Morgan's Rescue (30 page)

     
Increasing her precarious speed, she was struggling to catch up when she heard someone fall. Then Culver grunted. Her eyes narrowing, Pilar saw Morgan sprawled on the ground, with Culver nearby, rising onto his hands and knees. Rasping for breath, she sped to his side.

     
"They're after us!" she gasped as she helped him stand. Culver had fallen over a thick, exposed root. Anxiously, she turned to Morgan, who was slowly sitting up, a dazed expression on his shadowed features.

     
Culver grimly swung around. "It isn't far," he growled.

     
"I'll create a diversion."

     
"No!" He whirled, his eyes thundercloud black.

     
"Don't argue!" Pilar cried. Reaching out, she grabbed his arm. "
Mi querido,
whatever happens, take care of Rane for us, please. . . ."

     
Culver opened his mouth to protest. Before he could say a word, Pilar had disappeared back into a jungle, like a jaguar on the hunt. Shaken, he got Morgan back up and across his shoulders. Groaning under the other man's weight, he could do nothing but head forward again. He heard the yelps of the guards, like bloodthirsty dogs, then a sudden spate of gunfire. Swinging around, Culver dove onward, toward the landing zone. He wanted to stop, to turn around and help Pilar. She was right, he thought bitterly; a diversion had to be created or the guards would recapture Morgan.

     
More gunfire sounded, off to Culver's left. Pilar was leading them on a wild-goose chase, and they were following her. Breathing heavily, his muscles aching from the load he carried, Culver forced himself into a dogtrot toward the clearing he knew was ahead of them, but his heart and mind spun back to Pilar. She was risking her life for them.
Again.
As she had before, long ago.
She was so small and delicate, yet she possessed such incredible courage.

     
More gunfire erupted—heavier and more concentrated. Stray bullets whined past them, and Culver automatically cringed, tightening his grip on Morgan. They could just as easily be killed by ricocheting bullets. His heart ached with unadulterated fear for Pilar's life.
Oh, God, please protect her.
I love her.
I love her.
It no longer mattered that she'd run out on him. He needed her, even as he needed each breath of air he forced into his heaving, burning lungs.

     
Suddenly, the
whap, whap, whap
of helicopter blades caught his frantic attention. Honing in on the sound, Culver realized with a sinking sensation that they were behind schedule.
Five minutes.
That's all they had before
Houston
lifted off without them, thinking that mission a failure. His heart pounding, Culver lengthened his stride. Leaves swatted heavily at them, branches slapping his face, cutting and jabbing at him. Still, his mind swung to Pilar. Behind him and to the left, he could hear the gunfire, almost nonstop. What if she was wounded?
Dead?
The thought nearly paralyzed him midstride. Shaking his head, Culver hunched forward, the weight of Morgan nearly unbearable despite the man's emaciated con dition. Culver's muscles screamed in protest. His knees ached with each footfall.

     
Morgan groaned.

     
"Hang on," he panted. "Just hang on."

     
Morgan's life for Pilar's.
The thought was startling.
Horrifying.
Culver breathed heavily through his mouth. No. No. Pilar couldn't be dead—or worse, captured. She would catch up with them. She would be waiting in the clearing, signaling the helicopters. She had to be!

     
His thoughts skewing wildly, Culver lifted his booted feet higher, hoping to avoid the lethal tangle of roots. Each step felt as if he were lifting a thousand pounds of weight. Burning pain flowed up from his cramping calves, affecting his thigh muscles and shortening his stride. Clenching his teeth against the searing pain, he crashed on through the foliage. The sound of the helicopters was growing louder. At any moment, they would land. How far away was the clearing?

     
Sweat poured into his eyes, blurring his vision. Shaking his head in a bullish motion, Culver suddenly found himself at the edge of the huge, open space. The sky was just turning gray with dawn and he saw the black, silhouetted shapes of the choppers appear out of the night sky. Breathing raggedly, Culver turned around. Where was Pilar? Damn! Where was she? Anxiously, he scanned the jungle.

     
The helicopters would arrive within the minute. Culver shoved off on cramping legs toward the center of the clearing, where they would land. Morgan hung limply over his shoulders now, unconscious. The soil here was soft, and Culver struggled to keep his balance with his heavy load. Somewhere in the distance, above the powerful beating of the helicopter blades, another spate of gunfire broke the dawn.
Pilar?
Was she coming? She knew the timetable. She knew five minutes was between landing and lift-off.

     
The helicopters set down, their blades still whirling at full power. Culver saw the nearest chopper door slide open. The aircraft had no landing lights—nothing to give it away to the enemy. Tottering, his knees like jelly beneath the weight, Culver moved forward again and saw a man in tiger fatigues running toward him full tilt. It had to be Mike Houston. Culver felt his strength draining with each step he took. As the man neared, Culver recognized his old friend from Army Special Forces.
Houston
's square face was painted in green, yellow and black stripes, his expression hard and set as he reached out toward Morgan.

     
"Let's go!"
Houston
yelled above the roar of the aircraft. He hauled Morgan off Culver's shoulders.

     
Culver staggered as the weight was taken away. Two Peruvian soldiers grabbed Morgan and hauled him quickly toward the first helicopter. Culver felt
Houston
's steadying grip on his arm. Turning, he met the grim-faced major, who was near his own age.

     
"Mike, Pilar isn't here. She decoyed for us," he panted.

     
Houston
turned on his booted heel and lifted a pair of infrared binoculars to his eyes. "I don't see her,
Lachlan
."

     
"Damn!"

     
Every muscle in Culver's body ached, but nothing more so than his heart. "She shouldn't have done it!" He swore loudly. Glancing past the major, he saw that Morgan was now safely stowed on board the chopper.

     
Lowering the binoculars,
Houston
faced him. "We've got three minutes."

     
Frustration ate at Culver. He couldn't argue with Mike. If they waited for her, they could all be killed. Ramirez's men had powerful weapons capable of putting the helicopters out of commission. Compressing his lips, he gazed at the dark line of the jungle. "She's in trouble."

     
"What?" Mike shouted, leaning forward.

     
Culver cupped his hands around his mouth. "I said Pilar is in trouble. I feel it."

     
Houston
straightened. He glanced at his watch. "It's time to go, Lachlin."

     
Culver reached over and took the submachine gun that hung from
Houston
's shoulder. "No. I'm staying. I've got to find her."

     
Houston
eyed him. "That's stupid. Ramirez's men are crawling all over this place."

     
Terror gripped Culver. "I'm staying behind, Mike. You've got Trayhern. Take off."

     
"Dammit,
Lachlan
—"

     
Culver waved him away. "Somehow, we'll make it out of here—together."

     
"You're crazy!"

     
"Maybe."

     
Houston
traded looks with him. Rubbing his jaw, he said, "All right, if you can find her, contact me on the same radio frequency. I can't promise anything, but I'll try to talk the Peruvian government into giving us a chopper to come in and pick you up—wherever you are."

     
Gripping
Houston
's hand, Culver nodded. "
Thanks,
Mike."

     
"Just be damn careful,"
Houston
warned,
then
he turned and trotted back to the waiting aircraft.

     
Culver moved quickly back into the jungle's cover. He knew the sound of the helicopters would bring Ramirez's men running. He had to take some swift tactical action to get out of the immediate area. When things quieted, and dawn broke, he would try to track down Pilar.

     
His stomach turned with nausea. Pilar was either dead, wounded or captured. Tears burned in his eyes, but he fought them. Moving swiftly, his legs aching in protest, he headed away from the clearing, but parallel to the fortress, which was at least a mile away. His hunting and tracking instincts moved to the fore. He would need every ounce of jungle skill he possessed to avoid capture. In the distance, he heard the helicopters already growing fainter as they headed out of danger.

     
Pilar?
His heart lurched with dread. Sweat covered him. The foliage was damp from the night's fog, stealing silently around him, just above his head. His hearing keyed, Culver caught the sound of several men talking in excited Spanish to his right. Crouching down, he became invisible, swallowed up by the thick bushes. He listened carefully but, heard no mention of Pilar. They were crashing through the jungle toward the clearing where the helicopters had been. Good.

     
The moment they'd passed him, Culver eased to his feet and moved in the opposite direction. His mind spun. What had Pilar meant by "Take care of Rane for us"?
Us?
A strange word to use and he'd already promised, so why had she repeated it like that? Stymied, his terror for her very real, Culver pushed on. He consulted his compass every now and then in the dim gray light. Mentally fixing in his mind where the fortress was and which direction Pilar had headed, Culver kept his eyes trained to the ground.

     
Lucky for him, his father had been a hunter in the
Rocky Mountains
and had taught him tracking skills as a very young boy. Culver had developed the skill to an art form over the years, though these days his quarry tended to be two-legged enemies rather than some hapless deer or elk. As the sun rose and the light improved, he began watching for other signs—the telltale broken leaf or twig indicating someone had passed hurriedly through an area.

     
Was Pilar hiding in the jungle? Was she hurt? Bleeding? The image made him wince. It was only then that Culver realized they should still be in radio contact. Kneeling, hidden by the foliage, he pressed his fingers against his throat, where the communication device lay.

     
"Pilar? Pilar, this is Culver. Come in."

     
He waited, his breath suspended. He knew that the state-of-the-art headsets they wore were waterproof.
Capable of working under the ocean if they had to.

     
"Pilar, if you can hear me, say something. Anything…"

     
Slowly scanning the area, Culver waited tensely.
Nothing.
His mind ticked off the possibilities. Pilar could be dead, her body hidden by the jungle. She could be unconscious and unable to respond. Or—his heart instantly rejected the final possibility just as strongly—Ramirez's men had found her, stripped her of her military gear and taken her back to the fortress.

     
Wiping his smarting eyes, he digested the situation. Day was breaking and the fog was thinning. Lifting his head, Culver spotted a swath of jungle that had obviously been disturbed. Getting up, he eased in that direction, his gaze moving to the soft, moist earth.