The Echo of Violence by Jordan Dane Page A

high-tech surveillance, they tracked the boat he’d seen leave Haiti.
    The news wasn’t good.
    “Damn it!” he cursed.
    No more doubt. The boat that had taken the hostages landed in Cuba—a communist stronghold, a country supportive of terrorism and a transshipment point for the drug trade. She pulled out a map of Cuba and located the southeast part where the boat had dropped anchor. It was east of the U.S. Naval Base at Guantanamo Bay and south of the city of Baracoa in the middle of nowhere. The terrain was extremely mountainous and rugged, plenty of dangerous places for terrorists to hide. And with terrorist training camps in Cuba, such a remote area would be an attractive location, especially given the region’s history of guerilla warfare.
    “Our plane won’t get us close enough and would draw too much attention. You have access to a boat, or will we need to supply that?” she asked.
    He looked at Joe and without a word spoken between them, Kinkaid turned back to her, and said, “We got a boat. What else?”
    “We’ll be linked to Garrett via tracking beacon and a SAT phone. We’ll have additional resources at our disposal. Garrett will make sure of that. And a backup team can be within range if we need them. We’ll also have GPS and spare batteries, but depending on how dense the jungle, we could still lose our satellite signal. That’ll mean we do it the old-fashioned way, using maps and compass. You good with that?”
    “Fine.” He nodded. Although his expression softened, he was still all business.
    “The terrain will complicate things, especially if we have to hunt them into the mountains.” She spoke more for her benefit than his and made a mental checklist of her supplies. “We’ll pack water in CamelBak hydration packs, but not nearly enough if this takes more than a few days. That would be too much weight to haul. If necessary, we’ll have to purify what we find. And we’ll have field rations to supplement what we can’t forage on our own. Tracking these bastards, we won’t have time for hunting.” She rested a hand on her knee and stared at him. “We brought extra food and water for you and Joe.”
    “Good,” he said. “Sounds like you’ve got things covered, but Joe will stay with the boat and handle getting us out. Does that work?”
    Alexa nodded her approval. “You never asked for weapons. Do you have what you’ll need?”
    “Yeah. Plenty.”
    Spoken like a true mercenary, she thought. And the expression on his face might have chilled her if she weren’t playing on the same team.
    “Make sure you and Joe are ready first thing. We’re leaving at dawn.” She leaned back in her chair. “We’ll pick you up. You’ll meet the team and take us to the boat.”
    “We’ll be ready. Anything else?” He was done talking and was giving her cues it was time for her to leave.
    “There is one more thing. And it’s not good news, I’m afraid,” she said. That got his attention. “Garrett is tracking a tropical storm that’s forming in the Atlantic. It may hit Cuba and mess with our timetable.”
    Kinkaid dropped his chin and let out a sigh with his eyes shut. He looked tired. It was the first time she’d seen a chink in his machismo armor. Whoever Kate was, she was a lucky woman to have someone like Jackson Kinkaid as a dark guardian angel. Lucky, that is, if you discounted being abducted by terrorists.
    Kinkaid’s moment of vulnerability came and went.
    “Shit happens. We’ll deal with it.” He stood and waited for her to do the same, not bothering with idle chitchat or pleasantries. He’d provided his part of good intel. Now he doled out the bum’s rush. No mixed signals. He wanted her gone.
    He turned out the lights and opened the door for her to leave. When she walked by him, he touched her arm, and the scent of his warm skin mixed with soap carried on the faint breeze.
    “I want to…” His handsome face was outlined by a streetlamp behind her. “…thanks for