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“Across the border to Bolivia, around the Lake Titicaca area.”
“So,” Sierra murmured, thinking aloud, “Caverna is an important choke point. A place where he’s forced to come with his bags?”
“Exactly.”
Nate spoke up. “Sierra, what you don’t know is that Belov has those poor people in that village terrified. He needs their cave systems. A place to stash the drugs. And he terrorizes them all the time, in order to keep them in line. He’s threatened them with death if any of them tell an outsider that he’s hiding his drug haul in their area.”
“I get it,” she said, shaking her head. She turned to Mace. “Does your contact always get a message from Pavlov?”
“No,” Mace said. “Just depends upon many fluid situations with Belov. Sacha has to be very, very careful about his movements in any given village. But he’s set up medical clinics in all of them and that’s when his contact gets to him, and they exchange messages. He can’t just go to the woman’s hut and speak with her. Belov watches his men. His second-in-command Milova Kushnir is charged with watching all of them.” Frowning, he added, “Kushnir is worse than Belov and there’s word on the street that he wants to replace Belov and become the leader, instead.”
“So, Belov can’t trust his own team?” she demanded.
“Not at all. Pavlov has to be extra careful with the situation. If too many suspicious events occur in a row, Belov may suspect a mole. There’re times when Sacha gives us intel, but we don’t act on it because it might place him into jeopardy.”
Shaking her head, Sierra said, “That guy has a big set of balls to do that under Belov’s nose. If he found out, he’d kill him in a heartbeat.”
Cale said, “Oh, Belov would take his time torturing Sacha, believe me. He used to be an interrogator and his methods are straight out of the Middle Ages. He’d make an example of him, believe me. And it wouldn’t be pretty, Sierra. The man is evil.”
“All the more reason I want to take him out,” Sierra muttered. She’d heard enough about Belov to make her want to vomit. The man was a sociopath, pure and simple. He had no morals or values. Greed was his god. That and power.
Mace felt his stomach clench. He said nothing, but if Belov ever captured Sierra… Instantly, he shut off. She had no idea what would happen to her as a woman. And that made him even more protective of her. “Okay,” he said, glancing up at his team, “we go in careful, as always.”
“Meaning?” Sierra prompted.
“Meaning Belov could be hiding anywhere around here. We have to fade into the cave area, wait, watch and listen. The Indians can’t give us a high sign. If Belov is in the vicinity, waiting, that’d mean they wouldn’t dare try to warn us off. He’d kill anyone who tried to alert us.”
“Do we use the night, then?” Sierra asked.
“Better believe it,” Mace said. He pointed to the thinning line of jungle behind them. “We’re going to wait it out here, hide, rest up, grab some sleep if we can. At nightfall, we’ll use the edge of the jungle and move toward the village.”
“Don’t they have dogs?” she asked.
“They eat them,” Cale told her. “No dogs at most of these villages.”
Nate added, “Just dozens of guinea pigs in every hut. That’s their main meat source. They have those little critters living, breeding, birthing, and growing up in their huts. There’s very little other protein around, except for a grain called quinoa. It’s thirty-percent protein but they can grow it down in their fields below. This village has to go to Sacred Valley, down below, and buy any other vegetables they might want, from them.”
“Yeah,” Cale said, making himself comfortable by laying on his back and using his ruck as a pillow, “think about carrying sacks of vegetables from six thousand to back up here? Ball-busting if you ask me.”
Sierra nodded. “No question.”
Mace turned to Sierra. “Make yourself comfortable. Try to sleep.” He wished like hell they were back in Cusco. Every night he’d spent there in his bed, alone, fantasizing that Sierra was there beside him, had eaten away at him. He’d seen the longing in her eyes for him as their gazes had briefly met. Literally, Mace could still feel that connection between them. Unrequited. Strong. Needy. He turned, getting up and hauling his ruck off to where two rocks met. He looked up at at the sky. It was cloudy, but it didn’t look like rain. It rained a lot less up in the Highlands, unlike down in the jungle. It was a reprieve from always being damp, and having their flesh chaffed by their thick, heavy cammies. He saw Sierra lay down on her side in the dusk, still unacclimatised to the cold, head on her ruck. She tucked one hand against her breast and an ache filled Mace. He pictured himself curving along the back side of her, sliding one arm beneath her slender neck, the other across her body, his hand splayed out across her belly, holding her close. Holding her tight, inhaling the fragrance of her silky black hair and skin.
Mace snapped himself back from daydreams, “Cale? You got the watch for the next two hours,” he told him. “Nate? You’re next. Then Sierra and then myself.”
“Roger that,” Cale said, moving to his feet. He would stand watch, be their eyes and ears so that the rest of the team could grab rest and, hopefully, some sleep.
Someone squeezed Sierra’s arm gently. Instantly, she woke up. Mace was leaning over her, watching her. Blinking, she sat up, rubbing her face. “I’m up,” she said thickly, sleep torn from her.
“Your turn for sentry duty,” he said quietly, looking around. Glancing at his watch, he said, “The sun just set.”
Looking up, Sierra saw the sky had turned darker, the clouds drifting off the Andes in the distance growing gray. “Two hours?”
“Yeah, then wake everyone.”
“Okay. I’m on it.” Mace studied her intently for a moment and Sierra felt his warmth, his care. Her heart opened and she wanted so badly to lift her hand, slide it against his stubbled jaw, caress him. Kiss him. She’d had the chance but didn’t take it. That was on her. Sadness moved through Sierra. There was no way a relationship with Mace would ever work. Despite how badly she wanted it to. Getting to her feet, she hauled her cammo jacket from her ruck along with two of her sweaters. She pulled the sweaters on and then the jacket, feeling warmer. Taking the M-4 rifle from the Velcro straps on her ruck, Sierra chambered a round, leaving the safety off. She pulled a warm alpaca knit hat from her ruck and settled it on her head. She settled the NVGs around her neck. Soon enough, she’d need them.
Stepping quietly, knowing how to walk without making a sound, Sierra left the bedded-down team, and moved out from the formation of rocks. The wind was sharp and gusting, having reversed direction to now flow down strongly off the Andes toward the Pacific Ocean far away beyond her sight. The wind slapped her with powerful gusts, whistling across the rounded, smooth escarpment, heading downward over its lip. Halting halfway around the perimeter of the massive rock fortress, she set her rifle down, quickly unbraiding her hair to let it flow free. The hair on the back of her neck would keep her warmer from the temperature she knew was about to drop sharply. Picking up the rifle again, she pulled its strap across her shoulder and continued to move, keeping alert.
