Cold in the Shadows 5 (6 page)

“Woohoo!” Adrenaline raced through him as he checked the airfield below. Tiny figures ran about frantically, trying to put out the fire, hopefully delaying them long enough for him to make his escape. He tossed the SUV and other plane keys out the window, the sharp breeze making his eyes water before he closed it again.

“We made it,” he said cheerfully to his companion. But Audrey Lockhart had passed out on the floor of the cargo space and only the steady rise and fall of her chest told him she wasn’t dead.

He pulled out his NVGs. Her being unconscious was a good thing. Now he could concentrate on navigating nearly a thousand miles over the Amazon rainforest at night and hopefully, when he got where he was going, he’d remember how to land one of these suckers. After that he had a decision to make. Assuming Audrey survived the journey, what the hell was he going to do with her?

*     *     *

V
IBRATIONS FROM THE
aircraft buzzed through her bones and made her teeth rattle. Audrey didn’t know what was going on except someone had stabbed her, and the blond tourist had come to her rescue. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes, not just from the searing pain that streaked through her whenever she moved, but from the shock of everything that had happened. She was grateful to still be alive. Another wave of agony crashed through her and a moan escaped.

“You okay back there?” asked her unlikely rescuer.

Stupid question. “Where did you learn to fly a plane?” Her voice was like a metal rasp in her throat. There were a million things she wanted to know, but she didn’t have the energy to figure out which was the most important. This whole episode seemed like some surreal nightmare.

“Here and there.”

Who was this guy? Why had he helped her? Her mind jumped around the idea of some Special Forces soldier on vacation—Jason Bourne does South America. Maybe the guy had been on holiday and heard her scream back at the research station and run to her rescue? Frankly, he could be anything from a serial killer to an Indiana Jones wannabe. Until she could take a breath without being cut in half with pain, she was at his mercy. And if he was correct about her attacker being a member of the local cartel then they had to find a hospital out of the region.

She was powerless. She had to trust him. “Do you have any water?”

He fiddled with something in the front seat and took a long swallow from a plastic bottle, then recapped the lid and tossed it back toward her. It rolled across the floor. She reached out and grabbed it as the bottle moved closer. Shaking as she twisted off the cap, she couldn’t believe how weak she was. She took a swig of the lukewarm water and carefully replaced the cap. “Thank you,” she whispered.

“You’re welcome.” His eyes held a glint as he turned toward her. “Try to get some sleep. I’ll wake you when we land.”

She nodded and her eyes drifted shut. The craziness and confusion of the last few hours slowly slipped away. The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was the sound of whistling coming from the pilot’s seat. At least one of them was having fun.

*     *     *

“
Y
OU’RE TELLING ME
a woman barely five-foot-two inches tall took out your best hit man with her bare hands?” And
Mano de Dios
were supposed to instill terror in the local population?

“Hector stabbed her before she killed him. She bled like a stuck pig—she might already be dead. Her accomplice took her. You never told me she was working with someone.” The tone was accusing.

“Audrey isn’t working with anyone.” Audrey was clueless.

“Then who was the man who stole my aircraft and flew her away? You owe me a new plane,
amigo
.”

He didn’t owe Gómez a damned thing.

But what were the chances this was a coincidence? Someone warning her about The Gateway Project one night and then snatching her out of Hector’s grasp the next?

Not likely.

Mano de Dios
had been too slow to get rid of the problem. Now, presumably someone from the CIA—or whoever was secretly investigating Burger’s death—had intervened and spirited Audrey away.

Why hadn’t they let Hector finish the job? He’d have thought getting rid of Audrey would have worked to their advantage. In fact, why warn her at all? The answer was blinding in its simplicity. They didn’t want the assassin—they wanted whoever hired her. Thankfully Audrey didn’t have a damned clue.

Would they torture her? Lock her up? The idea was enticing. Would her obvious ineptitude persuade them she was a patsy, or would they just work harder to break her? He wished he could afford to wait; to let her suffer, but there was too much riding on this.

“Once Lockhart is confirmed dead you’ll get your money, Raoul, but I want proof. Not hearsay. And if you kill whoever took her I’ll double the reward.”

Raoul’s tone turned sly. “They won’t get out of the country. Everyone is looking for them now.”

So the Colombian had orchestrated some sort of plan. Hopefully it was more effective than his last one.

“Thank you, my friend. This won’t affect the shipments?”

Raoul’s tone grew menacing. “The shipments go on as planned. No delay.”

“Good.”

They said goodbye and he dialed another number.

“I need to see you in my office.” He could no longer afford to trust the Colombians to get the job done.

A few minutes later there was a knock on his door and a woman entered. Attractive, mid-thirties, blonde. Tracey Williams, Head of Security. Tracey Williams wasn’t her real name.

“We have a problem,” he said before she mistook this summons for pleasure rather than urgent business. “The Colombians screwed up. They say they can fix the problem, but I’d like you to go down there and check it out for me.”

Her red painted lips parted in surprise. “She got away?”

“She had help.”

Her brows rose.

“I need you to give it your
immediate
attention,” he said when she still didn’t move.

Her expression tightened, but she nodded. “I’ll be on the next flight out.”

Some of the tension eased from his chest. Unlike the Colombians she’d never let him down.

Chapter Four

I
T HAD BEEN
a long time since Killion had flown anything and flying a stolen plane below radar at night over the jungle had been a hell of a refresher course. He was exhausted, running on adrenaline fumes and pure nerve, but finally, after many hours, they’d reached their destination—another unmarked airfield on the outskirts of Cartagena on the northern Caribbean coast of Colombia. The plane rumbled along the landing strip, making him glad to be back on solid ground even if the situation was a little shaky. It was still dark as he headed to the farther-most corner of the small airfield where a tall man leaned nonchalantly against the wooden hull of the hangar. Killion slowed his speed and taxied inside before stopping the plane and turning off the engine. He glanced over his shoulder into the cargo space. Lockhart had slept most of the journey. Either that or she was dead. He was almost too tired to care.

The door opened and a man he hadn’t seen in two years grinned up at him. The former British SAS soldier took in everything with a quick glance. “You’ve looked worse, but I doubt she has.” He gave Killion a wink and climbed inside the aircraft, putting his fingers to Audrey’s throat.

Logan Masters and a few of his Brit pals had set up shop in South America a couple of years ago. Their company, “Penny Fan,” sounded like a Chinese piano protégé, but was actually named after the infamous Welsh Mountain that formed part of the SAS’s Selection process. They consulted on security issues for corporate businesses: hostage negotiations, kidnap and ransom, threat reduction of a permanent nature. Killion knew they did other things, secret things, operations that couldn’t be tied to their government. Like most operators in the clandestine service, Killion believed in the three wise monkeys approach to doing business with allies—see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.

“Is she still alive?” He found himself holding his breath, hoping she’d survived his clumsy rescue.

“Pulse is thready and rapid.” Masters quickly checked her wound and still, the woman didn’t wake up. “Looks red and inflamed. She needs IV fluids and antibiotics.” He speared Killion with a look. “Assuming you don’t want to take her to hospital?”

“No hospital. I’ve got to get her out of Colombia without anyone knowing she’s alive.”

“Destination?”

“Good question.” He laughed. “I’m working on it.”

Masters climbed out of the aircraft and pulled out his cell, pressing a button before putting it back in his pocket.

Killion tossed his SIG in his duffel and climbed out of the machine, feet hitting the ground with a thud. They shook hands. Then Killion stretched out his arms and back until his vertebrae cracked and the tightness in his muscles eased. He needed food, water, and sleep, but first he needed to take care of his captive.

The word was an ugly one. It reminded him of some of the other things that had been done in the name of God and Country.

“I’m not going to get a call from someone wanting to hire me to help find her, am I?” Masters asked carefully.

“Only if you’ve started working for Raoul Gómez.”

The Brit’s eyes hardened. “That asshole? Did you hear he’s started wearing bulletproof pajamas to bed? I keep hoping for an invitation to test how well they protect against a double-tap to the head.” His teeth gleamed in a predatory smile.

Killion knew exactly what Masters would do if he got close to the cartel leader; it wouldn’t be pretty, but it would be fast and it would be terminal. It was the main reason he’d chosen to come to these guys instead of using his other contacts. The cartel leader had killed two SAS men more than a decade ago. The Regiment knew how to hold a grudge and would never sell them out to the guy. That old saying about revenge being a dish best served cold?—He was looking at a world-class practitioner of that particular adage.

“‘That asshole’ isn’t very happy with my passenger. And it’s possible I accidentally borrowed his plane without asking permission when I rescued her. It might have a tracker on it,” he warned.

“The hangar is cloaked from any unauthorized electronic signals.” The Brit’s brows pulled together as he eyed the small aircraft. “I can make the Cessna disappear—on paper anyway.” He grinned. “It might come in handy at some point in the future. You have alternate transportation arranged?”

Killion shook his head. “I have people working on it. My escape plan involved getting the woman out of his territory. It was a spur of the moment intervention.”

“You’re not using Company resources this trip?”

“This one’s below radar.” He’d contacted Frazer from the plane, but the guy was on medical leave. The FBI agent was pissed he wasn’t available to help, but he’d arranged for a former CIA operative and cyber-security specialist, Alex Parker, to work with him on this. Parker was good—but even better news was the fact Jed Brennan was back at Quantico, riding a desk, and running the FBI’s BAU-4 until Frazer returned to work. Killion trusted Brennan, and his buddy was working on finding him and Audrey a safe house. Hopefully one that didn’t involve a remote cabin in the Northwoods of Wisconsin with Brennan’s conspiracy-nut father watching his back. If it did, Killion was liable to get a bullet in his skull because the old man didn’t trust anyone, but Brennan’s father certainly didn’t trust the CIA, and in particular didn’t trust him.

Ideally, they’d find something on a beach somewhere. Killion preferred hot to cold. Sun to snow. Brunettes to redheads…

“Noah’s on the way with our ride. I’m assuming you can cope with a little British hospitality for a few hours?”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“Gómez wouldn’t risk the wrath of the CIA just to get his plane back.” Masters’ eyes sparkled with curiosity. “What’s the story with the woman?”

“Gómez doesn’t know the CIA has the woman. He doesn’t know the CIA is involved at all and I want it to stay that way. The asshole sent Hector Sanchez after her. Hector came off worse during the encounter. I happened to be in the area at the time and got her out.”

The Brit’s eyes widened with grudging respect. “Company business?”

“She has information I need.” Killion hedged.

Masters held up his hands. He knew all about the three wise monkeys. And all about Killion’s primary skill set.

The noise of a car engine had Killion turning toward the door of the hangar. A black SUV pulled up inside and a dark-haired man jumped out and walked over, sporting a cocky grin.

Noah Zacharias—another so-called
former
SAS trooper—held out his hand. “Good to see you, mate.”

Noah and Logan were part of a cadre of soldiers Killion had been lucky enough to save after a logistical fuck up had almost cost the elite warriors their lives. It wasn’t every day he got to do the right thing. Now he was cashing in his chips.

“Noah,” Killion acknowledged with a smile. “Still writing cheesy love songs for the ladies?”

Noah snorted. “Only when I’m not kicking some crazy American’s ass. You still causing trouble?” It was a rhetorical question. Noah’s eyes flickered over Killion’s shoulder to the aircraft. “Don’t bother to answer that. Looks like your lady friend just woke up.”

*     *     *

A
UDREY STARED OUT
of the open doorway to find three men staring at her with expressions that ranged from concern to speculation to curiosity. Details from the night before were fuzzy. Her skin felt sizzling hot. Mouth scorched. She had no idea where she was, or even what day it was. It looked dark outside. Nighttime. Between blood loss and lack of her reading glasses her vision was blurry. She was inside the small aircraft the tourist had stolen earlier. She staggered to the open doorway and sat on the edge as white-hot agony ripped through her side.

“How’re you feeling?” asked the tourist.

“Like death, only in excruciating pain.” She panted as she shifted her left leg. She’d never experienced anything like this before. Had Rebecca suffered this much after being shot, or was that even worse? Audrey didn’t want to think about her friend. Even after five years it still hurt and right now she had to get through her own trauma. “I need to get to the American embassy. I don’t have a passport and I need to tell the police what happened at the research station.”