Shane didn't know where they were heading or what horrors were in store for him.
Then he saw Tremaine, lit by the light of a portable generator.
He was tied to a chain-link fence, bleeding from a hundred cuts, his head down on his chest, vomit puddling at his feet. Enormous strips of his skin had been removed.
'You son of a bitch,' Shane said softly, the spectacle taking his breath away.
'Not a pretty sight, I admit, but fun while it lasted.' Santander paused to let the moment sink in. 'And there are hidden benefits: these guards will tell the story-how I skinned the pobre Negro, cutting him in slices while he screamed, finding ecstasy in his agony. The story will grow with each telling. The Trojan horse of my legend of terror will be dragged into the depths of my Marxist enemies and fester in their imaginations: win-win.'
Shane moved on rubbery legs toward Tremaine. He could barely believe the human wreckage in front of him. Then the destroyed man coughed, and blood ran out of Tremaine's mouth.
'Shit! He's still alive,' Shane murmured.
'Go ahead. Get a good look,' Cortez whispered. 'Ask him how he liked it.'
As Shane moved closer to Tremaine, he heard a gasp or a rattle, or maybe it was a whisper. He was close enough to see that Tremaine's right eye was wide open, staring at him, disembodied. Then he heard the rattling sound again, followed by a cough and a sigh. He thought Tremaine was trying to tell him something.
'What?' Shane asked, his own voice a croak. 'What is it?'
Shane's left thigh throbbed, so he used his right knee to kneel. He got as close as he could until his ear was next to Tremaine's shattered mouth.
Then he heard the noise again… A weak stirring of sounds against a rush of exhaled air. 'Werrrr… Riigghh…' Tremaine breathed softly into his ear.
Shane watched as Tremaine's lips trembled.
'Sheee…' the black man said, and coughed up more blood.
'What?' Shane whispered. 'She?' 'Ifffff…'
'If?' Shane asked.
Tremaine Lane let out what air was left inside him like a long pensive sigh of exasperation. Then his head dropped, and Shane knew he was gone.
Suddenly Shane knew what he had been trying to say.
She… If… Sheriff.
Tremaine Lane was working undercover.
Chapter 46
SHANE WAS YANKED to his feet and pushed toward the floodlit fence, which had been securely anchored in concrete. He was held firmly by two celadores as Tremaine's dead body was unwired, then slumped to the ground at Shane's feet.
'Next/' Santander said, smiling slightly.
Shane was turned and pushed up against the fence. One of the celadores began to wire his right wrist to the top rail as the other one grabbed his left and did the same. The White Angel unsnapped a leather box he had been carrying. When Cortez opened it, Shane could see surgical scalpels mounted on blue velvet. They glittered ominously in the generator's harsh light.
'I think, to start, perhaps the number-three handle with a four-four size-ten blade. It makes a nice, shallow three-millimeter cut.' Santander picked a long, bent, chrome-handled instrument out of the case, reached in with his fingers, and selected a small curved blade, then snapped it onto the end, tightening it with the set screw. 'I am sorry that I am forgoing normal surgical sterilization techniques. I used to scrub for the fun of it, but it was really just foreplay, because you'll be long gone before any infection could set in.'
'Knock yourself out,' Shane murmured as the White Angel moved forward, holding the scalpel delicately between his thumb and forefinger. 'We'll need to get that shirt off.' Santa turned and barked the order. 'La camisa!' One of the celadores ripped Shane's shirt. Then the White Angel stepped forward and placed the tip of the scalpel under Shane's nipple. He pressed lightly, and Shane felt the blade pierce his skin.
'Is this not a feeling close to ecstasy?' Cortez said, his voice turning husky with sexual passion.
Shane spit in his face.
Out of nowhere, gunfire erupted on all sides of them. Shane spun his head in time to see half a dozen separate muzzle flashes in the desert. All four celadores standing near him went down quickly, riddled with bullets. Immediately, Santander Cortez fell, blood spurting out of a huge hole in his neck.
Shane heard orders shouted in Spanish and saw movement at the edge of his vision. Then twenty men dressed in faded khaki ran toward him while reloading and firing their auto-mags.
He heard Alexa scream, 'Not him! Don't shoot! Not him!'
He thought he saw Luis Rosario, in his porkpie hat, also yelling in Spanish.
Seconds later, hands were pulling at his wrists, untwisting the wire. He fell, with his wounded leg buckling under him. Then Shane was on his back, looking up into Alexa's blue eyes, her hand cradling his head as he lay in the sand. Jo-Jo Knight appeared over her shoulder, a smoking Uzi clutched in his fist.
'Ahh, damn… Lookit you,' Alexa said sadly, studying his beaten face. 'I can't leave you alone for a minute.'
He forced a weak smile just as more automatic weapons cut loose. Soldiers standing near him were now being cut down by a vicious barrage of machine-gun fire coming from the direction of the garrison. The troops around him dove into a shallow wash, proned out, then began returning fire. Jo-Jo Knight and Luis Rosario grabbed Shane.
'Let's get this gringo outta here,' Rosario said. They lifted him quickly and began carrying him as best they could away from the fire-fight.
Alexa spun and emptied a 9-millimeter clip in the direction of the fort, trying to set up some cover fire but at the same time exposing herself dangerously. Miraculously, she wasn't hit. They began moving across the uneven desert terrain, stumbling in the dark, Rosario and Knight half-carrying, half-yanking Shane along, dragging him like a sack of vegetables.
'Will you guys put me down? I can walk!' he yelled as Rosario and Knight, each supporting a side, kept running until they were a safe distance away, then stopped to help Shane get his feet under him. Alexa pushed the eject button on her Astra, dropped the empty clip onto the sand at her feet, then slammed in a new one. They kept moving, but more slowly now, Shane struggling to keep his leg working under him until they finally came to an old English lorry with primered fenders parked by the road with several other army surplus trucks.
'Let's take this one,' Rosario said. They helped Shane onto the back of the truck while Jo-Jo Knight got behind the wheel. He turned a switch on the dash, which substituted for an ignition key on most military vehicles. The engine started.
Alexa and Luis jumped up on the back of the flatbed next to Shane.
'Roll it!' she yelled.
The lorry rumbled across the desert, past three or four other deserted military vehicles. They could hear the sounds of the fire-fight receding behind them.
'Who were those guys?' Shane asked.
'Marxist rebels,' Alexa said. When Shane looked surprised, she added: 'We take help wherever we find it.'
Soon they were back on the dirt road, heading out of Maicao. The old English lorry creaked and groaned and bounced through potholes. A few miles farther they hit pavement. The heavy sand tires vibrated on the two-lane concrete road that announced the beginning of Maicao's unconventional airport.
Shane saw a small blue and white Citation jet with U. S. tail markings taxiing on the ground near them, already turning around, and readying itself for takeoff. The lorry swung under the starboard wing and stopped.
Somehow, they got Shane out of the back, carrying and dragging him to the waiting plane.
