Down to the Wire Read online

  He watched her prop a hand on her hip and incline her head as she shook it. “One of a kind, aren’t you?”

  Joe grinned at her assessment. “I devoutly hope you believe that. You have a real name, or should I just keep calling you Goddess like all the other bastardos around here?”

  “Martine,” she admitted after a few seconds of dead silence.

  “Great, can I call you Marty?” he asked as she turned to take the lead again.

  “Not while I’m holding a weapon,” she replied wryly. “Last warning.”

  “Martine it is.” He could be agreeable when necessary. “Do you have a last name, or are you so well known you only need one, like Cher or Sting?”

  “Just Martine for now. We’d better go find Vargas.”

  She said nothing else until they reached the outskirts of Paloma Blanca. Neither did he. Joe knew she was psyching herself up to deal with what might happen next, just as he was.

  Things were about to get even more interesting.

  Miguel Vargas, whom the natives knew as Father Miguel, was Joe’s only contact in the area, though he hadn’t, had the chance—or even a good reason—to meet with him yet. He had received a spiel about Vargas’s background and mission before coming down here since they were supposed to be coordinating their efforts. It had been as brief as the one Vargas probably received on him, Joe was sure. There was that old thing with the agencies divulging as little info as humanly possible to each other, even when lives were at stake.

  Martine obviously knew that was where Joe was headed and why and who Vargas really was. It was time she explained a little more fully how she had found that out.

  “Hold up a minute,” he demanded before they left the shelter of the forest and entered the village.

  She stopped until he reached her side. She was no longer smiling, which didn’t surprise him much. There wasn’t a helluva lot to be tickled about in their situation. “Let me see Vargas alone first,” she said.

  “Why? Confession?”

  “Trust me.”

  Joe snorted. “Yeah, right.”

  She said nothing.

  Vargas was no more a priest than Joe was. He was with the Company, the CIA. Joe figured he probably did some good for the natives just to kill time. You had to walk the walk in a situation like this.

  “Why don’t you tell me exactly what you are doing here, Martine. If it’s classified, just say so and I’ll shut up.”

  She blew out a sigh, then tightened her lips.

  “C’mon,” he urged. “What’s the deal?”

  With a quick glance toward the village, she then looked back at him. “I need to ask Vargas something.” She moved on as she spoke, walking a few steps ahead of him. There was this little hitch in her voice. Just a quiver like women sometimes got just before they let loose with the tears.

  Joe didn’t believe she was going to cry, not for a hot second. A woman who could shoot a man and not blink would hardly be the weepy kind. He’d give Martine the benefit of the doubt. After all, she could have blown him away just as easily as she had Humberto.

  The trail widened, so Joe moved up to walk beside her. “So, how’d you hook up with Humberto?” he asked, trying his level best not to sound judgmental, even though he was.

  “He found me,” she told him as she looked him straight in the eye. “I was on my way to find Vargas. The jeep I hired in Bogotá hadn’t quite made it to Paloma Blanco when Humberto intercepted us. He obviously knew the driver who must have alerted him I was coming. I had no choice about going with him to the compound.” She hesitated, just a beat. “So I complied.”

  “Played along, huh? You must have had a good reason to leave Bogotá when you know it’s so dangerous outside the cities.”

  “Yes.”

  “Want to tell me what it was?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  Joe clicked his tongue and pursed his lips. “O-kay. You haven’t seen Vargas at all, then?”

  “No,” she said. “That squad you took care of back there—” she said, nodding the way they had come “-—they knew this is where you were headed.”

  “So you followed…and armed. How resourceful of you,” Joe said without sarcasm.

  “I listen a lot,” she admitted. “And I’m very good with locks.”

  “That how you got to the money?”

  “Precisely,” she confessed. “I figured Humberto would have a hard time explaining what happened to it. That the rebels were likely to take him out of commission permanently. It was slated for the purchase of weapons. But you knew that.”

  “Yeah. What did you do with it?”

  “I hid it under the seat in the truck that was leaving.”

  The truck he had set to blow sky high. Joe laughed out loud. She had a mind on her, this girl.

  “You don’t believe me?”

  He just smiled. Hell, he wanted to kiss her senseless. She was his new best friend. She had wrapped up his assignment as if they’d planned it out together in detail.

  “All right,” she said with an air of nonchalance that made him see red. “Believe what you will. I only have to see Vargas and then get us out of here.”

  “Then let’s do it,” he suggested, stepping into the clearing ahead of her. Maybe he was taking a chance, having her at his back with a loaded weapon, but her leaving the country within the next twenty-four hours probably depended on his staying alive to help make it happen. Probably being the key word, of course. She could have other plans.

  “I called for a pickup. In code, of course,” she said in a low voice as they wound around through the ramshackle huts to Vargas’s temporary home.

  “You simply phoned home, I suppose?”

  “Exactly. I called my contact in Bogotá from the compound and gave a prearranged signal.”

  “So where’s the rendezvous?” he demanded.

  “We’ll discuss it later.” Her tone did not invite a debate, so Joe let it be. Anyway, Vargas would have something arranged in the way of transportation.

  The villagers they encountered seemed very careful not to notice them. Joe could hardly blame them when both he and Martine were wearing the green camouflage uniforms worn by the paramilitary ELN faction. National Liberation movement, indeed.

  Though she’d been nervous before, Joe noticed she had suddenly stopped trying to hide it from him. “Does it seem unnaturally quiet here to you?” she whispered.

  “Wouldn’t you cut the conversation if two armed strangers were prowling your streets? There was a massacre in La Gaberra not long ago. A few of General Silva’s guys strolled in and wiped out every living soul, right down to the old folks and the kids. I’m just surprised these people aren’t already running for the hills.”

  Joe saw no reaction of horror from her. Either she didn’t believe him, she’d already known about the event or atrocities didn’t bother her. She was hard to figure.

  “Where are you from?” she asked, forgetting her suggestion that they not exchange biographies at the moment. She didn’t sound all that interested anyway. She was too busy checking doorways and rooftops for threats. It didn’t look like she was a novice at that, either.

  “California,” he lied. Turnabout was fair play. She’d know he was lying, of course. He was about as south-in-the-mouth as Andy of Mayberry when he wasn’t speaking Dad’s Espanole.

  She halted, her gaze fastened on the largest of the shacks, and threw out an arm to stop him before they left the alley. “That must be it.”

  He smiled down at her. “Yeah, well, there’s a cross on top so it’s safe to say it’s not the grocery store.”

  She looked up, biting her lip for a minute as if she had something she wanted to say. Then she sighed and tucked the Beretta in the back of her belt. “Wait here for me.”

  He figured the worst that could happen was that she would turn over her information to Vargas and Joe wouldn’t get to hear what it was. That was okay by him. She had her own agenda, he had his.

 
Joe just couldn’t imagine any agency he knew sending a woman like her down here to take care of business. Any business at all, but especially this kind of thing. Her beauty would make her too vulnerable, no matter how well trained she was.

  “Sure, go ahead.” He looked at his watch. “Five minutes?”

  “Five’s good,” she said, sounding distracted. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and watched her cross the road and disappear into the open doorway of the ramshackle church.

  Had someone sent her here to check his progress? Or maybe Vargas’s? Was she with the Company? She had obviously known what Joe’s job was all along.

  Five minutes, hell. He wanted to know what was going on here. Cursing under his breath, he readied his weapon and headed for the chapel.

  When he ducked to enter, a bullet thunked into the door frame just beside his ear. Two more rounds echoed the instant he dropped and rolled. Damn, it was so dark in here after the bright outdoors, he couldn’t see.

  “Hold your fire,” she shouted. “He’s dead.”

  Joe’s eyes adjusted rapidly. The agent cum priest lay sprawled across the floor in front of his rough-hewn pulpit, pistol still gripped in his hand. Another man lay across the room, also dead.

  Question was, who had fired first? And why?

  Chapter 2

  Joe lowered his own weapon. Maybe not a smart move. She could do him next, but he figured if that was her intention, she would have done it before now. “What the hell happened?”

  She shrugged and pursed those tempting lips. Like that was supposed to shift his attention? He had to admit, it did just a little and that made him mad.

  “The other man shot Vargas when he leaped to protect me. And I just…reacted.”

  “Oh, what a relief it wasn’t planned,” Joe said sarcastically. “Never mind that Vargas was the one who was supposed to get us a ride out of this drug den.”

  “I told you we have a way out.” There was the slightest hitch in her voice again. “You still believe Vargas was one of the good guys?” she asked. “I think he might have turned.”

  “Might have?” Joe looked at the dead man again.

  That sort of brought up the question of whose guys she might be one of, Joe thought with a grimace. He’d hate to kill her. Never had killed a woman. But then again, he’d never had real reason to. He sure hoped he didn’t have one now.

  It was then Joe recalled again the vision he’d had of her face. Probably only a dream. He’d been half asleep at the time, had even had a drink with Humberto before he went to bed. It was impossible to know if it had been an actual flash, one of his blinks of the future like the one of Humberto’s gun staring him in the face. But he could see the one of her even now in all its detail. The face of the goddess, frozen with terror.

  He almost laughed. What a crock. This woman would never wear an expression like that even if he held the gun to her head and meant business. He shook off the memory.

  “You want to tell me what’s going on or are you waiting for me to guess?” he asked.

  She ignored his question as she removed the weapons from Vargas and the unknown corpse. When she gave them to Joe, he noticed her hands. The long fingers were graceful, yet not delicate. Her nails were beautifully shaped, yet not overly long, the smooth ovals devoid of anything, even a coat of clear polish. The outer edges of her palms, like his, were ridged, a result of intensive, long-term martial arts training. Trouble was, hers were shaking. Just a little bit, but the tremor was there.

  He thought about turning one palm side up and checking her life line, then decided he didn’t want to know if the crease had a sudden break in it. His own fate seemed directly related to hers at the moment. Living was looking better and better.

  “Vargas could be the one who gave you up. I was present when Humberto received a message from someone here today that gave him a heads-up on what you were doing. But whoever sent it didn’t know your face, couldn’t describe you. When you left the compound and headed for Paloma Blanco, Humberto figured it must be you. He decided to terminate you in private, just in case there was another operative within the compound he didn’t know about.” She shrugged. “Then after you left, all hell broke loose, and Humberto knew for certain you were the one.”

  “If that’s true and you already have a chopper coming for us, why did we come here? To get rid of Vargas?”

  “No. I needed to talk to him. Ask him some questions. Too late for that now.” She shook her head.

  “Well, one of them would have killed me if you had let me walk in here with you. So you saved me again,” Joe said. “Jim Dandy to the rescue.”

  “What?”

  “Old song. I’m into golden oldies. What do you like? Classics? Salsa, maybe?”

  She frowned. “Jazz. What does that have to do with anything?”

  Joe sighed and stood up. “Nothing, I guess. Just seems a shame to be dodging bullets in the company of a total stranger. They’ll be coming after us, Martine. Now would be a good time for us to get acquainted. Who are you with?”

  “I’m with an independent contractor. Your boss hired us to see that you made it home.”

  “Which boss?”

  She shrugged. “Mercier.” When Joe didn’t reply, she added, “With Sextant.”

  “Wrong answer. Mercier already sent someone to give me a hand and extract me early. I declined.” Too much info to part with, maybe, but Joe wanted some answers.

  “He actually made it here? Contacted you?” Her blue eyes flew wide with what looked like hope. “When?”

  “Two nights before you showed up, I think. It was dark as pitch. I never saw him. No one did. In and out like a shadow.”

  “Thank God,” she murmured, crossing herself. “That was Matt Duquesne. My brother.” She shrugged. “We were to meet back in Bogotá but he was gone too long. I figured he must have run into trouble. He must have opted for a route out without involving Vargas. He might have sent a message I didn’t receive. Or sent it after I left the hotel.”

  “That’s what you were going to ask Vargas? About Duquesne?”

  She sighed. “Yes. Unfortunately. When Humberto brought me to the compound, there was no indication Matt had ever been there. And of course, you still were. So I thought Matt might have been…” She let her voice trail off as if he should be able to fill in the blanks. Then she abandoned her search and looked directly at him. “You’re sure he got out without being caught or followed?”

  Joe shrugged. “He was invisible and split right after we spoke. No shots, no ruckus. Yeah, I’d say he made it without a hitch.”

  She cleared her throat and continued searching the place. “Humberto found out pretty quickly who I am. My prints are on file and the man had connections in the States you would not believe. He emailed my employer and demanded a ransom for me, meanwhile knocking himself out trying to convince me to stay voluntarily.” She scoffed. “Such a charmer, wasn’t he?”

  Joe didn’t want to talk about Humberto charming her. Humberto had been pretty close-mouthed about it himself. Joe had just assumed the Goddess was simply Humberto’s new mistress. He didn’t want to think about that at all. Or the things she must have had to do to get virtual freedom within the compound. Damn, she’d even read the man’s email?

  She rose and dusted her hands against the legs of her pants. “All right, we can go now. Time is short. I’ll need to call as soon as we get safely away and see if Matt made it.”

  “No one but me ever realized your brother was there. He must be damn good at what he does. He might have run into a little trouble on the way back, but I expect he could handle that, don’t you?”

  “I hope so,” she said. “He’s all I have.”

  It all sounded plausible the way she told it. Whatever the truth, the man who was supposed to be Joe’s only means out of Colombia was dead. Vargas was an agent with a proven track record. But he could have turned.

  Joe had come to neutralize Humberto and disrupt operations. The CIA—n
amely Vargas in this particular area—was more concerned with the state of the government, which faction would prevail and figuring out how to control that faction if possible. Maybe Vargas resented Joe’s intrusion or simply gave him up to cement relations with Humberto. Stranger things had happened.

  At any rate, the mission was over and it was time to go home.

  The DEA had a presence in Bogotá, a carefully controlled presence maintaining strict cooperation with the government forces. Joe was unsanctioned as far as they were concerned. On his own. He couldn’t go to them for help. If caught, he would be labeled CIA, even though he wasn’t. The interference of a CIA operative would generate some truly bad press, both here and at home. The CIA was here, after all. Dead on the floor.

  A mere DEA agent was expendable in the grand scheme of things. There was no love lost between the two agencies. That was one reason for organizing the new Sextant team, promoting cooperation. It seemed unlikely to Joe that it would work after so many years of rivalry and jockeying for jurisdiction, but ever since he’d been approached about joining he’d been fascinated by the concept.

  “Ready?” Martine asked, interrupting his thoughts. “The chopper is meeting us in half an hour and we’ve got about a mile and a half to run.”

  Decision time. Humberto’s drug operation helped finance a rebel faction while he still held rank in the regular army. He had played both sides of the fence. Martine could be with either side, sent to eliminate him. She’d done that. She had probably killed Vargas, too, and had definitely shot the unidentified man who lay in the corner.

  She knew about Mercier and the job and what Duquesne had been doing here, but if Duquesne had been captured, getting that information out of him would have been simple enough. Anyone under enough pressure or the influence of certain drugs would spill his guts all over the place.

  That left two options to consider. She was leading him into a trap, to take him alive for purposes of embarrassing the American government, or she was exactly who she said she was and was getting him out of Colombia.

  Could he afford to trust her? He closed his eyes, hoping for another quick flash of precognition, but nothing came. So much for the infamous Corda gift.