He had bandaged his wounds and curled up between the buttresses of a tree to rest for an hour. Pain and tension made sleep impossible. While he rested he grasped at the image of Carol, and some type of future life with her, to give him hope. It seemed pathetic that a failing marriage was the best he could do for inspiration. Still, as he thought of her, their past years together, he yearned for her love and nurturance.
To some degree he understood the desire for nurturance was a direct result of his current wounds. But he also couldn’t quit on Carol any more than he could give up on Rachel.
His plan was dangerous. But his chances of survival anywhere else in Colombia were lower than what he had decided to do. Alvarez would have informants everywhere. And going to the authorities would necessitate revealing who he was and why he was here. The U.S. government would deny any claims he made about Blackhood Ops and the Colombian government might send him to prison. A prison term in Colombia would equal a death sentence.
More importantly, he wanted to protect the friar. Alvarez had to be shut down, one way or another.
Even with the nightly rain he feared they might be able to follow his trail and find him. If Alvarez’s men left the compound in the morning to track him, he planned to create a diversion to lead them southeast—in the opposite direction of the planned Black Hawk extraction in the evening.
That line of reasoning had led him to his current position. It might give him better odds to avoid facing a large group of armed men at the exfil point.
The emergency pickup was his last chance and he couldn’t afford to miss it. He wasn’t sure the Black Hawk would come. If he had been betrayed, a rescue would be doubtful. And if Alvarez already knew about the exit plan, there was nothing he could do to save himself.
The only part of his plan that he had no answer for was how he was going to get Alvarez.
Movement and engine noise in the compound caught his attention. He focused his bleary eyes through the night scope. Guards were backing the two SUVs out of the garage. Other guards carried fuel cans, while two more cleaned the windshields.
He made a decision and climbed down, groaning with the effort.
Walking south until he was sure he couldn’t be heard, he ran west, past the compound, and then north again. It took him an excruciating half hour to find the winding muddy road that led away from the compound and down the hilly countryside.
Standing in the tree line, he listened, taking deep breaths to calm the pain in his leg. No engine noise. He walked out onto the narrow road and jogged west on it, away from the compound, the pain constant.
Two miles later he found what he needed. A sharp turn in the road and good tree cover. He reconsidered. If he was too close to the compound, whoever was left there would be on him quickly. He kept jogging.
In forty-five minutes he came upon another sharp turn and stopped in the middle of the road again. Still no engine noise. He hunched over, exhausted, unable to move. Another idea came to him, but he didn’t have the energy for it. It took him a minute to get his feet moving.
Walking around the turn, he quickly began hauling branches and short logs out of the forest to build a barricade across half the road. He figured he had until sunrise—less than an hour away—because they wouldn’t want to drive this road in the dark.
Dragging the debris across the ground aggravated his calf, arm, and shoulder injuries. He often gasped in pain. But in the end he was satisfied.
Walking back up the road a short distance, he chose a spot behind a tree, sat, and waited. Before he allowed himself to sleep, he visualized how he would handle the two SUVs, replaying it over and over in his mind until he was confident. When he finished he immediately fell asleep.
Engine noise saved him.
He woke with blurry eyes and hurriedly rubbed the sleep from them. Predawn light filtered through the forest and shadows still covered the road. Pulling down his hood, he scrambled to his feet, the AK-47 in his hands.
From around a curve two SUVs approached his position, already starting to slow for the sharp curve ahead. He pulled the pin on a grenade.
When the SUVs were twenty feet away, he rolled the grenade into the middle of the road. Stepping out with the AK-47 leveled, he sprayed the front tire of the lead SUV. Immediately he stepped back behind the tree and covered his ears.
The grenade exploded, sending a rush of pressure into the air.
His gun leveled, he stepped out from behind the tree again.
The lead vehicle swerved to the left, teetering, and then fell onto its side, sliding down the road, its metal grating over the small rocks. Instead of slowing, the rear SUV swerved and accelerated around the lead vehicle. A window slid down with a gun barrel protruding from it.
Steel ducked behind the tree as bullets chewed up vegetation, thumping the trunk he hid behind for a few seconds. Rounding the other side of the tree, he walked onto the road, watching the toppled SUV.
Doors swung up into the air and two guards rose out of the vehicle. He sprayed bullets at their heads and they dropped back inside. Running toward the SUV, he pulled the pin on a second grenade and tossed it through the open door.
Muffled shouts erupted in the vehicle.
Without waiting, he turned and ran across the road into the jungle, toward the downhill side of the turn ahead. A whomp! sounded behind him. He couldn’t afford to turn around.
Ahead, he could see the lead SUV. It had skidded to a stop sideways in the road, right up against the log pile.
Steel ran out onto the road, firing at the front windshield. Divots and cracks appeared on the glass, but it didn’t shatter. Pulling out a grenade, he pulled the pin and held it high, waiting.
Both front doors opened.
Cautiously he walked sideways toward the driver side. Gun barrels appeared. He tossed the grenade just beyond the passenger side into the pile of debris, and ran right, firing beneath the SUV driver’s door. The driver slumped to the road with leg injuries, and then died as Steel shot him again.
The grenade exploded just as Steel threw himself into the ditch. Ears ringing, he rose to his feet and quickly loaded another magazine into the AK-47. The front passenger was dead, the side windows blown out.
Steel said loudly, “You can live or die. You’ve got one second to get out.”
The passenger door on the driver’s side opened and a raised empty hand appeared.
Alvarez.
Steel moved sideways, then strode up to the SUV. Alvarez had an average build, a trimmed beard and moustache, and wore all white clothing—pants, vest, shirt, sport jacket—except for brown boots.
Marita Lopez was huddled over her knees. She sat up when Steel approached the door. A simple blue satin shift covered her voluptuous body and shiny dark skin. Long black hair fell to her shoulders and high cheekbones gave her an intelligent appearance.
A gun rested on the seat next to Alvarez. Steel motioned them out of the vehicle.
“Ir a la mierda,” Alvarez said as he climbed out. His right arm was covered in blood.
Steel pushed him against the SUV to frisk him. Twisting, the drug lord tried to elbow him. Steel swung the stock of the AK-47 at his head and the man dropped in a heap.
Steel recognized the half-moon scar on the right side of Alvarez’s face. It looked more prominent now in the dim light than it had in Danker’s photographs.
It would be easier to kill Alvarez, but the man might provide bargaining insurance should the drug lord’s men track them. More unlikely, maybe he could still bring Alvarez back alive so they could stop any terrorist action he had backed.
Marita got out of the SUV. She had small cuts on her bare lower legs. Steel motioned with the gun and she backed up a few steps, her expression frozen.
He quickly patted down Alvarez. No other weapons.
“I’m on your side,” said Marita. “Take me with
you. I witnessed the DEA agent’s death. I’m the informant.”
He struggled with that. If she was honest, she deserved a chance to get out. The guards would kill her, even mutilate her if they suspected betrayal. She could also testify against Alvarez for a murder charge. But if she was lying, she would wait for the first available chance to help Alvarez.
“Did he call the compound?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I pretended to be scared and knocked his phone to the floor.”
Stepping closer to the SUV, he saw a phone lying on the floor. He glanced up the road. Even if she was telling the truth, the men from the compound would be here soon, alerted by the grenades and guns. Minutes.
But he was counting on the lead guard vehicle from the compound running into the brush pile too. It would buy them a little more time.
“Help me with him,” he said, motioning to Marita.
They lifted Alvarez into the back of the SUV. Steel ripped off part of the man’s shirt and tied his hands behind his back. He grabbed the phone and gun and tossed both into the jungle. Quickly they pulled the two bodies away from the SUV.
He nodded to Marita. “Get in.”
She climbed in the front passenger side, and he drove, jockeying the vehicle past the debris. He accelerated once they were clear.
A few miles later he spotted more level ground and stopped the SUV. Turning the vehicle wide, he accelerated off the south side of the road into the vegetation, going as fast as he could to get as far from the road as possible.
Fifty yards in, the vehicle crunched to a stop, the wheels spinning. Trees and thick growth hemmed them in. He quickly got out and shook Alvarez alert, motioning him out of the SUV. The drug lord glowered as he clambered out.
Steel shoved him hard, hurrying him back toward the road. “If you call out, I’ll kill you.”
At the side of the road he heard engine noise in the distance. He pushed Alvarez across, and told Marita to use brush to erase the tire tracks and their footprints. She seemed willing and thorough.
Alvarez’s SUV wouldn’t be easily spotted from the road. Even if it was, Steel hoped Alvarez’s men would think they had headed south. It might be enough to buy them some time. He prodded Alvarez into the forest, heading north.
The engine whines increased. Steel pushed Alvarez to the ground, motioning Marita down beside the drug lord. Shoving his knee into Alvarez’s back, he put the gun muzzle into the man’s cheek and covered his mouth with his other hand.
Through the vegetation he glimpsed several Jeeps and a small truck speed by on the road. They must have assumed Alvarez’s SUV had escaped—as he hoped—and were looking for it on the road. Thus they missed spotting it in the jungle.
Steel pulled Alvarez up and kept moving. A hundred yards into the tree line he told them both to kneel. He untied Alvarez and had him take off his jacket and vest.
Using one of the fixed blade knives, he cut the clothing into strips, which he used to secure Alvarez’s hands even tighter behind his back, and then Marita’s. She looked at him wordlessly while he tied her up. He avoided her eyes and gagged both of them. The bindings were marginal but would hinder any quick actions.
They stumbled through the jungle single file, heading northwest, Marita ahead of Alvarez, Steel behind both of them.
“If you run,” he told them, “I’ll shoot out your knees first.”
CHAPTER 48
Serpent: 0900 hours, second day
For hours they heard nothing but the sounds of the forest. Steel found it difficult to stay awake. Marita was docile and flashed secretive glances at him whenever they changed directions. Alvarez trudged along in silence.
He stopped them to get his bearings. Alvarez was breathing hard so he took off their gags.
Bending over to catch his breath, Alvarez looked up at Steel. “The DEA agent we caught a few months ago was brave for a while too. You want to hear how he died? We carried him into the jungle and staked him to the ground in the path of army ants. They can strip a horse to bone in no time at all. The man was screaming when we returned.”
The drug lord chuckled. “My men didn’t like having to rescue him from the ants, but I wanted to see what he would tell us. You know what he told us? Nothing we didn’t already know. We brought him back to the ants.”
Steel frowned. “Sit down.”
They complied, and he used his knife to cut strips from the rest of Alvarez’s vest. While he worked he said, “You’re trying to interfere with the Mexican presidential election.”
Alvarez smiled. “Many people want General Vegas dead.”
“You’re trying to kill Francis Sotelo.”
“The friar is a fool who thinks he can change things.” He lifted his chin. “Untie us. We’ll forget about all of this and go our separate ways.”
Steel ignored him.
Alvarez straightened and said, “Tu eres hombre muerto, y tu familia tambien.”
“If I’m a dead man, then so are you.” He kicked the drug lord’s wounded arm and the man gasped. He gagged them both again.
***
Steel was concerned he would miss the extraction point since he didn’t have a compass or GPS. And the high canopy made it difficult to use the sun for direction.
Instead he counted paces. It was a crude estimate but would yield approximate distances. When he felt they were close, he would conduct a simple search pattern.
The emergency coordinates, in case the mission was blown, was another abandoned lumber road farther north from where the Black Hawks were attacked. If he found the first failed drop site, he should be able to find the emergency pickup. Under normal conditions he would trust his abilities to do this, but fatigue, pain, and lack of sleep affected his accuracy.
His worst fear was that Alvarez’s men would discover the SUV south of the road and assume he might use the same northern extraction point.
An hour later he stumbled within eyesight of the abandoned logging road. Emotion choked his throat. He wanted to cheer.
Remaining within the tree line, he followed it. His whole body sagged in relief when he reached the end of it and found it quiet, free of Alvarez’s men. Pushing Alvarez, he continued northeast.
Trudging behind his captives, he replayed the events of the last day. Even though necessary for survival, and part of the mission, the violence numbed his sensibilities. Ever since the Komodo Op he realized he had begun divorcing himself from this life. None of it felt tolerable anymore.
The heat spurred waves of sweat beneath his clothing and often he wiped moisture from his eyes. Marita and Alvarez were just as drenched and their torn clothes clung to their bodies. Marita’s long dark hair was strewn around her shoulders in tangles, and Alvarez’s hair lay limp on his head. The drug lord seemed weaker, slowing and stumbling more as the day progressed.
Steel’s limbs hung at his sides. He had gone through his water and felt dehydrated. Maps he had studied before coming had shown a river to the west, and possible streams, but with his captives he decided it best to focus on the exfil site. He just had to last a dozen hours. Often his weary feet stumbled over vegetation. Able to find a few vines, he cut them with his knife. They dribbled sips of water, though he didn’t offer any to Marita or Alvarez.
Howler monkeys sent their unique, loud bellows across the forest. Insects droned everywhere. Iridescent blue morpho butterflies floated across their path, and the whistling of a black-cheeked woodpecker cut through the humid air. A hermit hummingbird sipped at a red passionflower they passed.
Steel found all of it at odds to guns and killing, but it soothed him, and reminded him of Rachel and the friar.
By early afternoon they trudged a distance that seemed adequate. It took him an hour in a quadrant search before he found the backup exfil site. It was more overgrown than the first, but recognizable.
The plans ca
lled for a quick in-and-out at midnight. With or without a signal. He had planned for every contingency. He decided to tie Marita and Alvarez together in the middle of the extraction site. If they were prone, in the open, it would be read as safe. He would stand beside them.
They had nearly half a day to wait. He cut lianas and had Marita and Alvarez sit against a large tree. He tied them as securely as he could, while Alvarez stared at him with hardened eyes.
Marita glanced at him questioningly.
Exhausted, he put down the rifle, drew his knife, and stood facing Alvarez. For a while he rolled the knife handle over and over in his hand. Eventually he sat against a tree a few yards away, staring at the drug lord.
A boa constrictor crawled across a nearby tree branch.
Steel considered Alvarez. Colombian drug lords were vengeful. Alvarez was helping terrorists out of revenge against the DEA for killing his brother. This man would do anything to gain retribution. The man might someday send a hit man after him or Carol. Or kill anyone else close to him.
Almost nodding off, he jerked his head upright.
Marita and Alvarez were still there, tied to the tree.
He brought his jumbled considerations back to his predicament. Alvarez would be tried in the U.S. for murder charges if Marita would testify—and if she was telling the truth about being a DEA informant. Then Alvarez would sit in prison for the rest of his life. But he still might be able to send out any orders he wanted.
Alvarez lifted his chin to him, as if he wanted to talk.
Steel ignored him for a while. But eventually he rose and slipped off the man’s gag.
Alvarez stared at him. “Jack Steel, if I die my family will seek retribution against you and yours.”
He gaped at the drug lord. “Who gave you my name?”
Alvarez shrugged. “An informant, through a long line of informants. Someone wants you dead.”
He clenched his hands. It confirmed that someone had set him up and had been willing to sacrifice the other soldiers and the helicopters too.
Steel Force Page 18