“What was she doing at a Brazilian orphanage?”
Jonathan shifted his eyes, paced toward the door then back. “I don’t know. She was supposed to be on vacation in Paris.”
Gabe lifted an eyebrow; he had a funny feeling the ambassador knew exactly why Cassidy went to Brazil. Instead he said, “Paris, huh? Tough life.”
Jonathan ignored the sarcasm and narrowed his eyes. “All I know is that I need you to get in there, get her, and get out. I’m home in Spartanburg on leave right now dealing with another situation. Any other time, I would have been in Brazil, but I came home to…” He sighed and trailed off.
Gabe raised an eyebrow in silent inquiry. “Another situation?”
Jonathan swallowed hard and said, “I don’t want to go into detail, but before I became a Christian, I had an affair. Almost thirty years ago. Christina found out recently about it and she’s not dealing with it very well. We’re trying to keep our marriage together. Losing Cassidy would destroy us.”
Gabe blinked and tried to absorb all that the man was saying. He decided to ignore the part about the affair and said, “Why do you think she was taken?”
“It wasn’t mentioned in the letter, but I somehow wonder if this has to do with what I’m working on with the president,” Jonathan said.
“You mean, your stand against human trafficking?”
Jonathan nodded and said, “Cassidy’s been a tremendous help with the entire project.” He shrugged. “Human trafficking is a nine-point-five-billion-dollar-a-year income that goes right into the pockets of criminals and organized-crime groups. Men, women and children sold like cattle to work in sweatshop factories and that’s the best that happens. I can’t imagine the horrors these people live with every day.”
Gabe knew the horrors the man talked about: sexual exploitation, modern-day slavery. It was a profitable enterprise in many parts of the world. Ambassador McKnight had been a huge mover and shaker in putting a lot of these people out of business—or at least putting a dent in their income. And if Cassidy had fallen into their vengeful hands…
He shuddered and stood, unable to complete the thought or sit still any longer. Agitation echoed in each step as he paced around the office. He really couldn’t imagine Cassidy taking the time to be involved in something like politics. It seemed completely out of character for the girl he’d once known. Didn’t match up with the stories Micah had shaken his head over.
Take care of Cassidy.
Gabe shook the words from his head, finally stopped pacing and stared out of the third-floor window. Not bothering to turn, he said, “Sir, no doubt, I owe you.” More than you realize. “I would be dead if Senator Graham hadn’t tipped you off to what was going on with that last mission. I still don’t know how you managed to send in that helicopter, I’m just grateful you did. But that part of my life is over now.” And there was nothing on the face of this earth that would make him accept that kind of responsibility again. Except…
Take care of Cassidy. With what was probably one of his last breaths, Micah had asked him to watch over his sister.
Gabe’s mind flashed. Men scrambling for safety and screaming at him to help. Machine guns popping, the explosion and raging fire.
Death.
And that gun in his ear. Three, two, one. Then the ominous click.
He sucked in a deep breath and forced his thoughts away from those memories. He had yet to face them and get over the guilt of being the only one to survive. Memories had remained buried and questions had gone unanswered for two years. Gabe figured he could go at least another two.
Now this man was asking him to come face-to-face with the demons of his past. For Cassidy. A spoiled little rich girl. He turned from the window to stare at Jonathan. “I know you have enemies, people who would lose big if you and the president succeed in passing certain human-trafficking laws, and it’s possible that’s why they took Cassidy. I know I owe you, but I can’t just leave…” He trailed off weakly, knowing he might as well give up. He was going.
Take care of Cassidy.
“You are the only one who can do this. You know this jungle and you know it well. I don’t have the time to set anything else up. And you can leave. I’ve already checked. You have six weeks of vacation built up. I’ve had all your patients reassigned. So, in fact, you can leave today.”
The ambassador handed him a piece of paper with a name on it. “This guy is your ride in. He’ll have your parachute and rebel identification and the name of your contact. After that, he’s gone and you’re on your own. There’s no team, no backup. Only a supply plane that will land once a week, every Monday, at five in the afternoon, Brazil time, on the little airstrip in the village of La Joya. The pilot is a friend of mine. He’ll wait for two hours each time he lands for the next six weeks. Here’s a map, the name of my contact in Brazil and the approximate location of this rebel camp. Figure out how to infiltrate it and get the job done.”
If it had been anyone else, Gabe might have simply walked away. But this was his father’s best friend, a man who had the president’s ear, a man who was welcome in elite political circles—and the man whose son had died on Gabe’s watch.
He owed it to Micah.
And to Cassidy. She might be a spoiled rich girl, but he’d never been able to forget her.
With a sigh and a disgusted mutter, he took the papers. Responsibility for another human being’s life in the jungle was the last thing he wanted. Emergency-room responsibility didn’t bother him. The E.R. was stable and sane compared to the jungle. The jungle would kill him, if not physically, then emotionally.
Now, a week later, the deadline looming, Gabe’s muscles flexed each time he hacked at the dense growth as he headed for the rebel camp, wondering if he could fully trust the guide ahead of him. With each swing of the machete, he pushed the nightmarish memories down deep inside.
Gabe’s cover fully established him as Miguel Sanchez, rebel for hire. With his raven-colored wavy hair, black eyes and dark skin, he looked the part. The scar slicing through his right eyebrow added to his menacing appearance. No one had to know he’d gotten the scar when he’d been showing off at his parents’ house and cracked his head on the diving board.
He ignored the sweat dripping off his face and sliced another thick vine. He’d stopped praying two years ago after the mission with Micah went terribly wrong, but as the camp finally came into sight, he decided today might be a good day to start up again.
TWO
March 19
Cassidy used the rock to scratch another tally mark into the wall of her hut. At the end of each day, she added another mark.
Seventeen miserable days.
What was her father doing? Her mother was probably in need of a straitjacket by now. Cassidy paced and kicked the dirt floor. What was taking so long? Why hadn’t she been rescued, ransomed or killed? Or, she shuddered, sold?
That last thought scared her more than the idea of being killed. In fact, she was sure she would much prefer a bullet to the brain. Working with her father in the political arena had exposed her to a twisted evil she’d never suspected existed. Since she’d started the Stop the Traffic Foundation, human trafficking in Brazil had taken a beating. Unfortunately, a fatal blow never seemed to land.