Spy Hard (6 page)

She either ran now, or she would have to take her chances here.

Pretty soon she’d be too far along in the pregnancy to risk a trek through the jungle. And she couldn’t run once the baby was born. A newborn wouldn’t survive the grueling trek. Plus, once the baby was born, the Don would no longer need her. Who knew how long after the birth the Don would let her live. Any of the camp women could be brought up to the house to take care of the kid.

Jase didn’t blame her for trying to use him to gain her freedom. A part of him even wished he could help. He was drawn to Melanie in a way he hadn’t been drawn to any of the others.

But more than her life was at stake here.

By bringing down the Don, he would be saving thousands eventually.

He pushed thoughts of the woman aside. His full attention needed to be on the men. He had to be vigilant, to be fully present in the here and now so he wouldn’t make a mistake.

“How badly do you think we’re outnumbered?” one of the men wondered aloud.

Roberto shot him a glare.

Some of these men had been present at the fight at the previous camp and knew Cristobal was no pushover. Their losses in that fight had been rough.

Jase kept his eyes hooded, pretending to be studying the map, but studied the men one by one instead. Could he find an ally among them, somebody who would be willing to provide information? Would any consider defection?

If they had any reservations about the boss upstairs, they kept quiet about it. None would dare to air any doubts in front of Roberto and risk looking anything but 100 percent committed.

Jase held down the corners of the map and considered the satellite phone that made a bump under the paper. The phone was big and clumsy compared to his super spy phone that he’d lost crossing a mangrove swamp with Lucas and the others a month back.

That one had been special-issue: waterproof, bulletproof to a point, even damn near fireproof. It hadn’t been caiman-proof, however. When one of the large reptiles ripped away a chunk of Jase’s pants, it’d swallowed the damned thing right with the fabric.

Had he been alone, he would have hunted down the toothy bastard and gutted it, but he had to let it go in the interest of preserving his cover. He couldn’t go hunting for a phone nobody even knew he had.

He missed that phone, and didn’t like being cut off from the men back at headquarters for the time being, but right now the Don’s phone was more important. He shifted from one foot to the other, pretended that the corner of the map slipped from his hand, grabbed after the paper to roll it back out and “accidentally” knocked the phone to the floor in the process. It rolled under the table.

“Sorry, man. Didn’t see that.” He let the paper go and squatted to retrieve the phone, grabbing for it with his left hand while going for the bug with the right.

The cloner would duplicate the signal to a U.S. Army satellite, every future conversation would be recorded and stored on a secure server. He snapped the back off the phone with his thumb, plugged the bug in, then popped the back into place as he stood.

He put the phone back on the table, where someone else was now holding his corners of the map.

Roberto shot him an annoyed look, but he seemed too busy figuring out Cristobal’s next move to pay much attention to anything else.

Jase backed away and out of the room. He cast a last look at Melanie’s door, which remained firmly closed. A strange tightness appeared in the middle of his chest.

Probably heartburn. As enthusiastic as Consuela was with spices, it was a miracle he still had any stomach lining left. He rubbed the strange sensation away with the heel of his hand as he stepped out into the humid jungle air.

He strode back to the barracks, swung by the kitchen on the way. Speaking of the tequila-swigging matron…Consuela was stitching two pieces of plain linen cloth together that stood out in stark contrast against her red and orange block print muumuu. She sat on the ground, her feet extended toward Jase. She wore no shoes. She didn’t need them; the inch-thick cracked and hardened layer of calluses on the bottom of her feet protected her soles just fine.

Another woman chopped sugar cane in the back. Pretty ironic. Some of the men in camp were running around like headless chickens out there, while the women went on with their chores as if the whole camp wasn’t preparing for battle.

He glanced around but didn’t see Mochi in any of the corners. “Where’s the kid?” They’d have to have another talk about the importance of sticking around the women and keeping out of the way, especially once the fighting began.

“Alejandro came and got him,” Consuela mumbled with a shrug. “His shirt is almost done.”

But Jase was already turning back out the door. He hurried on toward the dog pens, broke into a run. With the camp in a complete upheaval, nobody thought his haste suspicious. Nobody stopped to question him.

The dogs perked up at the sight of him, then looked disappointed when they realized he wasn’t bringing leftovers, as he often did. The animals were all scarred, but still wagging their tails, not holding an ounce of grudge toward the humans who’d chosen this life for them.

He scratched a bulky head sticking out from between the bars. The dog in the next enclosure jumped up on its hind legs, wanting attention, as well. He was almost as tall as Jase. “Hey ya, Killer.” He patted that one, too, as he passed.

He’d considered, more than once, setting them free in the night. But if the wild boars and the jaguars didn’t get them, they’d kill each other. As much as he hated to see them taken to the towns to be abused in the ring, he couldn’t come up with a decent plan to save them. They’d be in his report when he finally got out of here. Their best hope was a U.S. military hit on the camp. They would be liberated then.

He didn’t get all the way past the enclosures when Jorge, round as a rain barrel, shuffled from the back, smoking a fat cigar and cleaning his weapon. He gave a yellow-toothed grin in anticipation of the battle.

“Have you seen Alejandro?” Jase peered behind him.

“He was here with the kid.” Jorge shook his head, a look of annoyance flashing across his weather-beaten face. “Took Chico.”

Chico was a three-legged puppy, injured by one of the older dogs. Since he obviously wasn’t going to grow up to be a great fighter, he didn’t have much of a future at the camp. A miracle that nobody had shot him yet.

“Alejandro took Chico?” That didn’t make much sense. Alejandro wasn’t exactly the type to adopt a handicapped puppy.

Jorge took the cigar out of his mouth and spat on the ground. “I gave Chico to the kid. Couldn’t stand all that caterwauling. Alejandro’s damn fault. He wanted the boy to take his two best dogs into the jungle to make sure they don’t get hurt in the shooting. Idiot. One dog, the kid could handle. But when Alejandro gave the boy the second leash, the two dogs fought like crazy.”

Of course they would. They were trained to fight each other. What the hell did the idiot expect? Jase didn’t have to be psychic to know how that turned out. Fury swept through him. “Where are they?”

“Up in packaging.”

He cut across the compound, breaking into a run once again.

Roberto stepped outside from the hacienda as Jase passed by.

“Everybody needs to get ready before nightfall. I want everyone to get some sleep before the battle starts in the morning. Make sure you have your weapons together and enough ammo. And no drinking tonight.”

Jase acknowledged the orders with a nod, but didn’t stop to talk.

He found the packaging building in chaos, holes dug in the floor, tightly wrapped bricks of cocaine being buried in every corner. The men resented the extra work, swearing deliberately, cursing Cristobal.

Jase ignored them. “Mochi?”

Someone nodded toward the west wall. Jase zigzagged through between the sweating men, careful not to knock anyone over. Tempers were running high. He didn’t have time to stop for a fistfight.

Mochi sat on the floor, his arm bleeding, shiny tear tracks marking his face that lit up with hope when he spotted Jase. He held a wiggling flour sack under one arm. Chico, presumably.

Alejandro was holding out his finger to the boy, with a dash of white powder on the tip. He, too, glanced up as Jase reached them.

“For the pain.” His expression was challenging and defensive at the same time, as if he hadn’t decided yet which one to go with.

As much as he hated Jase’s claim on the boy, he knew he had to respect it according to camp rules. He knew he’d done wrong damaging the kid. He knew Jase could call him out over that and demand compensation, maybe even the knife back. All that flashed through his gaze.

Jase knocked his hand away with a growl, holding back from doing more, then grabbed Mochi’s hand and pulled him up. “Come on, buddy. Consuela will take care of you. Let’s get you out of here.”

Mochi scrambled to bring his sack.

“Just because he’s yours, it don’t mean he don’t have to work off his keep,” Alejandro called after them, his voice belligerent, showing off for the others. “If the camp needs help, he still needs to pitch in.”

Jase turned back, his temper hanging by a thread. He flashed a hard glare at the bastard. “He’s not going to be any use to the Don if you kill him.”

The mention of the boss subdued Alejandro somewhat, but didn’t wipe nearly enough hate off his face. He might have acknowledged Jase’s claim on the boy, but he didn’t like it.

They would probably have to fight that fight someday to settle it once and for all. But not today. An open confrontation with the man at this moment would solve nothing and would endanger the op. And they all had better things to do the day before the battle.

“Let me see the wound,” Jase told Mochi as they moved on.

The kid lifted his scrawny arm carefully.

Jase swore under his breath at the bleeding, ragged gash where sharp canine teeth had ripped the skin. Probably by accident. The kid had gotten trapped between two fighting dogs. The dogs were doing what they’d been trained to do. Wasn’t their fault.

The blame lay with him. He’d brought the boy here.

And he hadn’t been able to watch the kid as closely as he would have liked. That had to change. He couldn’t keep the kid next to him 24/7. Sooner or later, something bad would happen to Mochi here. The camp was dangerous enough and now, with Cristobal coming… It was no place for a kid.

Or a pregnant woman,
the voice of conscience said in his head.
Forget about her,
the voice of reason countered.

Getting Mochi away would be difficult enough, and his disappearance would bother few people. They all had bigger things to worry about. But if Melanie went missing with the Don’s heir, the man would search heaven and earth to find her.

“You’ll be fine. Consuela will give you good medicine,” Jase reassured the boy, hoping he understood at least the gist of his words.

So far he’d barely spoken, but he seemed to follow direction for the most part, so he must know at least a little Spanish. His village had probably had enough contact with loggers and the Don’s men for him to pick up a couple of words here and there.

They passed by the hacienda. Jase glanced up at the empty balcony. Then he rolled his shoulders to get rid of that tight feeling that came into his chest once again.

He couldn’t save everyone. He would do the best he could, and live with the consequences.

Mochi wiped his face, then opened the mouth of the bag and lifted it, proudly showing off the fur ball inside.

“Yeah, just what we needed,” Jase groused, looking into those puppy eyes, determined not to get taken in by them.

Mochi snuggled the bag back into the crook of his arm, then took Jase’s hand again, his little fingers tightening around his.

He looked at the boy who’d placed all his innocent trust in him, unconditionally, then thought of the research station to the north.

He hadn’t planned on going there. He hadn’t planned on going anywhere until he had the information he’d come for: names, dates, locations.

But the station was Mochi’s best chance.

And if he was going to try to save the kid, tonight had to be the night. He strode forward, trying to organize a couple of disjointed thoughts into something that might resemble a workable plan.

Maybe he wouldn’t have to go all the way to the research station. He might meet a hunting party from one of the villages and turn the kid over to them. At least then the kid would be with his own people. Either way, step one was to get the kid out of the camp.

He’d have to sneak Mochi out somehow. And Mochi only. The puppy had to stay. It would whine at inopportune moments and pee all over the place, drawing predators to them as they walked through the jungle. They would have to move fast and without being detected. They couldn’t afford any handicaps. Which was why he couldn’t drag along a pregnant woman either.

Melanie would have to take her chances with the rest of them in camp. Since she carried the Don’s heir, the man would protect her with the lives of all of his men, if needed.

The puppy would have to stay with Consuela. He didn’t want to take him back to the dog pens where the men would get rid of him the first time he got underfoot. The kitchen had a rat problem. Maybe the puppy could be trained to deal with it.

Jase reached into his pocket, counted the pesos he had left. He had more than enough to convince the woman to take good care of one little puppy.

If only all his problems could be solved that easily.

The perimeter was as tightly guarded as it had ever been, every eye open, watching for Cristobal’s men. Would have been great if Jase was one of the dozen guys on guard duty tonight, but he wasn’t. Alejandro was, however. Unfortunately, the man was unlikely to do him any favors.

“Are you hungry?” he asked the boy as they neared the kitchen.

Consuela flew toward them from the doorway, looking at the kid’s bloody arm.
“Ay, Dios mio!”
She picked up Mochi, swearing like a sailor at Jase for bringing the boy back in this shape.

He ignored her accusing glare. “Do you have anything for the wound?”