The Spy Who Loved Him Page 12

  The Beretta barking, Margarita returned the vicious fire. She thought she caught a glimpse of a hideously scarred face, but lost it almost immediately as the men on the other side of the gorge dived for cover. Safely hidden, they resumed their barrage.

  Alejandro's ancient shotgun roared. The sound of the shot ka-boomed like a cannon through the empty space under the house, almost deafening Margarita. He emptied the second barrel right after the first, then ejected the spent shells and reloaded.

  Her ears buzzing, sweat stinging her eyes, Margarita carefully spaced her fire. She only had two spare clips. If Carlos didn't cut the cable…If they had to retreat and fight a rearguard action…

  Focusing on the task at hand, she blanked her mind to everything but Carlos pinned to the tree trunk. The hemp cable. The rain of fire from the other side. So fiercely intent was she that Alejandro had to shout frantically to get her attention.

  "Margarita! Listen! Listen!"

  She shook her head in a vain attempt to clear the ringing in her ears. "What?"

  "Helicopters!"

  Only then did she catch the distant whap-whap-whap of rotors slicing the air. Carlos picked up the sound at almost the same instant. He froze, the machete raised above his head.

  With the house above her, Margarita had no view of the sky, no way to tell from the chopper's markings whether it carried government troops or reinforcements Simon had called in. Desperately, she shouted to Carlos.

  "Can you see them?"

  "I…Yes!"

  She had time for a single prayer. Please, please let them be ours.

  Then the treetops began to rattle, the whining roar of engines filled the air, and all hell broke loose.

  Chapter 11

  The chopper came down fast on the level ground near the top of the slope, the 50 mm machine gun mounted in its waist blazing. A second chopper swooped in a second later. Commandos in jungle battle dress poured out of both and added to the murderous fire.

  The dense growth lining the other side of the gorge disintegrated. Branches flew into the air. House-size ferns toppled. Even the stout mahogany tree anchoring the cable splintered.

  The woven hemp cable hung together by a few shreds for a second or two before it, too, came apart. The handmade trolley slid down a severed length and sailed majestically into the gorge.

  Not now, Margarita wanted to shout. Not when the men on the other side were beating a frantic retreat. Those who could still move, anyway. Ducking, dodging, some slithering on their bellies, they aimed a few desperate shots over their shoulders before the jungle swallowed them up.

  "Hold your fire!"

  Swiping the mud and sweat from her eyes with her arm, Margarita squinted at the commandos. Their leader had already charged past her, heading for Carlos. All she saw was the man's back.

  Margarita emerged from behind her piling, intending to join the two men, only to freeze as she caught a flutter of white on the far side of the gorge. One of the fleeing men popped out of the underbrush. Took aim. She needed only a single glimpse to know it was that bastard Simon…and to see instantly who he had in his sights!

  "Carlos!"

  The scream ripped from her throat at the same moment the commando lunged through the air. He and Carlos went down in the mud. Shots burst out. Simon dropped from sight. The gunfire stuttered into silence.

  "Get a chopper revved up," someone shouted behind her. "We need to get to the other side of the gorge. They're escaping."

  Margarita paid no attention to the burst of activity behind her. Terror clawing at her chest, she plunged down the muddy slope. Before she could reach the two figures sprawled on the ground, they had untangled themselves and pushed to their feet.

  Relief pumped into her in waves, made her clumsy. She tripped over her own boots and ended up on her knees. The two men started toward her. Concern etched sharp grooves in Carlos's cheeks.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Yes, I…"

  Her jaw went slack. Eyes widening, she stumbled to her feet and gaped at the commando in black face paint and jungle fatigues.

  "Marcus!"

  "In the flesh, babe."

  Grinning, the SPEAR agent stepped around Carlos and planted a hard, muddy kiss on her mouth.

  "That," he announced, "is for scaring the hell out of me by disappearing the way you did. I have other messages for you, which I'll deliver once we round up the rest of your friends."

  Half laughing, half flustered and wholly delighted by his timely arrival, Margarita introduced him to the man who'd gone still beside them. Very still.

  "Marcus, this is Carlos. Carlos Caballero."

  "I guessed as much," Marcus said, shoving out his hand. "I've heard a lot about you in the past few days, commandante."

  "Have you?" Carlos drawled. "Oddly enough, I've heard nothing of you."

  "Margarita and I are old friends," he said, as if that was enough to explain his sudden appearance in the jungles of Madrileño.

  Carlos lifted a brow at that, but before the SPEAR agent could launch into the cover story Margarita knew he'd have ready, a dark patch on his sleeve snagged her gaze.

  "Marcus! Is that blood on your sleeve?"

  "Probably," he replied with cheerful unconcern, glancing at the stain. "That last shot grazed me."

  Carlos's brows snapped together. "You took a hit?"

  "Guess I caught a corner of the bullet that was aimed at you, my friend."

  Judging from the amount of blood that had soaked his sleeve, it was far more than a graze. Margarita was about to point that out when the sudden sound of an engine powering up spun them all around.

  The men were scrambling aboard one of the choppers. A short, stocky figure detached himself from rest and plowed down the slope, greeting Carlos with a wide grin.

  "It's good to see you, commandante."

  Returning his grin, Carlos clapped a hand on his aide's shoulder. "It's good to see you, too, Miguel. How many of our squad are with you?"

  "All of them."

  "Good man! You got them out."

  "With a little help," the lieutenant admitted, pitching his voice to a shout to be heard over the increasingly high-pitched whine. "Half the bastards kept us pinned down while the other half went after you. We were almost out of ammunition when Señor Waters here arrived with reinforcements."

  His glance enigmatic, Carlos nodded to Marcus. "It appears I'm doubly in your debt."

  "Consider all debts paid in full once we find the man who took Margarita hostage."

  "I'll find him," he promised tersely. "I have a score to settle with the man." He ran a quick eye down the bloodied sleeve. "Miguel and I will mount the hunt. You'd better take care of that arm. Even a graze can turn deadly in the jungle."

  There wasn't time for more. The helicopter's blades had begun to slice the air, moving faster with each rotation. Carlos said something to Margarita, but the whirling rotors chewed up the words and spit them out. With another nod to Marcus, he turned and started up the slope.

  "Wait!" Her hair flying madly around her face, Margarita dashed after him. "I'm coming with you."

  "Your friend is in more pain that he admits. Get him seen to and take charge of the operation here. I'll go after the ones who've escaped into the jungle."

  "But…"

  "I'll see you in San Rico."

  For the second time in as many minutes, Margarita found herself in a man's arms. Carlos's kiss was just as swift as the one Marcus had given her, but far more thorough. He left her standing in the mud, her hair lashing her cheeks.

  The chopper lifted off as soon as he and Miguel climbed aboard. Once airborne, it banked sharply and roared across the gorge. Margarita watched it skim the treetops like a giant dragonfly buzzing after its prey. All too soon, it disappeared behind the towering curtain of green.

  Sighing, she turned to Marcus. His blue eyes followed Carlos's chopper for a moment before switching to Margarita. His mouth creased in the same teasing grin that had gotten t
hem both through their tortuous survival training, when they'd shared everything from dew scraped drop by drop from leaves to the threadbare blanket they'd stolen from an unsuspecting enemy.

  "Well, well. Looks like I've got some competition to worry about."

  She brushed aside his joking attempt to make more of their friendship than there was.

  "The only thing you need to worry about right now is that bullet hole in your arm. If you recall, the last time we practiced field first aid on each other, you threatened to quit SPEAR altogether if they let me anywhere close to a needle again."

  His wince was only half feigned. "I remember."

  Cradling his injured arm, he started up the slope. Margarita took one look at the white grooves bracketing his mouth and slipped her arm around his waist. With his good arm draped across her shoulders, she steered him toward the second chopper.

  "How did you find us?"

  "Your signal receiver."

  The locket. The little oval piece that now lay innocuously inside the torn, muddied drawstring blouse. She should have guessed that its furious buzzing earlier had special significance. Sure enough, Marcus confirmed that the techno-wizards at SPEAR had been working night and day since her disappearance.

  "It took them two days to figure out how to magnify the signals enough that they could be picked up with high-powered scanners. Another two days for us to position the scanners in Madrileño. I'm surprised the thing didn't burn a hole in your skin when it started pulsing."

  "It came close a time or two." She hesitated, then added, "Carlos felt it vibrating this morning."

  If Marcus wondered just how Carlos had gotten close enough to notice the movement of the locket, he didn't say so. "So he knows you work for SPEAR?"

  "I had to tell him."

  "No one's going to argue with that. From the information we've gathered about the man in the past few days, it's obvious he's one of the good guys."

  "Yes." She threw a glance over her shoulder at the distant treetops. "He is."

  "Anyone else know?"

  She dragged her attention back to find Marcus regarding her with keen blue eyes. "What?"

  "Anyone else know that you work for SPEAR?"

  "Not that I'm aware of."

  "I'd better brief you on my cover, then."

  "Which is?"

  With his good arm, he swept off the crushable jungle hat that covered his thatch of blond hair and attempted a sort of a bow. "Marcus Waters, bounty hunter, at your service, ma'am. I've been tracking Simon for months for a wealthy client whose daughter almost ODed on the drugs supplied by his network."

  Margarita had to admit it was perfect. A soldier of fortune, a modern-day gunslinger who demanded high dollars to bring in fugitives.

  "I managed to get close enough to one of his men to plant a bug, which is what let me muscle in on the rescue operation and what everyone thinks led us to you. Got it?"

  "Got it."

  "Okay, babe, let's go to work."

  * * *

  Moments later, the second chopper was in the air. The pilot positioned it in a hover on the far side of the gorge and lowered a heavily armed squad. Margarita went with them, searching among the wounded for Simon without success. She could only hope Carlos and Miguel would track the bastard down.

  They hoisted the wounded into the chopper and brought them to the village. The medic who'd accompanied the strike force went to work stabilizing his patients for transport, Marcus included.

  "You're lucky," the young medic commented. "The bullet took off a chunk of muscle, but missed the bone."

  "Yeah," Marcus replied, wincing at the sting of disinfectant, "real lucky."

  Leaving him in capable hands, Margarita went to say goodbye to Alejandro and Conceptión and the others. The muddied skirt and torn blouse drew an abject apology from her.

  "I'm so sorry about your wedding finery."

  "No matter. It served its purpose." A smile tugged at her generous mouth. "For you as well as me, I would guess from that kiss Carlos left you with."

  Maybe. Everything had happened so fast, so many emotions had crowded on top of each other. Margarita hadn't forgotten Carlos's fury when she'd told him about Simon and her work with SPEAR. Or that moment in the field, when her blinders fell away and she knew without a doubt that she loved him. They'd sort things out when they got to San Rico. She hoped.

  With a smile for Conceptión, she promised to send her another dress. "Or better yet, you and Alejandro must come for a visit, and you can pick out just the one you want. I'll send another chopper for you."

  She was only too happy to fly in a commercial charter for these people. As poor as they were, they'd sheltered her and Carlos with unstinting generosity. Remembering her plunging roller-coaster ride across the gorge, she made a mental note to be sure the chopper brought in steel cable and planking for a footbridge.

  "I'll also speak to my uncle about cutting a road through to the village," she promised Alejandro. "So you can get your milk and cream to market before it sours."

  A flurry of excited comment greeted that. In the midst of the chatter, Alejandro asked curiously, "Who is your uncle?"

  "The President. Of Madrileño," she added at his blank look.

  His jaw sagged under the drooping gray mustachios. "Mother of God! You told me your name, but I didn't…I never…There are so many de las Fuentes," he finished helplessly.

  "I know. It's a very common name. One of our ancestors must have been particularly prolific."

  The whine of engines revving up hurried the rest of her goodbyes.

  Within minutes, she and Marcus and the team transporting the prisoners were airborne. While Marcus conducted an in-air interrogation of the more coherent among Simon's men, Margarita borrowed a headset and eavesdropped on the radio exchanges between the pilot and the crew of Carlos's chopper. Her heart jumped when the pilot radioed that they'd sighted what looked like a possible trail and were lowering a pursuit team via the jungle penetrator. Carlos went with them to coordinate the effort from the ground, instructing the chopper to continue the aerial search.

  The search was still in progress an hour later, when the first helicopter touched down at San Rico airport. The pilot had radioed ahead that he was bringing in wounded as well as Señorita de las Fuentes, so Margarita wasn't surprised by the string of ambulances and limos lined up along the runway.

  Relinquishing her headset with reluctance, she waited until the more seriously wounded had been loaded onto stretchers, then climbed out with Marcus. Her feet had barely touched the tarmac when a small avalanche of relatives surrounded her. After a joyous and somewhat tearful reunion with her mother, father, brothers and assorted sisters-in-law, she dodged the inevitable demand to know why in the world she'd gone to the prison and offered herself as a hostage in exchange for the guard.

  "Papa, please. Let me get Marcus to the hospital first. I'll answer all your questions later."

  "Marcus?"

  As one, her relatives turned to the injured agent, taking in his smeared face paint and bloodied sleeve. Her father in particular gave him a keen once-over.

  "You're the American bounty hunter. The one who planted the bug."

  Marcus stepped into his role without so much as a blink. "Yes, sir."

  Maria de las Fuentes brushed past her husband to offer the injured man her heartfelt thanks. Still slender and vibrant after thirty-eight years of marriage and five children, she pressed a kiss on Marcus's cheek.

  "You must come and stay with us while you recover from your wound."

  "Well, I…"

  Margarita interceded. "We've already decided he's going to stay at my place until he's fit to rejoin the hunt. That way, I can tell him everything I learned about the man he's looking for."

  It was nothing less than the truth. Debriefing Marcus about the hours she'd spent with Simon constituted her first priority.

  A delicate frown creased her mother's forehead. Pointedly, she searched the group of men mi
ngling around the chopper.

  "Where's Carlos?"

  "In the jungle."

  * * *

  Eight hours later, Carlos still hadn't returned and Marcus had transformed Margarita's condo into a combination command post and recovery center. The SPEAR agent had rigged a communications link directly to the military net monitoring the search for Simon. Every radio transmission from the chopper pilots crackled over the speakers hooked to a specially configured laptop computer.

  While they waited for the results of the search, Margarita gave Marcus a thorough debrief. What details she couldn't remember, he pulled out of her. Disdaining the painkillers the docs had given him, he carefully matched the information she provided to what he'd extracted from the prisoners during the flight to San Rico. When Jonah made contact with them on a high-tech, untraceable phone line, Margarita fed the results to SPEAR's chief.

  Jonah was quietly exultant over the destruction of Simon's drug network in Latin America. Between them, Marcus and Margarita had identified all but a few of his key suppliers. Once the suppliers were shut down, he'd lose his primary source of income for his worldwide clandestine operations.

  Jonah also found the fact that Simon seemed to take a sort of perverse pride in his disfigurement extremely interesting. "I'll get the docs to factor that into the psychological profile they've constructed so far. It might shed some light on what's motivating him."

  Recalling the evil that had flared in the man's one good eye, Margarita silently wished the shrinks luck.

  "He didn't give you any insight into what he has planned next?" Jonah asked.

  "No. But he was clear on one point. He intends for you to see him. Soon."

  "I'll be ready," the chief said softly.

  She didn't doubt it. Whoever or whatever he'd been in his former life, the man she knew only as Jonah had assumed an awesome mantle of responsibility when he'd shed his former identity to take over SPEAR. Over the years he'd recruited a highly skilled cadre of agents, put them through training that would give lesser mortals instant cardiac arrest, given them the autonomy to make instant life-and-death decisions in the field. Every one of them knew he'd shaped them and the agency based on his experiences and could only guess how brutal those must have been.