Cold Day in Hell (19 page)

“That’s good to know.” Her gaze travelled over his face. “You look beat. Want me to drive? I can drive a stick and follow the route you’ve plotted.” She tapped the GPS on the dash.

“Let’s talk about it once we’ve eaten.” He cupped her face and his thumb smoothed over her chin. “You look more rested but still too pale.” She covered his hand with hers. “I’m fine. I just had a four-hour nap which puts me ahead of you in the sleep column. But we can always talk.” He read between the lines and heard “but I will be driving to Turbo.” He shook his head. She hadn’t figured him out yet. She’d learn. He had to be in control.

Chapter Ten

Rescue Day Two, on the road between Montería and Turbo.

Callie chanced a glance at Risto. He slept like the dead in the passenger seat. They’d eaten in a tiny village boasting a decrepit, one-pump gas station, a bus stop consisting of a covered bench, and a tiny café. The local eatery had a basic Colombian menu, and the special of the day had been a corn-meal pasty of spiced beef, cattle being the main product of the area, with a local cheese and some grilled vegetables washed down with a local wine. She’d had two of the filling pasties and Risto, four. The meal was delicious and provided the boost of energy she needed.

As they’d dined, she’d demonstrated her ability to use the GPS and read the maps.

She also argued he needed the sleep in order to be on top of his game in case of trouble in Turbo, a rough coastal town and one of the main ports of Colombia at the base of the Gulf of Urabá. Finally, he agreed to let her drive as long as she promised to wake him at the first sign of trouble or when they reached the outskirts of Turbo, whichever occurred first.

So far, the drive had been boring. She was used to the cut-throat and high-speed driving in and around Chicago. The Colombian highway had very little traffic and what there was, was mostly the busses that traveled the major roads connecting the larger cities. The sun remained behind the clouds, and a light but constant rain fell, adding to the already over-inundated drainage ditches along the road bed. She’d had to go off-road twice to avoid deeper water where the road dipped and once to avoid cattle taking a siesta in the middle of the road. Risto had slept through it all.

What in the world was that? Was that a roadblock ahead? She blinked dry eyes and squinted against the glare filtering through the clouds.

It was a road block; that couldn’t be good at all.

“Shit, shit, shit.” She checked behind her and saw no one coming. She braked to a stop, made a U-turn and headed back the way they’d just come. “Risto. Wake up.

Trouble.”

His eyes opened instantly and he glanced around, then at her. “What’s wrong?” She noticed his Glock was in his hand as if he expected to shoot someone. He might just get his wish. “Roadblock on the road, just outside of Turbo. I made a command decision and turned around.”

Risto twisted in his seat and looked behind them. “Did they see us?”

“Don’t think so. And there wasn’t anyone behind us to tell whoever they are about the U-turn.” She tapped the GPS. “You want to get out the maps Conn gave us and check them against the GPS? I saw a couple of small local roads back this way. Maybe we can go cross-country and come into Turbo by a back road.”

“Maybe.” He stroked her arm. “Quick thinking.”

“Thanks.” She shot him a worried glance. “I hope I didn’t overreact. They could’ve been police or Colombian army looking for drugs or terrorists, but my gut said no. I think they were looking for us. But how could they have known we’d be coming from Montería?”

Risto had his nose in the map. “They couldn’t. This is the main road to Medellín and Cali, both of which have major airports. A branch of the highway also goes to Bogotá.

Cruz, and Paco, too, would guess we’re heading for a major transportation hub. Trey and I figured we had a narrow window to avoid just such a situation. Guess it was narrower than we thought.”

“Okay, but won’t they cover the major ports, also?” Turbo was as major as you could get in Colombia.

He looked up, his face grim. “Yeah. We’re ditching Plan B and going to C.” He didn’t sound thrilled. “I’ve found a road which will take us close to Puerto Cava, the small village on the Atrato River where we’ll pick up a
piragua
from one of our local contacts for the next leg of our trip.” He keyed something into the GPS and hit the plotter button.

“A
piragua
? That’s like a dugout canoe.” They’d be on a river. Mosquitoes.

Alligators. Piranha. No wonder he was worried. He probably thought she’d freak. Well, she’d prove him wrong.

“Yes.” He massaged the back of her neck where she hadn’t realized every muscle had tensed. “Callie, it’ll be dangerous. Hell, taking this back road will detour us completely south and west around Turbo and then due west to the base of the Gulf of Urabá—smack dab in the middle of FARC and ELN disputed territory. Then we’ll be travelling north by river through the Darien, an area which always lands in the top ten most dangerous areas in the world.”

She nodded. “I know. But you’ve been through here before or we wouldn’t be going this way. I trust you—and I’ll do what I can to hold my end up.”

“God, sweetheart, this won’t be anything similar to a field trip at Camp Lejeune.

People go into the Darien and some never come out.” When she just shrugged, he heaved a disgusted breath and rubbed a hand over his face. “With luck, we won’t have to get off the river and we’ll take it all the way to its delta at the north end of the Gulf. At that point, we’ll be close to the Panamanian border. Once we get to the coast, Tweeter will fly a helicopter out of a stronghold we have near Puerto Obaldo, Panama, and pick us up.”

“Sounds straightforward. I can paddle.”

“If it were just paddling a small boat, I wouldn’t be so concerned.” He ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. Hair she now knew felt like raw silk against her skin. “The Río Atrato runs through dense rain forests and ends in a swampy river delta. Worse than the hostile environment, the route takes us through the middle of drug-smuggling central in Colombia, not to mention all the local guerillas fighting one another and the Colombian army. We’ll have to travel fast and be ready to take cover and avoid hostiles.

This could add days to the trip and mean we’ll be camping in less than agreeable conditions.”

She’d been correct: he worried about how she’d handle it. Truth be told, she wasn’t thrilled, but she’d deal. Now to put things in perspective for him, she asked, “What are the other choices?”

He opened his mouth. She held up a hand and cut him off. “The way I see it, there aren’t any. Cruz, and now Paco, will have the main roads covered to the larger Colombian cities. Any secondary road into a bigger city puts us in danger of meeting up with any of a number of armed locals who would kidnap us and sell us to Cruz for shits and giggles. The sooner we get out of what stands for civilization in Colombia, the better.” He winced at her words but nodded his agreement.

She continued, “You didn’t take us toward Venezuela, the closest border with Colombia, because Chavez is hostile to the US. Brazil is out because it’s too far away and the terrain between here and there involves the Andes, deserts and rain forest with hostile, dart-shooting natives. Running to Ecuador is also too far and wrought with danger of being trapped by Cruz or any number of other paramilitary groups. So, there were no alternatives but escaping into Panama after Plan A tanked—and the safest route by boat is now out, correct?”

“Yes.” The worry in his eyes, while not gone, was now overshadowed by respect.

“The route you’ve plotted will get us to the closest friendly border,” she said. “I understand the journey will be extremely hostile, but Cruz and his ilk will also have to deal with the same dangers. We have the advantage of knowing where we’re going and he doesn’t. That about it?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I can see why Keely said you were a natural analyst.” He closed his eyes and let out a rough breath. “I’ve used this egress twice since starting to work for SSI. It took four to five days including time out to remain below the radar in order to avoid active guerilla patrols. There’s a possibility about midway, at Ungaía, to pick up an outboard motor for the dugout to speed up the trip. That stop would depend on how quiet the local guerillas are. Bottom line, the whole area is just plain dangerous.” Callie took his last statement as meaning “dangerous for her.” If alone or partnered with another SSI operative, he wouldn’t think twice about taking the route. She promised herself not to make him regret having to use this alternative. She shot him a grim smile.

“It’s a good plan, stronger for the fact that Cruz and Paco are chauvinists and it would never cross their minds you’d take me this way.”

He emitted a choked laugh. “Yeah, that was the other reason we included Plan C.

Keely said men think with their little brains all the time and don’t give women credit for being adaptable.”

She laughed. “Sounds like Keely.” She pulled to the side of the road. “The road you marked is just ahead. Unlike Keely who thinks she is an Amazonian super-woman, I know when I can’t do something. I think you should take over the driving.” She arched her neck and winced as she wiggled her fingers to get feeling back into them. “I had three short detours off-road and the rough conditions took all my upper body strength.” She shifted the car into neutral and set the handbrake.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” He grabbed her hands. Turning them over, he stared at the livid red creases in the palms from where she’d held on to the steering wheel with a death-like grip. He muttered several pithy curses as he brushed kisses over the angry-looking welts. “Fuck, baby, you’re already bruising.”

“I’m fine. You needed your rest, and I handled it. Problem with that?” She arched a brow, daring him to belittle her efforts to carry her weight on the mission.

Risto shook his head, a bemused look on his face. Drawing her to him, his hand firmly on the nape of her neck, he kissed her. Moaning, she leaned over the center console into the kiss, her arms twining around his neck. She groaned deep in her throat as the kiss turned from sweet to heated and hungry.

After what seemed like minutes, he pulled away. “In case I forget to tell you later, you’re a wonderful partner. Any other woman would’ve complained about … well, everything.”

“I’m not a complainer.” Whining had never gotten a job done and was a waste of time. She leaned her forehead against his. “I won’t say I’m not scared, because I am.”

“Callie…”

She brushed her mouth over his to halt his words. “Shh, let me finish. I’m far less scared than if I’d had to do this on my own. What helps keep the fear manageable is doing the things I can to carry my weight. Just driving kept me from thinking too much.”

“I understand. I’ll try to keep you involved. But if you don’t tell me when something is hurting, I’ll paddle that sweet butt.” He nipped her lower lip. “Understood?” She nodded. Risto smiled and rubbed his nose over hers. “Once we get under way, your next duty will be to call Tweeter and let him know we are now on Plan C.”

“Is the safe house another
finca
?”

“No, the coastline of Panama in that area is very rugged. It’s a small, rehabilitated Spanish fortress overlooking the Caribbean which we share with the US Military and several private security organizations. There’s just enough flat space to land a small jet.

We use it as a base for fighting drugs and hostage rescue in the region.”

“I’ve never heard of anything like that before.” She unlocked the car in preparation to changing places with Risto.

“And you’ll forget about it once we leave it. This is black ops stuff, baby. The fortress is vital to stopping drugs from moving north through Panama and is operated with the full knowledge and cooperation of the Panamanian government. They realized a long time ago they couldn’t police the area for drug smuggling so they allowed the US

and chosen private companies, SSI being one of them, to do the job.” She nodded. She’d known SSI worked for foreign governments from time-to-time.

She exited the car. The light rain had turned to a heavy mist. The air was saturated, all thick and steamy. She felt as if she’d stepped into a steam bath. Risto waited by the passenger door and lifted her into the vehicle. He grabbed another quick kiss, then buckled her in and closed her door.

When he got into the driver’s seat, she asked, “Do we have enough gas to get where we’re going?”

“Yeah. That fill-up when we ate lunch helped and I have four gallons of gas in the back of the Rover. As long as we don’t have to take too many detours off the plotted route, we’ll have fuel to spare.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good to know.” She pulled the satellite phone from the charger in the console between them. “I’ll call Tweeter now. Anything I should tell him other than go to Plan C?”

“No and no chitty-chatting. While I’m pretty sure the sat phone is as secure as it can get, you never know who at NSA might be listening and to whom they might be selling info.”

She frowned. “What do you mean? Why would we be concerned about NSA listening in on our transmissions?”

Risto took the car off-road and was silent for several minutes as he negotiated a couple of deeply rutted, washed-out areas just off the main highway. “There’s a traitor high up in the DOD selling out US military and private security operatives doing work for NCS. Keely discovered him while she was working on a project for NSA. She had to go to South America to warn Tweeter and that’s how she met Ren.”