Under the Wire (15 page)

"Their resources—human and otherwise—have been stretched thin since the tsunami," Darcy said in defense of the embassy staff as they rolled along the rutted streets back toward the market district. "They're doing what they can."

"Which basically means we're on our own," Ethan said.

"It's just as well."

Manny glanced in the rearview mirror when Dallas grumbled from the backseat.

"Not that I don't appreciate your attempt at diplomacy, Darcy, but—"

"Yes, Dallas, I know,
but
what?" Darcy said.

So did everyone else. Neither the U.S. Embassy officials nor the Sinhalese government could sanction a rescue mission by Americans that would most likely involve a show of force. The
but
was that it didn't matter to any of the individuals in this vehicle. They would proceed with or without a blessing.

"We need to get out of Colombo." Lily's voice was on the shrill side. "We need to be looking for Adam."

Manny glanced sharply at her. She looked like she was nearing the end of her rope. He understood. They'd been on the ground for almost two and a half hours and they still weren't looking for her son.

For
his
son.

God. Manny was still wrestling with, adjusting to,
reeling
over, the fact that he had a child. A child he might never get to meet if they didn't get some leads, and fast.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel while his stomach knotted in both anger and loss.

"Take it easy, Lily," he said, taking his frustration out on her. "We can't go off half-cocked and unprepared. We need to lay in supplies. In the meantime, we can't connect with Dallas's contact for another two hours and we can't head into this unarmed."

Her dark eyes met his and he steeled himself against the raw pain he saw. Finally, she nodded, drew in a settling breath. "I know. I know. It's just. . ."

"It's okay, Lily." Darcy cast Manny a quick glance, a silent plea to ease up a little. "We're all on edge. We know what's at stake here."

At stake was a boy's life. A family's life.

His son's life.

Damn Lily. Damn her for
. . .
for what, Ortega? For not telling you about Adam? The woman thought you were dead.

Yeah. She'd thought he was dead, he reminded himself before he cut her some slack, because she'd turned him in to Poveda.

"Take a left up there," Dallas said from the backseat. "I saw an army surplus store. We should be able to get the rest of what we need in the form of gear there."

"And once we do, let's work on losing the tail before we make our next connection."

Four pairs of surprised eyes turned to Ethan.

"That's right, children. We've got company. White VW. Picked him up when we left the embassy."

"Who? Why?"

"Good questions." Ethan flashed Darcy a tight smile before checking the rearview mirror. "Someone was with the Suburban at all times, right?"

"While you and Darcy were in the embassy? Yeah." Manny knew what Ethan was asking. Had anyone had an opportunity to plant a tracking device on the vehicle? "No one came within ten meters of us."

"Well, someone wants to get up close and personal now," Ethan pointed out unnecessarily. "The question is do we want to find out who it is or fly blind?"

Manny glanced at Lily wondering about the calls she'd made. "How bad of a time did you give the Sinhalese officials?"

"My son is missing in their country. How bad of a time do you think I gave them? I begged. I threatened. I screamed at them."

"So they probably had you on a watch list before you even set foot in the airport."

"Why would they care that I'm here?" Frustration colored her voice. "We're doing their damn job, for God's sake. We're searching for their people and my son."

"They would care for the same reason they won't act to find Adam and the Muhandiramalas," Darcy said with a sympathetic look at Lily. "Any action on their part could risk the peace with the Tigers—that's how volatile the cease-fire is. People are tired of the fighting. The prime minister is worried about public opinion. She doesn't want to take unnecessary risks that might reignite the blaze. Plus, it's an election year."

"Well.. . God forbid we screw up an election," Lily sputtered, angry and frustrated.

She fidgeted absently with the seat-belt buckle and Manny worried again that she might be nearing a breaking point.

Not that he cared about her, he reminded himself, but they couldn't afford to have her flip out and jeopardize their operation.

"Okay, here's the way I see it," Dallas said after a moment. "If it is a local government enclave checking up on us and we confront them, they'll know we're on to them, right? So we'd be forcing their hand. I'm not sure we want to do that. They might decide that to save face they'd need to give us a short, sweet bon voyage party and ship us home, FedEx."

"On the other hand," he continued as everyone mulled that over, "if we don't let on that we know they're watching us, maybe they'll be content to just play spy."

"And by the time they figure out we've got their number, we'll have lost them," Manny concluded.

Dallas's grin held little humor. "You always were a quick study, Ortega."

"Yeah. That's why they pay me the big bucks." Manny managed a tight smile.

From the corner of his eye he caught Lily's reaction. She smiled, too—a nervous "yeah, okay, we need to lighten up" smile. It was the first smile he'd seen her give up since this whole thing started. And despite the gravity of the situation, it made him think of a faraway Nicaragua summer. The smiles they'd shared. The love they'd made.

For an instant, his heart ached as much for that loss as for the loss of the son he didn't know.

He turned his head. Met her eyes, wondered if she was thinking the same thing, and abruptly looked away.

"And what if they aren't government people?"

Ethan glanced at Manny, shook his head. "Then that means someone else cares that we're here. Another player—one we hadn't figured on. And what
that
means is that we've got bigger problems than the threat of civil war."

Manny pulled into a parking spot across from the surplus store.
A problem bigger than war.

There was a time in his life when he couldn't have imagined a bigger problem than war.

But now Lily was back in his life. Now he had a son. And the idea that his own flesh, his own blood, could be forever lost was as unimaginable as the idea of the woman he had loved betraying him.

Making certain he wasn't followed, Dallas rounded the corner and headed for the prearranged meeting spot. The contrast between the bland back alley and the multicolored brilliance of the street vendors at the open-market bazaar two miles away was absolute. They'd gone from a vibrant, lively cacophony of sound and scent and tactile sensations to a seedy unseemliness that made up too much of life in too many parts of the world.

The transformation of tone and intent was sobering.

As was this leg of their journey. If something went wrong here, they were royally fucked.

Manny had skillfully lost their tail a little over an hour ago. And now, as directed by his contact, Dallas approached the back door of a decrepit building in the Slave Island section of the city while Ethan and Manny and the women waited around the corner in the Suburban. Dallas knocked twice, then four times in rapid succession. And then he waited.

Dallas didn't know the boy. Didn't know Lily Campora—hadn't yet decided what he felt toward her other than resentment. Manny was his friend. And it was to Manny that Dallas attached his loyalties. Most recently, they'd been through a minor war together helping Ethan rescue Darcy from an Abu Sayyaf terrorist cell on a southern Philippine island. Darcy and Amy Walker.

As it always did, the memory of Amy—broken and scarred both physically and emotionally—caught Dallas off guard. It had been almost three months since Amy had appeared, then disappeared from his life.

And he hadn't been able to let go. He should have.

But he couldn't.

She'd suffered. Suffered bad. Both Amy and Darcy had been held hostage. Both had been changed because of what they'd gone through.

In the dark of night, in places like this that reeked of the worst life had to offer, Dallas could still see Amy's delicate blue eyes—empty of anything but fear and pain. He could still see her face, bruised and bleeding, framed by snarled and matted blond hair that he'd mistaken for brown until the first time he'd seen it clean.

Yet he could still feel her spirit—shaken but valiant as she'd grappled with trust. In him. In herself. In a world that had turned her over to the animals who had raped and abused her.

She hadn't deserved what had happened to her. Just as Adam Campora didn't deserve what had happened to him. And it was Adam who needed Dallas's help now. Wherever Amy Walker was, he couldn't help her. But he could help Adam. He wanted to get to that boy. Get him out of whatever hell he was going through—because Dallas knew a thing or two about hell himself.

He was getting damn sick of the flashbacks. And they were coming on him more frequently now, blasting him out of sleep some nights with the concussion of a live grenade. Flying rock. Splattered blood. The screams of men.

And he felt himself sucked into the nightmare again.

He shook his head.

Don't go there. Not now.

Christ, he couldn't deal with that now.

He slapped his face. Hard. Then again to snap himself back to the present when he heard footsteps behind the locked door. The door creaked open. Dark eyes set in a brown leathery face glared out at him.

This snake of a man didn't give two shits about saving Adam Campora's life. This man, like so many others in the warmonger business, cared only about cash. In the Sri Lankan underground, rupees were the universal language of "how to make things happen."

Dallas suspected that in this particular back alley, money had made a lot of things happen. His background in Force Recon could make things happen, too. And his quick study of languages would assist in the process. Provided he could keep his shit together.

Dallas pointed to himself. "Dallas Garrett. Jahan mah-mah, e-vah-nah-vaah."
Dallas Garrett. Jahan sent me.

The man peered outside and glanced around. Apparently satisfied that Dallas was alone, he nodded. "Sahl-li?"
Money?

Dallas patted his breast pocket.

The man held out his hand.

Dallas could play this game. He shook his head. "Na-ha. Pah-lah-mu-wah-nah pan-sah-lah."
No. First see pencils.

He'd been cautioned not to refer to the commodity they were bargaining for as guns. In keeping with the print shop front, he was here to purchase pencils. It would have been laughable if lives weren't hanging in the balance.

After a brief hesitation, the man gave a slight bow and stepped aside. "A-thul ve-nah-vaah."
Enter.

Dallas bowed as well, then followed him into the dank-smelling building. More important, Dallas entered into critical negotiations for the means to save a boy's life.

Badulla district, UVA Province

Sathi had stopped crying. Amithnal held her close and shushed her, soothed her, whispering that everything was going to be okay.