Hot Ice (37 page)

"Turn your back! You are not worthy of seeing God's glory!"

Morales shouted. He did not permit anyone to witness his vulnerability to God's instructions.

"My apologies, señor," Aaron replied deferentially, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "But you instructed that I tell you—T-FLAC has the girl. They are guests in the village. Señor, it has begun."

"
Bueno
. Leave me." Morales knew he had work to do. Time ran on God's clock, not his, and it slowly ticked away.

"But
Jefe
—"

"
Enough
. Send my beloved Maria to me, and go."

The end of all things is near, therefore, be serious and discipline yourselves for the sake of your prayers.

New beginnings awaited the faithful.

José wiped his blood-wet hand down his thigh, then lifted the whip and began again.

Chapter Thirty-nine

Blikiesfontein

Lisa Maki sat on the top step of somebody's broken-down porch on the back of their decrepit house, smoking a cigarette and drinking a warm beer. It wasn't late, but she'd sent her people to bed. She didn't know them, and she didn't fucking want to bond with them. They had their instructions. They could keep the hell out of her way until she needed them tomorrow.

She'd just spoken to the head of Black Rose herself on a disposable cell phone. Was
she
out there somewhere,
watching
? Lisa wondered, glancing around the moonlit backyard consisting of dry, patchy grass and engine parts. The Black Rose herself seemed to have eyes in the back of her head.

Lisa shook off the sensation of being watched. Her leader had sounded good. Upbeat. Pleased.

And if her boss was pleased, Lisa knew she was in good favor.

So. The girl and T-FLAC were in the village near the mouth of the mine. Tomorrow they should reach the missile. She'd let them do all the scud work. Then it would be a simple matter for her to take in her team, kill them all, and assume ownership of the
Mano del Dios
stash of goodies. The missile. The diamonds. The cash. The biochemicals, and whatever the fuck else the asshole had buried down there.

In a few hours it would
all
belong to the Black Rose.

Thanks, of course, to Lisa Maki.

Chapter Forty

Taylor sat cross-legged beside Hunt, pushing the food around on the wooden trencher. She'd barely tasted the stringy ostrich meat.

"Force yourself to eat a little of the protein," he told her. "You'll need your strength later." They'd all depend on her strength later.

She shot him a look and picked up a hunk of meat, stuffing it into her mouth. "Mfappy now?" she said with her mouth full.

"Delirious. Chew."

She chewed with clear reluctance, but he waited for her to swallow, then picked up an apple wedge and placed it in her hand.

"Thank you, Mommy." She bit down with sharp white teeth and chewed with a little more enthusiasm.

Hunt said an unfamiliar prayer to a god who, after many years of absence, had been hearing from him a lot lately:
God, don't let a damn thing hurt this woman. You hear me
?

Because their hosts ate with them, the conversation was general and vague.
Don't speak English, my ass
. When Hunt rose, his people did too. They were led outside and directed to several smaller
rondavah
for the night. He'd have kept everyone together where he could see them. But hell, he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He'd already designated assignments, and he let everyone decide where they wanted to sack out.

Bidding his team a casual good-night—they'd be together at 2300—he ushered Taylor toward the hut farthest from the others.

He didn't need his Maglite to see the way. The sky was a clear, black bowl dotted with the sparkle of a million brilliant white stars and a picture-perfect sliver of a moon. With the sun down, it was chilly, the air crisp and scented with the fragrance of wood fires and the unfamiliar smell of the surrounding vegetation. Insects buzzed and whirred, and in the distance a lion roared, calling its mate, reminding him that while their "native" hosts were faux, this really was the wild.

And there were things far more dangerous nearby than wild animals. Somewhere beneath their feet lay a missile that, if it were a nuke, could take out a good chunk of the continent.

"Is it safe for us to be separated?" Taylor asked, her voice pitched low.

Hunt looked over his shoulder at the rest of his team slipping into the other huts. "Not much we can do about it at the moment."

"Thanks. That makes me feel better."

He dropped one arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "You're doing great, love. Just hang on a few more days."

"Don't worry." She slipped her arms about his waist as they walked. "I'm fine. And although I hate to say this, realizing the seriousness of what we're doing, I have to tell you, I'm also pretty damn
excited
to be involved."

Her eyes sparkled up at him in the moonlight. "This rush I get when I'm being challenged is
precisely
why I do what I do, remember? The excitement. The thrill. The danger." Her pretty mouth curved into a rueful smile that he desperately wanted to taste.

"Not that I'm comparing being blown to smithereens by a nuclear missile to being caught robbing a safe, mind you. But I
am
excited, nevertheless."

He understood perfectly. He was worried enough for both of them. For
all
of them. "I can live with that."

"How much longer?"

He knew she meant before they headed for the mine. "Three and a half hours."

Her arm tightened around his waist as she looked up at him. "Then we should enjoy those three and a half hours together, shouldn't we?"

"Yes," he agreed. "We sure as hell should."

Her smile widened. "Listen…"

"Yeah. Lion. Welcome to Africa."

"You okay?" she asked, looking at him with a frown.

"Not even close," he muttered, need clawing at his throat. Taking her arm, he steered her into the dirt hut.

The
rondaval
was considerably smaller than the others, but it had a heavy blanket over the door opening, giving them some privacy. Pushing it aside, Hunt had to practically bend double to get through the doorway, but once inside he could stand comfortably.

He switched on the torch and scanned the room. It consisted of the same circular design, with a thatched roof and a dirt floor. A pile of folded blankets and an earthenware pitcher of water had been set near the door.

"All the comforts of home," he said dryly, setting down the Maglite so he could spread a layer of blankets on the ground.

He lowered himself to the bed he'd made and started unlacing his boots. "Take off your boots and come and lie down. We can get in a couple of hours ourselves before we get started."

"Believe me, I am
so
not tired," Taylor said, starting to pace. "Besides, it's only about eight o'clock. Way too early."

Hunt reached up and took her hand as she passed, tugging her down beside him. "You need to turn your brain off," he told her, keeping his tone soothing. She was wound tighter than a cheap watch. He removed his own boots and put them beside their makeshift bed. "Worrying isn't going to speed this up. You'll need all your concentration when we
do
go in."

She reluctantly unlaced and removed her boots and tossed them beside his. "I wish I
could
turn my brain off. What if—"

He leaned forward, threading his fingers through her hair at the temples, and lifted her face. "Relax," he told her softly.

Her lips curved in a small smile, but her eyes, those incredible hot-ice eyes, were haunted. "Can you squeeze the worry out of my brain?"

Hunt tangled his fingers deeper into the cool silk of her hair, drawing her closer. "Let's see, shall we?"

He touched his mouth to hers—cool satin—then cradled her head in his hands, supporting her as he lowered her to her back on the blanket. He followed her down, pressing tender kisses to her neck and jaw, then covered her face with soft kisses. He brushed his mouth over hers, gently, teasing, light. Sweet, so sweetly responsive.