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Jakun smiled. “Thank you.” She turned and pointed to a stack of fluffy pink towels, soap, comb and brush. There was also shampoo and conditioner nearby. “Get washed as soon as possible.” She walked over to a stack of clothes with a set of sandals on top of them. “Rusak called me by radio and told me your height and weight. He guessed about your shoe size.” She picked up the strapped white sandals. “If they do not fit, I will get you a pair that does.”
“Okay,” Aly said, seeing that there was a pair of jeans, a pink tee, bra and panties. Nothing fancy. Thank God she didn’t have to wear those dresses and five-inch heels.
Jakun seemed pleased and left, closing the door behind her.
Aly ignored the gold faucets and showerhead. She felt as though she’d stepped into some rich man’s estate. Her mind whirled with terror and thoughts of how to escape. She knew she was in shock from being roughed up by Rusak.
As she took a cooling shower, she cried for Juan, her hands against her mouth so no one would hear her sobs. She washed her shoulder-length hair and quickly dried off. The clothes fit. But the designer jeans were too elegant for her. She was a plain Jane, liked utilitarian clothes, not gussied up with embroidery as these were.
The pink tee was loose-fitting and she was grateful. Aly wanted to hide in the clothes. Compared to the other women, she was lush and curvy. The three women reminded her of starving sticks. Runway models. Who were they? Jakun had said she was Don Duarte’s mistress and that the other two were play toys. Did that mean Aly was safe? That the man would leave her alone?
As she walked out of the bathroom and into the living room, Jakun gave her a scathing look.
“I cannot say that Don Duarte is going to be pleased by how you look.” She sniffed. “Really, you look more like the common Indian laborers he employs here.”
Aly said nothing. A quick glance at the other two women, who gave her bored looks and went back to reading their magazines, said it all. In Aly’s opinion, ugly was good.
Jakun came forward and handed her a rubber band. “Put your hair back,” she ordered.
Aly nodded and took the rubber band. In no time, her ponytail settled between her shoulder blades.
“Are you hungry?” Jakun asked.
“No.” Her stomach was a tight knot of unending terror.
“Well, you will be later. I will have the chef make you something. Come.” She gestured toward the main door.
Aly followed the beautiful, graceful and gazelle-like Jakun down the red-tiled walkway. On either side was bougainvillea in bright bloom, fuchsia and other white and red flowers. She took in the details of her surroundings.
There were two levels to the villa. Two floors. The trees practically embraced the villa, some of their limbs hanging over the wall and into the courtyard itself. The smell of orchids, in trees somewhere, provided a hint of clean fragrance. The humidity was high and she was perspiring.
At the dirt plaza that led to a massive ten-foot-high wooden door, Jakun halted. She gestured sharply.
Aly’s heart squeezed. It was Rusak. Oh, God...
“She’s ready,” Jakun said, stepping back. “She’s yours.”
Rusak nodded. He gave Aly a slow appraisal. “Come,” he growled. “Follow me.”
To her relief, Rusak turned on his heel. She hurried to catch up with him as he took the red-tiled walkway around the villa. She saw two black Jeeps and a black Mercedes-Benz being cleaned by several young Indian boys. There were also two women, wearing long, dark blue dresses, with huge baskets on their heads. It appeared as if they were carrying laundry.
Rusak took her inside a huge foyer that led into a massive living room. He then sharply gestured for her to precede him up a circular tiled staircase with black wrought-iron handrails.
The sandals were a bit too big and Aly nearly tripped once, catching herself. At the top, Rusak moved to the right and she followed him down a long, wide hall. On either side were red doors and blue doors, and at the end of the hall, a yellow door. Rusak halted in front of it and knocked twice, sharply.
Aly held her breath, not knowing what to expect. A young, beautiful Indian girl with long black hair halfway down her back answered. She bowed to Rusak and stepped aside. He turned, jerking his head, a sign for Aly to enter before him.
Her throat tightened. She felt as if she were being thrown into a den of lions to be eaten.
The room was large, opening up into an airy patio. Soft Latin music was playing in the background. Aly saw two more Indian girls, both in their teens, perhaps, and dressed in skimpy costumes similar to Jakun’s.
Her gaze moved to a man sitting in a very large black leather chair. He wore a white peasant-style shirt and black slacks. Her eyes caught the fact that his feet were bare. She glimpsed that there was something wrong with some of the toes, but feared being slapped for staring at the man. He was a heavy man, rolls of fat beneath his round face. He had long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and a thick black mustache that emphasized his full, thick lips. His dark brown eyes scared the hell out of her. They held the same flat, dead look she’d seen in Rusak’s eyes.
“Come, come,” the man said. “Sit here.” He pointed to a leather stool near his feet.
Aly instantly obeyed, her heart hammering with fear. When the man smiled, it made her stomach roll.
He seemed pleased that she easily obeyed. Looking up at Rusak, he said, “Leave.”
“Don Duarte,” Rusak protested, “I should remain. Her medical bag contains sharp objects.”
Duarte shrugged. “Then stand over there. Out of the way.” He turned his attention to Aly. “And you, my new physician... What is your name?”
Aly’s eyes went wide and she almost blurted that she wasn’t a physician. She remembered what Rusak had said earlier. “M-my name is Allison Landon, sir.”
Duarte chuckled and gave Rusak an amused look. “Rusak. Look, an American who calls me sir. Isn’t that sweet?”
Rusak glared at Aly.
She gulped, belatedly remembering to call him Don Duarte. She tensed, waiting to be slapped by Rusak. Or by this man who looked jovial in comparison. She didn’t dare speak.
“Tut, tut,” he told her, slowly leaning forward. “You may call me sir if you want. It’s a sign of respect and I can see you are frightened, Allison Landon.” He touched her jaw, peering at her swollen cheek. “Hmm,” he murmured. “You must be a fighter? Rusak had orders not to touch you....” Duarte turned, glaring at his Russian security chief. “What happened?” he demanded, anger in his voice.
Rusak told him the details, and then added, “She needs to learn to be subservient to you, Don Duarte.” The Russian smiled a little. “I would be complimented if you’d allow me to bring her into line for you.”
Aly gasped, freezing. Her heart went wild in her chest, adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream. Rusak had roughly touched her breast. She automatically gave Don Duarte a pleading, silent look to not allow him to touch her.
“Well,” Duarte murmured, sitting back, giving Rusak a glare. “Under the circumstances, you’d have my new physician incapacitated and unable to cure me. Your request is declined, Rusak.”
Relief skittered through her. Aly closed her eyes for a moment, her emotions raw.
“My dear...” Duarte said. “Look at me. You don’t need to be afraid any longer.” He gave her a slight smile. “I own you. No one, not even Rusak, touches my property. Now, we must talk of my health and you must listen closely. I have need of your services.”
“Y-yes, sir...I mean, Don Duarte.”
His eyes gleamed with delight. “You are very refreshing to me, Allison. You’re a scared little rabbit. Not very pretty, but I will not blame you for that. What I’m most interested in is that you can cure my feet.” He held up one bare foot and placed it across her thigh. “Unfortunately, I’m a diabetic. I cannot go to any hospital to be treated because they will arrest me and throw me into prison.” He scowled, but then went on pleasantly, “That is why I had to kidnap you. My sources in the region have spoken highly of you for the past two years.”
Aly’s brows shot up.
Duarte smiled. “Yes, my dear, I have eyes and ears all over South America.” He made a flourishing gesture with his manicured hand. “I must hide here, in my jungle villa, while being hunted by the police and Brazilian army. I am safe enough here, but I cannot get help for my toes.” He pointed to them. “I need you to help me, Allison. My diabetes is severe. I have gangrene on several of my toes. I need it stopped. That is why you are here.”
* * *
Josh was standing near the open ramp of the C-130 as it flew through the dark night over Brazil. He’d double-checked everything, including the eighty-pound pack hooked to the front of his parachute harness. That ruck contained everything he’d need for this op. It was a lot of weight, but it couldn’t be helped.
He looked through his goggles, which protected his eyes, as he moved the oxygen mask on his face, making sure it was sealed and he was getting a good flow on an inhale. They were at forty thousand feet, circling and adjusting for the winds. The roar of the four-engine turbo prop, the not-so-subtle vibration through the transport, moved through him.
The air was freezing cold, whipping and slapping against Josh’s body. With his gloves on, he checked the helmet strap one more time. He wanted nothing loose before he strolled off the end of the ramp and into the black space.
The jump master, who stood opposite him on the ramp, would give him a voice and hand signal once the C-130 had adjusted to wind changes at various altitudes. Strata of wind could carry him too far from the GPS point where he needed to land. There was a small clearing, very small, not enough for a helicopter insertion, on the same trail Aly Landon had been taken from three days ago. He would work his wedge-shaped chute into it. If he had luck... If not, and the winds were acting up, he could find himself crashing through three layers of canopy, and the chances of breaking an arm or leg or busting up his ribs would become a reality. Not something he wanted to do.
The jump master gave him the signal. He heard the man’s gruff voice in his earphones, as well. A HAHO jump was something he practiced every six months. He’d gone over everything three times. As he walked further out onto the ramp, he literally walked out into space, the wind tearing and catching at him.
Josh dived into blackness. He heard the C-130 rapidly being left behind and above him. Stretching out arms and legs, he stopped the tumble and used the flat plane of his body to glide silently downward. The cold was icy. The wind whistled constantly around his helmet. He brought his right wrist up and looked at the dials on his special altitude watch. Thirty-nine thousand. Another watch gleamed with green numbers that gave him his distance from the GPS point where he needed to land.
He made adjustments, loving the freedom that the HALO gave him. Some Recon Marines hated jumping out of a plane, but not him.
At thirty-eight thousand feet, Josh yanked the cord to his main chute. He’d been plummeting like a rock toward the earth. As the chute deployed above him, he knew the snap of it opening would jerk him hard. He grunted, feeling his entire body being yanked. Then, using the risers to keep on target, he turned the silent chute to the left. Dangling, moving slowly back and forth, he pulled his NVGs down off his helmet and, pushing aside his flight goggles, set the night-vision goggles over his eyes. Instantly, the dark lit up with green and black objects. Josh sailed through the blackness for nearly twenty miles before reaching his objective.
He spotted the opening and manipulated the risers. The ground was coming up fast and he sailed silently over the opening. As he made a ninety-degree turn, he slowed his forward speed, almost, for a second, hanging in the sky.
The earth rushed up at him, long, green strands of grass and a few bushes in the opening. Making his knees soft, Josh hauled hard on the risers at the last second. The wedged chute pulled up, stopping nearly all his forward speed. And just as light as a bee landing on a flower, he hit the damp, slippery grass with his combat boots, landing and then running a few feet to maintain his balance. The heaviness of the ruck pack nearly toppled him, but Josh leaned back, slowing to a walk. And then, he was down.
Swiftly, he got rid of the oxygen mask, turning off the small tank on his harness. Kneeling, he looked around the tree line. Nothing. He had to get rid of the chute. He knew in this part of the Amazon basin, there was a six-inch layer of dead leaves and below that, nothing but sand. It was easy digging with his small shovel and in no time all the gear he didn’t need was permanently buried, never to be found again.
He made his way to the edge of the tree line before crouching and keying his sat phone. He clicked it twice. The CIA in Langley, Virginia, was responsible for keeping tabs on him. Anything he needed, he was to call them first.
Josh gave the two-click signal to the operator back in the States, which would indicate he had landed safely and on target. He quickly put the sat phone in a special pouch on his harness. So far, so good.
It was 0200. The middle of the night. He had a map and compass as well as his GPS equipment. The next order of business was to find the path that would lead him directly to Duarte’s villa. Luckily, a CIA satellite passing overhead had intercepted an encrypted message from the villa. Someone had called to tell another person that the medical doctor had arrived.
As Josh knelt and quickly covered his face with dark green, black and gray camo paint to blend into the jungle environment, he hoped like hell that message had meant Allison Landon was there. It was a risk, but one that his handler at Langley had ordered him to verify first, before tramping through the jungle for days on end, trying to find her.
It took him three hours to reach the villa. Dawn was coming, so Josh chose a tree that would allow him to recon the courtyard. He stashed the ruck pack nearby and slowly climbed the tree, not wanting to attract attention even though night was just beginning to lift. Once in a position with his back against the trunk, legs spread out on two strong limbs forty feet above the ground, he pulled his M-4 rifle off his shoulder harness. Quickly opening up the Night Force scope and turning on the infrared capability, he began to scan inside the villa.
As he spotted a heavily armed guard, he wrote the timing down on a knee pad with a grease pencil. Eventually, there was a second guard, but there were no dogs that he could see. They were the biggest threat of all and he knew many drug lords kept Dobermans, rottweilers or Belgian Malinois for security as well as for their aggressive temperament and teeth.
Drinking water from his CamelBak to keep hydrated, he wiped the sweat off his face with his glove. He’d chosen a perfect hiding place, the leaves thick in front and on all sides of him. Someone would have to stand beneath the tree and look up to spot him. With his camouflage clothing and painted face, Josh blended in like a chameleon.
As he continued to scan and memorize the layout in his head, he couldn’t keep his emotions out of the mix as much as he wanted to. The color photo of Aly Landon hung in his heart, of all things. He’d been divorced for two years and hadn’t even thought of getting into a serious relationship. Not now. He wasn’t willing to risk time or his heart on a woman who couldn’t accept his long deployments and short time at home with her.
Still, it was the radiant look in Aly’s deep blue eyes, the gold in their depths, that lured him. She had the most beautifully shaped mouth he’d ever seen. Already, much to his chagrin, he wondered what it would be like to kiss her, to feel her lips against his.
Josh hadn’t been intimate with a woman in six months. But he wasn’t the type to find a prostitute to satisfy his needs. Nor could he do one-night stands. Usually his partners would want a second, third and fourth night. Celibacy was easier in many respects than having to deal with women or marriage. But that didn’t stop his heart from wanting to know Aly better.
He had such strong, gut intuition, which had saved his life too many times, that he couldn’t idly dismiss the feelings he had toward her. Josh couldn’t get out of his mind the tragic car wreck she’d survived. And he also wondered how her Marine Corps father, probably a major around that time in his life, had dealt with his critical daughter and grieving for the loss of his wife and son simultaneously. Josh wasn’t sure he could handle it. The emotional fallout must have been brutal for Aly.
It was none of his business, so he dropped it for now. Still...that picture spoke strongly of someone who was kind and compassionate. A woman with tender sensitivity toward the plight of others. She was a nurse. She put her own life in jeopardy to help relieve the suffering of others. Aly might be a romantic and idealist about life, but at least she lived what she believed.
And that was something Josh respected whether he agreed with her decision to work in one of the worst areas of Brazil for drug lords and drug trafficking. He smiled a little, one corner of his mouth hooking upward as he continued to recon the villa. Her father might think her soft and incapable, but Aly’s life decisions spoke differently. How far apart were she and her father emotionally from one another?
He shifted slightly, seeing a door at the main entrance open and close. A tall, bald man, armed and looking important, met and talked to one of the guards in the plaza.
Slowly allowing his rifle to hang from his left shoulder harness, Josh took out his digital camera, turned it on and, utilizing the long lens, snapped photos of each of them. As the second guard came around, he took more pictures.
Later, when he opened up his laptop and connected with a satellite, he would send the photos to the CIA in Langley to be identified. Josh wanted to know who he was dealing with. Later, after he got the gist of the rhythm of the villa and its occupants, he would begin a thorough search of the perimeter. Sometimes, he knew from his Recon experience in Peru, villas often had a tunnel that ran from the inside directly into the jungle. It was an escape route should the villa be overrun.
He watched as a tall red-haired woman emerged from a nearby tiled walkway. She was dressed in one of the skimpiest outfits he’d ever seen and she was drop-dead gorgeous. She wore a red halter, breasts pushed up, the nipples damn near showing. The tiny red shorts she wore hid just about nothing. Makeup heavy, her hair up on her head, gold bangles in her ears and at least six or seven gold bracelets on one arm, Josh let out a low breath. He snapped several photos of her: full face, quarter face and profile. Grinning to himself, he was sure the agents at Langley would enjoy the eyeful of this woman.
The bald-headed soldier looked up. Yeah, damn right he was giving her a look that spoke volumes. The redhead tossed her chin upward, as if dissing him, turned and swayed like a runway model to the main door of the house and disappeared. Josh remembered that Duarte dealt in sex slavery. Was this one of his slaves? Because she sure as hell couldn’t survive out here in an outfit like that. Now, if he could spot Aly... Would she be dressed similarly? Where were they keeping her? Was there a section where sex slaves were kept? Guarded? So many questions. No answers. Not yet.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_d0429d4b-29fb-5e3a-a430-e7391466b356)
Aly slept restlessly in her new room. She’d been removed from the apartment with the three women who serviced Duarte. The windows in her quarters had iron bars over them, though she had opened the shutters to let in the sluggish, humid nighttime air. The only door was locked from the outside. She could not escape.
A hand suddenly clamped over her mouth.
She screamed and fought, eyes wide with terror.
The man who leaned over her held her shoulder down so she couldn’t move and rasped out, “Allison Landon?” His voice held a Texas drawl.
An American! Nostrils wide, breathing in explosive breaths, her eyes slowly acclimated. There was a small night-light in the room, shedding just enough light for her to see him.
Oh, God, he was a soldier! An American soldier! And he was holding his large hand over her mouth so she wouldn’t scream. His eyes were narrowed, his face was painted in dark colors, and he wore a flop-brimmed hat on his head. He was also wearing jungle camos.
“I’m Marine Corps Staff Sergeant Josh Patterson. I’ve come to rescue you. Now, don’t scream. I’m going to lift my hand away.”
Aly sobbed and shot into a sitting position, staring up at the large man. He put his hand to his lips, cautioning her not to speak. He was carrying a rifle on his left shoulder. She saw a huge knife in a sheath on his right calf. In a drop holster low on his thigh sat a pistol. He eased a small ruck off his broad shoulders and set it on the bed.
“Get into these,” he told her quietly, pulling out a dark green T-shirt, black cargo pants, socks and a pair of combat boots. “Hurry!”
Shaken, Aly gave a jerky nod. How had this man gotten in here? She noticed the door was still shut. Somehow, he’d gotten into her room. Oh, God, she was going to be rescued! Climbing off the bed, her knees weak with adrenaline, she grabbed the clothes and hurried to the bathroom down the hall.
Josh looked around, moving like a shadow to the nearest window. The soft scuff of boots on the tiled walkway could barely be heard. It was guard number one walking by her door. He pulled the cover off his watch and read the dials. In ten minutes, guard number two would patrol past her door.
He glanced down the hall, trying not to be emotionally affected by Aly Landon. Even in the grayish darkness of her small room, he’d seen the color of her wide, beautiful eyes. She’d been so frightened when he’d clamped his hand across that mouth of hers. Feeling badly, but knowing it couldn’t be helped, Josh waited impatiently for her to reappear.
She didn’t disappoint him, swiftly moving down the hall. Josh grinned to himself. Aly gave new meaning to that T-shirt of his. He’d brought along a pair of women’s cargo pants and combat boots he’d guessed would fit her. He watched as she quickly wrapped her hair up into a ponytail as she approached him, pleased he’d been so accurate.
Aly reached out, gripping his arm. “Thank you,” she said, her voice quavering as she met his eyes. “You’re risking your life to help me.” Her lower lip quivered and then she closed her fingers more firmly around his lower arm. “I’m so grateful...”
The swelling on her left cheek upset him, along with the large bruise. Anger moved through him. Then he saw bruise marks around her throat. What the hell? What had happened to her?
“Ms. Landon, are you ambulatory?”
His voice was low. Calm. She certainly wasn’t.
“Yes, I can walk.”
“Good. Wear this.” He pulled the last piece of clothing from the small ruck. It was a camo blouse with long sleeves. It would hide her white skin out in the dark jungle, making her less easy to spot. And Josh knew that Duarte, once he found Aly gone, would launch an immediate, all-out hunt to find her. And kill her.
Aly’s hands were shaking as she pulled on the lightweight blouse. She tried to button it.
“Let me,” he growled, pushing her hands aside, quickly buttoning it up.
“I—I’m sorry,” she said, meeting his shadowed eyes. She saw his stoic facade drop for a split second; saw the compassion in his eyes. And then it was gone.
“I’ve located a tunnel nearby. It’s an escape route. I need you to grab my belt here—” he hitched up his shirt to reveal the nylon webbed belt and pointed “—and hold on. Never speak. Don’t make any noise. All right?”
