The Edge of Trust: Team Edge (24 page)

Jake’s info fit with what the Mexican in Tijuana had said. 

Jake walked over to the counter, picked up a map and unrolled it onto the table.  “So far, we think this is the general area,” he circled a large region on the map with his finger, “but no one here’s talking and we haven’t gone in that deep yet.  We do know there are a lot of large ranches and other potential hideouts in the area, but they’re well hidden, whether for secrecy or privacy we don’t know, and we haven’t figured out which one is his.”  Jake let Dillon study the map and asked, “You need some help?” 

“Hell yes, I need help.  I need an army of help.  But what I need most is for you to keep that lady in there safe.” 

Jake nodded.  “She won’t like it.”

Yeah.  Bummer.  “Too bad.” 

“Roger that.”  Jake walked back into the living room and flashed Sara a grin.  “You look like you could use a hot shower.”

Sara looked down at her wet clothes and gave Jake a rueful smile.  “That would be great.  Thanks.” 

“The spare bedroom’s just down that hall.”

Dillon followed Jake, picked up the duffel with the clothes in it, carried it into the bedroom for Sara and set it down.  “Sara, look.  I can’t say I’m sorry I’ve got to leave you here.  I want you to be safe, and this is the best place for you right now.”

Glaring, she pulled some dry clothes out of the bag, turned on her heel and stalked toward the bathroom.

Well fine, let her be good and mad.  Mad was better than dead.

With a soft curse, he changed into dry clothes, then went into the kitchen, snagged two beers out of the fridge and proceeded into a small study off the dining area where the computer was set up.  Jake had it booted and ready to go. 

Dillon handed him a beer and sat down in a chair next to Jake where he could see the computer screen, then popped the tab on his can.  “As soon as we get this drive decoded, Sanchez is history.”

“If we can find him.”

“Yeah.  There is that.”

Jake opened his beer and took a long drink before he asked, “What all do you know about this dead DEA guy?”

Dillon shifted in his seat, tipped the chair back on two legs.  “Not a thing other than he was in the hospital when I went to check on Craig Duncan.  I took Sara with me.  He was willing to kill her to get the drive back, so I’m assuming he worked for Sanchez.  Although, from what I can tell, someone else, other than Sanchez, is after that drive.  There’s a leak.” 

“Who else was at the hospital?”

“Craig had just been shot.  His girlfriend, Stacy, was there, along with a couple of feds playing watchdog outside his room.  Doctors, nurses.  His old boss, Cummings, cleared me. 

Jake looked thoughtful and after a long minute slid the silver thumb drive into the computer, picked up a pencil off the desk and tapped it against the CPU.  “So where do you want to start?”

“Maybe with some coffee?”  Sara, freshly dressed, asked from the doorway.

Dillon raised his beer and said, “Maybe in a little while.”

Jake raised his beer and said, “Help yourself.”

“Thanks.  I will.”  Sara barely spared Dillon a second glance, gave Jake a small smile, and walked back into the kitchen. 

Dillon watched her bottom sway and turned regretfully back to Jake.  He scowled at Jake’s knowing look.  “Let’s just start working on the codes, here, okay?”

“Uh, huh.”  Shaking his head, Jake grinned and muttered, “Hooboy, that woman is pissed.   Better make it up to her with something expensive.”  Laughing, he tossed the pencil back onto the desk, then turned to the screen in front of him.  “Well, let’s see.  Any idea who actually coded the drive in the first place?”

“No.  I’m thinking either Sanchez himself, or maybe Vega.”

“I heard Vega’s a rogue DEA agent.  That he turned about a year ago.  Maybe two.”

“Yeah, well, he’s in ass deep with the SBC.  Works right alongside Sanchez.”

“There seems to be a lot of action with the DEA right now.  We could give that a shot.”

“Let’s do it.”

“If a DEA agent or ex-agent coded the drive, they would’ve used a government encryption code, so the fastest way to decode it might be to access the FBI’s mainframe, plug into their decryption files and run it.”  At Dillon’s hesitation, Jake added, “Maybe the computer Gods will smile on us and we’ll get lucky.”

Dillon nodded and said, “Go for it,” then let his gaze drift into the kitchen.  He watched as Sara wandered from the kitchen to the living room and sat down.  Looking angry and lost, she turned the TV on low.

Jake followed her movement and whistled softly through his teeth.  “She’s gotta be feeling like the wrong end of a train wreck.” 

“As long as I can keep Sanchez away from her, she’ll be okay.”

“I’m thinking as long as she has you on her side, she’ll be okay.”

“Maybe.  In the meantime, let’s see what kind of computer magic you can work.”

Jake turned back to the keyboard and when he finally started typing in FBI access codes, Dillon felt a stab of conscience and warned, “That’s a federal crime you know.  As in felony.”

Jake glanced up and gave him an exaggerated
no shit
look from under raised eyebrows and kept right on cycling codes into the computer. 

“You could go to prison.”

“Yeah, well I’m more concerned about decoding this drive than prison terms right now, okay?” 

Dillon opened his mouth to argue, then pressed his lips together.  Too much was at stake for his conscience to start objecting now.  “Just cover your ass.  And use as many relays as possible.”

“As you already know, once I’m in, they’re going to track me.  There’s no way not to leave fingerprints.  And I hate to remind you, but when unwanted company shows up here, it ain’t me they’re gonna notice first, Mr. America’s Most Wanted.”

“Right.”  Knowing the process was going to take a while, Dillon got up and poured them both some coffee, then started pacing.   

After thirty minutes or so, Jake glanced up, looking annoyed.  “This isn’t rocket science I’m doing here, but it is illegal as hell, and if you don’t quit making tracks on the carpet, Caldwell, I’m going to screw up.  Then I’m going to pull out my H&K and blast you.” 

Dillon stopped pacing.  “Let me know when, or if, I can help.”  He set his empty coffee cup on a side table, then moved across to the couch in the living room and sprawled out next to Sara who was curled up on one end and quietly napping.

Drumming his fingers on his thigh, he stared at the hallway light and then Sara, and his hands fisted at his sides. 

What a mess.  Not only had he caused a major rift between them a year ago, now he’d widened and cemented that gap.  And even if somehow,
somehow
he could put things right between them, he was going to lose her anyway.   

Because, as things stood now, he had nothing left.

Even if he was able to keep all of them alive, Sanchez had done enough damage to Dillon’s reputation that Dillon knew, when all this was over, he’d never be able to be seen in Sara’s company.  He wouldn’t be able to hold his head up.  Hell, unless by some miracle he was able to clear his name, he’d never be able to go home again. 

And miracles, these days, were in damn short supply.

For long minutes, the world faded away and a quiet rage took over.  He was a wanted felon.  Him--Commander Dillon Caldwell of the United States Navy, EDGE special ops, who’d dedicated his entire life to his country, who’d lost his sister, his parents, maybe his child, and almost his wife because of his loyalty and allegiance to his nation, was wanted for, of all things,
treason
.  His honor, integrity, everything he’d given his life for was now history.  Trashed.

His hatred of Rafael Sanchez grew into a burning, savage swell that made his vision blur into a red haze.  The fact that Sanchez was now threatening Sara’s life along with his child’s, a child he’d never even met, induced an even deadlier surge of such frigid malice that in the darkest corner of his mind he knew without a doubt that no matter what else might happen, he was going to point his gun at Sanchez, and without a qualm, pull the trigger.

Dillon closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.  When he was finally calm, he got up and looked at his watch.  Minutes had passed and turned into hours. 

He retrieved his empty cup, snagged Jake’s on the way, walked into the kitchen and poured them both another cup of coffee.

“Almost there, boss.”  Jake motioned for Dillon to come back in. 

Dillon sat down and watched the monitor.  Jake’s fingers flew across the keyboard and after a minute he sat back and grinned.  “Check this, we just hit the mother lode.”

Together, the two of them read the information on the screen.

Jake’s grin disappeared.

Dillon didn’t move. 

This was worse than he’d ever imagined and suddenly he was overwhelmed by an unholy fear for Sara’s safety. 

“Oh.  My.  God,” Jake whispered in awe, “no wonder Sanchez wants his drive back.” 

Dates, times, places, contact code names, quantities of drug acquisitions, shipments, drops, everything was listed, including two columns of numbers in some sort of code, that were, no doubt, the latitude and longitude of the drug drops in the U.S., Mexico, Colombia and several other nations.

“Yeah,” Dillon said, “and so does his partner.” 

Right there, in black and white, was an all-too-familiar name.  A name that was listed right alongside the number of drug shipments made as well as the payments received. 

Dillon’s expression was grim.  “Copy it on a plain black thumb drive, then re-encrypt the original.  In
our
code.”  Now Sanchez would never be able to decode the original, and that was going to be Dillon’s ace in the hole.

Jake inserted a blank flash drive, and with hands that were not quite steady, typed the copy command. 

As soon as Jake was finished and handed him the original, Dillon sealed it in a plastic bag and said, “If you don’t hear from me within two days, send the copy to every newspaper on every continent.” 

Fighting off a wave of frustration, he checked the time.  He now had twenty-nine hours left to find Sanchez.

A faint noise sounded from somewhere outside.  The front of the house.  “Listen.”   

He looked at Jake and Jake said, “Damn, I knew there’d be company, I just didn’t think it would be quite so soon.”

<><><>

When Matt heard someone fiddling with the lock on the outside of his cement prison, he scrambled to his feet as fast as his sore body would allow, and pressed himself against the wall.

Whoever was coming through that door had a hell of a surprise in store.  All Matt needed to do was grab their weapon, deliver a sharp blow to their throat, and ta-da, he’d be free of this sweat pit.  Free to go and hunt down Sanchez and get Ellie home.

The door started to open.  He ignored the fire blazing across his bruised and bloody ribs and braced himself. 
Easy now...

The door swung the rest of the way open and for a split second the bright daylight blinded him.  He moved anyway, striking fast, grabbing the foregrip of an Uzi, and jerking the man on the other end into the cell.

The ease with which he did this barely had time to register before an elbow slammed into his jaw hard enough to shoot stars across his vision and send the Uzi sailing across the cell. 

Cursing, he reeled around and blinked his vision clear just in time to dodge a kick to his stomach.  A kick with a very small foot at the end. 

What the--?

He took a swift step back, squaring off, and damn near laughed when he saw that his guard-slant-attacker was a woman.  A very beautiful, very young woman with dark brown hair and electric green eyes. 

Lena.

From what he’d heard, she was one of Sanchez’s women.  She also had a brother who worked hand in hand with Sanchez and who was merciless in killing anyone who looked at him sideways.  A real sadistic bastard.  Those two things combined put Lena right at the top of Matt’s ‘stay-away-from’ list.  Not that his so-called list mattered much right now.  His cover had been blown to hell, and all he wanted, after his business with Sanchez was over, was to make it back to the States in one piece with Ellie and then find Sara.

He gazed at Lena’s small frame.

Oh, this was going to be way too easy.  Pathetically simple.  Not that he wanted to kick the crap out of a woman, but he wanted out of this hellhole before he rotted to death.  And to achieve that goal, he needed her weapon.

The weapon that was now laying in the mud, toward the wall, an equal distance from both of them.  His gaze moved from the Uzi to Lena, and he smiled.  She didn’t stand a chance.

The grin on his face must have pissed her off because she charged, head down, like a bull ramming a red flag.  He could’ve stepped aside and she might’ve hit the wall, as fast as she was moving, but he grabbed her instead. 

What he didn’t expect was how she twisted in his grasp, kicked him in the shin with the heel of her boot, and then backfisted him square in the nose.

Sonofabitch!

And here he’d been trying to be nice.  He should’ve let her smack into the wall head first.

Okay, so the pretty little minx could fight.  Next time he’d be prepared.

When she went into some weird Kung-fu-ninja fighting stance, he crouched, ready for whatever she was going to try next.  Her breath came in short little bursts, full of anger and adrenaline.  Her eyes blazed green fire, and all he could think was
wow, what a beauty.

Maybe he should try talking her down before he had to hurt her.  He hated the thought of decking a woman, even one who carried an Uzi and had probably just broken his nose.  So he asked her in Spanish, “Come on now, Lena, don’t you think you should quit before you get hurt?”

She answered in perfect English.  “If you think I’m going to let you walk out of here, Manny, you’re crazy.”

Her English surprised him.  He’d seen her around Sanchez a few times, but had never heard her speak, and until now he’d always assumed she was Hispanic.  “You an American?”

“That’s none of your business.”  She took a step closer to the gun and so did he.