Page 32 of Vaquero
Chapter Twelve
Just inside the cabin door, Meg froze, letting her eyes grow accustomed to the dark. Her senses flared, searching for the killer she’d come to end. Her nostrils widened to detect sweat, male body odor, or worse. When nothing came back to her, she slid one foot forward, keeping her sole flat to the floorboards to keep from accidentally stepping on anything. Or anyone. With Oz’s army outside and their loud, brash voices behind her, the silence inside the cabin became her friend. Like smells, or lack of them, silence encouraged confidence. Orlando Zapata wasn’t at home. Which meant he was with his men. That gave her time to locate Pepe. Maybe Julio. Wouldn’t he be surprised?
She inched forward, wishing again for her gear bag and the flashlight in it. Or a match. Any light would be better than sneaking along in this inky darkness. Three more cautious, sliding steps forward, brought her shin, “Ouch,” to the bottom rung of a heavy wooden chair. She let her fingertips walk along the edge of the desk that went with the chair. Then the wall behind the chair. The wall. Another door, this one left barely open.
Carefully, she pushed it open. A chilly draft breathed past her. Still no light. No sound. No smells. Well, almost no smells. An unexpected acrid scent that could only be sulfur and cordite mixed with sawdust and gunmetal struck her nostrils. She didn’t need light to know she’d located Orlando Zapata’s weapons cache.
Working quickly, but still only by touch, she located a wall of stacked, long, wooden crates, most likely rifles. Then metal ammo boxes that climbed twenty high. Bags of brass shells. Rolls upon rolls of coiled dynamite fuse.Shit. Were these… Yup.Two open crates of what could only be LAWs. Tank killers. As in sleek, light anti-tank, over-the-shoulder rocket launchers. Most likely M72 equivalents. But her searching fingertips quickly established the launch tubes were hollow and empty. Not loaded. That was good and that was bad. Where were their sixty-six-millimeter warheads that, when fired, could penetrate eight to twelve inches of armor?
Man. What she’d give for a flashlight. Not a match. Not in this room. Just one bright LED flashlight. That would do.
With her heart pounding up high in her throat, Meg searched quickly for those warheads. It would only take one fired in the right place to end Oz. She had to find them. He wouldn’t have bought all those launchers without having tried them out. But those open boxes of launchers could only mean—
“What the fuck are you doing here, Corporal Duncan?”
Meg whirled on that tough male voice, but came face to face with a bright stabbing light in her eyes. “Charlie? Charlie Brown?”
With a quick flick, he blocked the light with one hand, his long fingers now glowing pink. “Jesus Christ, are you trying to get yourself killed?”
What a sight for sore eyes! Her friend. Charlie Brown. All six feet, five inches of him. Decked out in tactical gear. Armed to the hilt and loaded. NVGs sat high on his head, and a big shit-eating grin stretching his ruggedly handsome, angular, but round, face.
Blowing out a deep breath of relief, Meg plowed into him. When he tucked her head under his chin, her ear went easily over his generous heart. Man, she loved this guy. “You scared me. Thought you were Oz.” Then she pulled back. “Why aren’t you on that Blackhawk and out of here?”
The smile she’d grown to love during their single operation together, lit his face. His shaggy hair and the thick scruff on his chin declared he’d been going to or coming back from covert ops in some far-off country when he’d gotten the call to rescue her and her children. Of course he’d obliged. Charlie’d always been a tough guy and a risk-taker. Unmarried the last time they’d talked over drinks, he was a damn handsome man. Blonde and blue-eyed, he was now darkly tanned and as rugged as they came. She’d fallen in love with him at first sight. But like a brother, not a lover. He was another Trevor, always looking out for her like a brother, instead of competing with her like other male soldiers.
For whatever reason, they’d clicked the first time they’d met at Fort Campbell’s firing range. He’d been headed for Afghanistan and was testing the latest experimental smart weaponry, the type with a bullet that could actually turn corners. Special ops always got the fun toys first. She’d just come home from a remote assignment in Kore, and had taken to the range to clear her head. But she’d been flat out goo-goo eyed over that experimental rifle. She’d talked him into letting her try it out. So sweet! By the time they were done plinking away, she’d seriously considered applying to work with the Night Stalkers. She couldn’t fly those spiffy helicopters, but there had to be some MOS that would get her onto their team.
But then her stroke… Yeah. End of that sweet dream.
“Been following this stubborn-as-shit woman I used to know,” he drawled now. “Just wanted to say hi.”
Her heart nearly melted. “Hi,” she murmured, wishing he were Julio, then embarrassed at her lack of gratitude. “Thanks for coming so fast.”
He held a gloved hand to her face. “Hey, slow down. Who said anything about coming fast? I’m usually slow and easy. Like to keep the tension level just right so my lady friend—”
“You clown.” His sexual innuendo made her smile. “You’re here to help me find Pepe and kill Oz, right?”
He shook that big round head of his, the reason behind his handle. “No, ma’am. Only here to pull you out of this shithole before you start a war. Who the fuck’s Pepe?”
“A ten-year-old orphan who came here after Oz to keep the rest of us safe. I think. He ran away from the rest of us. But I’m sure he’s here somewhere. He wants so much to be brave like his father.”
Charlie shook his head. “You think? But you don’t know for sure? Jesus Christ, Duncan. That kid could be anywhere.” He lifted his left wrist to his face and squinted at the large watch on his wrist. “We’ve only got a small window. Get going. We’re Oscar Mike.”
“No. Not yet.” She stepped back, gesturing to the stash behind her. “I haven’t located Pepe, but look what I did find.”
When the beam from Charlie’s light moved over the room, Meg’s heart stalled. Stacks, she was looking at stacks, some as high as the earthen ceiling. That was why this cabin had been built into the southern wall, to keep these explosives cool. All wooden crates, the contents of the nearest crates were clearly stenciled. M-16s. Kalashnikovs out of Russia. Bushmasters out of Remington Arms, USA. BR18s out of Singapore. And more.
The labels on the last stack in that cache scared the hell out of her. TNT. Semtex. C4. Oh, there they were. Open crates of warheads that went with those launchers.
A whistle escaped Charlie’s lips. “Guess you have been busy, Meg, but no can do. I don’t have time to engage Zapata, and these gunrunners are not why I’m here. I just came for the orphans and you. Pack it up, kiddo. Let’s go. Move out.”
There was a day she would’ve snapped to, saluted, and followed this man anywhere. But not tonight. She was an ex-pat now, and as committed to her adopted country as she was to the United States. Brazil had enough troubles, what with the Amazon on fire like it was. But the neglected orphans of Brazil didn’t need more despots like Zapata. He had to die, and she meant to kill him. Preferably with one of his own warheads. That’d be a nice touch.
“Then go,” she told her lanky defender evenly, “but I’m staying. Oz stole my children, and he’s killed enough little kids. I’m not leaving until I have Pepe back and Zapata’s dead.”
“God damn it, woman. Do I have to toss your stubborn butt over my shoulder to get you to listen?” And he would. Charlie Brown was the soldier who’d hauled ass out of the burning UK consulate in Yemen with the female ambassador draped over one shoulder while he shot both mercenaries who’d been trying to kidnap her. That scene had made for macho drama on all the big networks, his big, gloved hand square on her forty-something backside while they’d ducked for cover.
Meg planted her feet, not going anywhere. “No, CB. You have to help me find Pepe while we still have time. These weapons are my only chance. With them, I can finally end Zapata.”
