Whatever it Takes (Shadow Heroes Book 4)

by Virginia Kelly

  Mark waited, lying on his side, his senses attuned to sound. The footsteps drew closer. He sprang up, hands going for the Uzi. But the guard had his finger on the trigger and got off a burst of shots. Mark slammed the weapon into the guard’s nose. The man stumbled back. Before he regained control of his weapon, Mark jammed the butt of the submachine gun into the guard’s right brow. A second blow knocked the man down and out.

  Gonzalez, holding a semi-automatic pistol in his right hand, had walked out farther. He called out, and when there was no answer, backed toward the hanger, wielding his weapon. Ruiz was hustled inside by his guard. If Sam were here with his sniper rifle, he could have taken them all. But at this distance, with only the 9mm Glock, there was little chance Mark could do it. Now, with the men back inside where Margarita and the boy surely were, the guard’s Uzi was too dangerous to use. He’d be shooting blind and the bullets would go through the hanger walls.

  Gonzalez’s SUV was now empty. At some point, the driver had gotten out and was probably in the building. Getting to Tony just became a little more difficult.

  The pilot finished fueling, moved the plane closer to the back of the hanger, and cut the engine.

  A noise from behind made Mark turn. Laura scrambled around to this side of the boulder. A man with a high powered rifle stood about fifty yards behind her position and fired three shots in quick succession, shattering bits of rock around her.

  Mark grabbed the Uzi and began firing as he ran back toward Laura. Rounds from the shooter whipped past him, others kicked up grit at his feet, but Mark got off four bursts of fire. A grunt and the shooter fell. Silence echoed in the heat of midday.

  Got him.

  Laura sat wide-eyed, her back against the boulder. She held her Glock across her lap.

  Mark knelt beside her. “Are you okay?”

  She nodded, her face pale. “I saw him raise the rifle, but I…”

  “He’s not a threat anymore.”

  “What was I thinking?” She blew out a breath, her shoulders slumped. “I can’t do anything to help Tony.”

  “It’s okay.” A ridiculous platitude when nothing was okay.

  Ruiz and company knew where they were so he couldn’t leave her here. They had to move. Back wasn’t an option. Ruiz’s guards would come after them, or more guards could be at the river. That meant running for the hanger, something they wouldn’t expect. “Come on. Stay low.”

  “Tony?” she asked.

  “Margarita took him inside.” He helped Laura to her feet. She seemed a little wobbly. Understandable.

  Using its strap, he slung the Uzi over his shoulder, took her hand and, with his Glock ready to fire at anyone who stepped out of the hanger, ran through the opening he’d made in the fence, then down the low hill.

  Twenty yards from the hanger, Laura stumbled and fell beside him. She pressed her hand against her left thigh, but didn’t drop her gun.

  Blood. Seeping through her fingers. Either a severed vein or artery, maybe a broken femur.

  Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit! He had nothing, no first aid kit. Fucking nothing.

  They were in the open. It was a miracle one of the men inside hadn’t shot at them. He couldn’t see anyone at the back of the hanger. The plane and the fueling station were obscured by it. But they couldn’t stay here. He needed to get Laura to cover.

  “Hold on.” He left the Uzi as cumbersome and too dangerous to use with the boy close by, hoisted her onto his shoulders and ran with his Glock at the ready. When he reached the side of the hanger, he put her down. She would be hidden by clumps of dried weeds if someone looked down the side from the front or back. He lay his gun down, propped her back against the outside wall of the building and looked at her thigh.

  Not as much blood as he thought. He tore at the hole in her jeans until he ripped the leg off. Blood trickled from a small wound.

  “I didn’t know.” Her breath hitched. “Didn’t feel it. Then my leg collapsed.”

  He forced his fear back by breathing slow and deep, then rolled her to her right. Exit wound. That rifle should have done much more damage. She must have been hit by a ricochet off the boulder.

  Stop the bleeding was all he knew to do because of the battlefield wounds he’d seen, but she didn’t need a tourniquet.

  He jerked off what was left of his shirt and cut notches in the fabric to rip off three strips. That done, he folded two pieces into thick pads, placed one over the entrance wound, one over the exit.

  “Hold these,” he whispered. His hands shook as he fumbled with the remaining strip and secured it as tightly as possible around her thigh

  She was going to be okay. She had to be.

  “Tony. Where is he?”

  “Inside.” But he wasn’t sure. He’d checked for shooters as he’d dealt with her wound, but took a more careful look now. Gonzalez and the other guard had to be on the other side of the metal wall of the hanger from where they could easily shoot through at them.

  He had to get her away from here.

  The SUV. It was around the corner.

  “I’m going to move you—”

  The plane’s engine rumbled to life.

  She grasped his arm. “No. Get Tony before they take off.” With a shallow breath she added, “Please.”

  Mark felt a whisper of movement, then heard the ominous rustle of clothing as someone moved in from behind.

  ***

  The sight of Gonzalez looming up behind Mark made Laura gasp. He stiffened, still on one knee, beside her.

  “Who do you work for, Juan Marcos?” Gonzalez pointed a gun at Mark’s head.

  He turned slowly, but stayed down. His gun lay between them, clearly visible to Gonzalez, hers on her other side. She had to do something.

  Praying that Mark’s body blocked Gonzalez’s view of her hands, she reached for her gun, fingers clawing at dirt, her gaze on the man. Finally felt the weapon.

  “I work for myself,” Mark said.

  Gonzalez laughed. “She is Herrera’s daughter. We have her son. Now we have two bargaining chips.”

  “Herrera will not bargain,” Mark said.

  “For you, one of his agents?” Gonzalez barked out a laugh. “No. But for her and the boy? Yes.”

  Laura tugged the gun into a firm grip and lifted it above Mark’s shoulder. Clear of him, she squeezed the trigger. Gonzalez jumped, as if startled. So did she. The recoil forced her arm back as a bloom of red spread on the man’s right side.

  In a blur of movement, Mark grabbed his own gun from the ground, spun and fired twice.

  Gonzalez, still standing, looked momentarily puzzled. At the wound in his chest, or the hole in his forehead? His gun arm fell to his side and he crumpled to the ground onto to his back, eyes staring upward.

  Less than a heartbeat passed before Mark spun back and pushed her over as a burst of machine gun fire pinged against the metal side of the hanger, over their heads. With his body atop hers, he fired. A man fell toward the front of the hanger. She couldn’t see him clearly, but he lay deadly still.

  Green Beret. It made sense. Mark was fast. Accurate.

  Professional.

  Professional spy.

  “Are you okay?” He squatted beside her, nothing of the professional in the rough sound of his voice.

  But there was no time to waste on her. The plane was still running.

  She grasped his arm. “Get Tony. Leave me.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Laura’s words shot through Mark’s memory. “Leave me,” José Antonio Iglesias had said. “Your purpose isn’t here.”

  His purpose.

  God help him. His purpose was to make this right.

  “Don’t move. Keep this.” He placed her gun in her right hand and allowed himself one last look at her face.

  The two guards were down. Gonzalez was down. That left the pilot, the other driver and Ruiz. And Margarita. They had to have heard the shots.

  On the lookout for more shooters, Mark peered into
the hanger from the front. Margarita Ruiz was on her knees holding Tony as if to protect him, her attention on the pilot who’d left the plane and walked toward her, his .45 at the ready.

  Ruiz, a 9 mil Ruger in his hand, crouched beside the plane’s door and yelled, “Come! Hurry!”

  The pilot spotted Mark and lobbed a shot at him as Mark ran toward some metal shelves loaded with airplane parts.

  Margarita covered Tony’s body with her own. “Leave him with me,” she yelled. “You don’t need him anymore.”

  Mark crouched low as the pilot sent a volley of shots in his direction. They pinged off the metal. One came so close he felt a breeze as it whizzed past.

  Margarita cried, “No. Por favor. ¡No!” Then the boy began screaming.

  Fuck!

  Mark peered around the corner of the shelving.

  Margarita fought the pilot until he pistol whipped her across the cheek and she fell back. No way for Mark to take a shot without hurting either the boy or her. The man, his gun now pressed against Tony Iglesias’s head, dragged the child from Margarita’s grasp. As he backed toward the plane, the gun still aimed at Tony, who flailed and kicked, Mark moved forward in a shooter’s stance.

  The pilot cleared the hanger’s opening. Mark saw an armed man move in from the rear of the plane. A man in a chauffeur’s uniform. Gonzalez’s driver. Mark recognized him as one of Emilio Estrada’s men. He yelled at the pilot to stop.

  Still holding the squirming boy, the pilot turned toward Estrada’s man and fired. He stumbled back, and as the pilot prepared to shoot again, Tony pushed himself far enough away that Mark could fire. The bullet caught the pilot in the hip. He fell to one knee and braced himself on the ground. The boy, finally free, ran past Mark into the hanger. He got between the boy and the pilot as he, still on the ground, fired at Mark again and missed.

  Suddenly, San Matean soldiers and plain clothed armed men, some Mark recognized as more of Estrada’s agents, surrounded the plane. They shouted at the pilot to stay down and at both him and Ruiz to drop their weapons. Ruiz dropped his and held his hands up. The pilot tossed his gun to the right.

  At a sound from the front of the hanger, Mark pivoted, gun raised.

  Sam Mackenzie and two of his Delta team. Mark turned back toward the plane. One of Estrada’s men had cut the engine.

  The pilot struggled to his feet with Ruiz’s help.

  Estrada joined the soldiers. Ruiz took one look at Estrada, pulled a gun from the back of the pilot’s pants and aimed at Estrada. Mark fired. Ruiz dropped. Estrada’s men rushed forward. They checked both men for more weapons.

  “Shit, Cap,” Sam said when he reached him. “There are bodies everywhere. And blood on your shirt.”

  “It’s the boy’s mother’s.” Mark nodded toward Tony, wrapped in Margarita’s arms. “She needs help. On the side of the hanger.”

  “We saw her. Ranger medic’s already stabilized her and called in a chopper to take her to the hospital. She should be okay.”

  Mark had never been wobbly with relief. Not in Afghanistan when he’d been wounded. Not when he regained consciousness and found José Antonio Iglesias dead beside him. Not until now.

  With a deep breath, Mark approached Tony, still in Margarita’s arms. The woman stood as he reached her. Her cheek was bloodied and bruised, but she held the boy’s shoulder gently, looking softer, vulnerable. Not at all the woman he’d met only days ago in Puerto Escondido.

  “Tony, I’m Mark.” He squatted beside the boy, suddenly aware of a pulled a muscle in his side. “Your mom has been looking for you.”

  “Tía Margarita told me. She says the General is a bad man. That’s why you had to shoot him.”

  Mark smiled. The Latin steel magnolia had a soft heart, at least for the child.

  “Your mom is here. Her leg hurts, but I know she wants to see you.” He stood, the pulled muscle a little more painful, and held his hand out to Tony. The boy looked at Margarita Ruiz as if to ask if it was okay. She smiled and nodded.

  With the boy’s hand in his, Mark walked past the Delta operators, two American Rangers, and the swarm of San Matean soldiers who’d descended on the airfield.

  He glanced back, which made him oddly dizzy. Estrada stood close to Margarita. He pushed a strand of her hair away from her face. It was a gentle, caring move. More of a caress. Fuentes had said there was bad blood between Estrada and Ruiz. Over Ruiz’s wife? Wow.

  Outside, Mark blinked against the bright sunlight. Gonzalez’s body was nowhere in sight. He must have been moved. Laura sat where Mark had left her, head back, resting against the outside hanger wall. The medic had replaced the haphazard dressing with a good one.

  Tony released Mark’s hand and ran to his mother. At the sight of her son, her smile lit the world. She held her arms out as the boy launched himself at her, then held him, rocking gently, her face against his.

  “His father would be proud of the way he fought,” Estrada said, joining Mark as they watched Laura and her son.

  Mark agreed in silence.

  “Marcos,” Estrada continued, “you have been, as you Americans say, in the thick of things. Fuentes has received treatment and will be home shortly. The coup did not succeed because it lacked the backing of the military and the people.” Estrada shook his head. “Women with pots…”

  The sound of two helicopters came from a distance.

  Sam joined them. “I’m told there’s room for your wounded on the helos,” he told Estrada.

  “We have only bruises thanks to this,” the San Matean agent said tapping his tactical vest. “There should be nothing to indicate you Americans helped us in any way. Your team was here to take the boy to safety after we rescued him. His mother can be explained in the same way.”

  He shifted his attention to Mark. “But you, compadre, you must vanish. Juan Marcos is dead, shot as our men took the airfield. Your agency must see that this is what is said about the gunrunner.”

  Yeah, he’d have to pay the price of the mess he’d created. Damn, but that pulled muscle was making it hard to breathe.

  The clap of helicopter blades grew louder and louder as both came toward them from the west.

  Mark watched Laura talking to her son. The boy rested his head on her shoulder. He nodded at something she said, jumped up and ran toward him.

  “Mi mami dice—” he said before stopping himself and switching to English. “My mom says thank you.” Then the boy ran to Margarita who’d walked out to the front of the hanger. She hugged him and listened, smiling, as he spoke to her.

  Laura waved Mark over. She said something to the medic that made him step away.

  Mark hesitated, wiping clammy sweat from his face before walking toward her.

  He started to bend, but a wave of dizziness made him stop. That pulled muscle in his side was really doing a number on him.

  She shaded her eyes from the sun in order to look at him. “Thank you for saving him. I should have trusted you. I’m sorry.”

  She looked out of focus when he really wanted to see her clearly, to tell her she had nothing to be sorry about.

  He lowered himself to one knee, leaning on the hard ground with one hand. The damn muscle pinched at the move.

  He couldn’t continue to justify avoiding the truth. Head bowed, he stared at a single blade of new grass among a clump of the dried stuff, then looked at her again. “Laura, I didn’t know who you were when we met in the restaurant. When I realized what had happened to Tony, I wanted to save him. I had to. Then…” His breathing hurt. “It… You… became more.”

  She turned her head a little, as if about to ask a question.

  “I should have told you some things before. But I was afraid.” Who knew he’d be dizzy with dread when he told her? “I knew your husband.”

  “My husband?”

  He pushed on. “He saved me once, when a situation with… When a situation got out of hand.” That was the good part. Now for the bad. “I was in the Primero de Mayo compound wh
en the San Matean Army made their assault.”

  “You were there?” She stared at him.

  “I was still Special Forces, but I wasn’t with the troops. I was working undercover.”

  “As Juan Marcos.”

  “Yes.”

  “The others were dead. José Antonio was badly wounded.”

  “He was…alive?” She breathed the last word.

  “There was a lull in the shooting. Primero de Mayo was preparing to run.” He glanced down at his right hand, realized he was gripping a handful of dirt, released it, and watched it slip through his fingers. “He was bleeding badly.” He looked up. “I had no way to stop it.”

  Her face paled. A lifetime passed before she spoke. “He was alive?”

  “He was one of the few who knew what I was doing in San Mateo, that it was important to the country. He knew—we both knew—he wouldn’t make it.” Mark cleared his throat. Twice. His side hurt like hell. “He told me to leave him.”

  Laura flinched.

  “He said…” His voice cracked.

  She was hugging herself, biting her lip.

  He had to finish. His throat tightened, his voice came out gravelly. “He said he had lived his life with purpose.” He bowed his head again, struggled for a painful breath, then met her gaze. “He said he had a wife and son.”

  “He was alive,” she repeated.

  “He told me… He said I wasn’t meant to be there, that my purpose was elsewhere. He was a hero. Your husband.” His voice broke. “Your son’s father was a hero.”

  “You…” She whispered and put her hand over her mouth as she stared at him.

  What more could he say? “I’m sorry.” Had he even said that? His thoughts scattered, his throat didn’t seem to work. His heart hurt.

  “Cap?” Sam’s voice sounded like it came from a tunnel. “You’ve been hit. There’s blood on your shirt.”

  “No. Blood’s hers.” He was a little light-headed, but that was from relief. Heat probably. And from finally telling her the truth. From kneeling on one knee. But he felt cold. He looked at Laura, but couldn’t keep her in focus.

  He wobbled, caught himself with his right elbow and tried to suck in a breath. His knee buckled. Someone caught him. Sam?