Under Fire: The Admiral (10 page)

“One more thing.” Bambi looked at each of
them pointedly. “Either one of you have any martial arts,
self-defense training? Been involved in an up-close and personal
fight where you felt like your life was threatened?”

Gemma shifted uncomfortably. “Why do you need
to know that?”

“So I can determine the kind of help we give
if trouble finds you. Don’t want to pull part of the team away to
help you when you can take care of yourself.”

Bambi looked to him. “Doc?”

“I do a little weight training, run a few
times a week. A while back when you had me pinned to the ground I
was worried,” Ben said, sitting up. “But it wasn’t as bad as fifth
grade. Eileen Pinckney stabbed me in the arm with her pencil and I
pushed her out of her seat. I’ve still got the scar.” He held up
his left arm, looking for the tiny indentation.

Bambi took off his hat, rubbed his forehead,
then washed a hand over his face.

“She was a head taller and said she was gonna
kill me,” Ben added.

“Thanks for sharing,” Bambi said, trying to
hold back a smile and not succeeding.

“Ma’am?”

Gemma hesitated.

“Ma’am, what about you?”

“Mixed martial arts and kickbox training two
to three times a week. Hunter was the third time.”

When she didn’t expand, Bambi pressed her.
“Ma’am, it’s important.”

“A female officer and I were . . . were
confronted by some men.” She moved around. Her eyes darted between
them.

“How many?” Bambi said.

“Five.”

“And?”

She made an exasperated cluck. “They went to
the hospital. We went home.”

Ben was duly impressed and entertained an
image of Gemma and another woman duking it out with five men. From
the look on Bambi’s face he was also impressed.

“The other time,” Bambi coaxed.

“Involved weapons.” Gemma’s voice went so low
Ben found himself leaning in to hear her answer. “People died.”
Gemma’s gaze went up into the canopy and she hissed in a long
breath and let it go slowly. “I was ordered to accompany some
lawmakers on
a fact-finding mission.
” The last words were
coated in bitterness. “To a country south of the U.S. A particular
group took exception to the visit. People were killed. People
wounded.”

Bambi went still. He kept his gaze on Gemma,
then dipped his head in an unspoken nod of approval. Bambi knew
what she was talking about. Ben searched his memory. He kept on top
of incidents south of the border. It was necessary to keep the
teams out of harm’s way.

“One of you gonna share? I told you about
Eileen Pinckney.”

The hard look Gemma shot said there would be
no sharing.

Bambi checked his watch and broke the
silence. “We have a couple hours. Get some rest. I’ll stay
awake.”

“What about the afternoon rains?” Gemma
asked.

“None today,” Bambi said.

Gemma looked around her, brushed the tarp
then laid down on her side, her arm folded under her head, her back
to Ben.

Ben had been going south of the border for
seven years. He searched his memory for any
incidents
and
could only recall one. The medical staff were set to fly to
Guatemala and the State Department yanked their approvals. Things
south of the boarder were unsettled and their safety couldn’t be
guaranteed. A drug cartel attacked U.S. and Mexican officials
visiting a Mexican state. Local police and military refused to
assist the group for fear of cartel reprisals. A handful of agents
and military officers traveling with the officials protected the
group for hours until U.S. special teams arrived in helicopters. In
the suffocating jungle heat a chill skittered over him.
Geezus.
Gemma was there.

Chapter 7

Gemma woke to Bambi nudging her. “Time to
move.” She rolled to her back and yawned. Ben was already
standing.

“You get any sleep?” She stretched and yawned
again.

“Not as much as you,” Ben said, offering a
hand. She grasped it and he pulled her to her feet.

“I expect it to take a good hour to reach the
rest,” Bambi said. “We’re going to be moving slow and quiet.” He
handed a small plastic container over to Gemma. “Slather up with
that skeeter repellent and ah . . . you have any bathroom business
to take care of, now is the time. Once you settle in tonight you
won’t be moving.” He headed off to take care of
his
business
and Gemma and Ben took opposite points of the compass to do the
same.

Bambi moved them at a slow pace, keeping the
noise down, stopping several times to point where Ben should put
his size twelves. Bambi nailed the time perfectly. They reached the
others after an hour hike. Technically, there were still a couple
of hours left before nightfall, but this deep into the jungle the
light was already lost. Hunter took over and guided them to a spot
at the base of a tree surrounded with dense growth. A small
camouflaged tarp was stretched among the foliage. Gemma would have
passed it by if Hunter hadn’t pointed it out. Inside, a downed palm
trunk created a bench for them to sit more comfortably. Their backs
were against a large tree, they were off the ground and could move
their legs occasionally, preventing cramping. And, thank you very
much, another tarp covered the ground. “Bet you never thought about
spending the night with six men like this,” Hunter whispered as he
handed in the packs.

Gemma winked. “You’re right,” she whispered
back. “When I think about spending the night with six men they’re
naked and it sure as hell isn’t doing this.” Hunter’s eyes went
wide. Ben stifled a laugh and Bambi snorted as he scrambled
away.

“There’s been activity at the sub and we’re
going silent. No talking or movement here on out. Bambi tell you
the rules?”

“Yes,” they said in unison.

“You’re clear? Especially about the
weapon?”

“We’re crystal,” Gemma said.

“Sleep,” Hunter said and backed out of the
shelter. Gemma rested her hand on his arm. “Thanks for this.” She
tipped her head.

“See ya round 0100.” His black and green
painted face vanished behind the tarp he now anchored into the
ground. Two slits in the tarp at eye level gave them limited view
of the jungle directly in front.

Tension drained, replaced by relief. Walsh
was now protected by six people instead of one. It was risky
bringing him this close to possible action. The risk was far
outweighed by the fact he now had many protectors. On the trek here
she’d reminded Bambi that civilians in a hot zone were a number-one
priority to be protected at all costs. Ben protested. She’d told
him to be quiet and do as ordered.

The energy she’d gotten from her power sleep
was long gone, drained by heat, humidity and the hike. Her bones
felt soft and her muscles mushy. She was so tired the trunk they
sat on felt like a Pottery Barn sofa. She pulled up the edges of
the ground cloth around her and Ben did the same on his end. He
scooted closer, encircling her with an arm, drawing her against
him. Too tired to resist or care should the other men see she gave
in, she rested her head on his shoulder.

Ben’s lips brushed the top of her head. “Why
didn’t you tell me who you are?” he whispered. His chest rose.

What part of quiet wasn’t he
understanding?
Her cheek scraped the scruff on his jaw as she
lifted her head to look at him. “Shhh.” She shook her head
furiously, putting her fingers to his mouth and tipped her head in
the direction she thought Hunter was. “Don’t . . . want . . . to
give . . . away position.” The jungle gave up a grunt of agreement.
Ben smiled against her fingers, then pressed her head down to his
shoulder. She let him, thoroughly enjoying the feel of his warm
sweaty body against her equally warm and sweaty bod. Her eyes
closed and the next thing she knew a hand covered her mouth,
launching her full awake. Ben’s body flinched against hers as he
undoubtedly woke to the same experience. Unable to see anything
more than eyes inches from her own, she wasn’t sure who belonged to
the hand.

“Quiet.” Bambi’s voice drifted softly like
smoke. She tipped her head and Ben did the same.
It was
happening.
The heavy air carried the sound of powerful boat
engines surging and waning as the person at the wheel navigated up
what could only be a very narrow channel. Men yelled over the
engine noise. Bambi’s hand left her mouth and lifted two fingers to
his eyes. He held up a fist. Flashed five fingers once, then twice,
followed by two more fingers.
Twelve men.
Gemma nodded her
understanding.

Bambi poked Ben’s chest and signed okay. Ben
responded with a nod. He did the same with her, receiving the same
response. Next, the SEAL extended his hands, palms down, lowering
them slowly. She nodded once, indicating she understood. He placed
his machete in her lap and touched the holster under her breasts,
giving her a thumbs-up. He re-anchored the edge of the tarp and
ghosted into the jungle darkness so easily it was unsettling. She
pressed her back against the tree trunk until it hurt. Ben scooted
closer and seemed to be doing the same. She wished she’d thought of
asking for camo paint for their faces and hoped like hell they
wouldn’t need it. She held to the thought in a couple of hours
Bambi or Hunter would materialize in front of them, grinning. She’d
be taken to see the sub, men, millions of dollars of drugs and
contraband. All would be well.

Gemma checked the time, 12:17, then turned
off the watch’s luminescent dial. Things would move fast now. She
and Ben would remain hidden, still and quiet. The SEALs and agents
would do the same, watching and recording the transfer for
posterity. When the load was confirmed, they’d call the various
agencies to swoop in. Larger ships would create a blockade. Heavily
armed boats with heavily armed men would move in. Helicopters would
discourage a boat from making a run for it. Even with thermal
imaging, the thick jungle canopy made helos an accessory until
daylight. They would circle above like dark dragons.

The boat lights flickered eerily through the
dense undergrowth, illuminating their hiding place like flashes of
lightning had the previous night. The engines were killed and a
heavy thunk of the boat connecting with wood, possibly a dock,
echoed around them. Conversations could now be heard clearly. Their
hiding place was closer to the water than she thought. She made a
move to get in front of Ben. He held her in place. His other hand
held a two-foot length of thick branch.

The tension that fled earlier returned,
bringing its companion,
fear
. Fear mixed with excitement.
The combination had her brain shooting adrenaline through her body
like an open fire hydrant. Her heart rate and respiration
increased, the muscles in her back tightened with anticipation. Her
legs throbbed, ready to spring into fight. Tremors of excitement
rippled through her like tiny seismic waves. Barking out orders
from the bridge of a ship or butting heads with politicos was
nothing compared to being in the action. Deep breaths drew in the
stench of diesel exhaust and swamp water churned to the surface by
the propellers of powerful engines.

Ben’s long fingers tightened on her waist.
His body mirrored her tension. She leaned her head back until it
rested on his shoulder and spoke into his ear. “Let go,” she
whispered, peeling his fingers from her waist at the same time. “I
have to be ready.” It was understandable his male mind was
confused. Her protecting him instead of the other way around. She
didn’t need him pulling the man card on her now. She touched the
branch in his hand, nodded and smiled. He shifted, swinging his arm
away.

Halogen lights came to life, snapping and
sizzling in the moist night air illuminating the area like the
fifty yard line at a Monday night football game. She and Ben jerked
back against the tree. This was not expected. Those lights were
bright enough to be seen in outer space. The tarp and foliage kept
them hidden, but . . . She reached down for a handful of moist
jungle earth. Without taking her gaze from the slit, she smeared
her face. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ben doing the
same.

They sat still as stones listening to the
sounds of the men transferring the bales of drugs. Jesus, how were
those five men out there staying calm? To keep doing stuff like
this on a regular basis they had to be adrenaline junkies.

Gemma lifted the machete, inserting the blade
into the slit, resting the tip on the bottom of the opening,
spreading it wider and all hell broke loose.

Chapter 8

Long bursts from automatic weapons came from
the direction of the boats, along with curses and orders in Spanish
to kill the intruders. The rumble in the jungle was on. Gemma threw
her arm across Ben’s chest, pushing him back, and went to her
knees, maneuvering into a defensive position. Thank gawd he wasn’t
resisting her attempts to protect him and she could focus on making
sense of the chaos. The staccato dit-dit-dit of the SEALs’ H&K
416s shattered the night. The big lights hissed and sizzled like
water hitting a hot skillet as bullets struck, returning a measure
of darkness to the night. The boat engines revved. The traffickers
fired long spraying bursts that sounded like buzz saws and cut
vegetation like supersonic weed whackers. The boat’s powerful
engines shifted gears. A percussive whamp momentarily halted the
gunfire. Gemma pulled Ben off the log, pushed him to the ground
using her body as a shield. The SEALs set off a second charge, and
a third. The bullet trading got serious.

“They’re blowing everything up,” Ben
said.

Gemma shook her head. The SEALs wouldn’t
destroy evidence. Loud cracks, very much like the one they’d heard
last night in the storm, filled the night air, overwhelming the
cacophony of the fight. Trees blown by the SEALs ripped and tore at
branches and smaller trees on their way to the ground, ending in
splashes and massive thuds vibrating the ground. Instead of
scuttling the boats, the SEALs downed trees to block the waterway,
preventing retreat. No matter what happened, those boats and drugs
weren’t leaving.