Dangerous Mountain Mission, page 34
“No hablo inglés.” José shrugged.
Logan stepped closer, his face inches away. “You can either cooperate, or I can make the next few days very difficult for you.”
José smirked. “You’re not allowed to hurt me.”
Without hesitating, Logan crushed his knuckles into the man’s mouth. “Try me.”
“Logan!” Ed called, eyebrows raised.
But Logan ignored him. Time was slipping away and every passing moment increased the odds of Jimenez and Ashley disappearing across the border where he would never find them again. Too many hours had passed already.
José turned to the side, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “He’s not here.”
“That’s obvious,” Logan growled. “Where is he? And the woman?”
“The federal agent?” José laughed. “Dead by now.”
A knife in the stomach would’ve felt better, but Logan clenched his jaw and sucked in a deep breath. Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe not. In either case, José had known exactly whom he was talking about. Did that mean she’d been there?
Movement behind José caught his eye. One of the forced laborers. He raised a wavering left hand. The fingertips were filthy and ragged, and multiple scrapes covered his knuckles. Poor man.
Logan strode over to him. “Do you speak English?”
“A little.” The man nodded, glancing nervously at José.
“You’re free. He can’t hurt you anymore,” Logan assured him. “Have you seen an American woman? Brown hair?” He held up a hand. “This tall?”
When the man nodded again, Logan’s breath lodged in his lungs. Ashley had been here.
“When?” he prompted.
“Today. Gone now. Jimenez take her.” The man pointed to the west, where the trail dwindled away into a wall of thick brush. “That way. We go that way with gold, too. Trucks wait on road.”
Just as Ashley’s contact had told her, they were getting the gold out through Juniper Canyon. He could see now where the foliage had been damaged and cut at the trail’s end, leaving a narrow, barely visible path.
“Where’s he taking her?” Logan balled his fists, every nerve in his body waiting impatiently for the answer. “To Mexico?”
“No. To desert. Kill her.”
No. His fingernails dug into his palms as he turned to find Ed already beside him. “I’m taking two agents into Juniper Canyon. Will’s checking campsites on Glenn Spring Road. He can help search.”
“I’ll get that FBI chopper up over the stretch between Juniper and Mariscal.” Ed squeezed Logan’s shoulder, his voice steady as always. “Go get her.”
* * *
Ashley’s head throbbed. Again. She groaned, forcing her eyes open. The sun scorched down like an oven set to broil.
“Good, she’s awake.” Someone kicked her hard in the ribs. Not Will’s voice, but the face was invisible against the bright yellow orb of sun overhead.
Another voice—a man’s, crisp and clear but with an accent—said, “Manuel, stop kicking the federal agent. Stand her up.”
Ah, one of her friends from San Vicente. Lovely. He yanked her to her feet, making her head spin like a top. A black SUV and a beat-up truck were parked nearby, off to the side of the dirt road where they now stood. Her hands were bound tightly behind her back and a rock dug into her foot.
Great. No shoes. She’d never had the chance to put them on. Logan would have a thing or two to say about that...if she ever saw him again.
She was still in her running clothes, which meant she had nothing. No gun, no cell phone, no water, no knife. No way to tell Logan what had happened, or where to find her, or that he had to arrest Will Sykes.
A man dressed in a linen shirt and khaki pants stood a few feet away. “We meet at last, Agent Thompson.”
“Jimenez?” she asked, although it was hardly necessary. Despite his short stature, he wore the air of a man used to getting his way.
He nodded.
She glanced around, trying to orient herself. The Chisos towered behind her, close enough she was still on the US side. But the profile of the mountains didn’t match the view from the mine and the cactuses and low brush of the open desert surrounded them. They must be somewhere in that long barren stretch between the mine and the border. “What do you want with me?”
“We’ve known who you are since your second day in this park. You don’t think I can let you keep chasing me, do you?”
Second day? That would explain the almost immediate break-in at her home. “Will?” She faltered. How could he have known? “Did Barclay tell him?”
“The superintendent?” Jimenez laughed. “No, my nephew knew the moment he met you.”
“Nephew?” She shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. “He’s only got one relative listed on his record, and it isn’t an uncle.”
“His mother is my sister.” Jimenez smirked. “Naturally, I wouldn’t want his record tarnished by association. Easy enough to change, with the right influence.”
She scrunched her eyebrows together. So hot out here. Her mouth already felt pasty dry. “But how did he recognize—” She stopped short.
Of course. The variable she’d always known was possible but hadn’t expected. “Sam showed him my picture, didn’t he?” He must’ve been very close to Will. Maybe even wanted to set her up with him one day. She shook her head.
“Yes. It was a coincidence he had the chance to kill you on your first night. Unfortunately he didn’t realize it was you until the next day, when he got a good look at your face. A shame he didn’t take a closer look the first time around. But, no matter, we will finish the job soon.” The cold glint in his eyes sent a shiver down Ashley’s spine.
She had to stall, to give Logan time to find her. Ignoring the fear clawing at her heart, she took a steadying breath. “What about the map? How did you know I had it?”
“The logical conclusion. After my careless nephew lost his copy, your brother found the mine. When you showed up, the best explanation was that he had sent the map to you.”
Sam had found the mine. Her heart broke. Why had he gone searching alone? Impulsive, overconfident, energetic Sam. “And his death...?”
“Not an accident. Very good, Agent Thompson. Shooting him would have been too obvious, so we left him to die of exposure.” He shrugged. No loss.
Her insides burned. The man who had killed her brother stood three feet away and here she was, unable to do anything about it.
Where was God’s perfect justice? How long, oh Lord, will You wait?
“They’ll find you,” she snapped, “and you’ll spend a lifetime in jail for all the people you’ve hurt.”
He laughed again. “I think not. In fact, before you join your brother, I wanted to show you something.” He raised a hand toward one of the vehicles and two men got out, one with his hands behind his back.
Her stomach tightened. It was her contact from San Vicente.
“Recognize him?” Jimenez asked softly. Dangerously. “He won’t be feeding tips to the FBI anymore.” He pulled a handgun from his belt as the guard forced the man to his knees on the hot, dusty road.
The man on the ground wept, tears running down his wrinkled cheeks, but he kept his back straight. “Para mi Lena.”
Jimenez placed the barrel of the gun against the man’s forehead. “This is your fault, Agent Thompson.”
Ashley opened her mouth to object, or to beg—she wasn’t sure which—but before any sound came out, Jimenez pulled the trigger.
Her eyes snapped shut as the man’s blood splattered across her face. Bile burned in her esophagus.
It would be her turn next. She clenched her jaw, staring at Jimenez. Logan would catch him and bring him to justice. “They’ll find you.”
“But they won’t find you,” he jeered. “Not alive, anyway.”
Unshed tears burned in Ashley’s eyes as she waited to be forced to her knees. To feel the cold metal ring of the barrel dig into her skin.
Instead, at a nod from Jimenez, Manuel and the other man dragged her toward the truck.
“Goodbye, Agent Thompson,” Jimenez called after her. “Please give my best to your brother.”
Her stomach dropped. They were going to dump her in the desert, right there on Dodson Trail, like they had done with Sam. And Logan would have no idea where to look.
She didn’t know which hurt more—the thought of never seeing him again or knowing he would blame himself for her death.
EIGHTEEN
Logan crouched behind a rock formation at the trailhead of Juniper Canyon, watching the two parked vehicles fifty yards away on the dirt road that led south. He and the two agents had taken the narrow, rugged path—created by Jimenez—across the ridge from Pine Canyon Trail to Juniper Canyon, and then followed the steep descent through the canyon to the base of the mountains.
Here they were in the Sierra Quemada, the burnt lands, where the only cover came in the form of rocks and barrel cactuses. Moments before, when a gunshot catapulted his heart into his throat, Logan had crept as close as he could without risking being seen. The other two agents had split to either side.
The truck engine roared to life. They couldn’t afford to wait, not if Ashley was in one of those vehicles. The way the SUV was parked blocked his view of the people, but there were at least two, maybe three, sets of boots visible beneath the vehicle. And what looked like the victim of the gunshot.
He couldn’t stop to consider the possibilities.
He dashed forward, keeping low to the ground, moving from barrel cactus to cactus, until he finally reached the back right bumper of the SUV. Doors slammed, and the truck sped away, kicking up a cloud of dust on the dirt road.
Voices came from the far side of the SUV, speaking rapidly in Spanish. Logan crouched low, peered beneath the vehicle and watched as a pair of hands hoisted a body.
Not Ashley. Relief threatened to make his legs go weak.
As the man with the body headed for the SUV, Logan slipped along the far side. A faint pulsing reached his ears from across the desert to the west—the helicopter.
He edged around to the front of the SUV as the latch clicked to open the rear tailgate.
The other man had stopped beside the driver’s-side door.
Leading with his gun, Logan swiveled around the bumper and aimed his gun at a well-dressed man who could only be Jimenez. “National Park Service. Drop your weapon.”
Jimenez’s eyes widened for a second before his face contorted into a smile.
“Drop it,” Logan repeated. “Or I will shoot.”
Jimenez held up his handgun, dropping it onto the sand. “No, you won’t. You Americans are all the same. So worried about protecting everyone’s rights. Trials and justice and law.”
“Instead of the anarchy you want?”
“It’s not anarchy.” He smirked. “I’m merely helping the government. Offering employment. And justice.”
The other man appeared from behind the vehicle—Manuel, from San Vicente—his gun pointed at Logan. Not more than ten feet away. Hard to miss at that range.
Logan didn’t flinch, even though every nerve in his body begged for self-preservation. “Drop the weapon, Manuel.”
Manuel ignored him, taking a step forward.
“Last chance, Manuel,” Logan said through gritted teeth. “FBI agents are in position. You’re not getting out of here.”
Manuel’s gaze darted back and forth, his knuckles white around the gun. But Jimenez’s eyes narrowed, his lips parting to give the order to fire.
Before any sound came out, the two agents stepped up behind Manuel. “Freeze.”
Manuel’s eyes went wide, nostrils flaring.
Logan sensed his panic, the way his finger hovered over the trigger despite the agents behind him. Instinct told him to move and he flung himself sideways, rolling across the hard dirt as bullets from Manuel’s gun raked the sand where he’d been standing a split second before.
Another shot fired and Manuel crumpled to the ground.
Jimenez’s face paled, but he clenched his teeth together. “I’ll repay you for this.”
“I don’t think so.” Logan climbed to his feet, pulling out his handcuffs. “Not where you’re going.”
While the agents secured the two suspects, Logan radioed in their position. Precious minutes had passed since the truck had driven away. Had Ashley been inside it? Or had they taken her somewhere else entirely?
Questioning Jimenez was useless.
Logan would need that chopper, a dark speck growing larger on the horizon.
Ed’s voice crackled over the radio. “Sykes will be at your position in five minutes to help search.”
* * *
Ashley sank to the ground beside a barrel cactus, narrowly avoiding the giant spines. Everything around her was brown, brittle, dry. Or spikey. Dead, crunchy grasses. Brown brush that wouldn’t sprout leaves until the next rain. Leathery succulents hoarding their toxic alkaloid water beneath a thousand spikes.
The Chisos loomed to the north, Emory Peak visible against the bright blue sky. To the southwest lay the smaller outlying mountains. Somewhere in between ran Dodson Trail, the one tiny thread of hope she had, because at the end of its twelve-mile length lay a paved parking lot and a water cache.
The other option was to go back. They’d blindfolded her before dumping her out here, but the dirt road where she’d seen Jimenez was probably only a few miles away. No water that way, though, unless rangers were searching the area.
She turned over one of her feet, prodding gently at the red, bubbling blisters and pulling out a sharp spine. At least they’d had the decency to cut her hands free.
Sweat dripped down her back, down her neck, down over her eyebrows. Soaking even her sweat-wicking workout gear. She’d laugh if it wasn’t so much effort.
Logan had taught her all about desert survival and the signs of heat stroke. Muscle cramps would start soon. Her arms and face were already red, both from her internal heat and from sun exposure. But the real danger wouldn’t begin until she stopped sweating. When her body ran out of moisture reserves and her internal temperature would rise unchecked.
Ashley shuddered. Better to think about survival than death.
First rule of desert survival: don’t panic. Check. FBI training had taught her to stay calm in any situation.
Second rule: find cover. Shade wasn’t an option. She’d considered ripping off part of her shirt to make a hat of sorts but decided stretchy black fabric over one’s head probably wouldn’t make a big dent on things.
Third rule: conserve water. Breathing with her mouth shut was about the extent of things. Logan had cleared up the cactus misconception on the first day. Those big, old barrel cactuses weren’t full of water, they were full of alkaloid toxins that would send the unwary backpacker into a downward spiral of gut-emptying vomiting and diarrhea. A few varieties, like the prickly pear, were edible, but how exactly did one get into a cactus with nothing but bare hands? A sharp rock might do the job...if it came to that.
She’d keep an eye out for any young prickly pear pads, or nopales, as she walked. Or a tinaja. Maybe there’d be a bit of collected water left from the rainfall earlier in the week.
Her limbs felt like lead weights as she hauled herself to her feet. Maybe it was better to sit still in the hot sun than to walk in it, but surely there was shade somewhere out here. Surely, if she pressed on a little bit longer, she’d find the trail. Maybe with hikers.
Sam had thought the same thing, hadn’t he? He’d almost made it to the trail. A half mile away, Logan had said.
Was Sam’s skin this red already?
Did his tongue cling to the roof of his mouth the way Ashley’s did? Like a cotton ball ready to choke her.
Why did the good people have to die, while the bad guys drove away in their air-conditioned trucks with bags full of gold?
Didn’t God care?
Useless anger tore at her insides. The same question had plagued her since Sam’s death. Her brother had loved God. Trusted Him.
She had loved and trusted Him, too. And what had He done for them?
She stopped short as a picture forced its way into her mind, into her heart, so abruptly her breath caught.
Jesus, a crown of thorns on his head. Nails in his hands. A spear thrust into his side. Crying out as he bore the sins of the world, taking the punishment each one of them deserved. God made flesh.
God had done that for her and Sam.
And all she could do was complain. She sank to her knees on the hot, rocky ground, hardly able to breathe, and pressed a trembling hand to her mouth.
I’m sorry. Her esophagus burned, but no tears came. No water to spare. I’m so, so sorry for doubting You.
Her anger melted away like snow in the face of His love and, finally, His peace—the peace that passed all understanding—flowed into the brittle hole she had guarded for so long inside her chest.
A little tinaja filled with living water.
But whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst.
She smiled. Sam had that water. He was with Jesus now. Waiting for her.
The thought reverberated in her chest as she struggled to her feet. She’d get to see him soon, and she could tell him she finally understood about Jimenez and the map and what had happened. She could even understand why he loved this place. Vast, dangerous, wild...but free. The constraints of the city, the noise of everyday life that prevented her from really thinking and feeling—they were all gone. Out here, in air so fresh it was like no one else had ever breathed it, nothing stood between her and the things that mattered. Like knowing her Savior.
