Collateral Damage (34 page)

“This Rash person. He led the rescue attempt?”

“Yes.”

“So my sons are in the hands of brutal killer who is criminally insane, and the government has appointed a man to save my children whose whole purpose is focused on revenge against Menendez?” Tears of frustration and fear flooded her eyes. “My sons aren’t important to anyone.”

“They are to me.” Jack grasped her shoulders, looking into her eyes.

The turmoil she saw, gave testament to the fury of the emotions within him. He might be calm on the outside but inside he was raging.

She drew from that strength and placed her palm over his heart, pressing against the soft cotton of his pullover. “Then help me, Jack. I might know how to reach my sons without alerting Menendez,” she whispered, her own heart pounding with hope and fear. Jack had to take her seriously.

“Lauren, this is not—”

“You expect me to wait around for a repeat of the Alvarado family? Just listen to what I have to say. The live CNN interview with him is tomorrow afternoon. Remember Angie saying that
Latimoor Live
would feature Andreas Miles at his research facility in Peru? If he hasn’t cancelled, then we can go in as part of the camera crew. There’d be equipment to hide the weapons and a filming entourage for cover. Matt and Mitch have to be with him. Or we can at least find where they are being held prisoner.”

“The US has probably picked up Menendez on satellite by now. Once his plane lands there will be pictures of all activity around the plane, including vehicle arrivals and departures. If they identify the landing site in time then they’ll have agents on the ground monitoring as well. If your sons, and I pray, Angie and Rico are removed from the plane and taken somewhere, we should know. But what you’re asking to do is to coordinate a high profile government operation with a news reporting team on a case with worldwide ramifications. That’s practically impossible.”

She grabbed his shirt. “No. Jack. Not the government. Not those guys in the house. But you and a few good men could do it and would do it if one of your own was a prisoner and was about to be executed. I know it. Make the impossible happen, Jack. Save my sons. Don’t let them end up dead.”

The last thread of control holding back her pain broke and the tears flooded. Her heart hurt so much for those she loved that she could hardly breathe.

Jack didn’t answer her as he pulled her into his arms, but he didn’t say no either.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Every muscle Roger owned had spasmed and cramped in the two hours he stood without shifting a fraction of an inch from the waist down. The bomb squad was on the scene, as well as several explosive experts from Bragg, sent to consult thanks to some major string pulling by General Dekker. And all of the experts were focused on one thing—saving his ass.

He had no complaints.

Though the full bomb regalia covering him was heavy as a tank. He hoped, but doubted, it would save him if the IED detonated before they disarmed it.

And before the squad could do that, the police had to evacuate the area, shut down the natural gas, and search for other bombs first.

They found two more. One in the bathroom attached the commode flusher and the other in Mari’s bedroom, wired to explode when she turned on her bedside lamp.

The sick mind behind the booby traps chilled Roger to the bone. Vindictive. Personal. Lethal. And insanely obsessed. Frank Dugar had declared a war on Mari and just as soon as Roger made it out alive, he was going to war.

It wouldn’t be much longer now. An expert was currently working at Roger’s feet. He had to hand it to the bomb squad team. There wasn’t a rushed bone in their bodies. Every movement was painstakingly slow as if they were in some time warp. Considering every natural instinct was to run like hell, Roger concluded that the men who did this day in and day out had to have titanium balls.

“Commander Lt. Col. Weston, sir. Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Was anyone ever ready?

“Just so you know, sir, had you backed away from the trip wire, you would have been a goner. On my count of three, I want you to step back.”

“One. Two. Three.”

Roger moved back and kept easing back until he exited the front door. The bomb suit was designed to protect against the blast in the front. In the back it provided cushion, especially to the spine, to absorb the shock of impact. With every step he thanked God and then prayed like hell for the man who was still defusing the bomb. Once outside, other members of the bomb squad were there, helping him, leading him off the porch into the yard and removing the bomb suit. He clearly would now live no matter what happened inside, but Roger didn’t breathe with any relief until the man he left behind made it out safely as well.

He didn’t see the media circus at the police barricades until then. Every major news station in Fayetteville was on the scene with their high-powered cameras rolling. They were likely giving Dugar the biggest jolly of his life. Any hope of Roger’s name staying out of the news was practically nil.

Roger faced the cameras with the full force of his rage. Bring it on, he silently muttered to the coward after Mari. You want a fight, then fight like a man.

Mari couldn’t believe it. She sat glued to the television screen with Holly right there with her. After she’d spoken to Roger earlier, she’d been unable to just rest or read. She’d kept thinking about all the things brought to the surface by Roger’s question about her baby. All of her hopes and dreams, all of Neil’s that he would never see come to fruition, and the almost desperate need she had detected in Roger’s voice.

It had reminded her of his nightmare and vulnerable, hurting depths behind his solid façade. Something was wrong. It wasn’t until she turned on the television that she found out what. There on the screen was her house, front and center. The bomb squad was on scene, hoping to save a man trapped inside. It was then she realized why Roger had sounded so strange. With every passing second of the drama, her heart wrenched both in fear for Roger and in the realization that she had to leave the safety he’d given her.

“Son of a bitch,” Holly said as the camera zoomed in on Roger standing in Mari’s front yard. “I’m going to kill him for not telling us.”

“As long as I am here, he will be in danger.” Mari was filled with her fear for Roger and the resignation that she’d have to leave.

Holly rolled her eyes. “Haven’t you realized the dudes around here totally thrive on danger?”

“Danger in a war zone when they are expecting enemy fire. Not danger in their home. He was almost killed today because of me.”

“You can’t look at it that way. You have to realize that if someone else had gone inside your home—you, a neighbor, a friend—they would likely be dead now. Here, we train day in and day out for things like this.”

Mari’s eyes widened. She hadn’t asked Holly any personal questions and had assumed she was the wife of one of the soldiers. “You? You train. What do you do here?”

“Mainly, I teach the men how to think like a woman sniper. Occasionally, I get into a pissing match with one of the guys on who the better shot is, especially when they start ragging that I just got lucky with my record holder. Then I have to prove myself on the range where I usually win their respect. Guys are like that with women. You can’t tell them anything and have them really believe it. They’ve got to see it with their own eyes.”

“So you teach them how to shoot too?”

Holly shook her head. “Don’t know how well that would go down in the ego department. Besides there are snipers in the war whose kill range are close to a mile and a half. They are the legends a man wants teaching him. What I do here is tell them how a woman sniper might think and react in different situations. I also try and make these men realize that when a woman joins an army and uses guns or bombs to fight in a war, she becomes another soldier and they have to reprogram their minds when it comes to gender if they are going to survive.”

Mari looked down at her bandaged hands. Would she be in this shape if she’d learned some of what Holly must know? Would she have been raped by those men? Would she be putting Roger’s life in danger now? The possible answer to those questions spoke volumes to Mari. She couldn’t do anything at that moment. But she would.

She’d probably have to leave to keep Roger from being killed by the madman after her, but she didn’t have to be helpless anymore.

2200 Hours

Jack quietly paced the floor. It was time for him to break free of their cushy prison. The guards would be expecting him to try something in the o’dark thirty sweet spot, which is why he was bailing now. Conveniently for him, Lauren had fallen asleep, despite how impossible she believed it. Sometimes the body overruled the mind. Her physical and emotional exhaustion had been past the point of staying sane, but she’d kept it together, hoping beyond hope that her plan to rescue her sons would come to fruition. She’d been watching CNN since they’d come upstairs to rest. She’d looked for any news on Menendez/Miles and whether or not the live show scheduled for tomorrow night had been canceled. So far it hadn’t. In fact, the host of
Latimoor Live
had made an announcement earlier that she’d be seeing everyone from the wilds of Peru tomorrow evening.

Whether Jack wanted to admit it or not, and as impromptu as it would be, Lauren’s idea had taken root in his mind. Provided satellite data backed up the facts and all assets were available, going in disguised as part of the camera crew could even be considered ideal. He—

“Now an update on the averted bombing in Fayetteville, North Carolina involving a high ranking military officer.”

Jack whipped around at the headline and stood stunned at the video feed. The Sandman’s house was on national news as was the man emerging from the bomb suit. What the hell? Jack shook his head in disbelief. Commander Weston’s image, though at a distance, was unmistakable. Jack glanced at the time the video was taken. A little over two hours after he’d left here.

Jesus. Where was Mari? The bastards after her had to have planted the bombs. He reached for his cell only to find his pocket empty. He clenched his fists. Damn. Enough was enough. More determined than ever, Jack left the suite of rooms he was in with Lauren and quickly made his way down to the kitchen. Nodding at each guard he passed, he mentioned food. One guard accompanied Jack into the kitchen and watched Jack’s every move. He wasn’t sure why any highly usable utensil had been removed. No sharp knives or skewering forks, but then, any professional worth his salt didn’t need the obvious. So it was almost an insult that they’d removed them.

He raided the refrigerator, piling high two plates with sandwiches, potato salad, fruit, pickles and chips. Before he left the kitchen, he put popcorn in the microwave. The aroma would quickly permeate the house and set every man’s mind on his stomach. It was the munchy hour of the late evening. That time just before bed when everyone human got antsy for a taste of something good.

Plates held prominently, Jack returned to the bedroom, enjoying the envious looks on the guard’s faces. The CIA might have a hidden listening device, but Jack found no evidence of video surveillance. Not that he didn’t think the SOBs capable, he just didn’t think time had permitted them to set up a fully equipped prison. With the TV running, Jack left it up to their interpretation of what was going on in the sitting room. He placed the food plates on the coffee table, pulled two Coke cans from his pockets then turned to Lauren.

The urge to wake her up and tell her he was going and would see her soon was overwhelming as was the urge to kiss her one last time, to simply hold her one last moment and recapture the way she’d made him feel when wrapped in her arms.

But she’d want to go with him and she couldn’t. She was safer here.

She’d want to go to Peru and there was no way that would happen.

It wasn’t her fault. Despite her lack of training, she’d performed perfectly and had proven her competence. It was he who couldn’t handle it.

Couldn’t handle the thought of what almost happened at Gardner’s. Lauren hadn’t said much, but from the look in her eyes, Jack could extrapolate what plans the man had and it made even his hardened edge crawl with sick dread and rage. That whole scene from first approaching Gardner’s house until the bullet gave him a permanent part in his hair played repeatedly in his mind—wouldn’t let him go for some reason.

Jack blinked, sucked in air. She’d stirred up things inside of him that he didn’t want to remember, much less examine.

His emotional reaction to Lauren’s exposure to danger wasn’t too far from the fears his ex-wife had expressed, fears that had begun with her pregnancy with Livy. Fears he’d acknowledged, understood, even empathized with, or so he’d thought he had. But fears he’d refused to let rule his life.

Now that the shoe was on his foot, he found the fit really uncomfortable. Maybe he hadn’t been as empathetic as he should have been. It was somewhat different. He had years of training and experience. Still, the hypocrisy tried to nail him to the wall, but he side stepped it. She didn’t have what it would physically take to get out of the CIA holding area undetected.

Disgusted with himself, Jack moved over to the French doors leading out to a sundeck three stories above the ground. The windows on the first and second levels of the house had been security wired, but third hadn’t. Likely because there was no outside access to the third story from lower floors. Staying deep in the night shadows, he aligned his body with a deck post, gained the railing then the shingled roof. The pitch wasn’t ideal, but doable, given he stayed flat against it.

Halfway around he froze in place as men’s voices from below reached him. Orienting himself, he pegged them as coming from the deck outside the kitchen. Rashid and the SOO who called himself director were the talkers.

“I’m not buying her act, Rash. You know how these SOBs are brainwashing blond-blue-eyed American’s for their cause. She’s got what it takes to get past any profile barrier. And there are just too many coincidences for her to be as innocent of Collins’s dealings as she claims. Connect the dots going back even just a year. Her brother goes MIA outside of Kabul, within weeks the majority of our camps are ferreted out by al-Qaeda—not the Taliban—then al-Qaeda attacked two supply convoys, all of which he had knowledge of. Add that to the fact that her husband is in Lebanon when radical al-Qaeda’s number two man happens to show up? There’s no way Qassem just happened to stop by for a visit. He was there to collect the Ambassador James and Prime Minister Shalev’s daughters from Collins. Collins, her husband and her brother, all blond-blue-eyed Americans are as thick as thieves with al-Qaeda. Where do you think the millions in the bank account came from?”