Page 36 of Hot Soldier's Rescue

His boss’s voice came up on his earbud. “You sure about bailing these guys out? You’re walking into a potential cluster storm.”

“This whole damned mission is a cluster storm,” he muttered back as he crawled on his belly into the towering wall of jungle.

Chapter Eight

Elise would’ve seriously considered sobbing in relief as the jungle opened up and a small town came into sight were it not for the kids and the fact that Grandma had yet to utter a single syllable of complaint.

She observed the town carefully. At least fifty buildings clustered together. Wow. This place was a veritable metropolis after Acuna. “Do you know someone here?” she asked Grandma. “Someone we can spend the night with?”

Grandma frowned. “This is an army town.”

Which meant there would be eyes and informants aplenty. Elise’s heart sank. What had been the point of their long trek if this place was no safer than Acuna?

“We shall put ourselves in the hands of our heavenly Father,” Grandma intoned.

Elise stifled a groan. Faith was one thing. But blind faith was just irritating. They were on their own to use their wits to save themselves. Grandma was marching resolutely toward the village, however, and Elise highly doubted she could say anything to talk the woman out of whatever she had planned. Huffing in resignation, Elise followed after the woman and the children. She’d just have to brazen out whatever disaster Grandma’s faith led them into.

It figured. The town had a Catholic church. Well, a teeny little chapel, to be more accurate. But it had four walls to go with its roof, which many churches in this part of the world did not. It looked old. Spanish in architecture. It was actually a pretty little place.

They stepped inside. Elise was startled at the sense of quiet peace pervading the space. It reminded her of Our Lady of Sacred Hope back in New York. Predictably, the chapel held rows of wooden pews and a large table covered in white cloth for an altar. A simple wooden crucifix hung on the front wall.

Grandma stopped to genuflect, and Elise followed suit behind her, trying to remember how Father Ambrose did it back home. She was so busted if the older woman asked her to recite a Mass or something like that. But thankfully, the older woman merely made her way forward, calling out for the priest.

Nobody answered.

“Does the local priest live near here?” Elise asked Grandma. Maybe she could have a private word with the man and explain who she was and why she was masquerading as a nun before he blew her cover.

“He travels from village to village.”

Elise didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed that they were own their own in the chapel.

“I’m hungry,” Emanuel whined.

“Me, too,” Mia piped up.

Both children had spotted the bowl of fruit sitting on the altar and were eyeing it longingly. Elise considered it, as well. Although offerings like that weren’t specifically a Catholic ritual as far as she knew, the old customs of the Incan people had blended with Catholicism in this part of the world.

“I’m sure the Lord will not mind if we share his supper tonight,” she murmured to them. She glanced hesitantly at Grandma, who nodded in agreement.

She felt like a heel for using her fake nun status to talk them into what was probably some terrible blasphemy. But they were all ravenous after the long hike, and it wasn’t as if any of them could stroll out and buy dinner without having to answer a lot of questions. In a town this small, even Grandma would be identified quickly as an outsider.

As a sop to her guilt over stealing the offering for God, Elise added, “But first we have to say grace.”

The children subsided and waited impatiently while she mumbled through a quick prayer blessing the food and thanking heavenly Father for his bounty. Darkness fell as they dug into the mangoes, guavas, bananas and black sapote—a local sweet fruit that tasted somewhat like a pomegranate. Moonlight filtered in through the small, high windows as the night grew cool.

The children stretched out on a pew, covered with Grandma’s big shawl. They were being good sports about sleeping on the hard bench, and Elise’s admiration for the children grew a notch. They were both bright and cooperative. She had to admit that whoever’d been raising Garza’s children had done an excellent job of it so far.

Elise stationed herself by the back door to keep watch as Grandma dozed next to the kids. The town settled down to sleep, the car noises and the occasional sound of voices winding down and eventually ceasing. And that was why she jerked to full alertness at the abrupt sound of big engines—lots of them—rumbling into town a little before midnight.

Crud. That sounded almost like a convoy of some kind. What if the army had come looking for them? This was the closest town to Acuna and the logical place for them to have come. She glanced around the tiny chapel in panic. There was nowhere to hide. And she knew better than anyone how much the army respected the sanctity of the church. They’d barge right in here and slaughter her and the Garza children without a second thought. If only there were some sort of hidey-hole—

Father Ambrose told her once that most Catholic churches in olden times had a cellar of some kind. They’d been used over the centuries to hide all kinds of refugees, be they escaping slaves or the children of hated government strongmen. Was there any chance this little church was no exception? It did look fairly old and the decorations had a distinct Spanish flair.

What had Father Ambrose said? The cellars were usually near or under the altar section of the church, as this was the most holy and sacred portion of any church. She raced forward.

Grandma’s eyes opened.

“The army’s coming,” Elise bit out. “We must hide.” She lifted the linen tablecloth that draped to the floor to look for a trapdoor. But it was too dark for her to see a thing. She fell to her knees, running her hands over the floor desperately. There. A long, thin crack running perpendicular to the floorboards. The joints in the wood should be staggered, but weren’t.

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