The Right Stuff. Merline Lovelace

didn’t bother to return the stare. He might outrank her on land. Aboard this craft, she was in command.

      She kept her gaze on the gray smudge ahead as Mac dragged out the medical kit. Only after he’d downed the pills as ordered did she slant him another glance. Like her, he was dressed for the jungle—web-sided boots, black T-shirt, black-and-green camouflage pants and shirt. Instead of a ball cap, though, a floppy-brimmed “boonie” hat covered his buzz-cut brown hair.

      He looked leather tough and coldy lethal. Not someone you wanted to suddenly come nose to nose with in the jungle. Cari had to admit she was glad they were on the same side for this operation.

      “Is this freshening sea going to slow us down?” he asked with an eye to the digital map displayed on the instrument panel.

      Their course was highlighted in glowing red. It took them straight across the fifty-mile stretch of open water, through the outer reef encircling Caribe and into a small bay on the southern tip of the palm-shaped island. Once inside the bay, they’d aim for the mouth of the Rio Verde and head some twenty-six miles upriver.

      “Pegasus can handle these swells,” Cari said in answer to his question. “We should arrive right on target.”

      “Good enough. I’ll confirm with Second Recon.”

      He’d already established contact with the six-man reconnaissance team that had been sent into the jungle to retrieve the American missionaries. Luckily, they were equipped with CSEL—the new Combat Survivor/Evader Locator. Not much larger than an ordinary cell phone, the handheld radio provided over-the-horizon data communications, light-of-sight voice modes, and precise GPS positioning and land navigation. The handy-dandy new device was state-of-the-art and just off the assembly line. Neither the rebel nor government forces in Caribe could intercept or interpret its secure, scrambled transmissions.

      “Second Recon, this is Pegasus One.”

      “This is Second Recon. Go ahead, Pegasus.”

      The marine in charge of the reconnaissance team sounded so young, Cari thought. And so grimly determined.

      “Be advised we’re twenty nautical miles off the coast of Caribe and closing fast,” Mac informed him. “We’re holding to our ETA.”

      “We copy, Pegasus. We’re about five klicks from the target.”

      Five kilometers from the mission put them about eight from the river, Cari saw in another quick glance at the digital display. The marines still had some jungle to hack through.

      “We’ll bundle up our charges as soon as we reach the target and proceed immediately to the designated rendezvous point,” the team leader promised.

      “Roger, Second. We’ll be waiting for you.”

      Frowning, Mac took a GPS reading on the team’s signal and entered its position with a few clicks of the keyboard built into the instrument console. His frown deepened as Pegasus plowed into another trough. The hull hit with a smack that sent spray washing over the canopy.

      “The swells are getting heavier.”

      “They are,” Cari agreed.

      He shot her a hard look. “Can’t we put on a little more speed? I don’t want to leave those marines sitting around, twiddling their thumbs with the rebel forces combing the jungle for them.”

      “We won’t.”

      The calm reply brought his brows snapping together under the brim of his hat. “Are you that sure of yourself or is this the face you put on when you’re in command?”

      “Yes, I’m sure,” she answered, “and what you see is what you get.”

      For the first time since they’d departed Corpus Christi, Mac relaxed into a grin. “From where I’m sitting,” he drawled, “what I see looks pretty good.”

      Her hands almost slid off the throttle. “Good grief! Is that a compliment?”

      “It is.”

      A tiny dart of pleasure made it past the butterflies beating against Cari’s ribs. After all these weeks of butting heads with the stubborn marine, she hadn’t expected any warm fuzzies just moments away from entering a potential hostile fire zone. Her brief pleasure took a back seat to business when she checked the displays and saw they’d entered Caribe’s territorial waters.

      “We’re within twelve miles of the island. We’ll hit the coral reef in a few minutes. You’d better get ready for a bumpy ride.”

      Bumpy didn’t begin to describe it.

      Waves pounded the sunken coral reef. The swells that had kept Mac’s stomach churning became monster waves. The huge walls of green curled and crashed and roared like the hounds of hell. He clamped his jaw shut and tried not to wince at the vicious battering Pegasus took.

      Cari, he noted, didn’t so much as break a sweat as she worked the throttle and wheel. Somehow she managed to dodge the worst of the monsters while keeping her craft aimed straight for the calmer waters inside the reef.

      Finally, Pegasus broke through the pounding surf. Mac mouthed a silent prayer of relief and swiped the sweat off his forehead with a forearm. Squinting through the canopy, he searched the vegetation fronting the beach for some sign of an opening.

      “We’re right on track according to the GPS coordinates,” Cari confirmed after another read of the instruments. “The river mouth should lie dead ahead.”

      “Bring us in closer.”

      Keeping a wary eye on the depth finder, she took Pegasus into the bay. “The ocean floor’s shelving fast. If we don’t find the mouth soon, I’ll have to switch to track mode and take us…”

      “There it is.”

      The narrow gap in the tangled vegetation was almost invisible. Mac would have missed it if not for the rippling water surface where the river eddied into the bay.

      Getting a lock on the ripples, Cari swung the wheel. Moments later, Pegasus was fighting his way against the powerful current. Before the green gloom of the river swallowed them, Mac needed to advise the recon team they were on their way up the Verde.

      “Second Recon, this is Pegasus One.”

      He waited for a reply. None came. Frowning, he keyed his mike again.

      “Second Recon, this is Pegasus One. Acknowledge please.”

      Long, tense seconds of silence passed. Cari pulled her gaze from the instruments. Mac saw his own mounting worry mirrored in her brown eyes. His jaw tightening, he was about to try again when the unmistakable rattle of gunfire came bursting through the radio. The patrol leader came on a second later, his voice sharp-edged but remarkably calm given the stutter of small arms fire in the background.

      “Pegasus One, this is Second Recon. Be advised we’ve run smack into a heavily armed rebel patrol.”

      “Do you have them in your sights?”

      “We do, but our orders are to avoid returning fire unless under extreme duress.”

      The sergeant broke off, cursing as another loud burst made extreme duress sound a whole lot closer than it had a few seconds ago. Mac’s fists went white at the knuckles. Those were marines taking fire. He didn’t breathe until the team leader came back on the horn.

      “We can give these bastards the slip, but we’ll have to fall back. We’ll try to lead them as far as possible away from the target. Sorry, One. Looks like you’re on your own from here on out.”

      “Roger that.”

      “Good luck, sir.”

      “You, too.”

      The transmission cut off. The sudden silence drowned out even the muted whine of Pegasus’s engines. His jaw locked tight, Mac took another GPS reading from the radio signal and noted the team’s