Phantom Wolf. Bonnie Vanak
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Shay had to follow them.
Even if the thought of taking his former lover prisoner splintered that rock he once called his heart.
Hours later, they landed at the Palmerola Air Base, where the United States had a long-standing presence. They were joined by Greg Andrews, the new SEAL on Team 21’s Phoenix Force. Andrews was a last-minute addition to the op, direct orders from the admiral himself.
Shay knew the guys slightly resented the FNG, the effing new guy, mainly because he took Adam’s place. Adam was a jag shifter, killed in Afghanistan when he and Dakota were ambushed by demons.
Shorter in stature, with mild brown eyes and a lean build, Greg studied the old, weathered “hootches” serving as their quarters.
“No running water inside,” Greg mused. “Latrines and showers are over there.”
Sully took a look at the worn-wood buildings and shrugged. “Beats sleeping in the jungle.”
“To each their own, wolf.” Greg was a tiger shifter.
They stashed their gear. They had barely finished when Dakota’s cell rang and he stepped outside to take the call. Their lieutenant returned to the barracks, his face grim. Shay stopped cleaning his sidearm. He knew that look, disbelief and frustration.
Meaning, some hotshot brass had screwed up the mission.
Dakota ran a hand through his hair.
“Orders have changed. The tracking chip indicates our target is in San Lorenzo, way south of here. We’re to capture the target and notify Curt as soon as she’s in custody. Then take her to an LZ near San Lorenzo to await a helo, where we’ll hand over the prisoner to the Mage council representative. We’re traveling as civilians. No weapons. Curt says we’ll spook the local police.”
Gooseflesh broke out on Shay’s arms. “Not even a sidearm?”
“Curt said those are our orders, direct from the admiral.” Dakota’s voice was tight.
His Mage senses were all but roaring. “What’s the deal? He’d never send us out without weapons.”
“Damn, I don’t like it,” Sully muttered.
“Any ideas, Shay?” Dakota gave him an even look.
Shay gazed around the stark barracks. Sweat trickled down his back into the waistband of his cammies. He always followed orders, but hellfire, this order sounded like trouble. He was the team’s weapon’s expert. “Time to call in some favors.” He removed his cell, palming it. “Give me a couple of hours.”
It took less than that. The former politician in the Honduran Congress he’d done a security detail for two years ago was happy to help. An hour later, Shay returned to base in a dark blue Range Rover. The other SEALs gathered around the vehicle as he jumped out.
“Vehicle’s bulletproof. We’ll travel in these.”
He tossed five oversize khaki shirts and several pairs of olive cargo pants to Dakota, along with five leather gun holsters. Sully picked his up and whistled. “Sweet. It’ll do.”
“More goodies in the trunk. Not much ammo. All I could scrounge up at the last moment.”
Dakota nodded. “Good job, Shay.”
No satisfaction filled him at the praise. Instead, he felt only a sense of unease. Every instinct screamed caution.
A short time later, they emerged from their barracks in cargo pants, the loose-fitting khaki shirts draped over the waistbands. Tucked inside each man’s pants was a leather holster carrying a Sig Sauer 9 mm.
“Not bad,” Greg muttered. “We blend with the locals. Too bad we can’t carry a rocket launcher in our pants.”
“Shay always carries a rocket launcher in his pants,” Renegade jested.
As they moved to the vehicle’s rear, Shay looked around to ensure they weren’t watched. He opened the hatch and lifted the carpeting. In a specially designed wheel well were five HK MP5 submachine guns.
“No extra ammo, but fully loaded.”
“I always did like fully loaded vehicles,” Sully drawled.
Dakota nodded. “Much better insurance for the road than triple A. I’m not going to ask how you got them. We’ll take a minimum of gear, plus com equipment, stash it here.”
After doing so, they loaded the vehicle with water, supplies and their packs. Shay pocketed flex cuffs he’d laced with his own magick to restrain Kelly once they caught her.
Sitting shotgun next to Dakota, Shay consulted with the miniature receiver that transmitted a steady beacon from Kelly’s security chip.
Renegade leaned between the seats. “What if she removed it?”
“She wouldn’t. Kelly knows Rogers would send us here. That’s what she wants.”
Sully whistled. “Why?”
He studied the flashing pinpoint of light. “She needs our help.”
Renegade snorted. “Help her? The woman who kidnapped the senator’s only child?”
Kelly had trusted him and spilled all her secrets. But she didn’t know what a dangerous game she played. Shay’s fingers tightened around the transponder. Curt had assured him that she’d get a fair trial. But even the powerful Mage couldn’t prevent Kelly from suffering an accident.
Are you delivering her to her death?
He looked directly at his lieutenant. “She didn’t kidnap Billy. Kelly told me rogue Arcanes are holding other Elemental children here in Honduras.”
Dakota looked stunned.
“She’s here to rescue these missing Phantom children. Kelly says a group of Arcanes plans to kill them, drain their powers and use the magick to imitate Elementals to exterminate my people. And they’re going to create another Dark Lord to aid them.”
Shay’s throat tightened. “Genocide of all Elemental Mages.”
Silence, except for the rumble of the engine.
“Christ,” Sully muttered. “Shades of Rwanda and Bosnia.”
“Sounds far-fetched. You believe it?” Renegade asked. Shay sighed. “I believe she didn’t kidnap Billy and that she believes she is fighting for the right cause.”
The other, he needed proof.
He glanced at his lieutenant. “And I believe the council is gunning for her, because of Senator Rogers.”
Dakota had a white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. “They’re your people, Shay. You know Mage politics better than we do. But we have our orders.”
“Let’s go,” he said, and gave the coordinates.
Trees and shrubs flanked the road, shadowed by the magnificent vista of jagged mountains. Dakota kept a steady speed, except to slow and jerk the vehicle around potholes the size of moon craters. Small, rough-hewn shacks sold colorful handwoven hammocks strung between trees. Two or three times they had to stop and slow for men driving a herd of cattle on the road, waving a red caution flag for vehicles.
Three hours later, they reached San Lorenzo. A faded statue of the saint guarded the town’s entrance. Shay’s pulse accelerated as he glanced at the receiver.
“She’s here. Take the right fork, then the first right.”
They drove past a row of buildings and hit a dirt road. Simple wood-and-adobe houses flanked the road, cordoned off from each other by barbed-wire fences. The burning sun in the crisp blue sky baked the landscape.
After a series of turns, they arrived at a white concrete building bearing a sign that read Health Center in Spanish. A few women, babies in their arms, mingled out front