Courageous. Diana Palmer
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down air strikes. The military we’re up against isn’t going to be a pushover. Machado trained most of them, and we have to consider that only a few are likely to defect to our cause. People generally don’t like sudden change.”
“I don’t like it at all,” she agreed. “Stay here.”
“People don’t make history by staying home. Not my nature.”
She sighed. “I know. Well, be careful.”
“Count on it.”
He bent, regardless of her father’s presence in the living room, and kissed her with breathless tenderness. He looked into her eyes for a long time, until she felt shivers down her spine. “You’re the most special person in my life. I’ll come home. I’ve been alone for a long time. I don’t want to be alone anymore, Peg.”
She gasped at the way he was looking at her. “Me … me, neither,” she whispered.
He kissed her eyelids, touching them with the tip of his tongue. “My sweet girl. I’ll be back before you know it.”
She nodded, forcing a wobbly smile. “Okay. I’ll hold you to that promise.”
He smiled. “Good night, Cinderella.” He bent and kissed her one last time, hard, before he turned and she went inside.
Her eyes followed him with aching longing. She was the most special person in his life. He didn’t want to be alone anymore. That had to mean something. It sounded like a commitment. It gave her hope. Great hope.
The next morning, Grange was in Emilio Machado’s camp, gathering gear and talking to his men. Peg was as far from his thoughts as ice cream sundaes and television sports, because he couldn’t afford the distraction of remembering her soft, eager mouth under his.
Machado was grim. “We have men, and equipment,” he told Grange. “We have more financing, thanks to your efforts and those of Mr. Pendleton. But we have no air force and no carrier group …”
“Revolutions can succeed without either, as long as they have dedicated people and good intel,” Grange reminded him. “Military intelligence is my strong point. I know how to organize a resistance movement. I did it in Iraq with local tribesmen. I can do it in Barrera.”
Machado smiled. “You give me confidence. I know that the cause is good. I made a mistake. I left my country in the hands of a power-hungry traitor and many lives have been lost because of it. I worry for Maddie,” he added heavily. “She was my friend, an American archaeologist who had made a very important discovery in the jungle near the capital. I do not know her fate. If they caught her, she is most likely dead. That will be on my conscience forever. There were also two professors at the university, my friends, who have gone missing and are also probably dead. It has been a hard thing, to lose so many people because I was careless.”
“Don’t dwell on the past or anticipate the future,” Grange counseled. “Take it one day at a time.”
Machado sighed. “You are right. Oh. I have a communication from an American journalist with one of the slick magazines. She wishes to accompany us …”
He handed the magazine to Grange. “Her name is Clarisse Carrington …”
“Oh, God, no!” Grange ground out. “No! How did she find out about our mission? She’s like the plague!”
“Excuse me?”
“That damned socialite met me in the Middle East, when she was doing a piece for her magazine,” he muttered. “I wouldn’t fall at her feet at some damned cocktail party in Washington, and I guess it hurt her ego. So four months ago she started chasing me, after I went to a social gathering in Washington with some friends from the military. I gave her the cold shoulder. She was livid. After that, I couldn’t go to a damned hotel anywhere that she didn’t show up at.”
“I see.”
“She thinks she’s irresistible,” Grange said coldly. “She’s not.”
“She may have her ear to the ground about you. There must have been a leak. I will of course refuse the offer.”
“Thanks.”
Grange was looking at the magazine and he frowned at one of the cover stories. He opened it to a certain page, and grimaced. “Damn!”
“What?”
“You remember I told you about the officer who claimed my battle strategy was his own and got me court-martialed? The one I testified against?”
“Yes.”
“He committed suicide.”
“Goodness!”
“This is the story that hit the wires. I’d hoped it wouldn’t, for his family’s sake. He was caught out in another scandal involving blackmail and stolen funds earmarked for equipment,” Grange read. “But his son states here that the officer who testified against him is responsible for his death—me.” He sighed. “I know about the boy. He’s been in and out of therapy all his life. His father said he was bipolar, but his drug problems seemed to me to be the worst of them. His mother was rich. She died and the son inherited it all. She didn’t leave her husband a dime.” He put down the magazine. “So the kid is filthy rich and blames me for his father’s suicide. The socialite thinks she can seduce me over war coverage.” He looked at Emilio Machado with wide eyes. “Perhaps I’m more of a liability than you can afford.”
Machado just smiled. “My friend, we all have our burdens. I think you can bear these. Now, let us speak with your men and finalize our departure.”
They had arranged passage for Grange’s handpicked fighters. Machado had a friend with an old DC-3 who transported the core body of mercs to a small city on the coast of South America, a transit point to Barrera, which was north of Manaus, in Amazonas, a city in the Amazon jungle. Other troops were massing inside the border of Barrera, organized in small groups by Machado’s friends in the resistance. It wasn’t a battle group by any stretch of the imagination. But, then, small forces with the will and means could often overthrow countries. As Machado reminded the others, a handful of his men, defecting to the political leader, Sapara, had overthrown him by stealth and surprise. They could do the same thing to his former lieutenant. It would just require precise planning and good strategy.
On the DC-3 plane, bound for a small covert airstrip in Barrera, Grange outlined his plan of battle to Machado.
“A surprise attack is going to be the most effective means of recapturing your government,” he told the general. “Here—” he pointed to the very small capital city, Medina “—is the heart of the military, in the underground HQ in the city. We have an ally with bunker-busting bombs, but we only have two of them. It means that if we have to go with an all-out military assault, we’ll have to coordinate the strike at the military communications and tactical network with the simultaneous capture of all news media outlets, airfields and the three military command centers in Colari, Salina and Dobri, here, here and here.” He pointed to red marks on his waterproof map. “These cities are smaller than Jacobsville.” He chuckled. “So taking out those command centers could be accomplished by one man with a .45 Colt ACP,” he added.
Machado sighed. “The element of surprise will be difficult, my friend,” he said. “My adversary has agents. He is no fool.”
“I know.” Grange straightened, very somber. “The hardest part is getting everyone familiar with his own role in the attack. I’ve already done that. I sent two of my men ahead to contact your former military commander, Domingo Lopez, in Medina. They’re disguised as farmers, and yes, they’ll pass muster,” he added. “They’re Tex-Mex, some of my best men, and two of them are masters of demolition. They’re ex-Navy SEALs”
“I am impressed,” the general said.
“I also sent one of my former company commanders, who’s proficient in scrounging equipment and arms from unlikely places, along with a South African