The Echo of Violence (11 page)

The heat closed in.
And the damned bugs.

Every member of her team had humped in a load and carried water, supplies, and munitions on their backs. She had done her part. And in the steamy jungle, the burden had taken its toll. They had stayed off the worn trails, fearing they might be booby-trapped, and trekked the steep climb running parallel to the narrow path. The going was slow. They’d covered only two klicks an hour. Fighting the underbrush had been tough. Lactic acid had built up in her muscles and made her legs burn, even as she rested. The mountainous terrain and the heat would normally be her first concern for the team, but the weather had her worried too.

And so did Kinkaid.

He looked grateful for the break. Keeping to himself, he pulled away from the others to down what looked like aspirin when he thought she wasn’t watching. His skin looked pale and clammy—and not from the muggy heat. His normally alert eyes were sluggish and hard to read. Something was definitely wrong even though he was holding up his end of the bargain.

Carrying her Colt M4 Carbine assault rifle over her shoulder, she stood and walked to where he lay sprawled on a small rise with his back against a tree.

“You mind company?” she whispered.

He gestured an invitation with a hand and barely looked up.

“If we stick to high ground,” she said as she retrieved insect repellent from her belt pack, “we get better reception for our GPS units and SAT phone. This dense canopy can mess up our readings.”

While she talked, she sprayed bug juice on her clothes and skin.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he whispered with eyes closed. “Just don’t get us caught on a ridge with our asses showing. We’d make easy sniper targets.”

“How are you holding up?” she asked.

“I took a tumble off a ridge the other night. It’s nothing. I’m good.”

“Ah, thanks. That explains everything.” She leaned her head back against the tree she shared with him and closed her eyes, her assault rifle across her belly. “And you’re a lousy liar, Kinkaid.”

Alexa waited for his sarcasm. When she got nothing except for a cloud of insects that buzzed her face, she settled back and dialed into her surroundings. Eerie sounds echoed through the jungle, the life-and-death struggle for survival. The ground smelled of decay, wet wood, and damp rich earth, a primeval odor that was all too familiar. And in the distance she heard the birds in the trees and the flutter of wings as they flew. Without opening her eyes, she pictured them from her memory and their sounds—brightly colored parrots, finches, and hummingbirds that hung motionless in the air.

When she slowed her heartbeat to doze in the heat, she heard Kinkaid’s breathing. His easy rhythm signaled he’d fallen asleep. She imagined the two of them in another time and place on a lazy Sunday morning
sleeping in. And it wasn’t difficult to picture his bare tanned skin under white linens with those hypnotic green eyes luring her to bed.

She pictured sweat beading on skin, hands clutched together in a fevered pitch, and the grinding of two bodies in the throes of orgasm. Her breathing and heart rate escalated as she imagined what he would feel like inside her. With eyes closed, she fantasized about making love to Jackson Kinkaid on a warm Sunday afternoon when all they had was time. She fought the urge to smile and took a deep breath.

She’d had such thoughts before about him, and she understood physical need and the urgency of sexual attraction. But making a commitment to one lover—would she ever settle for a life like that?

And more to the point, would she ever want to?

“Marlowe.”

She heard a male voice whispering near her. Hank Lewis wanted her attention.

“Yeah, Hank.” When she opened her eyes, she saw the short muscular man with his burr cut crouched near her. “What is it?”

“Booker and Rodriguez are back,” he told her.

Manny Rodriguez and Adam Booker had scouted ahead for the team. While one tracked and focused on the trail, the other flanked his position to keep watch. They rotated their assignments to keep their eyesight fresh.

“And?” she asked.

“Manny picked up a trail.” Lewis smiled. “The tracks fit our head count.”

She returned a grin and punched Kinkaid in the arm. “Wake up, sleeping beauty. Time to work.”

If Kinkaid had seen distinctive footprints of the hostages and their terrorist captors, his memory would be put to the test. With any luck, the tracks her scouts had found would be the bastards who killed and abducted innocent civilians. Once they had a trail to follow, the chase would be on.

And when the team caught up with the men, they’d carry out their brand of justice.

The zing of a machete echoed past them and down into the valley below as the lead man cleared a path where the overgrown vines were too dense. Sister Kate and the other hostages had been climbing a tapering mountain trail since dawn. And although the exertion and the altitude made it hard for her to breathe, she knew better than to complain. She still had no idea where they were or where the men were taking them. They’d been ordered to keep their heads down and hadn’t seen anyone else since they’d landed.

She caught glimpses of darkening clouds and noticed that the overcast sky had the smell of rain. And the wind had picked up. She felt the strong breeze most on the ridges they had crossed. And in the distance, she had seen the whitecaps. The ocean churned and had become choppy. A storm was coming.

By dusk, they made camp early, and bowls of food were handed out. At the bottom of rusted metal containers was a brown paste that they had to eat with their fingers. It smelled slightly rancid, but Kate forced
herself to eat. The children did the same. And not one complained.

George had gotten worse. And no one had given him any food or water.

When she received her rations, she took some to him. The man lay sprawled on the ground under a stand of trees. His suit looked disheveled and filthy and was stained with his blood. Kate looked over her shoulder to make sure none of her captors were watching before she knelt by him.

“Here…you need this more than I do,” she whispered.

She raised George’s head to give him her share of water. The man looked into her eyes with a mix of gratitude and fear as he choked down the liquid. When she offered him food, he refused. His face had taken on a sickly gray pallor with spots of color where his skin was flushed with heat. A raging fever had stricken the poor man.

“I’ll bring more when I can,” she promised. “Now, let me have a look at this.”

She peeked under the dressing pressed to his shoulder and decided nothing could be done. Parts of the makeshift bandage was stuck to the wound, and the bullet hole was still bleeding, a slow and steady ooze. She’d tried to keep the wound clean, but she didn’t have fresh bandages, and infection had set in. The flesh around the bullet hole was red and swollen and hot to the touch. And foul-looking pus aggravated the injury and gave off a nasty odor.

Since there was no exit wound, she believed the
bullet was still inside. George needed a doctor. She knew it, and by the look in his eyes, he did, too.

“Thank you…S-Sister.”

She dabbed the sweat from his forehead with a dirty cloth and felt the heat radiating off his skin. Raindrops pattered the leaves above George and fell onto his face. He was slow to blink them away. The man was getting weaker.

“Your fever is worse.” She clutched his hand and felt him squeeze her fingers. “I wish there was more I could do.”

“There is, Sister. My son.” He cleared his throat and choked. His lungs wheezed with the effort. “If you make it home, please tell my son…that our last thoughts were of him. And that we will always love him.” He tried to smile and didn’t have the energy. “He got married last year…and they’re expecting a baby. Our f-first grandchild.”

He stumbled over the word “first,” and she knew he was thinking of his dead wife. She wanted to comfort the man and tell him they’d all make it home again, but she knew that wouldn’t be true. If George didn’t get medical care soon, he’d be dead before help could arrive.

“Tell me about your son.” She forced a smile and stroked his brow. “Where does he live?”

She listened to what George told her. He grew very still to focus on what he said. And for a brief instant, the pain in his eyes faded as the rain slid down his cheek and drained into his tears.

She committed every word to memory. If she lived
through this nightmare, she wanted to tell a son how much his father loved him. But before George finished, Kate felt a harsh jab at her back. When she turned, a young man holding a rifle aimed it at her and yelled words she didn’t understand. He nudged his head, and she shifted her gaze where he pointed.

The terrorist leader stood in the clearing near the fire. The sight of him knotted her stomach.

“I’ll be back…when I can,” she muttered to George and squeezed his hand. “You rest now.”

She glanced toward the children and they grimaced as they huddled in the rain. Being the oldest, Joselyne clung to the others. The girl’s eyes welled with glistening tears, but she resisted the urge to cry out. Sister Kate forced a smile and nodded her reassurance, then stood and went with the armed young man.

Standing in front of the man in charge, she kept her head down and avoided looking into his fierce eyes until his silence forced her to look up. He stared down at her in disgust as if she were vile. Of late, every encounter between them had become a competition for him to win, as if he had something to prove to her. This she did not understand, not when he was clearly in charge.

“It is your turn to plead for your miserable existence.” The leader raised his chin and looked down his nose at her. “And you will speak for the children. Their lives depend on you.”

“How?” she asked.

“You will use my phone…and contact Jackson Kinkaid. He is a wealthy American businessman, and you are an American nun. He would pay for you, yes?”
The man looked at her with a smug expression, as if he had just revealed a secret of hers.

“Jackson Kinkaid?” Her eyes grew wide.

She counted Kinkaid as a friend, but not in the conventional sense. He was someone she had respected from the first time they met. And she understood what had mattered most to him and comforted him when he needed it. Beyond that, she never pried into his secrets. She accepted him the way he was, and he had done the same for her. Few would understand their bond—least of all the angry man standing in front of her now.

“I don’t have a phone number for Mr. Kinkaid. I only have his mailing address. That’s all.”

“You are lying.” The man yanked her by the throat and pulled her toward him. Her feet dangled under her, barely touching the ground. She felt the blood rush to her face.

“Please…I’ve told you all I know,” she cried.

Kate heard the children screaming behind her. When she looked over her shoulder to find them, the man tore the veil from her head and threw it to the ground. He stepped on it and ground it into the dirt with the heel of his boot. And with his hand, he yanked her head back. He gripped her hair until her scalp burned.

“You will do this thing. Now!” he yelled, and fixed his eyes on her. His spittle mixed with the raindrops that struck her face and she winced.

“I can’t. I’ve told you.” She had no idea how much he understood, and she tried to explain. “The charitable foundation he set up is private. As far as I know, they don’t advertise their good works. I only have his mailing address, I swear it.”

“He gave money to the school.” He glared at her. “And that party was in his honor. This I know from the news. And others here said he was at Dumont Hall and that you know him well.”

“He’s a contributor to the school, yes. And yes, I know him. But only as a patron to the academy.” Most of what she’d said was the truth and not what he wanted to hear.

He stared at her and tightened his grip as the rain got worse. The pain made her wince, and she held her breath. He looked as if he were making up his mind about what to do next. Given the anger seething in his eyes, she wouldn’t like the outcome.

“If you cannot reach him, then you are of no use to me…and neither are those children.” He pulled a machete from his belt and yelled an order for the young man with the video camera to follow him.

The man dragged her by the hair into the jungle. She tried to keep up, but he moved too fast. She fell in the slick mud, and he didn’t stop. Branches tore her tunic and exposed her legs to cuts. And she heard the roots of her hair pop as they were yanked from her head. He hauled her away from the others. And some of his men followed, cheering and hoisting weapons above their heads in victory.

And when they got to a small clearing, the man beat her with his fists. She crumpled to the muddy ground and curled into a ball, protecting herself from his kicks. It all happened too fast—the blur of images and her sudden rush of terror. She couldn’t breathe.

Oh please, dear God. Not like this.

Grimacing in pain, she was hauled to her knees, yanked by her hair again. And the man with the video camera came forward and shoved through the bodies standing before her.

Her death would become a mockery recorded for the amusement of these cruel men. They knew nothing of her life, nor did they care. And all her sacrifices in service to God meant nothing.
Nothing!
Her passing would serve no vital purpose in this forsaken corner of the world.

Inside, she wanted to scream, until she heard the cries of the children in the distance. Their torment overshadowed any agony she felt for her own fate. In truth, she had let them down.

Now they’d have no one to look out for them.

The sun glowed like a dying ember on the horizon, despite being smothered by a thick ceiling of clouds. And the rain had intensified. Although large drops pelted the trees, branches filtered the deluge and shielded them from the blowing downpour. The steamy heat had subsided, but the high winds and lightning posed a new threat. Alexa knew her team needed shelter to weather the worsening storm. And she’d seen a shallow stone overhang that might give them enough protection. They’d have to backtrack to make it.

Kinkaid wouldn’t be happy. The man had followed the tracks Manny found with a frightening obsession. To convince him to retrace his steps wouldn’t be easy, but she had to try.

“We can’t stay out here,” she cried, hoping Kinkaid heard her through the rain. But if he had, he ignored her. She yelled again, “We gotta find shelter.”

Kinkaid had pushed ahead looking for the footprints he’d recognized. Now she couldn’t stop him. It was getting darker, and the rain had obliterated the tracks. Any
footprints had filled with rain and were submerged in puddles of mud. And their own tracks would trample what little remained. Kinkaid kept his head down and searched like a madman for signs that he was still on the right trail. And in weather like this, he could make a mistake and put them off the right path.

“We can make camp near here,” she argued. “We’ll pick it up in the morning, when we can see better.”

“But the rain…” he yelled over his shoulder. “It’s wiping out the tracks. If we wait until morning, the trail will be gone.”

“My team is good,” she countered. “We’ll track other signs, Jackson.”

He ignored her and staggered into the wind, holding up an arm to fend off the blowing branches. Alexa turned to see her men close behind. They were doing their best, but she knew what they were thinking. Kinkaid had lost his objectivity. She had to make the decision and do what was right for all of them, even if it turned him against her.

“You might be leading us the wrong way. And that could take us twice as much time to find their trail again.” She stopped fighting the wind and stood her ground. “I’m ordering you to stop.”

He shook his head. And when he stumbled and slowed down, she stepped into his path.

“Don’t make me the bad guy.” Alexa lowered her voice so only he would hear. She placed both hands on his chest, but that still didn’t stop him. When he pushed by her, she yelled, “You know I’m right. What are you doing?”

Although Kinkaid finally stopped fighting, he didn’t return her stare. He raised his face into the darkening skies and the punishing rain, his broad shoulders slumped in defeat. His hair and clothes were drenched, like hers, except he looked exhausted and beaten.

Something was terribly wrong.

“Talk to me, Jackson,” she pleaded. “What’s going on?”

She wanted to ask him about Kate, but was afraid what his reaction might be. The man didn’t look stable. And when she finally got his marginal attention, he lowered his head and looked past her. He zoned out with a half-lidded gaze as if he’d forgotten where he was. His skin was pale, and he rocked on his heels, unsteady.

“Jackson?” She grimaced. “You’re scaring me. And that’s not easy to do.”

It was the last thing she said before his eyes rolled into his head. His body fell hard to the ground in a backwash of mud.

Jackson Kinkaid had passed out at her feet.

New York City
Sentinels Headquarters

“I haven’t been able to get through to Alexa.” In his office, Garrett paced the floor in front of his wall of monitors. Even with all the technology available to him, nothing worked. “The edge of the hurricane has made landfall. The storm’s interfering with communications.”

“That’s understandable. When did you last talk to her?” Tanya Spencer asked as she took a seat on the sofa.

“Two hours ago. I gave her an update on the storm and warned her to take shelter, but you know Alexa.” He tried to smile and couldn’t.

“What path are they projecting for the hurricane?” Tanya Spencer asked him. “Are Alexa and her team in its path?”

He stopped and shifted his gaze toward the weather channel. A swirling mass of radar projected hurricane Alex would hit Cuba. And even though there was irony in the fact that the storm had been named for a man—a name so similar to Alexa’s—Garrett had a sinking feeling that this storm had her name written all over it.

“Well, the southeast part of the island isn’t directly in the path, but it’ll be close enough not to matter.” He unbuttoned his shirt collar, yanked at his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. “The only saving grace is that she’ll avoid the flooding if she stays in the mountains. She might find enough shelter there.”

Wishful thinking was not his forte. He sucked at it.

“You said you wanted to talk about the terrorist cell who claimed responsibility a few hours ago,” she reminded him.

He knew Tanya well enough to see she’d changed topics to get his mind off Alexa. And worrying about the weather did them no good.

“The group who claimed the kidnappings on the Internet was an outfit called the National Liberation Army,” he told her. “They were originally a Marxist
insurgent group based out of Colombia. They’ve been in existence since the mid-sixties, inspired by Castro and Che Guevara. They have terrorist cells training in Cuba.”

“Why would such a group commit an act of terrorism in an impoverished country like Haiti, then take the hostages back to Cuba? For that matter, why take hostages from there at all?” she asked. “You’d think they would launch an attack where they could abduct vacationing tourists, people with money.”

“Your instincts would be dead-on, but I think this was a training exercise. Whoever they are, I think they’re preparing for something bigger…on turf where they feel comfortable.” He shook his head and slumped in a chair across from her. “And as to why they took the hostages to Castro country, Cuba provides safe haven, medical care, and support for this group. And it’s believed they have ties to Venezuelan President Hugo Chavez. Venezuela’s involvement broadens their playing field. I think something else is going on here.”

“You have a theory?” She narrowed her eyes.

“The National Liberation Army conducts hundreds of kidnappings for ransom in a year, and they generally target the employees of large foreign corporations. This broader focus doesn’t fit the MO of the terrorist cell Alexa is tracking. The group claiming responsibility may be creating a smoke screen to cover up another agenda, or they’re lying about who they are to throw off authorities.” He leaned forward and rested his palms on his knees. “The tactics feel like Islamic Jihad, maybe a group out of Afghanistan in training for something
bigger. Or maybe their goal is to aggravate an already strained situation between the U.S. and Cuba or Venezuela. America doesn’t need another global distraction, not with a faltering domestic economy.”

“Has this group asked for ransom money?” she asked. Before he answered her question, she posed another idea. “Maybe it’s not about money. They’ve already posted one gruesome video that’s getting attention. Perhaps they’re after headlines in a global arena. These hostages could be nothing more than collateral damage to the cause.”

He’d already leapt to the same conclusion until wishful thinking intervened.

“There have been no demands for money, but that might be due to the weather,” he said. “They have no way to communicate until the hurricane passes.”

The hopelessness of the hostage situation made him understand why Kinkaid had been so relentless, especially if there were innocent children involved, as the Haitian police had reported. And if his theory about this being a training exercise for a larger operation was right, Kinkaid’s emergency call might thwart a more dangerous scheme geared for a higher body count. Gut instinct told him more was at stake for the terrorists than the lives of the hostages or any paltry ransom money.

“We need to track these bastards by other means. If we can find a way to trace their last transmission, that might provide us a clue. We could know what to look for when they post another video.”

“What makes you think they’ll post again?”

“They took a video cam with them for a reason. Groups like this crave attention.” He nodded. “They’ll post again. Each upload is a fucking victory lap.”

His mind raced, formulating a plan and the logistics he’d need to pull it off. He got to his feet and went to his desk to jot down his thoughts.

“When we get through this storm, Alexa will need our help,” he said, keeping his attention on the notepad as he continued, “If we know how to track these guys, we can give her an edge and have a backup team airborne to support her on the ground.”

When his phone rang, Tanya stood and prepared to give him privacy. He glanced at the display and recognized the extension for security.

“I’ve got to take this, but stick around.” He picked up his phone. “Wheeler.”

A man from security informed him that his car service had arrived in the secured parking garage. His visitor was in custody and still wearing a blindfold. Jessica Beckett would be escorting the young man to his office.

“Can I send him up, sir?” the guard asked.

“Yes, immediately. And thanks.” He hung up the phone and looked at Tanya. “Our visitor has arrived. Get your team ready. I want him to hit the ground running. Use your judgment and give him what he needs. He’ll be under your supervision.”

“Works for me.” She left his office and shut the door behind her.

And for the first time today, Garrett smiled and meant it. “Great timing, Seth Harper.”

“Bet this stop isn’t in any brochure,” Harper said. When Jess didn’t answer, he yanked her chain again. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I came to New York. Sightseeing works best when you can actually…see, Jessie.”

Seth walked slowly down a corridor with a blindfold covering half his face. He carried an overnight bag on his shoulder at Garrett’s suggestion. Seth would be the guest of the Sentinels.

“Maybe we can put this blindfold to good use later, just you and me,” he added. She heard the smile in his voice and pictured him with a devilish twinkle in his eye. “After all, I let you see me naked. The least you could do is return the favor.”

“Thanks for the privilege, Harper. Next time you should charge admission.”

“Next time?”

Jess held his hand and heaved a sigh with an eye roll she knew he couldn’t appreciate. They were near Garrett Wheeler’s office—an intimidating place she’d only been to once. Whatever was happening with Alexa, it had to be important for Garrett to bring Seth into their operation. She joked for Harper’s sake, but she was worried for Alexa.

Seth let her lead him to the closed office door. He was having fun with all the security protocol. She only hoped he’d still have a sense of humor when this was all over.

Garrett had explained enough for her to appreciate that Alexa needed Seth’s computer expertise, and time
was apparently critical. When she presented the situation to Harper, he agreed to help without hesitation. She expected nothing less from a guy she’d grown to respect—personally and professionally—if computer hacking and online surveillance that bordered on criminal activity could be construed as “professional.” The guy bent the ethics rules when it came to tracking criminal activity on the computer.

That could earn him a definite plus on his résumé—
or five to ten in prison.

Jess let go of Seth’s hand to knock on Garrett’s door. She heard a man’s voice inside, giving her permission to enter. When she led Harper in, Garrett wasn’t alone. He had Tanya Spencer with him, his senior analyst and advisor.

Before introductions were made, Garrett exchanged looks with his analyst, and Tanya shrugged.

“Why is he still blindfolded?” her boss asked. “Once he was secured in the building, I thought you knew he could ditch the headgear.”

All eyes were on her. Jess pursed her lips and avoided their questioning stares until Harper figured it out.

“Very funny, Jessie.” He yanked down the blindfold and left it dangling around his neck. “You’d be a riot at a firing squad.”

In truth, it wasn’t a prank. She liked having Harper reliant on her for a change. And having a semi-legitimate excuse to hold his hand was an added bonus. The first time she put her hand in his, a rush of intimacy swept through her. She loved the warmth of his skin next to hers even though it made letting go harder to do.

Her new boss made the introductions and took great pleasure in shaking Harper’s hand. Jess noticed Garrett’s eye contact as he fixed on Seth with all the enthusiasm of a scientist testing a new lab rat. After everyone made nice, they sat and the briefing got under way.

Jess sensed that Garrett left key elements out of his update. He only named Alexa so Harper would understand why he had been asked to get involved. And he focused on details Seth would know from the news. Even Jess had heard about the incident in Haiti on CNN. She had no idea Alexa had anything to do with the aftermath of those tragic abductions. And with the added complication of the hurricane bearing down on Cuba, Jess understood why Garrett needed the extra help. Having Seth in New York had been a stroke of good fortune.

But Harper had his own thoughts on the subject.

“Yeah, I want to help Alexa, but why me?” Seth asked. “You’ve got all the spy toys and probably an army of computer wizards to work this. Why all the cloak-and-dagger to bring me in?”

Seth made his intentions known. He’d help for the sake of a friend, but he wanted Garrett to give him something, like a little more honesty.

“Bottom line, it takes time to hunt down the source of a transmission like this. And with lives at stake and the nasty weather, time is not on our side,” Garrett told him. “My people could use the extra help. Do you have any idea how we can trace the source of this video?”

Seth furrowed his brow to form that endearing crease
she’d seen many times before. And in typical Harper fashion, he answered without hesitation, making the complicated appear simple.

“Yeah, I think I do. But you have to understand that terrorists use the Internet to avoid detection…or so I’ve heard,” Seth began. “And there’s a reason for that. Chasing online accounts can be next to impossible if the Internet service provider is international. Some countries aren’t into holding hands, singing ‘Kumbaya,’ and doling out goodwill to all mankind. And if the terrorists are savvy, they buy phone service using Internet numbers that can be paid by wire transfer from someone using fake ID. So that becomes a dead end fast. They could also transmit through a handler who acts like a middleman, and we’d be chasing our tails.”