When the man smiled, it made her stomach roll.
He seemed pleased that she easily obeyed. Looking up at Rusak, he said, “Leave.”
“Don Duarte,” Rusak protested, “I should remain. Her medical bag contains sharp objects.”
Duarte shrugged. “Then stand over there. Out of the way.” He turned his attention to Aly. “And you, my new physician... What is your name?”
Aly’s eyes went wide and she almost blurted that she wasn’t a physician. She remembered what Rusak had said earlier. “M-my name is Allison Landon, sir.”
Duarte chuckled and gave Rusak an amused look. “Rusak. Look, an American who calls me sir. Isn’t that sweet?”
Rusak glared at Aly.
She gulped, belatedly remembering to call him Don Duarte. She tensed, waiting to be slapped by Rusak. Or by this man who looked jovial in comparison. She didn’t dare speak.
“Tut, tut,” he told her, slowly leaning forward. “You may call me sir if you want. It’s a sign of respect and I can see you are frightened, Allison Landon.” He touched her jaw, peering at her swollen cheek. “Hmm,” he murmured. “You must be a fighter? Rusak had orders not to touch you....” Duarte turned, glaring at his Russian security chief. “What happened?” he demanded, anger in his voice.
Rusak told him the details, and then added, “She needs to learn to be subservient to you, Don Duarte.” The Russian smiled a little. “I would be complimented if you’d allow me to bring her into line for you.”
Aly gasped, freezing. Her heart went wild in her chest, adrenaline pouring into her bloodstream. Rusak had roughly touched her breast. She automatically gave Don Duarte a pleading, silent look to not allow him to touch her.
“Well,” Duarte murmured, sitting back, giving Rusak a glare. “Under the circumstances, you’d have my new physician incapacitated and unable to cure me. Your request is declined, Rusak.”
Relief skittered through her. Aly closed her eyes for a moment, her emotions raw.
“My dear...” Duarte said. “Look at me. You don’t need to be afraid any longer.” He gave her a slight smile. “I own you. No one, not even Rusak, touches my property. Now, we must talk of my health and you must listen closely. I have need of your services.”
“Y-yes, sir...I mean, Don Duarte.”
His eyes gleamed with delight. “You are very refreshing to me, Allison. You’re a scared little rabbit. Not very pretty, but I will not blame you for that. What I’m most interested in is that you can cure my feet.” He held up one bare foot and placed it across her thigh. “Unfortunately, I’m a diabetic. I cannot go to any hospital to be treated because they will arrest me and throw me into prison.” He scowled, but then went on pleasantly, “That is why I had to kidnap you. My sources in the region have spoken highly of you for the past two years.”
Aly’s brows shot up.
Duarte smiled. “Yes, my dear, I have eyes and ears all over South America.” He made a flourishing gesture with his manicured hand. “I must hide here, in my jungle villa, while being hunted by the police and Brazilian army. I am safe enough here, but I cannot get help for my toes.” He pointed to them. “I need you to help me, Allison. My diabetes is severe. I have gangrene on several of my toes. I need it stopped. That is why you are here.”
* * *
Josh was standing near the open ramp of the C-130 as it flew through the dark night over Brazil. He’d double-checked everything, including the eighty-pound pack hooked to the front of his parachute harness. That ruck contained everything he’d need for this op. It was a lot of weight, but it couldn’t be helped.
He looked through his goggles, which protected his eyes, as he moved the oxygen mask on his face, making sure it was sealed and he was getting a good flow on an inhale. They were at forty thousand feet, circling and adjusting for the winds. The roar of the four-engine turbo prop, the not-so-subtle vibration through the transport, moved through him.
The air was freezing cold, whipping and slapping against Josh’s body. With his gloves on, he checked the helmet strap one more time. He wanted nothing loose before he strolled off the end of the ramp and into the black space.
The jump master, who stood opposite him on the ramp, would give him a voice and hand signal once the C-130 had adjusted to wind changes at various altitudes. Strata of wind could carry him too far from the GPS point where he needed to land. There was a small clearing, very small, not enough for a helicopter insertion, on the same trail Aly Landon had been taken from three days ago. He would work his wedge-shaped chute into it. If he had luck... If not, and the winds were acting up, he could find himself crashing through three layers of canopy, and the chances of breaking an arm or leg or busting up his ribs would become a reality. Not something he wanted to do.
The jump master gave him the signal. He heard the man’s gruff voice in his earphones, as well. A HAHO jump was something he practiced every six months. He’d gone over everything three times. As he walked further out onto the ramp, he literally walked out into space, the wind tearing and catching at him.
Josh dived into blackness. He heard the C-130 rapidly being left behind and above him. Stretching out arms and legs, he stopped the tumble and used the flat plane of his body to glide silently downward. The cold was icy. The wind whistled constantly around his helmet. He brought his right wrist up and looked at the dials on his special altitude watch. Thirty-nine thousand. Another watch gleamed with green numbers that gave him his distance from the GPS point where he needed to land.
He made adjustments, loving the freedom that the HALO gave him. Some Recon Marines hated jumping out of a plane, but not him.
At thirty-eight thousand feet, Josh yanked the cord to his main chute. He’d been plummeting like a rock toward the earth. As the chute deployed above him, he knew the snap of it opening would jerk him hard. He grunted, feeling his entire body being yanked. Then, using the risers to keep on target, he turned the silent chute to the left. Dangling, moving slowly back and forth, he pulled his NVGs down off his helmet and, pushing aside his flight goggles, set the night-vision goggles over his eyes. Instantly, the dark lit up with green and black objects. Josh sailed through the blackness for nearly twenty miles before reaching his objective.
He spotted the opening and manipulated the risers. The ground was coming up fast and he sailed silently over the opening. As he made a ninety-degree turn, he slowed his forward speed, almost, for a second, hanging in the sky.
The earth rushed up at him, long, green strands of grass and a few bushes in the opening. Making his knees soft, Josh hauled hard on the risers at the last second. The wedged chute pulled up, stopping nearly all his forward speed. And just as light as a bee landing on a flower, he hit the damp, slippery grass with his combat boots, landing and then running a few feet to maintain his balance. The heaviness of the ruck pack nearly toppled him, but Josh leaned back, slowing to a walk. And then, he was down.
Swiftly, he got rid of the oxygen mask, turning off the small tank on his harness. Kneeling, he looked around the tree line. Nothing. He had to get rid of the chute. He knew in this part of the Amazon basin, there was a six-inch layer of dead leaves and below that, nothing but sand. It was easy digging with his small shovel and in no time all the gear he didn’t need was permanently buried, never to be found again.
He made his way to the edge of the tree line before crouching and keying his sat
