PRECIPICE (25 page)

As he turned to sit down on the bench, the corner of his blaze orange vest hung on a nail sticking from the tree. He cussed when the vest tore as he impatiently tugged it loose. He settled in and cycled the action of the rifle to chamber a centerfire round, then laid the gun across his knees and ran a hand fondly over the smooth walnut stock. He looked across the field in front of him and enjoyed the first blush of dawn’s light creeping through the thin morning mist. It was his first moment of peace in days.

When he’d come home from the airport without Samantha, his wife had been justifiably concerned. At first Sheldon had tried to convince her that Sam had probably just missed the plane. It sounded like a stretch even to him, especially in light of the fact that his daughter couldn’t be reached on her phone. Sheldon was terrified to tell Liza the truth. His wife had frantically called in a missing persons report to the Palo Alto Police Department as well as the Stanford Department of Public Safety.

An extremely worried night had evolved into complete horror when the Palo Alto police department called back on Sunday to report that they had found Samantha’s boyfriend’s body in a patch of woods not far from campus. His wrists were cuffed, and he’d died of a single gunshot wound to the head. Liza went ballistic. Where many women might have broken down with emotion, she had demanded swift action. She insisted that Sheldon call the FBI. He’d made lame excuses about why they shouldn’t call. It had only served to infuriate her more, but calling the feds was the last thing he could afford to do if he wanted to keep his daughter safe.

By Monday morning Liza had flown into a rage and finally headed for the phone to call the FBI herself. Sheldon’s hand had been forced, and he’d broken down and told her that Sam’s kidnappers had been in touch with him, and that their daughter would be killed if they contacted the FBI. He told her that the kidnappers were trying to force him to vote a certain way in the Senate, and that all they could do now was wait it out until he placed the vote. Her frustration and fear had exploded in his direction, and in her grief she had told him to get the hell out of her sight. So Sheldon had caught a flight to Atlanta and driven to his house on Lookout Mountain. He would deer hunt and try to distract himself while he waited the interminable week for senate business to resume.

As the morning brightened he noticed a tan spot on the far edge of the field. He slowly raised the rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope, pleased to see a doe gingerly stepping from the woods about two hundred yards away. He lowered the rifle and settled in to wait, hoping she would venture close enough for him to have a good shot. His eyes weren’t good enough for anything farther than about a hundred yards any more. This kind of waiting didn’t bother him a bit, especially if it took his mind off of the other kind.

*

As the sun was beginning to rise, Harris scooted out from the burrow he had created in the jungle growth. He found a puddle of water and took a long drink. His canteen had run dry yesterday, and although he knew drinking from the muddy divot would almost certainly lead to intestinal distress, he had to have water to survive.

He’d gotten somewhat used to the pain of his injuries, although the constant struggle of forcing it to the back of his mind was mentally exhausting. The throbbing from his leg had grown worse. It was sure to be infected soon from crawling in the jungle mud. He munched down the last of his energy bars and felt a small rush of steadiness as his body churned up the much-needed calories.

He had watched from his rocky perch well into the night, but there’d been no movement. When the generator had shut off and all of the lights went out, Harris had reluctantly holed up for an uncomfortable night of sleep in the soggy jungle.

He crawled back to his vantage point on the rocks and watched as the compound came to life in the dawn light, thankful that it had finally stopped raining. There was a lot more bustle today. The first person to appear was a pretty-boy with a long ponytail, cowboy boots, and a big silver .45 hanging under his arm. He seemed to be in charge and directed a group of workers who carried large panes of glass to replace the windows that Harris had fallen through barely twenty-four hours before. These guys didn’t waste any time. Another pair showed up shortly and began carrying the bodies away one by one. There was no sign of Cardenas, and Harris began to wonder if the drug lord had left the compound altogether. Although the desire to complete the mission still burned deep within him, Harris had to consider the realities of the situation. If things wrapped up here and everybody left, he’d be stranded and would certainly die from his wounds. He finally relented and began creeping back toward the parking area to see if he could figure out a ride.

The going was much quicker than the night before because he knew the locations of the trip wires. In less than ten minutes he peeked into the parking area from the concealment of the jungle foliage.

There were now four vehicles. A flatbed work truck with crudely built wooden sides had joined the Toyota pickup, the Expedition, and the Avalanche. In the bed of the flatbed were several large panes of glass and a variety of paint stained buckets and battered tools. The Expedition and the Avalanche’s motors were running, and he could see that two bodies were piled in the open back compartment of the Ford. He couldn’t see their faces, but from the fatigues adorning an arm and leg that peeked out from under the sheets, he could tell they were his teammates. A wave of rage rose up in him, and for a berserk moment he wanted to rush into the camp and kill everyone he saw. He concentrated on calming himself. It might avenge his friends, but he would be throwing his own life away in the process. The best course of action was to wait for the right time to avenge them properly by returning to complete the mission and take out Cardenas.

Two men walked out of the woods carrying a third body and heaved it carelessly into the back of the Ford with the other two. They closed the back doors of the truck, climbed into the front, and drove away down the road. Harris wondered for a moment why they had only loaded three of the bodies, but he didn’t have time to puzzle over that now. The other vehicles might be leaving soon.

There was no way he could conceal himself in the open beds of the Toyota or the flatbed truck. His best bet was the covered bed of the Avalanche. With all of the men working far from the parking area, he saw his window of opportunity and hobbled over to the Chevy, wincing at every step on his wounded and inflamed leg. He was grateful to lean his weight on the bed of the truck as he opened the tailgate, then he crawled under the bed cover and pulled the tailgate shut behind him. He scooted as far forward as he could in the darkened space and lay on his side with his back against the truck’s cab, with his injured right leg perched awkwardly on top of his left. He pulled out his silenced pistol and held it ready in case someone opened the truck bed before they left. He knew it wouldn’t do much good, but he didn’t plan to go out without a fight.

He’d been in the truck for less than sixty seconds when the tailgate popped open again revealing a rectangle of light as if seen from the back of a cave. The light was almost immediately eclipsed by something large that was swung up onto the tailgate and then shoved into the opening. Harris had to fight not to gag as he was beset by the smell of death. As his mind processed the fact that he was about to be entombed in the bed of the truck with a dead body, the tailgate slammed closed and sealed his fate.

He was horrified by the presence of this new companion, but he had to know which of his friends it was. He slipped on his night vision goggles and powered them up, waiting a moment for them to come alive. Then he gingerly lifted the sheet from the corpse’s head, fearing the worst. He was shocked when the face revealed was not one of his own companions but the lifeless face of Cardenas.

How could that be? Had one of his men managed to kill the drug lord before they had been killed? Based on his recollection of the attack, he highly doubted that. He pulled the sheet back more to examine the man’s wounds, finding only a single bullet hole in the center of Cardenas’ chest. Then it hit him. It had to have been Chip. Before he’d kayaked over the falls, he must have gotten the job done. Harris was shocked at first, but the more he thought about it, the less it surprised him. Chip had been rock solid through the whole training and mission. He was as calm as anybody Harris had ever seen when things on the river had seemed insane. He’d showed great potential in his own element, but this was absolute proof of his cool under pressure in any situation. Harris experienced a moment of quiet pride. He had suggested including Chip on this mission, and he had trained him.

His reverie was broken by the sound of the Avalanche’s door opening and the creak of the suspension as someone climbed into the driver’s seat. The motor roared to life, and Harris settled in for what promised to be a very uncomfortable ride.

*

Chip awoke around mid-morning, and for a blissful moment he convinced himself that it had all been a bad dream. He was curled up under a warm sleeping bag with a wonderful feeling woman. He imagined that he was back at the raft outpost and savored the sensation for a moment. Then he realized that he’d been awakened by Sam’s quiet crying.

He had watched her shake and writhe throughout the late afternoon and evening yesterday. When the rain had started, he’d turned the raft upside down and propped one side of it up with two of the paddles to form a makeshift shelter over her. He’d huddled there with her until she’d finally stopped shaking and fallen into a deep sleep some time well after midnight.

“Oh Daddy, I’m so sorry,” she cried now. The sobs were coming harder.

Chip had no idea what to do. He suddenly felt extremely awkward cuddled up with a girl he didn’t really know, but he didn’t want to pull away and leave her crying either. For some reason he found it even more unsettling than waking up with someone after a one-night-stand. At least they usually didn’t cry.

During their frantic flight down the river the day before, he’d been urgently calling out paddle strokes; there had been no time for conversation before she became unresponsive. He knew her name but nothing else—nothing except that here, in the middle of the Mexican wilderness with armed men searching for him, it was awfully nice to have someone warm and soft to cling to. He wished there was something he could do to make her feel better. He wished he had any idea what to do next.

Eventually she stopped crying, and the spell was broken. Chip reluctantly sat up. He searched around in the cramped space under the raft and found a bottle of water.

“Something to drink?” he offered.

“Yeah,” she answered meekly, sitting up then taking the bottle and having a long drink.

“You hungry?” Chip asked. She had to be. She had gone the entire day yesterday without anything to eat.

“Yeah.”

Chip rummaged through one of the drybags and found a few packaged MREs. He passed them over to her, and she selected pasta with vegetables over chicken parmesan or pork sausages in gravy.

“How are we gonna cook it?” She wanted to know.

“We can’t risk building a fire. Just open it and eat it.”

Sam tore open the package and wrinkled her nose at the smell, then she took the spoon that Chip offered and resignedly dug in. She didn’t look up until she’d finished the entire package. Chip opened the chicken meal for himself and ate quietly.

There was another awkward silence after they both finished their meals.

“So, first time in Mexico?” Chip tried to break the ice. His poor attempt at humor sounded bad to him as soon as it came out of his mouth.

“Is that where we are?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah…uhhh, no. I mean, I went to Cancun for spring break my senior year.”

There was another period of silence. Even with her torn white dress smudged with dirt, her hair a tangled mess, the shiner, and the dark circles under her eyes, Chip couldn’t help but notice again that she was very attractive. What was a beautiful girl who had spent spring break in Cancun doing at a drug lord’s hideout in Mexico?

“Who’s your dad?” he asked. Cardenas had been screaming at her father on video when Chip had shot him. He’d been dying to know how this girl fit into what had happened.

“Senator Moore,” she said as if it was common knowledge.

Then it dawned on her. “You mean he didn’t send you to rescue me?”

“Honestly, I don’t know who sent us. But we weren’t sent to rescue anybody. We were sent to kill Cardenas.”

From her crestfallen look Chip could tell the information disappointed her. She was holding out hope that her daddy had saved her. Chip hated to disillusion her further, but he needed to get to the bottom of what was going on here.

“What does your dad have to do with this?” He asked next.

“I don’t know. That drug guy said something about a deal they had together—something about Dad taking money. He said I had to stay with him until my father voted and passed a bill. But there’s no way my dad would ever make a deal with someone like that.” She sounded less sure of herself as she said it.

They both sat with their wheels turning, trying to figure out how things had unfolded to leave them here in the jungle. He wasn’t going to say it, but Chip knew there was a better than even chance that her senator father was one of the bad guys.

Suddenly a thought saddened Sam, and she quietly spoke, “They killed your friends.”

“Yeah.” He said it with stark hardness as more dots finally connected in his mind. They had killed his friends, and her father was mixed up in it somehow. He didn’t know how Sam fit in, but he was wary of liking her too much.

“And I killed him,” he said.

The words just sat between them. For Chip, telling someone finally made it feel real, but the sensations that went along with that confused him. There was no sadness or regret, no moral reprehension. There was surprisingly little emotion at all. It was the lack of feeling that concerned him the most, and it felt like that emptiness was spilling into the recesses of his psyche to douse any fire of passion or fear that might linger within him. It was the loneliest he’d ever felt. The only thing he had left was the desire for righteous vengeance, to make it right, to find out who had betrayed his partners and make them pay. It was unlike any previous feeling he’d had, and the coldness of it made him lonelier still.