Chapter 5
The green SUV pulled to the side of the road and stopped. A man dressed in khaki slacks and a white guayabera shirt emerged, looked around and then met Crusher in front of the vehicle and held out his hand.
“Jack Bailey?” the man asked.
“Yes, sir,” Crusher gripped the man’s hand.
“I’m RJ Slater,” the man in the guayabera shirt introduced himself. “Fontaine said you might need a hand.”
“Yes, sir, we do,” Crusher released the man’s hand. “Did he fill you in on why?”
Slater nodded. “He gave me a brief rundown and explained what you might need from me.”
“Good. That’ll save some time.”
Slater glanced over Crusher’s shoulder, his brow furrowing. “Where is she?”
Crusher scanned the vicinity and then turned toward the trees and called out quietly, “All clear. You can come out.”
For a brief moment, she didn’t emerge, and he couldn’t see her in the shadows. A stab of apprehension bolted through him. He started for the trees.
At that moment, Marta stepped out into the open, her eyes shooting right then left, and finally, landing on him.
The moment of panic abated, and Crusher waved her forward. Once she stood beside him, he placed a hand at the small of her back and turned toward Royce’s friend. “Dr. Marta Hale, this is RJ Slater.”
Marta held out her good hand and shook Slater’s. “Mr. Slater.”
“Dr. Hale.” Slater dipped his head and gave her a friendly smile. “Pleasure to meet you. I’m told you’re in need of transportation.”
“I am,” she said, a genuine smile curling her lips.
Crusher liked it when she smiled. It warmed her cheeks and made her green eyes sparkle. She needed to do it more often. But how could she with the fate of the world weighing on her shoulders alone?
The pressure had to be intense.
“If you’ll come with me, I think I can help.” He glanced toward the town. “The sooner we’re off the road, the better.”
Marta climbed into the back seat of the SUV behind the driver, giving Crusher the front passenger seat so he could catch up with Slater. He’d rather be sitting with her but assumed she might like a little time to relax on her own.
“What’s ol’ Royce up to these days?” Slater asked. “I was surprised when he told me he’d moved SOS out of DC and set up shop in Texas.”
Crusher nodded. “He did, and the entire team went with him. We’re now independent.”
“Then why are you taking orders from Devon Marsh? I thought you’d cut ties with the State Department.”
“We still help out where we can on projects we deem apolitical,” Crusher said.
Slater shot a look in Crusher’s direction. “Didn’t like being used to exact revenge on political opponents, eh?”
Crusher’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “That’s not why we were formed.”
“I gotta say it’s nice not having to deal with the turmoil back in the States,” Slater said.
“How’s that going for you with the cartels?” Crusher cocked a brow in the man’s direction.
“Pretty good so far,” Slater said. “As long as I stay out of their business, they stay out of mine.”
A frown creased Crusher’s forehead. “RJ, you realize that by helping get Marta out of Colombia, you’ll piss off Vasquez. He’s known for his ruthlessness against those he considers his enemies.”
RJ nodded. “I know what I’m getting into.
That’s why we have to keep everything on the down low.
Besides, I could use a little excitement.
The laid-back life of farming is hard work and sometimes boring.
I haven’t been this charged since I moved to Colombia.
I miss the action of combat and being with a team. ”
Slater drove the SUV away from the town and out into the Colombian countryside, where trees had been stripped across a valley and grass now grew to feed the cattle grazing in the morning sunshine. Soon, grasslands blended into rows of coffee trees lining hillsides for as far as Crusher could see.
RJ drove into a valley and stopped at the end of a runway where a hangar stood. “Wait here,” he said. The coffee plantation owner jumped down, hurried to the hangar, and pushed two large doors to the side one at a time before returning to drive the SUV into the dark interior.
A small plane stood in the middle of the hangar, its nose pointing toward the door.
“I’d invite you to the house, but—”
Crusher shook his head. “The fewer people who see us, the less likely you’ll be on Vasquez’s hit list.”
“Exactly,” RJ said. “I’d planned on a trip to Panama this week anyway. The people who work for me know I’m heading that way. I’m meeting with one of my buyers.” He parked the SUV in the hangar, climbed out and held the door for Marta.
“The hangar’s equipped with a full bathroom and sleeping quarters.
My wife calls it my dog house. Whenever we’re at odds with each other, she sends me to the hangar to think about my transgressions.
” His lips twisted in a wry grin. “It’s not much of a punishment.
She knows I come out here to drink beer and catch up on my football.
You’ll find toiletries and clean coveralls we keep for when we invite mechanics out to service the plane.
Help yourself.” He glanced at his watch.
“I’d like to leave in the next thirty minutes to avoid any of my workers dropping by to see why I haven’t left for Panama yet. ”
Marta’s eyes had widened when Slater mentioned the facilities available in the hangar. “A shower and clean clothes would be amazing,” Marta said, her voice breathy, her expression hopeful.
“Go,” Crusher said. “I’ll get one after you.”
Marta spun and started for the corner RJ had pointed to. She hadn’t gone two steps when she stopped and returned to Crusher, holding out her bandaged wrist.
He silently unwound the wrap, peeled off the tape, and removed the gauze. “I’ll reapply when we’re done.”
RJ frowned at the sores on her wrist. “Vasquez’s people do that?”
Marta nodded.
Crusher held onto Marta’s hand longer than necessary, rubbing his thumb across her knuckles. “They handcuffed her to a lab table to keep her working.”
“It’ll be my pleasure to get you out of the country under his nose,” RJ said, frowning.
“Even though it will put you at risk of his retaliation?” Marta asked.
RJ pressed a hand to his heart. “Knowing I thwarted his brand of terrorism will make my day.” He waved toward the corner. “But if we could leave before anyone sees you two, my employees and family can avoid his wrath.”
Marta hurried away, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be done in less than ten minutes.”
While he waited for her return, Crusher followed RJ around the plane as the pilot completed his inspection and pre-flight checklist. By the time RJ finished, Marta reappeared, her face shiny clean, her auburn hair slicked back from her forehead, lying in damp lengths down her back.
She wore a navy-blue coverall and had rolled back the sleeve away from her injured wrist.
“The shower was every bit as wonderful as I’d imagined and would have been even better if I could’ve stood there for a little longer.” She sighed. “But we need to get into the air as soon as possible—not only to keep RJ’s people safe, but to get ahead of Vasquez and his plans.”
“I won’t be five minutes,” Crusher said and hurried for the bathroom.
After spending time in the jungle, he was ready for the shower and clean clothes.
The coveralls were a little tight on his shoulders but would do until they got to Panama.
He ran his hands through his damp hair, smoothing it back from his forehead.
Eager to get back to his charge, he hurried back out into the hangar.
Neither Marta nor RJ was anywhere to be seen.
A voice called out from inside the airplane. RJ leaned his face against the pilot’s window and motioned for Crusher to join them in the plane. He climbed the steps into the plane, secured the hatch, took the seat in the rear and settled a headset over his ears.
Marta sat in the copilot seat, another headset fitted over her ears, listening to RJ as he pointed out the instruments and what they did.
As soon as Crusher was in and settled, RJ stopped his lesson on instruments and fired up the engine.
He drove out of the hangar and taxied to the end of the runway.
Without waiting, he sent the plane racing toward the end of the runway.
When they’d built up enough speed, he pulled back on the throttle, and the aircraft left the ground, climbing into the air.
Crusher looked out over the landscape of lush green hillsides lined with coffee trees, surrounded by the jungle along the far edges.
“It’s beautiful,” Marta commented.
“We like it,” RJ said. We’re far enough out in the boonies that most people don’t bother us. When we want to have a little city life, we have the plane and can fly to places, getting there a lot quicker than by road.”
“It’s handy having your pilot’s license,” Crusher said.
RJ’s eyes widened, and he blinked. “Who said I had my pilot’s license?”
Marta shot a shocked glance toward RJ.
He laughed. “Relax. I’m kidding,” he said. “I’ve had it since I was in my twenties. I’ve flown over two thousand hours.”
Marta sagged back in her seat. “Are all you prior military guys just a bunch of jokers?”
RJ glanced back at Crusher. “Have you been pranking Dr. Hale?”
Crusher shrugged. “Once.”
She frowned over her shoulder at him and then grinned. “You had me going for a while. I won’t be as gullible in the future.”
Crusher’s lips quirked upward, glad she hadn’t taken him too seriously when he’d fooled her about the truck’s rear door. In truth, he hadn’t been one hundred percent sure it would open when he was ready. He hadn’t been too concerned as long as the cartel hadn’t followed them.
Marta settled back in her seat and spent the rest of the flight in silence.