Authors: Lindsay McKenna
Jim introduced
Berenice
Romero, a woman in her early thirties, to Pepper and immediately asked, "What have you got for us,
Berenice
?"
"Garcia's mansion, Colonel."
Berenice
smiled a hello at Pepper as she responded, then used a pencil to outline the shape of the main house and grounds on one of the photos. "This is his fortress. Garcia's got a ten-foot-high wrought-iron fence surrounding the main compound. Guards are posted every quarter mile, and Doberman pinschers walk the fence line, too. Take a look at this."
Leaning over the photo, Jim squinted through the film magnifier she handed to him. "Oh, yeah…big, black Dobermans. You can even see their teeth, can't you?" He smiled a little and handed the magnifier to Pepper, who also took a look. When she straightened, he said, "Still want
to go, knowing
those dogs are more than willing to rip us apart and call us breakfast?"
"Dogs like me."
"Those dogs don't like anybody."
Berenice
chuckled. "Colonel, by accident, our flyby caught something else interesting." She brought out another picture and laid it on the table. "It's a jeep. I think you'll be interested to see who's in it."
Jim took the magnifier and leaned over the photo. He choked back a gasp. "Laura
Trayhern
…"
"Yes, sir."
Berenice
beamed triumphantly at Pepper. "We had no way to know for sure if Garcia had her, but for once we got lucky. I'm sure they didn't expect a flyby or they wouldn't have transported her during daylight in an open jeep like that."
Pepper nodded, noting the strained expression on Woodward's face as he handed her the magnifier. He had paled considerably, obviously shaken by the photo. She leaned over to study the minutely detailed photo, focusing on the jeep. Laura, her blond hair streaming behind her, sat in the passenger seat next to a driver dressed in battle fatigues. A handgun of some sort was pressed against the back of her neck by a soldier sitting directly behind her, and his hand gripped her shoulder.
"How awful for her," Pepper whispered as she returned the magnifier to
Berenice
. She glanced at Jim, who immediately turned and walked a few steps away. Sensing his anguish, Pepper said nothing more, but when he returned to the table, his eyes were suspiciously bright.
"We've got a mission report on Garcia for you, too,"
Berenice
said, noting Woodward's reaction. "Come with me, sir."
Pepper remained at a distance as they moved to a small, comfortable office, where four steel gray chairs were arranged before a desk.
Berenice
moved behind the desk and sat down. She handed them each a sheaf of papers and gestured for them to sit.
"Guillermo Garcia is the top drug lord in the
Windward Islands
," she began. "This is a color photo of him. You can see he's short and overweight. His most distinguishing feature is his face, pockmarked with deep scars. He's fifty years old—an autocratic tyrant as murderous as his boss, Enrique Ramirez, of
Lima
,
Peru
.
"Garcia has been a pain in the neck to us since the early eighties. The FBI infiltrated his organization in
Florida
and
Texas
and managed to collar most of the
U.S.
bosses, but
Colombia
refused to extradite Garcia. However, it scared him enough that he moved his profitable operation from our country to the
Caribbean
. Now he's had ten years on
Nevis
to set up another empire, which has proven equally profitable."
"
Berenice
, do we have an operative there?" Jim fervently hoped so.
"No, sir, we don't."
"Damn," he muttered, then glanced apologetically at both women.
Nodding slightly, the lieutenant continued the briefing. "Garcia calls his fortress Plantation
Paloma
."
Berenice
looked at Pepper. "
Paloma
is
spanish
for
dove.
"
"Rather an irony, isn't it?" Pepper drawled.
"To say the least," she agreed. "Garcia is as cold-blooded a killer as Ramirez. All the bosses who work for Ramirez pattern themselves after him. When you make your jump, if Garcia discovers either of you, he'll kill you without question. Although we don't have an operative on
Nevis
right now, the CIA is working to come up with one. At one time we had an informant." She frowned. "She was a local
Nevis
woman, a laundress for Plantation
Paloma
. She was in Garcia's employ for five years, and we were able to gather a great deal of useful background information about his fortress from her. Unfortunately, Garcia somehow found out she was working for us."
"What did they do to her?" Pepper asked quietly.
Jim looked up. "You don't want to know."
"Don't protect me, Colonel. Just because I'm a woman doesn't mean I can't handle the gory details." Pepper looked at
Berenice
, who obviously agreed with her.
Stung, Jim nodded. "All right, give her the information, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir.
Garcia is known to use truth drugs on anyone he suspects isn't loyal to him. They shot the operative full of a truth drug, and she spilled everything. After that, Garcia threw her to his men, and she was gang-raped."
Berenice
sighed. "We know because we found her body on the beach at the opposite end of
Nevis
from the fortress. One of the locals found her stripped of her clothes, and the CIA autopsied her body." The distaste in
Berenice's
voice was obvious. "Garcia is a torturer—an expert. He picked up his methods from Ramirez, who's nothing short of a sadist." She handed Pepper a photo from the file.
Pepper's stomach rolled as she stared at the photo of the woman's body lying on a morgue slab.
"That's who we're going up against," Jim said in a steely tone. He met Pepper's narrowed gaze. "And that's why I don't want you along." He jabbed a finger at the offending photo. "Now do you see why I'm against you coming on this mission?"
Bile coated Pepper's mouth as she laid the photo down and pushed it slowly in
Berenice's
direction. The lieutenant picked it up and slid it to the bottom of the file. Swallowing against a dry throat, Pepper rasped, "Don't you think he'd do the same thing to you, Colonel? What makes you think a murdering bastard like that cares if you're a man or a woman?"
Jim scowled and leaned back. Pepper was right, but he had hoped the photo and briefing session would discourage her. "There's an old military saying—‘Take no prisoners.' Garcia doesn't. And you're right—he'll do the same to a man as he
will
a woman."
Rubbing her brow, Pepper whispered, "My heart aches for Laura
Trayhern
. I mean, what has Garcia done to her already? My God…"
Jim's heart lurched in his chest at her whispered words. He saw tears in her eyes and felt unexpectedly touched by the depth of her reaction to Laura's plight. He didn't think anyone else had fully appreciated the terrible trouble Laura was in. As Pepper wiped tears from her eyes, his heart swelled with an unknown emotion. He dug in his back pocket for his handkerchief and handed it to her.
"Here…"
Pepper nodded, taking it from him. "Thank you." She dabbed at her eyes, not caring whether her companions approved of her nonmilitary emotional response. As an officer like Lieutenant Romero, she wouldn't have dared allow the tears to show. But as a civilian, Pepper wasn't about to apologize for wearing her emotions close to the surface. Not anymore.
As she dried her face, Pepper glanced at Woodward, expecting to see his face set with disapproval—just one more mark against her in his hard, military book of life. Instead, she saw a surprising softening in his glacial green eyes—and some unknown emotion touched her fleetingly.
Maybe, she thought as she refolded the handkerchief and handed it back to him, he lived vicariously through other people's emotions, unable to be in touch with his own or show them.
Berenice
Romero sat quietly, and Pepper saw dampness in her eyes, too.
"What an ugly little monster Garcia is," Pepper
said,
her voice tight with feelings. "All this does—" she pointed to the folder where the highly offensive photo now rested "—is
make
me that much more determined to get in there and rescue her."
Jim said nothing, but secretly he was thrilled by the determination in Pepper's tone. Her eyes, too, glinted with a new light. Gone was the warmth, replaced with a surprisingly steely anger. "You'll need more than desire fueled by anger on this mission," was all he said, as he pushed the handkerchief back into his pocket. "Please continue the briefing, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
Berenice
cleared her throat and placed three more black-and-white photos before them. "Garcia's Dobermans not only patrol Plantation
Paloma
, they're trained to kill. They're also trained not to take any meat or other food that could be tainted with a drug to render them unconscious."
"Has the CIA come up with anything?
A dart gun or something?"
"Pheromones, Colonel."
"Oh?"
Pepper leaned forward as
Berenice
showed them a photo of a small capsule containing a clear liquid.
"The CIA labs have developed a unique way to control the dogs—the hormones of a female Doberman in heat." She smiled a little. "All you have to do is create a diversionary trail with the hormones along the fence line, in the opposite direction of your entry point. The dogs will follow the scent. Garcia made a mistake in having only male guard dogs. They'll choose the female scent over their guard duties. Great idea, isn't it?"
Pepper grinned at the lieutenant. "I know this is a sexist comment, but isn't that just like a male?"
Both women laughed. Jim didn't think it was very funny but, reminding himself that women in the military took more than their share of sexist prejudice and harassing remarks, he gracefully allowed them their joke.
"Do we have a diagram of Garcia's plantation?" he asked.
The lieutenant became somber. "Yes, sir, we do." She handed each of them a detailed diagram. "Our operative, because she was a laundrywoman, was in every room of the plantation. Garcia's home is a two-story wooden structure, painted white. The upper floors include many guest rooms and his personal suite. The lower floors are mainly offices, with a telecommunications room, satellite feeds and anything else he needs to stay in touch with his people around the world. He also displays a multimillion-dollar collection of old-master paintings about the house."
"Has the CIA projected where they might be holding Laura?"
"She's probably being kept in one of the second-floor rooms in the right wing, where there are bars over the windows and a guard is posted."
Jim's stomach knotted. Unconsciously, his hand closed into a fist. The possibility that Laura had already been drugged to gain whatever information she had was a forgone conclusion. The
Perseus
team had assured him that Morgan never discussed business with her—to help prevent her from becoming a terrorist target. But…his mind railed against even thinking what other atrocities might have been done to her. Closing his eyes momentarily, he struggled with his anger—and his grief—over Laura's situation. She didn't deserve any of this. If only she hadn't married Morgan…
With a sigh, he opened his eyes. Both women were watching him in the building silence. "What else,
Berenice
?" he asked in a strained tone.
"I've arranged
an
0700 HAHO over the woodlands of
Virginia
for you. The C-130 will drop you from twenty thousand feet. Another team with a
HumVee
will monitor you from the drop zone." She pulled out photos of the landing area, which was covered with thick stands of oak, ash and beech trees. "We've tried to duplicate as closely as possible the landing zone chosen for you on
Nevis
. It's heavily wooded, so the potential for injury is high."