THE FBI THRILLERS COLLECTION Books 1-5 (124 page)

A
key turned in the lock. The door slowly opened. But no one said a word, no one moved in. A canister of gas rolled through the doorway. I jumped to my feet, grabbed the thing up, and threw it in the toilet. I flushed it. Smoke gushed out of the bowl. I slammed down the toilet seat. Thankfully it contained most of the smoke. I’d inhaled only a bit. I didn’t feel a thing.

I heard a man laugh. I turned to look at the two men who stood watching me from the doorway.

“¡Así se hace!”
one of them said. He had a deep bass voice. He was a short, wiry, dark man, dressed in army fatigues, like his partner. He said in strongly accented English this time,
“Sí,
that was well done. We knew you would be waiting for us. And now you have finished. Move.” He waved the AK-47 toward me. “The woman is still sleeping? You wore her out, eh?”

I took a step, watching the men. The man with the bass voice raised his weapon, but he didn’t say anything more because Laura rose up, whipped around the side of the
door, and smashed him in the face with the porcelain toilet lid.

The other man leaped through the doorway, his eyes on Laura, his AK-47 up, ready to fire.

I yelled and ran straight at him. He whipped the gun around, only to moan and fall hard to the floor when Laura hit him hard on his temple with the porcelain toilet lid.

The first man tried to struggle up. Laura calmly leaned over and smashed him hard again with the toilet lid. Then she kicked both of them hard in the ribs.

“Close the door quick,” I said. I grabbed the larger man under his arms and began dragging him inside the room. Laura grabbed the other guy.

I picked up one of the AK-47s and looked out the door. There was a long narrow corridor on either side of the room. No one else was in sight.

“We need their clothes,” I said.

Five minutes later, we were buttoning our camouflage pants and lacing up our combat boots. Laura had ripped the sleeves off my white shirt to stuff in the toes of her boots. She stamped her feet a couple of times and smiled at me. “Good fit now. I’m glad one of the men was bigger. The fatigues nearly fit you.”

It took us longer to tie up the men. Laura stripped them both to their skin and tied one of each of their legs to the rings in the floor where she’d been shackled. She rose and dusted her hands and looked at me.

“Okay, let’s get out of here. Savich and Sherlock have got to be somewhere close by.”

We locked the door and turned to the left, for no other reason than I am left-handed and that was the way I’d turned first. We each had a full magazine in the AK-47s and another magazine from each man’s belt.

I was armed and dangerous, feeling more pissed than prudent. Laura had tucked her hair up beneath the army camouflage cap. From a distance of ten feet, I guess she could pass for a man for at least a few seconds.

“The stupid goons,” she whispered, “dressed up like army militia.”

“Don’t complain. It might help us if we get out of here.” My boots were hurting my feet already. I was going to get blisters.

We heard booted feet tramping toward us. There was a door on our right, the third one along this side of the corridor. I opened it as quietly as I could and we slipped inside. We listened. Then we heard a noise, just the clearing of a throat.

Both of us whipped around to see an old man sitting at a small table in the corner, tucked away in shadows, just beneath a narrow, high window, eating a bowl of soup. He was bald and his face was scored with lines, the color of brown leather. He had a long dirty-gray beard. He was wearing an old dark brown wool robe, a rope tied around his waist.

He was staring at us, a tortilla halfway to his mouth. I whispered in Spanish for him not to move,
“Quédate,
Father. Don’t even twitch your beard.”

I looked up at Laura. She was standing pressed to the door, still listening, her fingers pressed against her lips for quiet. The boots marched by. No one stopped. The priest didn’t move.

“Who are you?” he asked me in Spanish in a deep and ancient voice.

“We’re American federal agents. They drugged us and brought us here as prisoners. They’re going to kill us if they get ahold of us again. We’re trying to get away. Are you a prisoner too, Father?”

He shook his head. “No, I come to the compound once a week to minister to all the people. When I arrive, one of the women gives me breakfast.” His words rolled into one another, nearly slurring. It was hard for me to understand him. But I understood enough.

“What day is it?”

He had to repeat it twice before I understood. Thursday. We’d lost a day.

“Where are we, Father?”

He looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “You’re just outside of Dos Brazos.”

More boots were marching this way. They were slowing. We were trapped. The one narrow window wouldn’t let a skinny kid through it. The old man looked at us, then said slowly, “There’s no more time. Both of you, get under the bed, quickly. I will deal with the men.”

If he betrayed us, we had less of a chance pinned under the narrow sagging bed in the far corner. We had no choice. Laura and I scooted under it. At least the stringy blanket fell over the bed nearly to the floor. We fit, barely. I was nearly lying on the AK-47, Laura pressed against my back, her weapon pressed against my spine.

The door opened, no knock. I saw at least three pairs of boots. I heard a man with a shrill voice say in Spanish, “Father, have you been here long?”

“Sí.
I am still eating my breakfast.”

“You haven’t heard anything, no people, no running?”

“Just you,
señor,
and your men.
¿Qué haces?
What is the matter? Is there a fire?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. Some people—a man and a woman—we were holding them for the
policía.
They’ve gotten away. Don’t worry, Father. We’ll find them.”

The priest didn’t say anything. Was he giving them a sign? No. The men turned and marched back out the
door. Then, suddenly, one of them said, “Father Orlando, the woman Hestia told me that her son is in great pain. She wants you to see him now. Can you come? My men will escort you to keep you safe from the foreign man and woman.”

“I will come,” said the priest. He was wearing old Birkenstock sandals, no socks. His feet were as worn and scarred as a tree trunk.

The door finally closed. We slowly moved out from under the bed.

“That was close,” Laura said, wiping herself down. I stared toward the small table. There were three soft tortillas just lying there. I was still hungry. I grabbed them up, rolled them, gave Laura a big bite, and stuffed the rest in my mouth.

“I’m starting to feel human again.”

W
e were in some sort of old wooden barracks that turned and twisted about like a rabbit warren. The first two rooms we looked into were empty, but in the third one there was a man sleeping in a lower bunk, his back to us. He didn’t stir. We quietly closed the door and kept looking. Savich and Sherlock had to be in one of these rooms.

We eased out into the corridor again. We came to a corner, and I motioned Laura to stay back while I went down on my haunches and took a quick look. I nearly lost my tortillas I was so startled. Not fifteen feet from me were at least ten men of all ages, dressed in fatigues and combat boots, all at stiff attention, their weapons held against their shoulders, their backs to me. They were silent, not a single twitch. I couldn’t even hear them breathe.

An older man, in his early fifties, stood in front of them. He wore civilian clothes, a white linen shirt open at the neck, tan slacks, and Italian loafers. He was perfectly bald. It looked like he shaved his head for effect. He was a large man, nearly as tall as me, and solid with muscle.
He was carrying a white lab coat over his arm. He was speaking quickly in Spanish. I understood most of it. I slowly eased back as he said, “. . . we must find the man and the woman. They are dangerous American agents here to destroy us. If you see them, you must not kill them. That is forbidden.”

I whispered to Laura, “A dozen soldiers ahead. The man who called the others off us, was he really big, muscular, and bald?”

“No, it was another man.”

“This one seems to be the boss. He’s giving them orders about us. He doesn’t want us killed. I suppose that’s good news. Oh yeah, he’s a sharp dresser.”

“Let’s get out of here.” We came quickly to the other end of the long corridor, to a big double door. I tried the shiny brass doorknob.

It turned easily and silently. I went in low and swung around, fanning the room with my weapon. It was a very fancy office at first sight, with lots of gold-trimmed antique furnishings and several incredible Persian carpets. It wasn’t much of an office. There wasn’t a telephone or a fax or a computer, nothing to use to get help.

We eased inside and closed the door. I turned the lock.
“El jefe’s
office,” I said. “The boss of this place. Probably it’s the bald guy out there with the soldiers. I wonder who the hell he is. Damn, I don’t even see a phone. They must communicate by radio.”

Laura was already behind the huge Louis XIV desk, going through the papers. Behind her was a large glass window looking out over a small walled-in, English-type garden filled with tropical flowers and plants. “Damn, it’s all in Spanish and I can’t read it,” she said. “Quick, come here, Mac.”

Someone tried to turn the handle on the door.

I heard shouts. More pounding. A gun butt smashed against one of the doors, then another. The expensive wood splintered.

No time. I prayed and grabbed Laura’s left hand. We took a running start, crossed our arms in front of our faces, and crashed through the huge glass window behind the Louis XIV desk.

We thankfully landed on grass, rolled, and came up instantly into a run. We were in a private flower garden, perfectly manicured and maintained, and I, who loved flowers, didn’t give a shit.

Ain’t nothing easy, I thought, as I smashed the butt of my weapon against a small gate in the far corner of the garden. The aging wood splintered and fell outward. We were out of the compound, only to stop cold. There was absolutely nothing in front of us except jungle and a three- or four-foot-wide moat of sorts, probably to keep the jungle from encroaching into the compound every few days. It was filled with brackish water that looked like it could kill anything that even got close to it.

I took her hand again, and we jumped the moat. We heard shouting behind us. Guns were fired over our heads. Good, they hadn’t forgotten
el jefe
had told them to keep us alive.

We ran into a dense green wall of vegetation that blocked out the sun within a couple of minutes. It was going to be a race, us against a dozen men native to this place.

I’d never been in a jungle before. The floor wasn’t a thicket of plants and trees and bushes as I’d expected. We didn’t need a machete like the movies I’d seen had portrayed. It was nearly bare, only a single layer of leaves covering the ground. But even that single layer was rotten. Everything around us was alive and green or rotting.

It got darker as we ran, the green over our heads forming an opaque canopy. Only the thinnest slivers of sunlight managed to get through. No wonder everything rotted so quickly—there was no sunlight to dry anything out. People would rot too, I thought, and there were a lot of creatures to help them. This was not a good place to be.

We ran another twenty feet into the jungle and came to a dead stop. We couldn’t go farther without a machete after all. It was impossible to pull away the branches and vines that were in front of us, an impenetrable wall of green. I’d never imagined anything like this. We stopped and listened. For a few moments, we didn’t hear anything, then I heard a man shout. It was in very fast Spanish and I couldn’t make it out. I heard men crashing through the dense foliage, not paying any attention to where they stepped, just coming toward us.

“It’s time to try to hide,” I said. We went exactly ten big steps to the right, careful not to leave any signs of our tracks to this spot, and hunkered down behind a tree. I looked up and saw a frog staring me right in the eye. At least this little guy wouldn’t try to eat us. He looked like he belonged on that old Bud commercial.

We were ill equipped, just our clothes and guns. There was no way we could survive for any time at all in this alien place. I didn’t want to think about it. I had no intention of staying here any longer than necessary.

The men were close now, not more than twenty feet away from us. Two of them were arguing about which direction to take. Ants were crawling over my feet. Laura swatted the back of her hand. A coral snake, its beautiful bright bands announcing that it could kill you fast, slithered by not six feet from Laura’s foot. I wrapped my arm around her shoulders.

I realized I was so hot my blood seemed to swell in my
veins. Sweat pooled under my arms and at the small of my back. I hated the heat. Why couldn’t drug runners deal out of Canada? A lovely little insect the size of a fifty-cent piece dropped from a branch above my head onto my forearm. It took a good-sized bite out of me, then lightly dropped to the ground where it scurried off to hide beneath a leaf.

Finally, the men fanned out, several coming our way. It made sense. I would have done the same thing. I listened carefully to every boot crunch.

Only two men were coming our way. I raised two fingers to Laura and she nodded, readying herself.

I pointed to the guns and shook my head. She nodded again. A minute later they were not a foot from us, sweeping their guns around, swearing at all the bugs, all the dripping leaves overhead, all in Spanish. If they found us, I knew we had to be fast and quiet as the dead. One of the men yelped. Maybe the insect that had just bitten off half my forearm had gotten him.

Then one of the men looked down and we stared at each other. Without a sound, I reared up and smashed the butt of the AK-47 under his jaw. It cracked real loud, but he only let out a whiff of a yell before he fell.

Laura moved fast. She butted the other man in his gut, then raised her weapon and slammed it down against his temple.

We stood over the two men, trying to control our breathing.

We heard men calling to one another. They apparently hadn’t heard these two go down, thank God. Of course they’d be missed soon enough. We quickly stripped the man Laura hit, because he was very small. Laura pulled on his pants and his boots and threw the pants and boots she’d been wearing into a bush that, I swear, quivered
when the boots struck it. We relieved both of them of their weapons.

It took three minutes, no longer. We began to make our way due west, going by small glimpses of sun. Every dozen or so steps, we wiped away the marks of our passage. Our progress was slow. Both of us were dripping wet, so thirsty our tongues felt swollen. We heard the chattering of monkeys high above our heads in the interlocking tree branches, and the constant calls and shrieks of animals we’d never heard in our lives. We heard a low, warning growl. A puma, Laura whispered. They knew we were there and were announcing it loudly to their cousins.

Birds checked in—squawking louder and more ferociously than Nolan ever had even at his crankiest.

“Just listen to them,” Laura said. “They’re all around us and loud as can be. Oh, Mac—what do you think the ice acid does to animals? Like Grubster and Nolan?”

I stopped cold and stared at her. “I hadn’t thought about them. Doesn’t it make sense that they’d sleep just like we did? That they’d wake up, just like we did? That they’d be all right?”

I thought she was going to burst into tears.

“That was a stupid question,” I said without hesitation. “I’ll wager my AK-47 that they’re just fine.” The panic calmed in her eyes. “Maggie’s probably feeding them. Don’t worry, Laura.”

We kept walking, looking carefully down and around before we took each step. To walk a mile would take three hours, I figured, cursing at the boots rubbing my heels.

Then, suddenly, with no warning, it started to rain. We just looked at each other, tilted our heads back, and opened our mouths. The water tasted wonderful.
Suddenly, something with a dozen skittering legs landed on my cheek. I shook it off, cupped my hands together, and drank.

The rain was so heavy, even coming through the dense canopy of green overhead, that in just a minute or two we weren’t thirsty anymore. We were also sodden and nearly steaming, it was so hot. It felt miserable. God, I couldn’t wait to be on a ski slope, puffs of cold air streaming out of my mouth.

I raised my hand and rubbed my fingers over a dirty smudge on Laura’s cheek. “You know, Laura, when I flew from Washington just a week ago, I never imagined ending up in a rain forest with the woman I love, someone I had to come three thousand miles to meet.”

“This isn’t anything I’d anticipated either,” she said, and kissed my fingers. “We’d better get to work on finding Savich and Sherlock.”

I laid my weapons on the ground and buttoned her shirt up to her neck, then raised the collar. It touched her chin. “Let’s keep as much covered as we can,” I added, and buttoned my own shirt up to my chin. Our sleeves were fastened at our wrists. At least our fatigues were tucked inside our boots and the boots were sturdy. It was good protection from all the creatures that slithered close to us.

We started walking northeast, roughly parallel to what looked like clear-cut land just outside the rain forest, not more than a hundred yards distant. We wanted to stay hidden until we were well beyond the compound. After another hour, we turned south again. It didn’t take more than twenty minutes to reach the edge of the rain forest. The thick foliage suddenly thinned. The sun was bright overhead, the air immediately drier. The difference in the
landscape couldn’t have been more dramatic. The lush, dense forest simply gave way to an indistinct barren patch.

I figured we were at least a hundred yards northeast of the compound.