Last Spy Standing (15 page)

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.

“Zak is ready at the bottom of the stairs.” Megan was pushing into the cell. “Oh, God. Billy.” She rushed to her brother’s side.

“Take him out of here,” Mitch ordered.

Megan was already pulling her brother up. She supported his weight, which couldn’t have been much, and dragged him toward the door, her face set in a mask of hard resolve.

“Told you not to come back for me, sis. You never listen.”

“There’s a chopper on the roof. I’ll get you home. They’ll fix you up at the hospital.”

Mitch whipped his head around to stare at Megan. She could fly a chopper?
Hot.
He grinned. It sure would make their way out of here easier.

“I’m too far gone,” Billy said.

She ignored that and led him behind one of the cement pillars.

Mitch lit the fuse, then ran to join them. Zak was safe at the stairs. “Heads down!”

The fire raced about halfway up the fuse then went out. Damn the rats.

He ran forward, lit another match and tried again.

Again, the fire went out before it reached its target.

Cristobal’s men were banging on the basement door, trying to break it down. Gunfire sounded above. That would take care of the lock in short order.

An explosion many times bigger than what Mitch had been able to achieve with the plastic shook the building from above, nearly knocking them off their feet.

“I’m guessing that would be the chopper,” Billy said, his tone resigned. “Give me that.” He snatched the box of matches out of Mitch’s hand and limped forward.

“Billy, no.” Megan moved after him.

Billy motioned her back. “You keep back. I know what I’m doing.”

There was something in his eyes that made Mitch grab for Megan and yank her back. He wouldn’t let her go.

“Fuse’s worthless,” Billy said as soon as he was close enough to see. He turned back, his gaze settling on Megan. “You get home safely. Tell Mom I love her. Amy, too. If things had gone differently…I wanted to marry her.”

“Billy!” Megan lunged forward, nearly tearing Mitch’s arm from its socket, but he held her tight.

Then Billy held the match to the end of one of the dynamite sticks directly. “I always hated the thought of dying slowly in a place like this.”

Mitch threw himself on Megan who fought him like crazy.

“I’d much rather die like man,” Billy told them.

And then the dynamite blew.

Megan screamed, a heartrending sound Mitch knew he wasn’t going to forget as long as he lived.

The wall opened up, and Mitch could hear chunks of cement tumbling, although he could see little in the dust. He waited long enough to make sure more wouldn’t fall on their heads, then grabbed Megan and Zak, pulling them both through the opening as the basement door burst open somewhere behind them. Bullets chased them all the way to the bushes.

They were all coughing, their eyes and throats filled with dust.

“To the hole in the fence.” Mitch pointed the way.

Zak broke away and darted forward, saving his own skin. Megan pulled back. Mitch wouldn’t let her go, but dragged her resolutely forward as bullets flew around them. He used his free hand to lay down some cover, shooting back.

The building behind them was engulfed in flames. The exploding chopper shaved off the top floor. Mitch’s dynamite took out a good chunk of the basement. The place looked ready to collapse any second.

Megan beat on his back, screaming, “I can’t leave him!”

“He’s dead.”

“I can’t,” she sobbed.

His heart broke for her, but he couldn’t stop to comfort her. He broke into a run, dragging her along without giving her a chance to escape.

“He died so we could make it out of there. If you go back and they kill you, too, his sacrifice will have meant nothing,” he said when they were through the hole and far enough that they could slow to catch their breaths.

Her eyes were glazed. She looked at him, but she didn’t look like she heard what he said.

He stopped and shook her gently. “Once in your life, accept help! He wanted to do what he did. He was too far gone. He would have never made it out of the jungle. He gave us Don Pedro’s book and our lives. His death meant something.”

She went still then, at last. Nodded. He no longer had to hold her to keep her with him. When he started out again, she followed.

“I
will
bring these people down one day,” she promised him as she wiped mud off her face, the mixture of dust and her tears.

He could hear Zak a dozen feet ahead, thrashing through the undergrowth.

Shots cut through the night. They were being followed.

Mitch shot a few rounds back that way as he broke into a run, with Megan close behind him, shooting like a banshee.

H
ER
HEART
WAS
BROKEN
. She felt as if a black hole had sucked her in. She functioned on reflex, but her mind was a wasteland of grief.

Men were still chasing them. That made no sense. Zak had meant something to Don Pedro, but he meant nothing to Cristobal. Why would he waste men, sending them after Don Pedro’s no-consequence prisoner?

“Why don’t they quit?” she asked Mitch who half dragged Zak through the jungle. They’d caught up with him once his first burst of energy had run out.

“They must think we have something they want.”

“Drugs?”

“I don’t think so. There must be hundreds of pounds of that at the compound. They wouldn’t risk life and limb in the jungle at night for another couple of bagfuls. They know we’re on foot and can’t carry much. I don’t think it’s the Don’s playbook. How would Cristobal’s men know we took it?”

“Then what?” She tried to see where she stepped, which was a hopeless business.

“What’s the most important thing to Cristobal?”

“Power?”

“He wanted Don Pedro gone,” Mitch agreed. “What if the Don wasn’t in his room when they went for him?”

“Like he knew something was up and took off?”

“And Cristobal’s men think he’s with us.” They had been following an animal path, but now Mitch darted into the thick of the jungle. He held out a hand for them to stop and get down behind him.

“Let them get ahead of us,” he whispered. “We’ll take them out from behind. Better us chasing them, then them chasing us.”

He wanted the power position. She agreed. But her mind was still back at Don Pedro’s place.

“We made a lot of noise. We broke out. They put two and two together,” she whispered as she put it all together herself at last. It all made some very discouraging sense. “Why can’t they let the Don go? They probably killed most of his men by now. They have his compound.”

“Someone like Don Pedro could have other strongholds, other men. He rules a small army, scattered around the jungle, protecting his various businesses. Whoever wants to supplant him can’t afford to let the man reach his support base.”

A group of men ran past them down the path. Mitch waited a minute before he got up to go after them. Megan and Zak followed, trudging back onto the path that promised easier going. Only then did they realize that a second part of the group had lagged behind. There were bad guys ahead of them and bad guys behind them. Mitch, Zak and Megan were sandwiched in the middle.

Part of her wanted to stop and stand her ground. Wanted to take the bastards out. She didn’t care if she died here, too. Just now, she didn’t care about anything.

Except then her mother would have to deal with the loss of two children. And her brothers would get it in their thick heads that they had to get revenge for her and Billy. And the last thing she wanted was to put any other member of her family in danger.

“Megan,” Mitch whispered. “I know you’re hurting, honey, but I need you to step out of it and commit to survival.”

Honey?

“You’re going to make it out of the jungle. You’re going to survive this for Billy. I’m going to help you, and you’re going to let me.” He stepped closer to her, pressing his back to hers. “I take the back, you take the front.” He even handed a gun to Zak who was pulling off the path, looking ready to run away. “You help Megan.”

She set her feet slightly apart and braced her back against Mitch’s. “All right.”

Flashlights panned the jungle behind them; she could see their beams from her peripheral vision, but she kept her gaze forward. She had to be ready to shoot at the first group once Mitch opened fire on the ones behind them.

The men shot first, and Mitch responded. Nearly every one of his bullets found their targets, judging by the shouts of pain that erupted in the night. The first group quickly turned around and backtracked, shooting at anything and everything. Zak panicked and returned fire long before they came into sight.

“Don’t waste bullets!” Megan called to him, but he couldn’t hear her in the din.

Megan held her fire until the men were within reach, until she knew she could do the most damage. Here they came. She squeezed the trigger over and over again.

The enemy fell.

She was numb, her finger fused to the trigger. Many died, but the ones left kept coming. They were close now. Really close.

Close enough to throw a hand grenade, she realized as a flash and bang blinded and deafened her, and the force of the explosion knocked her to the ground.

Chapter Thirteen

The grenade almost shook Mitch off his feet. He saw Megan go down and grabbed for her. Zak dove for the bushes, spraying everything behind him with bullets.

Their enemies had expected a lull in return fire after the grenade exploded, so they’d all come up from cover. Zak’s wild spray of bullets had everyone scrambling back, which gave Mitch enough time to grab Megan and duck behind some trees.

Zak was still shooting. Panic had probably locked his muscles. Mitch joined in, firing at Cristobal’s men until Megan had recovered enough to continue. And then they were off, on the move again, through the thick of the jungle where every step could be fatal.

Megan led, with Zak in the middle and Mitch bringing up the rear. They were all exhausted and injured to varying degrees. The wound on Mitch’s leg that Megan had bandaged up ages ago didn’t hurt too badly, but it did slow him down a little. And that was more than he could afford.

Zak was running out of steam fast. He wasn’t used to this pace, and his broken jaw was clearly making him miserable. But of their combined injuries, Megan’s snake-bitten hand bothered Mitch the most. The whole arm was swollen now, up to her shoulder. He’d seen it when the grenade had flashed.

He needed to find a native plant the forest people called corsh to make a poultice for her. The sap of the low-growing leafy weed helped allergic reactions and even neutralized mild poisons. If only they could stop. If only he could use the flashlight in his backpack to make the search easier. But he didn’t dare use it. Light would give away their position.

T
HE
FINAL
BATTLE
CAME
at dawn. Everyone could see at last and that lifted their confidence. Both sides wanted to end the chase. Rapid fire was interspersed with short breaks while weapons were reloaded and men searched for better cover.

Some larger rocks, or any kind of cover would have been nice to protect them as they made their last stand, Mitch thought as he shot back and moved forward to look for a sustainable position. He burst out of the woods one step behind Megan, slowed as he took in the cliff in front of them. The drop to the bottom measured at least a hundred yards, the other side of the gorge about thirty yards away.

Not a distance they could tackle in one leap.

A Kapok tree had fallen across the canyon, or perhaps it had been cut that way on purpose to serve as a bridge. But that must have been a long time ago. Weather had rotted the wood. When Mitch kicked it, the spongy consistency didn’t fill him with optimism.

The underside of the trunk that rested against the cliff had been hollowed by jungle critters or the elements, further weakening the structure, he realized as he looked more carefully.

He turned to the others. “We can’t cross here.”

“Now what?” Zak mumbled through his broken jaw, his eyes wide with fear. “We’re gonna die in this stupid jungle, aren’t we?”

“We’ll have to make our last stand here.” Cover or no cover. Their luck had run out.

Megan scanned the area, a grim expression on her face. She’d barely spoken since they’d left the compound. Her heart was broken, a dangerous condition for a soldier in battle. Her pain ripped through Mitch’s gut. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to console her. But that would have to wait a little longer. Right now, they couldn’t afford to take a single second to think about anything else but the fight. Cristobal’s men had fallen back, but weren’t far behind.

Mitch examined the terrain. If they couldn’t find cover, some high ground would do, but there wasn’t any of that, either. Except…

“Can you climb?” he asked the kid.

Zak shook his head, looking ready to drop from exhaustion. He was out of bullets, too. The kid wouldn’t be much help. Mitch had to get him out of harm’s way.

“Get into the hollow of this tree.” Mitch bent and checked it for dangerous critters. They didn’t need another snake bite.

Zak glanced at the space—large enough for him to hide in if he curled into the fetal position, which he did. “Can you see me?”

“You’ll be fine as long as you keep quiet.”

“Where do you want me?” Megan asked, leading the charge.

He hated to see her this dispirited. “We’ll be up in the trees.”

She immediately scanned the tallest ones and picked one for herself. He wished they could go up together so he could help her climb, but they’d be better off dividing the enemy. So he headed toward a tree several yards away. If all went well, the enemy would enter the clearing right between them.

Lianas helped his climb; a couple of nasty snakes slowed it. He dropped them on the trail below. With luck, they’d bite one of Cristobal’s lackeys. He picked his position carefully, in the fork of a branch that provided protection from two sides. He hoped Megan had done the same. He could no longer see her. She’d done a good job of hiding in the foliage.

Megan was falling apart on the inside, but on the outside she was still a top-notch operator, taking care of business. Even seasoned soldiers couldn’t always pull that off. His respect wasn’t easily earned, but Megan had earned that and more. She had his loyalty. He would see her out of here in one piece or die trying.

He’d do the same for Zak. He’d done it for all the other men he’d rescued out of hot spots before, men whose lives had been put into his hands. Yet his devotion to Megan went deeper, to a level he wasn’t altogether comfortable with.

If they survived the day, they were going to have to talk about where they stood. He wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or scared. All he knew was that his insides were tied up in knots every time he thought about any harm coming to her.

Endless minutes ticked by. Then the noises of the jungle changed suddenly. Birdcalls turned shrill and warned of new danger. People were coming.

For a second, Megan pulled from cover, making her face visible to him, but not to anyone below. They didn’t say anything. Her beautiful face looked tough yet vulnerable.

He was falling in love with her.

And then one of Cristobal’s men came into view. Mitch aimed, fired and took him out. Judging from the way the bushes moved and the force of the returning fire, there were at least twenty others behind him.

How in the hell? Cristobal must have sent fresh men in the night who’d followed the sound of gunfire and had caught up.

Twenty against two.

Those weren’t the best odds, but Mitch was who he was, and Megan was who she was, and they made a hell of a team.

He neutralized two more men before a bullet nicked his heel. Good thing he wasn’t Achilles. Aside from the burning pain, the injury didn’t much interfere with the business of taking these goons out.

Megan got her men, one by one, with enviable precision. Each shot was a kill. Her brother was not forgotten, nor would he ever be. She was fueled in equal parts by stone-cold professionalism and red hot revenge, a deadly combination.

The enemy saw the danger, too, and blanketed her position with fire.

If she was hit, she didn’t cry out.

He tried to see how many men were left down below. They’d gotten a bunch of them, but there were still a dozen men shooting from behind cover. They had limitless ammunition and plenty of practice at shooting monkeys out of trees. The branches around Mitch were riddled with bullets. He figured Megan’s hiding spot had to look the same.

One of the men below them was going to get lucky sooner or later. The only way to survive a battle against these odds was to finish it quickly.

A bullet grazed his knee. It got just close enough to rip his pants and take off some skin. Mitch took out the shooter, and the man next to him. That one had a radio clipped to his belt. Good, now the bastard wasn’t going anywhere with it. They were going to need that later.

He kept on shooting at every leaf that moved. Megan didn’t take a break, either. Then more bullets flew at them, and the next thing he knew, she was falling out of the tree.

His heart stopped. The ground was too far away, the fall unsurvivable.

“Megan!”

Somehow she caught herself on a branch, her boot wedged between two tree limbs. She hung upside down, gun still in hand, blood covering the side of her neck and face.

He went a little crazy then, sliding down on a liana, not caring that he was falling too fast or that the bark of the plant took the skin off his palm. He squeezed off one bullet after another all the way down, a war cry tearing from his lips.

When his boots touched the ground, he barely felt his busted heel. He plowed forward, like a robot, men falling before him. Blood ran on the jungle floor. He, too, was covered in it. This small patch of jungle looked like a slaughterhouse when he was finished.

And all that time, all he could think of was Megan.

The gun had fallen from her hand. She hung listlessly from the branches, held only by her boot. If her small foot slipped from it…

He climbed the tree faster than he ever thought possible. “Megan! Megan, honey?”

She shook her head. Focused her eyes. They narrowed immediately as she squeezed off a shot, and when he twisted, he saw a man he’d missed earlier. The last of Cristobal’s foot soldiers fell with weapon in hand and a disappointed look on his face.

Then Mitch was there, pulling Megan up and cradling her in his arms. The bullet that had knocked her out of the tree had cracked her collarbone. Mitch found two more bullet holes in her chest. He yanked up her tank top and gave thanks to God. Don Pedro’s game book had acted as a bulletproof vest, saving her.

A last gift from Billy, who’d told them about the book in the first place.

“Hang in there.” He made a pressure bandage, took both of their belts off and tied her to his back with them, then carried her down the tree.

“Is it over?” Zak stumbled their way to investigate the silence. “I’m hungry.” He finally spotted Megan who’d passed out from blood loss on the way down. “She doesn’t look good.”

“Shut up and go find the man who had a radio. We need it,” Mitch snarled at him. “And get me a boot. Right foot. About this size.” He showed the busted boot on his foot. Blood seeped through the hole.

He ignored that and checked Megan’s wound first. The bullet was still lodged inside her, in a way that actually prevented more serious bleeding, so he decided to leave it in. When he got her to a hospital, the doctors could deal with it. And he
would
get her to help.

He grabbed his canteen and washed the blood from her face.

Her eyes fluttered open after a moment. “What happened?”

“You got shot. Stay still.” He offered her water, and she drank.

“Is it bad?” Her eyes were glazed with pain.

“Nope. You’ll live to boss me around another day. Try to move as little as you can.”

He limped off into the undergrowth, and didn’t come back until he found what he was looking for. Corsh weed for her swollen arm, and some small brown berries that had disinfectant qualities for her brand-new bullet wound.

He treated her injuries then ripped two strips off the bottom of his T-shirt and bandaged her. Man, he hated to see her in this shape. “I wish we could rest.”

She looked offended. “Have you ever seen me take a nap in the middle of the day?”

He smiled at her. He loved her, there was no way around it.

Fat lot of good it did for either of them. The situation was impossible. With the kind of jobs they had, they’d never see each other. But nobody ever said love was convenient. From all accounts, it was a major pain. He felt it.

He looked over at Zak who was checking the dead. Beyond the jaw that couldn’t be helped until they got to a doctor, the kid had no other visible injuries. So Mitch took a few minutes to deal with his own cuts and abrasions, and his heel.

“Need any help?” she offered.

She could be half dead, and she’d still be the one who wanted to take care of everybody.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. I’ll live to annoy you another day.”

She reached out and took his hand, her amber gaze locking with his. “I’m getting used to it. You’re not always that annoying.”

He squeezed her fingers. Never wanted to let her go. “I have my good days, huh?”

“Good minutes.” A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Let’s not get carried away.”

“Why not? I think you should get carried away.” He bent over and picked her up. Took a few steps to see if he could walk without putting too much weight on his heel. He set her back down again when Zak returned with an armload of loot.

“You’re not carrying me.” Her eyes narrowed as she laid down the law.

“You’ve lost too much blood.”

“Are you calling me a wimp?”

Zak dumped his bounty at Mitch’s feet: a couple of pieces of beef jerky that the kid looked at mournfully since he couldn’t chew, ammunition, a boot that looked like it would fit, a shortwave radio. “The rest of the stuff is covered in blood. I’m not touching it.”

“This is more than enough. You did good. Let’s get ready to move.”

“We have a radio. Call in the cavalry,” the kid argued with him, forming the words painfully.