Morgan's Rescue (29 page)

     
Tears gathered in Pilar's eyes, and she nearly blurted, "I've hurt you more than you'll ever know,
mi querido.
" Bitterness galled her as she watched Culver blacken his face, arms and hands. With no need for such camouflage because of her naturally dark skin, Pilar stood. Time was of the essence now. They were on a schedule. The helicopters would be in the air shortly, speeding toward them from an unknown point.

     
Pilar fitted the ear-and mouthpiece over her head, making sure the collar was snug enough not to slip. The tiny microphones would be their only means of communication. Licking her dry lips, she took the lead; she would show Culver the way to the rear of the fortress.

     
Damp leaves from the low bushes swatted her skirt and legs as she tried to focus and steady herself. She had to become the jaguar again—stalking silently through the jungle. Jaguars owned the night. They were the night in all its aspects. To become one with the jungle, the plants, the animals, the insects, the very ground her bare feet trod upon, was the challenge.

     
Pilar's need to focus began to override her aching heart and worries about Culver—and Rane. As she melted into the darkness around her, she felt a subtle shift in her consciousness that heightened her hearing, sharpened her vision and enlarged upon her ability to sift one odor from another. She was now the jaguar. Unerringly, she wove silently closer to Ramirez's fortress.

     
Soon they were on the western side of the complex. As Pilar slowed, reached out and encountered the rough, wooden door, she felt another subtle shift. What replaced her heightened senses was more emotionally devastating. She felt Culver nearby, the aura of protection bristling from him. People still sang and strummed guitars in the courtyard—not half as many as before, but enough to cover any slight sound they might make slipping into the fortress.

     
As Pilar turned and looked up into Culver's face, she had a wild desire to reach up and kiss him one last time. Oh, she would give anything to feel his masterful mouth against her, guiding her, consuming her until she became one with him again. It was a ridiculous urge, and she sadly turned away, knowing full well she didn't deserve such a final, parting gift from him. Instead, she draped her fingers across the old, rusty latch and gently pushed down. She heard a distinct click, and the door creaked open.

     
C
ulver didn't know what to expect when they slipped undetected into Morgan's room. The chamber was dark, except for what little light danced into it from the huge bonfire still blazing below in the courtyard, and it stank of urine and vomit. At least a hundred of the harder-core celebrants were still going strong, and Culver and Pilar had managed to sneak up to the second floor of the hacienda undetected.

     
Pilar closed the door and quickly pulled the thin curtains across the barred window. Culver crossed the room, his gaze pinned on Morgan, who was lying down. Was he asleep? As he closed the distance, he saw the man slowly lift his head. Leaning over Morgan, Culver gripped the man's shoulder and whispered, "We're friends, Morgan. Don't make a sound. We're going to get you out of here."

     
Pilar pulled Morgan into an upright position. Every second counted. If they didn't get away from the fortress fast enough, the guards would hear the helicopters and realize something was wrong. She saw puzzlement on Morgan's bearded features as she crouched before him to study his eyes, her hands on his knees.

     
"Morgan? It's Pilar. Remember me? I was here a little while ago." Her voice was low and breathless, her heart pounding unremittingly. She saw confusion come to his cloudy gaze. He looked at her,
then
twisted to look up at Culver, who stood over him.

     
"No," he mumbled. "Who are you?"

     
Crestfallen, Pilar said to Culver, "His eyes are the same. He's no better or worse than the last time I saw him."

     
With a nod, Culver came around and knelt at Morgan's side. "Do you remember me?
Culver
Lachlan
?"

     
Morgan stared at him. "No…"

     
"That son of a bitch. . . ." Culver rasped as he straightened. Ramirez had wiped out Morgan's memory completely with some drug. Fury sizzled through him, but Culver quickly clamped down on it and gestured sharply to Morgan. "Come on, we're springing you from this pigsty. It's time to go home."

     
"Home?"

     
Pilar panicked. "Morgan, your home is in
Washington
,
D.C.
"

     
"It is?"

     
"Oh, no," she whispered. "You're married to Laura. You remember Laura, don't you?"

     
Morgan shook his shaggy head. "I…don't know any of you." Forlornly, he looked around the room and then back at Pilar. "Who is Laura?"

     
Rising, Pilar bit back a cry of sadness. "You have two children, Morgan.
A boy and a girl.
Do you remember their names?"

     
Rubbing his brow with his filthy, bloodied hand, Morgan whispered, "I don't have any children. . . ."

     
"Enough," Culver snapped roughly. "Pilar,
check the door to make sure the guards aren't
around. I'm going to get him on his feet."

     
Instantly, Pilar responded. Morgan was a big man, but Culver, built like a huge, powerful bull, was larger, and Morgan was pathetically thin, a mere shadow of his former self. Culver pulled his arm across his own shoulder and hefted him to his feet. With a groan, Morgan sagged against his rescuer's tall frame, his knees buckling.

     
"Try to stand," Culver ordered gently, steadying him. The drugs they'd given him had not only made mush of his brain, they'd affected his entire nervous system. Morgan was weak and uncoordinated.

     
"It's clear," Pilar whispered. She stepped out the door and opened it wide. Moving ahead, she heard the scraping of Morgan's bare feet on the tiles. Her heart pounding, she hurried to the stairs. Shadows from the firelight danced along the walls. Shouts and loud laughter drifted up to her, and guitar music provided more dissonance as she carefully made her way down the darkened steps to the ground below.

     
Turning, Pilar watched the corner of the hacienda and the men's progress. Morgan was only semiconscious, leaning heavily against Culver, who was practically dragging him down the stairs. Breathing hard, Culver tottered beneath his load, added to the weight of the equipment he wore. Anxiously, Pilar looked on, her palms growing sweaty. She had no weapon. If someone came around the corner unexpectedly, she could do nothing. Culver wouldn't be able to get to his own weapon because he was helping Morgan.

     
The drugged man groaned as Culver guided him toward the west wall and the small wooden door. Pilar brought up the rear, constantly on guard. Morgan's knees kept giving out on him, despite his pitiful attempts to walk.

     
"Pilar!"

     
She spun around at Culver's rasping command. Understanding that he wanted her to open the door for them, she hurried ahead. The bougainvillea scraped and cut at her arms as she waded into it. Breathing through her mouth so she wouldn't make too much noise, she groped about until her fingertips met the rough wooden door. She heard Culver's heavy breathing through the earpiece she wore. Scrabbling to find the rusty lock, she wished for more light.

     
"Hurry!"
Culver snapped.

     
Pilar heard the crunch of branches behind her. Morgan groaned again, the sound one of raw pain. She was sure those whiplash wounds that covered his back were being opened. Frantically, she moved her hands over the door's surface. There! She jerked it open and the rusty hinges gave a loud creak of protest. It took all of Pilar's weight to open the door far enough for Culver and Morgan to pass through.

     
Once outside Culver propped Morgan against the now-open door.
"Hold him."

     
She nodded and pressed her hands against Morgan's chest to steady him. She watched as Culver removed his submachine gun.

     
"Take it," he ordered. "Cover our escape."

     
Nodding jerkily, Pilar stepped aside and took the safety off the weapon. The steel felt cold in her trembling hands. She hated violence of any kind. In her undercover work, although it had been dangerous, she'd refused to carry a weapon.

     
Dividing her attention, she saw Culver heft Morgan under his arms and drag him away from the wall.

     
¡Hola!

     
Sucking in a sharp breath, Pilar whirled around. Her eyes widened. A guard stood tensely at the corner, his face etched with surprise.

     
"
¡Altoi!
Stop!" he yelled, and jerked the submachine gun off his shoulder.

     
No! Pilar backed up and slammed into the wall. She saw the guard's face turn ugly as he lowered the weapon, pointing it toward her. Culver was gone!

     
"You there!
Stop!"

     
Whirling around, she lunged for the open door, hearing the instant spat of the weapon as she did so. Bullets whined around her as she reached the entrance, and wood exploded in splinters to her right. Stucco flew past her. With a small cry, she dropped to her knees and tried to get out the door, but a vine caught her foot and she tripped forward.
Dios,
no! Panicked, Pilar scrambled on hands and knees through the doorway.

     
A siren started to wail behind her. Gasping, she struggled to her feet. Ahead of her, Culver had put Morgan in a fireman's carry over his shoulder and was lumbering quickly into the jungle, she saw.
Time.
Culver had to have time to get far enough into the jungle that Ramirez's men couldn't find them. Jerking around, Pilar dropped the weapon and reached for the rusty latch. She heard more startled cries from the guards. They were coming her way.

     
Wrapping her fingers around the latch, she yanked the wooden door closed. Then, picking up the submachine gun, she sprinted across the small clearing toward the wall of darkened jungle that stretched in front of her. It represented safety. She'd lost sight of Culver, but she knew from their game plan which direction he would go. Besides, with Morgan on his shoulders, he'd be making noise and moving slowly.

     
Breathing hard, her bare feet digging into the moist leaves and sandy soil, Pilar ran as hard as she could, the cries of the guards ringing out behind her. They sounded so close! Not daring to turn around and look, she lengthened her stride. Part of her wished she was taller, with longer legs to carry her away from the pursuing enemy more quickly.

     
"Stop!"

     
The command rippled through her, and Pilar winced at the fury in the male voice behind her. They were going to kill her, she knew. Running hard, gasping as she went, she dove into the jungle. Safe! At last she was safe!

     
Pilar didn't break stride. As if her feet had eyes, she felt each step across the lumpy ground. She keyed her ears to the crashing of foliage ahead that heralded Culver's awkward progress. Would he make it to the landing zone in time? Pilar knew Major Houston would wait there only five minutes. If he didn't see them, he'd have to order the two helicopters to lift off. To remain on the ground too long in Ramirez's backyard was folly. A single guard could shoot a helicopter to oblivion.

     
Bullets whined around her. Vines snapped; bark flew. Pilar hunched over and ran harder, her mind racing even faster. In another minute or so she would catch up with Culver. But he and Morgan needed protection, someone to stay behind and create a diversion to ensure their escape.