2
Dylan poured himself a cup of coffee and made his way to the conference room, Jones and Segal shuffling in behind him, all of them jet lagged asfuck.
Tower and Shields were already there, waiting.
Dylan glanced at the empty seats. “Where is everyone else?”
Shields set her coffee mug on the table, her strawberry-blonde hair pulled back in a bun. “This mission is strictly need-to-know.”
Jones grinned. “I guess the others don’t need to know.”
“Not yet.” Tower started the meeting. “This tasking comes from the highest levels of the Pentagon. Everything about it is classified. Understood?”
Dylan nodded.
“Good.” Tower clicked the remote to turn on the big flat-screen monitor mounted on the wall behind him.
A blurry image of an attractive blond-haired woman filled the screen.
“This is Dianne Connolly, age thirty-nine, a journalist from the LA Times Syndicate. Four days ago, she and photographer Timothy Yang, age 42, were abducted while on assignment.” Tower clicked again, and a photo of Yang appeared. “Their two Venezuelan bodyguards were shot and killed.”
“Narcos?” Dylan knew a little about the situation in Venezuela.
Tower nodded. “Andes Cartel.”
“Shit.” Dylan exchanged a glance with Jones. “Those guys don’t fuck around.”
“Their abductors contacted the US embassy in Brazil. They’re demanding ten million dollars US for the pair’s release.”
“Fuck that.” Segal didn’t believe in negotiating with terrorists. “If they’re giving this job to us, it must mean the Pentagon wants to teach these bastards a lesson.”
“Pretty much—but there’s more.” Tower clicked the remote again, and a photograph of a young nun filled the screen.
Dylan gaped at her, his heart skipping a beat. “Ah, coño.”Damn.
Malik and Segal stared, too.
She looked like she was in her late twenties with big brown eyes, long lashes, a perfect little nose, and full lips, her brown skin flawless, dark hair showing from beneath her black veil.
“She’s what my uncle would call Sister What-a-Waste.” Dylan had grown up Catholic, though he hadn’t gone to Mass in ages.
Segal snorted. “I never understood the whole celibacy thing.”
Tower ignored them. “This is Sister María Catalina. She’s a US citizen, age twenty-nine. She was born Gabriela Aliana Marquez in Miami. Her parents are Venezuelan immigrants who left the country due to political unrest. She asked to be transferred to Venezuela from a Franciscan cloister in Peru because she wanted to help the Venezuelan people.”
Tower clicked again, showed a blurry photo of what looked like the outside of a church or mission. A white van was parked beside it, men with rifles moving in on their prey. “This is the Mission of Our Lady of Coromoto, where the victims were snatched. The photo was taken with a smartphone from a rooftop across the street. Eye-witnesses, including the nun in charge of the mission, said Sister María tried to stop the abductors and was taken, as well.”
Dylan saw her, hands raised as if to stop a man with an automatic rifle.
Jones glared at the screen. “What kind of asshole kidnaps a nun?”
Dylan’s fatigue was gone, pushed aside by anger. “The kind that needs a bullet in his brain.”
Tower clicked again, and another photo of the mission appeared, Sister María now slung over the shoulder of somehijoeputa. “The Church doesn’t pay ransom, which may be one reason the Pentagon decided to mount a rescue. Sister María is a US citizen, and they’re absolutely determinednotto leave her in these guys’ hands.”
Dylan could get behind that.
Tower clicked once more, and a map of Venezuela came up on the screen. “The mission is close to the Colombian border in a village called El Vigía. The sisters distribute food to the poor and offer basic medical care. But the Pentagon has reason to believe that cocaine was being smuggled into the country via those food shipments, thanks to the Andes Cartel … and this fucker.”