Wolfsbane (40 page)

He spun and found Midas and the Kid sitting on low-slung cots, their hands cuffed. Clenching his fists, Max wished he could reach through the bars and strangle the two. But first, he had to stop the colonel from shipping off the whole team. “Colonel, listen, I’ve … I have a legitimate concern that the general has gone rogue.”

Though the news hit Hamer hard, the iron colonel shook his head. “I sure hope not. But that doesn’t change things.” He wagged a finger at the Kid and Midas. “They were stealing government property. Do you realize what kind of hell would’ve broken loose if they’d made it into
Venezuelan airspace during a lockdown?”

Max pinched his lips together, livid. “Look, send them back.”

“No!” Midas’s shout blasted into Max.

Max glared at the man. “But let me and the others stay. As soon as you get the green light, drop us in there.” He inched closer. “Lambert won’t survive. He needs us.”

Hamer hesitated, then looked at the cell. “No, no can do. Blame whomever you’d like. Your men in that cell. Your fists. The good general. But it’s not happening. You’re all on that C-130 out of here in twenty.”

Max drew back. “My fists?”

“You put one of my guys in the hospital.”

“He was compromised, put the lives of my team—”

“Your fists tell me you’re a loose cannon. Their actions tell me you all are. This is a military installation, and we’ll have the devil to pay if you cause any more trouble.” He pivoted, negotiated a path around the rest of the team, and left. “Get ‘em off my base, Major.”

A man stepped through the door with two armed guards. He unlocked the cell and eased back the door. “This way, gentlemen. Orders are STK, so please don’t make us.”

Shoot to kill.

Yeah, Max would kill all right. And he’d start with Midas and the Kid.

CHAPTER 25

N
umbing vibrations wormed through his legs as he stared down at the red lines cut around his wrists. The cuffs had been tight, but nothing like the feeling in his chest knowing that each minute flung them hundreds of miles farther from Roark. That she was alone there, most likely in the claws of Bruzon. What that sicko did to her the first time roared through Canyon’s mind, furious that on board this plane, bound for the States, he could do nothing to stop the man.

Like a fast-forwarding mental projector, complete with
whirrp
noises and flickering stills, his brain showed him horrible scenarios of what could be happening to Roark right now. Beaten. Raped. Beaten. Humiliated. Raped. Canyon clenched his fist tighter and tighter.

Something hit his booted foot.

Canyon ignored it, knowing the two facing rows of web seating rigged in the forward section of the cargo hold in the C-130 Hercules made it impossible not to trip and bump the others. Besides, he wouldn’t look any of them in the eye for a while. Not without a fight.

Leaning forward dumped all the blood to the edema around his eyes and nose. But he didn’t care. A dull pain compared to what Roark probably faced. He pinched his lips and crinkled his nose—eliciting more pain. Fist balled again, he honed in on the image of her, of kissing her.

Bruzon cut into the mental image. He laughed. Hit Roark. Shoved her to the ground …

Both fists balled, Canyon pressed them against his forehead and tried to squeeze the puke out of his mind. He’d kill Bruzon. Kill Max and the others for leaving her there.

Thud!
His toe tingled from the hard hit.

Without lifting his head, he snapped his gaze to the other boot, but there were two within striking distance. He glanced up. Cowboy and Aladdin. Red halos wreathed the faces of both men, whose heads were propped on the webbing, eyes closed.

He dropped his gaze and pushed back against the seat. Unlike them, he couldn’t sleep. Not with Roark missing.

Somehow … some way … he had to get back down there. Find her and get her to safety. There had to be a way.

As fat clouds and minutes slipped by, he searched for a plan. Why had God allowed this to happen to Roark? She was an angel, the most intelligent and beautiful woman he’d ever met. Everyone in his family saw that, which is why they told Canyon to steer clear. Someone like her belonged with his little brother who never screwed up, who did everything right and won everyone’s heart.

Except Roark’s.

“I love you, Canyon.”
Why hadn’t he returned the words?

Because he hadn’t been sure. Or maybe she was right—it was fear. Fear of failing her. Which he had.

Where was she now? What was happening?

He gripped his head. Thinking about that would drive him mad. Head in his hands, he clenched his eyes, pain pinching his nose. He worked through options, trying to find a way back. Hopping a flight wouldn’t work. The military probably wouldn’t let them board another aircraft for a very long time.

“Listen up,” an airman shouted from the front. “Touchdown in twenty. You’ll be escorted off the base. If you attempt to return, you will be arrested and charges filed.”

Black fury pressed into Canyon’s already foul mood. Criminals. They were treating them like common criminals. He glanced to the side and got nailed with one of the ugliest glares he’d ever seen come from Max.

Let the guy be ticked. He’d know a little of what Canyon felt, considering they’d dragged him across several bodies of water and hundreds of miles from Roark.

Augh!
Fingers threaded, he squeezed hard. Several knuckles cracked.

His ears popped as they descended toward the base. Tires screeched on the landing strip at Langley AFB, and he could just imagine the blackened skid marks—so similar to those left on his heart for abandoning Roark.

Hang on, Roark. Somehow … somehow I’ll find you
.

Passport was still good. He could catch a flight down to Venezuela, rent a vehicle. Somehow get some weapons. Would any of his former GB buddies help? Too bad Navas was an enemy combatant. Canyon would have looked the guy up in a heartbeat. But if he could get down there, he’d make sure to look the guy up … and settle the score.

“Revenge is mine.”

Canyon tensed, sensing God’s warning. Yet wouldn’t God use someone to carry out that judgment?
My name’s first on the volunteer list
.

They disembarked and military police herded them into the back of a truck like cattle. Climbing aboard behind Cowboy, Canyon kept his head down and mouth shut. Less chance of a fight, of widening the gap that had stretched between him and the men he’d begun to think of as brothers.

He snorted.

Yeah, just like brothers
. He and Range hadn’t exactly been the best of friends. Competitive, argumentative, combative.

Axles groaned and creaked as the truck lumbered across the base toward the barbed-wire perimeter. Darkness huddled in ambush on the other side. Waiting for the team. Waiting for the Air Force to abandon them.

“How’re we getting back to the Shack?” the Kid hollered over the engine and wind noise.

Nobody answered. Not out of rudeness but because discussing options in front of anyone outside the team wasn’t the smartest plan. Most likely one of the team would call in a favor and they’d get a ride to the warehouse. Canyon? He intended to hoof it back there. Work off some of this steam through strenuous exercise.

Brakes squeaked and ground as the diesel truck chugged to a stop at the gate.

MPs hopped out, released the tailgate, then waved the team off. Once disembarked, the police trailed the team through the security checkpoint and stood there, watching.

“Start walking and don’t talk.” Max pointed west.

No one talked. Canyon sure wasn’t going to look at anyone. They probably hated him. He hated them for leaving Roark, for not fighting back when the spec-ops team drugged him.

Halos of light marked a gas station perched on a corner leading to the base.

“I’ll make a call.” Legend headed toward the dingy building straddling
the far corner of the parking lot.

Canyon started walking. He’d find a way home. Find a way back to Roark. Even if it killed him.

“Metcalfe.” Max’s voice stabbed the night, stabbed Canyon’s tenuous control of his anger.

Keep walking
. If he stopped, one of two things would happen: They’d talk him into listening and doing things their way. Or … there’d be a fight.

“Just leave him alone,” the Kid’s voice joined in.

“Back off, Kid,” Max growled.

“No, this is—”

“Back off. I mean it. You’re in hot water as it is.”

“Leave him alone,” Canyon said as he came around, staring at the man he now held responsible for this disaster.

“What?” Max said. “You ready to talk?”

Oh but no. He wouldn’t step into that trap. He shook his head, turned, and crossed the street. Rocks and dirt crunched beneath his boots.

“What?” Max called, all too close. “You going to abandon the team again?”

Canyon hesitated. Forced himself to keep walking. He’d had covert operatives try to beat the Tres Kruces information out of him. A little taunting from a guy like Max wouldn’t win.

“I saw you stewing on the plane. You’re blaming us for the mission failure, for not getting Roark back safely.”

Yeah, you got that right
.

“But the blame rests on one man—you!”

Canyon rounded. Fury colored his vision red to find Max less than five feet behind. “What?!”

“If you hadn’t been doping and hadn’t gone off half-cocked—”

“Augh!” Canyon pounced. As he did, his brain registered the others sprinting across the road toward the ensuing fight. He dove into Max’s gut.

Oof
.

Pinning the guy, Canyon threw a hard right into his face.

Hands hauled him off the team leader. Squirt and Cowboy held his arms tight. “Stand down, Midas.” Brows tight, lips flat, Cowboy stared between Max and Canyon.

Behind them, Legend jogged across the street.

Canyon wrestled free of the others, straightened his shirt with a
shrug. “You don’t know the first thing about loyalty, Max.” He stretched his neck. “Tell me, what would
you
have done if we’d left Sydney on that island two years ago?”

The fury in Max’s expression waned.

“Yeah. Exactly.” Canyon pivoted and met a wall of bodies. “Abandon the team? Yeah, I’ll do that in a heartbeat if the men I trust can’t put their own butts on the line for a defenseless objective.”

He shoved between Squirt and Aladdin into the clearing. Then he paused and looked back. “Never thought the guy with the most guts on this team would be the Kid.” To Marshall he said, “Thanks, Kid. I’ll never forget it.”

Halfway across the open field, he heard: “You’re off the team!”

Hampton, Virginia 17 May

Max’s pulse hollowed out his hearing. Had Midas heard him? He stretched his jaw as he watched the most stoic member of the team disappear into the night.

“Hey.” Cowboy faced him, hand on Max’s shoulder. “Let’s … give him time.”

“Time to what? Come up with another harebrained idea and get us locked up again?”

“No, time to cool down.”

“I’ve never seen Midas like that, know what I’m saying?” Legend smoothed a hand over his bald head. “The guy is always on level ground. Even ticked off, he keeps his cool. That? That’s something I never thought I’d see.”

“So what? We overlook his negligence on the mission, his attempt to steal a chopper from the Air Force”—Max stuck a finger in the Kid’s face—“we’ll deal with that later”—then continued—“and act like it’s no big deal?”

“We’re all tired. A lot went wrong down there, starting with the mudslide,” Cowboy said. “Let’s get some rack time, then figure out where to go from here.”

Were they serious? It was like nobody cared that Midas had broken nearly every protocol and rule.

“What would you have done if we’d left Sydney?”

Midas hit a nerve. Max remembered all too well the fire roaring
through his body at the thought of Sydney coming under attack by Muslim radicals, watching the fireball eating up trees and huts and knowing she was down there. When Cowboy and Legend had told him he couldn’t go after her, he’d wanted to kill them.