Where There's Smoke (67 page)

"You should have followed your instincts and refused.
 
He was our target, not you.
 
If you had stayed at the embassy I might possibly have sneaked you out before it was attacked.
 
As it turned out, my hands were tied.
 
It was too late to call off the ambush."

"Ashley."

Key didn't actually hear her speak the name, but he saw her lips form it.

"Ashley."
 
As the implications sank in, her voice gained strength and she screamed, "You killed my daughter!"

"I did no such thing," he said.
 
"She was an unfortunate casualty of war.
 
Actually I was rather fond of the child."

His cavalier dismissal of her daughter's violent death sent Lara into a frenzy.
 
Suddenly she spun into motion, transforming into a whirling, ducking, rolling blur of limbs.
 
The violent conversion was so instantaneous that it caught even her guards unaware.
 
When they regained their wits, they naturally expected her to rush forward, toward Sanchez.
 
They weren't prepared for her to move backward.

By the time she stopped moving, the contents of the camera bag had been dumped into the dirt and she was aiming the Magnum revolver at Sanchez.

At least two dozen rifles and pistols were cocked and aimed at her.

"No!"

Key leaped to his feet and threw a body tackle at Lara, knocking her to the ground.
 
The searing pain in his ribs almost caused him to black out, but he held on to her, trying to restrain her thrashing arms and gain possession of the weapon.
 
Cruel irony that it was, Sanchez was their only hope of survival.
 
If Lara killed him, they would be as good as dead, too.
 
As long as they remained alive, there was hope of their getting out of Montesangre.

With surprising strength, she fought like a hellcat.
 
"Let me go!

I'll kill him!"

Several of the soldiers had joined the melee.
 
Key was pulled away from her.
 
He didn't know why the guerrillas hadn't opened fire on the two of them and dispatched the threat to El Corazon.
 
Not until he saw him calmly approaching did Key realize that he was probably protected by a bulletproof vest.
 
And, it seemed, unless the camp was under direct attack, no one fired a single round without a direct order from him.

"Release her."

At the sound of his voice, the guerrillas released Lara and backed away from her.
 
She surged to her feet and, holding the Magnum in remarkably steady hands, pointed it at Sanchez.

"Lara, no!"
 
Key hissed.
 
He struggled with his captors, but to no avail.
 
"Don't do it.
 
For God's sake, don't."

"She will not kill me, Mr. Tackett."
 
Although he was speaking to Key, Sanchez's eyes were fastened to Lara's.

She pulled back the hammer of the pistol.
 
"Don't belittle me, Emilio.

At this moment I'm capable of anything.
 
Because of you, my baby died that morning.
 
I'm going to kill you.
 
Then I don't care what your ragtag band of butchers does to me."

"You will not pull the trigger, Mrs. Porter, because that would make you what you accuse me of being-a cold-blooded killer.
 
You are a healer, someone sworn to extend life, not end it.
 
You cannot kill me.

It goes against everything you are."

You smart son of a bitch, Key thought.
 
Sanchez was grandstanding for his troops.
 
This was the stuff legends were made of, and the little prick knew it.
 
He was gambling that Lara would not pull the trigger, and the odds were strongly in his favor.
 
He'd had years to study her while working at the embassy.
 
He knew the kind of woman she was, knew of her dedication to healing.
 
The ability to kill wasn't within her.

"You bastard."
 
Tears left muddy trails in the grime on her face.

The heavy pistol began to waver in her hands.
 
"My baby's dead because of you."

"But you cannot kill me."

"They put her sweet little body in a mass grave and covered it with dirt.
 
I hate you!"

"If you hate me so badly, pull the trigger," he taunted.
 
"An eye for an eye.
 
I should think that your killing me would be just retribution."

Key refused to let Lara be made a fool.
 
It would cost them their lives if she pulled the trigger, but he figured them for dead anyway.

He decided to take out Sanchez with them.

"Call his bluff, Lara!"
 
he shouted.
 
"Blow him away.
 
Aim for his smug puss.

Her trembling had become uncontrollable.
 
Even if she had been able to pull the trigger, her aim would have been off.
 
Sanchez moved closer.

"Stay where you are!"
 
she yelled.
 
"I'll kill you."

"Never."

"I will!"
 
Her voice cracked with hysteria.

"You never could."

Confidently, Sanchez reached out and closed his hand over the gun.

Lara put up token resistance, but he easily yanked it from her clutches.
 
She covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

Sanchez, smiling complacently, placed the barrel of the Magnum against the crown of her bowed head.

Key's savage bellow was a torturous cry, the kind one would imagine coming straight from the bowels of hell.

Sanchez grinned.
 
"Your sentiment is touching, Mr. Tackett.
 
I'm afraid this disproportionate respect for human life, any human life, will eventually be the downfall of America.
 
How typically, sadly American you are.
 
You choose to save the life of your brother's whore."

"If you kill her, you're history."
 
He spoke the warning through clenched teeth.

"You are in no position to issue threats, Mr.
 
Tackett."

"If I don't get you in this lifetime, watch your back in hell."

He struggled against the soldiers restraining him.
 
He kicked backward and caught one in the kneecap.
 
It crunched satisfyingly.
 
He elbowed the other in the gut.
 
Like his comrade, he went down.

Freed, Key charged forward, but watched in impotent outrage and horror as Sanchez squeezed the trigger of the Magnum.

The empty chamber clicked.

Key skidded to a halt.
 
Inertia propelled him off balance as his knees turned to gelatin.
 
He pitched forward, landing hard in the dirt.

Sanchez laughed at the spectacle.
 
"I am not a fool, Mr.
 
Tackett.

The bullets were removed when the gun was discovered in the camera bag.

Your attempts to hide it were woefully amateurish."

He tossed the revolver back into the bag, then used the pristine handkerchief once again to wipe off his hands.
 
"I am indebted to you and Mrs.
 
Porter for providing us with a morning of entertainment."

"You fucking son of a bitch."
 
Key struggled to his feet and staggered toward Lara.
 
No one stopped him, which in itself was an insult.

He must have seemed too pathetic to pose any real threat.

Little did they know.

He had been destructively livid many times.
 
He'd used his fists in brawls, bashing bodies and furniture.
 
But he didn't recall a single instance when he'd felt as though he could actually take another's life.

Until this moment.

Given the chance, he could have literally torn Sanchez apart with his bare hands.
 
He wanted to sink his teeth into his throat, taste his blood.
 
It was an animalistic, primordial reaction that he would never have thought himself capable of experiencing, and it was frightening in its intensity.

"Why don't you just kill us and get it over with?"

"I have no intention of killing you, Mr. Tackett.
 
Is that what you thought?"

"You're going to keep us here indefinitely?
 
Why, so we can provide you with entertainment every morning?"

Sanchez smiled.
 
"That is a tempting proposal, but I cannot be that self-indulgent.
 
Actually I am releasing you.
 
You will be returned to Ciudad Central and given accommodation in the finest hotel.

Tomorrow at noon, you will be placed aboard a commercial jet bound for Bogota.
 
From there you will make your own travel arrangements."

Key eyed him skeptically.
 
"What's the hitch?"

"When you reach the United States I will make certain that the media and proper authorities are apprised of your illegal visit to Montesangre you can make plain my message to your government."

"Message?"
 
By now Lara had stopped crying and was listening.

Key had placed his arm around her shoulders, and she was leaning against him.

"The message is that I will stop at nothing to gain control of this country.
 
President Escavez has neither the military muscle, the personal endurance, nor the public support to defeat me.
 
His power is a thing of the past.
 
In a few months his diminishing army will be completely destroyed.
 
By the end of the calendar year, I plan to establish my government in Ciudad Central."

"What makes you think the United States gives a shit about you and your pissant government?"

Sanchez bared his small, sharp teeth in a gross travesty of a smile.

"My countrymen are in dire need of supplies, food, medicine.
 
I would like to reestablish diplomatic relations with the United States."

"I bet you would.
 
What's to make the offer attractive to us?"

"I could also make the same request of several South American countries who need an impartial corridor through which to transport drugs.

Montesangre's policy has been to resist this lucrative method of revenue, but these are desperate times."

"How trite.
 
You're not going to say desperate times call for desperate measures, are you?"

Again Sanchez smiled his obnoxious smile.
 
"We must consider all our options.
 
Montesangre would be a convenient stopover between South America and the United States, and the dealers are willing to pay well for the privilege."

Key thought about the landing strip designed specifically for drug runners.
 
He'd told Lara the truth when he said he'd never flown drugs, but that didn't mean he hadn't been asked or hadn't been tempted.

Percentages were strongly in favor of never getting caught, and the money couldn't be topped.

But the thought of profiting creeps who turned adolescent girls and boys into prostitutes to support their habits went against his moral code.
 
Contrary to what most people thought about him, he wasn t entirely without conscience.

"What makes you think that anyone will listen to Lara and me?"

"Your trip here will be well documented by the media.
 
Even if the government slaps your hands, your courage will be lauded.
 
The public will be sympathetic to your mission and its regrettable failure.