TRAPPED (15 page)

“Felipe tells me that he’s given you a challenge. You get to live awhile longer if you can save these two men.”

“That’s my understanding, but my chances are getting worse by the minute,” Brody said. “These men need treatment. Now. I need a place to work.”

Jamas smiled. “There is a clinic in the basement that I believe will suit your needs. And a nurse who can assist. But first things first.” He walked back to the couch but did not sit. He stood in front of Elle.

“I want to know where Mia is,” he said.

“I don’t know,” she replied.

He gently set his teacup down on the table. Then he hit her so hard across the face that she would have fallen down if Felipe had not still had his hand clenched around her arm.

“I will ask you one more time,” he said, his tone insincerely polite. “Where can I find Mia?”

She shook her head.

He punched her in the stomach. Air burst out of her lungs and she bent double.

“I can see we are getting nowhere,” he said. He walked over to a side table, pressed a button and spoke in Portuguese.

Less than a minute later, a woman entered the room. Probably in her late thirties, with very dark hair pulled back into a low ponytail, she wore white pants and a white shirt and Elle assumed she was the nurse that Jamas had mentioned. She carried a small white box.

She opened the lid, withdrew a syringe and took a step closer. She did not make eye contact with Elle.

“Hey,” Brody said, his tone agitated. “Sounds as if you two have some history, but quite frankly, I could probably use a couple pair of hands in the operating room. Can she help?” he asked, pointing to Elle.

Jamas shook his head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Donovan. But I have other plans for Elle.” He motioned for the nurse.

Elle tried to wrench her arm away, but Felipe held her tight. She felt the poke and a hot burn in her arm muscle. Then she didn’t feel anything at all.

* * *

B
RODY
WAS
GOING
to kill Jamas. He was going to rip him apart, limb by limb. And then he was going to take Mrs. Hardy’s knife and disembowel him. He wanted him conscious for that.

Then he was going to do the same to every other one of his little army, too, starting with Felipe.

Jamas had hit her hard enough to crack a cheekbone or loosen some teeth. And the punch to the stomach had been brutal.

The man was an animal.

When Brody realized that Jamas intended to drug Elle, he’d almost blown it. Had hoped that Jamas would buy that he might need an extra pair of hands patching the men up. But either Jamas didn’t care or his hatred of Elle ran so deep that nothing would sway him from his original purpose.

Only the knowledge that what Jamas seemed to really want was Mia’s location kept him from ripping that syringe out of the nurse’s hand. The drug might be something that would make Elle sleep or even make her ill, but Brody didn’t think that Jamas intended to kill her.

Not yet.

Whatever the drug had been, it had knocked her out fast. Her knees had buckled and Felipe had half carried, half dragged her from the room. They’d gone to the right. After that, he’d lost the sound of the footsteps.

He was worried sick about her. Even if the medication didn’t kill her, depending on what it was, it could still to do significant damage to internal organs, to a person’s mind.

“Maria, can you show the doctor and his patients to the clinic?” Jamas asked the question as if he were a genteel host offering an opportunity to peruse the flower garden.

Maria nodded and put away her syringe.

Jamas motioned for two of his men to assist André, whom to this point Jamas had not even acknowledged. How the man inspired loyalty, Brody had no idea.

The interplay between Jamas and Felipe was odd. Jamas was clearly the boss and Felipe the employee. Felipe’s attitude had been appropriately deferential, yet there’d been a subtext that Brody couldn’t quite figure out.

And right now he needed to focus on other things. Brody motioned for Bob to drape an arm across his shoulder. Brody glanced at the leg. The tourniquet had been very effective in stopping the flow of blood, which meant that Bob had hit the lottery and managed to avoid any severed arteries or veins.

All they needed was for a few other things to start going their way and maybe they could escape from this hellhole in one piece.

Maria walked quickly, leading the group down a hallway. At the end, she opened a door and started down some steps.

Great. He was going to get to do surgery in the basement.

He’d done it in worse places.

But when Maria flipped the light on, Brody almost stumbled. It was amazing. In the middle of the Amazon jungle, tucked into a remote hillside, Jamas had built himself a modern clinic. It was well lit, with an exam table, a glass-fronted cabinet full of medications and two shelves stocked with medical supplies. There were boxes of gloves and a stack of what appeared to be pale blue lab coats wrapped in plastic.

Maria motioned for the men to put André on the table. They did as instructed, then took spots on either side of the door, as if prepared for the prisoners to make a break for it.

Brody settled Bob in the chair. “I’ll be with you as quick as I can,” he said.

He walked over and studied the medications in the cabinet. Many, many analgesics, used for treating pain. Both over-the-counter and narcotics. Hydrocodone. Oxycodone. Several different types of antibiotics. For the first time in what seemed forever, Brody felt a ray of hopefulness. In these surroundings, with these medications, he should be able to save both Bob and André.

It was his first test. Both Felipe and Jamas seemed to want some proof of his capabilities. Jamas had pounced on his qualifications and Brody had no doubt that the man was upstairs, somehow checking out his credentials. That’s why he’d told him the truth. For some reason, his medical skills were important. Jamas didn’t look ill. Neither did Felipe or the other men.

But Brody was willing to bet that somebody in this house was. That was the only possible explanation.

Maria washed her hands in the small sink in the corner of the room and pulled on blue surgical gloves and a lab coat that came to her knees. Then she selected instruments from the cupboard and placed them on a tray. He watched her. It appeared that she knew what she was doing.

“Maria, do you speak English?”

“No talking,” instructed one of the men in a heavy accent.

Brody threw him a glance. “A doctor needs to be able to quickly and efficiently communicate with his nurse, especially when I’m digging bullets out of people. I need to know what she understands.”

The man frowned but he nodded at Maria.

“I have been a nurse for over twenty years,” she said. “I worked in a small hospital near Salvador for most of that time. I have delivered babies, cut off legs and held people’s hearts in my hand.”

“Okay, then.” He repeated the same routine as Maria, washing his hands, gloving and gowning up. Then he selected some local anesthesia from the cabinet and drew up a syringe.

“André,” he said. “I’m going to remove the bullet. You’ll be awake while I do it, but this will numb the area.”

The young man nodded, looked up at the ceiling, and made the sign of the cross.

Brody would take whatever help he could get.

Chapter Fifteen

Elle woke up with the worst headache that she’d ever had in her life. It took effort to open her eyes. She was lying on a wooden floor in a totally empty room. She raised her hand to feel the side of her jaw and it felt as if her arm weighed a hundred pounds.

She’d been drugged. She remembered the nurse poking her and then it had been lights out.

She patted her jaw. It was tender.

Her stomach hurt, too.

But what was worse was a horrifying realization to know that Felipe, who dragged her into this room, had had his hands on her body and she’d been totally unable to protest in any way. It made her empty stomach cramp up.

She had no idea where she was or how long she’d been out. She looked at the walls. Real wood, not the thin bamboo that most huts were made of. The ceiling wasn’t hatch—it was wood, like the floor. So she was likely still inside Jamas’s house.

There were no windows in the room and only one door. She got up off the floor and tried to turn the handle. Locked. From the outside.

Jamas was holding her prisoner. Why the heck hadn’t he just killed her? Then there would be no question that she’d never testify against him.

He’d have to kill Brody and Bob, too. The irony was heartbreaking. She’d left Brody thirteen years ago so that he would have the kind of life that she wanted him to have. Now she’d led him into terrible danger.

And she hadn’t even had the courage to tell him that she loved him. That she’d always loved him.

He would try to save her. But he wouldn’t be any match for Jamas. Brody had a conscience and there were things that he would not and could not do. Jamas had no conscience and the sky was the limit on what he was willing to do, what he was willing to subject his victims to.

She heard a noise outside the door. Locks flipping. The handle turned. And then Jamas walked in. He wore a clean silk shirt and pants and sunglasses, which made no sense at all. He carried a cup of tea and she suspected it was fresh because she could see steam coming off the cup.

“Well, well. The little stool pigeon is awake,” he said. “How nice.”

He didn’t sound as if he thought it was really nice. She said nothing.

“What? No questions? No conversation? You disappoint me, Elle. You were always the life of the party.”

“Where am I?” she asked.

He smiled. “Why, you’re a guest at my home, of course.”

“Do you lock all your guests in?” she asked, unable to keep her hatred below the surface.

Again the smile. “Only the troublesome ones. And you, Elle, have caused me a fair amount of trouble. But that’s behind us. Now I am going to make a good profit on you. Maybe I’ll donate a pittance of it to that stupid little school that you work at. Would you like that, knowing that you helped the helpless? You’ll be a true martyr, Elle, because where you’re going, your life is going to be hell. Maybe worse than hell.”

She felt a chill settle in her body.

He came close and he raised his free hand. She braced herself for another hit across the face. Instead he gripped her chin hard. “Captain Ramano was a fool. He was supposed to take off and land in short order so that I could remove you from the plane. Fortunately for me, I didn’t trust that he would follow directions and I made sure that his plane wouldn’t fly for long. I was confident that no one would survive the plane crash. But I had to be sure. We were looking for the plane when we saw you. I’m suddenly very glad that Felipe is not a great shot. I must admit. I was very angry at first, especially when we couldn’t find you afterward. And poor Felipe was worried that it might prove to be his last mistake. That even his trusted service to my father for all those years would not be enough to save him. But then he redeemed himself by finding not only you, but the good doctor as well.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that you’re ill,” she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. She was not going to let this man know that he intimidated her. He would revel in the knowledge. Plus, maybe it would encourage him to say why he needed Brody.

He tightened his grip. “Sassy. I’ll have to make sure I include that in your information. Many men will pay extra for the chance to teach a feisty woman to be submissive.”

The idea of it made her sick, but she didn’t flinch. “Whatever,” she said.

He smiled. “Are you even curious about how we found you?”

It had to have been through Leo. Her friend would have died before he’d willingly revealed their location, so she could only assume that Jamas had somehow forced the information from him. “I’m not sure it matters,” she said.

Now he laughed. “True.” He released her chin and walked toward the door. “You’ll be happy to know that I let your little friend Leo live. I thought about killing him, but unfortunately, he’s well-known and favored by the natives. Don’t need that kind of trouble. He does need to hire better help. Bob’s housekeeper has been on my payroll for years. You see, he also does some security work for the government and I like to keep my eye on what he’s doing.”

Leo would be sick at the thought that he’d led Jamas to Elle. He would never forgive himself.

“In addition to dusting and sweeping,” Jamas continued, “she monitors the tracking software on Bob’s computer that allows her to see every file, every message, every keystroke actually. Wonderfully helpful, really. When she relayed the information about your need to be accompanied up the river, she had no idea that she was giving me the best present ever. It was a brilliant stroke of good luck.”

By now, Leo probably knew they had not reached their destination. She remembered what Leo had said about there being eyes in the jungle. She supposed it was possible that there could have been natives in hiding, watching everything that occurred at the river. If that information somehow got to Leo, he’d know that she and Brody were in Jamas’s clutches.

He would call the authorities, perhaps both local and in the States. He would have no other choice. She did not have much faith that the local police would be of much assistance. Jamas likely made large contributions that insured that they looked the other way. If Leo could get the attention of someone in the United States, it was unlikely that they could respond in time to save them.

It was a very bad situation.

“Nothing to say now?” Jamas taunted her, his hand on the door.

“Yes,” she said. “Go to hell.”

Jamas snorted. “That’s where you’ll be. You’ll be wishing you were dead. You know, if you’d just tell me where Mia is hiding, perhaps I could be persuaded to find a buyer who is a bit more compassionate.”

She pressed her lips together.

“This is tiresome,” he said, his tone angry. “Just wait, pigeon. Spend the little time you have reflecting upon why it’s never a good idea to cross T. K. Jamas.”

He left, closing the door behind him with a solid thud. She heard the locks slip shut.

She sank down onto the cold floor and drew her legs up tight. She had desperately wanted to ask about Brody, to know what was going on with him.

I love you, Brody.
She willed him to hear her silent message.

* * *

M
ARIA
PROVED
TO
be a very competent assistant and in less than twenty minutes, Brody had removed a bullet from André, repaired the damage to his liver and sewn up his gut. André’s injuries were out of his normal scope, but he was happy enough with the results when he was finished.

The men standing at the doorway proved to be helpful when they assisted in transferring their comrade onto a cot. André was pale but alert. He gripped Brody’s hand and nodded his thanks.

“You’ll be okay,” Brody said. It was not the first time in his life that he’d performed surgery on an enemy. That happened during war, too.

When it was Bob’s turn, Brody thought he’d see significant muscle and tissue damage because the bullet had traveled all the way through the thigh. It was about what he’d expected and not all that different from many of the injuries he’d been treating for years. Brody made the repairs and sutured both the entry and exit wounds.

Bob would need months of physical therapy to regain the strength and motion in his leg. But for both men, the most immediate worry was infection. However, Jamas’s selection of antibiotics was quite extensive, likely because even a scratch in the jungle could be problematic without an effective antibiotic. Maria selected one off the shelf. Brody examined the choice, agreed with it and picked up the first syringe.

Delivering the drugs intravenously was the best way to get a strong antibiotic into them quickly.

“These men need to rest,” he said.

“We have another cot in the room next door,” Maria said. She motioned for the men standing by the door to move André’s cot to the other room. When they returned, they linked arms and carried Bob out of the room. When they were out of earshot, Brody took his chance.

“You’re a good nurse, Maria. What are you doing here, working for Jamas?”

The woman looked over her shoulders, as if to make sure that she would not be overheard. “It’s not a terribly complicated explanation,” she said, her tone sad. “Jamas pays three times what I could make working somewhere else. My sister and her husband were killed in a car accident two years ago. My mother is raising their four children. My financial contribution is very helpful. Plus I am able to go see the children once a month.”

“Those are good reasons, but you have to know this isn’t right. He’s going to kill us, isn’t he? You’ve seen it before.”

Maria did not answer.

Brody took a chance. “Will you help us? Show us a way out?”

The woman met his look, her brown eyes flat. She’d sold her soul a long time ago. “I will not help or hamper any escape efforts. That’s the best I can do.”

Brody heard returning footsteps. “Why does Jamas need a full-time nurse?” he asked quickly.

“You’ll see,” Maria said cryptically.

When the men returned, Brody was on one side of the room and Maria was on the other, tidying up the supplies.

“Now what?” Brody asked.

“So far so good,” Felipe said, entering the room. With a motion of his hand, he dismissed the other two men. “Come with me, Doctor.”

Felipe pointed him toward the stairs and Brody went. Instead of taking him back to the big room where they’d first met Jamas, Felipe led him down a hallway. He unlocked a door and motioned for Brody to enter. There was a single bed and a dresser with a lamp.

“You will wait in here,” Felipe said. Then he left.

Brody heard the door lock engage and knew that Felipe had used a key to lock him in. He sat down on the bed. The mattress was firm and the bedding looked new. Evidently Jamas didn’t entertain in this room often.

But for some reason, he’d given it to Brody. And even Felipe seemed to have a slightly different attitude toward Brody than he had initially. Certainly not deferential but there was perhaps a reluctant respect. Whatever it was, he intended to use it to his advantage.

Now it was a waiting game. How long would it take for Jamas to tip his hand?

He had to find some way to insure Elle’s safety, some way to convince Jamas that Elle was necessary, without tipping his own hand that Elle mattered.

It was like walking on a tightrope over a swamp filled with alligators. One wrong move and he’d be toast.

He could not fail Elle.

Hang on. Just hang on, Elle. Be strong. Don’t let the bastard win.

His bag was in the corner of the room, on the chair. No doubt someone had searched it by now. There was nothing in there to see. He had Mrs. Hardy’s knife in his pocket still. He fought the desire to reach in, to touch it, to feel the sharp point. But he didn’t. He would be surprised if the room was not monitored. Probably for sound and there could even be a camera. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Jamas wouldn’t be happy if he knew that his men were sloppy. They had taken Bob’s gun and roughly searched him for other weapons, but they hadn’t done the same for Elle and him.

He still had his matches in his shirt pocket and one other ace up his sleeve. He could feel the slight weight of the pen flare guns around the waistband of his pants. Before leaving camp that first morning, he’d grabbed the plastic bag that contained the three pen flares and thrown it into his bag.

Pen flares were easy to use. Simply screw the flare onto the end of the cylinder, aim high, pull back on the trigger and let it go. The flare could usually go a couple hundred feet in the air. But it only burned for seconds, maybe six or seven. That was why flares were generally only an effective tool if your rescuer was already in the general vicinity and you were attempting to help him pinpoint your location.

He had dropped the bag of flares on top of his clean shirts and started to zip his bag but stopped. Something that he’d learned about flares probably twenty-five years ago from some Scout leader suddenly had popped in his head.
Always be ready.
He remembered the man telling the troop that people sometimes wore flares around their necks on a lanyard, just so they would be available fast.

Brody sure as hell hadn’t wanted to be in the position of searching in his bag when an opportunity of rescue suddenly presented itself. He also hadn’t wanted to take the chance on losing the flares if he somehow got separated from his bag.

So he’d taken an extra two minutes and used the needles and thread from Elle’s sewing kit and stitched the plastic bag to the inside of his waistband.

Of course, that effort would likely be for naught if Leo had not been able to act upon his final instructions. Had Jamas already killed the man?

If Leo was somehow still alive, would he remember what Brody had told him outside the small jungle hut before Leo left him and Elle for the night? If he remembered, would he act upon it or would he be too scared to go up against Jamas?

If he acted upon the instructions, Brody had no doubt of the response on the other end. His friends would want to help. But with no communication systems available, coordinating the plan was going to difficult if not impossible.

Tell them this, Leo. Exactly this. Come at the Witching Hour.