Jean-Luc glanced over at Harvard, seated in the passenger seat of the SUV with a mulish expression on his pretty-boy face, before returning his attention to the crappy jungle road.
“You’re a computer guy.”
“I’ve trained…” Harvard winced. “A little.”
“Well, you’re out now, true?” Jean-Luc said.
“On a bullshit assignment.”
Jean-Luc didn’t think it was bullshit. From what little he knew about Gabe Bristow, something was seriously wrong if the man didn’t check in. “Gotta start somewhere.”
Harvard’s shoulders slumped and Jean-Luc couldn’t stand seeing the guy so down in the dumps. “C’mon, give me a smile, mon ami. You’re out from behind a computer, the sky’s blue, the air’s hot, and who knows? Maybe we’ll even meet some Colombian cuties and finally rid you of your virginity.”
Harvard sent him an I-am-not-amused glance over the rims of his glasses.
“Uh, how about some music?” Jean-Luc asked after a turbulent moment of silence. He flicked on the radio. “Ah. Do you like cumbia rock?”
The radio station cut in and out, but it was clear enough that he could pick out the song and sing along, tapping his fingers to the beat on the steering wheel. Good song with a good rhythm. It made him want to find a sexy Colombian woman and dance until their feet fell off. Then he’d take her to bed for a little horizontal dancing….
Mid-daydream, Harvard answered, “No,” and switched the music off. The curvy Colombian fantasy disappeared.
Jean-Luc sighed. “It’s an acquired taste.”
“So’s your singing.”
“I’ll have you know, my mama says I’m an excellent singer.”
Harvard rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but stopped short. “Hey, hey, stop.” He hit Jean-Luc’s arm with the back of his hand and pointed through the windshield as the 4Runner cleared a sharp curve in the road. “Look.”
Up ahead, a Jeep and a sedan sat abandoned in the middle of the road, facing them. Both of the Jeep’s doors hung wide open and bullet holes had turned the sedan into an expensive hunk of Swiss cheese. He counted four bodies, their blood mixing with the dirt road into red mud, and swore softly in Cajun.
Harvard was out the door before Jean-Luc could stop him. He moved smoothly, kept his rifle at the ready, and cleared both vehicles, all quick, efficient, and quiet-like.
Maybe, Jean-Luc thought as he followed, they had all underestimated genius boy’s abilities. “Where did you learn to do that?”
“Call of Duty.”
Or maybe not.
“They’re not here,” Harvard said and shouldered his rifle. “But the weapon Gabe gave Audrey before they left is still under the seat. His sunglasses are on the dash and his cane’s in the back. There’s a basket upturned in the passenger seat. Looks like it had food in it.”
“Keys still in the ignition,” Jean-Luc observed and leaned in to try the engine. It fired without so much as a hiccup. “No car problems.”
“Bullet holes in the windshield, but I don’t see any blood on either seat.” Harvard scanned the jungle, then started a sweep of the area, walking in ever-widening circles around the vehicle. “No blood on the ground, either. Don’t think they were hit.”
“Huh.” Jean-Luc fisted his hands on his hips, looked at the Jeep, the sedan, the dead bodies, then the spot he’d parked their 4Runner. “Looks like someone was shooting at the men in the sedan, and Gabe and Audrey got caught in the crossfire.”
“Guerillas?” Harvard asked.
“Most likely.”
“Think they were captured or made a run for it?”
Jean-Luc studied the gnarled twist of jungle choking both sides of the road. Not much place for them to run, but he supposed it was possible. Gabe knew his stuff, so if anyone could get them out of a sticky situation, it would be him.
“Hey, got something.”
Jean-Luc turned to see Harvard kneeling next to a ditch carved out alongside the road by water flowing off the mountains during the rainy season. Now it was dry and overgrown. With the barrel of his rifle, he held aside a huge leaf to reveal a SIG Sauer P226. No way to be sure, but it looked like Gabe’s.
Harvard frowned. “Wherever he is, he’s without a weapon.”
“That kinda puts a kink in the idea that they ran for it.” A man like Gabe wouldn’t run without his gun, no way. And if they had run, and for some reason he had to abandon the gun, seems his first course of action would be to get in contact with the team and order an exfiltration.
“Is his cell phone there?” Jean-Luc asked. He hadn’t seen it in the Jeep, but moved over to take a closer look as Harvard explored the ditch.