another beacon out there. Are they both from Alexa?”
“That’s odd. She has more than one beacon for emergencies, but with a small team, I can’t see her splitting up like that.” Garrett’s expression grew solemn. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“Why is that second beacon flickering?” Jess asked. “The signal looks weak.”
“For two reasons. That gorge looks pretty steep,” Garrett told her. “Mountains could block the signal, especially if the satellite is low on the horizon. And that part of Cuba is dense with trees. A tracking beacon works best with a clear view to the sky.”
“Give me time to confirm that second signal,” Tanya said, working the keyboard. Jess knew from her training that a Sentinels’ tracking beacon would have identification embedded in its signal. It wouldn’t take long to ID the property assigned to Alexa’s team.
“Come on, Alexa. Talk to me,” Garrett muttered as he glared at the light show in front of him.
Jess knew what he was thinking. He could mobilize a backup team to assist Alexa, but he’d have no idea which tracking beacon would be hers. And the signal locations were far enough apart to make a difference. If he picked the wrong one to launch his support and guessed wrong, it would expose his intentions too soon and make it worse for Alexa and her team. And as close as the faint beacon was to the terrorists, by the time he rallied help, any skirmish could be over.
They had to talk to Alexa.
“If that’s Alexa on the ridge, she’s got ground to cover before nightfall. Whoever has the second signal in the valley, they’re practically on top of those bastards.” Jess shook her head, not taking her eyes off the holographic image in front of her. “But they’re too far apart and out of position to launch a simultaneous strike. What the hell is going on?”
CHAPTER 15
Southeast Cuba
Sierra Maestra Mountain Range
Jackson Kinkaid hunched behind a tree with his back to a rock cliff. He leaned against the hard surface to catch his breath. Fever had robbed him of his usual stamina. He shrugged out of his gear to locate his meds. And he palmed more antibiotics and sucked down water from his hydration pack.
Overdosing on antibiotics was the least of his problems.
He retrieved his thermal infrared binoculars to get a better look at the village beneath his position. Four armed men stood guard with AK-47s on the outskirts of a clearing, and a lone sniper had taken a spot on a ridge with a bird’s-eye view of the canyon. Shanty houses were nestled along the tree line, with smoke curling from some of the stone chimneys. A communal fire pit burned in the center of the village, and makeshift tents made of worn tarps, cinder blocks, and corrugated metal were on the perimeter. Food preparation and the smell of burning wood wafted in the evening air as men with dark skin primed for a meal. Most of the inhabitants wore paramilitary gear, and so far he hadn’t seen a woman in the camp. By the looks of the weapons and the setup, he’d found another terrorist training camp.
And the tracks he’d followed since the afternoon had led straight to the camp.
With his binoculars, he searched the shacks and tents for any sign of the hostages. The hovels on the edge of the village had the most potential. The armed guards concentrated their patrolling duties around a particular group of dwellings. For the sake of efficiency, he thought the hostages would be together.
Nightfall was closing in, and soon it would be too dark for him to identify the hostages. He’d seen enough to know these men held captives. A young girl had been hauled from a tent by a guard and moved to another hovel. She wore a tattered party dress.
He’d seen the girl before at the fund-raiser. Although he didn’t remember her name, he knew she was one of Kate’s students. And the guard had moved her to where more children were held. Since he’d seen Kate with four kids on the beach in Haiti, Kinkaid had little doubt that wherever the children were, the nun would be held, too. She was headstrong enough not to be separated from them. With confirmation of hostages, he worked on a rescue plan.
Alone, he knew he might not save them all, and that he’d have to improvise to do what he could. He didn’t want to think about innocent lives snuffed out on his watch or be forced to leave anyone behind; but given the situation, that reality was a highly likely scenario.
With the sniper positioned on the ridge at nightfall, he figured the man had night-vision gear and had to be taken out first. And the guards nearest the children’s tent would be his next targets. His assault rifle would be a weapon of last resort. Any killing would have to be done in deadly silence. He wouldn’t get another chance.
Not knowing where Alexa and her team were, he couldn’t count on them for backup. He’d be on his own.
Targeting the sniper, Kinkaid made his way up the hill and took the long way around so that the guards wouldn’t see him. In his condition, the climb took longer. Sweat stung his eyes, and his vision blurred. And in the dark, his depth perception was off, a reaction from the infection. He wiped a hand over his face and blinked to clear his sight. His head ached, and a steady, incessant ringing in his ears hampered the use of his other senses. He was insane to attempt this rescue alone, but Kate and the other hostages had no one else. Not now.
On the ridge, Kinkaid stopped dead still when he smelled something on the muggy air. The sniper was smoking. To confirm his suspicions, he used his own surveillance gear and watched as the guard took another drag. A dull red ember glowed in the dark. The bastard had the nerve to smoke on duty.
His nasty habit would cost him.
Kinkaid set down his pack—grimacing with the pain—and ditched his gear close by. He slung his assault rifle over his shoulder, carrying the weapon only as a backup plan. When he slipped his bowie knife from its sheath, the blade whispered its lethal hiss, and he crept toward the enemy sharpshooter.
The man never saw him coming.
Sticking to her plan, Alexa had traveled the mountain ridge until her trackers saw no more fresh signs. Before it got too dark, her team had started to descend into the gorge with each man alert and moving in silence. She suspected the canyon had hostiles, and she’d given her orders. Rotating their duties, her men would launch a series of reconnaissance missions to locate their target. No fire. No food prep. No rest. They’d work through the night to make up for lost time. She sensed they were close and hoped luck would be on their side.
Her thoughts drifted to Jackson Kinkaid, and she pictured him alone in the cave, thoroughly pissed at her for leaving him and even more angry at her for drugging him. If he hadn’t been seriously hurt and in need of a doctor, she might have smiled at the thought of pulling one over on such a cagey guy.
But their situation wasn’t even remotely entertaining.
“Got a call from home base,” Hank Lewis whispered as he caught up to her and handed over the SAT phone. “Urgent.”
She gave the signal for her team to stop and take cover while she fielded the call.
“Martini One.” She kept her voice low. “Talk to me.”
It took a long moment for her response to make connection with the caller. SAT phones worked with a delay. She even heard the echo of her own voice.
Eventually the caller said, “We’ve triangulated the position of the target.”
She recognized the voice of Garrett Wheeler. He gave her the coordinates, and she relayed the information to Hank.
“Confidence is high on this intel, but we’re showing two active beacons. Can you confirm?” he asked.
She narrowed her eyes and thought about what he’d told her.
“Only one beacon active. X marks the spot for a pickup, with second beacon anchored.”
“That’s negative, Martini One. We show two beacons on the move. I repeat, two on the move.” Although Garrett’s voice sounded strained, he didn’t break protocol to reveal too much on the transmission—or ask obvious
