she’d noticed. The police must have overrun the facility and arrested or killed anyone who resisted.
With the deadly force used by the local law in response to the terrorists’ aggression, she wondered if any of them would have survived the final assault if their captors hadn’t escaped before the police reinforced their lines. Their abductors had used explosions as an element of surprise, but if the local law had known they were so well armed, they might have reciprocated with more firepower to put an end to the standoff. That thought left her feeling a strange gratitude toward the man who’d forced them to leave. And he’d sacrificed some of his men to ensure that they got away.
Why? What plans did he have for them?
She understood that the diversion to the medical clinic had not been in his scheme, but it wouldn’t be long before the authorities would learn they’d escaped. They’d be better prepared for round two and hungry for revenge, if only to save face. And following the hostages would be easier since they were now on foot. Their captors must have figured this out. They had picked up the pace and weren’t bothering to keep to the shadows anymore.
Kate searched the horizon, looking for clues to determine where they were. She detected the smell of the ocean on the breeze, and it was getting stronger. They were near a beach. Did these men know where they were going, or were they merely putting distance between themselves and the Haitian police?
Cresting a small hill, she saw the faint lights of Tortuga Island in the distance, and the moon glistened on waves that lapped the shoreline of a small cove. She expected the armed men to scramble up the beach or down. Instead, they gathered the hostages together and forced them to their knees. The children spotted Kate and ran for her. Tiny hands gripped her hard as they collapsed to the sand.
“We thought you were…” Joselyne sobbed, unable to finish.
“I’m fine. We’ll all be fine. We just have to stick together.” She held them and kissed their heads, ignoring the twinge of guilt she felt for telling them something she didn’t believe.
She wanted to believe these men had a backup plan—that their grand scheme wouldn’t end in death on this beach. The grotesque image of dead bodies on the sand—even the children—gripped her mind and wouldn’t go away. Her gut twisted, and she couldn’t breathe.
The masked men stood between her and the ocean. The undulating waves by moonlight normally soothed her. She focused on the water and imagined other nights when she’d taken a quiet walk on the beach.
Another time. Another place.
Dark silhouettes of faceless men surrounded her now, and they were armed with weapons that could kill them in seconds. The brutal men had grown edgier. They peered through the shadows, waiting for something.
She started a prayer and hoped she’d be allowed to finish. Shutting her eyes, she clutched the crying children tighter. There was no comforting them. They all knew something worse was about to happen—or it would end here on this beach.
They were in God’s hands now—as they had been from the start.
CHAPTER 6
Armed with the AK-47 he’d taken off a dead man, Kinkaid crouched low behind a stand of trees and got as close as he dared. He was positioned on a rise, careful to maintain the high ground and a good view of the scene below.
He watched the terrorists and thought about what he’d seen of their op. Relying mainly on AK-47s, the men assaulted the fund-raiser using low-tech weapons until they resorted to grenades to blow their way out of the clinic. They hadn’t employed the usual al-Qaeda tactics of suicide bombers or massive explosives to launch their attack. Yet with relatively few men, they’d been effective, and the op had been well orchestrated. That was what the Haitian police and the media would report.
But from what he was witnessing now, this terrorist cell was far more sophisticated than he’d first thought. One man carried a satellite phone and another had a handheld GPS unit and a laptop. That kind of communication meant they had handlers. They could be aligned with any number of splinter groups. No one had seen this part of the operation except him. The combination of their simpler tactics and more sophisticated gear might mislead anyone analyzing the attack into underestimating them.
And all the Haitian police had were dated walkie-talkies, outclassed weaponry, and virtually no tactical support.
Kinkaid counted heads for the first time. Although he couldn’t be certain of what he saw through the darkness, he tallied six or seven armed men and fourteen hostages. One or two of the captives looked wounded, but he couldn’t determine their condition. He didn’t like the odds. All he had was a rifle with only one magazine and a handgun. He had to face facts. Confronting these men in his condition—and without resources to back him up— would only get innocent people killed.
He searched the frightened hostages, and his heart lurched when he saw Sister Kate. The nun had gathered the children and held them tight. Although she was putting up a strong front for the kids, she looked terrified; but at least she was still alive. He took comfort from that and forced himself to focus on the armed men.
Why had they stopped running? The Haitian police would figure out what had happened at the clinic and track them soon. Why risk getting caught with their backs to the sea?
His eyelids were heavy, and it was difficult to focus. He loosened his grip on the AK-47 and wiped the sweat and grit from his eyes with the sleeve of his suit jacket.
Kill shots would have to be on the money—quick and thorough. Any other day he would have been up for the assignment, but not now. An AK-47 wasn’t the rifle for the job. It lacked accuracy and stealth. And he didn’t have a knife to pick them off one at a time.
That didn’t mean he’d given up. The right tactic might still work. Once he started shooting, the terrorists would know where he was. Muzzle flash in the dark would put him in the spotlight and place a target on him. After his first strike, he’d have to dodge their grenade launcher and keep it from roasting his ass. If he kept the bastards busy, the hostages might have a chance to escape.
Would Kate be one of the lucky ones, or would his interference only get her and the children killed? She and the kids were positioned on the edge and near cover. They might make it if he drew fire and kept the gunmen’s attention long enough for them to get away.
“Come on, Kate,” he whispered. “I won’t get a second chance.”
He picked his first target—a masked man standing closest to Sister Kate—and took aim, but a noise forced him to stand down. He raised his head and looked for the source of a steady droning sound. His gaze shifted toward the ocean. Offshore, a murky shadow drifted into view. And a double flash of light from an undulating beacon conveyed a message to the gunmen on the beach. They turned their heads, and one man signaled back.
“Damn,” he cursed under his breath. They weren’t making a stand. They had called in reserves and were ready for round two.
An old motorized fishing boat anchored offshore, a fifty-foot craft in need of paint and repair. He’d seen the type countless times before, owned by a local commercial fisherman working the waters near Haiti. More men stood on the bow of the boat, rifles in hand and on edgy alert. He had no idea how many men were on board.
A small raft was deployed to transport the hostages. It splashed into the water, and the sound of a small engine revving up could be heard. Two men manned the raft and hit the tops of waves as they sped toward the beach. Judging from the size of the craft and the number of hostages, they’d have to make more than one trip.
Now he had no choice. His marginal plan had hit the skids.
If he waited until the hostages were split up, it would only improve the odds for some and make matters worse for others. And if he hit the gunmen before the raft hit the shore, reinforcements were too close by. Too many hostages would be caught in the cross fire. No way he’d start a fight without knowing what he was up against, not when innocent lives were at stake.
He’d have to be satisfied with providing intel for a rescue mission with Joe LaClaire and whoever he wrangled for help. Kinkaid took stock of the fishing boat and memorized details as he watched the hostages being loaded onto the raft. Sister Kate and the children were the first to be transported. And it didn’t take long for the gunmen to board the rest.
