Dangerous Desires (18 page)

“How do you know that’s what he was doing?” she asked.

“There are carcasses in a shed just beyond the jetty.”

“Oh. Well, I suppose that does change things a bit. Still, they’re crocodiles. Not exactly warm and cuddly.”

“Yes, but they’re a threatened species. At least certain varieties. And people like Jacques use the societal demand for purses and shoes to justify what they do. There’s a hell of a lot of money in it, actually.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a member of PETA,” she said as they came to a stop at the end of the pier.

“I just don’t like bottom feeders.” He shrugged. “We’ll drop him on three. All right?”

Madeline nodded and he counted down as they swung
the body out toward the water. It hit with a splash and then bobbed underneath the surface, disappearing as the current dragged it downriver.

“You think someone else is going to come here looking for him?” she asked. “Or for us?”

“I think it’s possible. And either way we’re better off leaving nothing to indicate any of us were here. Even Jacques.”

“What about the crocodile skins?”

“Those we can leave as is. But we’ll need to sanitize the room. And make sure we cover our tracks.”

“Somehow I don’t think my slide down the cliff will be all that easy to cover up.”

“You’d be surprised.” He smiled down at her. “You’re handling all of this really well.”

“I don’t really have a choice,” she said, the corner of her mouth tugging upward. “You don’t seem like the kind of man who tolerates hysterical females.”

“I think I’ve proved I can be understanding when the situation calls for it.” Their eyes met and held, and then she ducked her head, the pink stain of a blush washing over her cheeks.

“I already apologized for that.”

“And I told you there was no need.” He framed her face with his hands, her breath catching on a little whoosh at the contact. “And I still think you’re handling things really well, all things considered.” Their eyes met, gazes dueling as the conversation moved to a level beyond words. The words chemical combustion came to mind.

But this wasn’t the time, and reluctantly, he let her go.

“We need to move Jacques.”

She nodded, stepping back, what looked suspiciously
like regret flashing in her eyes. “No time like the present.”

The two of them walked around to the side of the outpost, and Drake bent to drag Jacques from underneath the house. The man’s body was already starting to decompose in the heat, the smell overwhelming. “You might want me to handle this one,” he said, turning so that his back obstructed her view.

“No worries,” she replied. “I’ve already been up close and personal with him.” She sucked in a deep breath and reached for his feet. “Let’s just get it over with.”

They hauled the body up onto the jetty and swung him out into the water.

“If the caimans get him,” Madeline said, shading her eyes as she watched the body floating downriver, “it’s sort of poetic justice, in a macabre kind of way. Circle of life and all that.”

They stood for a moment just watching the river.

“Does it ever bother you?” she asked, turning to face him. “All the killing, I mean?”

“Yes and no. I suppose after a while you kind of get used to it. Or maybe I’m just built that way. I don’t know. My dad was military. And my brother. So maybe it’s in my genes.”

“So then it’s just all in a day’s work?”

“No. It’s more than that. I mean, I respect the sanctity of human life as much as the next person. But sometimes, it’s necessary to take a life to save one. And in the long run, most of what we do is about keeping people safe. People who won’t ever even know they were in danger.”

“You make it sound noble.”

“Hardly. It’s just a game of us against them. And my
job is to make sure we win more than we lose. And for the most part, I honestly believe that what I do is for the greater good.” He shrugged, hating that the words sounded so pretentious. “I know that sounds like bullshit. Hell, the truth is, maybe I just like the ride.”

“I suspect that’s part of it. But you didn’t have to come after me. And when you did, you didn’t have to put yourself out there to protect me. I’m not one of the good guys, Drake. And still, you saved me. As far as I’m concerned that’s pretty damn noble.”

“Or maybe it’s just part of my job.”

“To get me to D.C., I know.” But her smile said that she believed otherwise. “So what next?” she asked, as they walked back into the outpost, her no-nonsense tone thankfully signaling an end to all the philosophizing.

“We need to search the room and see if we can find something that identifies our shooter.”

“So what am I looking for?” she asked as she thumbed through a stack of stuff on a shelf in the corner.

“A backpack or a wallet, anything that isn’t related to Jacques Ormond. Assuming that really was his name.”

“It was.” Madeline nodded, pointing at the computer. “We must have interrupted the killer going through Jacques’s files. Look, his name is on the account screen.” She clicked on a document and whistled. “You were right. There’s money to be made in smuggling crocodiles”

“Hang on. I might have something here,” he called over his shoulder as he bent to retrieve a duffel that had been shoved into the corner under a table.

“What have you got?” Madeline asked, coming to stand beside him as he put the bag on the table and unzipped the main compartment.

“A couple of guns,” he said, lifting out a sniper rifle. “Whoever our guy was, he was ready for action. Ammo”—he pulled out a couple of clips and put them on the table—“and a scope. And night vision goggles. This guy was definitely a pro.”

“As opposed to?”

“A revolutionary or even a drug runner. This guy’s got top-of-the-line equipment here. I’m betting a mercenary.”

“You think di Silva hired him?”

“I don’t know,” he said, pulling open a Velcroed pocket tucked into the inside of the bag, “but maybe this will tell us.” He extracted a thin nylon pouch, the kind internationals used to protect their papers, and pulled out a passport.

“So what’s it say?” Madeline pushed close in her eagerness to see, and despite the gravity of the situation, Drake felt his body respond to her proximity, pheromones overriding good sense.

Ignoring the stirrings, he opened the passport, thumbing through it. “The passport was issued in Portugal. His name is Paolo Montague.” He sorted through the rest of the stuff in the pouch. Some Colombian currency, about a hundred dollars American, and an international driver’s license. “License has the same name. Does it mean anything to you?”

“No. It’s not a name I’ve heard Ortiz mention. Or di Silva, for that matter. But the organization is large. And I certainly don’t know everyone.”

“Which means we can’t rule out his having been sent by Ortiz or di Silva. And if he was, then we’ve got bigger troubles than I anticipated.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head.

“I told you I expected di Silva to come after you, but this guy beat us to the punch. Which means they expected us to take this particular route.”

“Seems a fairly obvious choice. I mean, you said yourself that following the river was the easiest way to get to the coast.”

“Agreed.” He frowned, trying to sort through conflicting thoughts. “But there’s no way they could have known for certain what we’d do. And between the rain and our river ride, tracking us should have been difficult to impossible. Meaning that even if they worked it out and found a way to follow us, there wouldn’t have been time for this guy to have beat us here. Especially coming from downriver.”

“Maybe he’s not affiliated with di Silva,” she said. “Maybe he’s working for FARC. They do hire mercenaries. And you said they still have people in this area.”

“I suppose,” Drake said, rummaging further into the bag. The bottom was loose, and he lifted it to reveal a second Velcroed pocket.

“It makes more sense, really. It explains his being here before us. And it also explains his need for advanced weaponry. Maybe FARC is planning some kind of attack.”

“He’s not FARC.” Drake shook his head, holding out a photograph he’d pulled from the hidden compartment.

“It’s me,” she whispered.

“No question.”

She lifted her head, her gaze locking with his. “I didn’t have anything to do with this. Whatever
this
is,” she said, punctuating the thought with a wave of her hand. “I swear.”

“I know.”

She looked so surprised by his immediate acceptance that if the next photograph hadn’t been so alarming, he’d have smiled. Instead he held it out for her.

“I don’t understand.” She shook her head, a frown creasing her forehead as she stared down at the second photo.

“It’s simple, actually. There’s no way di Silva could have known that I was the man traveling with you. And even if there was, there’s absolutely no way he’d have access to my photograph.”

“Maybe he pulled it off his security cameras?”

“Hannah and Jason disabled them while I was inside the hacienda. And besides,” he said, looking down at the picture, “this was taken two years ago. At Sunderland. The only way this guy could have known that I was here—with you—is if someone from my organization told him.”

“So what are you saying?” she asked.

“That Nash was right. Someone on the inside is selling information. And it’s probably someone I know.”

Eloy Afaro Air Base, Marto, Ecuador

I
figure if Drake is making his way to Puerto Remo, he’ll head for the river and then use it to access the coast.” Avery used a light pen to trace the line of the Rio Negro as it wound its way down from the mountains. “Of course that’s only one of any number of potential routes.”

“Yes, but if possible, he’ll choose the most straightforward option,” Nash said, studying the map.

“Agreed.” Annie nodded. “But if di Silva’s men are in pursuit, he might avoid the river for exactly the same reason.”

“Bottom line is that we have no way of knowing where the hell he is.” Nash sighed. “Have we got any kind of intel?”

The three of them were holed up in a conference room at the air force base hospital. Tyler was still recuperating, waiting for the doctor’s official okay to travel. So they’d decided to meet here to finalize plans for Nash and Annie’s trip into Colombia.

“Not much,” Avery said. “If the Colombian government suspects, they aren’t talking. And we know di Silva isn’t going to want anyone knowing that his operations have been compromised.”

“It’s also possible that they don’t know Drake’s there, right?” Annie asked.

She’d arrived only hours before, coming without question when Avery had requested her help. Since Adam’s rescue, Annie had chosen to stay at home with her and Nash’s son, her need to be a mother overriding her desire to be part of the action. But this was different. Drake was their friend. And at the moment, Annie and Nash were the cavalry.

“Unfortunately, it’s looking more and more like they do.” Avery hit a button on his laptop and the map changed into a photograph of a couple of men Nash didn’t recognize. “This photograph was taken thirty-six hours ago. Outside the di Silva Coffee offices in Bogotá. The men are a couple of contract players. Paolo Montague and Alexander Petrov.”

“I’ve heard of Petrov,” Nash said, studying the man’s profile. “Wasn’t his name linked with the assassination of that French foreign minister in the Congo?”

“Yes.” Avery changed the slide to a new photograph, this one a close-up of Petrov. The man had the hardened look of a killer. “Nothing was ever proven, of course, but then Petrov’s known for his invisibility.”

“And Montague?” Annie asked. “I’m assuming he’s cut from the same cloth?”

“Yeah.” Avery switched to yet another picture, this one a close-up of Montague, his lips curling into a sneer. “He contracts out to whomever for whatever as long as the
price is right. Only he’s a little pickier about the work. Word is that he’s the guy you call when you want to have someone taken out.”

“Have you seen him before?” Nash asked Annie. She’d spent her time in the CIA working as an assassin. And since it required a very specialized skill set, there was a tendency for operatives to know their counterparts, no matter whose side they were on.

“No.” Annie shook her head. “But I’ve been out of the game a long time. I’m guessing they’ve been called in to eliminate the problem?”

“Unfortunately, that seems to be the case. We’ve got solid evidence that Montague arrived in Buenaventura shortly after we were airlifted out, and anecdotal intel that Petrov’s also in the area.”

“They move fast.”

“Yes, well they’d have to, wouldn’t they? Di Silva is bound to know we’ll be trying to get to them as well. And they’d want to strike before we get there, if at all possible. Keep the odds in their favor.”

“So Drake and Madeline could be walking into an ambush,” Nash said, his jaw tightening in anger.

“It seems possible.” Avery nodded, his eyes reflecting Nash’s ire. “Although they’ll still have no idea where exactly Drake will be headed. We picked Puerto Remo specifically because it isn’t the kind of place one would choose for a rendezvous.”

“That should at least buy us some time,” Annie said. “What about di Silva’s men? Are they still in pursuit?”

“Yes. According to Hannah’s sources, we’ve got activity in the area near the explosion as well as sightings of men along the roads leading to Buenaventura.”

“And di Silva?” Nash asked.

“He’s still in Bogotá. Acting for all the world as if nothing’s amiss.”

“But, in reality, he’s got all the bases covered,” Nash noted. “At least the activity would indicate that di Silva doesn’t have Drake. No need to call in mercenaries if you’ve already captured the quarry.”

“True enough,” Annie mused, eyes narrowed as she considered the possibilities. “So is it possible Drake could already be on his way out?”

“No. If he’d made it to the safe house, we’d have heard.” Avery shook his head. “There’s a secure phone there. He’d know to use it first thing. Although it’s still possible that we’ll have heard from him by the time you get to Puerto Remo.”