He frowned. But if the guy manufactured methamphetamine, and from the smell of the place he did, then he had a rich appreciation for the dangers of exothermic chemical reactions. Finally, Huayar bellowed, “Get Vito. Bring him here.”
She waited tensely while the resident chemist was fetched. Vito turned out to look as Italian as his name sounded, with thick black hair, heavy eyebrows, and a burly frame. He nodded cautiously at Huayar and glanced over at her incuriously. Was that the future awaiting her? Serving at the whim of a madman and doing her best imitation of a robot so as not to draw his random and cruel wrath?
“Tell him,” Huayar ordered.
“Do you have some paper? I’ll have to write it down. It’s a rather lengthy list.”
A grimy notebook and a pen were duly passed to her. She scribbled hastily, leaving out several key ingredients. Unlike methamphetamine, which was a relatively simple formula, the one she’d devised involved nearly a dozen steps and twice that many chemicals. But the premise of her work was to only use readily available ingredients, and most of the obvious ones for concocting a drug had already been controlled, to some degree, by governments and industry.
She tore the page out and held it out to Huayar. He gestured at the chemist and she passed the page to Vito. He read down the list carefully. After maybe a minute, he looked up at Huayar. “Not the list. These chemicals cannot form what we seek.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but before she could utter a word, Huayar’s fist coldcocked her squarely in the jaw. She went down like a rock. The blow didn’t knock her out, but the pain was so excruciating that her legs buckled right out from underneath her.
White spots danced in front of her blurry gaze, and she definitely had a couple loose teeth now. Whether she willed it or not, terror exploded inside her. Her ploy hadn’t worked. Huayar was going to torture her and kill her family. She’d failed them all.
“You stupid bitch,” a voice snarled above her. A foot slammed into her gut. Already half curled into a fetal position, the kick tightened her into a little ball, just like a roly-poly bug. Except in infinitely more pain, of course. She coughed violently, surprised she hadn’t thrown up, too.
In the face of her pain and terror, something odd happened. It was like a switch flipped on in her head. An odd purity of thought came over her, a suspension of time wherein her mind worked at double or triple normal speed, and the events around her seemed to be unfolding in super-slow motion. She watched in detached interest as Huayar drew back to kick her again.
John jumped violently as Huayar’s fist smashed into Melina’s face. Son of a bitch! No matter that he’d seen people get hit before-hell, he’d slugged people like that himself a few times-he completely lost his composure this time. That was Melina down there! Sweet, gentle Melina, who would never harm a hair on anybody’s head.
Whatever they were saying-he couldn’t hear their conversation from up here-she’d obviously said something that severely pissed off Huayar. What was on that piece of paper she’d scribbled on, anyway? Surely she hadn’t handed over the formula. She, of all people, knew how crucial it was to keep that information out of Huayar’s hands. Although, given the swing the bastard had just taken at her, John had to believe that she hadn’t given the bandit what he’d wanted.
Hang in there, baby. Don’t buckle.
He had to do something fast to save her. She couldn’t take too many more blows like that. No way would he let Huayar beat her to death while he sat up here and watched the show.
Huayar hauled off and kicked Melina in the stomach, and the pain of the blow shot through John’s gut as sharply as if the blow had landed on him. He swore under his breath. He saw Melina gasping for air, the breath knocked out of her. Damned if he couldn’t make out the tears streaming down her face, too.
In the midst of his panic, an unpleasant truth broke across his disjointed thoughts. Huayar had no reason to hit Melina. She had something he wanted badly. Roughing her up would do nothing to endear her to the bandit. And if Huayar was only trying to make her talk, even the Peruvian knew the fastest way to break her would be to pull out one of her loved ones and make them scream. Why the punching bag act then?
The answer all but hit him over the head.
This little boxing exhibition from Huayar was for John’s benefit. The bastard knew he was still out here. After laying eyes on beautiful, vulnerable, gentle Mel, Huayar had reasoned, correctly, that John had to feel plenty protective of her by now, after spending a few days tromping around in the woods with her. Huayar had also figured out that the fastest way to draw out her soldier/guide was to brutally beat her in plain sight.
John swore under his breath.
Huayar wasn’t going to let up on Mel until John walked out of these woods and handed himself over.
Huayar’s foot drew back again.
And John broke.
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t sit up here and do nothing while Melina took this pain meant for him. Plan B was back on the table. He was going down there and handing himself over to Huayar as a hostage in place of Melina’s family.
Peace came over him. He would die, but it would be okay. He had let go of his guilt over Afghanistan, or at least arrived at a truce with it. He’d known the love of a good woman. He would be dying for a good cause. Yeah. It would be okay.
Purposefully, he stood up. He shed his gear. Took a step forward.
And slammed to the ground face-first as something impossibly heavy and fast moving smashed into him from behind.
Chapter 16
Melina gathered her courage and lifted her hand away from her face, which was already beginning to swell. She glared up at Huayar and forced herself not to flinch as the bastard wound up to kick her again.
“What kind of idiot do you take me for?” she snapped up at him. “Did you seriously think I was just going to hand over the ingredient list to you? Hit me again and you can forget getting the formula out of me. It’ll go to the Colombians and you can go to hell.”
His foot stopped at the apex of its backswing. Lowered to the ground. His fist flashed down. She flinched reflexively-she couldn’t help it. But instead of plowing into her face again, Huayar grabbed her shirt and hauled her roughly to her feet.
“You’re tougher than you look, little girl.”
Was that actually a hint of grudging admiration in his voice? She couldn’t believe she’d managed to deliver that ultimatum without breaking down in sobs of abject terror.
“I want to see my family. Now.”
“No.”
“Then you might as well start kicking me again. Because I’m not playing ball with you. The Colombians win.”
“What the hell are you talking about, you loco bitch? I could kill you right now.”
She shrugged, the movement making her ribs feel like stalks of celery that had been cracked in two. She put aside the pain-she didn’t have time for it right now. Her blood adrenaline levels must be off the charts.
She looked right into Huayar’s eyes. “Kill me and not only do you not get the formula, but you hand it to your enemies. I’ve put a copy of the recipe in a safe deposit box in Bogota. If I do not call the bank periodically to report in, the contents of that box will be delivered by bonded courier to your competition.”
The back of Huayar’s hand lifted, and she stepped forward as if to walk into the blow. “Go ahead. Hit me. Do it, and we’re through.”
“Your family will die.”
“They’re dead anyway. You’re going to kill them no matter what happens with me.”
