скачать книгу бесплатно
“Second Recon, this is Pegasus One.”
“This is Second Recon. Go ahead, Pegasus.”
The marine in charge of the reconnaissance team sounded so young, Cari thought. And so grimly determined.
“Be advised we’re twenty nautical miles off the coast of Caribe and closing fast,” Mac informed him. “We’re holding to our ETA.”
“We copy, Pegasus. We’re about five klicks from the target.”
Five kilometers from the mission put them about eight from the river, Cari saw in another quick glance at the digital display. The marines still had some jungle to hack through.
“We’ll bundle up our charges as soon as we reach the target and proceed immediately to the designated rendezvous point,” the team leader promised.
“Roger, Second. We’ll be waiting for you.”
Frowning, Mac took a GPS reading on the team’s signal and entered its position with a few clicks of the keyboard built into the instrument console. His frown deepened as Pegasus plowed into another trough. The hull hit with a smack that sent spray washing over the canopy.
“The swells are getting heavier.”
“They are,” Cari agreed.
He shot her a hard look. “Can’t we put on a little more speed? I don’t want to leave those marines sitting around, twiddling their thumbs with the rebel forces combing the jungle for them.”
“We won’t.”
The calm reply brought his brows snapping together under the brim of his hat. “Are you that sure of yourself or is this the face you put on when you’re in command?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” she answered, “and what you see is what you get.”
For the first time since they’d departed Corpus Christi, Mac relaxed into a grin. “From where I’m sitting,” he drawled, “what I see looks pretty good.”
Her hands almost slid off the throttle. “Good grief! Is that a compliment?”
“It is.”
A tiny dart of pleasure made it past the butterflies beating against Cari’s ribs. After all these weeks of butting heads with the stubborn marine, she hadn’t expected any warm fuzzies just moments away from entering a potential hostile fire zone. Her brief pleasure took a back seat to business when she checked the displays and saw they’d entered Caribe’s territorial waters.
“We’re within twelve miles of the island. We’ll hit the coral reef in a few minutes. You’d better get ready for a bumpy ride.”
Bumpy didn’t begin to describe it.
Waves pounded the sunken coral reef. The swells that had kept Mac’s stomach churning became monster waves. The huge walls of green curled and crashed and roared like the hounds of hell. He clamped his jaw shut and tried not to wince at the vicious battering Pegasus took.
Cari, he noted, didn’t so much as break a sweat as she worked the throttle and wheel. Somehow she managed to dodge the worst of the monsters while keeping her craft aimed straight for the calmer waters inside the reef.
Finally, Pegasus broke through the pounding surf. Mac mouthed a silent prayer of relief and swiped the sweat off his forehead with a forearm. Squinting through the canopy, he searched the vegetation fronting the beach for some sign of an opening.
“We’re right on track according to the GPS coordinates,” Cari confirmed after another read of the instruments. “The river mouth should lie dead ahead.”
“Bring us in closer.”
Keeping a wary eye on the depth finder, she took Pegasus into the bay. “The ocean floor’s shelving fast. If we don’t find the mouth soon, I’ll have to switch to track mode and take us…”
“There it is.”
The narrow gap in the tangled vegetation was almost invisible. Mac would have missed it if not for the rippling water surface where the river eddied into the bay.
Getting a lock on the ripples, Cari swung the wheel. Moments later, Pegasus was fighting his way against the powerful current. Before the green gloom of the river swallowed them, Mac needed to advise the recon team they were on their way up the Verde.
“Second Recon, this is Pegasus One.”
He waited for a reply. None came. Frowning, he keyed his mike again.
“Second Recon, this is Pegasus One. Acknowledge please.”
Long, tense seconds of silence passed. Cari pulled her gaze from the instruments. Mac saw his own mounting worry mirrored in her brown eyes. His jaw tightening, he was about to try again when the unmistakable rattle of gunfire came bursting through the radio. The patrol leader came on a second later, his voice sharp-edged but remarkably calm given the stutter of small arms fire in the background.
“Pegasus One, this is Second Recon. Be advised we’ve run smack into a heavily armed rebel patrol.”
“Do you have them in your sights?”
“We do, but our orders are to avoid returning fire unless under extreme duress.”
The sergeant broke off, cursing as another loud burst made extreme duress sound a whole lot closer than it had a few seconds ago. Mac’s fists went white at the knuckles. Those were marines taking fire. He didn’t breathe until the team leader came back on the horn.
“We can give these bastards the slip, but we’ll have to fall back. We’ll try to lead them as far as possible away from the target. Sorry, One. Looks like you’re on your own from here on out.”
“Roger that.”
“Good luck, sir.”
“You, too.”
The transmission cut off. The sudden silence drowned out even the muted whine of Pegasus’s engines. His jaw locked tight, Mac took another GPS reading from the radio signal and noted the team’s position on his map. They were still a good four klicks away from the mission.
“We’ve entered the river channel. I’m going to take us under, then power up to full speed.”
The calm announcement brought Mac’s head snapping around. Cari’s profile was outlined against the dark vegetation lining the riverbank. She kept her attention divided between the instrument panel and the view outside the bubble canopy, now narrowed to a fast-flowing river crowded above and on both sides by jungle.
She had every intention of pushing ahead, with or without fire support from the squad of marines they’d planned to rendezvous with. Evidently, it hadn’t occurred to her to abandon their mission. It hadn’t occurred to Mac, either, until this moment.
“Listen up, Lieutenant. We need to take another look at our operations plan. I…”
“Don’t even think it.”
The flat comeback snapped his brows together, but she didn’t give him time to respond. Slewing around, she raked him with a wire-brush look.
“This is a two-person operation, McIver. If you go in, I go in.”
He bit back the reminder that he was in command of the land phase of this mission. He knew damn well she’d remind him he hadn’t yet set foot on dry land.
Satisfied she’d made her point, Cari prepared to take Pegasus under the river’s green surface.
Twenty-six torturous miles later, she brought her craft up from the murky depths. Cari had seen more than her fill of submerged tree stump, twisting roots, slime-covered boulders and darting water snakes.
Once above the surface, the jungle reached out to envelop them. When the water sluiced off the canopy, Cari got the eerie feeling she and Mac were alone in a dark, still universe. Only an occasional stray sunbeam penetrated the dense overgrowth hundreds of feet above. Strangler vines drooped down like ropes from entwined branches. Giant ferns fanned out to cover the riverbanks.
Carefully, Cari navigated the last few yards to their designated rendezvous point. No one was waiting on the riverbank. No marines. No missionaries. No rebels or government troops.
Mac swept both banks with high-powered Night Vision goggles. The goggles could penetrate the gloom beyond the banks far better than the human eye.
“It looks clear,” he said tersely.
Cari nodded. “Hold tight.”
Repeating the process she’d tested only this morning in the Gulf waters just off Corpus Christi, she switched Pegasus from sea to land mode. The outer engines shut down and tucked against the hull. The propellers folded. The belly doors opened and the wide-track wheels descended.
Like some primeval beast crawling up out of the swamp, Pegasus clawed his way up the riverbank. The wheel tread ate up the giant ferns and spit them out. But even a high-tech, all-terrain, all-weather assault vehicle was no match for the impenetrable jungle.
Mac would have to hoof it from here. Killing the engines, Cari hit the switch to open the rear hatch. Smothering tropical heat instantly rushed in. So did an astonishing variety of flying insects. Swatting at a winged critter in a particularly virulent shade of orange, Cari climbed out of her seat and followed Mac to the hatch.
“I’ll bring out the two Americans,” he told her. “You stay with Pegasus.”
She swallowed her instinctive protest. With her craft secured and on dry land, the baton had passed. She was no longer in command. From now until Mac returned with the missionaries, this was his show.
Feeling a little deflated, she watched as he hunkered down on his heels and dug through his pack. A few, quick smears decorated his face in shades of green and black. Thin black gloves covered his hands. He performed a radio check, chambered a round in his assault rifle, and slung the weapon over his shoulder. His gray-green eyes lasered into her as he confirmed their communications pattern.
“I’ll signal you at half-hour intervals. If I miss one signal, wait another half hour. If I miss two, get the hell out of Dodge. Understand?”
“Yes.”
His gaze speared into her. “I mean it, Dunn. No stupid heroics. They could get us both killed.”
He was right. She knew he was right. Yet her throat closed at the thought of leaving him in this smothering heat and darkness.
“Two missed signals and you’re gone. Got that, Lieutenant?”
She gave a tight nod. He returned it with a jerk of his chin and started off. He took two steps, only two, and swung back.
“What the hell.”
The muttered oath had Cari blinking in surprise. She blinked again when he strode back to her and caught her chin in his hand.
“Mac, what are—?”
His mouth came down on hers, hard and hot and hungry. Stunned, she stood stiff as an engine blade while his lips moved over hers. A moment later, he faded into the jungle. She was left with the tang of camouflage face paint in her nostrils and the taste of Mac on her lips.
Chapter 3
“That was smart, McIver. Really smart.”
Thoroughly disgusted with himself, Mac moved through the dense undergrowth. He’d made some questionable moves in his life. Tangling with the senator’s wife had been one of them. Laying that kiss on Caroline Dunn was another. What was this thing he had for married—or almost married—women?
Calling himself an idiot one more time, Mac forced his thoughts away from the woman, the kiss and the heat that brief contact had sent spearing right through his belly.
The mission lay some three kilometers from the river. Five or six kilometers beyond that Second Recon had run smack into a heavily armed rebel force. The marines had said they’d fall back and draw the rebels away from the mission, but Mac wasn’t taking any chances. He kept his tread light on the damp, spongy earth and his assault weapon at the ready as he pushed through the giant ferns.
Once away from the river, the ferns thinned and the going got easier. The overhead canopy was so thick only the occasional stray sunbeam could penetrate. It was like moving through a dim, cavernous cathedral with tall columns of trees spearing straight up to support the vaulted ceiling. The deep shadows provided excellent concealment for him and, unfortunately, for potential enemies.
He pushed on, using the GPS built into his handheld digital radio to check his position and send Cari a silent signal at the prearranged times. With each step, his jumpy nerves steadied and his concentration narrowed until there was only Mac, his weapon and the gloom ahead.
As swift and stealthy as a panther, he cut through the jungle. Every sense had moved to full alert, every flutter of an orange-winged butterfly and slither of a spotted lizard sent a message. So did the sudden, raucous screech of a parrot.
Mac spun to his right, dropped into a crouch, and caught a flash of scarlet as the bird took wing. Peering into the gloom, Mac tried to see what had spooked it. Nothing else moved. No leafy ferns swayed.
Forcing the knotted muscles at the base of his skull to relax, Mac came out of the crouch. Without warning, something hard and sharp smacked into his forehead just above his right eyebrow.
Cursing, he ignored the blood pouring into his eye and aimed his assault rifle at the base of a hollow-trunked strangler fig. When the shadows moved, his finger went tight on the trigger.
“Whoever’s in there better show yourself. Now!”
He repeated the warning in Spanish and was searching for the few words of Caribe he’d memorized when another missile came zinging at him. This one he managed to dodge. It ricocheted off the tree behind him and landed at his feet.
A rock! Mac saw in disgust. Damned if he’d hadn’t taken a direct hit from a rock.
“You’ve got five seconds to show yourself,” he shouted, blinking away the blood. “Four, three, two…”
The shadow burst out of the tree trunk. With a frightened look at the gun aimed at his chest, the attacker whirled and ran.
With another muttered curse, Mac eased the pressure on the trigger. His assailant was a kid. A scrawny, barefooted kid in a Spider-Man T-shirt, of all things. Judging by his size, the runt couldn’t be more than six or seven.
“Hey! Hold on! I won’t hurt you!”
Fumbling for the Spanish phrases, he hotfooted it after the kid. He couldn’t have him spreading the word that there was an armed Americano roaming loose in the neighborhood. Not until after Mac had departed the scene with the two missionaries, anyway.
His longer legs ate up the ground. He caught the kid by the back of his ragged shirt and swung him around. The little stinker put up a heck of a fight, grunting and kicking and jabbing with his bony elbows. Keeping well clear of those sharp elbows, Mac held him at arm’s length.
“I’m a friend. Amigo.”
The kid twisted frantically. He wasn’t buying the friend bit. Considering the violence now ripping his country apart, Mac couldn’t exactly blame him. He gave the boy a quick little shake.
“Where’s your village? ¿Dónde está su, uh, casa?”
Still the youngster wouldn’t answer. His lower lip jutted out and his black eyes shot daggers at the marine, but he refused to speak so much as a word. Instead, he made some motion with his hand that Mac strongly suspected was the Caribe version of buzz off, pal.
“Stubborn little devil, aren’t you?”
Well, no matter. He had to be from the village where the Americans had set up their mission. It was the only settlement in this vicinity.
