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  Slowly, as Svengurd murmured in Old Norse, he moved to the right. He knew that she did not understand the words, but as a warrior herself, an apex predator, she seemed to understand his intent. She did not wish to attack any more than he wished to kill her. To launch at him would endanger her cubs. And neither wanted that.

  Guiding the group around the kill, Svengurd told her the poem of the Njals. Once they were far enough away, the jaguar grunted once and the tiny eyes disappeared into the underbrush. That was their signal to book it.

  Waving the others on, Svengurd watched as the jaguar sunk her fangs into the neck of the tapir and dragged the carcass back. Now that her cubs were safe, she needed to secure their dinner. In an amazing feat of strength, she pulled the tapir up and into the tree.

  Once the team was at a safe distance, Svengurd bowed his head. “Tuck sa mycket.” Thank you so very much.

  Catching up with the group, he went to move into the point position, but as he passed Brandt, the British operative patted Svengurd’s shoulder. “Nice work, mate.”

  Svengurd gave a sharp nod and moved on. He wasn’t going to take any praise until they were on that helicopter.

  * * *

  Okay, Brandt thought, so they had avoided death by jaguar, but they weren’t out of the woods yet. Literally. Why did they call them plans when they never actually went as planned? Vanderwalt was getting heavy, and even Lopez stumbled over a vine.

  They were way off course, going in nearly the opposite direction as the Jeep, and correcting course would take them directly into the path of the cartel’s main force.

  “Stop,” Brandt whispered harshly. “Time to regroup.”

  Vanderwalt pushed himself off of Brandt, leaning against a tree trunk. Lopez lowered the boy to the ground.

  “I’ve got to get the Jeep,” the corporal stated.

  “Agreed.”

  There was just no way they were going to haul this motley crew out of the jungle on foot. Lopez took in several quick breaths, pumping himself up. “Meet you at the secondary rally point.”

  Luckily, they knew that their plans rarely worked out, so they had a backup.

  “Don’t take any unnecessary risks,” Brandt urged, knowing it was useless. Lopez’s middle name was “reckless.”

  The corporal didn’t even bother lying as he charged into the forest. Alone, unburdened, Lopez at the least had a chance of threading the needle through the enemy forces to reach the hidden Jeep.

  “Svengurd,” Brandt ordered, expecting the point man to move them out. But Svengurd knelt to pick up the boy. “No.” Brandt said. “I’ll get him.”

  A blond eyebrow shot up. “Would you like me to carry you both, then?”

  Right. Brandt clocked in at two ten, yet if there was anyone who would actually attempt to lift both the boy and Brandt, it would be Svengurd.

  “All right,” Brandt conceded. Svengurd was the most logical choice to carry the boy. “Vanderwalt. It’s you and me again.”

  The Brit groaned as he leaned into Brandt’s shoulder. “Not sure how much further I can hoof it, mate.”

  “It’s not far,” Brandt reassured the MI–5 operative. Of course that was a lie, but a necessary one. Not just for Vanderwalt, but for the two CIA operatives as well. They swayed on their feet. Injured, dehydrated, scared. They all needed to believe that relief was in sight.

  Even carrying the teen, Svengurd set a brisk pace. They moved as quietly as they could through the forest. How Brandt wished they had some kind of satellite feed of the area. Unfortunately, getting a live feed of this area meant going through the Mexican government, which basically meant they would be giving the cartel a feed of the area, as well. Corruption in this part of the world was just how life worked.

  Still, it would be nice to know where the hell the cartel’s men were. His team was making good time, though, and not being shot at. Always a bonus.

  Then they came upon a wall. An eight–foot wall. The stones of the ancient wall towered above them.

  “Part of the plan, Brandt?” Vanderwalt asked knowing the answer already.

  Brandt ripped the Velcro off his pocket and pulled out a map of the area. Crap, they’d hit Becán already. Their altered route had brought them to the base of the ancient Mayan ruin complex. He scanned the gray stone wall that ran in a curved pattern as far as the eye could see. And, unlike the forest behind them, the tall stone wall didn’t have a single patch of ivy or vines on it.

  The tourism bureau must have recently cleared it. They were trying to encourage visitors to the sprawling Becán ruins, one of the largest intact Mayan complexes in Mexico, but having the Zetas in their backyard was not helping their tourism cause. Nor Brandt’s.

  If they tried to get around the ancient barrier, their backs would be against the wall. They would be trapped, with very little maneuverability. There was no other option. They were going to have to go over it.

  Damn it.

  Svengurd must have figured that out on his own, and he tied the boy’s wrists together, then slung the barely conscious kid like a cape over his shoulders. The boy’s feet dangled barely past Svengurd’s rear.

  The point man was tall, but could he really scale the stone wall with the added weight?

  Guess they were going to find out.

  * * *

  Svengurd tested his finger hold between two stones. The rock was cool to the touch, and smooth. Almost too smooth, but his fingers felt solid. Next, he braced his feet against the base of the wall. With more effort than he had hoped, Svengurd scaled the first row of rocks.

  The boy’s weight tugged him down, but Svengurd fought gravity, finding another good spot for his foot. Another heave and they were a good four feet up the wall. Only another four to go.

  Beneath him, Brandt got the two CIA operatives climbing, as well. Their hands slick with sweat, they struggled to even get off the ground. Brandt lent his shoulder to the effort, making sure the two were on their way. Vanderwalt, however, backed away from Brandt, shaking his head.

  Svengurd couldn’t linger to watch the argument unfold. His best course of action was to scale the wall, get the boy secured on the other side, and then come back to help Brandt get the injured Brit up.

  The boy stirred.

  “Stay still,” Svengurd encouraged, making it up another foot. The higher they climbed, the more difficult the ascent became. His muscles protested against the straight vertical rock face.

  He ignored the tension in his quads. Not much further.

  A bullet pinged against the stone, gouging out a mark. He looked over his shoulder to find two guards bursting from the trees, shooting away. Brandt returned fire, forcing the men to retreat a few steps, but anyone climbing was vulnerable, as even the wild shots sent chunks of stone flying.

  Svengurd encouraged his muscles to hurry the climb, but a stray bullet hit the wall next to his foot, dislodging the tiny ledge he had been perched upon. His feet flailed against the stone as he tried to find a purchase. Hanging on by his fingertips, there was no way to swing his gun around in time. The worst was that he would not be shot in the back… it would be the boy. The child would pay the price for Svengurd’s lacking.

  He could see the ledge. Just another foot and he would be there. But with sweat dripping down his arms, slicking his already precarious hold, the ledge might was as well be the Skanderna.

  Another shot chipped a piece of rock nearly into his eye.

  Brandt was doing his best to provide cover fire, but one of the gunmen hid behind a large tree. It would only be a matter of moments before a fatal shot found them.

  Then a growl drowned out even the gunfire as the perfectly gold–and–black camouflaged jaguar leapt from the branches, knocking the man to his knees. She swiped his back with her huge claws, leaving bloody gouges. The other gunman couldn’t turn in time as she launched at him.

  His scream was cut off by a bite to the neck.

  Green eyes found Svengurd’s. He could see why the Mayans had worship
ped such creatures. Then the jaguar was gone, melting back into the forest.

  He didn’t have any time to thank her or even be relieved, as shouts carried through the forest. The rest of the Los Zetas guards were rapidly approaching. Gathering his strength, Svengurd pushed off with his legs and hauled his and the boy’s body weight upward. He caught the craggy ledge with one hand, then was able to find purchase with a toe to catapult them onto the narrow rampart. The CIA operatives were not far behind, scaling the rock wall and cresting the ledge at about the same time as Svengurd.

  The only ones still on the wall, halfway up, were Brandt and Vanderwalt.

  Svengurd removed the boy’s arms from around his neck and unhooked a line from his belt. “Kirkland, climb down. Then Pollov lower the boy to him.”

  He didn’t have time to see if the CIA operatives followed his instructions as he unslung his gun, firing into the forest. He had to give Brandt every opportunity before the guards figured out they had two sitting ducks just waiting for them.

  * * *

  Amazing how adrenaline worked. Seeing that jaguar in action had pumped Vanderwalt up enough to climb the wall, but it couldn’t fix torn ligaments and severe dehydration. The Brit was flagging. He wasn’t going to make it up the wall on his own.

  Brandt climbed up directly beneath Vanderwalt, trusting that Svengurd would provide cover fire. Making sure that his fingers had as strong a hold on the smooth rock as possible, Brandt braced himself.

  “Put your foot on my shoulder.” He looked up to find Vanderwalt wide–eyed and flushed. The pasty–skinned Brit wasn’t meant for such heat, humidity, and torture. Brandt had to give it to the guy though. He caught on pretty quickly.

  “I can’t. You could fall or—”

  “Do it,” Brandt grunted, tiring himself on the sheer wall. He dug in as Vanderwalt put one foot then the other on his shoulders. “Go!”

  The Brit pushed off, gaining precious inches up the wall. It wasn’t enough, damn it. Despite Svengurd’s best efforts, the Los Zetas were still taking potshots at them, sending flying limestone everywhere. It was like being in the middle of an exploding quarry—only not quite as safe.

  Brandt climbed up to position himself under Vanderwalt again. “Brace!” The Brit’s eyes shone with worry, but he did as he was told. “Go!” Not bothering to wait for confirmation that they still hadn’t reached the top, Brandt just got into position. “Brace.” He took Vanderwalt’s weight as his arms started shaking. “Go!”

  This time Vanderwalt must have made it to the top, as his feet disappeared from overhead. Time to do some climbing of his own. However, the ascent was slightly complicated by the fact that the Zetas must have realized their quarry was skipping town, and really put the pressure on. The sound of automatic weaponry filled the air. Brandt scrambled, pushing past the strong likelihood that he wasn’t going to make it to the top. At least not in one piece.

  But what he should have been worried about was how slick his fingers had become. Just inches from reaching that precious ledge, his grip slipped. The foothold he’d thought was solid gave way. Brandt could feel gravity just sitting on his shoulder, ready to take him down.

  Then there was a strong hand on his neck, grabbing him by the flak jacket.

  “Gotcha, Sarge,” Svengurd said as he pulled him up.

  Of course this meant that the point man couldn’t provide cover fire. As bullets zinged all around, Brandt’s feet found purchase and pushed him up and over the ledge.

  And by over, he meant over. He and Svengurd sailed over the narrow rampart. Twisting mid–air, Brandt caught some stone on the other side. As he slid down the rock, his fingers desperately searched for a handhold. He did not want to end the day with a broken femur.

  There! He’d found it. The tip of his boot crammed in between the seam of two rocks. Not much further down, Svengurd broke his fall.

  Gunfire went from loud to ballistic on the other side. With his cheek against the cool stone, Brandt was so very glad that the ancients really knew how to build a retaining wall. However, it would only be a matter of moments before they realized they couldn’t shoot through the rock and decided to hop on over.

  He was about to climb down when he caught something in the corner of his eye.

  “Is that…?” Svengurd asked.

  If the point man was talking about a hang glider, than yeah, it was.

  The wide yellow wings flared in the late afternoon sun. The thing must have come from deeper within the ruins. While remote, the Becán site had become popular with “extreme” tourists. You know, those Yuppies who did things like mountain bike up ancient temples, bungee jump off stone bridges, and, apparently, hang glide off of Mayan step–pyramids.

  Great, now they had some civilian flying into a kill zone.

  Only it wasn’t a civie at the helm. As the glider expertly banked, Lopez waved. Sailing over their heads, the corporal shouted, “Don’t worry!” Tacking northeast, he finished, “I’m on my way to get the Jeep!”

  Brandt hadn’t been worried…until now.

  * * *

  Svengurd watched as Lopez sailed over the ruins.

  “Nothing we can do but follow,” Brandt grumbled as he descended the wall. The sergeant was correct. Lopez didn’t exactly follow regulations to the letter, but he did get the job done…usually.

  Making his way down the wall was far simpler than the ascent had been. His boots hit dirt again. Brandt crouched next to him, aiming up, just waiting for the first brave Zetas to peep his head over.

  Slinging his weapon, Svengurd gathered the boy into his arms. They would have to move out ASAP. He scanned the Mayan ruins. Broken walls and toppled temples littered the landscape. Trees lined ancient avenues and a step pyramid stood high above the rest of the city. Even in ruin, though, Becán was something to behold. The Mayans knew how to use rock. Many of the buildings had elaborate lattice work…in stone.

  Carvings of skulls and crowned gods adorned many of the buildings.

  They weren’t here for a history lesson, though.

  Svengurd knew the layout of the plaza. They could leapfrog from temple to temple, using the solid stone structures as cover as they made their way to the rally point.

  At least that was the plan—until Brandt yelled, “Incoming!”

  A grenade sailed over the wall as everyone scrambled to get out of the way.

  The thing landed on the ground. A dud.

  The next one wouldn’t be, though.

  He got the CIA operatives up and heading toward the cover of a small outbuilding just as the second grenade fell from the sky.

  * * *

  Brandt shoved Vanderwalt behind a low wall as the grenade exploded. The heat passed overhead, but the stone protected them from the concussive force. Brandt poked his head over the rock to find a charred spot on the ground and several trees on fire.

  It looked like Svengurd had gotten his group to shelter, as well. Brandt went to rejoin them, when another grenade sailed over. Ducking down, he rode out the explosion with Vanderwalt.

  This time when he looked over the wall, he gave Svengurd the signal to move on.

  “We’ll catch up!” Brandt yelled when the point man seemed hesitant to leave them.

  Finally, with a nod, Svengurd moved his group out, striking directly toward the Jeep’s location. Vanderwalt and he were going to have to go the long way around. Brandt indicated a small retaining wall with several trees growing out from the stone.

  As the fourth grenade came over, Vanderwalt scurried across the open grassy plaza and dove behind the ancient stone. Brandt followed close behind, only when he landed, he spun and set up his shot.

  One of the guards tried to crest the high wall. Brandt made sure he didn’t make it over. Svengurd must have had the same idea, as the second man pitched head–first to the ground.

  That should give the Zetas something to think about.

  “Let’s move,” Brandt said, urging Vanderwalt toward another cluster of ruins. This
one looked like a small temple. The Brit tried, he really seemed to try to keep up, but he stumbled. Brandt caught him by the elbow and propelled the MI–5 agent forward, reaching the next set of stony protectors before the next grenade sounded behind them.

  Though they were out of range, Brandt still fired, forcing the Zetas back even though he couldn’t hit a single one of them. That was the last time that trick was going to work, though. The guards were going to come over in full force at any second, and there wasn’t a thing Brandt could do about it.

  At this point, their best shot at survival was speed. Brandt dragged the exhausted Vanderwalt through a thick grove of trees, angling for the large temple on the other side of the plaza. There were plenty of cubbies and hiding spots. The Zetas were going to have to split their forces. The more they could force the guards to play hide–and–go–seek, the better.

  Brandt wished he could see where Svengurd and the others were, but he had to trust his point man. Svengurd knew the terrain even better than Brandt did. He would get the others to safety. The burden was really on Brandt not to screw up the others’ extraction.

  Urging Vanderwalt up a stone ramp, they made it to the main temple. Ducking under the rocky arch, they hit shade. The temperature must have dropped a good ten degrees. Brandt resisted the instinct to flip on his light. The ruins had fallen into silence—the Zetas must have been climbing the wall and setting their trackers on Brandt and the others. The less evidence of their path, the better.

  Vanderwalt sagged heavily against the stone wall. His breath was coming in heaves. Brandt really wished he could give his old friend a break, but they just couldn’t spare the time. Instead, he draped the Brit’s arm over his shoulder again.

  “We’ve got to move out.”

  The MI–5 agent gave a weak nod and shuffled alongside Brandt. They were moving half–speed at best. Svengurd was probably already at the Jeep. In all honesty, Brandt would rather be in the dark making his way through an ancient temple than sitting at the rally point wondering where the hell Svengurd was.