Hard Target Page 7

  Tay glanced at his watch. Five-thirty. "I'd rather not sit and wait."

  "Do you want to tour the village?" Dawna asked dryly.

  "No. I just don't care to sit in the open waiting for a sniper to appear." He matched her sarcasm with his own. Continually scanning the irregular straw and clay rooftops of the buildings surrounding the church, Tay held back the urge to pull his sidearm from his holster.

  He didn't need to. Along with Dawna's cell phone, she'd placed her fully loaded nine-mil Browning on the seat beside them. At the ready. He knew she had a round up the spout, too, even though the safety was on.

  They lapsed into another long, painful silence. Dawna shifted to undo her seat belt. Here they go again. Enclosed in a staff car, their bodies inches away from each other.

  His lungs hurt and he coughed again. The tension tightened his gut.

  The memory of their first time in a staff car together, and all they'd done, hummed like a plucked wire between them.

  The urge to grab her swelled in him. He wanted to drag her over to him, finish and savor the feeling that had eluded and yet haunted him for three, long years.

  His body's reaction was immediate. Tay shifted to relieve the pressure. "Dawna-"

  She cut him off. "Cabanelos is late."

  "He'll be here." Whoa, boy. Focus on your damn work, Hastings.

  What the hell was he going to say? That he wanted to spend the time waiting for a sniper by making love to her? The sheer insanity of the desire made him smile, but the grin was brief. He had to focus on the present, not linger on what might have happened if the CO hadn't caught them and ordered Dawna home in a taxi, with cold instructions to report back to him at oh-seven-hundred hours the next morning.

  "If Cabanelos doesn't show up soon, I'll call the ambassador." Dawna peered up at the clouding sky above the windshield, then picked up her phone. "I hope I don't lose service up here."

  He leaned over to look at it. "You haven't yet. Be patient." Yeah, fine words, when impatience danced inside of him. Cabanelos could be out there, hovering in one of the adobe houses or tucked in along the erratic lines of tiled roof of the church, waiting for them to turn edgy and climb out. This vehicle might withstand a small rocket launcher, but both of them out in the open wouldn't.

  Cabanelos also might be hiding within the tiny church. He could be anywhere.

  Tay had to stay vigilant.

  For Dawna, the time plodded by. She sat behind the wheel, feeling Tay's presence with every nerve, every sense, every uneven breath she took. Her Browning defended the no-man's-land between them. But how easily she could shove the weapon under the seat, before sliding over to him.

  Why, she demanded of herself. Because he was stirring up all those blood-warming emotions she'd kept in perfect check for three years?

  Forget it. He'd betrayed her, not once coming to her defense, as if he'd played some deliberate part in a scheme to see her fail.

  She tightened her body and gritted her teeth, telling herself not to be paranoid.

  But she refused to wait forever, not after the long drive up here, and with night falling on this tiny village. She threw open the driver door.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Tay snapped.

  "Someone has got to make the first move. And I'm willing to bet that Cabanelos doesn't plan on killing us today."

  "I wouldn't put money on that," Tay yelled across the seat. "Get back in here! That's an order."

  Dawna climbed out and leaned back into the car. She grabbed her Browning. "I'm tired of waiting. I want Cabanelos and I want to listen to what he has to say. But it's obvious that he won't come out first."

  "Don't be a fool. I'll go-"

  Dawna's gaze flicked past his shoulder and into the dusty courtyard. "There he is." She straightened and slammed the door as hard as she could, before walking to the corner fender.

  A man, bone thin and obviously carrying strong native genes, staggered into the open about twenty yards away. He wobbled on bowed out legs, as if drunk. She scanned his wiry frame and simple peasant clothing for a sign of a weapon. But the clothes hid too much. To her right, she heard Tay alight from the car, but didn't take her eyes off Cabanelos.

  Something was wrong. Cabanelos took another faltering step toward her. Obviously, he had rickets, but that wasn't what staggered his gait. His expression was dazed, his weak chin sagging. Dawna started toward him, ignoring Tay's quiet, gritted-out order to back up slowly.

  Stepping closer, she saw the sickly tone of Cabanelos' complexion despite his dark skin. His eyes conveyed a wild, glazed panic in the seconds before they rolled up into his head.

  Then he collapsed.

  Chapter Six

  Dawna stepped toward Cabanelos a moment before Tay plowed her up against the shadowed adobe wall beside the car. His strong body pinned her, his fingers dug into her biceps. He bent his face toward hers. "This could be an ambush, Dawna! A set up. He could be rigged with explosives! Didn't anything I taught you stay in that blonde head of yours?"

  She glared at him. The bastard. "Everything you taught me, in and out of the classroom, stayed in this blonde head, thank you!"

  His short, anxious breath brushed across her face as his dark glare bored into her. "Then listen to that training!"

  She ripped her gaze from him to glance over his shoulder, watching in horror as Cabanelos twitched on the packed ground.

  "Of course, it could be an ambush," she whispered. "But if it isn't, then what? Do we stand here and watch this man die? Have you done that so often that you can handle a death on your conscience?"

  Tay backed off an inch. She wrenched herself out of his firm grasp and after a quick scan of the entire area and her sidearm at the ready, she raced over to Cabanelos. She dropped by the man's side and gently turned his head toward her.

  A thin face framed an aquiline nose. His black eyes fluttered open to stare frighteningly into hers. His breath smelled odd as struggled to say something between hacking coughs.

  Her heart pounding, she remembered Tay's wise words. He could be wrapped in explosives, a suicide bomber. She swallowed. No. This wasn't the MO of a suicide bomber.

  She heard Tay approach as she checked the man's thready pulse. When Tay leaned over her, she felt his warm words tickle her ear. "Move away."

  "No. This man isn't rigged with explosives."

  "You don't know that."

  "I'm listening to your training, Tay. Expensive explosives would be wasted on this village, and on us up here. Suicide bombers prefer to blend into crowds to get maximum effect from their explosions." She leaned forward and gently padded Cabanelos' thin torso.

  She could hardly breathe. Wetting dry lips, she felt nothing but ribs around a barrel chest, the hallmark of chronic altitude sickness.

  Tay stilled her hands. "No, Dawna. Back up. Crouch behind the car. I'll check him out." He glared at her as she turned to answer him. "Yes, now!"

  She obeyed, giving in the logic of risking only one life. Once behind the car, she looked again at Tay, who motioned to her to crouch down. She did.

  God, keep Tay safe.

  "Dawna!"

  She stood, and Tay motioned her closer. "He's clear. Now let's move him away from this open area."

  As she approached, she watched Tay scan the houses surrounding the small plaza. The sun, so blazing in Cochabamba, had barely heated the thin air here before slipping behind the threatening clouds. Shadowed alcoves now blended together into the color of pale, Andean mud.

  She turned her attention back to Cabanelos. He'd begun to twitch again, his open jacket and shirt showing shallow rapid breaths. He must be freezing. "This man is ill. We can't leave him."

  "Over this way, then, since you insist on playing the Good Samaritan." Tay slid his hands under Cabanelos' armpits. After shoving her Browning into her shoulder holster, Dawna wrapped her arms around his ankles. Panting, they quickly carried the man to the front of the church, close to the bell tower. They'd no sooner laid him down, w
hen Cabanelos reached out and grabbed her wrist.

  "Por favor..."

  She knelt over him, barely able to take in a deep breath from the exertion of moving him. "His lips are blue. And listen to his breathing. I think he's having a heart attack."

  "Escucheme! Listen!" Cabanelos leaned forward painfully. "Much to say." He panted, his watering eyes flashing about in panic. "Ramos is not desaparecidos. Ramos is not..."

  His words faded away, and Dawna glanced up at Tay, hoping he was also listening. He wasn't. Instead, he focused on the courtyard. She leaned closer to Cabanelos' face. "Go on."

  Cabanelos coughed. "Padre..." He began to chant.

  Tay glanced down at him. "What's he saying?"

  She cradled the man's head. "I don't know. I think he's praying."

  Abruptly, the front door to the church flew open. A long-robed man trotted out and scanned the empty plaza, spinning around when he caught sight of Cabanelos. "Juan!"

  Dawna stared up at him. "Habla ud Ingles?"

  The priest gaped at her, then up to Tay when he stood. "Yes, I speak English. What has happened? What have you done to Juan?"

  "He collapsed while he was walking to our car."

  Cabanelos cried out something. The priest pulled up his long robe to kneel down.

  "What did he say?" Dawna asked.

  The priest shook his head. "He's crying for his wife. And begging Jesus to forgive her. We must get him inside the church."

  "He needs a doctor."

  Anger flared in the priest's expression. "Yes, but we have no phone service here. Someone must go down to the next town to get him. And I won't leave Juan out here."

  Dawna turned to Tay. He shook his head, briefly. What was he trying to tell her? Not to offer anything? Tay stared back at her incredulous expression, then pulled the embassy's cell phone out of his pocket. When he'd grabbed that phone, she didn't know, but she guessed his North American one was useless down here in Bolivia without the proper chip.

  "Help me get him inside," the priest begged. "It will rain soon. Do you want him to die out here?"

  Dawna didn't want him to die at all. When she straightened, Tay stepped in bedside her. Wordlessly, he handed the cell phone to the priest and scooped Cabanelos up in his arms. The priest scrambled to open the door to the small church.

  The interior was dark. Like most Catholic churches, the air was still and pungent with the smoky odor of wax. Tay placed Cabanelos down on the last roughhewn pew. Dawna could hear Tay wheezing slightly in the thin atmosphere. "Light the candles," the priest told her. "May I use this phone?"

  Tay nodded as Dawna hurried up to the altar where a single knobby candle burned. She lit several longer tapers and returned down the aisle with them. She could hear the priest speaking rapidly on the cell phone as she approached Tay, who was leaning over Cabanelos, examining him.

  Still feeling the need to breathe deeply, she set the candlesticks down near Cabanelos' head. Tay looked up at her. "I don't think he's having a heart attack. His pulse is weak, yes, but his breath smells odd and he seems more delirious than anything else."

  She knelt down beside him, squeezing herself between the pews. "He may be a diabetic."

  "Then his breath would smell like acetone." Tay shook his head, his mouth pressed into a grim line. Dawna shivered. This situation felt all wrong. To find Cabanelos and then lose him so quickly, here in a small church in a village so far removed from civilization. No wonder Tay wasn't anxious to race out to help Cabanelos. It smelled as much like an ambush as this church smelled like wax.

  But they were still alive. No gunfire had peppered the plaza outside. No guerrillas had burst into the church.

  The priest stopped talking and returned the phone to her. "There is a doctor in the next village. He's coming, but it will take over an hour." He looked at Cabanelos, frowning with worry. "Did he just collapse?"

  "Yes." Dawna nodded. "Do you know him?"

  "We grew up together. This is our home."

  "Did you know he's wanted by the policia? He was seen immediately after an attack on an embassy in Cochabamba."

  Shock hit the priest's features. "No!" He stopped himself, uttering something soft and slurred in Spanish. "Juan came to me today. He wanted to confess, he said, but we stood and talked in here for too long."

  "Why?"

  "We're old friends. He said he'd come back. He was meeting someone, he said."

  Tay stood. "Did he appear unwell?"

  The priest shook his head, staring down at his friend. "He was troubled, but not sick."

  "Did he eat anything here?"

  Again, the priest shook his head. "No, but he did go away for about an hour. To his home. He may have eaten something there."

  "Where's his home?"

  "His parent's home is the last house on the left down the street that is west of the church. A small home with a crumbling oven out front and a chicken coop behind it. His parents are both dead now." He stepped back. "I'll get a blanket."

  He hurried over to a small, wooden door and disappeared into another room. A moment later, he returned with a colorful woven blanket. Dawna took it to cover the unconscious Cabanelos.

  The priest studied them. "Why are you two here? Are you from the embassy? Were you to meet Juan?"

  "Yes," Dawna answered. "A man who said he was Juan Cabanelos called me this morning and wanted to meet me here. He had important information, he said. Did he tell you anything more?"

  "No." The priest folded his arms. "If he had, it would have been in the confessional and I would not tell you."

  "Where's his wife?" Tay asked.

  The priest's arms dropped to his side and he looked genuinely confused. "I had not seen Juan for several years. I didn't know he had a wife. I would have expected to be invited to the wedding. To perform it, even. It makes no sense."

  Cabanelos let out a sharp moan and they all turned to him. He appeared to be regaining consciousness. "Leave us," the priest ordered firmly. "I want to offer him his last chance to confess."

  "No," Dawna said. "He's wanted-"

  "No, Señora, this is my church. Unless you have the proper papers, you will leave. Now."

  Ire rose in Dawna at the man's icy tone. She was about to argue back when Tay touched her arm. She looked at him, and he flicked his head in the direction of the front door.

  Outside, he checked the plaza, before steering Dawna toward the car. The sky was openly threatening now. She inhaled the cool air, drawing in the scent of rain or snow or both.

  "Let's go check out Cabanelos' home," Tay said.

  "Why are you in a hurry to leave?"

  He stopped by the passenger door of the car. After a pause, he said, "There's no use in making that priest mad. He'd refuse to help. We're better off keeping on his good side."

  Dawna stood back a bit, surprised that Tay didn't press any demands on the priest. Was he hoping to catch more flies with honey, not vinegar, as the old saying went? Feeling a bit confused, she hastily bent down to peer under the car, swiftly beginning the standard security check with Tay.

  The temperature had dropped further. They shouldn't have left the car unattended, but there was no sign it had been tampered with. In fact, with the storm coming, there was absolutely no sign of life in the village. She climbed into the driver's seat and looked at Tay as he took the passenger side. He pointed to the road that the priest said that would lead to Cabanelos' house.

  As she swung the car around, she glanced across at the church. There really wasn't anything they could do in there. The doctor was on his way, the priest sat with Cabanelos, ready to offer him his last rites. They could either wait outside or search his village home. Even if they did manage to stay near the man, he'd confess to the priest in Spanish and Dawna knew the priest would refuse to translate.

  She'd never had anyone die on her before. All those years of serving as a military policewoman, she'd been in her share of scrapes and standoffs. She'd broken up domestic quarrels where one spo
use held the other at gunpoint, and called an ambulance more times than she could count, but each time, the victim or suspect had survived.

  Now it looked like Cabanelos wouldn't. And if he was going to confess his part in attacking the embassy, it would be forever sealed in a confession.

  They spotted Cabanelos' home, set apart by several yards from the neighboring house. "Stop here," Tay said, reaching for his gun. Her own sidearm bit into her ribs and she pulled it free.

  Tay added, "I'll go around to the right. You head left."

  She nodded, grabbed her cell phone and they climbed out. A fat raindrop hit her shoulder, but she ignored it. Tay had already disappeared around the right corner.

  There was only one small, dark window on her side. A quick peer inside revealed nothing. Walking stealthily around, her hands gripping her Browning, she found Tay near the wall at the other side. They made their way up to the only door.

  The stench of chicken dung pervaded the air. Nearby, under a small adobe coop, several hens clucked nervously, either because of them or the approaching storm.

  Like the rest of the village, the mud house appeared to be deserted. Because of the unusual storm perhaps, but Dawna was more inclined to think that their arrival had spooked the reserved locals. She made her way around the corner.

  Between her and Tay was a short, rough-hewn door. Tay slid up beside it and knocked. No answer. With a sharp, instructing look to her, he flicked up the old-fashioned latch. The door swung inward.

  "Hello? Hola," Tay called out. "Anyone home?"

  Again, nothing.

  Dawna covered him as he stepped over the threshold, following him closely as her training dictated.

  Inside the single-roomed hut, she was hit with the smell of boiled potatoes. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw an old table pushed against the peeling and chipped wall to her left. Across the hard-packed floor was a sagging, but neatly made bed. Above it hung a small crucifix. A battered Coleman stove and several odd dishes, all clean, sat on a nearby table. A suitcase of clothing lay open on a chair beside the bed and in the center stood a small Inca-styled clay oven.