in there on him you can study. He...” Landon’s voice cracked for a second, and then he pushed on. “He’s known to deal in the sex trade, young girls and women. He’s got a tie to a Georgian sex ring operating out of that country. The CIA and Interpol have been trying to prove the link.”
“He’s captured Ms. Landon to sell her into the sex black market?” Even Josh felt his gut tighten over that question. But hard questions had to be asked.
Landon’s blue eyes were raw and grief-stricken.
“She’s a nurse,” he muttered. “CIA briefing in that file will show that Duarte is a diabetic. He’s slowly dying of it. I’m hoping, that if he has taken Aly...Allison, it’s because he needs her medical expertise. Duarte is a wanted criminal everywhere in South America. If he shows his face in any hospital, they’ll arrest him. And he knows it.”
With a shake of his head, the general growled. “He may need medical help and that’s why they captured her. God...I hope that’s correct...” He rubbed his face with his hand, his voice trembling for a second.
“And where is he right now?”
“He owns a villa. The map is in the file. We’ve got a few bad photos from the satellite. We simply can’t penetrate his hideout because it’s protected from all satellites by that damned triple canopy. That’s why I need you, Sergeant Patterson. You’re the best of the best. You’ve taken that jungle training course down in South America several years ago and were one of the few men to graduate from it. I need someone who can recon, sniff out the land, find her and then rescue her.” He shook his head and gave Josh a hard look. “Sergeant, she’s my little girl. The only family I have. Aly is simply incapable of dealing with something like this.... She’s fragile...idealistic.” His voice deepened and became annoyed. “Aly thinks the world is filled with hope. That there are no bad guys around. I don’t see how she can operate that way,” he muttered with a shake of his head.
“Is she capable of fighting back, sir? Does she have heart? Because if I can find her and rescue her, we’re going to be running for days. I know the Amazon jungle too well. There are no openings to get to a helicopter and be lifted out of there. The only possible route of escape is by utilizing Navy Riverine boats that ply the Amazon.”
“Aly—” Landon shook his head. “Okay, maybe this will answer your question about my daughter having heart. My wife, son and Aly were hit by a dump truck going seventy miles an hour one morning when they were being taken to school. Aly was the only survivor,” he said, his voice lowering. “She suffered many internal injuries, a broken leg, arm, jaw and nose. She was twelve years old when it happened, Sergeant. That kid fought with everything she had to get well. She was critical, but she had a fighter’s heart and soul. I was with her in ICU for two weeks before she came out of that damned coma. And from that moment on, Aly took the fight to her body. She got well faster than any of her team of doctors had ever seen. I know she looks soft, Sergeant.” He gestured to the file folder. “Don’t let it fool you. She’s softhearted, but she’s got a steel spine when the chips are down.”
Josh’s heart wrenched in his chest. Because the photo of Allison Landon spoke of a sensitive, warm, compassionate-looking woman. Not a fighter. “Thank you for sharing that personal experience with me, sir. I needed to know.”
“Yes,” the general said heavily, “you do. You’re not going to be able to extract her without her direct help. I know that. And there’s not a damned thing we can do to help you in this scenario. Your closest help, if you can extract, is a hundred miles downriver, working your way toward the Amazon and that Riverine Squadron boat crew who knows you’ll be coming with her. You’re going to be up against some of the most ruthless killers on earth, Sergeant. You think the Taliban is bad? Try drug soldiers. They like to torture, kill and maim even more than the enemy you’re presently fighting. They have no religion pushing them. They have pure greed, a love of raping and hurting others. They’re all sociopaths. No conscience. No human anything left in their dead souls.”
“Yes, sir,” he said. “I understand.”
“And you’re still willing to do this, Sergeant?”
For a moment Josh hesitated. He lived for these kinds of missions. He knew he was the best. And right now, Allison Landon needed help. His heart twisted and that surprised him. It meant he was getting emotionally involved and that just couldn’t happen. Josh could not afford distraction because it would get him and possibly Aly—Allison—killed. “Yes, sir, I’m more than willing to do this.”
Landon grunted and looked at his watch. “Wheels up in two hours, Sergeant. Get your ass over to Andrews. I have a car waiting for you outside. My attaché, Major Durmond, will take care of the details for you. You just check over the equipment before you board that C-130 heading for that GPS point in Brazil.”
Aly tried to hold on to her escaping terror as the drug soldier, Barrosa shoved her from behind, making her walk faster across the red-dirt courtyard within the villa. She had ridden for three hours through the jungle, in a direction she did not know. The ten-foot green concrete wall surrounding the villa appeared slowly out of the jungle, camouflaged. She would never have known it was nearby. She’d had time to recoup from the slap that Rusak had given her, but her left cheek was badly swollen and throbbed without relief.
It was the least of her worries as Barrosa kept her walking down a red-tiled walkway. Other men, armed drug soldiers, turned and looked at her. What were they going to do with her? Was she a slave? Aly couldn’t wrap her mind around what was happening to her.
Her ponytail had come undone when Rusak had slapped her and now, as she hung her head, not wanting to see the stares of the other soldiers, it provided a wall between them. She was dying of thirst.
“In here,” Barrosa snarled, grabbing her by the shoulder, yanking her to a stop. He kept a grip on her as he opened the door and pushed it open. “Get in!” He shoved her hard.
Aly gasped, almost losing her footing. She saw three women, all dressed in what could only be described as designer clothing, staring at her as she nearly fell into the huge room.
Barrosa growled, “Jakun, get her cleaned up. Don Duarte wants to see her as soon as possible. Put her in jeans and a T-shirt. She’s his medical doctor.”
Aly watched a very tall woman, who was painting her nails at a desk, rise. She was stunningly beautiful, her red hair piled up on her head, her oval face heavily made up with cosmetics. It was her huge green eyes, painted and emphasized, that got her attention. The woman wore white capris that showed off her long legs, a tight bustier that more than showed her breasts barely hidden by the dark green material.
“Of course, Barrosa. I will take care of everything.”
The door shut.
Aly stared at them. They all stared at her. Only Jakun, who swayed toward her like a model on a runway, bearing five-inch heels, didn’t seem surprised.
“I am Jakun,” she said in poor English. “Welcome to Villa Duarte. They had told us that Don Duarte was getting a medical doctor. You must be it?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Aly swallowed tensely. “Who are you? And why am I here?” She wondered if the tall woman was going to slap her for asking a question and tried to prepare herself.
Jakun’s
