Eye of the Storm (27 page)

And they'd gone into every operation knowing they were expendable. That if anything went wrong, there would be no rescue mission. No public acknowledgment that they'd even ever existed.

After Sangre de Cristo the remaining members of D-9 had survived on their wits, avoiding roaming bands of guerrillas as well as government-backed mercenaries.

They'd had no papers, and no chance of rescue.

But they'd come out of it alive.

To hell with the government.

"It must have been hard."

She surfaced from her memories, trying for a moment to make sense of his words. "We didn't know any different. D-9 beat the hell out of the lives we all came from. We weren't exactly cream of the crop, you know?"

"I don't believe that," Martin said, his loyalty unswerving. "People don't change that much, Simone. And from where I'm standing you're pretty much top of the line." She wondered if she'd ever viewed the world with such idealism. Maybe when she was two. The image of her mother coaxing her to steal from a beggar presented itself front and center.

Then again—maybe not.

"Things aren't always that cut-and-dried, Martin. But thanks for the support." She smiled and turned back toward the rest of the group.

She looked down at the map and the X that marked Isabella's compound, pushing away all thoughts of her personal life. "How far from the safe house is the compound?"

"About an hour by road. But since you'll be hiking in, you'll have to take a more circuitous route. I figure it'll take you maybe three hours."

"You're not going?" She frowned.

"No." Derek shook his head. "I'll stay with Martin and Reece. Can't risk blowing my cover. I'm taking a big enough risk just escorting you in."

"We appreciate your help," Tate said. According to Tate, the two men had worked together on a previous D-9 operation, Derek providing intel and backup support. Simone had never met him, but that wasn't all that unusual, considering sometimes an operation called for team members to work from different locations. So far she'd been impressed with the man. On very short notice he'd provided not only his expertise but also the supplies they needed to make the trek and infiltrate the compound.

Derek shrugged. "Just glad I was available."

"You've been in Central America for a while, right?" Reece asked.

"A couple of years." He folded the map and stowed it in his pack.

"So have you had dealings with the Ramirez organization?"

"Not directly. My work has primarily been in Honduras. But any work with drug trafficking in this area is going to mean at least indirect contact with the Ramirezes. They keep things pretty close to the vest. None of the over-the-top spending or posturing for territory you see with some of the other cartels."

"So they don't work with any of the others?"

"No. Not if they can help it. They have their own network, and for the most part their own contacts for transportation and sales. We've tried to infiltrate the organization several times, but with no success. You've got to understand that this family in particular has ground support from the locals that you don't see anywhere else."

"Because of Sangre de Cristo."

"Yes. And because of Hector Ramirez. Whatever else he was, he was a man of the people. He believed Nicaraguans deserved more than they were getting from the government of the time. And for all I can see, he was right."

"But if they're so careful, and if they have the kind of support you're alluding to, isn't it going to be close to impossible for Tate and Simone to get inside?"

"If it was anyone else, I'd say there wasn't a prayer."

Simone ran a hand through her hair, exchanging a long look with her husband. Once upon a time she'd believed D-9 invincible. But she'd been wrong.

Dead wrong.

THE SAFE HOUSE was more of a euphemism than anything. In reality, it consisted of two rooms carved into the rock of the mountain. A stand of pine obscured it from all but the most scrutinizing view. It reminded Reece of a cave he'd seen in Scotland once. It was reputed to have been the hideout for clansmen during the uprising. He'd thought at the time that it would have been a hellish existence. And now it looked like he was about to find out.

However, after spending most of the day hiking the mountains it was a relief just to sit down. He wasn't in bad shape for a city boy, swimming, workouts and a weekly basketball game staving off the beer belly and atrophying muscles of some of his colleagues. But there was no way he was in the same league as Tate and his buddy.

And Simone's daily insistence on running and working out took on new meaning in light of their current predicament. He'd thought her obsessed. She was in fact simply staying prepared. Even Martin seemed to be taking it all in stride, the simple resilience of youth allowing him to bounce back from his gunshot wound almost as if nothing had happened.

Derek was lighting a fire in the hollowed-out cavity that served as a cook stove and heater. A natural chimney wound its way up and out of the mountain, keeping the room free of smoke.

"Is this ours?" Simone asked, clearly referring to the CIA. She was unloading food from her pack.

"No." Derek shook his head. "It's been here longer than we've been in the country. It was probably discovered by a herdsman or hunter, and then modified for use as a shelter. The mountains are littered with places like this. The guerrillas used them during the civil war. And now the drug kings use them to stash product if there's some kind of threat."

"So aren't we worried that someone knows this place is here? Like maybe the Ramirezes?" Martin asked, emerging from the second room, which was really no more than a second cavern divided from the first with a tattered old blanket.

"There's been no activity here in years," Derek said, kicking at a pile of animal droppings to underscore the thought. "I only knew it was here because a colleague who worked the area a few years back told me about it. And when I heard about your situation, I figured this would be the perfect spot."

He moved to the frame that served as a makeshift door, pointing down into the valley below them. "That's
El Ojo de la Tormenta
there in the distance."

Reece could just make out the glint of red rooftop at the far end of the valley against the dark green of slopes of Cerro Mogoton.

"There's a road running just below here, along the west side of the valley." Derek pointed to a tiny rutted track below them, appearing and disappearing in the trees off to their left. "It cuts back between the mountains, connecting the valley to the main road coming from Ocotal. There's no exit from this end, except by jeep trail. And even that's limited to a track through the highland over there that ultimately loops back to the valley road."

"So you all are going in from the east?" Martin asked, shading his eyes with his hand as he looked out toward the right of the mountain. Here the land seemed undisturbed by human intervention, the undergrowth heavy beneath the trees as the mountains played out to the fertile valley floor. A small river curled lazily through the valley, the scene bucolic despite the implied danger of their mission.

"It looks so peaceful," Simone said, coming to stand beside him, zeroing in on his thoughts.

"And dangerous." Tate pointed to the glitter of a windshield on the road.

Reece grabbed a pair of field glasses, moving them along the line of the road, finally settling on a black Hummer moving slowly away from them toward the end of the valley. "Patrol?" He asked, still following the vehicle.

"I say the odds are on it." Derek had also picked up a pair of glasses. "The timing's right, I didn't have time to put together serious intel, but there've been eyes on the compound on and off for years. According to what I was able to put together, they patrol the perimeter area every six hours or so."

Simone checked her watch. "Is there a foot patrol, too?"

"Not out this far. That's why you should be able to make it to the compound without being spotted. But there'll be guards once you get there."

"More so with Isabella in residence, I'd say," Tate said, also checking his watch.

"Do we know for certain that she's there?" Reece lowered his glasses, the Hummer now gone from sight.

"Yes." This from Derek. "I got confirmation just before you arrived."

"Visual?" Simone asked.

Derek shook his head, putting down his binoculars. "Just verbal. Source-of-a-source kind of thing. But it's reliable."

"I hope so." Reece shot a glance at the assembled company, thinking that they were banking a hell of a lot on the word of one man. But Simone and Tate seemed satisfied, so he let it rest. "What time are you going?"

"Early morning." Simone moved back into the shelter, and the others followed. "Just before sunrise, right?" She looked over to Tate for confirmation.

The man nodded, his face harsh in the shadows of the cave. "I figure it'll take us at least a couple of hours to make our way to the compound and then another hour or so to make it inside."

"What's the plan once you're inside?" Reece asked, not completely sure he wanted an answer.

"Find the target and neutralize." Tate was quick to answer.

"What he means," Simone said, shooting Tate a reproving look, "is that we're going to locate Isabella, and try and see what can be done to end the violence. We didn't kill her father. Maybe we can make her understand that."

"Yeah, and I just won the lottery," Derek said with a laugh.

"We're going to at least try." Simone's tone allowed no room for argument, but Reece saw Derek and Tate exchange glances.

"Is there something going on here we need to be aware of?" Reece asked, centering his attention on Tate.

"No." He shook his head. "I guess I just want to be sure somebody pays for what happened to my friends."

"I feel the same way, Tate," Simone said. "You know that. But if we take out Isabella Ramirez and we're wrong, there will be hell to pay and you know it."

"Not if they don't know we did it." His roguish smile, intended to cajole, didn't seem to faze her at all.

"The minute we got Derek involved, we put it on the radar. We need to exhaust all possibility of settling this without starting an international incident. You know I'm right."

"And if we can't settle it?" His eyes had narrowed as he considered her words.

"Then we'll have to deal with it the old-fashioned way." She shrugged, her face hardening into an icy mask of indifference. Only Reece could see her eyes, and he knew she wasn't going to take that route easily.

But she would take it, of that he was certain. Too damn much had been lost.

"All right then," Derek said, moving a pot of coffee off the fire. "I suggest we all get something to eat, and then a little shut-eye. It'll be showtime before we know it."

Tate held out a cup for Simone poured a can of beans into another pan and placed it on the fire. The smell of ham and tomato filled the air, and the rumble of conversation punctuated with laughter filled the tiny cavern.

And Reece was reminded of his days in the Rangers. The camaraderie of the men just before a mission. Except that this time he had family involved. His brother and his wife. And he knew damn well that their jocular conversation was false bravery. A way to buoy up courage in the face of uncertainty.

The situation wasn't exactly the same. But one fact was identical. Like every mission he remembered during his time in Iraq, there was a hell of a good chance that someone wouldn't make it back alive.

*****

SIMONE SAT on a rock and looked down into the silent valley. The moon was bright. Almost three-quarters. But it had risen early and would set soon, which meant what was beautiful now would not be a detriment later, the ensuing dark cloaking their approach to the compound. She and Tate had gone over their plans and checked and rechecked their gear. Everyone was inside now, sleeping. She'd tried, but restlessness had won out, and finally she'd given up and come out here to try and relax.

The moonlight obliterated most of the stars, but on the very edges of the horizon next to the black of the mountains she could see one or two sparkling. She'd read a story once about a princess who'd jumped into the sky. She couldn't remember exactly why, but Simone had loved the story and, as a child, had often wished she could escape the same way.

It seemed so wonderfully free, up there.

"I woke up and you were gone." Reece's voice was warm against the chill of the night. He settled next to her on the rock, his presence comforting.

"I couldn't sleep." She pulled her knees up, wrapping her arms around herself. "So I came out here. It's so beautiful. Times like this I always think about how oblivious most of the world is to the ugliness that exists out there."

"Maybe that's why you do what you do?"

"I wish it were that noble." She reached over to twine her fingers through his, grateful that he didn't pull away. "I joined D-9 because I didn't have a choice." He waited in silence as she worked to gather her thoughts. He'd given her an opening, and this time she was going to tell him the truth—all of it. "My mother was a prostitute. Actually, that's giving her too much credit My mother was a drug addict who used her body to support her habit. I grew up in a series of crack houses in L.A. The perfect childhood."

His-fingers tightened on hers.

"I stayed until I was around eleven. I blossomed early. And suddenly my mom saw me as a commodity. And I knew I either had to fend for myself or she'd drag me further into her nightmare. So I ran away. Hitched all the way to Chicago. Not exactly a panhandler's paradise, Chicago. But I got the lay of the land soon enough." She closed her eyes, trying to keep the memories at arm's length. "Hooked up with a guy named Booker. He played fast and loose with the rules, but usually managed to come out on top. We grifted together for a couple of years, then one night he just disappeared. Along with most of my worldly possessions.

"So I was on my own again. I tried grifting by myself, but I wasn't making a living. Hell, I wasn't making enough to eat So when a man I knew offered to deal me in to his drug network, I said okay.

"You'd think as much as I hated the stuff, I wouldn't have wanted to be involved in any way. But when you're hungry and dirty, and craving anywhere with a roof, you loosen your morals a bit."

Simone looked down at their joined hands, marveling that he still hadn't pulled away. "It worked okay for a couple of months. I was only a runner so I wasn't taking much of a risk. But before I could celebrate my newfound wealth, I got caught in a sting. Looking back on it, I realize it must have been in the works for months. Surveillance, undercover work, the whole bit. But at the time, I just knew I was in trouble. I was holding about thirty kilos of product when it went down. One hell of a lot of money.

"I'm sure everyone involved thought I was trying to make off with the payload. But I just wanted to get the hell out of there. So I ran. And over the years, I'd developed a knack for it, disappearing in crowds, using parts of the city that no one else even knew existed. I evaded capture for almost a month. Hid from the Feds, the locals, and some pretty serious thugs who worked for the organization."

"Why didn't you dump the drugs?"

"I knew they were the only thing keeping me alive. The authorities needed them for proof. And the guys I was working for just needed them period. As long as I kept them in my possession, I figured I was safe." She sucked in a breath, then slowly released it. It was over. All of it dead and buried.

"Anyway, it was Maurice who finally ran me to ground. He was a hell of a tracker in those days. Caught me in my own double back. Pretty damn amazing, really. I thought I was screwed. And maybe in hindsight, I was. But it turned out he was putting together D-9. And he thought my particular skills, such as they were, would be a great asset to my country. In return, he handled the drugs, the Feds, the bad guys, and the couple dozen police departments with my picture on the bulletin board."

"Doesn't sound like you had much of a choice."

"I didn't. But then again it was more ambiguous than that. Maurice was tough. Hell, he was capable of a lot of things, strong arming not the least of it. But in his own way, even in the beginning, he cared about me. He saw something in me that I didn't even know existed—he saw hope. So despite the fact that I didn't have a choice, in a very real way Maurice saved my life. He saved me from the streets, and he saved me from myself."

"So you joined D-9?"

"Well, actually, I went through a testosterone-induced, hell-inspired training program first. That's where I first met Tate and Bea. From there we joined the rest of the team. And you pretty much know the rest."

The night got suddenly quiet, even the wind in the trees dying down. Simone fought against a wave of panic, staring out into the night.

"I'm so sorry," he said finally.

"For what? Giving me the first home I ever had? Having the singular honor of being the only person in the world who ever told me they loved me? No, Reece, believe me, you have nothing to be sorry for."