“You did the right thing,” Hank Lewis whispered, and patted her on the shoulder as he walked by her. “Don’t beat yourself up.”
She acknowledged him with a nod. It was too early for talking, and she wasn’t in the mood. Alexa knew she’d burned a bridge with Kinkaid after what she’d done. The liberal dose of pain meds she’d given him would wear off soon.
He’d be alone in the cave with MRE food rations, first aid, water, and the tracking beacon she’d stowed in his gear to mark his position. She would extract him by helicopter after they’d rescued the hostages. Ironic that only hours before, she’d wanted his trust. Now she only hoped that after this mission he’d be royally pissed at her.
Pissed meant he’d be still alive, and that worked for her.
Alexa justified the decision she’d made. She only returned the favor after he’d kept the truth from her about his gunshot and jeopardized the mission. If she hadn’t given him the extra pills, he’d try to join them, and she couldn’t risk it. And who knows how far he would have gone to stay with her team. She owed it to her men to do what was right. And she didn’t want a debate or a fight with one of the good guys in this business. Knocking Kinkaid out seemed logical under the circumstances.
Alexa kept in step with her men and shifted her attention back to the mission.
In the dark bowels of the cave, Jackson Kinkaid opened his eyes and stared at rock crevasses over his aching head. Pitted stone faded in and out of blackness, spinning and shifting out of focus until he could see straight. The campfire was the only light in the cavernous space, with the entrance to the cave too far to make a difference. He forced himself to stay awake and winced as he sat up. His arms felt heavy and lethargic. And although his mind was foggy, he knew what he had to do.
He worked his tongue—a sluggish tedious process—to spit out the pills he had stuck to the inside of his cheek.
The meds had started to dissolve and take effect. That was unavoidable. He rolled and got to his knees before he made the effort to stand. When he got upright, he wanted to puke. He felt light-headed and weak, but he was banking on his brain clearing once he got moving. He had to catch up with Alexa and her team before they got too far ahead.
He packed his gear and kicked dirt on the fire to put it out. Time to go. When he hoisted his rucksack onto his back, he clinched his teeth to fight the pain. In his mind he pictured Kate, the only motivation he’d need. He headed for the entrance to the cave and squinted as he hit the muted light of an overcast sky.
When he looked down, he saw what he expected to see.
Unlike the hostages—whose trail had been washed out—Alexa’s team would be easier to follow in the mud. He knew they would parallel the trail and that their footprints would be clear enough to track. And they wouldn’t be expecting him. He’d keep his distance and watch, waiting for his opportunity to play the “fly in their ointment.” He’d pick his spot so they wouldn’t have a choice in taking him back. Or better yet, he’d hang back and let Alexa’s trackers do all the hard work. Once they found the terrorists, he’d decide what to do next.
Being a team player wasn’t high on his list of priorities.
He took one last gulp of water and looked across the horizon as he stood near the entrance to the cave. Thinking back to what Alexa had done to him, if she were hell-bent to get rid of him, he wouldn’t have changed her mind. He saw her packing and suspected that she’d leave him behind when she hadn’t bothered to wake him, except to dose him full of meds. And he saw no need to convince her at that point. Better for her to think she’d been clever to dope him.
In the back of his mind, he understood that she’d done it for the good of the team and the success of the mission—but it was hard to acknowledge her side when he felt so betrayed. He chose to ignore his abuse of the trust factor in not telling Alexa about his wound. The gravity of her transgression far outweighed his. If he had any doubts about whether he could trust her, she’d given him an answer and failed a very big test. Alexa could have confronted him and talked it out, but she hadn’t.
Instead, she drugged him. The last time they’d talked, she even had the nerve to demand trust.
“You gotta earn trust, Marlowe. And you failed on all counts.” His voice echoed into the dank cave as he left it behind and took off after Alexa and her men.
No one under Garrett Wheeler’s command would have his back.
And when he caught up to Alexa, he’d make sure she regretted leaving him behind.
CHAPTER 13
Southeast Cuba
Sierra Maestra Mountain Range
Noon
The mountain trail traversed a ridge with a valley on one side and sheer rocky cliffs on the other. The view gave Alexa a panorama of the devastation from the storm. The wider path led higher into the mountains and looked worn, but a narrower trail split and diverted toward the valley in a pattern of switchbacks. It wasn’t clear which way her team should go, not after the ravaging storm had done its damage.
As Alexa had promised Kinkaid, they had picked up the trail that morning, using other means than the footprints that had been washed out. Her scouts had found a vague track of fresh machete cuts in the vegetation and other subtle signs. Although she knew they were on the trail again, finding the markers was hit or miss, and at times they had to retrace their steps. She ordered her men to stop at the fork and found a small clearing with good cover below the ridgeline to rest and wait until her trackers returned with news.
At this elevation, the thin air made it harder for Alexa to breathe, especially with the exertion of carrying a heavy field pack. Sweat and grime covered her skin, a fact she did her best to ignore. The bugs were drawn to her perspiration and would not to be denied, even near the summit. Tenacious flies as big as her thumb and a cloud of mosquitoes buzzed her, despite her wearing bug juice. Alexa swatted them as she rested on one knee next to Hank Lewis. She sucked warm water from the tube connected to her hydration pack and pulled out her binoculars.
“You smell the smoke?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “Someone burning wood.”
“Yeah.” He nodded and hunched next to her. “A few shanties across the valley. We’re downwind.” He pointed through the trees, and she caught a glimpse of the dwellings and the faint wisps of smoke hanging over the tree line.
Alexa tipped back her camo-colored boonie hat to use her binoculars. She peered down the gorge and checked for movement. Although the vegetation was too dense to see much, as the morning progressed, birds and other animals became more active and visible. And she saw no significant disruption—like birds being flushed from the trees in flight—to indicate that a group of men were moving hostages through the valley. She and her team were at a high spot, where noise would travel. They should see or hear hostages in the canyon.
But they had nothing.
“Even though it’s quiet below, that vegetation covers plenty,” she whispered to Lewis.
“We’ve stayed clear of the locals…” he said, “…but with these bastards moving men, women, and children, they’ve got to have help. No one hauls warm bodies without stirring up the locals unless they’ve got allies. And with these mountains crawling in terrorist training camps, we’d be the odd men out if they knew we were here.”
“Yeah, I’ve been thinking the same,” she agreed. “When we shed these trees, let’s make contact with home base.”
Their SAT phone worked off low-orbiting satellites with minimal conversation delays. It was the only network that had coverage across the world, including the oceans, and the setup worked best with a clear line of sight to the sky. They’d have to find that.
