Page 2 of Hot Soldier's Rescue

“What makes you think I won’t just kill them and have my revenge?” she demanded. The sweet taste of it battled on her tongue with the sour knowledge that the Garza children were far too young to have participated in their father’s atrocities and certainly too young to pay for them.

Father Ambrose merely gave her a reproachful look. Okay, a reproachful look she deserved. She wasn’t a baby killer any more than she was someone who could turn her back on anything—or anyone—small and innocent. Damn him!

He knew she couldn’t say no to him. Why this favor? Why not something, anything, else? Something that didn’t involve a Garza? Something that didn’t involve going back to the killing fields of Colombia? Did he hate her for some reason?

“Look, Padre. I know I owe you my life. And I know I told you to ask me any time, any place, for anything, and if it was in my power to do it for you, I would. But we’re talking about Valdiron Garza, here. He was a monster. My parents were peaceful missionaries, and he committed an atrocity against them. How do we know his children won’t be the same or worse? Are you sending me to rescue two more future psychopaths? How many people will they kill in their turn? Hundreds? Thousands? More? And besides. What makes you think I could get into and out of Colombia and live?”

“They are very young children. There is plenty of time to mold them into kind, loving adults. And I thought perhaps you could go in dressed as a nun.”

“A nun?”

“Can you think of a better way to ensure your safety in such a dangerous country? It is a religious place. People will look out for you.”

She snorted. “You are much more optimistic than I am that an ugly dress and a wimple will save me.”

“And that is why I am Christian and you are not.”

“I never said I wasn’t Christian.”

“You never said you were, either,” he retorted gently.

He had her there. In fact, he had her squarely over a barrel. She ought to blow off her promise to help him. Ought to get up and walk out of here right now. And yet, she wasn’t going to do either. She sighed, frustrated. “Where are they?”

“I don’t know. But someone who does know is reportedly in Santa Lucia. A young man fighting with a rebel group.”

“That’s down on the border with Bolivia, in the heavy jungle. It’s incredibly dangerous territory.”

“That is why I called you.”

“Expendable, am I?”

“Hardly, Elise. But you are, without question, the most determined person I have ever met. And you know Colombia. If you promise to bring those children to me, you’ll move heaven and earth to do exactly that. I have complete faith in you.”

“You have a great deal more faith in me than I do,” she replied bitterly.

“Just so, my child. Just so.”

* * *

“But I don’t lookanything like him!” Ted Fisher stared, aghast, at the photo of the dead man. Even allowing for death’s pale patina, Drago Cantori was clearly a fair-skinned European and huge. Although Ted was no slouch in the muscles and fitness department—no special operator was—this Cantori guy looked as if he sucked down steroids like soda. “In case you haven’t noticed, boss, I am of African descent. This Cantori guy is…not.”

His boss, Navy Commander Brady Hathaway, replied, “We believe Cantori never met his contact in South America. The Army of Freedom insurgents have no idea what he looked like or whether he was black or white. When you show up in place of Cantori they won’t know any different.”

“You hope,” he retorted dryly.

“Captain Fisher, you know more about weapons than anyone else in this facility, not to mention you think well on your feet and speak Spanish like a native. You’re the best man for the job.”

And that was that. He was going undercover into the jungles of South America on an insanely dangerous op alone and impersonating a dangerous arms dealer. An arms dealer who’d been killed as a side effect of another op to capture Cantori’s sister. The mission had been a success and Annika Cantori, a prominent terrorist, was serving life in prison with no possibility of parole. She steadfastly refused to cooperate with the American government, however. Which meant he was on his own.

Drago Cantori had been completely under the U.S. military’s radar until he’d surfaced a few months ago. Most of what they knew about his business affairs had been cobbled together from bits and pieces they’d managed to collect from various informants around the world. It was far from a complete picture of the man.

He’d be flying blind for a lot of the mission as he tried to step into the man’s shoes and pass himself off as Cantori. Ted picked up the pitifully thin folder that contained everything they knew about the man he was supposed to impersonate. It wouldn’t take him ten minutes to memorize everything in here. Talk about going into a mission unprepared. This was a cluster bomb waiting to blow.

* * *

Elise tuggedat the ill-fitting cardigan sweater bunching up over a dreadful dress. She glanced down at her sensible shoes. They were shockingly comfortable, but she doubted they could’ve been more hideous looking if someone tried to design them that way. They looked like black bricks on the ends of her legs. In this getup, she hardly needed the black wimple covering her hair to announce that she was a nun. Or at least, doing a darned good impersonation of one.

Now to find the local cantina. That would be where anyone with any influence in Santa Lucia would hang out. It would’ve been a pretty little town with white, stucco buildings in the Spanish style, were it not for the general poverty and decay enveloping it. But then, the jungle was hard on everything. Car transmissions were torn up by the rutted roads, mildew destroyed textiles, and disease ran rampant in the tropical climate.

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