drug smugglers flying across Peru’s border. Well, too bad. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Besides, Maya thought with her usual sick humor, their job at the Black Jaguar Express was to keep cocaine shipments from leaving Peru. If the effort spilled into Bolivia’s sacred airspace from time to time, too bad.
Besides, they’d have to catch them at it to prove it, and Bolivia didn’t exactly have a modern air force or state-of-the-art radar to prove their precious border had been encroached upon from time to time. Maya glanced down at the marine. Her heart squeezed in sympathy. “Can you save him?”
“Humph. I’m not a doc.” Angel added more thick dressings to the bleeder.
“Stop hedging with me. You know about these things.”
“He’ll loose his leg, but he’ll live. Okay?”
Maya nodded. “Too bad about that leg. He’s a nice looking guy—for a marine.”
They both laughed. Both of them were in the army, and there was always good-natured rivalry between the army and the other military services.
“Yeah,” Angel rasped as she pulled a hypodermic needle from her pack and eyed it closely, “I wouldn’t throw him out of bed for eating crackers.”
Maya heard Dove laughing along with them. Their jobs were highly dangerous. On any given day, they could die. Dark humor was always their foil against their feelings, against the adrenaline rush pounding through them. It kept the terror they felt at bay so it didn’t overwhelm them or their ability to think clearheadedly in such a crisis. Relief was threading through their fear now, beginning to ease the tension that had inhabited the aircraft moments earlier.
“Somehow, I can’t see you hookin’ up with a jarhead,” Maya drawled.
Everyone laughed—a laugh of relief. Jarhead was a term army folk used to describe a marine—they just never said it to a marine’s face if they didn’t want a punch thrown their way.
“As good-lookin’ as he is,” Dove said, laughing over the intercom, “he’s probably got a wife and a bunch of kids.”
Maya grinned and nodded. They were going home to safety. Soon enough, they would be heading to their mountain base complex hidden deep in the Peruvian mountains. But first they’d have to fly to Cusco, the nearest large city, and have an emergency medical team take this marine into surgery to try to save his life. Maya and her crew had done this so many times before that the hospital staff in Cusco no longer asked who or what they were. Flying around in black, unmarked helicopters, wearing black, body-fitting uniforms, helmets and highly polished leather military boots, these women were an enigma to those who saw them. The hospital officials no longer asked about them, they simply allowed them to offload their wounded, give their names and a contact number of someone in a high government office in Lima, the capital, before they left for parts unknown.
As Maya knelt there, holding the thick, blood-soaked dressings over the marine’s leg, she saw color starting to ease back into his pale, sweaty face. “I think he’s coming to,” she warned Angel.
“That’s okay…I’ve got him on morphine. He ain’t gonna feel a thing. Don’t worry, he won’t put up a fight.”
“Good,” Maya rasped as she watched the man’s dark, short lashes move. Angel didn’t always get painkillers into her patients soon enough, and they came back to consciousness swinging and fighting. And in a small helo like this, there wasn’t much space to dodge flying fists. Maya positioned herself so she could face him. He’d be groggy, in deep shock, and probably not very coherent around his surroundings. Reaching out, she gripped his bloodied, scraped left hand and held it firmly in her own. Angel quickly traded places with her in order to work on his leg, trying to sterilize it as best she could. Maya leaned closer to the marine.
The noise in the cabin of the Cobra was ferocious. Dove had redlined the engine to full throttle. The aircraft was old and shook like an old dog on trembling legs as it flew powerfully toward Cusco. Below them, the green velvet cape of the jungle spread outward. They were down below ten thousand feet and were beginning to wind among the loaf-shaped mountains clothed in green raiment. Wispy white clouds that always clung to the mountains blew like smoke across the windshield of the speeding aircraft.
“You’re alive,” Maya shouted near his ear. “Just take it easy. We’ve got the senator’s daughter on board. You’re both safe.” She squeezed his hand to drive home her words.
His eyes opened slightly, to reveal murky-looking green depths.
Maya held his vacant stare. His mouth opened, then closed. His pupils were huge and black—from the hit of morphine Angel had just shot him up with. Good. He didn’t need to know what had happened to his right leg. The marine blinked twice. She saw more awareness coming back to him. He had a strong mouth, and was used to being obeyed when he spoke, she was sure. There was nothing on his uniform to indicate his rank, but she knew instinctually that he was an officer.
“You’re safe. You’re on board my helicopter. We have your girl with us. She’s safe, too. Hang on. We’re flying you to Cusco, to a hospital there. You’re in stable condition.” That was a lie, but Maya didn’t want the marine freaking out if he learned the truth of his fragile medical state.
There was so much noise in his head that Thane could barely make out what the woman leaning close to him in the black, tight-fitting uniform was saying. Where was he? His mind was spongy and refused to work properly. He felt like he was half out of his body. Floating. She was wearing a helmet. She must be a pilot? Not a soldier, no…His mind searched. What? Yes. That was it. Helicopter. He was in a helo. He could feel a familiar shaking and shuddering going on around him. He could feel the constant sensation all though his back and limbs…except for his leg. His right leg. Why couldn’t he feel anything there? He could feel the shivering everywhere else.
Looking up into her face, Hamilton saw the grim set of her full mouth, the narrowed look in her eyes. She was a warrior, no doubt. There was a dangerous glint in her emerald eyes, too. The look of a hunter. Yet, for a moment, Thane saw something else in those slitted, feral eyes. What? He opened his mouth to speak.
“Captain Hamilton…” he croaked. The taste of mud was in his mouth.
She nodded. “Okay…good…we know who you are now.” On missions like this, the Recons wore no identification of any kind, not even their dog tags. “We’ll contact the proper authorities, Captain. I’m Captain Maya Stevenson, army spook pilot. You just hang on. We might look like a ragtag bunch, but believe me, you’re in the best of hands.” She grinned a little.
He tried to smile. He felt the strength of her hand around his. She was surprisingly strong—a big-boned woman, at least six feet tall, who was strong and confident. Right now, he needed that kind of reassurance. Thane became aware of another person. His eyes widened a bit. There was another woman, dressed in a similar black uniform, bent over his legs. She was putting white bandages on him. Funny, he couldn’t feel anything down there. What was going on? When he tried to lift his head, the captain gently pressed her hand on his shoulder and kept him lying down.
“Whoa, Captain. You’re in no shape to go anywhere. We want you to lie still, hear me? That’s my paramedic down there, Sergeant Angelina Paredes.”
His mouth was so dry it felt as if it would crack. He was thirsty. Barely moving his head to the left, he saw the red-haired girl. It took long moments to place her. His mind wasn’t working worth a damn. Closing his eyes, Thane let out a trembling breath of air from between his bloody,
