Excerpt: Sins of the Past

Twenty-four hours later, back up in the Cuban mountains, Rafael Valdez was just returning to the small village after a day and a half of being at LATINA’s main processing plant that was kept up in the higher elevations.

The former Tiger Force warrior was tired, sore, and mentally exhausted, but his still trained combat senses instantly realized that something drastic had happened during his short absence.

Usually relaxed terrorists were alert with weapons held ready as if they were expecting an attack to come at any moment.

“Ah, Rafael, you’re back.” Julio Valdez greeted happily, walking over to greet his brother. “How are things up at the plant?” he inquired curiously. “I trust you enjoyed what you saw?”

“Yeah, they’re fine.” Rafael replied, still looking around the village. “Julio, what’s going on here?” he asked flat out. “These men look ready to go to war.”

Julio nodded sadly, as the two brothers walked to where the local LATINA leaders were staying. “Our amigos are on guard so seriously because we have located three spies. Two in this very village but they were disposed of quickly to the mercy of the jungle animals and one was captured by a patrol in the jungle.” he explained grimly.

“A.J.,” Rafael whispered, feeling the weight of his choices weighing down heavily on him again.

“This does not concern you, my brother.” Julio assured him, and then smiled in a way that made Rafael sick to his stomach. “Go get freshened up from your time in the mountains and then join me in the building we use for interrogations so you may help me with our prisoner,” he instructed, starting to walk away but then turned back around to add. “I think you will enjoy this as much or more than I will.”

“I sincerely doubt that.” Rafael muttered to himself, going upstairs in the two-story building to his single room and locking the door behind him. “Dios.” he whispered, leaning on the door with his eyes closed against the thoughts in his head. “What have I gotten myself into?”

Not expecting an answer, the former commando was more than a little surprised when he actually received one and more surprised by the strong left hook to the jaw.

“Funny, I’ve been asking myself that very same question, mon ami.” a sharp, but chillingly familiar voice, with a heavy French accent snapped harshly.

Rafael rubbed his jaw again to get the feeling back in it, not bothering to hit back against his attacker because he knew it would be useless. You can’t hit a ghost and he knew that was exactly what he was facing now.

“Luc, haven’t I been hit enough this week?” Rafael asked wearily, turning back to face his attacker.

His visitor was a young Frenchman, in his late thirties, with long coal black hair that waved into sea blue eyes. He was tall and slender with an athlete’s form, a trait well observed in the blue jeans and white t-shirt he was wearing, covered with an assortment of lethal weapons and shoulder holster.

The very same outfit, three years earlier in the Bahamas, Luc Girard had died in after a simple assignment had backfired on Tiger Force in a bad way.