by Jordan Dane
CHAPTER 16
As he hiked back to where he’d stashed the hostages, Kinkaid fought the urge to give in to the dark emotions he felt. He’d come so far, only to have Kate slip through his hands again, but now wasn’t the time to wallow in self-pity or give in to doubt.
He had a lot on his mind as he reflected on his brushes with death over the last few days. They weren’t the first ones he’d had, and they certainly wouldn’t be the last. Although each near miss was unique, they ran icy cold in his veins. And cold sober, he had to admit they shook him up, despite his macho front to the contrary.
A normal man in another line of work might have sought therapy to deal with the trauma. His usual therapy was paying a visit to Dr. Jack Daniel’s or his associate Dr. Johnny Walker. But here and now, he knew the next best thing. Having someone to protect or someone to hunt would be all the rehabilitation he’d need.
And lucky for him—he now had both.
That was what he was thinking when he came face-to-face with Alexa and her team. They had found the hostages and “disarmed” them. And no one had gotten killed in the process. He now had someone to deal with the captives, and he could track the bastards who’d abducted Kate without the trail turning cold. With the exception of Kate still missing, it had been a good day.
Alexa didn’t look as if she agreed.
She glared at him and stood with arms crossed, blocking his path. And when she saw the bloody crease on his arm, she shifted her eyes back to his.
“What are you gonna do for an encore? Invade Afghanistan single-handed?”
He returned her glare. “You slipped me a mickey. And you left me behind.” He shrugged. “I got bored.”
“Next time I’ll leave a deck of cards.”
“There isn’t going to be a next time, Marlowe. You and me? We’re done.” He heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair. “You have what we came for. Garrett can chalk up Kate to collateral damage and put this mission in the win column, mission accomplished. Take them home. I’m going after Kate.” He turned his back on her and gathered his gear. “Have a good life. And thanks.”
When he walked through the rescued hostages, men stopped him to shake his hand or pat him on the back. And women hugged and kissed him, calling him a hero. They reached their hands out to touch him as he walked by. He never thought of himself as a hero and found it hard to accept their gratitude, especially since they weren’t out of danger yet.
But there was one person he wanted to see one last time.
Before he left, Kinkaid leaned down to kiss Joselyne on the forehead, and whispered, “I’ll find Kate. This isn’t over.”
He headed toward the destroyed camp with his gear over one shoulder and his assault rifle in his hand. The terrorists had fled the canyon and escaped into the hills. And all he wanted to do was track them, but Alexa wasn’t done. She stepped around him and stood in his path with a hand on his chest, shoving him to make her point.
“Garrett wanted to keep this mission low-profile. That means we clear out now…before morning. He doesn’t want to see our faces on CNN or have to negotiate for our release from Castro.”
“Neither do I. That’s not gonna happen,” he argued.
“You walk away now, and Garrett will cut off his help. You know it, and I know it,” she threatened.
Kinkaid kept his mouth shut—his only answer. He was done talking. With his assault rifle and gear hanging off his shoulder, he stood with his arms crossed and his jaw tight.
“You leave me no choice.” She mirrored his stance and her blue eyes turned icy. He knew from experience, the woman could be real dangerous when she got backed into a corner—one of the things they had in common.
New York City
Sentinels Headquarters
Hours later
It had been a long day. Garrett wiped a hand over his face in frustration as he sat behind his desk. He had taken a quick shower and changed into jeans and a light sweater, hoping to jump-start his brain with a fresh outlook. Alexa dominated his thoughts. And his fears for her magnified after he’d seen the latest on Aljazeera.net.
Two more videos had been posted online since the first grisly transmission. Tanya made sure he’d seen them. The posts stirred renewed interest in the Haiti incident. World media were focused on the tragedy again. The first new video was the beheading of an American named George Crowell, husband to the woman who had died the same way in Haiti. The video marked the tragic end to the philanthropic efforts of a remarkable couple, but why kill a wealthy couple like the Crowells if these men were after ransom money? The erratic behavior of the terrorists concerned him. They appeared more like ruthless killers using their fanatical beliefs as an excuse to butcher innocent people. Had money taken a backseat to bloodlust?
The second video piqued Garrett’s interest more for a different reason.
A Catholic nun had been beaten in front of the camera. Watching the horror made him angry. And the outpouring of concern from the religious community—both online and in the global media coverage—had stirred a maelstrom of public opinion calling for action. They had run out of time, and the world was watching. The nun’s captors were hooded cowards who demanded money. Garrett recognized the name of the American that these men expected to pay the ransom.
Jackson Kinkaid.
Unless Kinkaid had one hell of a vanishing act—and obliterated his personal history—he’d become the target of a media blitz he couldn’t outrun. There would be no place for him to hide and no aspect of his life that would be off-limits. He knew enough about the man’s past to recognize how devastating that would be. Kinkaid didn’t have a covert international organization behind him to cover his ass like Garrett did.
And after CNN gave the name of the nun and her affiliation to the missionary school, it only took Garrett a moment to realize the truth. Sister Mary Katherine was the Kate that Kinkaid had cared so much about. The pieces to the puzzle were coming together, even though he still had no idea how Kinkaid knew the nun or why he would endure such an extraordinary rescue mission to save her. His people were doing their own digging, and he hoped to know more about Kinkaid’s personal connection soon.
When he heard a knock on his door, he welcomed the distraction from his grim thoughts. “Come in.”
“Sorry to disturb you, but I’ve got an update.” Tanya carried a file and sat at a chair in front of his desk. “I had Seth Harper analyze old transmissions from another case that happened not too long ago…one we have more intelligence on. The MO was similar to the incident in Haiti.”
“And you thought if we found a link to this old case, we might have an idea who’s behind the abductions in Haiti?” he asked with a smile.
“Yes. I thought it would be worth a shot.” All business, Tanya didn’t wait for a pat on the back. “According to what Jackson Kinkaid told Alexa, this group carried high-tech gear. GPS units, laptops, the works. And their use of a video cam to post beheadings online is also distinctive. The MO in Haiti triggered something I remembered from an earlier case.”
“Good.” He nodded. “What did you find out?”
“I believe the terrorist cell Alexa is tracking is the same group who invaded a remote hotel in the British Virgin Islands and abducted five men on holiday. Three bystanders were killed. And Harper’s analysis confirms similarities. He’s found a link that ties this case directly to the Haiti incident. Here’s a summary of that investigation.” She handed him the report and continued, “A guy by the name of Abdul Kabir Sayed was believed to be the leader. He’s making a name for himself, and he’s after bigger and bigger headlines. Some believe he’s got ties to Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez and that Chavez gave him a place to hide after the Virgin Islands incident.”
“If that’s true, then the Cuban connection makes sense. Chavez has forged links with Castro and modeled his government after communist Cuba,” Garrett agreed. “And Chavez is one of America’s newest adversaries. After he survived an attempted coup a
nd a nationwide petition demanding his recall, the man has cultivated dangerous ties to terrorism. Chavez has got nine lives, politically speaking. He’s been in power for ten years and the last referendum vote cleared the way for him to rule for decades like Castro. He’s not going away anytime soon.”
“Yes, and now the U.S. believes the Venezuelan government is issuing official documents to people who shouldn’t have them,” she said. “These documents could be used to obtain Venezuelan passports and American visas. They’d allow the holders to get past immigration checkpoints and enter the United States under false pretenses. It’s one of the scenarios being investigated.”
Tanya showed him an executive summary of a CIA threat assessment and the Venezuelan connection to known terrorist cells. “You said before that you thought this Haiti attack had been training for something bigger. You still feel that way?”
“Yeah, I do,” he said. “Someone like Sayed could be planning a major incident on U.S. soil. And with help from big brother in Venezuela, it looks like he might have the means to enter this country legally.”
“Are you planning to inform the CIA or Homeland Security of your theories? It’s one thing for our organization to rescue these hostages and stop Sayed in Cuba, but a guy like this is only a cog in a wheel. Others will follow. This threat won’t go away if Alexa and her team just take him out. We need to question him and advise the CIA or Homeland Security of the possible threat.”
“Yes, I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing.” He steepled his hands and rested his chin on his fingers. “The CIA is most similar to our organization, at least their covert arm. And we have solid inside connections there.”
“Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?” She narrowed her eyes and waited for his answer.
“This could turn into a political circus, and we’d lose control, especially with a new administration coming into power. I had hoped with this new president that the CIA would get restructured…that the covert operatives would do their jobs under the guidance of the Pentagon rather than reporting through the president. If that happened, the Sentinels could breathe easier on the domestic front.”
“I’m not following.” She shook her head.
“The CIA has gotten bad press over the years, bogged down by politics. If they were under the Pentagon, it might be a different story. They’d do their jobs without some bureaucrat second-guessing their moves. Covert activities shouldn’t fall under any U.S. president. CIA analysts could remain part of the executive branch to advise the president, but there’s too much temptation to play God on a global scale with the covert branch part of that same package. As it is now, the CIA gets constant interference from a revolving door of armchair quarterbacks sworn into office every four years. They contend with presidents who either don’t have the guts to make decisions or who think they can flex their political muscle for their own agenda like it’s a game. I hate breaking in a new administration.” He looked her in the eye. “I’ll figure out a way to pass the word after our mission is over and we cover our tracks.”
“I take it that’s why our organization was formed. Members of the Sentinels were tired of business as usual in Washington and wanted results.”
“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” He nodded, implying she was right.
But he knew the truth.
The Sentinels had been around much longer than the United States. And even though he’d been sworn to secrecy about their covert activities and their agenda when he became leader, he believed in their cause and would do anything to defend and perpetuate their rich history. His knowledge of the Sentinels’ past was limited to what he’d studied in the archives and had been told by those who came before him. Yet he knew enough to realize that the powerful men and women behind the Sentinels had a proud lineage and would carry on long after he was gone.
The weight of his responsibilities often forced him to make decisions that went against his personal beliefs even though they were for the greater good. And many times he had agonized over the outcomes. Any covert agency would go to great lengths to defend its own country’s interests, but how far was too far? In a dangerous world of underlying political agendas stemming from greed and the seductive temptation of power, a coalition of countries aligned for a common purpose made sense. Yet Garrett understood that power of this magnitude was a slippery slope, no matter who or how many were at the helm.
Who would oversee those in control?
So far he hadn’t come up with a good answer to that question. And in all their years of existence, neither had the Sentinels. They sought control and gained ground with each passing year.
When would it be enough, and what was their ultimate goal? Others would make that call.
“You look a million miles away.” Tanya’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Are you worried about Alexa?”
Tanya was one of the few people within the organization who knew of his personal history with Alexa. He didn’t mind the woman knowing about their past, but the part he’d played in the annihilation of any future he might have had with Alexa—and his feelings on the subject—were off-limits.
“I just want to know what’s going on.” He sighed and looked toward the active TV monitors along the far wall. “It’s been hours since our last communication. A lot can happen.”
“Let’s get an updated reading on those tracking beacons,” she suggested. “And I’ll check with Seth Harper to see if he’s recorded any more transmissions from the terrorists.”
While Tanya got on the phone to obtain her electronic updates, Garrett opened his safe room and activated his holographic map of Cuba. Within minutes, Tanya joined him and keyed in the new coordinates. When the 3-D image projected onto the conference table, communications interrupted with an incoming call from the field. Hank Lewis was on the SAT phone. And Tanya had the call redirected to Garrett’s safe room phone.
“Moonshine Two reporting.” The voice of Hank Lewis crackled onto the line with a staggered delay. “School’s out and mission accomplished, sir. We targeted a baker’s dozen, but are coming home with twelve. We’re at the rendezvous point now and will be gone before daylight.”
A baker’s dozen meant thirteen. One hostage was missing or had been killed.
“Copy that. And good work, Moonshine Two. Any casualties?”
“None, sir.” When Hank didn’t elaborate on the last hostage, he knew there was something the man was about to tell him or had left out.
He watched the two tracking beacons on his holographic map of Cuba. One signal was stationary and located near the shoreline. The other was positioned farther north. Hank Lewis wasn’t done reporting, and Garrett had a bad feeling he wouldn’t like the rest.
“I’m tracking more than one location,” he prompted. “Where’s Martini One?”
There was a hesitation on the line. For a moment, he thought that he’d lost the connection. Eventually, Hank replied.
“Martini One is after our last target. And the FNG is tagging along.”
Hank conveyed more before he concluded his report and ended the call, with Garrett gritting his teeth. Kinkaid and Alexa were after the last hostage. And a tidy operation had turned messy.
To complicate matters, Kinkaid’s involvement had already been made public online with the ransom demands of the terrorists who held Sister Mary Katherine. If Cuban officials caught him during his rescue attempt of the nun, Garrett couldn’t be sure that Kinkaid wouldn’t drag him or the Sentinels into his mess.
And even though a rogue mercenary in league with drug cartels would make a handy scapegoat if things turned ugly, the same couldn’t be said for Alexa’s involvement. If she were taken prisoner with Kinkaid, Garrett would have explaining to do. And disavowing the operation could get complicated unless he found a way to exploit it.
But Garrett had confidence in his ability to manipulate the situation in his favor. With finesse, Alexa could serve as his pawn, and Kinkaid would make a convenient sacrificial lamb. His actions would be
completely justified if he protected the interests of the Sentinels.
“Dig up everything you have on Sayed,” he said to Tanya. “With Alexa still on the ground in Cuba, maybe we can spin this to our advantage. I’ve got an idea.”
Southeast Cuba
Alexa worked under the pale light of the moon. Kneeling beside Kinkaid, she had bandaged the bullet graze on his arm and was now putting a fresh dressing on his belly wound. Kinkaid had stretched out on his sleeping bag with his shirt off, wearing only his BDU camo pants and boots. His chest glistened in the sweltering heat, and his skin was warm to the touch. She had no doubt his fever had returned. Lying on his back, he was propped on his elbows and stared into the darkness. When he tried to pretend she wasn’t there, she reminded him with a move Florence Nightingale wouldn’t have approved. It made him wince.
She hated being ignored.
Kinkaid hadn’t said much since she forced him to take her along on his mission to save Kate. They trekked into the hills and found good cover against a rock face surrounded by trees and a trickling stream nearby. Muggy heat closed in, and the bugs had no respect for their fatigue. They’d continue their search for Kate after they got a few hours to sleep.
On the surface, Kinkaid would have appeared angry and sullen, but she knew exhaustion fueled his distant mood. And his unrelenting fever hadn’t helped.
“I’m taking first watch. No arguments,” she whispered, having no intention of waking him to spell her. The guy needed sleep. “When was the last time you took your meds?”
“I’m good,” he said. When she was done playing nurse, he lay back and stared into the night sky with an arm under his head. “And…thanks.”
Instead of rolling over and going to sleep, he turned toward her, and she caught a glint of light in those green eyes of his. Jackson Kinkaid always had an effect on her, but in the dead calm of night, his low voice and quiet gentle ways made her forget the usual rift between them. It made her wish that they’d never met on the job. Things might have turned out differently if they had been introduced in a less complicated way, as just a man and woman.
