Page 51 of Hot Intent

This wasexactlywhy she needed Alex. Or at least the map in his backpack. She pulled out her cell phone to see if she could get a signal and locate herself on a map app.

Nope. No wi-fi or cell signal out here.

Frustrated and scared as twilight overtook the last vestige of the day, she noticed a cluster of lights in the distance. Was that the naval base? Or was that a Cuban city?

Cursing Alex, she took a deep breath and turned toward what she hoped was the U.S. installation.

She’d walked no more than ten minutes when a green Jeep streaked toward her, coming fast. She jumped into the ditch but was too slow. The occupants of the vehicle had seen her. It stopped on the road beside her and a man shouted angrily at her in Spanish, ordering her to come out of the ditch with her hands over her head.

Oh, God. She was so dead.

9

Alex crouched in the steam heat of the jungle, listening to the Cuban soldiers barreling past. It was shocking how much this resembled his training last summer. The aggressors wore different uniforms, and these ones would torture and kill him for real if they caught him, but otherwise, it all was pretty much the same.

The mud he’d covered his skin with was drying and stretching his face uncomfortably tight. Katie would tell him how wonderful his pores were going to look after he washed off the mask.

His gut clenched. He’d passionately hated having to send her away from him. But it was the only reasonable course of action. He prayed, in case there was a God, for Katie to make it to Gitmo safely.

In the mean time, he needed wheels. He didn’t relish spending the next week or two making playing hide and seek with Cuba’s Special Forces.

On top of his other problems, he was starting to feel a little feverish. If he was lucky, he’d merely picked up some sort of infection from one of his numerous lacerations. If he wasunlucky, he needed serious medical care fast if he wasn’t to die of Sarin poisoning.

He retraced his steps toward the Zacara factory. He was counting on it being the one spot his pursuers would not expect him to go. It was also the likeliest rallying point for the soldiers chasing him around out here. Which meant there should be vehicles. Uniforms. A cover.

He topped the ridge above the factory. Sure enough, a half-dozen trucks were parked in front of one of the smaller buildings. The helicopter that had made his life a living hell last night was parked in the big open area in front of the dock. And from here, he could see three soldiers in various stages of patrolling or lounging on the grounds.

He zeroed in on the nearest soldier, a guy who was smoking a cigarette close to a hole in the fence. Smokers tended to cluster together and return to the same spots to smoke. If he was lucky, that would be the case today.

Long before he made his way to the fence-line, the original smoker had wandered on. But Alex positioned himself next to the corner of a building that blocked the smoking spot from view of most of the rest of the facility. He hunkered down to wait.

It took about two hours, but the same soldier strolled around the corner, already shaking a cigarette out of a pack. Alex let him light up and take a long, appreciative puff. He timed his attack for when the soldier was exhaling long and slow and pounced. No air in the guy’s lungs meant no warning shout was possible.

Using the butt of his knife handle, Alex hit the hard in the back of the head. It was quick and quiet, however, the blow cut the guy’s scalp and he began to bleed. As the soldier sagged to the ground, Alex caught him, swearing under his breath.

Alex eased him to the ground and hastily stripped off the guy’s shirt before it got too bloody. He went to work fast unlacing the soldier’s boots from his feet. Unlike on television, mostpeople had a tendency not to stay unconscious for long. But the time he was ready to strip off the guy’s pants, the soldier was starting to rouse. He chopped the guy hard in the temple with the side of his hand to buy himself a few more minutes.

Working fast, he tore a piece of cloth off his own ruined shirt and stuffed it in the guy’s mouth. Out of deference to Katie, he checked the guy’s nostrils to be sure they were clear so he would be able to breathe while gagged.

He tore more strips off his shirt and used them to bind the soldier’s wrists and ankles together. Housekeeping matters taken care of, he put on the soldier’s uniform. It was a reasonably good fit. Beret jauntily cocked over his right eye, Alex dragged the guy through the fence and behind a pile of stones. He bunched driftwood over the unconscious soldier hastily, and then jumped back through the fence.

He picked up the guy’s cigarette, which was just burning out. And in the nick of time, too. Another soldier poked his head around the corner and barked at Alex to get back to his post. Face downcast, he ground out the stub beneath his heel and muttered an acknowledgement.

He took a deep breath and rounded the corner. He had no idea what the soldier’s post was. Rather than try to fake it, he struck out confidently across the yard, as if he’d been sent on an errand for someone.

He veered first toward the helicopter. It was an easy matter to open the cockpit door, reach under the instrument panel and yank out a big fistful of wires. He grabbed another handful and tore them out, for good measure.

After that, he made his way to the parked vehicles. His nerves were jumping all over the place, and he had to consciously force them into silence. Funny thing, fear. Once he’d learned to control it and hold it at bay, it had become more of curiosity to him than an actual force in his life.

He spotted the guy who’d yelled at him heading down toward the dock. Alex hurried his steps to reach the nearest truck before the guy could get where he was going and turn around.

Alex tested the door handle. Unlocked. He slid into the vehicle and hunted in the usual places for keys. No luck. He lay down on the seat and opened the glove compartment, and, voila. A key on a ring.

He tried it in the ignition. For once, the gods of luck were on his side. The key fit. Hotwiring vehicles was Spy Craft 101, but it took a few minutes that he could ill afford at the moment. Pulling on a pair of sunglasses he found on the dashboard, he started the truck, threw it into gear, and pulled out of the yard.

No one yelled at him. Which meant it would take a few minutes for someone to casually ask someone else who’d just left and why. Then there would be a few more minutes of confusion while everyone was accounted for and the soldiers compared notes over who’d been told to do what. He figured he would get about ten minutes’ head start, worst case.

The moment he rounded the headland, he floored the truck. The road was horrendous, but time was against him and enduring a teeth-jarring ride was a small price to pay for his life.

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