Jungle Inferno (8 page)

* * * * *

Mark clenched his jaw and tried not to show how much the agony got to him.

Escobedo, the group member who seemed to be running the little band of terrorists, had strolled into the tent and as casually as tapping his foot against wood kicked Mark viciously in the leg. The open cut where Escobedo’s knife had sliced him from knee to ankle the day before began to bleed again and the pain nearly made him pass out. One of the men had put a crude bandage on it but Mark was sure infection was setting in.

He waited, sweating, until the worst of the pain subsided, forcing himself to breathe evenly. They could kill him but he’d never give them the satisfaction of beating him.

“
Hola, Capitan
. You do not look so chipper today.”
I’ll chipper you, you asshole. Just give me one of those wicked knives and five minutes and
you’ll be filleted cleaner than a fish
.

But he held his tongue. He knew his silence disturbed them and to reply would mean he’d give them an edge. It frustrated them because they got no sound from him except for the screams he couldn’t hold back. He still hadn’t figured out why they kept him alive. He’d given them no information, answered none of their questions, yet still they gave him enough food to keep him alive while they tortured him for sport.

He knew the arms dealer was still hanging around. That wasn’t usual for him. His habit was to show up where and when he needed to only long enough to transact business, then leave. Certainly this rough jungle camp was far from his normal fastidious surroundings. Mark had seen pictures of the man’s home in the Caymans. A virtual palace, built with blood money. But he wanted the leak plugged so it didn’t come back to haunt him again.

Escobedo took a thin cigarillo from the pocket of his shirt and lit it. Smoke curled in a thin spiral up past his dark-complected face with its high cheekbones, past the deep-set black eyes and the thick head of black hair, touched at the edges with grey. To Mark he looked like a well-heeled businessman on a jungle vacation but he knew the man was a vicious, cunning animal.

El Serpiente
, they called him. The snake.

“Our…
guest
…would like to be on his way. But he must be assured no one in your government has information about him they shouldn’t. The question of how you knew about the meeting to begin with must be answered. We cannot afford to have this situation disrupted.”

He wants to make sure anyone who knows about this group can be silenced. And that his
movements remain secret. Well, they can kill me before I tell them anything. God, just help me to
last.

“You’re being very foolish holding out this way. You know we’ll get the information out of you eventually. It’s imperative we find out who knows about us before we can move forward with our plans. You could die a much less painful death if you’d just be sensible.”

Mark wanted to spit in Escobedo’s face but he controlled himself. He had to buy as much time as he could. Antagonizing the man further wasn’t the way to do it.

“Still nothing to say?” Escobedo nudged the leg again, a little more viciously and his mouth turned up in a malevolent smile. “But you speak in your mind, do you not?

A little secret you thought to hide from us.”

Mark tried to control the anger he felt. Their man had obviously caught the psychic waves when Mark and Faith exchanged messages and been doing his best to interfere.

Someone had told them about it but who? That was classified information that very few people were even aware of. But these people would have had to be aware of it for their man to concentrate on intercepting him.

God, he could certainly use Chase Wohlmann now, the poor bastard.

“Felix tells me you have the same ability he does. Somehow he knew when he laid eyes on you that you were a telepath and he’s been listening for your messages.” A name to go with the man attacking his mind. He tucked it away in his brain, knowing that putting a name to the person could make them more vulnerable. He would have to study Felix every chance he had, try to figure out how to get around the mental roadblocks the man kept setting up. Try to remember how Chase constructed the shields. He’d been training for it but they’d only just begun their work.

“Unfortunately we only have incomplete fragments of what you are sending. And we do not know who you are sending to. So now we have one more piece of information we need from you. You become more valuable to us each minute.” He shook his head. “It will be a shame to kill you. And if you have managed to tell anyone—anyone at all—what happened here or where you are, we will have to take steps to, shall we say, eliminate that problem.”

Don’t think of Faith. Don’t picture her. Think of something else. Like the bastard I suspect of
leaking this mission. Someone in bed with the arms dealer.

He’d had plenty of hours to go over everything in his mind, reviewing the prep for the mission and the names of the people who knew about it. The circle was small. Delta Force missions were devised at the highest level, filtered down through Joint Special Operations Command—JSOC—and through the commanding officer to the specific team. Then the team went into isolation to make their plans. Only they and their immediate CO knew the details.

But the terrorists could only have been waiting for them if someone who knew the details had told them about the mission. Mark had finally narrowed his suspects down to two or three, one of them so high up he would be untouchable without complete proof. If he ever got out of this hellhole he’d take the man down. But first he needed to get away, impossible by himself with his wounds and as weak as he was.

“Is this person you’re reaching out to someone in your government that you foolishly think can get you out of here?” Escobedo gave a malicious laugh. “I hear your people have a special unit for people with this ability but your government is weak and run by too many politicians. No one would give this out. They would certainly be unwilling to call attention to a failed assignment, whose very nature would bring them unwanted publicity.” He spat into the dirt. “They have left you here to rot like a dead animal. Tell us what we want to know and let us get this over with.” Mark kept his eyes open, focusing on a point past Escobedo’s head. He knew how it angered the man for Mark to treat him with a lack of respect. It almost always brought on torture of some kind. But he couldn’t allow even one clue to Faith’s identify to become known.

“No answer?” One corner of his mouth turned up in a grin that was anything but humorous. “Perhaps Felix will be able to pluck the identity of this person from your mind. He is good at breaking through what you call mind barriers. Very good.” Mark watched the man study him through hooded eyes. Waiting, he knew, for Mark to show some sign of suffering. To grab his leg. To do something. But Mark would swallow his tongue before he would give this bastard any satisfaction at all.

“If you will just tell us what we want to know,
Capitan
, we will make your death swift and merciful. If not…” Escobedo shrugged. “You choice. Perhaps tonight Felix will come and visit you and see what’s churning in that clever mind.”
I will not let him into my mind. He can go to hell and take me with him.

As Escobedo walked out of the tent he brushed the point of his boot across Mark’s open wound.

Mark closed his eyes and in his head he screamed as loudly as he could.

* * * * *

They were eating lunch again, Mr. Brown and the heavyset one. The restaurant was actually the dining room of a country inn, a quaint, out-of-the-way place not frequented by any of their associates. Neither of them looked as if he was particularly enjoying his food, which was, indeed, the truth. The elephant in the room with them was enough to kill their appetites.

“Escobedo has not been able to get any information from him,” Mr. Green said.

There it was, the apprehension that someone had knowledge of their duplicity and could bring everything crashing down about them.

Mr. Brown buttered a roll with slow, precise strokes. “I don’t know what exactly he expects to get. Why doesn’t he just kill him and be done with it?”

“There’s apparently a problem.” Mr. Green stirred sweetener into his iced tea.

“A problem? With an injured prisoner? What could that possibly be?” Mr. Green shifted in his seat. “It appears the man has telepathic abilities and is sending messages to someone.”

Mr. Brown put down his fork and stared at his companion. “What the hell nonsense are you talking? Sending messages how?”

“I told you. He’s a telepath. He communicates with his mind. Like one of Escobedo’s men, Felix.”

“Bullshit.” Mr. Brown began eating again. “I don’t believe any of that psychic garbage and neither should you. Escobedo is working an angle and we have to figure out what it is.”

Mr. Green took a drink of his wine and patted his mouth with the snowy white linen napkin. “Listen to me. This is not something to blow off. Psychic ability has become so important the military even has special units made up of men who have it. If this man is sending telepathic messages to someone, we need to know who it is. That person could be right on our ass any minute.”

Mr. Brown leaned across the table. “And exactly what do you think he could tell this mysterious person? He doesn’t know anything.”

“Now there’s where you’re wrong. With one exception he’s the sole survivor of his unit. He’s bound to know something was leaked and he may even have figured out who leaked it.”

“Are you crazy? There’s no way to figure that out. Get hold of yourself.” They ate in silence. Then Mr. Green put down his silverware and took another sip of wine. “Mark Halloran is not a stupid man. He’s been around a long time and he knows far more than he should. If anyone can figure this out, he will.”

“Then they should just kill him, like I said.”

“Not until we know if he’s communicated anything dangerous to whoever his psychic partner is. And until he gives up the name of the person who pinpointed the meeting between the Wolf and Escobedo.”

“Then they’d damn well better find out who these people are. And let us take care of it.”

“And then, of course, there’s that other matter.”

Mr. Brown fixed his companion with an icy stare. “Ah, yes. And exactly what are we supposed to do with that?”

His stomach roiled at the message the angry voice had imparted on the phone. “Get rid of him, what else?”

“In a hospital room with people walking in and out all the time?” Green had asked.

“Damn it. I don’t pay you to ask me questions. Figure it out.”

“What if he knows something?” Brown asked now, as Green repeated the instructions. “Like maybe there’s another man still out there unaccounted for, another one besides Halloran that Escobedo and his men also missed. That’s not important to find out?”

“Then we’re to move him first.” His own anger had reached the boiling point. “This thing has fallen apart and if we don’t fix it we’ll all be marching through the gates of hell.”

Brown swallowed his own irritation. “Fine. We’ll take care of it.”

“We’d better do it soon. He’s waiting for my call.”

Faith managed to get rid of Tia at last by taking two painkillers and letting her assistant help her get into bed. She swore to the woman she’d call if she felt any worse.

Tia left with great reluctance, promising—no, threatening—to check on her often. Faith finally told her she appreciated her concern but it was time to go to sleep.

It took a long time for the pain to disappear. When it subsided enough for her to move, she fixed herself something light to eat and got back into bed. The evening hours ticked by as she focused her mind and tried to reach out to Mark. This time she didn’t want to wait for him to speak first. But shortly after midnight she fell asleep without making any contact at all.

When she awoke in the morning a heavy feeling of dread gripped her and a sense that time was slipping by too quickly. She’d have to figure out how to move Tia along faster without giving herself away.

First things first. Put off the book currently due, pitch the one she’d conjured up to use as a cover story to her agent and buy herself some time. No way could she concentrate on a fictional plot when a real one was consuming her life. She sat at the desk in her den and gathered her thoughts before speed-dialing a familiar number.

“Why do I think this can’t be good?” Abigail Loudon asked when she heard Faith’s voice.

“That’s because you have a naturally suspicious mind,” she tried to joke. Flipping a pencil back and forth between her fingers, she did her best to put enthusiasm into her voice as she attempted to cajole her hard-working agent. “Abby, I know we have a contract in place for the next book in the series but just listen to me. I’ve got a great idea that I can’t put aside. You know how I am when I need to get something out of my head and on paper right away.”

“And you know I get hives when you get that tone in your voice.” Abby’s words held a mixture of humor and exasperation. The two women had worked together for seven years now.

“But this story is too good to just sit,” Faith told her and proceeded to outline her proposal. “The other one will still be timely even if it waits for a year. Political garbage in Washington doesn’t change, unfortunately. But this other is hot, current stuff.”

“I don’t know.” Abby was silent a moment. “How will you even get people to agree to let you interview them? A lot of this is classified stuff.”

“Have I ever had a problem before?” Faith tossed the pencil down and picked up a paper clip. Her hands wouldn’t keep still.

“No but I say again. This is a different ball game.” A heavy sigh made its way over the connection. “All right. They’ll probably go for it because this stuff is all over the news right now. I’ll do the dirty work with your editor. Send me a proposal so I can get your contract done before they decide it’s a bad deal. And if they give us the green light, you’d better get yourself busy before they change their minds.” Faith blew a kiss over the telephone. “Abby, you are worth every penny you wring out of me. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”