Show No Fear - By Marliss Melton Page 0,55
she had ever seen him. His worry was so palpable, she could feel it affecting her own thoughts. “It was just a dream,” she reassured him. “We’re almost done here. Nothing’s going to happen to us.”
“Just stick close to me these last few days,” he countered.
Nothing would please her more, a circumstance that worried her greatly. The time was fast approaching when she’d have to be self-reliant again.
“And if anything happens to me, just get the hell off the mountain. Find water and follow it downstream. The guys at the JIC will eventually find you.”
“Stop,” she ordered, shaking off the talons of fear that sank into her neck. “You’re worrying for nothing,” she reassured him. “Watch, we’ll fly out of here together having accomplished everything we set out to do.” That was what had to happen. Anything less would suspend her healing, leaving her permanently debilitated.
“Right,” he agreed, reaching for the knife he kept hidden by their mat. Seeing it curled into the palm of his hand sent a ripple of premonition through her. “Let’s go,” he said.
She missed him the moment he tossed off their blanket. Even as they rushed to get dressed, she wondered if he felt it, too—regret that they were leaving the nest where they’d rediscovered each other.
She tried to shake it off. Their so-called intimacy had been an act in the first place, a temporary arrangement meant to fool the enemy, not herself. Still, as he made to move past her, she found herself reaching for him. Standing on tiptoe, she pressed a fervent kiss to his lips. “Be careful,” she whispered, feeling suddenly anxious, suddenly vulnerable.
“I’ll be right behind you,” he promised, banding his powerful arms around her in a swift, fierce hug.
“Teamwork,” she added, dredging up a smile.
He seemed about to comment on the word, then changed his mind. “That’s right,” he replied with a forced smile.
“SIR? THEY’RE MOVING.”
Chief Harlan’s warning tore Lieutenant Lindstrom from the program he was executing. He shot from his seat to study the topographical map over Harley’s shoulders. Sure enough, the two colored dots, red for Gus, blue for Lucy, were creeping down the mountain, making slow but steady progress.
“Track their movements. Let me know when they stop,” Luther said, watching a moment longer.
In the past two days, he had run the names of the camps through his encryption program, eliminating all but two sets of data. If Gus and Lucy stopped at coordinates matching any of Luther’s results, he’d know which data set was accurate. Then the SEALs would have the exact coordinates of four FARC camps, all but the one unnamed at the top of the mountain.
Added to the shortwave communications and thermal images uploaded to satellite by Predator, their intel on the rebels was growing by the hour, corroborating Gus’s latest news that the Venezuelans had allied themselves with the FARC. Pictures of cargo trucks creeping up the side of La Montaña and snatches of conversation involving drugs and weapons shipments all confirmed their insiders’ report.
Vinny, loaded down with coffee and donuts from the cafeteria, crossed from the door to Luther’s elbow. “What’s goin’ on?” he asked.
“They’re moving,” Harley relayed.
“Should we be worried, sir?” Vinny asked, slanting him a look.
The aroma of fresh coffee wrested Luther’s attention from the screen. “Not yet,” he said, plucking a paper cup off the cardboard tray. “The FARC are famous for relocating.”
He carried it back to his desk and sat down, keeping his concerns to himself.
He’d neglected to relay Gus’s concern to the station chief. Whiteside was tightly strung as it was. He didn’t want to raise the man’s blood pressure by suggesting that the Venezuelans might recognize Lucy, should they run into her. In an area the size of La Montaña, the odds of the UN team and the Elite Guard crossing paths were slim to none in the first place.
Luther had faith in statistics. As the ops officer for Team Twelve, he’d made plenty of decisions based entirely on stats, and the odds hadn’t beaten him yet. Besides, how could they wrest Lucy off the mountain and not take Gus, also? Whiteside would want them to see the exchange carried through.
So they both stayed. Hopefully this little jaunt down the mountain, which, incidentally, was taking them straight toward the frenzy of activity on the southeast side, would not result in an unwanted encounter.
RAIN GUSHED THROUGH THE JUNGLE CANOPY, turning the path under the boots of the UN team members into a gulley.
Buitre set a grueling pace, threatening