Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 23
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
He laughed. “Yeah, my stories finally had a message. In my time in Iraq, I learned how to dig until I found the heart of a story, learned how to make the reader care. It’s so easy sitting in reclin-ers, feet propped up and watching the news, to spout off about how terrible war is, how it only breeds violence and monsters. But out there, in the thick of an RPG attack, you find out real quick you’re battling a very mean evil, one bent on your destruction.”
Chills trickled down Sydney’s spine. She’d never thought about it this way. Is that what Max had encountered for all those years?
Holden patted her leg. “Well, you should probably get some rest. Dawn comes early, and we aren’t going to be there in time for you to get any decent sleep.” He dug his laptop out and powered up.
Sydney burrowed into the seat, yawning even at the thought of getting rest. But there was no way she could sleep—not given the way Holden’s war stories had spiked her with a realization that Max may have had a good reason for this behavior. Had she been too quick to step away? Although she believed God would understand her seeking protection for her and the baby, she knew in her heart that she’d given up too soon.
With a sigh, she twisted and yawned. This would make her second sleepless night in a row. Maybe they could stay in Keighley for an extra day so she could get caught up on rest. Being pregnant really sapped the last of her energy reserves.
When sleep finally lowered its defenses, it only brought frightening images of men dressed in weird costumes chasing them down narrow alleys and launching grenades. Explosions, screams, and shrieks echoed in her ears as she jolted awake.
Heart palpitating, she glanced at Holden, whose face held a glow from the laptop monitor. Apparently his information about his term as an embedded reporter had had a bigger impact on her than she’d thought.
Where was Max now? What was he doing? At least she could breathe easier, knowing he’d resigned his commission and was back home, safe and out of danger.
CHAPTER 18
Night hung thick with humidity and needling mosquitoes. Palms swayed overhead like giant shadow soldiers guarding the small island. Trudging through the dense, tropical vegetation kept Max on guard enough against nocturnal predators that he didn’t want to consider the human predators lying in wait. But he had to. Or he’d end up dead.
“Another twenty meters, there should be a river.” Midas hacked his way through a mess of vines.
“We can verify and follow that route, then meet back up with the team.” Max glanced up and smiled at the moon peeking through the light cover of palm branches. Something about the ominous glow against the ebony void of space soothed him. Maybe it was the fact that it was open, not crowded.
Ahead, a flurry of low-voiced curses and frantic movement stopped Max. Shifting his M4 into a better grip, he met Fix’s confused glance. They inched forward until they met up with Midas.
He grumbled and stomped hard several times. Glared at them. “Keep your head low.”
“Why?” Max asked, his gaze skating the foliage.
“Tarsiers.”
“That a country?” Fix asked, sarcastically.
“World’s smallest monkey—looks like a cross between a rodent and a lemur. Large, bulging eyes make them perfect night hunters.” Midas sighed. “Stupid thing jumped on my head.”
Max couldn’t help the chuckle. “Okay, we’re just around the ridge from the river.” A dull green glow emanated around Max as he consulted a GPS device. “We’ll take it low and slow.” The last time he’d approached a water source, he’d nearly stumbled into the middle of a village, which would’ve exposed not only him, but the team.
Then again, weren’t they already exposed if the radicals expected them?
The three men lowered into a crouch and shifted around the bend in the dirt path. Even as he inched closer, Max could hear the tumbling river nearby. They really needed this break, needed to find the most direct path down the coastline for the extraction. That was the tricky leg of the trip.
The nearby churning water called to him like a siren. He’d love to ditch the gear and immerse himself in the cool liquid. Anything to abate this putrid humidity that had his clothes sticking to him like a second skin.
At the edge of the tropical forestation, he scanned the outlying area with his night vision goggles, searching for predators of the two-and four-legged kinds. “Clear,” he hissed over his shoulder to Midas, who had his back to Max and was watching the jungle.
“Roger. Here, too.”
“And here,” Fix said from a few feet off the path.
With a deep exhale, Max stood and removed the NVGs. For several minutes he worked sketching the new path into the plan. He pursed his lips, realizing it’d add just under two hours to the route. Since they only afforded themselves a three-hour window, this detour would cost them dearly. They wouldn’t be able to incur any mishaps.
Like that was possible.
“Okay, let’s get the equipment stowed.” Max slid the pack from his shoulders and unloaded the inflatable raft from the gear. Behind him he heard the skritch-thump of Midas’s hole-digging. Fix scoured the area for vegetation to cover the dig site. To keep them supplied on the last leg of the journey, Max retrieved a few energy bars and water bottles, just in case it took longer to get there than expected. At least they’d have food.
Once they dropped the raft and supplies into the hole, they quickly covered them with the dirt. He smiled, watching as Midas meticulously uprooted a small shrub and replanted it directly over their goods.
“Nice job,” Max said. “I have a feeling this isn’t the first time you’ve been here.”
Midas tamped down the edges and glanced at him, the moon casting an eerie glow on his face.
“The tarsier, knowing about those radicals, your knowledge of that rotten fruit.”
“It’s actually ripe, not rotten.”
And the man avoided his question. They all had parts of their lives they weren’t willing to share, and as long as it didn’t interfere with the functioning of the team, Max wouldn’t press the issue, no matter how much his curiosity nagged him.
Studying the map with a small flashlight, he traced the line around two villages. It’d be tricky going, especially with four extra bodies—including a child. If they rigged some type of sling or carrier, they could make the hike without tying their hands.
“What’re you thinking?”
“Huh?” He looked up, his mind reengaging. “It’s the kid with the missionaries. This section of the route is laden with radicals, villagers, and rushing water. It’ll be something else to get the team through there on our own, but with extras and the kid …” He pointed to another point—the clifflike pass where they’d had to hug earth to get by. “Imagine trying to get unskilled people to negotiate that pass with a kid in tow.”
Midas slapped his shoulder. “Don’t borrow trouble. We’ll work it out when we get there.” He squatted and dug through his rucksack. He pulled out an energy bar, peeled back the wrapper, and bit into it. “Besides,” he said, standing and threading his pack over his arm, “these missionaries have been here a few years. They know what they’re getting into—or should I say out of?”
Off to the side, Fix sat digging an energy bar out of the pocket on his black tactical duds.
True. “That’s the thing—they know the land well enough to know it’s too dangerous to be here. Yet they stay.” Max reached back and grabbed a bar for himself from the side pocket. “Then it takes a team like us to come in and save their hides. Is converting people to their beliefs that important?” He glanced back at the Latino, who watched casually. “Fix, keep up.”
“I’m cool, ese.” He grinned and came to his feet, lifting his weapon to the side.
Midas started walking along the bank, following their exit strategy. “I’m not sure it’s that so much as it is falling in love with the people and being determined to show them God’s love. You know, the verse, ‘Greater love hath no man….’” Moonlight glinted off Midas’s grease-painted face as he chewed.
“Sounds personal.”
Midas shrugged. “Stranger things have happened.”
Was that an admission of his faith? What was with the enigmatic questions? Considering the man with him, Max realized a few things. First, Midas had the Christian talk down to a science. He spoke it so easily and casually, it seemed like second nature. Sort of the way Cowboy spoke. But something was different in the two men, and he couldn’t quite figure it out.
Second, Midas knew this terrain too well. Sure, in special ops, no matter the branch of military, a soldier was trained to recon, to know the landscape and vegetation, as well as the political and religious landscape. But to know about indigenous life and to know it without skipping a beat—like that obnoxious fruit …
And last—the part that concerned him most—how did Midas know the missionaries had lived here a few years? The information relayed to the team was scant at best. Location, identities, photos, extraction point, and drop-off point. Of course, with their names, it wasn’t real hard to figure out they were Caucasian. And a little back-channel research helped him dig up the group they were with—someone really should show them how to hide their tracks a little better. If Max had really wanted to hack, he could probably track down their contacts, family members, and even “incriminating” letters or e-mails—maybe even illegal literature.
“So tell me.” Max feigned indifference as they trudged along the river snaking through the small island, eventually dumping into a main tributary that carried out to the Indian Ocean.
“Tell you what?”
“You said stranger things have happened.”
“Tss.” Midas shook his head. “It’s a figure of speech, Frogman.”
Max kept moving. The former SF soldier didn’t want to talk. He’d find a way to get the guy to open up. “I don’t get it. Two groups fighting over this girl. That seem right to you, Midas?”
“I just go where they send me.”
Cryptic again. Tension crept into Max’s shoulders and neck. What was the soldier hiding? Surely he wasn’t a Hanoi Jane. That wouldn’t make sense—they’d done a half dozen missions together already. But then again, what did he really know about the man working this island with him? Almost nothing, come to think of it. Family? Prior service—besides being a part of the proud U.S. Army Special Forces and a darn good soldier, Midas hadn’t said anything. He dressed nice and drove a nice car. So being a retired serviceman, where did he get money for slick clothes and cars?
Thoughts of hog-tying the guy slithered through Max’s mind like the river monitor rippling through the water. “You must’ve served a long while with the Green Berets to be as fluid in your job as you are now.”
Midas stopped, turned to Max, and shouldered his way closer, his clear eyes sparkling as the moonlight glanced off the river. “If you want to know, just ask.”
“All right,” Max said, his fists balled. “How do you—”
A shrill scream pierced the night.
Max dove into the shrubs, hearing two similar movements from his men. He rolled and came up, crouched, his M4 at the ready. “Anything?”
“Negative,” Midas whispered back.
“Clear,” Fix said from less than two feet away.
They side-stepped along the path. Soon more screams filtered into the darkness. Haunting and foreboding, the cries lured Max closer. He eased his NVGs back on and scissor-stepped through the shrubs and under low-lying branches. A pair of wide, bulging eyes popped into his field of vision. The miniature monkey nearly sidetracked him.
A whimper whipped out at him.
He moved quicker. Whatever—whoever it was, they were down. A faint outline showed through the camouflage of tall grass and shrubs. The body was small. He hurried, his stomach catching in his throat.
Within seconds, he towered over a young girl, her clothes ripped and hanging in shreds on her thin form as she lay curled up like a baby. Max slowly lowered himself to a knee, watching as Midas moved stealthily into the jungle, sweeping back and forth for tangos.
He winced when she hugged herself tighter and whimpered, apparently afraid of him. “Shh,” Max said to the girl. He could see blood staining what little clothes were left on her body.
Branches swished, followed closely by an ever-so-light snapping. A second later, Midas emerged ten feet to the left, his M4 held close but down. “It’s clear,” he whispered as he glanced over his shoulder at the girl.
Anger clawed up Max’s spine as he assessed her. “They beat her, probably raped her.” What kind of animals assaulted a girl who couldn’t be more than twelve? The thought sickened him. He touched her hair, trying to brush the strands back—but she jerked visibly and yelped. “Tell her it’s okay.”
Midas stilled.
Max pushed his gaze to his teammate’s. “Tell her it’s okay,” he ordered. “That we’re not going to hurt her—we’re friends.” When the man didn’t move, Max growled, “Tell her!”
Without taking his eyes off Max, Midas squatted beside them, his weapon aimed at the trees. Slowly, he bent toward the girl, and finally diverting his attention to the battered child, a stream of foreign words flew off his tongue, soft and caring.
The crying stemmed, shudders wracked her body.
Midas whispered more words to the girl as Fix knelt beside them and probed her injuries. “Nothing too serious, but we need to get her out of here.”
“We can’t. This will directly compromise the mission.”
“They’ve left her to die. If we don’t take her, she’ll be eaten alive.”
“And if we take her, they’ll know exactly where … we are.” A grin pulled Max’s lips apart. “Perfect. Just the distraction we need.”
An eager expression overtook Midas’s consternation. “If they think we’re here, they’ll call in backup, which will take attention off the Higanti settlement.”
“And we can get the missionaries out.”
Greedy and foreboding darkness swooned around Sydney. Forcing iron courage into her spine, she stood straight, listening to every chirrup and rustle that snuck into the dead of night. Blue barely peeked through the skyline, warning of dawn’s approach.
Still stuffed from the full English breakfast the hotel owner had prepared—why did they insist on that nauseating black pudding?—she rubbed her belly and glanced around the narrow road. Since the British drove on the wrong side of the road, should she be waiting on the opposite side?
She wiggled her jaw, hating the tracking device/transmitter Holden had tucked into her ear. Despite it feeling as if she had a tennis ball sticking out of her head, he’d promised it wasn’t noticeable.
“We can hear everything, Syd. The tracer is showing bright and green. Just relax.” Holden’s voice carried through the tickling device.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The steady approach of footsteps over the crushed-gravel side road sent waves of chills and jitters over her. From the empty void of night, a large figure loomed, growing larger with each step. A man. Jerome.
Could Lane and Holden hear him coming? “I’m here,” she said to the contact.
He continued straight toward her without speaking. A scowl marred his features as he walked right up to her and reached toward her face. Cringing, she sucked in a breath and stumbled back, panic beating a rapid rhythm in her breast.
He gripped the nape of her neck with one hand, swept her long hair aside, and deftly removed the bug with the other. Then he handed her a cloth. “Put this over your head.”
Sydney hesitated for only a second, thinking it was a bag. Instead, a long, silky length of fabric draped over her head and shoulders. A scarf!
“Let’s go,” Jerome said, hooking her elbow and starting down the road. A block away, he stuffed her into a car and pulled onto the road.
Scrambling to secure her seat belt, Sydney’s stomach churned as they roared past the hotel—just as Lane and Holden burst through the front door, light from the interior spilling out after them. She clung to the sides of the seat as he barreled down the pothole-riddled road.
“Where are you taking me?”
“No questions!”
They drove for an hour, the silence excruciating and frightening. You’re an idiot, Sydney Moira. She placed a hand over her belly, over her son, and quietly prayed that her exuberance for the story wouldn’t kill her baby. Peace settled into the inner recesses of her heart and calmed her fears.
Finally, he pulled off the two-lane road onto a narrower road, if one could call it that. With barely enough room for one car to navigate, the road wound up into a hilly area, thick with trees and waist-high flowers.
