Collateral Damage: Silent Warrior, Book 1

by J. L. Saint

  Jack turned away, hurting as his mind grappled with everything Weston had said. As a soldier he registered the facts and processed the logical progression of events and decisions. Intellectually he understood every one of them, even if he didn’t wholly agree with every point, he clearly saw the big picture. Emotionally, a maelstrom of hurt, anger and disillusionment had him by the throat.

  “Jack.” Lauren came up behind him and pressed her cheek to his back in wordless comfort and support.

  He drew a deep breath and turned around, squeezing her shoulder in thanks. He looked at Weston. “Why are you telling me now?”

  “Because when I stood on death’s doorstep today, I realized there are some things I can live with and some I can’t. Considering the inhumane depravity that gets excused in a heartbeat around the world, I can live with them not knowing an American missile played a role in the Lebanon tragedy, but I can’t live with my men not knowing the truth. So I made the decision to tell each of you. What you decide to do with that information is up to you and I will face whatever consequences I need to that result. Just know that as Commander I made the best decision I could with the facts I had at the time. I’m sorry, DT, sorry you were hurt so badly. Sorry to have kept the truth about what happened from you. If I could trade places this instant, I would.”

  Jack drew several deep breaths. “I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t trade places. Given the facts, I don’t know if I would have ordered the missile or not. I keep seeing Neil blown against the wall, keep feeling the building cave beneath me, keep hearing the screams of pain, maybe my own. Comparing the damage in Lebanon to the devastation of Qassem’s last attack on American soil, the decision to take him out had to be made. But that’s why you’re a commander and I’m not. Somebody has to carry the responsibility to make critical choices in a crisis and live with the burden of them. We both know there are no good choices or winners in war. Consider your apology accepted.”

  “That’s it?” Roger shouted. “You can forgive me that easily? Jesus, DT. Your career might be over.”

  “What? You want me to waste time and energy beating you to a pulp? Seems as if you and Beck have already done enough of that. Hell, Roger. I don’t know what I feel yet. I don’t know what to do yet, but I sure as hell know what has to happen next. I’m not waiting for Rashid’s right time. I am going to get Matt and Mitch out of Menendez’s hands. Are you with me or not?”

  “We’d be disobeying direct orders from General Dekkar.”

  “Did he say specifically do not go to Peru and rescue Lauren’s kids?”

  “No. Just to turn over the investigation to the NCS.”

  Beck cursed. “Somebody want to tell me what’s going on?”

  “In a minute,” Jack said at the same time as Weston.

  Jack smiled. “Then we won’t be disobeying. We turned the investigation over to the NCS. No more investigation necessary just action.”

  Weston smiled. “Good point. My orders from Dekker are to find you. Guess I’m going to have to go to Peru and infiltrate Menendez’s digs to do it. Isn’t that right, Beck?”

  “Sir?”

  “Have you seen DT, Beck?”

  Beck smiled. “No, sir.”

  “Where do you think he is?”

  “Peru, sir.”

  “Good. I have transpo waiting.”

  “And I have—” Jack paused and looked at Lauren. “Make that Lauren has the perfect plan.”

  Weston and Beck looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. And maybe he had.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Madre de Dios Region, Peru

  Amazon Rainforest, Santuario Compound

  1100 hours

  “Can I do anything else to make you comfortable?”

  “No. You’ve been wonderful,” Conrad told Angie. And she had. Ever since they’d all been unpacked from crates yesterday, she’d been the angel of mercy administering to him, the brats and the other dude, who he hoped would soon be dead. Conrad kind of liked Angie and he could tell she was interested in the other guy. It was in the way she looked at the dude and touched him, it made Conrad want it.

  What would his life have been like if he’d met someone like her in high school, or even college? She wasn’t the cheerleader type, always flaunting their T&A and being so picky on who got snatch and who didn’t. She’d have been the one in the library studying. He should have read a book more often.

  Not that he’d had to do without back then. Some had put out just because he was the football star and for the few dry spells, well, he had some good dirt on one of the cheerleaders and she gave him what he wanted when he wanted it just so he’d keep his mouth shut. Those had been the good old days.

  “I don’t know where I would be without your help,” Conrad told her. “Probably dead. Ever since they blew up my boat and shot me in the shoulder when I fought them after I made it to shore, I thought for sure I’d die.” He let tears well into his eyes and then blinked hard and drew a deep breath.

  “It’s going to be all right.” She leaned closer and squeezed his shoulder. Her full breasts jiggled nicely. She was braless beneath her shirt. He’d watched her take it off last night and use it to make a sling for the other dude’s broken arm. Hell, Conrad’s shoulder was in bad shape, he could have used a sling as well, especially one that had been in contact with her tits.

  If the monkeys outside weren’t screeching during the night then Collins’s damnable brats were crying, making sleep nearly impossible until the din of early morning birds made it completely impossible. Conrad had a headache and the brats were running around, racing their cars everywhere in the set of rooms they’d all been locked in after leaving the plane.

  Conrad had decided that when the opportunity presented itself, he was going to suffocate the other dude with a pillow, paving the way for him and Angie. And the first chance he got he was getting rid of those damnable race cars.

  “Thanks,” he told Angie, and raised his good hand to pat her arm. She looked at him and he thought she was going to say more, but then that other dude groaned from the next room.

  “Oh thank God. Rico’s waking up.” She left, dropping Gardner like a hot potato.

  Not good. Not good at all.

  He motioned to one of the boys as they passed and they came over to him. They would be the key to getting to Angie. He made them laugh a bit then quietly manipulated them into a doozy of a fight. As predicted, Angie left the other dude and came running to deal with the brats. She scolded them and took their race cars away for a ten minute time out. Good. Very good.

  1300 Hours

  George did an excited flip and landed directly in front of Collins’s sons the moment they were pushed through the door. Both boys cried out and fell back. From the surveillance video of the prisoners’ rooms, Andreas had watched the boys when separated from the red-haired woman. She was still beating against the door, demanding that the children be brought back to her when he’d left the screen a few moments ago.

  George jumped in a circle and laughed at the boys, pointing at their faces.

  “Madre de Dios, George,” Andreas agreed. “They are exactly alike.” He frowned at the boys because they hadn’t laughed yet. George loved for children to laugh. “You like my son, don’t you, chicos?”

  The boys nodded.

  “He likes you too. So you must laugh when he does a trick. You don’t want to make him mad. Not yet. George, why don’t you show them how you race like a car?”

  George screeched and then ran fast across the large room. He jumped on chairs, swung from the chandelier and the curtains as he whined like a broken siren. He ended with a flip, landing right in front of the boys again. One of the boys laughed. The other one cried out and backed up another step. George screeched at him and pushed him.

  Andreas frowned. “He wants you to laugh,” he told the boy who looked as if he was going to cry. That would only make George sad then. This play session wasn’t going as well as he’d planned. Andreas glanced at the ti
me. The CNN camera crew would be here shortly to set up for the Latimoor Live show and he really didn’t need George in a bad mood. Why wasn’t the boy amused?

  “Show them your guitar, George.” The tinny sound of “Hey, Hey, We’re the Monkees” played as George strummed his play guitar and jumped up and down. This time both of the boys laughed. “Hey, Hey, with Monkey,” one of them said, singing along with the song.

  The boy reached out and touched the guitar and George screeched and grabbed the boy’s hand. “No!” Andreas told George, stopping his son from biting the boy.

  Andreas wasn’t ready for blood yet. He needed Lauren Collins’s cooperation. Besides, he’d want to have a video keepsake of it all and that hadn’t been set up.

  Now George was upset. He crawled in to a corner and was glaring at the boys, who were now huddled together by the door.

  “Fidel! Come quickly,” Andreas called.

  Fidel hurried into the room and snapped to attention.

  “Take them back. They have only upset George! It would serve them right if I just left them for George to play with as he will.” Fidel left with Collins’s rude children.

  Andreas went over and picked up his son and caressed his cheek. “It’s all right, mi hijo. I will find you some playmates, don’t you worry. Those chicos were mean. I had the same problem, but we’ll take care of teaching them some manners very soon. It’s money that made them bad. They had more than others. Just you wait, everyone will have the same and you and your kind will be just as important as everyone else. Even those bad chicos. Maybe you’ll be more important.”

  George lifted his head and smiled, baring his teeth.

  Andreas smiled back. He’d tell Fidel to speed up with the attacks against Sheikh Khalifa bin Zayed Al Nahyan and he’d make the call to Lauren Collins tonight. The sooner Andreas got what he wanted, the sooner George would too.

  The Angel of Mercy was crying and he would be her hero. Conrad went to where Angie had her cheek pressed hard to the door. They’d just pulled the two boys out kicking and screaming with Angie doing her best to disable anything she could reach and now she was alone and defeated.

  Conrad set a firm hand on Angie’s shoulder and urged her away from the wall. She needed to have those breasts smashing against him and not cold concrete. “Hey, don’t do this to yourself,” he told her. “It’s going to be all right. We’re going to get out of here. The boys are going to be fine.”

  She looked up at him, and damn, why did women cry. It did nothing but mess up good stuff. Her nose was red, her eyes were running, and her skin was blotchy. “I know. I know. It has to work out that way, anything else is unacceptable.”

  “Angie. Angie?” The other dude in the other room called out.

  Angie snapped her head up and nodded. “You’re right. It’s really going to be okay. Rico is getting better by the hour.” She patted Conrad on the cheek and ran to the other dude.

  Jaysus that man had to go. Conrad followed. He needed to make an assessment of the other dude’s condition, so he’d have a good idea of what would be needed to take him out tonight.

  Conrad stopped at the doorway. The other dude was sitting up on the side of the bed. His bloody shirt was gone, leaving his torso bare except for Angie’s bra anchoring the man’s broken arm against his chest. The man held his head in his good hand and moaned.

  Angie went right up to him and placed her palm lovingly on the man’s cheek. “Oh, Rico. Thank God. You’re fully awake now? You remember what happened?”

  “Yeah. How long? How long have I been out?”

  “Long enough to have me on my knees begging for a miracle, buddy. Almost twenty-four hours.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Not sure yet, and don’t know who had kidnapped us, but we are in a Spanish speaking country.”

  “Where are the boys?”

  Angie drew a deep breath. “They just took them away, Rico. God, I tried to stop the guard, but…I…couldn’t.” She started to cry again.

  “Shit.” The man put his good arm around her and hugged him to her, squashing those glorious breasts against him. “Don’t worry. I’ll get to them. Help me get upright so I can start getting my shit together. I’ll— Who the hell is he?”

  Conrad smiled as Angie looked up. Your executioner, asshole.

  Angie smiled. “Conrad, this is Rico. Rico, this is Conrad Gardner, a friend of Bill Collins’s who has been kidnapped too.” She motioned for Conrad to come into the room. “You’re just in time to help.”

  “Any way I can.” Conrad moved into the room. It nearly killed him to help the other dude to get upright when all he wanted to do was snuff the life out of the bastard.

  The dude wavered wildly, nearly fell back down then forced himself to steady. “I got it now.” The other dude released his hold on Conrad, taking a few steps on his own.

  Suddenly loud crying penetrated the room. The brats were back.

  “Dear God.” Angie left the other dude and ran.

  Rico moved forward, braced his hand on the wall and followed Angie.

  Conrad had never heard such a ruckus. He went with everyone into the living room. There wasn’t a scratch on the boys but they were sobbing. Angie had both of them in her arms on her lap. “Tell me what happened, Matt. Please. No matter what just tell me.”

  “Mean monkey,” Matt said. “Bad man and mean monkey.”

  “The monkey did tricks and the man wanted us to laugh,” Mitch said. “Then the monkey got mad. I thought he was going to bite me. He’s bad.”

  “What man?” Rico asked. “Describe him. Did he say his name?”

  The boys shook their heads. “He was just a bad man,” Matt said. “He called his monkey George. He said the monkey was his son.”

  Angie gasped. “You’re sure, Matt? You’re very sure.”

  “Of course he’s sure,” said Mitch. “I’m sure too. We give our solid oak, Aunt Angie.”

  Angie looked at Rico, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. “I know where we—”

  Rico pressed his finger to Angie’s mouth, a mouth made for bigger and better things, Conrad thought. The man looked around the room. “Hold that thought. The walls have eyes and ears,” he whispered.

  Well, damn. Conrad hadn’t thought about that. He couldn’t afford to have a tape of anything untoward surface. He’d have to wait to off the other dude. But that was all right. He had plenty of time, and he still had a chance at the five million jackpot.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Loaded, ready to rock and riding in style, Jack swept his gaze over the occupants of the stretch Hummer then made one last check on the demeanor of the guards in the guard house. The two men were relaxed and joking and had only given the contents of the news van a cursory glance. They never even questioned the people in the luxury SUV. The infiltration was proceeding well. It was the ex-filtration he was worried about.

  Besides him, Weston, Beck and Lauren, the only other person with them who knew exactly who they were and why they were here was Candace Latimoor. Everyone else believed they were a wildlife photography unit here to take additional footage of Andreas Miles’s Primate Reserve.

  All elements of the operation had seamlessly coalesced except for the one thing they needed the most and had the least amount of control over. They had no satellite photos. No proof that the hostages were with Menendez. He never landed at the airport cited in the flight plan they’d filed after leaving Orlando, where surveillance agents had waited. Once reaching Brazilian airspace, Menendez’s Airbus A 380 diverted to a private airstrip, which given the size of the plane had to be one hell of a private facility. Heavy cloud cover made photos of that airstrip sketchy, but a humongous hanger was apparently the Airbus’s parking garage. All loading and unloading had been done beneath its steel walls and all trucks had been driven through the dense tropical foliage to somewhere inside this compound.

  From what he could tell, the visible security fence and gate had all the bells and whistles of
a maximum security prison. If they were forced to get past it to escape, it wouldn’t be a piece of cake but was within the team’s capabilities.

  It had been raining since their early morning arrival to the rustic capital of Puerto Maldonado, but as ill luck would have it, the afternoon had cleared, adding to the biggest negative of the operation—daylight. But between rainforest vegetation and their camera props, the team should be able to maneuver around enough to scope out the area and hopefully locate Matt, Mitch, Angie, and Rico—at least Jack was praying so. Rico’s body had yet to turn up in Orlando.

  Jack had been to the Brazilian Amazon rainforest before, but hadn’t realized just how vast and virgin the Peruvian side was. On the drive he’d seen several scarlet macaws, their blue, red and yellow coloring unmistakable amid the lush green forest.

  Lauren was with them. He still wasn’t sure how it had happened, but had finally come to grips that it was the right thing to have happen despite his fears for her. She’d stay with the camera crew and he’d contact her when he’d hopefully located her sons. From that point, it would be decided if the live camera feed would continue to film Menendez’s interview, or if they’d be able to capture the rescue of the hostages on tape. That would be sure proof of Menendez’s involvement with Bill Collins. Besides, live TV would be a pretty big deterrent against a show of violent force on Menendez’s part in stopping their escape from the compound.

  The choppy black wig Lauren had on had changed her general looks from golden and angelic to a sophisticated, sexy goth that would fit right in with New York’s trendy fashion and just what a hungry reporter in training would look like. She sat next to Candace Latimoor. The silver haired, tanned and lively, fifty-something woman had a deep voice and a direct humorous manner that hit somewhere between Larry King and Jay Leno.