Course of Action: The Rescue: Jaguar Night / Amazon Gold

Josh could see sweat making the general’s deeply furrowed brow gleam.

“She’s missing,” Landon growled, his hand on the desk flexing slowly into a fist. “There’s a regional drug lord in that area. Duarte is his name. He’s active and his drug soldiers kill and ask questions later. I need you to find her. I’ve cut your orders. You’ll perform a HAHO, high-altitude, high-opening parachute drop, into the area she was last known to be. We can’t use satellites because the area is old-growth, triple-canopy jungle. Once on the ground, you will find her through whatever means at your disposal. You’ll be given a sat phone and anything else you need. If I could send a company of Marines into that friggin’ place, I’d do it, but it’s not possible. I strongly believe Duarte has her. Now, questions?”

Josh sat forward. “Sir, is this a kidnap and ransom?”

“No,” Harrison muttered. “There’s not been one phone call to me requesting money.”

“Why would Duarte grab her?”

The man’s face began to crumple and then he seemed to force himself to remain unemotional.

“Duarte deals in drugs. All kinds of drugs. There’s a dossier 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.”

Chapter 2

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 red lips pulled into a smile. “I can see that Rusak has already trained you to be subservient.” She flicked a long, elegant finger toward Aly’s face. Her smile disappeared. “You are now the property of Don Duarte. I am his mistress and these two...” she said, shrugging, “are his play toys when he desires a change from how I can pleasure him.”

A sickening feeling rolled through Aly. “Why am I here?”

Jakun pointed toward the white-tiled hall. “You are his doctor. He needs medical help. Come, I must get you out of this medical uniform, get you a shower and change of clothes. He’s been expecting you.”

“I—I’m thirsty. Do you have any water?” Aly looked around the opulent living room. The other two women, also dressed and made up, were reading magazines where they sat on two buttery-yellow leather couches. They ignored her.

Jakun nodded. “Yes, of course. Come to the bathroom. Everything you need is there.”

She followed the swaying Jakun. Everything about this apartment was elegant, richly appointed, modern. In the bathroom, which was as large as the living room, Aly saw bottled water on the counter. She grabbed it, twisted off the lid and gulped it thirstily. Jakun seemed amused, her arms across her breasts, a faint smile on her red mouth.

Aly drank all of it and half of another bottle. “Thanks,” she whispered, rubbing the water off her lips.

“You are welcome. What is your name, please?”

“Allison Landon. My friends call me Aly.”

“I am responsible for you and you must do as I ask.” She sniffed through her fine, thin nose. “Otherwise, Rusak will come in here and beat me. And I have had enough of his fists to last me a lifetime.” Her eyes narrowed on Aly. “You will obey me instantly. If you do not, I will call in Rusak to deal with you. Do I make myself clear?”

Oh, yes, perfectly clear. Aly had no desire to be anywhere near that bastard again. “Yes. What do you want me to do?”

Jakun smiled. “Thank you.” She turned and pointed to a stack of fluffy pink towels, soap, comb and brush. There was also shampoo and conditioner nearby. “Get washed as soon as possible.” She walked over to a stack of clothes with a set of sandals on top of them. “Rusak called me by radio and told me your height and weight. He guessed about your shoe size.” She picked up the strapped white sandals. “If they do not fit, I will get you a pair that does.”

“Okay,” Aly said, seeing that there was a pair of jeans, a pink tee, bra and panties. Nothing fancy. Thank God she didn’t have to wear those dresses and five-inch heels.

Jakun seemed pleased and left, closing the door behind her.

Aly ignored the gold faucets and showerhead. She felt as though she’d stepped into some rich man’s estate. Her mind whirled with terror and thoughts of how to escape. She knew she was in shock from being roughed up by Rusak.

As she took a cooling shower, she cried for Juan, her hands against her mouth so no one would hear her sobs. She washed her shoulder-length hair and quickly dried off. The clothes fit. But the designer jeans were too elegant for her. She was a plain Jane, liked utilitarian clothes, not gussied up with embroidery as these were.

The pink tee was loose-fitting and she was grateful. Aly wanted to hide in the clothes. Compared to the other women, she was lush and curvy. The three women reminded her of starving sticks. Runway models. Who were they? Jakun had said she was Don Duarte’s mistress and that the other two were play toys. Did that mean Aly was safe? That the man would leave her alone?

As she walked out of the bathroom and into the living room, Jakun gave her a scathing look.

“I cannot say that Don Duarte is going to be pleased by how you look.” She sniffed. “Really, you look more like the common Indian laborers he employs here.”

Aly said nothing. A quick glance at the other two women, who gave her bored looks and went back to reading their magazines, said it all. In Aly’s opinion, ugly was good.

Jakun came forward and handed her a rubber band. “Put your hair back,” she ordered.

Aly nodded and took the rubber band. In no time, her ponytail settled between her shoulder blades.

“Are you hungry?” Jakun asked.

“No.” Her stomach was a tight knot of unending terror.

“Well, you will be later. I will have the chef make you something. Come.” She gestured toward the main door.

Aly followed the beautiful, graceful and gazelle-like Jakun down the red-tiled walkway. On either side was bougainvillea in bright bloom, fuchsia and other white and red flowers. She took in the details of her surroundings.

There were two levels to the villa. Two floors. The trees practically embraced the villa, some of their limbs hanging over the wall and into the courtyard itself. The smell of orchids, in trees somewhere, provided a hint of clean fragrance. The humidity was high and she was perspiring.

At the dirt plaza that led to a massive ten-foot-high wooden door, Jakun halted. She gestured sharply.

Aly’s heart squeezed. It was Rusak. Oh, God...

“She’s ready,” Jakun said, stepping back. “She’s yours.”

Rusak nodded. He gave Aly a slow appraisal. “Come,” he growled. “Follow me.”

To her relief, Rusak turned on his heel. She hurried to catch up with him as he took the red-tiled walkway around the villa. She saw two black Jeeps and a black Mercedes-Benz being cleaned by several young Indian boys. There were also two women, wearing long, dark blue dresses, with huge baskets on their heads. It appeared as if they were carrying laundry.

Rusak took her inside a huge foyer that led into a massive living room. He then sharply gestured for her to precede him up a circular tiled staircase with black wrought-iron handrails.

The sandals were a bit too big and Aly nearly tripped once, catching herself. At the top, Rusak moved to the right and she followed him down a long, wide hall. On either side were red doors and blue doors, and at the end of the hall, a yellow door. Rusak halted in front of it and knocked twice, sharply.

Aly held her breath, not knowing what to expect. A young, beautiful Indian girl with long black hair halfway down her back answered. She bowed to Rusak and stepped aside. He turned, jerking his head, a sign for Aly to enter before him.

Her throat tightened. She felt as if she were being thrown into a den of lions to be eaten.

The room was large, opening up into an airy patio. Soft Latin music was playing in the background. Aly saw two more Indian girls, both in their teens, perhaps, and dressed in skimpy costumes similar to Jakun’s.

Her gaze moved to a man sitting in a very large black leather chair. He wore a white peasant-style shirt and black slacks. Her eyes caught the fact that his feet were bare. She glimpsed that there was something wrong with some of the toes, but feared being slapped for staring at the man. He was a heavy man, rolls of fat beneath his round face. He had long black hair pulled back into a ponytail and a thick black mustache that emphasized his full, thick lips. His dark brown eyes scared the hell out of her. They held the same flat, dead look she’d seen in Rusak’s eyes.

“Come, come,” the man said. “Sit here.” He pointed to a leather stool near his feet.

Aly instantly obeyed, her heart hammering with fear. 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 phone. He clicked it twice. The CIA in Langley, Virginia, was responsible for keeping tabs on him. Anything he needed, he was to call them first.

Josh gave the two-click signal to the operator back in the States, which would indicate he had landed safely and on target. He quickly put the sat phone in a special pouch on his harness. So far, so good.

It was 0200. The middle of the night. He had a map and compass as well as his GPS equipment. The next order of business was to find the path that would lead him directly to Duarte’s villa. Luckily, a CIA satellite passing overhead had intercepted an encrypted message from the villa. Someone had called to tell another person that the medical doctor had arrived.