the cables. Muddy water rushed beneath her, dragging with it broken limbs and other debris. Finally, she was within a few feet of reaching the safety of shore.
A flash of something glinted in the morning sun and drew his attention to this side of the river. Movement. In the reeds about fifty yards away.
A shot struck the pole above Mark’s head, throwing out a hail of splinters. He ducked and pulled his gun. A second shot kicked up mud at his feet. The shooter, crouched low, ran through the reeds, drawing closer. When he reached thirty yards, Mark aimed and fired twice. The man fell and didn’t get up.
Across the river, Laura wobbled but caught herself and quickened her shuffle until she reached the other side.
With one more scan of his surroundings for another shooter, Mark raced across, then jumped to the ground beside Laura. He looked back. One of Ruiz’s men, a guard he recognized from the city, was attempting the crossing. The man had slung his rifle over his shoulder and struggled not to wobble. No doubt now. Men guarding the back way to the airfield confirmed that it was Ruiz’s escape route.
Mark pushed Laura behind himself and prepared to shoot, but the guard lost his balance and plunged into the river. The current dragged him a good seventy-five yards down before he popped up, struggling to keep his head above the muddy water. He’d either drown or get out so far down river that he was no longer a threat.
“Stay close. Do what I tell you to.”
She nodded, wide-eyed, her attention on the guard.
“Come on. Hurry.”
She followed him to higher ground, away from the riverbank.
At the top of the rise, they reached cover behind a line of andesite boulders strewn across the desert during a millenniums-ago volcanic eruption. The black rocks lay just outside the barbed wire fence surrounding the airport. It spread out below them across the desert. From here, they could watch without being seen.
The side of the metal hanger, large enough for two small planes and some equipment, lay fifty yards away. The smaller building used as an office and control room sat to one side, but closer to the main road. The fueling station tank, painted white, stood at the back of the hanger. Extending from there, the 4,000-foot long gravel runway was in good shape and still used by joint American and San Matean forces working drug interdiction. A single engine Cessna was parked at the back.
A man, the airfield manager, Mark decided, walked from the hanger toward the Cessna, talking on his cell. He lowered the phone, turned, and went into the office as two black SUVs raced up the paved road in the front.
“That’s Ruiz,” Laura said, shifting to one side.
“Let’s make sure.” Mark put his hand on her shoulder and felt her tremble before she shrugged away from his touch. God help him if the boy wasn’t in one of those SUVs.
The two Ford Explorers stopped. The front and back doors on the passenger’s side of the first one opened. Two heavyset men got out. Both held Uzis across their chests and wore shades. One opened the driver’s side back door of the Explorer.
A man and woman, definitely Ruiz and Margarita, got out. And damn! A boy.
“Tony!” Laura moved as if to stand.
“Stay down.” Mark pulled her back to a crouch behind the boulder.
The boy held Margarita’s hand and spoke animatedly with her, as if he wasn’t frightened. Maybe Estrada was right about the woman.
Gonzalez got out of the back seat of the second SUV. The driver stayed inside, the motor still running. Ruiz’s Ford pulled into the hanger and stopped once the hood was beneath it. The driver, a thin man with a trim beard, got out and walked to the office building.
The driver and the guards were new men, not ones Mark knew from Puerto Escondido or the house in the city. Gonzalez’s driver was only a shadow behind a darkened window.
Suddenly, shouting erupted from inside the office where the airfield manager had gone. A shot rang out.
Ruiz and Gonzalez ducked and ran into the hanger. The two guards followed, scanning the area, Uzi’s at the ready. One
stayed by the hanger opening, the other went inside. Margarita, still beside the SUV, seemed to fold herself around the boy as Tony Iglesias hugged her waist.
The bearded driver came out of the office, pistol in hand. No sign of the airfield manager. That answered the question about who’d been shot inside. The driver disappeared into the hanger. Moments later, he emerged on the runway side and climbed into the Cessna. After the briefest wait, probably checking instruments, he started the plane and taxied to the fueling station. That was Victor Fuentes’s replacement.
Margarita, still beside the SUV, appeared to be speaking to the boy, her hand on his cheek. The guard said something to her and motioned for her to come on. She looked back toward Gonzalez’s SUV, still running with the driver inside. She took Tony’s hand and walked into the hanger.
“I’m going to get a closer look,” Mark said. “Keep your weapon handy.” He didn’t give Laura time to argue.
He ducked and raced down the slight hill to the fence, using the boulders for cover. With the wire cutter on his mini-multi tool, he cut the barbed wires and rolled them up so they wouldn’t bounce back. That done, he belly crawled through clumps of foot-tall scrub grass, toward the hanger.
Ruiz emerged from the building and walked toward the plane with one guard. Margarita stopped a few yards away and bent to listen to something Tony said. The guard who’d stayed in front looked up, scanned the fence line, and started up the hill.
Mark flattened himself against the ground and froze.
Gonzalez yelled at the guard. “What’s wrong?”
“The fence. I think it’s cut.” The guard pointed. “There.”
Shit! There was no cover here, just the low growing grasses. No way to get past the guard without being seen. He could only hope to stay low enough that the Uzi armed guard couldn’t see him. He’d have to take out the man without firing a shot if he came this way. Shooting would only start a gunfight that would endanger Tony.
The guard climbed toward the cut in the fence, his footfalls crunching on rough sand and dry grass.
Whatever it Takes (Shadow Heroes Book 4) Page 19
