It was a question to which Jonathan had pledged long ago to always give a truthful answer. “Yes.”
“Then let me die here. This hurts less.”
“This isn’t a time for heroics,” Jonathan said. He put his arms under hers to lift her, but she wriggled free. The effort made her yell, and Jonathan jerked away.
“I am not a hero,” Maria said. “The Lord in Heaven knows that I am not a hero. I am a coward who fears pain. Please let me die here.”
“But if Hernandez gets ahold of you-”
“Dead is dead, Mr. Scorpion,” she said. “In Mexico or in the U.S. With you or with Felix. It really does not matter. I am already paralyzed. My heart is racing. It won’t be long.” As she said that last part, she winced against a slice of pain. “Could you leave me a gun though? Just in case. I seem to have lost mine.”
Jonathan shot a look to Boxers. If they left her a weapon, she’d use it to commit suicide.
“It’s not for me,” Maria said, reading his thoughts. “But if they come, maybe I can spend my last moments fighting. I can spend them helping the people who tried so hard to help me.”
Boxers cleared his throat. “She’s right, Scorpion.”
Anger flashed. He shot to his feet. “We do not leave people behind.”
“She’s not our PC,” Boxers said matter-of-factly. “And if we don’t listen to her, we’ll unnecessarily risk losing the one who is our PC.” He shot a glance toward Tristan.
“Oh, no,” Tristan said. “Don’t make this about me. Don’t leave her to save me.”
Jonathan wanted the answer to be different from what it had to be. “Tristan,” he said. “Give your weapon to Maria, please.”
“Like hell!” Tristan said. He wasn’t going to have something like this on his conscience for the rest of his life. They’d all suffered through this together. He had no more right to live than she did.
“It’s the only way,” Scorpion said. “I know it sucks, but it’s the only way.”
“And we don’t have time to dick around,” Boxers said. “If you make me carry you, I’ll do it, even if I have to knock you senseless first.”
How could this be happening? How could it be right that out of all of his friends and the chaperones and now Maria, he would be the only one to come home alive? What had he done that was so important that he deserved that? What could he possibly do with the rest of his life to earn that kind of sacrifice?
Scorpion reached for Tristan’s weapon, but the boy twisted away. “No!”
Scorpion reached again. In the wash of the flashlights, there was tenderness in Scorpion’s eyes as he reached to unclasp the weapon from its sling.
Tristan twisted away again. “No,” he said, softer this time. “I’ll do it.”
He unclipped the rifle from its sling and knelt next to Maria. He laid the weapon on her lap. “Be careful,” he said. “The safety’s off.” That done, he stripped four magazines from the pockets of his vest. “In case you need these, too.”
Maria placed her hand gently on his cheek. “You’re so handsome,” she said. “Have a good life, Jaime.”
“I’m Tristan,” he said.
She smiled and took his hand in both of hers and kissed it. “Then have a good life for Jaime.”
Tristan scowled. “Who’s-”
“Gotta go,” Jonathan said.
The familiar grip fell onto the collar of Tristan’s vest, and he found himself being lifted away.
“Scorpion,” Maria said in that fading voice. She beckoned for him to come closer.
Scorpion bent and brought his ear to her lips. He listened for a moment then turned to the rest of them. “Big Guy, get going with Tristan. I’ll catch up.”
Something awful snagged in Tristan’s gut. “Why?” he said. “What are you going to do?”
“Come on, kid,” Big Guy said. He gave a gentle tug on his arm.
As he allowed himself to be escorted along, Tristan pressed the Big Guy for insight. “He’s not going to kill her, is he?”
“I don’t know what they’re talking about,” the Big Guy said. “But I guaran-damn-tee you that it’s not that.”
Palma moved as quickly as he could in the darkness of the tunnel. Not wanting to reveal his location with a flashlight beam, he kept his left hand in contact with the wall and trusted that the floors would remain clear of obstacles.
He wished he could move faster, but he knew that the girl had been wounded, and that would make them move more slowly than they normally would. And since they were in the lead-and didn’t know that he was following-he was betting that they would illuminate their way with flashlights. In this level of darkness, even the faintest light would shine like a beacon.
In fact, he saw that very beacon right now. It was more a distant glow than a light beam, but down here, it had to be man-made. The glow was projected from a source of white light, and it wasn’t moving. It was distant, but in the darkness, it was impossible to tell how far.
Palma dropped to a crouch and brought his weapon to his shoulder. He sensed that he’d entered a trap. The classic booby trap involved an irresistible enticement to draw the victim in close, and an illuminated light seemed like just such a thing. Who would be stupid enough to sit still with a light on? For all they knew, there were dozens of armed men following them. The light only made sense as a trap.
Harris and Lerner had night vision. They wouldn’t need light at all, would they?
Or maybe in the absoluteness of the darkness here in the tunnel, there wasn’t enough light to amplify.
His nerves sent the sensation of a thousand ants crawling up his back and neck. This had to be a trap.
Yet what were his options?
He could risk it and perhaps meet his death, or he could abandon the chase and meet his death for certain, at the hands of Felix Hernandez and his torturers.
He advanced with excruciating slowness, doing his best to keep a low profile while remaining absolutely silent. He remained pressed against the left-hand wall, and despite his fear of losing his night vision, he kept his sights trained on the glow. If people were there, they would cast a shadow. Or the light would move.
But there were no shadows and nothing moved.
As he neared the source of the light-he could see the distinctive circular outline of a flashlight beam on the ceiling now-he slowed even more, to perhaps ten feet per minute. It took forever, but he needed to be sure this time. His prey had been one step ahead from the very beginning, and in here, there simply was no room to make a mistake.
Finally, he was near enough to see the silhouette of a person slumped against the wall. Closer still, he saw that it was Maria Elizondo, and she lay perfectly still. From ten feet away, even in the dim light of the flashlight, he could see the blood-soaked T-shirt.
Palma smiled. In fact, he nearly laughed out loud.
With Maria dead, he could now live. Felix wouldn’t be happy about it-in fact he’d be furious when he learned that he’d lost his opportunity to torture her-but under the circumstances, given all the destruction, Palma would be able to make him understand. He’d decide later whether it would be prudent to share the detail that Palma himself had killed her.
He needed to be certain.
Palma considered shooting her again, this time in the head, but he decided not to. That much noise in such a confined space might push Harris and Lerner over the edge. Palma didn’t care about them anymore. Maria was the key to his personal survival.
But he still needed to be certain.
And certainty came with risk.
Still moving slowly and silently, Palma slid his Mini Maglite from its loop on his belt. With his rifle at his shoulder and his finger poised on the trigger, he raised the light high over his head and switched it on. If Harris and his team were lying in wait, the bright light would wash out their night vision, and maybe, for a second or two, Palma would have the advantage.