Covert Network (A Jake Adams International Espionage Thriller Series Book 14) by Trevor Scott

Author:Trevor Scott [Scott, Trevor]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

19

Maria Vega walked gingerly across a grass and dirt courtyard, lit by perimeter lights around the encampment. She could not kid herself any more. This was nothing more or less than a compound. A prison. Despite her constant state of dizziness and lethargy, she had been able to form an opinion of the place. The buildings looked like they had been built some fifty years ago. They had metal roofs and had been hastily constructed, much like the military barracks built in similar camps during time of war. Construction just good enough to keep the troops out of the rain and snow, but not good enough to bring comfort.

Her captors had taken everything from her, from her personal items to her clothes. Then they had issued them uniforms of some sort. Medical scrubs, she thought.

She let her eyes wander but not her head. They had been very specific about keeping their eyes straight ahead. But she had been trained for this. The others, the young girls around her moving in a gaggle, had no apparent training. They were young and vulnerable and scared. She would have to comfort them as best she could.

This was the first time she would be gathering with the others in the Great Hall. As Maria stumbled inside, she saw the thin matts on the floor, and the girls knew to find one and sit down with their legs crossed, as if this were a yoga class.

Some of the girls eagerly grabbed the front row, while others did their best to move far away from that position. Maria decided to sit in the center of the herd, like a vulnerable gazelle on the Serengeti.

The room did not live up to its name as great. The ceiling was missing a couple of tiles, the walls had peeling paint falling to the rough wood floors, and a couple of the windows along the front had cracks.

Her eyes had a hard time staying open. The only thing making them do so was the fact that the room was so hot and stuffy and smelled of something dead—like a rat had gotten caught in the wooden walls and died.

Suddenly a side door opened and a line of men streamed into the hall. All but two of them wore uniforms of some kind, from khaki pants bloused above polished black boots to matching shirts with epaulets. Around their waists were old-school military web belts with semi-automatic handguns in leather holsters on one side and long knives sheathed on the other side. On their heads they wore black berets covering short-cropped hair. The constant with all of the men was the fact that they were all muscular, as if they worked out daily to maintain their chiseled physiques.

The last two men were different. They were in civilian clothes. Still, they were in khakis and nice button up shirts. One man was obviously in charge. It was the way he carried himself that gave Maria the feeling that this guy was special.

“Welcome to Nazca Center,” the leader said with an accent in English.

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