Perfect Stranger (10 page)

Chloe shut her eyes, took a steadying
breath, and readied herself to die.

****

Jericho reached up at the crest of the
level, just before the turn, and pulled himself up onto a beam. He
was more than ready to let off some pent up energy on these
bastards.

The SUV passed under him, unsuspecting, and
went on to the next level. The vehicle idled on the top of the
garage for a moment, then died. He heard doors slam as they stepped
out, and voices as the men, three of them, fanned out to search the
place.

"They are in here, keep looking," one called
in Arabic.

A moment later, he came under Jericho first.
The other two were not quiet to him yet, still searching above.

Jericho dropped down from
behind and grabbed the man, snapping his neck before he even became
aware Jericho had dropped behind him. The man's AK-47 dropped to
the concrete, the
clank
alerting the other two.

They crested the turn at a run, skidding to
a halt and calling loudly for the other man, then yelling at
Jericho as they saw the other man at his feet.

Jericho snarled at them, looking up from his
first opponent.

As they drew their weapons, coming at him,
Jericho punched the one with the beard in the throat, crushing his
windpipe. The other, a crook-nosed man, charged him, and Jericho
sent him headlong into the wall with a quick sweep to the side. The
man's weapon went clattering to the concrete.

Jericho kicked the two handguns away where
they slid down the slope of the garage. He backed up a step, ready
again.

Crook-nose turned, his face bloodied and a
howl of rage escaping him as he approached Jericho, slower this
time. He put up his fists.

Jericho chuckled coldly as they began to
circle each other.

Suddenly, Jericho blocked one jab and then
another, turning and kicking the man in the face. Crook-nose spun
from the blow, but came back, planting a fist in Jericho's side and
a foot to the side of his knee, knocking him down. Jericho quickly
rolled and regained his feet just in time to catch a punch to the
jaw. His head flew back, but he whipped his neck forward to
head-butt the man in the face, bloodying him even more.

Jericho leapt up, kicking the man solidly in
the chest with both feet, sending him to fly into a pier near the
ledge.

Jericho lifted himself from the concrete and
swaggered up, ready to exact more pain to interrogate the
terrorist, but as the man inched up the rebar and cement safety
barricade, a bullet struck in his throat followed by three more in
a line down his chest. Blood gurgled from crook-nose's mouth.

Jericho whipped around.

"What in the hell, Chloe," he roared.

She had the AK in her hands, half-spilled
from the closet. Chloe looked down on the weapon with
fascination.

"I was going to interrogate him," Jericho
said.

"I was going to shoot him in the leg." She
gave him a little sheepish expression and dropped the rifle.

Jericho sighed hard, and then turned around
in a half-circle as another set of tires pulled into the garage
below. He immediately jumped at Chloe and took his pack, hefting it
on and then the SCAR, placing the sling over his head and pushed
the weapon to his rear.

He reached and helped Chloe to her feet,
dragging her off at a run as the car came closer and closer, too,
speeding up the ramps.

Their running steps echoed along with their
shallow pants through the garage, all the way until they reached
the top.

Jericho heard an engine roar behind them and
Chloe's meek little cry at his side.

Jericho grabbed her hand. "Don’t stop. Jump
with me," he called to her, running hard.

Chloe sucked in a gasp.

Everything faded but their steps in unison.
One. Two. Three. Their feet left the concrete ledge at the same
moment.

Silence.

Chloe cried out in fear, and a moment later
they landed in a roll on the tin roofs, about twelve-feet
below.

Chloe whimpered as they stopped.

Jericho jumped to his feat. "You hurt?" he
asked, pulling her up, too.

"I don’t think so," she said.

Jericho pulled her along, running again. A
spray of rounds from pistols pinged on the tin roofs around them,
but after another fifty meters they were out of range. He was glad
this group hadn’t been equipped with AK-47s.

They slowed, but kept a quick pace. Their
pursuers didn’t take the jump he and Chloe had risked, but Jericho
imagined the men were still on their tail below in the streets by
vehicle.

Ahead in the distance, Jericho spotted a
canopy line at the edge of the city. They needed the cover of the
jungle, but Jericho questioned if they would make it that far.

Chloe surprised him. She
didn’t give up. She didn’t complain. She just kept going, and soon
they were lost in a gallery forest of the
Cerrado
savanna region.

Chapter Eight

1300 hours, Sunday

Somewhere in the Cerrado of Brazil

Chloe fell into the thick, tall undergrowth
between the strands of strangler figs. Jericho dove to the ground
beside her and immediately pulled her into him, wrapping a thick
arm protectively around her middle, shielding her.

Her breathing was so hard she knew the whole
jungle could hear her loud pants. She knew Jericho felt her heart
pounding staccato between them. She could feel his at her back.

She tried to force her breathing to slow,
but the more she tried, the louder she seemed to herself. Jericho's
breathing wasn't as hard as hers, but then, he probably ran a whole
lot more than she had ever thought about doing.

They had been followed into the jungle.
However, as the mangrove, strangler, and curtain figs began to grow
denser, the undergrowth of the jungle creeping up higher and
larger, their followers had been forced to abandon their vehicle
and come after them on foot. Jericho had led them on a merry chase,
diverting from their path to throw their followers off. Yet,
somehow, the other men still found them.

At last, when Chloe could go no further,
they'd made a risky move and thrown themselves into the brush.
Neither she nor Jericho knew for sure how many were after them now,
but this hiding spot was their last hope. She couldn't make it in
the heat and humidity, not one step more. Jericho risked stopping
to hide for her sake when he surely could have gone on.

Chloe listened to their breath, felt
Jericho's heartbeat at her back. His body was pressed against hers,
and she closed her eyes tight, wishing their enemies away as she
heard their footfalls on the jungle floor coming closer.

The men began to thrash in the growth around
the grove with what she imagined to be machetes. They talked
amongst themselves rapidly, their voices becoming louder as they
came closer.

Chloe grabbed onto Jericho's arm in fright,
her breath hitching in her throat, and her heart all but stopped as
a boot came down right in front of her face. She didn't dare
breathe.

The man standing over them cursed, and the
others began talking rapidly again. Their thrashing stopped, and, a
moment later, Chloe watched the heel of the man's boot turn as he
started back in the other direction.

They were giving up, she thought. She hoped!
And, sure enough, after a few minutes more the voices of the men
began to drift away until there was nothing left but the sounds of
the jungle. What seemed like an eternity later, when the macaws
began to garble overhead and a monkey chattered, Jericho
relaxed.

He rose a little, turning Chloe over and
laid a finger to his lips. He looked from their hiding spot then,
canvassing their location slowly.

"Area is clear. Let's go," he whispered,
standing and pulling her up briskly.

****

1530 hours, Sunday

Deeper in the Cerrado

Jericho led them a little distance away
before they stopped again, pulling Chloe through a swath of curtain
figs to the aerial roots of a large red mangrove. He slung his
assault pack and the SCAR against the tangled roots and planted his
hands on his hips as he began to pace.

He exhaled hard.

"What's wrong?" Chloe asked, shrugging from
her backpack and taking out a canteen.

"How in the hell did they find us like
that?" he asked. "They tracked me from Rio to Pirai, from Pirai to
Barbacena. They located us in less than twenty-four hours in a city
of nearly one-hundred and thirty-thousand people. And then here—"He
swept an arm around the jungle. "No matter what I did to throw them
off, they stayed right on us."

Jericho turned in a small circle, growling
angrily, then began to search himself, patting his hands down his
body.

"What are you doing," Chloe asked worriedly,
lowering the canteen and slowly twisting on the cap as she watched
him pull off his leg holster, slipping the gun out to inspect the
holster before setting it and his gun aside. He pulled off his gray
shirt next, flipping it inside out.

He didn't respond, but Jericho was very
angry all of a sudden, and seeing him inspecting every inch of
himself, his clothing and boots, frightened Chloe. He looked like a
madman. At last, he righted himself somewhat and turned to her.
"Come here."

Chloe eyed his naked upper body a moment,
then scrambled to do as he said, tripping on a large root and
stumbling to him. Jericho grabbed her, twirled her around, shocking
her as he began to run his hands over her body. He first threaded
his fingers through her hair, and then yanked her shirt over her
head. Chloe gasped, fighting to not be trapped in her clothing as
it caught at her neck and her arms awkwardly tangled in the
armholes above her head.

"What are you doing?" she cried, flailing
out of the shirt and covering her breasts as the hook of her bra
fall slack at her back, the warmth of his palms covering the area.
Chloe squealed at his touch as his warm, rough fingers slipped
under her breasts. His hands skimmed down to her waistline.

"There's a transmitter of some kind here.
They didn’t find us by luck, and since there isn’t anything on
me…."

Chloe scoffed loudly. "Why
on earth would there be anything on
me
?" She shrieked as her pants were
unbuttoned and fell to her ankles, her bright sunset-orange
sparkling thong revealed. Chloe whirled around, wildly searching
Jericho's eyes, thinking him gone mad. She let go of her body with
one hand to push him back. "Don’t you think there's a better chance
of something being in your pack than on me?" she cried
angrily.

Jericho appeared stunned, glancing
doubtfully at the assault packs and then back to her. Chloe, too,
looked down her body. With the exception of where her pants drooped
around her lower calves, she was practically naked. Her arm covered
her breasts, barely, and her thong dipped low in front, rising high
on her hips. There were two little jewels, sparkling in the light,
hanging at top center from a bow.

Her stare flew back to his, ignoring her
nakedness. She searched his face questioningly, not sure if he were
stunned at the sight of her or at her suggestion.

His eyes fell to her thong again, his gaze
melting over her, and then away quickly. He scratched his head and
blinked as though he were trying desperately to erase the image of
her. Jericho turned a tight little circle so his back was halfway
to Chloe.

He cleared his throat roughly. "Those
assault packs were packed by my men and myself. They haven’t been
in any contact with hostiles except in my presence." He paused, and
Chloe could clearly see a seed of doubt spouting. "There can't be
any chance…."

Chloe gave him a fuming glare and started
trying to pull her clothing back on. When she succeeded in pulling
her pants back up around her hips, she fumbled to hook her bra and
then pulled her shirt over her head. Her fingers trembled as she
snapped the button on her pants.

"Give me your boots," Jericho said.

She glared at him. "I don’t see the point,
but whatever." She didn’t like feeling as though he suspected her
of any wrongdoing, but she unlaced her boots and handed them to him
anyway, trying to stay balanced on a large root so her socks
wouldn’t get dirty. With a huff, she crossed her arms while she
waited. When he finished removing the inserts, and found nothing,
his shoulders dropped, and he pushed the inserts back in and thrust
the shoes at her.

Chloe yanked them back, muttering as she
redressed herself.

Jericho put his hands on his hips and walked
over to the packs where he had thrust them against the aerial
roots.

"Damn it!" he cursed.

Chloe frowned, watching him dump the packs.
Compassion for his angst melted her anger, and she sighed hard.

He is only trying to keep
us alive,
she reminded herself.

Jericho searched all their gear, but again
found nothing. He looked to Chloe. Then it was like a light came
on, and Jericho stalked back to where he'd dropped the holster and
pulled out his weapon, pushed the magazine release and the mag
dropped into his hand.

He flicked the last two bullets out of the
magazine.

"Son of a bitch," he said, stunned. He sat
on his heels looking at the magazine a moment. "Conyers."

"Who?" Chloe asked.

"A handler." Jericho stood, and in a flash
whipped out a knife and popped a small, black chip from the inside
of the magazine. The piece was flat and had small gold wires, like
a computer chip.

"What is that?" Chloe asked, intent on the
thing in Jericho's hand as she came closer.

"This is what has been transmitting our
location to that bastard, rogue, traitor. I should have known he
had no business with our mission." Jericho held it up to look at
the piece a second. "He tossed this magazine to me the night my
team was separated, and I stupidly put the damn thing in my pack
when I changed clothes back in Pirai. The mag was in my pocket and
not in my pack, so I didn’t lose it with everything else when I was
taken."