Out of the Shadows (Falcon) (8 page)

Brody p
ressed tighter against the wall and propped his foot on the ground. After releasing a hard breath, he rested his forearm on his knee. “I don’t want any of these people to die,” he said. “Not even you.”

The crowd parted
, and the chatter ceased. A padre strolled down the path. His dusty black robe covered a body worn thin by a life of devotion and restraint. The sandals on his feet were so tattered they could barely be described as shoes. His grey hair showed no trace of its original color. He stopped in front of Brody and looked down. “Why did you come here?” he asked in perfect English.

“I came to get my friend
. The one Chavez holds prisoner.”

The priest looked around. “You came alone?”

“I brought a woman Chavez has been looking for.”

“And you planned to trade this woman for your friend?”

“No, Father, I didn’t. I only meant to use her to draw him out.”

The priest snatched the Glock
away from Manuel. The poor man’s body went limp with relief. When the padre held out the gun, butt first, Brody grasped onto the lifeline and nodded his thanks to the man of the cloth.

“Take your weapon and leave this village.”

Brody struggled to his feet. The earth tilted, and it took several blinks before he could see straight. Head pounding, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. He opened them when something nudged his arm, and he saw a woman holding a jug.

Brody put the container
to his nose, sniffed once, and then gulped. The water wasn’t cool, and smelled of sulfur, but tasted wonderful. As it trickled down his neck and onto his chest, Brody enjoyed the pure pleasure of relieving his thirst.

Surrounde
d by villagers, Brody wiped his mouth and asked, “Which way to Chavez?”

A man pointed south. Brody picked up his bag, stashed the gun in his waistband
, and started walking. He didn’t get far before a young woman spoke up. “Do not go there. You will be killed.”

“Hush
, child,” an older man said. “He will never make it. The desert will claim him first.”

Brody turned. His head throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat.

“You must rest first.” A woman touched his arm. Her dry, heavily callused hand slipped into his palm, and she led him toward a hut. When he hesitated, the padre motioned he should go with the woman.

With his head rattled, no words were needed to tell him he’d never make his destination. For the moment he was too weak
to take on Chavez. Hell, he knew his body better than anyone. That smack on the head could’ve killed a weaker man.

The woman held on to him until
Brody ducked and entered the darkened hut. It had very little. A round table, a small camp stove, one cabinet with a washbowl, and a broken mirror hanging on the wall. In the back corner of the single room, three pallets cluttered the floor.

She asked h
im to sit, and Brody collapsed onto the chair and propped his elbows on the table. Looking at the woman, he guessed at one time she might have been beautiful, but the desert and poverty had a way of robbing a woman of her looks. Probably no more than forty, she looked sixty.

She was short
, with a round body. Her skin resembled distressed leather. The clothes she wore were soiled, ragged and possibly all she owned. A colorful bandana covered dull black hair as proof that regardless of her situation, she was a woman. When she placed a plate of beans and two tortillas in front of him, Brody noticed the dirt beneath her fingernails.

This kin
d lady knew few luxuries if any. But she possessed a generous heart, and that touched him in a way that would make his mama proud.

He shoved the plate away.
“Thank you, ma’am, but I won’t take food from your family.”

“We have beans and flour. It’s all we have. You are welcome to it.”

“That’s kind of you.”

“You must get strong if you are to fight the devil.”

“Be quiet,” a young man said from the doorway. “You are not to help his man. Chavez gave the order for Papa to kill him.” He knocked the chair over. “And here you are feeding him.”

The
woman Brody had thought kind and demur walked over and slapped the teenager across the face. The boy lowered his head in shame. “Do you forget what he took from us?”

The locals crowded into and around the woman’s home. “Have you all forgotten?”

Murmurs circulated, and Brody had a hard time keeping up.

The padre stood with his hands
clasped behind his back, his head lowered. “We cannot bring more violence to this village.” He turned and walked toward the door. “Feed him and send him on his way. For the sake of all of us, Alana.”

The people left
and quiet settled over the small house. Brody picked up the battered spoon and scooped the beans from the tin pan. Then he ate the tortillas. The young boy stood in the corner, his eyes never moving from the floor.

Brody
stood and approached the kid. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause any trouble to your people. I just have to get my friend.”

The boy said nothing as Brody crossed the room and hugged Alana, wh
o’d shown him such kindness. From his bag he took out two canteens and walked toward the well.

He’d need water, but he planned to get away from the village then try to rest.

As Brody filled the second container, the padre came out of the tiny church and took him by the arm. He pointed him in the direction of a straw strewn lean-to. “Sleep here tonight. You can leave right after dawn.”

“I thank you for your hospitality.”

“Before you sleep, come inside the church. We’ll pray and maybe have a glass of communion wine.”

He smiled and held out his hand. Brody dropped his bag in the straw and entered the church.

Made of crumbling sun-bleached stone, it resembled the old abandoned missions dotting the city of San Antonio, Texas, except some of churches there were in better shape than the one in this village.

Inside at the altar
hung a statue of Jesus on the cross looking down at the congregation. Painted red blood dripped from the nail wounds on the sacred figure. Head bowed, eyes half closed, it depicted the imminent death of Christ.

No doubt
a cheap imitation, but the reverence was clearly visible when the priest knelt beside one of the benches and made the sign of the cross. 

Brody si
mply nodded. He’d been born and raised a Southern Baptist and didn’t know a lot about the Catholic faith, but his mama taught him to respect everyone and their beliefs.

Their way lit by many burning candles, t
hey walked past four rows of benches. Down two steps, they entered a small room with another crucifix on the wall, along with a desk and two wooden chairs.

“Where do you come from?” asked the priest.

“Dallas, in Texas.”

“You are a man of war?”

“I guess someone dressed like you might think so.”

The priest
held out his hand. “I am Father Ayaaya.”

Shaking the offered hand, Brody replied, “Brody Hawke.”

After Father Ayaaya poured two small glasses to the rim, he offered Brody a chair, and they sat together and sipped the bitter wine.

“
Brody Hawke, you want to kill Chavez?”

“I want to free my friend and get back the woman. Chavez can wait until another day.”

“I doubt he will release either as long as he breathes.”

“Then I guess he’s going to stop breathing, because I’m not going home empty handed.”

“You may not go home at all.”

“Then I will have tried.”

Father Ayaaya leaned forward, his intense eyes bright with curiosity. “Why do men like you fight?”

“It’s not about why we fight. I
t’s what we’re fighting for.”

“And what is that?”

“Freedom, honor, and justice.”

“Those words mean a lot t
o you?

“They’re all a man like me has
.”

“I think I can help you a little. But for now, get some rest
, and let’s see what tomorrow brings.”

Brody finished the wine and walked f
rom the church. The young boy from Alana’s house stood beside his bag under the lean-to. “Don’t think about taking anything.”

The kid’s head came up and his dark eyes smoldered. “I am not trying to steal from you.”

“No? Then what do you want?”

“I want to go with you.”

“That’s too dangerous. Besides, if Chavez catches you he can make it tough for your family.”

“He already has. He can’t hurt us anymore.”

“What’s your name?”

“
Manny.”

“I’m
Brody. I’d like to take you with me, but it’s doubtful I’ll make it out of there alive.”

“Then we die fighting.”

The kid couldn’t be more than fifteen and as he moved about, Brody noticed he dragged his left foot. Brody put his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “Look, I understand. I imagine Chavez runs this village and those close by. And I know he’s mean. But I can’t take you away. Your family needs you here.”

Manny
jerked back. “My family does not need me. No one does. I am a useless cripple. I can do nothing. My life is nothing.”

Manny
moved into the darkness. A burning hole tightened Brody’s chest. He knew that useless feeling and how it felt to be so helpless. Hell, he’d felt that way since A.J.’s capture. They were both prisoners in their own skin. They couldn’t do anything to help the person they cared for.

Brody moved his bag and lay down in the straw
, exhausted. Dawn would come quickly. He’d be lucky to get a few hours of sleep before going out to find A.J. and Kate.

Inside
, his heart physically ached knowing Chavez held two people he cared about and he could do nothing to help them until morning. Not knowing the situation drove him crazy.

Having failed Kate shredded his confidence to the point recover
y appeared doubtful. Not for the first time he questioned his actions with Kate’s life. He had no right to take her against her will. He’d been wrong...dead wrong.

If anyth
ing happened to her he knew where to lay the blame, and who would suffer most. Images of her face crept into his mind. Her beauty seared his eyes.

For the first time, he questioned w
hat he’d believed in all his life. His ethics humbled him to the point of uncertainty. He had no choice. For redemption he’d find Kate and A.J. and get them back home safely. No matter what the cost. 

He reached in
his pocket and took out his smartphone. It’d been off since he left Frank’s office earlier that day. As he swiped his finger across the bottom of the screen, all the apps blinked to life.

The
status message showed three missed call, all from Frank. Brody turned the cell phone off to conserve the batteries, and then he lay down. Yeah, he had a real ass chewing coming.

But
to save Kate and A.J., Brody would take a verbal slap down. In Kate’s case, he’d be lucky to get away with Frank just going ballistic. If when this all ended, he still had his job, Brody would believe all that karma and positive thinking crap Zoe, their secretary, preached and lived by.

Odds were
he’d be looking for employment by the end of the week.

As Brody slipped a handful of straw beneath his head
, he wondered what his mother and two older sisters would think about him kidnapping an innocent woman. Closing his eyes, he knew better than to search for solace there.

C
HAPTER EIGHT

Kate woke with a start. The surroundings left her disoriented and confused. Where had they taken her? Panic washed over her like a tsunami with wave after wave of pain.

She
moved her arms and legs slowly, gasping as sizzling swells of anguish smashed into her body. She’d been slammed around to the point her arms and shoulders screamed in agony. She dreaded to think what her face looked like.

Surveying her locality, Kate quickly learned they’d locked her in what Oscar commonly referred to as his
dungeon.
Basement would be a better word. It was simply two dugout cells and iron bars which served as doors.

She caught a
whiff of a latrine bucket and wrinkled her nose as the odors of sweat and blood churned her stomach.

Pushing int
o a seated position, she rested against the back wall of her cell and struggled to breathe. Touching her ribs, she gasped. If a few weren’t broken, they were pretty banged up. Her lips were cracked. The coppery tang of blood filled her mouth.

An ache
deep as a valley consumed her body. Battered and weak, she wondered if she could stand.