AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He beamed, a silly-assed grin spread across his face.
“Yeah,” Mace grunted. “We each have rooms at a Swiss-owned hotel in Cusco. Nice digs. Hot water, a bath with a shower, hot, good food and dry sheets.”
“It sounds like heaven,” she whispered dreamily, hitching up her M-4 and heading for her hut.
By the time they left their digs, it looked as if they’d never been there. Sierra had found out from Nate on the second day that drug runners used this feeder trail, hauling heavy sacks of cocaine on their backs from here all the way to Bolivia. It was like a rest stop, she supposed. Mace’s team made damn sure any indication they’d even been here was erased into non-existence. The Special Forces team had several of the enslaved Indians’ schedules down pat. Belov and his men took Indians and their donkeys ladened with cocaine through this area once every two weeks. And Mace always made sure they left two days early in case there was a change in Belov’s schedule. No one wanted to meet them here. It was too enclosed. Only one exfil route.
The team hoofed up to the Highlands in record time, the promise of the first decent night’s sleep in seven days pushing them on. Sierra took her spot behind Mace. He led the group at a blistering trot up the trails that were constantly inclining ever-steeper. The Army Night Stalker pilots would meet them in a Black Hawk at nine thousand feet, just outside the jungle’s tree line. On the bare cliffs of the Highlands. She was breathing hard by the time they summited the rocky area scattered here and there with low, hardy bushes. It was nearly noon, the sky a light blue above them, the air chilly. And, with her clothes damp, she felt as cold as always. The guys seemed to realize this and encircled her, shielding her from the gusting wind off the high, snow-covered Andes mountains in the distance. She was grateful for their thoughtfulness and care.
“Really, Sierra,” Nate told her while they waited for the helicopter to arrive, “you need to buy a couple of vicuna or alpaca sweaters when you’re in Cusco. Wear them beneath your armored vest and they won’t get wet and they’ll sure as hell keep you warmer.”
“Good idea,” Sierra noted, wrapping her arms around herself, seriously feeling the cold now. The guys heard her teeth chattering and pushed their bodies up against her. “Thanks,” she muttered. “I’m really not a wuss.”
Cale chuckled, pulling the brim of his hat a little lower over his sunglasses. “We’d NEVER call you that, Sierra.”
“Better not,” she chattered, grateful that they encircled her tightly, all their bodies pressed to her front and sides. “You guys are like furnaces! You’re so warm!”
“Three years out here,” Cale drawled, “will do it. Feeling better now?” and he smiled down into her eyes.
“Much better, thanks.” She had all her gear on, her vest and H-gear filled with mags of cartridges across her chest. Even above and beyond that barrier of armor between herself and the men, she felt not even the slightest hint of unwanted intimacy from any of them. Right now, Sierra thought that they were so damned happy to get a break from their dangerous routine that their minds were on something other than sex. But maybe not all of them. She saw the heat banked up in Mace’s eyes as he put his long arms around the two men standing either side of him. They made a human triangle around her, shielding her from the wind chill and gusts. He said nothing, but the heat coming off his body always amazed her. She looked up at him and gave him a silly grin.
“You know what, Mace? You could rent yourself out as a cosmic heater. I can literally feel it rolling off you.”
Cale and Nate chuckled. “We’ll just call him ‘Heater Boy’.”
“Like hell you will,” Mace growled, giving them dark, warning looks. And then he settled his narrow gaze on Sierra. “I’ll deal withyoulater.”
The men hooted, jeered and giggled.
Sierra scowled at Mace. “Is that a threat?” she demanded, unsure if he was teasing her or not. Sometimes, she couldn’t tell. At least, not yet. Mace didn’t exactly have a revolving door on his feelings and often reverted to clipped, few-word sentences. Those were tough to glean anything from, and Sierra was always having to switch to the sensing equipment inside her sniper-trained mind to pinpoint his feelings.
“Let’s put it this way,” Mace drawled, giving her a very intense look, “it’s a promise. Not a threat.”
Well, that’s fine.Before Sierra could rebut his cryptic comment, she heard and then saw the olive-green Black Hawk climbing the cliff, heading up toward them. The men broke away from her. She saw Mace throw a canister of green smoke out to the landing area, a clean patch of earth they’d cleared earlier of rocks and debris so the downwash from the blades wouldn’t kick them up and cause anyone injury before they even got on board.
Sierra had never felt so happy as when she leaped onto the deck of the Hawk, one of the air crewmen helping her with a hand, hoisting her on board. She balanced her heavy ruck, got in and then took it off, carefully placing it beside her on the deck. The crew chief motioned for her to sit in one of the two jump seats at the rear of the helo and strap in. She hesitated until Mace made a sharp gesture for her to get her butt into one of the seats. Wanting to pout, but choosing not to, Sierra went and strapped in. The head crew chief strapped in next to her, handing her a helmet to put on. As she did so, the other crewman slid and locked the door, turning and speaking to the two Night Stalker pilots up front. In no time, they were lifting off and sliding in a long, long bank down toward the green jungle below them at six thousand feet.
She always liked riding in a Hawk, the familiar vibration, the noise blunted through her helmet, the continuous shaking, soothing to her. Nate and Cale sat with their own backs up against the rears of the pilots’ seats, eyes closed, arms hanging loosely off their drawn-up knees. Realizing they all looked grubby, muddy, and wet, Sierra yearned for a hot shower, a chance to get her hair washed and actually dried. Soon…
Mace gestured forSierra to follow him after he signed in at the Swiss hotel for both of them under other names. There was an elevator at the rear of the cheery-yellow reception area. The white tiles gleamed, clean and highly waxed. The windows welcomed in the warm sunlight. They’d left their weapons at a hangar at the Cusco airport that was guarded by US Army personnel. A small contingent of men and women mechanics, plus two Night Stalker pilots, had welcomed them there and allowed to be within Peru’s borders with the country’s blessing. Peru lacked the manpower and money to put boots on the ground to go after all the druggies up in the jungle and highlands areas. They eagerly welcomed certain types of help from the U.S. military.
Sierra still had her ruck on. It barely allowed her to squeeze into the small brass elevator with Mace. Nate and Cale had taken the white marble staircase with its teak rail, first teasing them that they’d get up faster than they would in that slug of an elevator. She looked up at Mace. He looked more relaxed.
“What are you going to do first?” she wondered.
“Sit in the hottest damn bath I can make. Drink a cold beer and just sit and relax in it. How about you?”
“Hot shower and then,” she picked up one of her long, damp braids in her fingers, “wash my hair. REALLY wash it,” and she grinned.
“Tonight, we’ll meet down in the lobby at 1800,” he told her. “We’ll take you to our favorite restaurant, La Ratama, on Plazas de Armas, the main square in Cusco. “We’ll buy you dinner and get you drunk on pisco sours,” and he grinned.
Mace’s face changed remarkably whenever he smiled just a little. Sierra was amazed at the change in his face. He always looked so hard and intense, but when the corners of his mouth curved upward, Sierra swore he looked ten years younger. But Mace hadn’t had a lot to be happy about in his younger years. She figured he was in his early thirties, judging by the deep crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes, the slashes on either side of his mouth. He was a hard man who regularly challenged hard weather conditions and dangerous Russian teams—and won. Handily.
“Pisco sours?”
“Yeah, national drink of Peru. It’s a brandy. And it’s good. You’ll like it. I’m buying us the first round.”
Wrinkling her nose, she muttered, “My Native American DNA has no gene to break down alcohol in my bloodstream, Mace. I stay away from the stuff. But I’ll drink some good, iced water with you. Maybe a slice of lime in it?”
