Читать книгу Soldier's Pregnancy Protocol - Beth Cornelison - Страница 6

Without a sound, Alec Kincaid inched on his belly through the sticky black mud of the South American jungle until he had a clearer view of the Cessna awaiting takeoff from the small clearing. The acrid scent of jet fuel and jeep exhaust tinged the smell of rotting vegetation and the fragrance of the orchids blooming around his hiding place. His body ached from lying motionless for the past twelve hours, but his gut told him his efforts would soon pay off. In spades.

After ten years, working black ops for a counterterrorist team so secret the group didn’t even have a name, Alec had learned to rely on his instincts and not much else. Except training. Except Daniel LeCroix, aka Lafitte.

He trusted his partner with his life. And had many times. Just this week.

In the past five years, Alec had lost count how many times he and Lafitte had relied on each other for survival in the murky world of espionage and counterterrorism.

Because of the risks they took, their rogue lifestyle, the pirate code names they’d adopted seemed apropos. Blackbeard and Lafitte.

He clicked his tongue three times into his lip mic. Three tangos.

In his earpiece, he heard Daniel’s reply, a short puff of air. Affirmative.

Alec sighted his AK-47 on the rebel fighters as they loaded boxes of weapons into the aircraft. But these drones were not his ultimate target. Intel indicated General Ramirez, the murderous leader of the rebel fighters, would be leaving on this flight.

If they netted Ramirez today, he and Daniel could be swilling rum with a couple senoritas on a beach in Acapulco by nightfall—Lafitte and Blackbeard savoring the spoils of a completed mission. Three years of mucking through mosquito-infested rain forests and living weeks at a time off grubs and stubborn determination had led to this moment.

Anticipation thrummed through Alec. His nerves jangled, but he didn’t so much as draw a deep breath. Any movement, any noise could give away his position. He held his post without flinching, even when one of the deadliest spiders in Colombia dropped from an overhanging branch and crept up his arm. To his neck. Inside his mud-caked camo T-shirt …

His gut pitched. Mother of Joe, he hated spiders!

Through his headset, Daniel could probably hear the rapid fire of Alec’s pulse as the arachnid skulked down his back.

The rumble of a motor cued him to an approaching jeep. Spider or not, Alec forced his focus to the new arrival, years of training kicking into high gear.

Daniel grunted. See that?

Alec puffed on the mike. Affirmative.

Daniel clicked twice. Two more men.

General Ramirez and a guard. Five tangos against the two of them. A cakewalk.

But foreboding rolled through Alec like a thundercloud. It didn’t add up. Why wasn’t the general better guarded? Alec held his breath as General Ramirez climbed from the jeep, shouting directions in Spanish to his men. With a low whine, the Cessna engine turned over, and the nose propeller spun.

Every muscle in Alec’s body tensed. Ready.

All of his senses honed in on the scene before him. Waiting for the right moment …

Ramirez stepped away from the jeep, turned his back. Alec had a clear shot, but Uncle Sam wanted Ramirez taken alive. The general’s guards were fair game, though. Alec curled his finger around the trigger of his assault rifle. Took aim. Prepared to charge the aircraft and kick some rebel ass.

But across the clearing, a blast of gunfire ripped from the jungle. Peppered the jeep, the Cessna. The aircraft exploded in a ball of flame and black smoke. The concussion shook the ground and reverberated in Alec’s chest.

What the hell?

In his earpiece, he heard Daniel mutter the same expletive that popped in his mind.

Chaos erupted. Ramirez clutched his chest. Fell.

The rebels returned fire. Shooting blindly. Spraying the area with a hail of bullets.

Uniformed men, a rival militia force, surged from the line of trees.

Mud splattered, and the foliage hiding Alec shredded under the barrage of gunfire.

“Pull back! Abort!” he grated into his mic.

Daniel didn’t respond.

“Copy, pirate? Abort!” Alec repeated as he shimmied backward through the black ooze, scrambled to his feet, and shook the nasty spider out of his shirt. Still crouched low, he wove through the maze of trees while three years of tedious undercover work went to hell in the clearing.

Where was Daniel, damn it? Why didn’t he answer?

A helicopter buzzed low over the clearing. Suddenly the jungle teemed with enemy fighters.

Don’t jeopardize the mission. If things go south, it’s every man for himself. He and Daniel had sworn to abide by the agreement as they broke camp yesterday morning. But yesterday, Alec had arrogantly believed nothing could stop him and his partner from bringing the general in.

Sweat and mud stung Alec’s eyes as he plowed through the dense rain forest. A bright green bird shrieked and took flight as Alec charged through the mist-shrouded jungle. He pressed on, despite stiff muscles and the encumbering weight of the black sludge he’d smeared on his skin for camouflage.

Daniel was as highly trained as Alec. His partner would be fine.

Alec glided through the rain forest like a jaguar, already mentally regrouping. Ramirez had been shot. If the general died, the sources he and Daniel had cultivated would hear the news and report to them at the rat-nest motel in Medellin. If Daniel made it out, he’d know to meet Alec there.

If Daniel made it out? Alec clenched his teeth and shoved the negativity aside. His partner would make it out of this hellhole and meet him in Medellin. Or, regardless of what they’d agreed, Alec would find his partner. No matter what it took.