Frosty and Ice were first to arrive at the hangar; the others would not be far behind. The formulated plan was simple and succinct. Frosty and Hawk would pilot the company plane, fly low under the radar, and land the jet in a deserted airfield south west of Bogotá.
Ice was ticked off. He’d been their leader forever, and now when some really serious personal shit was going down, his team was making the trip without him. His recuperation from when he’d taken a bullet was complete, but the other guys were fitter and injury-free. He was familiar with Columbian conditions, but the high altitude and harsh jungle terrain was taxing, and he’d only slow them down; that could jeopardize the operation. Someone had to hold down the fort, and he was the logical choice. The best he could do for his men was to coordinate the rescue from this side.
He’d done two black ops down there and still had contacts who owed him. It was time to call in those favors. The afternoon had been spent doing just that. They were good men and he could depend on their silence, the fewer people who were privy to what was going down the better.
Columbian law was specific. Those who failed to report a kidnapping and tried to resolve the case on their own, if caught, could face criminal prosecution. Getting caught with the hardware the guys would be hauling would be an even bigger problem that would land them in deeper shit. Hell, if things went sour, they could be left to rot in a Columbian prison for years.
“Timing is crucial. Get in and get out, don’t fuck around.” His tone was harsh, his words sharp and fast as he instructed Frosty. “The quicker the ransom’s paid, the better the chances of getting her back safe. If it is an amateur operation, the longer she’s held increases the likelihood of her being raped, maimed, or worse.”
Frosty nodded as Hawk and Havoc arrived. Ice beckoned Havoc aside. “A buddy of mine from Medellín is your contact. Rhys Monroe’s not Special Forces, but he’s the next best thing—a Marine. He’ll meet you at the airfield with a jeep. Anything else you need, just ask. And, buddy, I can’t stress enough how important it is to get in and get out quick. Be inconspicuous, blend in, just grab the girl, and get the fuck out of there, no heroics.”
“Gotcha, mate.”
“Wolf will be walking the line. Don’t let the calm exterior fool you. He’s sure to be going nuts inside, and we don’t want him flipping out. I’m relying on you to keep him cool; you’ve known him longer than any of us. Believe me, I know what I’m talking about. I’ve been there with Kathy, remember, and when we rescued her from that sick son of a bitch, if Frosty hadn’t had my back, I would have killed the fucker.”
“I hear what you’re saying, boss. Wolf’s a tough mother, but this is different. This is personal.”
“Speak of the devil and he appears,” Ice said as Wolf entered the hangar, his pretty boy looks strained.
“You look like shit, man.” Hawk summed up Wolf’s appearance in his usual tactless way.
“Fuck you.”
Wolf’s response was justified. All the same, Ice slid Havoc a see what I mean look. Havoc responded with an I get the picture frown.
“Sorry, man.” Hawk clapped Wolf on the back as he made the apology. “Engaged my mouth before my brain.”
The whole team knew the kid meant no harm. Wolf shot him a weak grin and declared his contrition at his abrasive response. “Don’t sweat it. I feel like shit, too.”
“We’ll get her back, mate, you can count on it,” Havoc assured him as he boarded the plane. Hawk followed and climbed into the cockpit. Frosty got in next and took the seat beside him.
“Good luck.” Ice gave Wolf a few awkward pats on the back. “She’s got the best team on her side. She’ll be okay, buddy.”
“Yeah, I know, but she’s my baby sister.” His words said it all.
“Get going, man.”
Wolf scaled the steps and Ice sealed the door behind him.
*
Hawk, co-piloting for Frosty, waited for clearance then taxied onto the runway. The kid had been taking flying lessons for six months now and used every opportunity to clock up the hours.
When the tower gave the all clear, Hawk did his thing, and it was all systems go. Perfect weather conditions conducive to flying were a bonus as the small bird left the ground without a hitch and rapidly gained altitude.
Wolf and the guys had modified the aircraft over the last few months. Extra fuel tanks were added and some seats had been removed to give them more space, and for that he was glad.
Opposite him, Havoc eased his big body into a more relaxed position, pulled his Akubra low on his forehead, and settled in to listen to his iPod.
Zach sat stoic and grim, his thoughts running riot. If anything happened to Loretta, what would he do? He’d taken care of her since she was a kid. His folks had separated, and he’d only been in the Navy a few months when their mom passed away unexpectedly. Loretta had been ten at the time. Their father shirked his responsibility. The hassle of raising his daughter interfered with his new life, so that responsibility fell to his only son.
Although stationed on the West Coast, he spoke to his sister every day and spent a great deal of his free time with her. Still, it wasn’t the perfect arrangement, but with the help of Maria, their Spanish housekeeper, he’d raised Loretta, and now, thanks to Babycakes, she was at the mercy of Columbian criminals.
* * * *
Loretta’s first impression as she came out of her drug-induced state was shrouded in mist and uncertainty. Mist because all she could see was a gray haze caused by the torrential rain blanketing her vision of the thick Columbian jungle. Uncertainty because she had no idea where the hell she was or how the heck she came to be there.
She struggled to sit but toppled back, shocked. Her wrists and feet were bound, and her shoulders ached from the cramped position she’d been lying in. Gingerly, she lifted her chin and shook her head to clear the cobwebs as she gazed out of the open-back truck. Her last coherent memory was climbing into a taxi hand in hand with Carlos. Oh my God, where was he? Fear trickled down her spine for his safety as well as her own.
The truck jostled along the road, sinking sporadically into the potholes she guessed had been gouged into the earth by the recent storm. Huge and deep, they jarred her spine, and as she bounced against the unforgiving floor she lost all concept of time.
When the rain that had fallen in a deluge for what seemed an eternity ceased, she’d been grateful at first. The continual pounding on the metal roof had caused her head to ache. But now as night descended, alone and frightened, she missed the comforting sound of it.
Darkness invaded the land until it was pitch. The tears of self-pity shed hours ago had long since dried on her cheeks. One didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to realize she was in deep shit. By her best estimation, they had been on the road for around three to five hours, and if things weren’t already bad enough, horror of horrors, if they didn’t stop soon, she’d be in danger of peeing her pants.
Almost on cue the vehicle ground to a halt. The driver’s door slammed, echoing in the still night. She tensed. Harsh male voices shouted in Spanish, too fast for her confused brain to translate. She only gleaned a few words, the rest sounded like gibberish, making her tremble at the thought of what lay ahead.
She didn’t have long to find out. The tailgate dropped open with a clang. Large hands reached inside and dragged her forward, slicing her leg on the rough corroded metal floor. She cried out and would have fallen had she not been held upright in a bruising grip.
Blood streamed down her leg, the coppery tang filling her nostrils, but she had nothing with which to staunch the flow even if her hands had been free. As she found her balance, she focused on her surroundings. She was in a clearing of sorts, bordered by thick plants. A group of dimly-lit ramshackle dwellings fringed the jungle.
Two men, neither of whom she recognized, glared at her. The smaller and younger of the two supported her weight while the big scary one brought out an ugly knife and slashed the ropes that tied her feet. She struggled, but it was a feeble attempt at best. She was as weak as a kitten and still felt groggy.
“Come, señorita, it is useless to resist. If you don’t make trouble you will be safe, if you do, then your stay with us could get very uncomfortable.”
Loretta blinked. The man was a gorilla. Huge and hairy with thick ropey arms covered in tattoos. He terrified her. But fornication, she was already uncomfortable, and she didn’t like the way the big ape was ogling her. “I need to use the bathroom.” The bravado she projected was short-lived.
“Si, señorita.” He sliced the blade through her wrist restraints as he yelled, “Theresa!” Seconds later a slight, black-eyed, black-haired woman materialized out of the darkness. “Take her to the lavatory, but keep the gun on her at all times,” King Kong instructed, slapping a meaty hand on Theresa’s ass before slipping the rifle from his shoulder and handing it to her.
“Later, Franco,” Theresa said, taking the weapon.
Lavatory was such a silly word, and she would have laughed had she not been so scared. The presence of another woman was a comfort, though, albeit a slight one. Surely Theresa wouldn’t let the men mistreat her.
“Move.”
The rifle barrel poked her in the back. Then again, maybe she would. Not expecting an attack from that quarter, Loretta staggered and fell, grazing her knee. Tears sprang to her eyes and she rubbed her leg, the thick blood from the first cut sluicing through her fingers and staining her hands red.
“Get up.”
“Please, give me a minute.” Her head ached, her knees hurt, and her leg throbbed. No doubt it needed stitching. That, combined with the pins and needles shooting through her arms and legs was agony. She massaged her calves, smearing blood over them as she did.
“Move,” Theresa snarled again, toeing her in the kidney with her boot.
“Ouch, why did you do that?” she moaned. Tomorrow she’d be sporting an ugly bruise as well.
“Franco is my man, best you remember that, gringo whore.”
“No problem, he’s not my type.” With teeth gritted, she pushed up to her feet and stumbled off in the direction Theresa indicated.
The full moon lit what appeared to be a pathway leading into a small village. The whirring of a generator hummed faintly in the background. If a bathroom didn’t appear soon, she’d disgrace herself. Voices echoed from a cantina, giving her false hope of rescue. A minute later, a primitive outhouse came into view.
“Go there and be quick.” Theresa took her duty to heart, allowing no room for escape. Loretta was grateful for the dark. The timber slats left gaping holes big enough for a small child to crawl through, and although embarrassed, she did as she was told, knowing it would have been worse had King Kong accompanied her.
The privy was as expected, the roll of single-ply hanging from the sidewall was a godsend. In normal circumstances, nothing would have induced her to sit, but her legs buckled beneath her.
As she took care of business, she blotted her leg with paper, the bloody stream was at last slowing. She then rubbed the circulation back into her arms and legs and was thankful when the pins and needles started to dissipate. It was at about the same time her head began to defog. The gravity of her situation chilled her, and she fought the impulse to cry. Zach would come. She had to believe that. He’d use every resource available and track down these lowlifes. And he’d expect her to be brave.
After washing her hands, she squared her shoulders and walked out. The outhouse door banged shut behind her. “What do you want from me?” she demanded of Theresa with more bravado than she felt.
“Money, of course. Your ransom will bring much riches.” Theresa’s eyes glittered bright in the moonlight.
“How long will I be held here?”
“Two days, perhaps three.”
“And then what?”
Theresa shrugged. “Move,” she said, pointing the rifle at her again. Loretta was beginning to think it was her favorite word as they marched in silence back to the men. It was clear no more information would be forthcoming tonight, so with no other recourse, she decided to be patient and keep her eyes and ears open.
Back at the clearing, Franco was smoking by the truck, and another man was talking to him in a low voice. As Theresa and she drew closer, Franco dropped the cigarillo and stamped the butt underfoot.
“You will stay there.” He jerked his chin at a hacienda, his heavy accent as thick and dark as the night.
Loretta shifted her gaze to the dwelling. Small and shabby, it had been whitewashed so long ago the blue paint underneath was beginning to show through. Franco nudged her toward it, and as she stumbled through the doorway she cringed. It was more than a little grubby—it was gross. The germs that must be hatching in there made her skin crawl.
“Your room is that way.” Franco pushed her shoulder, propelling her down a dank narrow hall and into the room where she would spend the night. It was a sweatbox. So small it was ridiculous to say it was a room, and the tiny window let in very little air at all. The only furniture was an iron-framed single bed with a thin mattress and a rickety chair.
“Get the señorita something to eat and drink,” Franco addressed his wife as he barred the door, leaving Loretta alone.
She wondered what the heck to do while standing in the dark. The window wasn’t an option. Thin as she was, it was still too small for her to climb through. Even if she could, though, what awaited her outside was an armed guard and a jungle alive with wild animals.
She may as well face it; escape was futile. Her body trembled, but now was not the time to freak out. Somehow, she conjured her strength of will and concentrated on slowing her breathing. If only she’d listened to Beth. Beth, who always played it safe, did the right thing. Dragged their butts out of trouble more times than she cared to remember. Beth, who always took the blame for the silly pranks she concocted. Beth, who would come through for her again and contact Zach. Her brother would move heaven and earth to get her back safe. On that she could depend.
But standing alone in the dark feeling sorry for herself would get her nowhere, so she may as well get comfortable. With outstretched arms she edged her way along the wall, but unable to see, her shin collided with the iron bed and she fell. “Fornication.”
The cut on her leg reopened; the wet warmth of blood trickling down her shin was testament to it. No doubt there’d be another bruise to add to the growing list of injuries.
Her stomach growled. Even with this trauma, her appetite seemed unaffected. But as the minutes ticked by and Theresa failed to appear, it became evident there’d be no food coming tonight. She settled on the bed and tried to get comfortable, but this was no five-star hotel. The mattress was lumpy and smelled of sweat. The heat was oppressive and the cuts and bruises throbbed, but despite the discomfort, she somehow managed to slip into a fitful sleep.