Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 22
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
“I think your feelings for Mrs. Jacobs clouded your perception.” Holden directed them to his car. “We need to get back to the hotel and find out where the Ashburn is.”
And she could only hope her baby’s role in this meant good things. Not danger. Or death.
CHAPTER 17
What is that smell?” Max stopped and shielded his nose.
“Durian,” Midas said, pointing his machete toward a tree ten yards east. “They’re all over the place. Strong odor, very potent flesh.” He nudged aside tall grass and speared a fallen prickly fruit with the tip of the blade. “A very … unique scent.”
“Disgusting is more like it.”
“Oy!” Fix tied a black rag around his face.
“Because of the odor, they’re banned in Singapore.”
“Next mission is there.” With a grunt, Max shook off the lingering stench and regained his bearings. Glancing at the blue-green screen strapped to his wrist, he scrolled the map up and monitored the progress since leaving the hotel early that morning. He sketched the tree and prickly fruit then tucked the paper and pencil into the pocket on his right leg. “Let’s head northeast.” A hot, sticky breeze rifled the rag he wiped over his face, and he kept moving.
Midas stopped. “That’s toward the mountains.”
“I know.”
Fix shifted his weapon propped over his arm. “But the radicals—”
“Are up there.” Max smiled at his teammate. “Don’t worry, Fix. We aren’t going to get far enough for a close encounter of any kind. I want to test the terrain.” Who knew? They could get locked into a firefight during the mission and have to hoof it into the mountains. He prayed it didn’t come to that. It’d be like David against Goliath.
The thought smacked him hard as they wove through the dense foliage. What was the point of remembering and focusing on that—to find out how far from God’s heart he really was? No thanks. He already knew he didn’t measure up.
Another hour bathed in thick humidity and mosquitoes ate—literally—into Max. Good thing he’d had vaccines to stave off malaria. Swiping the sweat from his brow, he paused and removed the map, eyeing a crooked, twisted tree sprouting up out of the boulder. He scratched it out along with a few more landmarks then consulted the GPS. “Okay, there should be a river outlet just over that ridge.”
“There’s a village nearby.”
Max shook his head. “Not in our intel.”
“Water source. Trust me,” Midas said. “There’s a village nearby.”
“Possibly. But nothing on the GPS or intel, so we should have a clear shot to the river.” Which meant a swift exit. Max squinted up at the sun. “We’re running out of daylight.”
“Let’s spot it and get back.” Fix stretched his back. “I need a bed and at least two hours’ consecutive sleep.”
“Sorry, we’ll be up half the night planning.”
Midas laughed. “Assuming everything goes well here.”
Shooting the man a glare, he stored his supplies. Canyon Metcalfe had been an enigma from day one. He kept to himself mostly but displayed an almost casual arrogance. He obviously knew the area very well. He’d been here before. When? And come to think of it, the former Green Beret had never divulged much about his past.
Max narrowed an eye. What was the guy hiding? “Let’s check it out.”
They scurried the last dozen yards and pressed their bodies to the earth as they peeked over the small crest. Max jerked back, hunching and curling away. A hut lay almost within an arm’s reach below. Shock spiraled through him, but he eased his head forward. Through a bramble of leaves and branches, he saw a dozen or so women gathered around a fire pit. Children darted here and there. The most disturbing part was the armed men lounging around the fire opposite the women.
Midas was right. Max dragged himself out of view. Using hand signals, he motioned Midas and Fix back so they could come up around the other side and get a better vantage.
Out of earshot, he sighed. “Where did they come from?”
“My point exactly. And by the looks, there are hundreds.”
Max bit the curse on his tongue. They’d have to figure out a whole new route. “I’m going to need extra time. Have to go out tonight.”
“No way.” Midas gaped. “If you pull an all-nighter, you’ll be dead on your feet.”
“Either way, that’s the outcome. If I don’t, there’s no escape route. If I do, we have the route, but we’ll be exhausted.” He grinned and patted the man’s shoulder. “Like a walk in the park, eh?”
A slow smile seeped into Midas’s face, as if he enjoyed the brutality of their job. “If by park you mean a malaria-infested, stench-doused park, then yeah, a walk in the park.” He fell into step behind Max as they trudged around the rim and dropped to all fours.
Max’s heart thrummed as he yanked the cloth from his mouth. How could so many be settled without intel knowing? By the weapons, he guessed the men were expecting trouble. After quickly sketching the vast village on the map, he back-crawled to safety.
They spent the remainder of the afternoon working their way back down to the coastal city where the team had taken up residence. He’d made voice contact with Cowboy, Legend, and the Kid, who should be crawling down from the stronghold in the mountain with their reconnaissance information.
As they came to the edge of the thick vegetation, Max scanned the beach. “We’re early.”
“Not by my watch,” Legend’s deep, familiar voice boomed. “’Bout time you showed up.”
Max tensed, watching as Legend, Cowboy, and the Kid emerged from a thick banana grove. He loved the way they seemed to bleed from the jungle itself, their stealth and reconnaissance skills unrivaled. “You always sit around and let others do all the work?”
“Whenever possible, my friend,” Legend taunted. “Whenever possible.”
“Anything interesting?” Cowboy motioned them onto the beach.
“Like a village full of women and children and well-armed tangos right on the river?” Max shrugged his pack off and let it drop to the sand.
Cowboy and Legend’s faces bore the gravity of the situation. They stood in a semicircle, no one speaking. Legend rubbed his jaw then nodded. “Go on.”
Camped out on the sandy stretch of coast, Max flattened his map over his leg and explained the route he’d chosen and the roadblock. “I’ll head out when the moon’s at its zenith and scout another path. We’ll meet up here.” He pointed to a grove of trees he’d drawn and looked at Cowboy. “How long will it take you and Griff to get in position?”
“To clear that and remain invisible? Two days.”
Max nodded. “Midas, Fix, and I will figure out the route, and we’ll move into position on the north side of the encampment so we can slide in and out.” He glanced up at the Marine buddies. “Did you actually see the targets?”
“Yeah,” Cowboy said. “Our objectives are exactly where we were told, and if I assessed the situation right, the girl we’re here for is with them. A third heat signature registered with the family, and I’m sure she’s holed up with them.”
“Good.”
Frowning, Cowboy drew in a long breath and slowly let it out. “There’s a problem.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “They went to high ground—which essentially surrounded them by radicals.”
Max whistled. “That means hiking up the mountain will be brutal, but …”
Midas leaned in. “Getting back down will be deadly.”
“Especially with three more people—people who aren’t trained.”
“Actually, there’s four.” Legend pursed his lips then smiled. “The missionaries have a small child, one or two years old.”
Fix groaned. “We’ll have to sedate the kid. No way we can trust him to keep quiet.”
“It gets better,” Legend groused. “It seems our missionaries are being held by a group known as the Higanti.”
Midas jerked visibly. “Are you sure? The Higanti? Did you confirm that?”
The team fell silent, watching the shock ripple through the former Green Beret.
“One hundred percent,” Legend said, pride thickening his words. “Why? You know something about them?”
Midas grunted. “They are hell-bent on reclaiming their island, running out any and every unpure culture. You think radical Muslims hate Americans? You haven’t seen anything. But there’s only one thing the Higanti hate more. Christians.”
“So,” Max asked, looking between Cowboy and Legend. “Why aren’t our objectives dead?”
“Our guess is that they’re planning an exchange.”
“For what?”
Legend looked at his partner. “Our theory is that the islanders foolishly believe if they hand over the missionaries, Abu Sayyaf will leave them alone.”
Cowboy agreed. “This is just making it very clear that it’ll be like walking over glass—every step, every move will alert someone somewhere.”
“Right,” Legend said. “There are at least a dozen radical camps dotting the paths up the mountain. And they’ve got more ammo than a group like that needs. They’re heavily guarded, and we’re not talking drug-runner armed. They’re serious, and the cache is large. Not afraid to use whatever they can get their hands on.”
Max’s gut churned. If the radicals were this well outfitted, that meant one thing. He gritted his teeth, glaring up through his brows at the others. “We’ll need a distraction.”
“Why’s that?” the Kid asked.
“Because they know we’re coming.”
Gentle rocking lulled Sydney’s senses until she rested her forehead against the window and closed her eyes. She hadn’t meant for Lane to find out about the baby, not that way. He hadn’t spoken to her since they left the ticket station and boarded the train bound for the West Yorkshire town of Keighley, the only town with a hotel named Ashburn. It fascinated her to watch Holden whip into action and get them on the train within the hour. Thankfully, his connections and full-steam-ahead mentality kept her mind busy enough not to get upset or depressed over the way things had gone down.
Movement snatched her attention back to the cabin of the Quiet Car. Holden eased into the seat closest to the aisle, leaving a seat between them.
“Where’s Lane?” she asked as he handed her a bottle of apple juice.
“On a phone call, so he stayed in the restaurant. Mentioned something about a big fat piece of cheesecake.” Holden crossed his leg over his knee and wiggled into the seat more. “How’re you holding up?”
“I’m good.” She opened the drink and took a sip. “You think it’ll be okay for you and Lane to be there at the hotel?”
He nodded, swallowing a gulp of his soda. “Keighley’s only other hotel is booked solid. And Jerome knows we won’t leave you alone. You’ll be there to meet the contact, but we won’t be far away.” For a moment he paused and studied her. “Are you scared?”
She wanted to be brave, to be an investigative reporter like him, make him proud of her and her skills, but she couldn’t fool anyone, not even herself. “I wish I could say no. I keep hoping that being pregnant is a guarantee of safety.”
A soft laugh rumbled in Holden’s chest. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far. But I think you’re right. For some reason, your pregnancy changed his mind.”
“I noticed.” Sydney bobbed her head. “Lane and I had looked at a political map of sorts, and determined that, considering recent uprisings, activity, etcetera, the most likely destination for our mystery team is Afghanistan or the Philippines.”
“I agree. There’s a lot happening in Afghanistan right now that could probably be equalized if we just got a few good men in place.” Holden grinned. “But our first focus is Jerome. If this man can’t get us connected, we may be at the end of the road.”
“I won’t accept that,” Sydney said, railing at the thought of giving up so soon. A burning on her belly made her rub her side, and she noticed how much bigger her belly seemed. She’d managed to conceal the bump with loose-fitting clothes and excuses of loving food and too much ice cream, but still …. “I bet Lane’s still mad about the baby. It’s kind of hard to miss, huh?”
Holden chuckled. “Like I said, I don’t think he wanted to notice. Obviously, he was trying to woo you.” He reclined against the vinyl seat and nursed his soda. “So, I haven’t heard you talk about your husband. Lane mentioned Max. Is that your husband?”
She shouldn’t be surprised he’d noticed. He was a hard-hitting reporter with a nose for dropped lines and inferences. “Yes, Max and I are separated.” After a few sips of the juice, she screwed the lid back on and looked out the window, watching as a lone light smeared into a streak that whizzed out of sight in the darkness
“So how does Max feel about the baby and being separated?”
Sydney glanced down at her growing womb. “I didn’t find out until after I filed for the separation.” She met his sympathetic gaze and shrugged. “He doesn’t know.” She really didn’t want to open all this up, explain about her husband and how their marriage fell apart. That she hadn’t even told Max. And for some reason, that really rankled her now that Lane knew. With her pregnancy apparent, she felt devious and guilty for keeping this secret from the father of her child, from the man she loved.
“I didn’t mean to pry, Sydney. The whole thing just got me curious when Lane mentioned how angry Max would be.”
“Max is easily angered,” she whispered. “He’s a former Navy SEAL. Saw things, probably did things that changed him—for the worse.”
He leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “Have you heard about the ministry to soldiers based in DC?”
A ministry? She eyed him, curious as to whether he was a Christian. “No.”
An intensity darkened his brow, bringing with it a startling determination and vehemence. “Did you know that only in recent years has war-related PTSD become its own diagnosis? Our doctors and psychologists are just beginning to know how to properly treat”—he hooked his fingers in the air, making quotation marks—“these soldiers who’ve seen and carried out gruesome acts.” He huffed and sat up straight. “Anyway, there’s an organization that helps men like your husband who return from war. It teaches them the different phases of reintegration into society. Helps them find jobs, and there’s even a hotline number.”
She studied the man opposite her. Handsome and kind, he had a maturity that almost belied his age. “How do you know about this ministry?”
A sad smile crossed his lips. “My brother was a decorated war veteran. He tried to commit suicide when he came back but failed.” He snorted. “I’ll never forget how mad he was when he woke up in the hospital with a cop and an IV. So being the reporter I am, while I sat with him those first few nights, I used my laptop and researched ways to help him. That’s how I found the group. Steve now works with this ministry, helping other grunts like him. He got married last month.”
Wow. What she wouldn’t do for a happily-ever-after ending. But that was a fantasy. The brutal truth was that most soldiers just buried it, gutted it up, as Max said. Only the pain within became the fire outside, the rage that destroyed anything in its wake. Besides, Max would never agree to something like that. “For that to work, the soldier—or sailor—has to want the help.”
“True,” Holden said, nodding. “I think they all want to be better, to fit in, to be normal. But facing those demons, those ghouls that have plagued their minds and dreams, isn’t easy.”
Ghouls? Demons? She knew Max had bad dreams, but he’d always shaken them off, said it was nothing. Maybe even she had bought into his belief that what he’d experienced wasn’t so bad. Had she even become convinced that anger and isolation were who Max was, the way he’d always claimed?
“Ya know, I always knew the guys had it bad, that they saw cruel things, but until I did my stint as an embedded reporter two years ago, I didn’t have a clue.”
Sydney turned toward him, again surprised. “You were embedded?”
With a lengthy exhale, he slumped against the leather, his arm over the back of the seat. “I wasn’t there two hours when our convoy got hit by an IED. The Marines were amazing, but it really jerked the slack out of my attitude. I now have a very heightened awareness of what they face and battle every day. It’s easy to become inoculated against the pain when you’re sitting at home reading or watching one-sided, liberal media reports. It’s another thing to live and breathe the dust after a car bomb explodes and kills fifteen men you just had dinner with.”
Two years ago … She ticked back her mental counter to the stories he’d done. She widened her eyes. “That’s when your stories started getting national acclaim.”
