weapons as we discussed?'
'Yes. And extra mags.' Christian nodded. 'We're set.'
'Fuentes, please see they get ponchos and body armor.' Zharan gave the order and Fuentes took off. 'I've got an aerial map. Let me explain what will happen today.'
Grim-faced men hustled by them with a sense of urgency. No idle conversations, only work with a focus on the mission.
The chief escorted them to the open cargo door of the first aircraft and unfolded a topographical map with satellite aerial images. Zharan explained where the village was located and its layout. His men would land miles away, using it as a staging area for the operation, to minimize the sound of their approach. They'd trek from the north over a ridge, circle the village, and find the location where Charboneau was being held before they launched the raid.
After their briefing, Fuentes returned and handed Christian two dark green pouches containing rain gear and the body armor. Although he offered the rain gear to Raven, she declined. Christian noticed none of the other men wore it. Going into a potential skirmish, the rain protection would not only be awkward for hand-to-hand combat, but it might also interfere with any maneuvers involving stealth. The enemy would hear them coming.
Yeah, rain gear would keep them dry and deter the leeches. But the way he figured it, if the enemy hears you and shoots you dead, who the hell cares if you're dry and leech free? The ponchos got stuffed into his backpack. But without a second thought, Christian did shrug into his body armor, then helped Raven into hers by tightening the Velcro. The military-grade body armor would be bulky and hot to wear, but where they were going, they'd need it.
As they got organized, Zharan continued.
'This man, Rodrigo Santo? He's actually Mario Araujo, the leader of these people. We do not know how many in his village are involved with the kidnapping of Mr. Charboneau. There are probably women and children at this location, so we must be very careful. You will stay with me and follow my orders. Agreed?'
'Yes, certainly.' Christian nodded.
'Agreed, yes,' Raven chimed in.
'Then we are ready.' Zharan turned and waved an arm, giving the order. 'Green light. We have a go. Load up.'
Rain began to fall, spotting the asphalt. It made a gentle patter on Christian's vest as he helped Raven into the first helicopter, holding her hand a little longer than necessary. She turned toward him and smiled, putting on a sturdy front. He climbed in and sat near her. A man on the ground shut the cargo bay door and gave a thumbs-up to the pilot as he backed away, heading for a small building near the helipad.
Two crewmen were in the cockpit, going through their checklist. Zharan sat next to Christian and Raven, with ten other men sitting shoulder-to-shoulder. Rapt in their own thoughts, Zharan's men stared straight ahead, not acknowledging their presence.
Rotor blades cranked overhead for both aircraft. The pilot in the other craft signaled with a nod and waited for his turn to take off. The fuselage rumbled and the skids lifted off the tarmac, the ground drifting out from under. They were airborne. As much as Christian wanted to speak to Raven, he kept his silence. The engine was loud and they had no privacy.
As the craft climbed, then pitched forward, the rain doused the outer hull. Beads of water streaked the windows, but through the rain Christian caught glimpses of the terrain below. Spotty areas of civilization and commercial outbuildings soon gave way to dense jungle. Rivers he didn't know the names of converged into larger tributaries, a maze of wetlands carved through lush foliage and trees. Miles and miles in every direction. The vast expanse made him feel small and insignificant.
The helicopter flew parallel to the other craft, the engine and rotor noise drowning out everything, even hampering his private thoughts. When the aircraft veered left, his stomach lurched. The queasy feeling reminded him of the gravity of what they were about to do. He found Raven staring back, as if she knew what he was thinking, but she wouldn't be completely right.
Yes, he thought about Charboneau and the fact this ordeal would soon be over. Soon he would know what had happened to his father. And soon he would know the price he'd pay for that knowledge.
But with that thought, flashes of Jasmine leapt into his memory, images from their time in Brazil. Raven might misinterpret his gut twisted in guilt, yet now he had a small appreciation for what Jasmine felt about failing to protect his father. He had taken over the rescue.
Christian crossed his arms and stared out the window. Although he shoved Jasmine Lee out of his mind, he knew she wouldn't stay put.
CHAPTER 20
Outskirts of Cuiaba
Dressed in worn jeans and a faded black T-shirt, Luis Duarte stared out the filthy cracked window of a clapboard shack wedged into a terraced shantytown. It was his home away from home since he'd gone underground, staying beyond Chief Zharan's reach. After the chief issued a bulletin on him, Duarte made a difficult choice to walk away from his life. Resentment churned hot in his belly, but he could not afford to confront the bastard. Not until he was stone cold ready.
Today he would be.
His dwelling for the last two days, no bigger than a matchbox, was crammed into the side of a slope with countless others above and below, between narrow dirt streets only wide enough for foot traffic. It had been abandoned long ago, but drug users and hookers still made use of it, at least until he moved in. It smelled of urine, body odor, and the tang of sex.
Trash and clumps of weeds had been shoved into cracks in the walls and ceiling to block bad weather. The recycling effort had not worked. Today, the steady downpour of rain leaked in and puddles of mud were gaining ground. The foul weather only made things worse, forging doubts in his mind about what lay ahead. A bad omen, if he believed such things. And with the feral cat population running rampant throughout the
The irony of his choice to retreat to such a place wasn't wasted on Duarte. Long before he became a police officer, he lived in a similar dwelling growing up as a child. It had defined him, irreparably. At the time, he did not realize the desperate poverty his family had endured. It had been his life, but now he didn't think he could return to it. He had seen too much, experienced too much. No, he couldn't go back to that life. And, insult to injury, the slum overlooked the modern silhouette of downtown Cuiaba. He glared at it now.
His personal reminder of the intolerance of this world . . . and what had been taken from him.
'No more,' he muttered under his breath. 'Not after today.'
Reclaiming his life wouldn't be easy, but he had a plan. A duffel bag of personal belongings lay at his feet. Duarte dropped to a knee and stuffed one of his uniform shirts into it, zipping the bag shut before standing. He glanced at his watch, hating to be apart from the action, pinned up like a caged animal.
When his cell phone rang, he answered it, eager for news.
'Yes?'
'Sorry to disturb you, Luis, but our target is on the move.' Duarte held the phone to his ear, recognizing the man's voice and the sound of road noise in the background. 'As you said, he used a heliport north of the city to launch two helicopters. We counted over twenty men, heavily armed.'
The man he had questioned most of last night had spoken the truth about Zharan's operation. Torture had a way of making life simple. A man either wants to live or he does not. Quite simple. He hoped everything the man said had been the truth. Life and death would depend upon it.
'Good work, Manolo.' Duarte smirked. 'You have a tracking beacon on both aircraft?'
