As they approached the bed, Carmen closed her eyes.
“Get used to it,” the dark-haired woman said. “Sometimes they’re two or three days late.”
The red-haired woman groaned. “Let’s just hope we get a different coffee brand. The crap they have here tastes like ground tree bark.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.”
Shipments? She wondered whether they were in an isolated area. If so, they probably weren’t in Germany.
The two women stopped next to the bed, and the dark-haired woman said, “Here she is.”
“So this is the imposter?”
“Yes, and not a very good one.”
Carmen felt a hand grab her wrist. It took her by surprise, but she managed to suppress a reaction.
“Her pulse rate is up a bit,” the dark-haired woman said a half minute later. “She’ll be waking soon.”
“Are you going to give her more…?”
Carmen didn’t understand the word at the end of her question, so she assumed it was the name of the drug being used.
“No, we want her to wake up this time.”
“We do?”
“We believe she’s a professional of some kind, and her body is in excellent physical condition. Dr. Brehmer thinks that as long as we can clear her memory, she’ll be perfect for the program.” The woman pulled back the covers then slid the bottom of Carmen’s robe up to the top of her thigh. There was a click, and even though her eyes were closed, Carmen could tell that a light had been turned on. “See the muscle tone? That along with her vitals indicate she’s been training over a long period of time. People like this don’t come along very often.”
Carmen felt the covers being pulled up.
“I see,” the red-haired woman said. “So we’ll start the gene therapy when—”
“No, not yet. When she wakes up, she’ll be interrogated for a day or two. Once we have all the information we need, then we’ll begin the process of erasing her memory.”
As the two walked out of the room, Carmen opened her eyes for another look. The hallway outside had beige walls, but other than that, there was little to see. It had the feel of a basement, but it was impossible to know for sure.
The door closed, plunging the room into darkness. A half minute later, another door opened a short distance away. As Carmen listened, she heard muffled voices through the wall. Based on the location, it was apparent the two women had entered the room next to hers. She wondered if someone was being held there as well.
As Carmen lay quietly on the bed, the woman’s previous words echoed in her thoughts. “Once we have all the information we need, then we’ll begin the process of erasing her memory.”
A chill ran down her spine. Zane and Danielle Holland had gone through the same thing in France, so it was clear her captors had the ability to make it happen. That also told Carmen something else — if she didn’t find a way to escape, she might be changed in ways that could never be reversed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THE PROW OF the boat bounced on the dark waters of the bay. From his seat, Zane studied the dark island that rose out of the sea a half mile away. Like many in the Caribbean, Brehmer’s island was actually the top of an ancient volcano. Shaped like a bowl, it had mountainous ridges encircling a flat valley in the center. The valley was their ultimate destination, but Zane knew they would need to traverse some rugged terrain to get there.
As the craft continued to churn toward the distant beach, Zane shifted his gaze upward. A half moon hung in the night sky, its reflection shimmering on the surface of the sea. On one hand, the light would help them negotiate the thick rainforest that covered most of the island. Then again, it would make them more visible to anyone watching.
Four operatives were on board. Mortensen drove the craft from his seat along the starboard side. Zane and Pratt sat on a bench just behind him. Cleavon Skinner sat across from them. The normally talkative African American operative seemed tired, probably from the extensive travel he had endured over the last thirty-six hours, travel that had taken him from a previous assignment in Morocco. Delphi was doing important work there, and Ross wouldn’t have pulled him off that operation if Carmen’s life weren’t at stake.
The team had arrived at Terre-de-Haut the day before. Zane and the other operatives from DC arrived in midafternoon, with the others arriving by early evening. Brett had done an excellent job of finding a rental house suited to their needs. It was large enough to accommodate them, and it was also located near the town’s primary marina. Adding to its appeal, the house was separated from nearby homes by a high wall that was overgrown with flowering vines. It was the perfect place from which to launch an operation.
The team spent the first night and the following morning studying satellite images of Brehmer’s island. Almost immediately, they noticed that all known infrastructure — the boat dock, the small group of buildings, and the road leading to the interior — were on the east end of the island. They also noticed a road that ran from the dock into the jungle. Zane believed if there was a road, there were also buildings in the island’s interior.
After digesting all available information, the team planned their first night of exploration. The team of four would take a boat to the southwestern shore of the island. The mountainous ring was relatively low in that area, and it was far from the dock and road. If the island was occupied, then it was assumed that most of the activity would take place in and around the dock.
“Slow her down,” Zane said when they were a couple of hundred yards out.
Mortensen removed the unlit White Owl cigar from his mouth. “Aye, aye, sir.” He pulled back on the throttle, and the loud whine of the engine transitioned to a gentle hum.
“It looks like we’re getting some help,” Pratt said.
Zane turned toward him. “What do you mean?”
Pratt nodded at the sky. “The moon is gone.”
Zane followed his gaze, and a massive storm cloud had covered the moon completely.
“Let’s just hope we don’t get one of those nasty rains this area is famous for,” Skinner said.
Pratt slapped Zane’s shoulder. “I think Pretty Boy is going to bring his umbrella.”
Skinner laughed. “And he’ll probably make you hold it.”
“Bull, you’re just mad that the little lady back at the dock liked me more than she did you,” Zane said.
Mortensen looked back. “Did I miss something?”
“Our boy Pratt had a thing for the woman who rented us the boat,” Skinner said. “A very nice-looking brunette, I must say.”
“Guilty as charged.” Pratt held up a hand. “That gal was prettier than a yam soufflé.”
Zane shook his head. “I live in the South, and even I’ve never heard that one before.”
Mortensen directed the boat into a small cove they’d found on a satellite map the night before. There were no waves here, so he killed the engine and let the boat glide toward the sandy white beach. The boat came to a stop about ten yards out.
Zane studied the shoreline. His biggest concern was being spotted on approach. Even with the moon hidden, their white-hulled boat stood out against the dark waters. If any of Brehmer’s men were waiting in the trees, the team would be sitting ducks. Fortunately, there was no sign of any resistance so far.
“Grab your dry bags,” Zane said after Mortensen dropped anchor.
After slinging rifles and dry bags over their shoulders, the four dropped off into waist-deep water. Keeping an eye on the thick jungle, they waded to the shore. Per Zane’s instructions, they remained in place for a short time, watching and listening. Once they were sure all was clear, they opened their bags and removed the contents. Each bag contained a pistol, a tactical knife, headset, and special high-tech goggles with both night vision and thermal imaging capability.