Читать книгу Abducted - Dana Mentink - Страница 13

FIVE

Jett waited until his eyes adjusted to the light pouring through the back of the delivery truck.

“Come out,” said a figure silhouetted by the sun. The voice spoke in unaccented English—an American as far as he could tell. That was a good sign. Wasn’t it? Jett’s legs were now freed, but Sarah had not had time to cut loose his wrists.

“Stay behind me,” he said to her as he climbed out of the truck. She followed, and he offered his bound hands to help her.

They were on a remote stretch of dusty road, hemmed in on all sides by immense trees, thick as living walls. The shadows and the incendiary temperature indicated it was late afternoon. Jett exhaled in deep satisfaction as he took in the sight of Miguel lying on his stomach, hands bound behind him. A man wearing fatigues kept Alex at gunpoint while another forced him to his knees and tied his hands, as well. Alex’s other man was not visible, but presumably had been dealt with, too. Out of the frying pan...

“My name is Tom,” said the man who was clearly in charge. Jett could see now that he had crew-cut blond hair. He was shorter than Jett by a good six inches, but strong, tough, with a military bearing. Jett figured him to be in his late forties. “Are you hurt?” Tom inquired, his tone polite, cold.

Sarah shook her head. “But there’s a man inside the truck. His name is Del Young. He’s gravely injured and he needs to be taken to a hospital right away.”

“We are aware, ma’am.” In fact, one of their rescuers had already hopped into the back of the truck and was checking Young’s pulse.

“Who sent you?” Jett said.

Tom didn’t answer. Instead he spoke into a radio unclipped from his belt. “Ready.”

Was he radioing another vehicle?

Sarah hugged herself. “Thank you for rescuing us. They were taking us to Antonio Beretta’s compound. He is desperate to get his hands on Mr. Young.”

“We are aware of that, too.”

Sarah blinked in surprise. “How did you know that?”

Tom did not reply.

“So you’re well informed,” Jett said, “but I didn’t get an answer to the question. Who sent you?”

“Does it matter?” Tom said, flat blue eyes fixed on Jett. “You would have been executed shortly when Beretta got what he wanted.”

“I like to know who I’m dealing with.”

Tom kept his gaze on Jett and Sarah as he bent to listen to a whispered report from the man who had been tending to Del Young.

Sarah tucked her fingers against the small of Jett’s back, thumb through the belt loop of his jeans. The gesture touched him. It was the way she’d kept him close when they’d been in crowds in the long-ago days when she’d loved him.

Don’t you know I’d never let you get lost? he’d said. And he wouldn’t. At the tender age of eighteen, he would have sacrificed anything to keep her from harm. Back then, he hadn’t known that love could end so abruptly, like an exploding mortar. He saw her body had relaxed; she leaned her head against his arm, sagging in relief. He wished he could feel the same.

“I can’t believe they found us in time.”

“Yeah.”

She caught the tone, raising her eyes to his. “What’s wrong? They’re friendly, aren’t they?” she whispered.

He stared at Tom. Friendly? There was no flicker in the blue eyes, no sign of tension in the muscled frame, only complete focus on his mission.

Understandable. Jett was the same when he’d been active duty. The mission came first. Time for chitchat later. A wise strategy when your job was detonating bombs. Still, there was something, a piece that did not fit. One thing he’d learned as an EOD was to trust his instincts.

Tom spoke into the radio, and two vehicles approached from somewhere down the road, where they must have been idling. The first was a battered Jeep. Behind that was a pickup with the back covered by a camper shell. “Please take a seat in the Jeep,” Tom said.

Sarah eyed the small vehicle. “What about Mr. Young?”

“He will be transported in the truck.” Tom’s mouth crimped in a humorless smile. “Don’t worry. It’s a short drive, and you will all arrive at the same location.”

“Which is?” Jett demanded.

Tom didn’t answer at first. “You don’t trust me?”

“I can count the number of people I trust on two fingers. You’re not one of them.”

Sarah stood stiffly before Tom. “I demand to be taken to the nearest police station,” Sarah said. “We need to contact the American embassy immediately.”

“Of course,” Tom said. “Please get into the Jeep and we’ll depart.”

Sarah hesitated, her troubled gaze shifting from Tom to Jett.

Tom held up a palm. “The longer we stay here, the more likely Beretta will send others.”

Sarah did not look completely convinced, but she walked to the Jeep and Jett followed behind.

“What about Alex and his men?” Sarah pointed. “What will happen to them?”

“They will be delivered to the police.”

“Beretta will kill you,” Alex shouted. “He will not let this betrayal go unpunished. You won’t live through the night.”

Tom did not look at them, but a slight gesture sent his men into motion, taping Alex’s mouth and loading him and Miguel into the truck.

“Where’s the third one?” Jett asked.

Tom’s mouth tightened. “He was able to escape, in spite of his gunshot wound. It’s another excellent reason for us to move quickly, in case he survives long enough to inform Beretta.”

The driver directed Jett to sit in the front. Sarah was ordered into the back next to another of Tom’s men.

“As a precaution,” Tom said. “In case Beretta has more of his people on the road. Mr. Jett can keep a lookout from the front seat.”

“I’d be more help without my hands bound,” Jett said, holding up his wrists.

A moment passed between them, and in that couple of seconds Jett knew.

Jett kept his features composed as Tom removed a knife from a sheath on his belt and considered. Tom lingered there a moment, the blade gleaming in the failing sunlight. He flicked it ever so subtly in Sarah’s direction. It was a movement so small only Jett saw it, but he deciphered the unspoken message.

“Be careful, Mr. Jett,” Tom said softly as he sliced through the ties. “Dangerous territory ahead.”

Tension crackled through his nerves. Dicey situations didn’t bother him. Forcing Sarah into a dangerous path was another thing entirely. He knew without question that Tom had an agenda entirely apart from merely rescuing three Americans.

Patience, he told himself. For now, you and Sarah are safe.

The Jeep rolled smoothly into a neat U-turn before the driver took off in the direction from which he had come.

Jett caught Sarah in the rearview mirror. She was scared, he knew, but outwardly composed. The glimmer in her iridescent eyes told the story. She also had gleaned the truth.

This was not a rescue. It was another abduction.

* * *

Sarah’s back ached from the endless drive over dozens of potholes. She’d learned to live with a low level of chronic pain after her car accident, but the rough Mexican roads made every nerve along her spine complain. It seemed to her they were driving in circles, though she was no longer certain even what town they were passing. The sun was setting when they reached an unfamiliar industrial area. They passed a few ramshackle buildings with rusted equipment parked outside and what looked to be an abandoned car. Not one person was visible anywhere, not a single employee or foreman. It was too late for the afternoon siesta. Closed up for the day?

She tried to force normal breathing, but her body was on high alert. These so-called rescuers had their own goals, and she knew it did not bode well for the three of them. Think, Sarah, she told herself. How can you help? Her medical bag was presumably still in the truck, but she’d stowed the blade that she’d used to cut Jett’s ankle restraints in her pocket. It was probably of no use whatsoever, but at least it might give her a chance to help them later on. The guard next to her was not disposed to letting his attention wander, so the tiny knife would have to stay hidden for the moment. Think like a detective, why don’t you? Figure out where you are.

There was no scent of the ocean in the air, no cooling breeze to indicate they’d moved toward the coast. Inland, she decided. She saw from the position of the sun that they had been traveling north. A town in Tijuana, perhaps?

But why bring them here? Surely a missionary nurse and a dive boat captain would be of little interest or value to anyone. Del Young—he was another story. His sly wink reminded her that he was not the innocent victim he seemed to be. Certainly Antonio Beretta had gone to great lengths to get his hands on Young, and now it appeared there was another interested party.

They pulled to a stop in front of a rusted warehouse. A scarred sign on the front identified it as an import-export business. The man in the backseat got out and rolled up a metal door, the groan of steel loud in the stillness. Her heart pounded as the Jeep pulled forward into the dark interior. The smell of rust and sawdust permeated the air. Rows of stacked pallets crowded the periphery of the otherwise empty warehouse. A nice, quiet, isolated spot in which to murder three Americans. Her breathing hitched. But they could easily have done their killing back in the woods...unless they wanted the bodies to remain undiscovered for a while. The other truck crowded in behind them.

Sarah’s guard lowered the door again. It clanked to the ground, vibrating the floor and swallowing them up in darkness. She felt a surge of panic as the darkness closed in, but Tom clicked on a bare overhead bulb that shed a sickly light over the space.

She and Jett got out of the Jeep. She searched Jett’s face. He did not appear scared, only angry. That set off little alarm bells inside her. Dominic Jett did not react well to being cornered. In their high school days, they’d gone on a day trip to Los Angeles, where two guys had tried to steal her purse. They’d been lucky to get away with bloody noses. Now Jett stood with his feet apart, hands braced in front of him, eyes flicking the space from man to man, assessing.

In her mind, they had no chance of escape. Don’t try anything, Jett. Please.

“What now?” Jett snapped at Tom. “Are you ready to tell us what you really want?”

Tom turned to the two who were pulling Del Young from the truck. “Strap him to the stretcher securely. The first part is vertical.”

“The first part of what?” Sarah said.

He glanced at her as if he had just now remembered her presence. “The journey.”

“The journey where?” she nearly shrieked. “Where are you taking us?”

Tom smiled. “Back home. To the United States.”

It was not the answer she’d expected, and it left her dumb with surprise. He was returning them to the US? Had she been wrong about Tom and his colleagues?

Jett snorted. “I don’t see a border crossing anywhere around here.”

“There are many ways to cross the border.”

“Why not do it the easy way?” Jett countered. “We’re Americans. Drive us to the border. Turn us over to the authorities, and they’ll investigate. We’ll get home eventually.”

“Eventually is not quick enough. We have a prearranged meeting.”

The truth was starting to trickle out. “With whom?” she asked.

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Jett strode forward abruptly. The man behind him stepped up, immediately pressing a gun into Sarah’s temple. The circle of cold metal dug into her skin, and her heart stuttered into an irregular rhythm. One quiver of his finger and she would be dead. It was terrifying and surreal. Her brain did not believe it, but her flesh went cold.

“Don’t,” Jett snarled. “Don’t touch her.”

“There will be no need for violence,” Tom said calmly, “if you cooperate and do as you’re told. You are navy, aren’t you?” A tone of mockery crept into his voice. “You should be well versed in taking orders.”

Jett’s eyes glittered as he looked from the man holding the gun to Sarah. The muscles in his arms were tensed, every sinew rigid, his body a coiled spring.

She locked on his stare. “It’s okay,” she said firmly. “We aren’t going to resist. We will do as you say and he won’t hurt me. Right, Jett?”

His eyes narrowed, wheels no doubt turning as he calculated the chances of knocking the guy with the gun away from her. He could do it—she’d seen him practicing in the ring with a mixed martial arts instructor back in their dating days. But the other three men stood at a careful distance, hands on their weapons, watching. They would not get close until they had to.

Jett would die. The thought made her stomach tie itself into knots. Her former love, her lost best friend—she could not stand the thought of watching him cut down in front of her eyes. For her.

“Right, Jett?” she repeated softly. “This man is not going to hurt me.”

Though he did not completely remove the gun, her guard moved it away from her head. His conciliatory gesture to avoid bloodshed, which must have been part of his orders.

After a moment of hesitation, Jett recoiled a fraction, just enough. Sarah’s knees went weak with relief, but she held herself steady. If he could be strong, so could she.

“All right,” Tom said. “Now that we are clear, it’s time to go.”

Where? Sarah wondered, her mouth too dry to say it aloud. Jett went to her and took her cold hands in his. He gave her fingers a squeeze, and she squeezed back. The skin on his wrists was raw where he’d chafed against the restraints. She wished she could soothe the angry wounds, but he would not take comfort from her. Blinking back tears of relief, she waited to see what on earth would happen next. Together, they watched.

Tom went to a stack of pallets and he and another man pushed it away. He leaned to the floor, tracing his fingers along the filthy concrete until he found a small divot, which he used as a handle to heave a neatly cut section of the cement upward. It swiveled open on invisible hinges.

“Drug runners are resourceful, aren’t they?” Tom said with a smirk.

“This is a drug runner’s tunnel?”

Tom nodded. “One of the more sophisticated. Gets the product right into the States without the need for any border crossings or security checks.”

Sarah gaped as the men started down a sturdy wooden ladder, carrying Del Young on his stretcher. In moments, they had disappeared deep into the vertical tunnel.

Tom gave a formal bow. “After you,” he said.

Dread surged through her body, and for a brief moment she did not think she could get her legs to take her into that dark place. One look at Tom convinced her that if force was necessary, he would not hesitate. Swallowing her fear, Sarah made her body obey.

For the second time that day, she found herself climbing down a ladder, wondering if she was heading toward escape—or a dead end.