The Echo of Violence (16 page)

He counted twelve hostages—men, women, and children. When he got them far enough away, he’d come back for Kate.
Lucky number thirteen.

Kinkaid crouched on the edge of the clearing with his G3 aimed toward the camp. After he nudged his head and gave the signal for each hostage to move into the trees, he kept his eyes alert for the other guards and any signs of movement. One by one, the captives made their escape from the camp. And two of the men helped the children. When the last hostage crept by him, he backed away from the camp with his assault rifle leveled and melded into the shadows. He took a detour to retrieve the two AK-47s that he’d stashed with the bodies of the guards and joined the men, women, and children, who were waiting for him.

Under the cover of darkness and shielded by the trees,
the hostages huddled in a spot away from the camp and stared at him with expectant and scared faces. Dealing with dizziness and a queasy stomach, he knelt in front of them with clinched teeth to mask his nausea.

Kinkaid fixed his gaze on the three men in the group.

“Do any of you know how to use an AK-47?” he whispered, holding up one of the rifles.

When he pointed to Joselyne—and waited for her answer—the little girl finally broke down and smiled with a shake of her head. He winked and turned back to the men. Only one had raised his hand and nodded.

Kinkaid gave instruction to the men as he handed over the confiscated assault rifles. He had no expectations that these civilians would know how to fire a weapon or become marksmen after one quick lesson. His goal was simple. He wanted them to make noise if they had to and avoid killing each other in the process.

“Follow me single file. Do as I do and watch over the kids,” he said in a low voice and looked into the eyes of each of his charges. “After we get going, not a sound, okay?”

He led them back to where he’d stowed his gear. The location was far enough away from the terrorist camp and had good cover for them to hide until he returned. He stayed off the path and navigated through brush. It made the trek slow, especially with the kids.

When they got to his stashed gear, he said, “I’m going back for Sister Kate.”

Joselyne chewed a corner of her lip with a worried crease between her eyebrows. She didn’t complain, but the little girl looked frightened.

“You.” He pointed at her and shoved his pack in her direction. “Watch my stuff. I’m coming back for it.”

Joselyne nodded with a fleeting smile. Her worried look had softened when he talked about returning. She took a step toward him and touched his arm, saying, “Please…find her.”

He crooked his lip into a half grin and tapped a finger to her nose. “Whatever you say, sweet girl. Now go on with this nice lady here. I got something to tell these guys.”

The men with weapons stayed put while Joselyne and the others pulled deeper into the shadows and hid. When Kinkaid knew he was alone with the men, he spoke in a hushed voice.

“All hell is about to break loose,” he warned them. “Don’t panic. Stay down until it’s over. If I don’t come back, this is what I want you to do.”

There was only one reason he wouldn’t be back, and by the looks on the men’s faces, they understood what he meant. After he shared his contingency plan, he went back for Kate. From where her tent was located in the center of camp, he would need a diversion that made him look like an army.

He knew exactly what to do.

Alexa got a signal from Hank that they were getting close to the coordinates Garrett had given them. The
location her boss had relayed for the terrorists was dead ahead. If she had any doubts about the validity of the locale or Jackson Kinkaid’s whereabouts, her doubts vanished in a hail of bullets. She heard shots fired. And she recognized the sound of Kinkaid’s HK G3 assault rifle. Downrange of her position, muzzle flashes lit the night sky and sent orange streaks through the trees. And the assault escalated when grenades erupted. Fire-balls exploded with a thunderous boom that echoed off the canyon walls.

“Oh, hell,” she cursed.

She used her night-vision binoculars to evaluate the situation and gave her orders through a series of hand gestures. Her men moved out like the well-trained team they were. With her men in formation, she cut through the brush and down a steep embankment, heading for the fight with her M4 assault rifle clutched in her hands. With enemy bullets ricocheting off stone and cutting through the trees, she stayed low and steadied her breathing, despite the pounding of her heart and the adrenaline rushing through her system.

Whatever happened now, they’d have to end it and get out. News of the incident would precipitate an investigation, and the world would soon know what happened here. If Garrett expected them to keep a low profile—to get in and out—she had no choice but to end it and have her team gone before morning, with no trace left behind.

But nothing would be that simple with a guy like Jackson Kinkaid.

Kinkaid felt the blowback off the grenade as the blast erupted. The fierce explosion radiated heat and a burst of hot air hit his body. Red embers spiraled into the night sky and sparks set tree limbs on fire. Shadows of men were silhouetted against the intense flames as they ran through the camp and into the hills. While they searched for cover, Kinkaid kept on the move.

He threw another grenade, which ripped apart a stone dwelling. A body in flames blew through the door and rolled into the clearing. And when shards of stone and wood splinters rained down on Kinkaid, he ducked and kept running through the billowing black smoke that drifted into a thick haze.

Heading for Kate’s tent, he raced through the encampment firing his weapon for cover, tossing spent magazines and reloading on the run. Two men bolted from behind a shanty and fired their AK-47s. He felt the high-pitched whine of bullets whizzing by his head and fired back. His assault rifle bucked in his hands and jolted with every round as he fired on the run.

One man toppled to the ground after he was hit several times. Kinkaid shifted his aim and took out the other guy. As the rounds hit his body, the man jerked with every strike. His face went slack, and he collapsed to the ground.

More shots were fired and Kinkaid felt the burn of a bullet that grazed his arm. He dove for cover behind a shack made of cinder blocks and, with his back pressed to the outer wall of the hut, peered around the corner. Sweat stung his eyes, and another wave of nausea hit him.

Not now. Stay focused, lightweight,
he chastised himself.

One man fired cover rounds as the other two raced by the fire pit. They were trying to surround him and put him in the middle of cross fire.

“Fuck that.” He backed into the shadows and maneuvered until he got all three men facing the fire. With him staying in the dark, he would screw with their night vision. The advantage would be his for a split second.

It would have to be enough.

All three men fired at once, aiming for where he had been. Chipped stone flew into the air as bullets pounded the wall. Feeling cocky, the bastards kept firing. With smug expressions, they came out from cover firing. He waited until he had a clear shot at all three—and opened fire.

Everything slowed to a painful crawl. He was locked in the moment with three armed men. He kept on the move. Brass glinted in the firelight as his shell casings flew. His G3 assault rifle bucked in his hands in fierce recoil. The men turned to face him as he flanked them, but they were too slow. The first man was hit again and again. He staggered into the cross fire. And when bullets riddled his body, he died where he stood and dropped to the dirt. Kinkaid didn’t stop firing, and he kept his feet moving. When he shifted his aim, his rounds pummeled the last men standing. And he didn’t stop shooting until they hit the ground.

The firefight was over…for now.

With his ears ringing, Kinkaid knew time was running out, and he’d lost the element of surprise. He tossed
his spent mag and loaded a new one. When he raced to Kate’s tent across the clearing, he pictured her face. He wanted to see her…to see that first look of relief to know she’d been rescued.

“Kate!” he yelled as he got to her tent and flung back the tarp. “Kate, it’s me. Jackson Kinkaid. I’m taking you home.”

When he yanked back the tent flap, he looked inside. Behind him, the flames cast light into the dark—enough for him to see that the tent was empty.

Kate was gone.
He blinked and stared into the empty shelter, his mind muddled by the fever.

“Damn it!”

He turned to look over his shoulder in desperation. Maybe he’d gotten it wrong. Seeing another tent, he ran for it and tore back the flap.
Nothing.
He tried the next tent…and the next.
Still nothing.
In frustration, he aimed high and fired a few rounds in a circle around him, bellowing like a madman.

“NO!”

He raced across the camp toward the hovels where the children and the other hostages had been.
Nothing.

“Kate!” he yelled again into the night air. His voice echoed off the canyon walls, mocking him.

She never answered. Kinkaid took refuge in the shadows—staying clear of the light—and stood in the midst of the chaos he’d created. The terrorists had fled into the hills.

And Kate was nowhere to be found.

As he hiked back to where he’d stashed the hostages, Kinkaid fought the urge to give in to the dark emotions he felt. He’d come so far, only to have Kate slip through his hands again, but now wasn’t the time to wallow in self-pity or give in to doubt.

He had a lot on his mind as he reflected on his brushes with death over the last few days. They weren’t the first ones he’d had, and they certainly wouldn’t be the last. Although each near miss was unique, they ran icy cold in his veins. And cold sober, he had to admit they shook him up, despite his macho front to the contrary.

A normal man in another line of work might have sought therapy to deal with the trauma. His usual therapy was paying a visit to Dr. Jack Daniel’s or his associate Dr. Johnny Walker. But here and now, he knew the next best thing. Having someone to protect or someone to hunt would be all the rehabilitation he’d need.

And lucky for him—
he now had both
.

That was what he was thinking when he came face-to-face with Alexa and her team. They had found the
hostages and “disarmed” them. And no one had gotten killed in the process. He now had someone to deal with the captives, and he could track the bastards who’d abducted Kate without the trail turning cold. With the exception of Kate still missing, it had been a good day.

Alexa didn’t look as if she agreed.

She glared at him and stood with arms crossed, blocking his path. And when she saw the bloody crease on his arm, she shifted her eyes back to his.

“What are you gonna do for an encore? Invade Afghanistan single-handed?”

He returned her glare. “You slipped me a mickey. And you left me behind.” He shrugged. “I got bored.”

“Next time I’ll leave a deck of cards.”

“There isn’t going to be a next time, Marlowe. You and me? We’re done.” He heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his dark hair. “You have what we came for. Garrett can chalk up Kate to collateral damage and put this mission in the win column, mission accomplished. Take them home. I’m going after Kate.” He turned his back on her and gathered his gear. “Have a good life. And thanks.”

When he walked through the rescued hostages, men stopped him to shake his hand or pat him on the back. And women hugged and kissed him, calling him a hero. They reached their hands out to touch him as he walked by. He never thought of himself as a hero and found it hard to accept their gratitude, especially since they weren’t out of danger yet.

But there was one person he wanted to see one last time.

Before he left, Kinkaid leaned down to kiss Joselyne on the forehead, and whispered, “I’ll find Kate. This isn’t over.”

He headed toward the destroyed camp with his gear over one shoulder and his assault rifle in his hand. The terrorists had fled the canyon and escaped into the hills. And all he wanted to do was track them, but Alexa wasn’t done. She stepped around him and stood in his path with a hand on his chest, shoving him to make her point.

“Garrett wanted to keep this mission low-profile. That means we clear out now…before morning. He doesn’t want to see our faces on CNN or have to negotiate for our release from Castro.”

“Neither do I. That’s not gonna happen,” he argued.

“You walk away now, and Garrett will cut off his help. You know it, and I know it,” she threatened.

Kinkaid kept his mouth shut—his only answer. He was done talking. With his assault rifle and gear hanging off his shoulder, he stood with his arms crossed and his jaw tight.

“You leave me no choice.” She mirrored his stance and her blue eyes turned icy. He knew from experience, the woman could be real dangerous when she got backed into a corner—one of the things they had in common.

New York City
Sentinels Headquarters
Hours later

It had been a long day. Garrett wiped a hand over his face in frustration as he sat behind his desk. He
had taken a quick shower and changed into jeans and a light sweater, hoping to jump-start his brain with a fresh outlook. Alexa dominated his thoughts. And his fears for her magnified after he’d seen the latest on Aljazeera.net.

Two more videos had been posted online since the first grisly transmission. Tanya made sure he’d seen them. The posts stirred renewed interest in the Haiti incident. World media were focused on the tragedy again. The first new video was the beheading of an American named George Crowell, husband to the woman who had died the same way in Haiti. The video marked the tragic end to the philanthropic efforts of a remarkable couple, but why kill a wealthy couple like the Crowells if these men were after ransom money? The erratic behavior of the terrorists concerned him. They appeared more like ruthless killers using their fanatical beliefs as an excuse to butcher innocent people. Had money taken a backseat to bloodlust?

The second video piqued Garrett’s interest more for a different reason.

A Catholic nun had been beaten in front of the camera. Watching the horror made him angry. And the outpouring of concern from the religious community—both online and in the global media coverage—had stirred a maelstrom of public opinion calling for action. They had run out of time, and the world was watching. The nun’s captors were hooded cowards who demanded money. Garrett recognized the name of the American that these men expected to pay the ransom.

Jackson Kinkaid.

Unless Kinkaid had one hell of a vanishing act—and obliterated his personal history—he’d become the target of a media blitz he couldn’t outrun. There would be no place for him to hide and no aspect of his life that would be off-limits. He knew enough about the man’s past to recognize how devastating that would be. Kinkaid didn’t have a covert international organization behind him to cover his ass like Garrett did.

And after CNN gave the name of the nun and her affiliation to the missionary school, it only took Garrett a moment to realize the truth. Sister Mary Katherine was the Kate that Kinkaid had cared so much about. The pieces to the puzzle were coming together, even though he still had no idea how Kinkaid knew the nun or why he would endure such an extraordinary rescue mission to save her. His people were doing their own digging, and he hoped to know more about Kinkaid’s personal connection soon.

When he heard a knock on his door, he welcomed the distraction from his grim thoughts. “Come in.”

“Sorry to disturb you, but I’ve got an update.” Tanya carried a file and sat at a chair in front of his desk. “I had Seth Harper analyze old transmissions from another case that happened not too long ago…one we have more intelligence on. The MO was similar to the incident in Haiti.”

“And you thought if we found a link to this old case, we might have an idea who’s behind the abductions in Haiti?” he asked with a smile.

“Yes. I thought it would be worth a shot.” All business, Tanya didn’t wait for a pat on the back. “Accord
ing to what Jackson Kinkaid told Alexa, this group carried high-tech gear. GPS units, laptops, the works. And their use of a video cam to post beheadings online is also distinctive. The MO in Haiti triggered something I remembered from an earlier case.”

“Good.” He nodded. “What did you find out?”

“I believe the terrorist cell Alexa is tracking is the same group who invaded a remote hotel in the British Virgin Islands and abducted five men on holiday. Three bystanders were killed. And Harper’s analysis confirms similarities. He’s found a link that ties this case directly to the Haiti incident. Here’s a summary of that investigation.” She handed him the report and continued, “A guy by the name of Abdul Kabir Sayed was believed to be the leader. He’s making a name for himself, and he’s after bigger and bigger headlines. Some believe he’s got ties to Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez and that Chavez gave him a place to hide after the Virgin Islands incident.”

“If that’s true, then the Cuban connection makes sense. Chavez has forged links with Castro and modeled his government after communist Cuba,” Garrett agreed. “And Chavez is one of America’s newest adversaries. After he survived an attempted coup and a nationwide petition demanding his recall, the man has cultivated dangerous ties to terrorism. Chavez has got nine lives, politically speaking. He’s been in power for ten years and the last referendum vote cleared the way for him to rule for decades like Castro. He’s not going away anytime soon.”

“Yes, and now the U.S. believes the Venezuelan gov
ernment is issuing official documents to people who shouldn’t have them,” she said. “These documents could be used to obtain Venezuelan passports and American visas. They’d allow the holders to get past immigration checkpoints and enter the United States under false pretenses. It’s one of the scenarios being investigated.”

Tanya showed him an executive summary of a CIA threat assessment and the Venezuelan connection to known terrorist cells. “You said before that you thought this Haiti attack had been training for something bigger. You still feel that way?”

“Yeah, I do,” he said. “Someone like Sayed could be planning a major incident on U.S. soil. And with help from big brother in Venezuela, it looks like he might have the means to enter this country legally.”

“Are you planning to inform the CIA or Homeland Security of your theories? It’s one thing for our organization to rescue these hostages and stop Sayed in Cuba, but a guy like this is only a cog in a wheel. Others will follow. This threat won’t go away if Alexa and her team just take him out. We need to question him and advise the CIA or Homeland Security of the possible threat.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve been thinking the same thing.” He steepled his hands and rested his chin on his fingers. “The CIA is most similar to our organization, at least their covert arm. And we have solid inside connections there.”

“Why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?” She narrowed her eyes and waited for his answer.

“This could turn into a political circus, and we’d lose control, especially with a new administration coming
into power. I had hoped with this new president that the CIA would get restructured…that the covert operatives would do their jobs under the guidance of the Pentagon rather than reporting through the president. If that happened, the Sentinels could breathe easier on the domestic front.”

“I’m not following.” She shook her head.

“The CIA has gotten bad press over the years, bogged down by politics. If they were under the Pentagon, it might be a different story. They’d do their jobs without some bureaucrat second-guessing their moves. Covert activities shouldn’t fall under any U.S. president. CIA analysts could remain part of the executive branch to advise the president, but there’s too much temptation to play God on a global scale with the covert branch part of that same package. As it is now, the CIA gets constant interference from a revolving door of armchair quarterbacks sworn into office every four years. They contend with presidents who either don’t have the guts to make decisions or who think they can flex their political muscle for their own agenda like it’s a game. I hate breaking in a new administration.” He looked her in the eye. “I’ll figure out a way to pass the word after our mission is over and we cover our tracks.”

“I take it that’s why our organization was formed. Members of the Sentinels were tired of business as usual in Washington and wanted results.”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?” He nodded, implying she was right.

But he knew the truth.

The Sentinels had been around much longer than
the United States. And even though he’d been sworn to secrecy about their covert activities and their agenda when he became leader, he believed in their cause and would do anything to defend and perpetuate their rich history. His knowledge of the Sentinels’ past was limited to what he’d studied in the archives and had been told by those who came before him. Yet he knew enough to realize that the powerful men and women behind the Sentinels had a proud lineage and would carry on long after he was gone.

The weight of his responsibilities often forced him to make decisions that went against his personal beliefs even though they were for the greater good. And many times he had agonized over the outcomes. Any covert agency would go to great lengths to defend its own country’s interests, but how far was too far? In a dangerous world of underlying political agendas stemming from greed and the seductive temptation of power, a coalition of countries aligned for a common purpose made sense. Yet Garrett understood that power of this magnitude was a slippery slope, no matter who or how many were at the helm.

Who would oversee those in control?

So far he hadn’t come up with a good answer to that question. And in all their years of existence, neither had the Sentinels. They sought control and gained ground with each passing year.

When would it be enough, and what was their ultimate goal? Others would make that call.

“You look a million miles away.” Tanya’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. “Are you worried about Alexa?”

Tanya was one of the few people within the organization who knew of his personal history with Alexa. He didn’t mind the woman knowing about their past, but the part he’d played in the annihilation of any future he might have had with Alexa—and his feelings on the subject—were off-limits.

“I just want to know what’s going on.” He sighed and looked toward the active TV monitors along the far wall. “It’s been hours since our last communication. A lot can happen.”

“Let’s get an updated reading on those tracking beacons,” she suggested. “And I’ll check with Seth Harper to see if he’s recorded any more transmissions from the terrorists.”

While Tanya got on the phone to obtain her electronic updates, Garrett opened his safe room and activated his holographic map of Cuba. Within minutes, Tanya joined him and keyed in the new coordinates. When the 3-D image projected onto the conference table, communications interrupted with an incoming call from the field. Hank Lewis was on the SAT phone. And Tanya had the call redirected to Garrett’s safe room phone.

“Moonshine Two reporting.” The voice of Hank Lewis crackled onto the line with a staggered delay. “School’s out and mission accomplished, sir. We targeted a baker’s dozen, but are coming home with twelve. We’re at the rendezvous point now and will be gone before daylight.”