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“That’s where you’re wrong. I know about the thumb drive and about the secret operations going on. I need those specs. My associates will pay big money for them.”
“You already know everything about the missile, the terrorist cells. You’re part of them.”
“I’m not.”
“You are and you’re a fucking traitor, too.”
“You don’t know everything. Why do you think I chose you to go undercover with me? You had your sister and no one else. She doesn’t date. She never even has a man over to her place. You protect her so that makes you weak. You’re predictable. When Smuthers told me about you, I of course jumped at the opportunity. You’re too patriotic. You love this damn country so much you’d give your life for it.”
“What do you mean you chose me? You were a snitch for the government. Now you say you’re an agent, too, and you picked me to be part of this? I don’t believe you.”
“You should. You think everyone in our government wants to keep the peace? You’re a fool. A terrorist attack gives the government power and control over the people to persuade them. Everyone gets all patriotic. Meanwhile a select few of us know that it’s a game.”
“You’re lying and you’re sick.”
Chavez struck Keith again, this time hitting him in the mouth.
“You think I’m lying? You’ll see. But either way, the choice of whether your sister lives or dies in Mexico is yours.”
In Mexico? They’re taking her across the border into Mexico? Fuck! Montoya and Guazipan were there. The place where the missile was created and built is there, too. Could they take her to the same location?
Keith felt his blood pressure rising. He couldn’t make a move yet. Once he did and if he killed a spy of the US government, even though he was bad, his life was over. They would never believe him. He needed to keep Chavez alive. Plus, Smuthers was bad, too. He couldn’t kill them both without getting his sister killed.
“Now this is the plan. You’re going to hand over that thumb drive. You’re going to call headquarters and tell them that you’re giving yourself up as soon as I tell you to. Then you’re going to run, and keep them on your tail so they think you’re about to do something foolish.”
“Something foolish?”
“Yeah, like set off a bomb in a highly crowded area where hundreds if not thousands of innocent people will probably die.”
“No. No. I’m not doing that.”
“You will, or your team and your sister are dead.”
Chapter 3
Shawna slowly came to. Immediately her head and jaw were throbbing, and she had no feeling in her arms. She blinked her eyes open. The smell of dampness, cold, dirt, and—was that food?—attacked her senses.
She caught sight of the concrete, the darkness, and slight bit of light coming from a door. Her wrists were cuffed behind her back as she sat tied to a chair of some kind. She moved around with the little room she had and felt the stiffness all over. It was as if she had been run over by a truck. She hurt everywhere. Slowly her memory of what happened came back to her. She felt her heart racing. She closed her eyes as they welled up with tears. The three men from the bar had grabbed her. She’d failed. She hadn’t done what Keith had said. She wasn’t a trained soldier. She’d fought them best she could, but in the end the big guy struck her so hard he knocked her out.
She swallowed hard and blinked her eyes open. She wondered where she was. Vaguely she remembered driving in the van. She remembered someone holding her on their lap. They stopped, and someone asked them questions. They mentioned her passport. Her chest tightened.
She inhaled, the smell of food growing stronger as her belly rumbled. She was starving. Where had they taken her? Out of the country?
She heard what sounded like male voices and footsteps. She didn’t know what to do. Should she pretend she was still unconscious?
She closed her eyes, but the moment they entered they had planned on waking her. The kick to her chair jostled her body, almost making her fall over onto her side.
She tensed the moment she locked gazes with their eyes. They looked Hispanic, maybe Mexican, and they looked evil.
They yelled at her in their language. It was Mexican Spanish. They were holding large guns. AK-47s, if she was correct. They wore what appeared to her to be military uniforms. One guy thrust the butt of his gun at her thigh.
She cried out. “What do you want?”
He stepped forward, straddled her thighs, and grabbed her by the neck. He squeezed tight and she gasped, unable to fight back or fend him off because her hands were tied behind her back.
“Cuadrone, release her now,” the other man said. Cuadrone gave her neck a shove, causing an instant ache. She nearly tumbled over.
After Cuadrone pulled his gun back into position, a third man arrived with three other men.
