Chapter 13
Willow's boots were full of water, her back ached from carrying forty pounds of gear through a jungle that actively wanted to kill her, and somewhere behind them … maybe a mile, maybe less, Morales's men were tracking them with dogs.
Perfect.
She pushed through another tangle of vines, machete in one hand, trying not to think about the three planes she'd lost in two weeks.
Three beautiful aircraft, reduced to scrap metal and insurance headaches she'd never be able to explain. Good thing she didn’t have to worry about insurance adjusters.
Her father would’ve laughed. Then he would’ve hugged her and said something about how the best pilots were the ones who walked away, no matter how many birds they left behind.
She missed him. Missed that particular brand of optimism that came from a man who'd survived forty years of bush flying without becoming cynical.
“How you holding up?” Levi asked from behind her. He was carrying most of the equipment, plus his demo pack and weapons, and moving through the jungle like it was a casual hike instead of a death march.
“Peachy,” she said. “Living the dream. How're your ribs?”
“Reminding me why I usually avoid crash landings.”
“Usually?”
“I've had a few.” He grinned, even though sweat was pouring down his face and his breathing was labored. “Comes with the territory.”
“How many planes have you crashed?”
“Define crashed.”
“Hit the ground harder than intended and walked away.”
“Seven. Maybe eight.” He considered. “Nine if you count the one in Prague, but that was more of a controlled collision than a crash.”
“You're insane.”
“But I’m your insanity, remember?” He smiled widely and then touched his earpiece, listening to something she couldn't hear. “Con says we're two klicks from a river. If we follow it north, there's an old logging camp with structures we can use for shelter.”
“How old?”
“Abandoned since the eighties.”
“So, probably full of snakes and spiders and things that want to eat us.”
“Almost definitely.” He was still grinning. “But it's got a roof. That's better than nothing.”
She couldn't argue with that logic.
They pressed on, the jungle closing in around them. The sound of dogs grew louder—closer. Willow's hand drifted to her Glock, checking it was secure. She had three magazines left. Levi had four. Not enough for a sustained firefight, but enough to make their deaths expensive.
Small comfort.
“How close are they?” she asked.
Levi listened to his comms. “Half mile. Maybe less. Con's tracking them. Four vehicles, maybe twenty men total, plus the dogs.”
“Just twenty? I'm almost insulted.”
“Give it time. Morales is probably mobilizing everything he's got. We've cost him two facilities, a fuel depot, and made him look weak in front of his organization.” Levi ducked under a low branch. “He's going to want us very dead, very publicly.”
“Looking forward to disappointing him.”
“That's my girl.”
The casual possessive warmed her chest, despite the circumstances. My girl. Like they were something more than two people thrown together by circumstance and bad luck.
Maybe they were. She smiled. They definitely were, and she’d fight like hell to keep it that way. Yeah, common sense said this ended when the mission did. But she hadn’t paid an ounce of attention to common sense since she saw him on that riverbed waving at her like a damn fool.
The river appeared ahead. It was wide, fast-moving, and brown with sediment. They followed it north, staying close to the water where the vegetation was thinner and movement easier. The sound of flowing water masked their footsteps, and the mud made tracking harder.
Small advantages. She'd learned to appreciate small advantages.
“There.” Levi pointed. “The camp.”
It appeared through the trees like a ghost town. Three structures, tin roofs rusted through, walls sagging, everything slowly being reclaimed by the jungle. But it was shelter. And shelter meant a defensible position, rest, and maybe time to plan.
They approached carefully, weapons ready, checking for occupants. But the camp was empty—had been empty for decades. Just rotting wood and memories of a time when someone thought they could make money from this green hell.
The largest structure had most of its roof intact. They swept it, found no threats, and then Willow finally let herself stop moving. Dropping her pack, she sat against the wall and closed her eyes before saying, “Five minutes. I need five minutes of not moving.”
“Take ten.” Levi was setting up a perimeter alarm that consisted of simple tripwires with bits of garbage and tin he’d found. Low-tech but effective. “I'll keep watch.”
She wanted to argue, wanted to share the burden, but her body had other ideas. Exhaustion pulled at her like gravity, and before she knew it, she was drifting.
She woke to Levi's hand on her shoulder and the smell of something that might’ve been food.
“How long?” she asked, groggy.
“Two hours.” He handed her an MRE packet, already heated. “You needed it. Don't argue.”
She didn't argue. Just ate mechanically, tasting nothing, feeling strength slowly return to her limbs. Outside, the jungle had gone dark. It was full night, no moon visible through the canopy.
“The patrols?” she asked.
“Passed us by. Went farther east, following the river.” He was eating his own MRE, sitting close enough that their shoulders touched. “Con says they're spreading out, setting up checkpoints on all major routes. We're effectively surrounded.”
“Fantastic.” She finished the MRE, drank water from her canteen. “So, what's the play?”
“We wait. Let them waste resources searching while we stay hidden. Guardian's working on extraction options.”
“What kind of options?”
“That's where it gets interesting.” He touched his earpiece, listening. A pause. Then Levi grinned. She assumed that particular expression meant either really good news or really bad news disguised as good news.
“We’ve located a plane,” he said.
“Where?”
“About thirty miles northeast. Old airstrip that's not on any maps. Cartel used it for smuggling back in the nineties, then abandoned it when the DEA started using satellite surveillance.”
“And there's a plane there?”
“According to satellite imagery, yes. Single engine, looks like a Cessna or maybe a Piper. Been sitting there for at least five years, probably longer.”
Willow felt hope flicker, then immediately suppressed it. Hope was dangerous. Hope got you killed.
“If it's been sitting for five years, it's not flyable,” she said flatly.
“Probably not. But you've resurrected dead planes before.”
“With parts. And tools. And time we don't have.”
“Con says the airstrip still has a maintenance shed. Might have supplies.” Levi shifted closer, and she could feel his body heat in the cooling night air.
“Look, I know it's a long shot. But it's the only shot we've got.
We can't walk out of here, not with patrols everywhere.
And we can't stay hidden forever. Eventually, they'll find us.”
He was right. She hated that he was right.
“Thirty miles through hostile territory,” she said. “Carrying our equipment. Past checkpoints and patrols. To reach a plane that probably doesn't work.”
“When you put it that way, it sounds almost impossible.”
“It is impossible.”
“Yeah.” He was grinning again. “But we're good at impossible.”
Despite everything, she felt herself smile. Actually smile, in a rotting structure surrounded by enemies, discussing a plan that would probably get them killed.
“We're insane,” she said.
“You keep saying that like it's news.” Pulling out a map, he spread it on the floor between them. “Con's plotting us a route. Mostly jungle, avoiding roads and known patrol patterns. If we move at night, stay off the ridgelines, we can make it in three, maybe four, days.”
“Four days of hiking through the jungle with Morales's entire organization looking for us.”
He smiled at her. “Think of it as a romantic camping trip.”
She rolled her eyes so hard her brain came into view. “You have a very strange definition of romantic.”
“But at least I am romantic.” He leaned over and slowly dipped down for a kiss that turned heated too damn fast. She wanted to chase his lips when he finally pulled away, but she didn’t.
Their eyes met and held. He smiled at her before returning his attention to what they’d been talking about.
He traced the route on the map, his finger following terrain features.
“There are water sources here and here. Guardian can drop supply caches if we need them. Emergency rations, medical supplies, ammunition.”
She paused and looked at him. “They can drop supplies but not extract us? Why’s that?”
“Helicopter extraction puts them at risk of an international incident. Venezuela would claim Guardian violated their airspace, and the powers that be don't want that attention.” He looked up at her. “But a small supply drop, disguised as normal air traffic? That they can do.”
She studied the map, calculating distances, terrain difficulty, and probable patrol patterns.
It was doable. Barely. If everything went right and they got lucky and the universe decided to stop actively trying to kill them for five minutes.
Long odds. But better than sitting there waiting to be found.
“All right,” she said. “We go for the plane.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She met his eyes. “But when we get there, and it's a rusted hulk held together by jungle vines and corrosion, I'm blaming you.”
“That's fair. Then I’ll blame Con, and we’ll all be happy.” He started folding the map. “We leave at 0300. That gives us four hours of rest, then we move under the cover of darkness.”
“You should sleep. I'll take first watch.”
“Willow—”
“You've been awake longer than me. And you're still healing.” She touched his side, where the bandages pressed against his shirt. “Don't argue. You need rest more than I do.”
He looked like he wanted to argue anyway, but exhaustion won. “Two hours. Wake me in two hours, and we switch.”
“Deal.”
He settled against the wall, close enough that she could feel him beside her, and within minutes, his breathing had evened into sleep. Not the deep unconsciousness from before, but the lighter combat sleep of someone who'd learned to rest while staying alert to danger.
Willow sat in the darkness, listening to the jungle and Levi's breathing and the distant sound of engines searching. Her Glock rested on her thigh, finger off the trigger but ready.
Three planes lost. One impossible resurrection ahead. And somewhere out there, a man who wanted them dead was mobilizing everything he had.
Her father's voice echoed in her memory: The best pilots are the ones who walk away.
She'd walked away three times. Three miracles that shouldn't have happened but did.
Maybe there was one more miracle left. One more impossible flight. One more chance to survive something that should kill them.
She looked at Levi, sleeping against her shoulder, trusting her to keep watch while he was vulnerable. A Guardian operative who'd blown up half of Venezuela and somehow made her believe that maybe justice didn't always come from courtrooms.
Maybe sometimes justice came from people like him. Damaged, dangerous, and too stubborn to quit, even when quitting was the smart play.
Her encrypted radio was in her pack. She could contact Reeves, request extraction, and walk away from this mess. The CIA would pull her out, and Levi could continue his mission alone.
She didn't reach for the radio.
“Partners,” she whispered to the darkness. “Liars and partners.”
Outside, something howled. The jungle pressed close, alive and hostile and full of things that wanted them dead.
But inside this rotting structure, for just a few hours, they were safe.
Together.
And that would have to be enough.
Z’s comm crackled softly. He reached up, not opening his eyes, and tapped his ear.
“Berserker, the plane's confirmed. DHC-2 Beaver, abandoned in '96. Structurally sound according to imaging, but avionics are probably rotted, and the engine's been sitting cold for three decades. We’ve got some specialized help telling us what to send.”
Pause.
“She's going to need a miracle to get it flying. But if anyone can do it, it's her. Guardian's routing supply drops to those coordinates. You'll have parts waiting when you arrive.”
Another pause, longer this time.
“And Levi? The final phase is now. We have a location on Morales. We were able to track him after the last event. Once she gets that plane airborne, you've got seventy-two hours to complete the primary objective. No extensions. No mercy. Morales dies, or Guardian pulls you both out.
The transmission ended.
Levi's hand twitched before he reached for the woman beside him. If anyone could do it, it was Willow. With her by his side, the impossible seemed probable. He let his thoughts drift to after the mission. After they’d completed what they’d come to do, he wouldn’t make it easy for her to leave.
He didn’t want her to go anywhere without him.