Hot Soldier's Chase

by Cindy Dees

  “Uh, sure,” she replied. “I don’t have the slightest bit of first-aid training, though. I couldn’t tell a sprain from a break if my life depended on it.”

  He grunted in what might pass for humor. “Your life may very well depend on doing just that. Tell me what you see. Start with the damage to my boot.”

  She pushed up his pant leg gently and had a look. “There’s a line of little punctures running along both sides of your boot. The front two inches and the back two inches or so don’t have any marks.”

  “Good. That means my Achilles tendon probably isn’t damaged.”

  She gulped. Yikes. That sounded serious.

  “Stick your fingers into the top of my boot and tell me what you feel.”

  She had trouble getting even two fingers past the heavy swelling of his lower leg. A matching row of puncture wounds marred his skin.

  Tex groaned faintly under his breath as she eased her fingers deeper into the boot. “Can you feel my ankle bone?” he bit out.

  “I feel the outside one.”

  “Try the other side.”

  She carefully pulled her fingers out and eased them down the other side of his boot. “There’s more swelling on this side. It’s over the bone.”

  “Push on it. Can you feel the bone?”

  She did as he directed, wincing as her probing pulled a sharp inhalation from him.

  “Yes, I can feel the bone,” she announced.

  Tex sagged back against a tree. “Thank God.”

  “What?” she asked in desperation. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

  He opened his eyes. “The good news is that trap closed just above my ankle. I don’t think the joint itself is damaged. The bad news is my leg’s swelling like crazy and the drainage from that will run down into my ankle and immobilize it if I don’t keep the damned thing propped up for about two weeks.”

  She gulped. They didn’t have two weeks. “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

  He fumbled in his pouches and tossed her wool skirt to her. “Tear off a half-dozen, three inch or so wide strips from that.”

  Using the knife he handed her, she sawed on the fabric, tearing it into long strips.

  “I’m going to take off my boot,” Tex gritted out, “and as soon as I do, I need you to wrap my ankle. Tight. Have you ever done anything like that?”

  She looked up and met his grim gaze. “Nope. But if you can explain it to me, I’ll give it my best shot.”

  He demonstrated on his good ankle with one of the strips of cloth. She watched carefully until she thought she had the hang of it.

  “Ready?” he asked her.

  She nodded gamely.

  He untied his bootlaces and slipped the boot off his foot. As fast as she could, she wrapped the first strip of cloth around his ankle the way he’d shown her.

  “Do the next one a little tighter,” Tex directed.

  Following his instructions, she swathed his foot and ankle in the makeshift pressure bandage. She leaned back on her heels when the procedure was done. He slipped his boot back on and laced it loosely.

  “By the way, who were those guys?” she asked.

  “Poachers. That was a jaguar trap.”

  “I thought jaguars are endangered,” she replied.

  He looked up at her grimly. “They are. That’s why their pelts are worth a fortune, and that’s why poor schmucks like those guys hunt them.”

  She felt ill at the thought of an innocent animal getting caught in the same monstrous, inhumane trap Tex just had.

  His voice yanked her back to the present. “Help me up. Time for the acid test.”

  She awkwardly helped him stand up. Gingerly he placed a little weight on his leg. More sweat popped out on his forehead and she saw the muscles in his jaw ripple. But he nodded grimly at her. “It’ll do,” he announced.

  She frowned at him. “Could you be more specific, please? I’m worried sick here and I want to know exactly how hurt you are.”

  He looked at her candidly, his eyes a clear, glittering shade of blue. “The leg is not broken. But there’s serious tissue damage on both sides of my leg, just above the ankle. Hopefully your pressure bandage will protect my ankle from accumulating so much fluid that I can’t use it.”

  “Can you walk? Run if you have to?” she demanded.

  “Yes, and yes.”

  She didn’t know whether to believe him or not. It would be just like him to put on a brave front so she wouldn’t get upset. “Do you need me to find a spot and make us a camp for the next couple of days?”

  He shook his head in the negative. “No. We go on. The poachers said the rebel training facility is about a half mile that way.” He pointed over her shoulder.

  She stared. “What do you mean, ‘we go on’? Are you nuts?”

  He looked down at her in surprise. “No, I’m not nuts. I’ll be okay. My leg’s going to hurt, but it’s still functional.”

  She gazed at him narrowly. “You are crazy. I think you’re delirious from the pain. In fact, I think I should take over making the decisions here, and I say we get you off your feet and get you some rest for a couple days.”

  He grinned. “You and what army are getting me off my feet?”

  She raised an annoyed eyebrow. “Don’t tempt me to go get the rebels. Or I can chase down those poachers.”

  Tex’s gaze went sober. “Don’t ever mess with poachers by yourself. The only reason we’re standing here alive right now is because my AK-47 could’ve mowed them all down where they stood before they got off a shot at us, and they knew it.”

  Her eyes went wide and she nodded.

  Tex looked around the clearing, obviously hunting for something. He hobbled forward and pulled out his knife to slash at a sapling. He finished whittling at it and brandished a reasonable facsimile of a cane in his hand. “Are you ready to go?” he asked lightly.

  She glared at him. “I suppose if I refuse to move, you’ll just leave me here in this clearing and go on by yourself.”

  He grinned. “You catch on fast, darlin’.”

  She stomped forward until she was just behind him in her usual position. “Lead on, oh, crazy, crippled one.”

  He hobbled out of the clearing and she followed in no small disbelief. After a few minutes she noticed his stride evening out like he was walking off some of the pain. Or maybe he was just going into shock.

  At least he had to go slowly. For once she had no trouble keeping up with him. He slowed down even more as they heard noise in front of them. After a few yards he eased down to his hands and knees and she did the same.

  He crawled forward a little farther and then lowered himself all the way to his belly. She groaned mentally but mimicked him. Low crawling, as he’d called it, sucked. They eased forward a few feet. She pulled up beside him, shoulder to shoulder. Gradually, he lifted aside the thick fronds of a fern to look at the rebel training facility before them.

  The view that met her eyes was the very last thing she’d ever expect to see in the middle of a South American jungle.

  Even Tex gasped beside her.

  She stared in total, riveted shock. A single thought pierced her numbed mind.

  Oh. My. God.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  A nearly full-sized mock-up of the White House loomed before them.

  In utter disbelief, Kimberly stared at the south facade of the famous building. The rebels had it correct down to the very last detail. Even the cast-iron chandelier on the south portico was accurate. The jungle pressing in on it from all sides looked wildly out of place, surreal even.

  The tall structure stood on the far side of an enormous clearing in the jungle that reached nearly to the top of the canopy of trees. Far overhead, a huge blanket of camouflage netting lay draped over the structure, covering the whole of it.

  The scale of the setup overwhelmed her. Someone had gone to enormous expense and trouble to build it. But then, if the White House was the target, whoever was behind this w
as ambitious, indeed.

  Tex let the fern fronds drop and rolled over onto his back, clearly thinking hard. “How well do you know the layout of the White House?” he abruptly asked her.

  “I’ve been there several times,” she answered.

  “The Oval Office looks out on this side of the White House, doesn’t it?” he asked.

  The implication of his question hit her like a sledgehammer. “Oh, my God,” she breathed. “Yes, it does. When he’s at his desk, the president sits with his back to the middle window of the Oval Office.”

  “With RITA, it would be an easy shot. A sniper could park on the far side of the mall, a half-mile or more from the White House. At that range, the RITA rifle would have no trouble penetrating the bulletproof glass.”

  “You think that’s the plan?” she gasped. “To assassinate the president?”

  “If they expected to blow the White House up, they wouldn’t bother with a mock-up like this. They would get the blueprints and figure out the structural weak points to blast. You can only blow up a model once. But you can practice taking a shot through a window a thousand times.”

  “Why wouldn’t the rebels just hire a good sniper and tell him to go take the shot? Why go to all this trouble?” she asked.

  “You only get one shot at the president. The Secret Service reacts so fast you’d never get a second shot off. And once someone shoots at the man through his office window, you can be sure he’ll be working out of a bunker for many months to come.”

  “So, this whole facility has been set up for one guy to practice shooting?”

  “There are probably several candidates for the honor of taking the shot.”

  She shuddered at the way he’d put it. How could killing anyone be considered an honor? “If only a few guys are practicing the shot, why all the other soldiers out here?”

  “They’re probably planning some sort of diversion to draw away the attention of the Secret Service from the shooter.”

  “What sort of diversion?” she asked.

  “I have no idea. But we’ll watch these bastards until we find out. That’s for damn sure,” he retorted grimly.

  They lay on the wet, black ground through the afternoon, observing the rebels as they moved around the huge clearing. It looked as if the new batch of soldiers spent most of the day being given some sort of orientation to the mock-up and to the overall plan.

  Tex grumbled about not having a parabolic microphone to pick up what the rebel leaders said. But, from the way the clump of soldiers was led from point to point around the clearing, the gist of the plan slowly became clear.

  The rebels were going to use most of the soldiers to stage some kind of disturbance at the east entrance to the White House. Once they’d drawn the attention of the Secret Service, snipers at several locations around the mall were going to shoot simultaneously at the president. He’d presumably be sitting at his desk in the Oval Office.

  Kimberly murmured to Tex, “Do you think they’ll try to copy the RITA rifle so each one of the assassins has one like it?”

  “Depends on how soon they plan to pull off this operation. It’ll take a minimum of several days to figure out how the RITA rifle works. I’d guess it’ll take a master weapon smith another week or two to make copies of the rifle itself.”

  “What about its fancy targeting system?” she asked.

  Tex shrugged. “A top-flight computer geek could probably build the circuitry for the targeting system in a week. But even then, there’s likely to be a few more days or weeks of tweaking on the copies to get them to work.”

  Kimberly sighed in relief. Thank goodness. They had plenty of time here.

  Tex interrupted her relief. “However, it will only take one working RITA rifle to take out the president. And they’ve almost got that.”

  “Almost?” Kimberly flashed him a hopeful look.

  “I took the clip out of the RITA before I dropped it. A whole new clip will have to be fabricated before anyone can shoot the existing weapon.”

  Thank goodness he was so smart under pressure. She’d never have thought to unload the thing before she dropped it, let alone take the whole clip out.

  Tex continued. “If we’ve pegged the rebels’ plan correctly, they’ll have the other snipers fire regular sniper rifles at the White House. The Secret Service will still have to split its response among all the shooters, and they won’t know which position is using the really lethal weapon.”

  “Why does that matter? Like you said, the assassins will only get one shot at the president. If the snipers hit him he’ll die, and if they miss, he’ll be whisked away to safety.”

  “True, but the assassins can take dozens of shots at the Secret Service before their positions are overrun. Whichever agents approach the guy with the RITA rifle are going to get mowed down. Their vests aren’t going to stop its bullets.”

  “Oh.” That would be some of the other thousands of lives he’d said the loss of the RITA rifle would jeopardize.

  “Depending on the type of clip they make for the gun, one sniper could take out a big chunk of the presidential security detail in one fell swoop,” Tex remarked.

  “So I was right,” Kimberly exclaimed under her breath.

  “About what?” Tex replied.

  “Back at Quantico. When I said that one of these rifles in the hands of the right soldier would turn him into a nearly unstoppable killing machine.”

  “Absolutely,” Tex agreed.

  She shoved up onto her elbows, glaring down at him. “Then why did you disagree with me when I said it?” she demanded.

  “I never disagreed. I only frowned at you, as I recall. Besides, I’m damn well not going to let the press print something like that about this weapon.”

  “Why not?” she gibed under her breath. “Afraid somebody might go to a lot of trouble to steal it and use it for something dastardly like killing the president of the United States?”

  He gave her a dark look. “Don’t get started with me. I’m in a foul mood already and my ankle’s killing me.”

  She’d forgotten about that. At least he’d spent the whole day lying on his belly and not traipsing around on it. “Where are we camping tonight?” she asked. “Should I go on ahead and start getting it ready?”

  He sighed. “Based on what we’ve seen, we need to stay right here and keep an eye on the rebels at all times. Every detail we learn about their plan could be vital to the president’s safety.”

  “I thought we were only looking for the RITA rifle,” she replied.

  “If we can’t get the rifle back, the least we have to do is warn the Secret Service of the imminent attempt on the president’s life. Anything we can tell them about the rebels and their plan will be important. It’s ’round-the-clock surveillance for us from here on out.”

  She sighed and nodded. What he said made sense. “How about if I go find us something to eat and some water?”

  He passed her the empty canteen and the cell phone. “Try to call the Blackjacks again. But make it fast. The battery’s getting low. Drink your fill if you find any water, then bring me back a jug. I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things.”

  She wriggled backward until she could stand up safely and creep away from Tex’s position. She looked carefully at the trees around her, noting landmarks for finding Tex again. It would not be good to overshoot his position and stroll right into the middle of the rebel camp.

  For once, water was easy to find. She stumbled across a little stream, barely more than a ribbon of water trickling along an indentation in the ground. She filled the canteen and dropped in a water purification tablet.

  While the tablet did its work, she tried the phone again. Despair welled in her throat as static filled her ear. Tex needed help out here! She pocketed the phone and glumly found more of the sour berries and ginger root, but not a lot of either. She found some small red berries and threw those in the hat with her other finds as well. Maybe Tex would know if they were edible or not
.

  She returned to the stream. Girding herself for the iodine taste of the water, she drank down the contents of the whole canteen. She refilled the container and put another tablet in it. By the time she got back to Tex, the water would be ready to drink.

  She headed off through the trees. The sun was setting and long shadows filled the jungle. Everything looked different than it had an hour ago.

  She frowned, squinting at the tree trunks, trying to ascertain her position. She wasn’t lost. She wasn’t!

  Stay calm. Breathe. Keep your wits about you. She would work her way through this. She’d headed east, away from Tex’s position. If she followed the setting sun—that meant toward the bases of the shadows—that would take her west. Toward Tex.

  She tried to move as quietly as he did, but that just wasn’t possible. She eased forward, an ominous sensation tickling the back of her neck. She ought to be getting close to the rebel training facility. Very close.

  She slowed down even more. If she was right and if she wasn’t lost, Tex ought to be just ahead. A big tree with a forked trunk should be on her right and a clump of banana trees should be on the left. A clump of banana trees loomed straight ahead of her. She slid off to the right, searching for a tree with a forked trunk.

  There! In the darkening shadows. She’d found it. Relief flooded her, almost knocking her to her knees.

  She practically stepped on Tex when she finally found him. He’d apparently decided to adorn himself with the latest in black dirt cosmetics.

  “Get down,” he hissed.

  It dawned on her that if she was standing on top of Tex, then the rebel camp was only a few yards ahead of her.

  “Slow. Move slowly,” Tex ordered in a bare whisper.

  She schooled herself not to drop to the ground like a rock. Rather she eased her body down until she stretched out at full-length beside Tex. She passed him the canteen and he took a long pull from it.

  “Any luck with the phone?” he asked.

  “No. Sorry.” In the abruptly heavy silence, she inquired, “See anything interesting this afternoon?”

  “Not really. More orientation. They’re definitely planning on having five or six snipers shoot from various positions across the mall.”