The Edge of Trust: Team Edge (39 page)

“And your family?  They too deserved better?”

Dillon ground his teeth together.  Sanchez wanted to provoke, to anger, and Dillon couldn’t afford the luxury.  Too many lives still hung in the balance.

Sanchez arched an eyebrow waiting for him to answer.

“You know I have the thumb drive.  You could have killed us by now, but you haven’t.”  Dillon shook his head.  Tskd.  “Still ruled by your own arrogance.”

Sanchez didn’t reply right away.  Instead, he pushed a button on the bar and a servant rolled in a computer console, set it up, then left the room.  “I want to see the drive, make sure it has not been tampered with.” 

Tampered with?  How does completely recoded sound, you smug son-of-a-bitch? 

Sanchez had a big surprise in store, and Dillon knew this was going to get ugly fast.  From here, it all boiled down to timing and luck. 

Sanchez strolled over to him and held out his hand, “The drive?”

Dillon kept his face impassive.  “Where is my child?  And Sara’s brother?”

All pretense of Sanchez’s Latin good humor vanished.  His eyes smoldered hot just before he turned his attention to his nails.  Studied them.  Tskkd.  Then turned a nonchalant, almost smug smile their way.  “Didn’t I tell you?  I caught Matt trying to escape.  He’s...dead.  Such a pity.  And the child, well, she brought me quite a sum.”

He felt Sara’s breath leave her body.  Felt tension and hate flow off her in great dark waves.  And then, before he could stop her, she was off the couch, sinking her nails into the tan flesh of Rafael’s face.  She clawed, hit, gouged. 

Sanchez grabbed her hair, jerked her head back so hard it snapped, and still she kept at him.  She wanted him dead and the sound of the guards cocking their rifles didn’t matter, because Matt was dead, Ellie was gone, and Sanchez was going to kill them anyway.  Nothing mattered except hurting, killing the monster who had done this.

Before she could inflict more serious damage, Dillon had her in his arms, holding tight.  She kicked backward and bit his arm. 

“Dammit, Sara, stop!”

Wild, she bucked against him, jabbed him with an elbow, twisted and kicked.

Dillon shook her, just enough to snap her out of her violent rage, and whispered in her ear, “He’s lying.”

She went limp.  Looked at him with wide, hopeful eyes.  Dillon sat her down and took grim satisfaction in the fact that Sanchez had a long, bloody gash on the side of his cheek.  

Rafe wiped his face with a pristine, white handkerchief, then snapped his fingers in Dillon’s face.  “The drive?” 

“Lose the goons, and I’ll give it to you.”

“Enough!  I want the flash drive.  Now.”  His eyes squinted.  “Unless, of course,” he paused and made a scissoring motion with his fingers, his voice coldly deliberate, “you want me to clip your wife’s sweet little body into inches until nothing is left.”

White-hot anger erupted like lava into Dillon’s bloodstream.  He was sick of this.  Sick to death of who he was, what he’d become.  Sick of the lies and secrets, the political platitudes and outlaw glamour.  Sick of the threats, the violence, the killing, and God Almighty, he was sick of people like Sanchez.

People who bullied and killed and figured money bought the right to live. 

He had to clench his fists to keep from killing Sanchez right then and there.   

Control it. 

Don’t let him win.  Think of Sara. 

Sanchez laughed.  “Ah, yes.  Rage.  It makes you feel alive, does it not?”   

Single mindedly, he detached himself from his emotions and gave Sanchez a slow, appraising look. 
If rage makes you feel alive, you fuck, you’re going to feel reborn in just a minute.

His pistol felt snug and warm against his back.  Reaching behind him, he took the flash drive out of his hip pocket and tossed it onto the computer desk.  “Have at it.” 

Sanchez took the drive out of the plastic, lit a cigarette and squinted through the smoke at Dillon.  Then he sat down, slipped the drive into a USB port and waited.

The only sound in the room was the humming of the computer.  

The first page showed up in Sanchez’s encryption and he flashed Dillon a superior grin through a haze of cigarette smoke.  Then the computer beeped out a noise and, “Th..that’s all f-folks.”  He watched as several pages scrolled past all in a code Dillon and Jake had worked out in college.  A code only they knew.

Blood buzzing, Dillon tensed.  His muscles bunched.

Startled, Sanchez ground out his cigarette.  When he realized what had happened, his face went livid.  He grabbed an Uzi from one of his guards. 

Sanchez was fast, but Dillon was faster.  He had his gun out and trained on the center of Sanchez’s temple even as Sanchez was aiming at Sara’s chest.  Before Sanchez could even think about pulling the trigger, Dillon spoke.  “Squeeze that trigger, and so help me God, I’ll blow your brains all over this room.”

Sanchez’s hands shook with fury as his finger started to tighten against the trigger. 

<><><>

Sara cringed backward as the bore of the submachine gun came into sharp focus.  Fear clawed up her spine and her heart beat hard against her ribs.

The room spun.  For just a second, time stopped, then picked up again in slow motion. 

The outer door burst open and two fatigue-clad men carrying machine guns crashed into the room. 

The sound of gunfire erupted around her. 

A spray of bullets riddled the two guards before they fell limply against the wall. 

A bullet slammed into the couch less than an inch away from Sara’s shoulder.

Sanchez swung the Uzi toward Dillon.

The voices behind her blurred together.

“--I have the shot--”

“—Negative.  Do
not
take the shot--”

“--I have the shot!”

“--Stand down!”

Dillon and Sanchez faced each other.  Dillon with his gun pointed at Sanchez’s head, Sanchez with an Uzi aimed at Dillon’s center mass.  Neither man moved.  The room grew silent.

Dillon finally leaned in toward Sanchez and said, “Three against one. 
You lose
.”

Ice flashed in Sanchez’s eyes.  Crazed with fury, he trembled.  Just when Sara thought he might pull the trigger and shoot Dillon, that they might shoot each other, that one of them was going to die, Sanchez gave a bark of laughter and slowly raised his hands.  “I surrender.”  He let the Uzi slip to the floor.  “You can’t shoot me, I give up.  You may extradite me.  America, the land of the free, home of the brave.  Yes,” he nodded, “I like it there.  I like your American bureaucracy even more.  Such a fair and just system.”  He laughed again and nodded.  “I will go willingly to your American jail.”  When Dillon pushed the barrel of his gun against Sanchez’s temple, Sanchez said, “I am not armed.  I surrender.  You cannot shoot me,” and he nudged the Uzi forward, sliding it with his foot until it landed inches away from Sara.

Sanchez blew Lisa, and my parents, to kingdom come.

Sara stared at the weapon. 

Didn’t I tell you?  I caught Matt trying to escape.  He’s...dead.  Such a pity.
 

Sara picked up the Uzi and stood.

And the child, well, she brought me quite a sum.

She slipped her finger into the trigger guard.

I like your American bureaucracy even more.

Sara extended her arm.

Such a fair and just system.

Sara fired.

Several bullets, moving at over six hundred rounds per minute, ripped into Sanchez.  He fell.

Sara lowered the weapon, dropped it to the floor. 

El Tigre
was dead.

As fast as it had started, it was over.

Sara stumbled forward.  Dillon caught her, grabbed her tight.  “Jesus, Sara, God.  You--”

“I couldn’t let him…he was right…he would have gotten out…his power, money…he…I couldn’t…”

“Shh.  You did exactly the right thing.  It’s over.  It’s over now and he’s gone.  He can’t hurt anyone, not you or me or anyone ever again.”  Strong arms closed around her, locking her in a fierce hug.  “We’re okay.  It’s over and we’re okay.”

She nodded.  Took a deep breath.  Tried for relief, consolation, but only felt raw grief.  Her and Dillon were alive, yes, but hardly okay.  Not without Ellie, not without Matt.

A familiar voice spoke from behind her.  “Jesus, man, I thought Sanchez was going to blow a hole right through one of you.  That was a little too close.”

Dillon shifted Sara into the crook of his arm, tucked his pistol back into his waistband, and held out a hand to Jake.  “Saw the tracker on my nine.  Figured that was you in the jungle.  Took you long enough.  Sanchez I had covered, but the guards
…
” his words trailed off. 

Another man stepped forward to shake Dillon’s hand.  “One helluva bust we got here, glad you could join us.  We’ve got two teams out there doing clean up.  The compound’s secure.”

The third man was tall and muscled with black hair and eyes blue enough to make the sky green with envy.  Aaron.

He turned his attention to Sara looking quizzical but pleased.  “And
you
!  What the hell’s going on?”

She gave him a weak smile.  “Hi, Aaron.  Great timing.”

Aaron’s eyebrows rose, and instead of asking how she happened to be alive, folded her in a hug.  “This is…well hell, this is a friggin’ miracle.  Somebody has some major explaining to do.”

Sara and the two men looked at Dillon.  “All in good time, I promise.  Anyone find Matt?  A baby?”

Aaron and Jake shook their heads no.   Jake looked concerned.

“Baby?”  Aaron asked.

“I’ll explain while we walk.  Let’s go.”

“How do you know Sanchez was lying?” Sara asked as they made their way through the compound.

“I teach psychological warfare.  Plus I lived with him for three years.”

“But we haven’t found any sign of Matt or Ellie.  Maybe he wasn’t.”

“We keep looking.”

They split up and an hour later, knew for sure that Matt and Ellie were gone. 

<><><>

Dillon knew Sanchez, knew how he worked, and even though they’d come up empty so far he had a hunch that nothing was quite as it seemed.  He wouldn’t mourn their loss yet and he wouldn’t say anything to Sara.  When Jake reached him in the courtyard he asked,
“Any word on Cummings?”

“He split sometime yesterday,” Jake said.  “He hasn’t been in his office or his home.”

“Sooner or later, he’ll show.”  And when he did, Dillon would put him away for life. 

“Let’s hope so.  Since the senator’s name is all over the flash drive, that’ll clear you of most of the charges, but you’re still wanted for Rodriguez’s murder at the hospital.  We’re fairly certain Cummings was responsible, but until we can prove it was in self defense, you need to watch your six.  The Admiral greased some wheels, you’re good to go home, but still, until we find Cummings--” he shrugged.

Two men carried Sanchez out on a stretcher.  They hadn’t put him in a body bag yet.  The tiger was dead and Dillon should have felt some sort of grim satisfaction.  Maybe he did.  But what he felt more than anything else was an overwhelming relief that Sara was okay. 

Sanchez was dead.  Sara was alive.

He’d won.

But Matt might be dead, Ellie was gone, and in the end, they’d all lost.

<><><>

A chopper flew them from the compound to an airfield where they waited in an air-conditioned office for Jake to do a preflight on the small jet that would take them back to San Diego.  Standing near the window, Dillon clenched his hands in his pockets.   Clenched his fingers around Sara’s ring.

Sanchez had come within inches of killing her and it had scared the living shit out of him. 

And because of Cummings, instead of being over, this whole nightmare was starting from scratch.  Again. 

Which meant, of course, that Sara wasn’t out of the woods yet.  There was no way the senator could know about the capture of Sanchez’s compound this soon, so as far as Cummings knew, he or Sara still had the flash drive.  By now, Cummings would be desperate to get his hands on it, and desperate men did stupid things. 

Whatever move the senator might have planned, Dillon didn’t want Sara involved.  “When I get you home, I want you to stay put until Senator Cummings is behind bars.”

Sara was sitting in a blue plastic chair, looking ragged and lost, and at the sound of his voice, she nodded.  ”What about you?”

The answer came easy but Sara wasn’t going to like it.  “I’m going after him.”

“What?”  She shot to her feet, disbelief coloring her features. 

He put a hand out to touch her shoulder, to calm her maybe, or just so that he could touch her.  Either way, she took a step back, avoiding him. 

He stuck his hand back in his pocket.  “I don’t have a choice.  It’s down to either me or Cummings.  One of us is going to prison, and I’ll be damned if it’s going to be me.”

“Let the feds handle it.”

Dillon snorted.  “I have more at stake than they do.  I’ll handle it.”  

“What if you don’t?  What if Cummings kills you?”

Dillon ran a weary hand through his hair.  “That’s not going to happen, Sara.  Trust me.”

“Trust you?”  She advanced on him, furious.  “So I’m just supposed to go home and twiddle my thumbs while you go out and take unnecessary risks?”  She poked him in the chest.  “Well, that’s a bunch of crap!  How would you feel if the roles were reversed?  Maybe I don’t want to sit at home waiting to get a call from some uniform who regrets to inform me that the man I love is dead!”  She poked him again.  “Don’t you get it?  It’s not always about you!  You take chances with your life you have no right to take!”

She raised her hand to poke him again, and Dillon caught it in a vice-like grip.  “It’s your life I’m not willing to take a chance with.  Don’t
you
get it?”

“What about our child?  What about Matt?”

“I have people working on it.  Entire teams.  Every missing child and missing persons agency in North America, big and small.  The admiral’s handling the media.  For now.  We’re going to find them, I promise.”