My Spy: Last Spy Standing (29 page)

She examined the wiring of the alarm. What the hell? Now she knew why Don Pedro didn’t think a guard was necessary down here.

She could hear Mitch swearing under his breath as he checked Zak’s door, but her full attention was on her brother. The alarm system was some sort of a homemade job, with no logic to it whatsoever. Wires, wires and more wires, all in a jumble. Her experience would mean little here. This would take more than a few minutes, maybe more than a few hours.

“I’m not giving up now,” she promised Billy, racking her brain for a solution.

“Who else is with you?”

She didn’t like how weak his voice was. “A friend.”

“Just one?”

How to explain Mitch? “He’s like Jamie.”

“He’s got no legs?”

“Funny to the last,” she murmured, barely able to understand how Billy could still joke after what he must have endured during the past year here. Then again, he probably wouldn’t have survived if he’d lost his sense of humor.

“It’s too late, sis,” he whispered through the door.

Like hell it was. “I’m here to rescue you now,” she promised. “Don’t you worry about anything.”

Mitch came over. “Can’t do a damn thing about that alarm. Everything okay here?”

“We’ll figure it out. How is Zak?”

“He’ll make it. I think we’re going to have to blow our way out.”

Having her brother within arm’s reach at last, she was so overwhelmed she could barely think. “What are you talking about?”

“You can’t get into their explosives stash.” That came from Billy. “They guard it 24/7. I got that far before. They caught me when I tried to steal some of the good stuff to blow the compound up as a parting gift.”

Knowing that he’d actually gotten out and had been captured again twisted Megan’s heart. This time, the escape would be final. She thought of the trapdoor to the crawl space below Don Pedro’s explosive storage.

“We’ve got our own VIP entrance. Don’t you worry.” She reached in through the hole again and squeezed Billy’s hand before she turned to leave. Time was of the essence. In less than two hours it would be morning. Don Pedro’s men would be waking up and going about their business, making sneaking around a lot more difficult. Not to mention that they would be coming for Zak in short order.

The four of them better be gone long before that.

“All we have to do,” she thought out loud, organizing the action, “is sneak out unseen, steal an armful of explosives, then sneak back in. We’ll blow out the cell doors, then blow a hole in the back wall that’s closest to the jungle. We’ll be gone before the dust settles.”

“Piece of cake,” Mitch said with a chuckle.

The basement was too dark for her to see his face, but she was sure there would be a glint in his eyes. The man wasn’t scared of anything.

“No,” Billy said from behind the wall, putting force into his voice. “You sneak out, get away from this place and don’t come back here. Meg? Please.”

“I’m not leaving without you.” She’d come here for him. She’d planned this moment for over a year, went to bed and woke up in the morning thinking about how she could do it.

“I’ve been in this tiny cell for too long. I’m sick, sis. I’m weak. I can’t make it out of the jungle.”

She didn’t want to hear it. “Then we’ll carry you on our backs.”

Mitch checked the basement walls with the help of another match, looking for a good spot to put the charges. She trusted him to get it right.

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” Billy’s voice filled with frustration. “Meg—”

“I’m taking you with me.” They were not going to have a discussion over this. No way.

“What’s left of me... I’ll be no use to anyone ever again, sis. There’s no point.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” She knew this mood, the dark heaviness that came through Billy’s voice. Jamie had sounded the same the last time she’d seen him. Well, she wasn’t going to let either of her brothers go out like that. They might have given up, but she was still fighting. “You just get ready.”

“Meg—”

“Don’t be stupid. I didn’t come all this way to leave you here.”

It was just like Billy to argue about his own rescue. He’d been always like that. Headstrong. Never willing to take anything at face value, never accepting her advice just because she was oldest and knew better.

“You know how much I hate it when people fight me when I’m doing something for their own good.” She tried to lighten the mood. They could all use a little of that.

He gave a sour laugh. “God, it’s good to see you again. I didn’t think I’d get the chance. I’m grateful for that, sis. More grateful than I can ever say.”

“You two can do the family thing once we get out of here.” Mitch grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her toward the staircase. “Time is running out here.”

“Don’t waste any of it on me.” Billy stayed stubborn. “If you want to get something out, get out Don Pedro’s game book. It’s worth a hell of lot more than I am.”

“What game book?” Mitch slowed and turned.

“He’s got a book where he keeps track of all his passwords to his online accounts, the location of his goods, that kind of thing. He’s got a laptop, too, but he’s paranoid about somebody hacking it. He keeps the most important information on paper. I overheard one of the guards talking about it a couple of months ago.”

Billy coughed, and she didn’t like the sound of it. But before she could ask if he was all right, he continued. “It’s in his office. In his safe.”

“I’ll try,” Mitch said. “We’ll be back in half an hour. Be ready,” he added.

“Does it have to be explosives?” Zak protested, but his jaw kept him from getting too loud. “What if you make a mistake and kill me?” He kept on going despite the pain each word must have caused him. “My father is rich. I can negotiate with people here. They won’t turn down a bag of money.”

Mitch ignored the kid and walked away, muttering something under his breath that sounded like, “Too bad money can’t buy brains.”

They needed half an hour to get the explosives and get back into the building. Possibly another half an hour to set everything up. Safe and effective demolition took a lot of careful prep work. It was right on the top of the list of things that didn’t pay to do in a hurry.

They’d be cutting it pretty close, Megan thought as she followed Mitch up the stairs. She hoped Don Pedro’s men weren’t early risers.

Chapter Twelve

Mitch stopped at the top of the basement stairs and ran through their options. His original exit plan had been to grab Zak and Billy, then shoot their way out through the front door. The jungle was just steps away behind the house. They could sprint along the fence to the hole he’d found earlier and disappear before most of the drunken camp woke up, got dressed, grabbed their guns and came around to see what all the noise was about.

Except he didn’t have Zak and Billy as he’d planned. They had to come back for those two, so they couldn’t make any noise on their way out, couldn’t be discovered.

“Back to the roof,” he whispered to Megan. The liana was gone, so they couldn’t leave the way they’d come, but another plan began forming in his brain.

They snuck down the hall, a pair of moving shadows stealing up the main stairs. But when they reached the top floor, he didn’t head for the balcony or the nearest window.

The game book wasn’t part of his mission, but he was here, steps from it. Wouldn’t have made any sense leaving it behind. He’d lost too many good friends to people like Don Pedro. If he could take one crime lord down, he was more than willing to go a few steps out of his way to do it.

Megan followed without asking any questions. She’d probably guessed what he was doing, had probably been planning on doing the same thing. Their minds worked the same way in certain regards. It made them a good team.

He could see five doors on this level. One was to the living room with the balcony where they’d come in. One of the other four had to lead to the study. He was holding his knife instead of his gun. If he needed to take anyone out, he’d do it silently.

He tried one door and Megan tried another. They silently opened them just enough to see inside. Enough moonlight came in through the windows to see the basics.

A bathroom. He glanced back at Megan and shook his head. She shook her head back at him.

They crept forward.

He put his hand on the next doorknob, heard a snort from inside. A bed squeaked as whoever occupied it turned. Don Pedro, probably. He tried the knob. Locked.

Mitch looked at the last door, the only one they hadn’t checked. It had a keypad entry. This one was a professional job, standard security. Don Pedro had been willing to spend money here, unlike on the rigged-up job on the basement prison. Ironically, that was the door’s weakness. Mitch knew just about every standard security unit inside out. Outsmarting this one only took a few minutes.

Then he and Megan slipped into the office together. He closed the door behind them and scanned the room in the moonlight. “Where’s the safe?”

The desk was a plain top with four legs. No drawers. The few shelves in the room mostly held guns. There weren’t any pictures on the wall to hide a wall safe. He circled the room along the wall anyway, looking for any irregularities.

Nothing.

“The floor,” Megan said and flipped over the carpet.

Nothing there, either.

Maybe Billy didn’t have the right information.

None of the furniture in the room looked large enough to hide a safe. Nothing on the wall or floor indicated a hiding spot.

“The bookcase.” Megan strode that way.

He helped her push the carved-wood bookcase aside, along with the small rug it had sat on. And there was the safe: an old, manual one, not electric, built into the floor. Don Pedro probably wanted to make sure he could get to the contents even if the generator went out. Good thinking.

All they had to do was guess the numbers and dial them. Mitch could take an electric keypad apart and figure it out in minutes. Very rarely had he seen an old-school strongbox like this before. On the two occasions he had, he’d blown off the door to get to the contents. That wasn’t an option here.

“Any chance the CIA offers a safecracking class?” He looked at Megan.

She gave him a mysterious smile, lay on the floor and flattened her ear against the lock, then began to turn the dial slowly.

She was very handy on a mission, he had to give her that. She did a great job and looked good doing it. His gaze hesitated for a second on the way the moonlight outlined her curves.

She worked the lock while he moved back to the door to stand watch. Then finally she opened the safe, took out what looked like a ledger book and slipped it under her tank top where the elastic of the material kept it in place.

“Here.” He helped her put the bookcase back in its place, then they were out of there.

He grabbed a granite statue on the way out, the bust of a famous South American revolutionary.

She tossed him a curious look.

He just flashed her a smile, then headed for the room with the balcony.

They made it up to the roof without trouble. At the back of the building, Mitch aligned himself with the guard below. Held out the bust. Dropped it.

At the exact time when the heavy bust cracked the man’s skull, Mitch let out a monkey screech to mask the noise. Then another to mask the sound of the guard folding to the ground.

He lowered himself down the side of the building, using window frames for support and jumping the last eight feet. He knew how to jump silently. Megan probably did, too, but he caught her anyway, just for the pleasure of being able to hold her in his arms.

Then they melted into the bushes together and headed for the building that held the explosives.

“I can’t believe we have to go back in there again.” She shuddered when they were at the hole that allowed entrance into the crawl space, a creepy, yawning mouth of darkness. No matter. He’d been in worse spots. “I’ll go. You stay here and stand guard.”

Her spine stiffened immediately. “I’m coming with you. You might need help in there.”

He shook his head. “You always want to help everyone, but you don’t want to take help from anyone. Is that an oldest-sibling thing?”

She brushed by him so she’d be first in. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not like those helpless women you’re used to, and if it makes you uncomfortable, I’m sorry.”

He grinned as he followed her.

Other than
hot
and
trouble, helpless
and
clueless
had been the first two words that had sprung to mind when he’d first laid eyes on Megan Cassidy. About the last two adjectives, he’d been severely mistaken. About the first two, he’d been right on the money.

A low hiss cut through the quiet, freezing his limbs and sharply refocusing his thoughts.
Snake.

He pulled his knife out inch by inch, avoiding any sudden moves. “Megan?”

“I’ve been bitten.”

His breath hitched. He heard the sound of snake scales brushing against his boot, sliced down and hit flesh. He dropped the knife to light a match to see the damage. He’d cut the snake in half, but it was still trying to bite his boot. He speared the head with his knife, careful not to go too far and skewer his own toes.

The match went out. He lit another. Now that the damned snake wasn’t moving, he could examine the markings.

“It’s not poisonous.” His heart began to beat again.

“It sure stings.” She rubbed the side of her left hand against her leg.

“The bite is swelling.”

Some antibiotic cream and allergy medication would be good, but their supplies were in their backpacks, at the barracks assigned to Juarez’s men. They couldn’t go back there. Their gear had to stay where it was.

No one would notice that the two of them were missing until morning. The men probably figured they were having some private fun in an out-of-the-way place. But if someone got up in the night and saw their gear missing, he would want to know where they’d been.

Mitch had his most important possessions on his body: his gun and ammo, his knife and his canteen. He crawled another few feet, then stopped. They had to be under the trapdoor. He reached up and brushed his hand against the wood planks, brushing off a couple of slimy slugs carefully so they wouldn’t land on his head. A plank moved. There. The door.

He got in position and slowly pushed up the square piece of wood. “Stay here,” he whispered. “Hold the bag. I’ll hand down what we need.”

At least she didn’t argue about that.

He pulled himself up without a sound, crouched and listened. Couldn’t hear anything, not even snoring. The light was on out in the main room of the building, a slim line of it coming through under the door. It wasn’t really enough, but he didn’t dare light a match in here, so he searched by feel, first looking for the right kind of boxes, then opening them and reaching inside. He handed down several sticks of dynamite before the eerie silence began to bother him, prickling his instincts.

He glanced at the door. Inched closer to it, pushing it lightly. What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

Somebody was lying against the door. Mitch couldn’t hear the man breathing—he held his own breath to make sure he would catch the slightest sound. He pushed the door a little wider. The man fell over with a soft thud into a pool of dark red liquid.

The single lightbulb that hung from the middle of the ceiling revealed another man on the floor near the table, lying at an unnatural angle. Other than that, the room was empty.

Mitch pulled back into the explosives room. “Come up here.”

She handed him the bag first. “What’s wrong?” She worked herself up, despite the fact that her left hand was now significantly swollen.

A good reminder that time was of the essence. “There are two men in here with their throats cut. I don’t like it.”

Then she was finally up and taking in the bloody scene. “Cristobal really is making his move tonight.”

“Somebody is doing something.” He let his brain work on that while he looked through the stash of explosives.

Now that he had enough light, he could see that about half the boxes were empty; half held dynamite and a small special case hid plastic explosives. Disappointingly little, but he grabbed what was there. He shoved what he needed into the duffel bag he’d stolen earlier then swung it over his shoulder and moved through the main room, grabbing whatever else he could find that would be useful on their way home: an extra knife and gun for Billy, food, a bottle of tequila, more matches, a flashlight.

He handed the alcohol to Megan, who sloshed some over her hand, disinfecting the puncture wound. It had to burn like hell, but she didn’t even flinch. The alcohol would kill the germs and prevent infection. But she also needed something to counteract the allergic reaction she was having. Except there wasn’t anything like that within easy reach. She would have to wait until they were in the jungle.

He reached the front door in a few more steps, turned off the light then opened the door an inch. He didn’t see anyone out there. Might as well leave this way instead of through the crawl space again. In case the snake had family.

They made it out unseen and rounded the building, keeping close to the walls and moving to the back so they’d be out of sight of whatever murderers roamed the compound tonight. When he looked back at Megan, he caught her flexing her left hand. The whole arm looked stiff.

They’d better hurry.

They moved forward carefully, watching every bush, every shadow, every stack of firewood to make sure nobody was lying in wait. But they didn’t run into any resistance. The first man they saw was the guard in front of the don’s house, which was now completely dark. The guard now sat with his back to the wall, his head hanging back. He looked like he was sleeping. Only when they got close enough could they see the moonlight glinting off the blood at his cut throat.

The enemy was inside.

Megan looked at Mitch, her eyes wide. He swore under his breath.

All right.
There was still a chance they could do this. As long as they were alive, they had a chance, he thought, following Megan as she moved toward the main door, which stood slightly ajar.

Cristobal’s men would be upstairs. Their goal would be the don’s bedroom and office, Mitch reasoned. The path to the basement might still be clear.

He didn’t get his wish.

Two men stood in the entry hall, guarding the bottom of the stairs. And just like that, the stealth portion of the mission was over. Mitch and Megan exchanged a glance.

He took the one to the left; Megan took the one on the right. One shot each to the head. Then they ran for the basement, locking the door behind them.

They heard boots slamming on the floor. Shouting. Men headed for the front door. Cristobal’s men must have thought the shooters had pulled back outside. Good.

Mitch ignored the ruckus, and stuck enough plastic explosives on the lock on Zak’s cell to blow it. “Stand back.”

Bang.
The alarm didn’t go off. Cristobal’s men had probably cut the generator cords. He hadn’t wanted to do that earlier, knowing the lights going out all of a sudden would alert the guards. But Cristobal had enough men to take out the guards before making his move on the house.

“You grab the kid,” he told Megan, and went for Billy.

He used the other half of what little plastic he’d found to blow the lock.
Bang.
The explosion busted the lock, all right, but the bottom of the metal door got twisted and stuck in the opening.

They had no time for this, dammit. Mitch kicked the door in. “Come on.”

But Billy didn’t move.

“Let’s go.” Mitch turned on the flashlight he’d requisitioned.

Billy sat on a blanket on the floor. His clothes had half rotted off him; his hair was matted to his head. His eyes were sunken and red-rimmed. “Malaria,” he said with a shrug. “I told her not to come back. Don’t waste time on me. You got the boss’s book?”

Mitch nodded, trying to process what he saw. His heart sank.

Confirmation that they had the book put a little light back into Billy’s eyes, even as more boots slammed upstairs. The house had to be full of Cristobal’s men by now. And because of the explosions, they would know that something was going on in the basement.

Mitch glanced at the wall at the back of Billy’s cell and placed the dynamite strategically at the bottom of the wall, hooking together the fuses, which were in sorry shape. They did have a rat problem in the compound. He twisted and tied together the frayed chunks as best as he could.