Jungle Hunt Read online

  He had just opened his mouth to scream when the jaguar that had pounced on him sank its teeth into his neck, breaking it, severing his spinal cord and killing him instantly.

  The jungle fell silent once again, broken by the occasional snap and crunch of the big cat settling down to feast on its kill.

  25

  Dressed in a colorful sky-blue and yellow printed sundress and broad-brimmed hat, Kelleson walked into the spacious lobby of the Hotel Araza. Greeting the concierge in fluent Portuguese, she was guided to the entrance of the hotel’s restaurant.

  The last twenty-four hours had been just as exhausting as the previous two months. Once the mercenaries had been eliminated, Bolan and Morgan had taken charge, located the nearest village and contacted both the Ecuadorian Army and the U.S. Embassy in Quito. Bolan had stuck with his story of being a freelance journalist in the wrong place at the wrong time. Morgan’s Sulexco connection had served him very well, too, greasing the normally glacial wheels of South American justice and also ensuring that none of them were going to face charges over what had occurred.

  The U.S. Embassy was sending a representative to investigate what had happened and also to try to defuse the rising tensions between Ecuador and Colombia. Bolan, however, was planning to be long gone before he arrived. But before he’d left the village, there had also been a tearful reunion and goodbye. Kelleson, Bolan and Morgan had attended the sorrowful funeral service for Etienne, who had been killed in the assault on the camp.

  They’d also assisted with the recovery of Tom’s and Paul’s bodies, to be shipped back to the United States, and overseen statements taken from the surviving villagers about the attack. SARE had offered transportation for any of the remaining volunteers who wished to leave, but they’d all surprised Kelleson by expressing their desire to stay. Tatrow had put it best. “Now that the hired killers and soldiers are gone, perhaps we can get back to helping this village, like we were supposed to do in the first place.”

  Kelleson couldn’t have agreed more. They had wanted her to stay on, as well, but she had told them that she just couldn’t see the jungle with the same love that she’d had before the kidnapping and needed to take some time to come to terms with what had happened to her. “Who knows,” she’d said with a broad smile. “I might return someday to check up on your progress, but right now I think the village is in very good hands.”

  Shivering a bit at the air-conditioning as she crossed the tiled floor, Kelleson smiled when she saw Bolan and Morgan deep in conversation at a teakwood table near a window with a splendid view of the rainforest. She greeted them both warmly, accepted Bolan’s gallant pulling out of her chair—which he’d just beat a wincing Morgan to—and suggested a 2002 Ernie Els Bordeaux blend with dinner before perusing the menu.

  “How are your ribs, Elliot?” Kelleson had noticed he was still a bit pale when she sat down.

  “Better with each glass of wine,” he replied. “Seriously, although I had three cracked ribs, fortunately nothing else was injured. I do still have to be careful about moving too fast, however.” He grimaced as he switched position in his chair. “Like that, for example.”

  “And what were you two discussing so intently before I arrived?” she asked, her eyes mischievously flicking from the list of entrées to them.

  The two men exchanged their usual inscrutable glances before Morgan replied, “Cooper had asked me what had happened while we were prisoners, and I had just finished telling him about the interrogation and beating.”

  “It was pretty scary.” Kelleson took Bolan’s hand, which rested on the table, hidden from Morgan’s view behind the breadbasket. “I wanted to thank you again, personally—” she squeezed his fingers “—for coming after Elliot and myself. I didn’t think we were going to get out of there alive.”

  Bolan sipped his wine to cover his surprise. “Well, I certainly couldn’t leave you two in their hands. Probably never would have ever seen either of you again.”

  Kelleson nodded. “We might have found a way out, but with that many people around, I just couldn’t be sure.”

  The conversation was interrupted by their waiter, who announced the night’s specials and took their orders. Kelleson kept it simple, ordering roast chicken, while Morgan selected a roast leg of lamb, and Bolan went with a thick steak. Once the waiter had gone, Bolan leaned forward. “So, now that the mystery is solved, where are you headed after this, Elliot?”

  “Probably back into the jungle to babysit out-of-shape engineers and listen to them bitch and moan about the heat, insects, food and everything else out here. You two might want to keep an eye on Sulexco’s stock price in the next few months—if they find what they’re looking for out there, the shares will explode.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind. How about you, Nancy?”

  “I’ve had enough jungle for a good long time, thank you. I would have liked to catch a flight out today, but the soonest they could book a seat for me was tomorrow, so it seems I’m fated to spend at least one more night in the Amazon.” Kelleson stroked Bolan’s hand again.

  “I’m sure you’ll find some way to pass the time before your flight leaves.”

  Kelleson looked at him while he spoke, but his face revealed no emotion whatsoever.

  “What about you, Matt? You’ve sure got enough for a hell of an article—maybe even a book? What are your plans?” Kelleson asked.

  “I’ve got to stop in Quito for one last interview, then it’s back to the States to see what I can make out of this unbelievable adventure. One thing I’ll never forget, however—meeting both of you.” Bolan raised his glass. “To the two bravest people I’ve met in a long time.”

  They finished the second bottle of wine and had been listening to Morgan’s tales of his non-classified exploits on behalf of Sulexco around the world when the entrées arrived. With the wine still flowing, it was an enjoyable, relaxed meal, their shared experiences creating a strange sense of camaraderie. They finished with fresh mango and guava sorbet and were enjoying cups of the strong coffee the hotel was known for when Morgan’s phone vibrated.

  “What the—that’s the real problem with the time difference here—six hours earlier, they’re still doing business in Washington. I’m afraid I have to cut this short, as they want me on a conference call at HQ.” He flagged a waiter and motioned for the check. “Bill it to room 114 when it gets here, all right?”

  “Elliot, we couldn’t possibly do that—”

  “Hey, what’s the use of an expense account if you can’t enjoy it once in a while? Besides, I haven’t spent squat since I got here—we were stuck out in the freakin’ jungle, remember? Relax, have another coffee, more dessert, whatever—it’s on me.” Morgan stood, took Kelleson’s hand and kissed it, his face only betraying the barest hint of pain as he did so. “It’s been a pleasure—very nice to meet you. If you ever decide to try your hand at private security, look me up.”

  He arched an eyebrow at Bolan. “Good working with you, as well. I expect our paths will cross again someday.”

  Bolan shook the proffered hand. “Who knows—it’s a small world. Take care of yourself, Elliot, and thanks again.”

  The other man’s expression turned serious. “No, thank you for saving my ass—and Nancy’s—back there.”

  Tossing them both a jaunty wave, he strolled gingerly out of the restaurant, leaving Kelleson and Bolan staring after him. Swallowing the last of her coffee, Kelleson turned back to see Bolan gazing at her coolly. She smiled and reached for the decanter to refill her cup. “Quite a character, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.” Bolan regarded her over the rim of his china.

  Kelleson set her cup down and stared right back, trying to figure out exactly what his expression meant. “What?”

  “I was just wondering—with this being you
r last night and all—whether you had any plans. I understand Nueva Loja can be a fun place after dark.”

  “Well, I had planned a quiet night in my room—alone. However, it is my last night in the country, and I could really use something to take my mind off what I—we’ve been through. Do you have any ideas?”

  Bolan smiled. “Of course. Just let me take care of the bill, and we can go.”

  EPILOGUE

  Roldos awoke in the middle of the night with a growl in his stomach. Slipping out of his silk-sheeted king bed, he pulled on a silk robe and padded down his sweeping, grand staircase to the large entry foyer of his mansion, high in the hills overlooking Quito.

  The palatial house was dark, the servants all finished for the night. Roldos crossed the marble floor, the Italian stone cool under his bare feet, and headed for the kitchen. Switching on the light, he walked straight to the massive, stainless-steel refrigerator, opened it and took out a quart of buttermilk. Reaching for a decanter of brandy and a crystal highball glass from in the cupboard above the fridge, he poured a generous dollop of the liquor into the glass, then filled it with buttermilk. He sipped it with a soft sigh.

  “Hope you enjoy it.”

  The calm words made Roldos start, the glass slipping out of his hands to shatter on the tiled floor. He whirled to see a black-haired man with ice-blue eyes sitting at his kitchen island. He was dressed all in black, with some kind of strange harness on his chest, and held a pistol in his hand. Recovering his poise, Roldos drew himself up. “Who are you, and what are you doing in my home?”

  The man shook his head. “Who I am isn’t important. What I’m doing here is delivering a message. And don’t bother shouting for your guards—they’re indisposed at the moment.”

  His heart beating a little faster, Roldos shook his head. “Is this about that business in the Amazon? Hey, you go back to those pendejos at Paracor and tell them to hire better mercenaries next time. Outwitted by a bunch of college students and volunteers. Really…” He glanced at the man and his pistol, which hadn’t wavered. “Look, it wasn’t my fault. I delivered everything they wanted. You’re pointing that at the wrong man. Put it down, have a drink, relax.” While he talked, Roldos’s mind raced. In the cabinet above his refrigerator was a .357 Magnum pistol. If he could just distract this guy long enough, he thought he could get it and shoot him. A simple home robbery gone wrong, that’s how he’d explain it.

  The man’s next words chilled the businessman’s blood. “I’m not from Paracor, but they’ll be seeing me soon enough. Your buddy Hachtman left a treasure trove of incriminating evidence on his computer, and my superiors are reviewing it now. And in the next few days, there’ll be one less PMC in business. But, that still leaves the question of what to do with you.”

  “Okay, wait—are you with the U.S. government? Santa Maria, why didn’t you say so in the first place? What, you want a transfer down here, get you set up? I can pave your way into Quito on streets paved with gold—literally, my friend. Tell you what—let me get you a glass of brandy, and we can discuss this like gentlemen.” Roldos turned back to his refrigerator—and the cabinet above it.

  “Like you discussed your plans with the native Amazon tribes to slaughter them so greedy corporations could come in and rape the land? That sort of discussion?”

  Roldos threw open the side door of the refrigerator and stepped behind it, hoping the steel would protect him as he scrabbled for the door to the cabinet to get his hidden pistol. He heard a strange cough, then another one, and felt a sharp pain bloom in his chest, followed by another one. Suddenly all the strength was flowing out of him, and his hand, although only inches from the cabinet door handle, just couldn’t reach it. In fact, he was having a devil of a time simply standing… .

  Roldos slid down the counter to sit on the floor, his arms and legs no longer working. He tried to speak again, but only bloody bubbles came out of his mouth. He looked up to see the man in black standing above him.

  He glanced at the refrigerator door, which now had two neat holes in it, then looked back down at the dying Roldos. “That kind of shit only works in the movies.”

  The man raised his pistol, so that Roldos was staring into its unblinking black eye. “You, my friend, have just signed your last crooked deal—ever.”

  Roldos saw a flash of orange-and-red fire, and then nothing more.

  * * * * *

  ISBN: 9781459226371

  Copyright © 2012 by Worldwide Library

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and ™ are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  www.Harlequin.com