Wild Case

by Tripp Ellis

  "That feels liberating," she said, glancing to me.

  Santiago moved back to the desk and set the case atop it. He spun it around to face him. Before he opened it, he said, “It's tragic that we lost Diego. I'm sorry for the trouble you encountered. I didn't anticipate there would be a leak. I can assure you, when I discover where the leak came from, I will take swift and decisive action if it came from within my organization."

  Santiago went through the same bio authentication process, then twisted the key and opened the case.

  His eyes glimmered as he looked at the bounty.

  From where I was standing, I couldn't see what was inside the case. I could only see the dented lid.

  Santiago was pleased. "Excellent work! Everything is in order. Please tell Isabella we have a deal. Everything will proceed as planned."

  He began to close the case.

  There was no way I was going to come this far and not find out what I had risked my life for. A quick glance to Frankie told me she felt the same way.

  I cleared my throat. "Excuse me, Mr. Martín. Out of curiosity, would you mind telling us what is in the case?"

  His eyes narrowed. "You don't know?"

  "My job was to see that it reached you safely."

  Santiago grinned and thought about if for a moment. "I see no harm."

  He lifted the lid again and pulled out a small card. He walked around the desk and handed it to me. It was sealed in plastic with a certificate of authenticity.

  I knew what it was right away.

  "That is a Honus Walker baseball card. The most sought after and valuable baseball card ever produced. One was last sold at auction for $3.7 million," Santiago said.

  Mixed emotions swirled through me. My cheeks flushed with anger. We risked our lives for a baseball card?

  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

  "$3.7 million doesn't seem like much for a man of your stature,” I said.

  Santiago smiled. "It's not the money. These are very hard to come by.”

  "It seems so," I said.

  “I’ve been collecting American baseball cards since I was a child. I have wanted this for ever.”

  I tried to hide my frown.

  He sensed my displeasure. "If it makes you feel better, the baseball card is just the icing on the cake. A bonus.”

  He moved back to the desk and spun the case around, displaying the contents to us.

  "The real prize is the guidance chips,” he said. “Without them, my smart weapons are useless. Each one is encrypted, and targets must be approved by your government. Of course, this whole scenario offers plausible deniability to those who need it." He paused. "You see, these types of jungle wars can be problematic. There can be lots of casualties. Innocent civilians can die. Retaliations can seem endless. With these smart missiles, I can make strategic strikes on key leaders of the FRP. I can launch the weapon from the compound and drop it within a foot of my target. All I need is a small recon team and a ground laser designator, and we can cripple the FRP before the movement has even begun. It's very simple, really."

  "And what's in this for you?" I asked.

  "Nothing more than to see my country at peace. It's something we all deserve, don't you think?"

  "Peace is good,” I said, still skeptical.

  "See, we are all in agreement." Santiago smiled again. "Jorge will show you to the guest rooms where you can shower and get changed. I will see you in the dining area in half an hour for breakfast.

  30

  Jorge led us to the guest rooms. “Please, make yourselves at home. You will find a fresh change of clothes on the bed. If there is anything I can do to make your stay more enjoyable, please don’t hesitate to ask."

  We thanked him and slipped into our respective rooms.

  On the bed, there was a neatly folded pair of jungle fatigues, shirt, and jacket. The room was elegantly appointed with antique furniture. There was a desk, a chest of drawers, a flatscreen TV, and a standing mirror in the corner. A fern gave the room life.

  I kicked off my boots and peeled out of my mud-covered camo. My feet were raw from hiking in the mountains with new boots. I sat on the bed, buck naked, rubbing my feet. I was tired, sore, and hadn't slept in 24 hours. I wanted to fall back on the bed and sleep for days.

  First, I needed a shower, then breakfast. I moved into the bathroom and twisted the knob in the shower stall. Water sprayed from the shower head, dancing across the tile. I let it run for a moment to get up to temperature.

  I heard the bedroom door creak open.

  I peered my head around the bathroom corner and saw Frankie slip into the room. She sauntered toward me with a devious look in her eyes. She still had her clothes on, but had already kicked off her boots.

  "Can I help you?" I asked, stepping into the bathroom doorway, my junk swinging in the breeze.

  "Yes, as a matter of fact you can." A lecherous grin tugged her plump lips, and her eyes dropped south to check me out.

  She lifted an impressed eyebrow.

  “You see, my shower is not working properly,” she said in a pouty voice. “The water just won’t get hot.”

  Her voice was smooth like velvet.

  I was sure it was a complete fabrication. “That sounds like a tragedy.”

  She turned out her bottom lip. “It is.”

  She grabbed the bottom of her ribbed tank-top and pulled it over her head.

  I arched a curious eyebrow.

  Frankie reached a hand behind her back and unclasped her bra. Her two glorious orbs bounced free. My eyes were transfixed by the sight. Her pert nipples begged for attention. Her creamy skin deserved to be caressed.

  She shimmied out of her pants, and they fell down her toned legs, piling on the floor.

  My eyes traced the curves of her body, moving across her toned abs and down to her shapely hips. There was an officer in the room, and my soldier stood at full attention.

  Frankie sauntered toward me with a lascivious glint in her eyes. "I thought maybe your shower would be a little hotter?”

  “I can guarantee it.”

  She pressed herself against me, and my soldier dug into her pelvis. She lifted up on her tiptoes and kissed my lips.

  She felt divine.

  I put my hand in the small of her back and pulled her body against me. We melted into one another. This had been a long time coming. I had wanted to pull a recon operation on the curves of her body since I'd first seen her back on the Vivere.

  Her slick tongue danced across mine, and heat radiated from her core. My hands glided over her smooth body as we made out in the doorway of the bathroom.

  Steam filled the shower stall.

  I pulled her into the bathroom and closed the door.

  The air was thick and muggy.

  I sent a 5 man recon team to explore the supple hills and valleys of her perky ass. The recon team lingered, probing the enemy’s defenses for weaknesses.

  They found a point of entry.

  My firm hands grabbed hold of her rib cage. I was about to lift her onto the sink, but she winced. "Go easy. The ribs. I fell out of a tree, remember."

  "Sorry," I said, sheepishly.

  She lifted herself on the counter and spread her legs. She bit her lip and looked up at me with naughty eyes.

  I took it as an invitation and was quick to fill the void.

  My hands caressed her body gently, and our hips collided. We were both dirty and sweaty and exhausted. We’d been to the brink of death and somehow returned unscathed. The trauma had bonded us, in a way. It made the whole thing that much more primal.

  With death around the corner, why deny ourselves a moment of pleasure?

  Moans of ecstasy filled the air, and I'm sure our little escapade didn't go unnoticed.

  I worried about breaking the countertop or cracking the bathroom mirror.

  Both survived, despite our best efforts.

  Afterward, we climbed into the shower stall and lathered each other up. Her skin
glistened and beaded with water. Frankie was gorgeous. I couldn't get enough of her sweet lips.

  "I thought you said this would never happen,” I teased.

  “I said you and I would never be a couple.” She grinned. “So, don't get any funny ideas. This is strictly post mission success sex. Nothing more. Nothing less."

  “You’re not going to hear any complaints out of me.”

  "Good. If there's anything I can't stand it's clinging, needy guys."

  I laughed. "I don't think you have to worry."

  "We'll see about that. I can be addictive." She grinned.

  I didn’t doubt that. Frankie talked the talk, and she had the walk to back it up.

  “Trust me, I don’t get addicted easily,” I boasted.

  “Good to know. That means we can do it a few more times without you getting too attached.”

  I laughed. “Are you sure you’re not the one who ought to be worried about getting attached?”

  She scoffed. “I just got rid of one cumbersome piece of baggage. I don’t need another.”

  She lifted on her tiptoes and kissed me again. Something about her warm wet skin pressed against me in the tight shower stall had me revved up and ready to go for round two.

  “Easy there, cowboy. Why don’t you keep that bull in the pen for now? We don’t want to disappoint our host and be late for breakfast.”

  “Fuck breakfast,” I said, then pressed my lips against hers.

  31

  Before things got too hot and heavy again, Frankie slipped out of the stall, leaving me wanting more.

  Maybe I did need a 12-step program?

  We toweled off, got dressed, and rejoined Santiago in time for breakfast. Huevos with arepas, bacon, onions, cheese, and avocados.

  Afterward, Santiago thanked us again. He said we could stay at the compound and rest, or he could provide transport back to Medellín.

  We were all eager to get back to the city.

  Santiago arranged for a unit of his elite guard to take us back to Medellín in an armored personnel carrier. He proudly showed us his new toy—an XT-AAV 99. “This just arrived at the compound last night. I’m sorry it had not been available sooner, or all of this could have been avoided.”

  It was a light armored vehicle that was just shy of a tank. The beast had 8 big knobby tires and angular reinforced steel plating. The vehicle weighed 12 tons and had a turret above with an M242 Bushmaster 25mm chain gun. It fired 200 rounds per minute and had an effective range of almost 10,000 feet. The belt-fed, chain-driven auto-cannon spewed hate and hellfire. A 275-hp diesel engine powered the monster. The AAV was good for a top speed of 62 miles an hour.

  The basic design of the vehicle had first been introduced in the ’80s, but had received continuous modifications. The thing didn't come cheap, either. And it wasn't like you could buy one at the local dealership.

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about doing business with a drug dealer, but I shook Santiago’s hand. We climbed into the heavy piece of machinery. The driver cranked up the diesel engine. It smelled like grease and oil inside the belly of the beast, and the faint traces of exhaust seeped inside. The driver throttled up, and we rolled out of the compound, bouncing along the dirt roadway on the knobby tires.

  It wasn't the cushiest ride in the world, but I had no doubt it would get us to our destination intact.

  The engine rumbled, and each bump in the road rattled my skull. But I managed to doze off and catch up on some much needed sleep. Frankie nodded off with her head against my shoulder.

  I couldn’t have been asleep more than 15 minutes when a deafening blast rocked the armored personnel carrier.

  The overpressure from the blast lifted the 12 ton vehicle onto its side, tumbling it over. The explosion sent dirt and debris spidering in all directions. A plume of black smoke engulfed the area.

  I couldn’t hear a thing except for the high-pitched ringing in my ears.

  Dirt and rocks showered down on the armor plating.

  The clatter of gunfire erupted.

  Bullets pinged off the armor plating.

  My head felt like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. It took me a moment to realize what the hell happened.

  I glanced to Frankie. She nodded back to me, indicating she was okay. Dragonfly looked dazed, but he flashed the thumbs up. He coughed as the smoke from the blast filled the cabin.

  I glanced to the driver. He lay slumped over, motionless.

  The blast detonated below the left front tire. The shockwave had snapped his spine. The explosion also killed the soldier in the turret, smashing his skull against the bulkhead and snapping his neck.

  So much for a safe journey back to the city.

  I grabbed an M4 from the rack near the rear hatch, then snatched a magazine from the dead gunner’s tactical vest and jammed it into the mag well. I pulled the charging handle, loading a round into the chamber.

  Frankie and Dragonfly did the same.

  Dragonfly radioed Santiago's compound and let them know that we’d been hit—probably some type of IED buried in the roadway.

  The interior of the armored personnel carrier filled with smoke. A few well-placed .50-caliber rounds might be able to penetrate the underside of the vehicle. It was light armor. It wouldn't withstand heavy firepower like a rocket-propelled grenade.

  The idea of staying in the vehicle didn't sound appealing. I unlatched the hatch and let the door fall open. I angled the M4 around the corner and squeezed a burst of rounds at the tree line. I ducked back into the vehicle as bullets snapped in my direction from the east tree line.

  “I’ll lay down cover fire while you exit,” I said.

  I leaned my rifle around the corner again and fired off a few more rounds while Frankie and Dragonfly exited and took cover on the west side of the toppled vehicle.

  More bullets pinged and popped as I ducked back into the AAV.

  Dragonfly advanced to the front of the vehicle and angled his weapon around the nose, blasting a few rounds at the rebels.

  I rolled out of the vehicle and took cover with Frankie and Dragonfly. We huddled against the toppled vehicle, the rebels attacking from the tree line on the opposite side.

  “How many do you think there are?" Frankie asked.

  "By the sound of it... small unit—4 to 6," I said.

  "I like those odds."

  Dragonfly had grabbed a few grenades from the tactical vest of the turret gunner. He pulled the pin and lobbed one over the AAV. It arced high in the air toward the tree line. The grenade landed in the tall grass and exploded with a thunderous boom. The shockwave rumbled through the ground. It sprayed blistering shrapnel in all directions. A cloud of dust and debris hung in the air.

  Before the smoke had cleared, screams of agony filled the jungle.

  I angled my rifle around the rear of the vehicle and squeezed off a few more shots into the tree line, aiming at muzzle flash.

  I saw a rebel shoulder a rocket launcher, and my eyes went wide.

  "Fall back!" I shouted.

  I grabbed Frankie and pulled her away from the vehicle. We ran west to the opposite tree line.

  Dragonfly followed behind.

  The RPG launched, spitting a trail of sparks and smoke. It tore through the air and slammed into the underside of the AAV, exploding in a giant amber ball of flames. The molten ball rolled into the sky and dissipated amidst heavy black smoke. Bits of metal and rubber splintered in all directions. The scorching metal fell to the ground, sizzling the grass.

  We disappeared into the tree line and took cover as the AAV was engulfed in flames.

  We got out of there in the nick of time.

  The rattle of gunfire continued. Bullets snapped at us, pelting the trees, and the underbrush. We crouched low as the hot metal zipped overhead.

  It was hard to tell how much damage Dragonfly’s grenade had done. It sounded like at least two men were wounded.

  A moment later, two light armored vehicles from Santiago's compound b
arreled down the dirt road. These 4x4s were smaller than the AAV-99. They had a Browning M2, .50-caliber rifle affixed to the top—affectionately called the Ma Deuce. They looked like Russian-made V-279 Annihilators. They had four knobby tires, a diesel engine that made 250 hp, and could reach a top speed of 73 miles an hour. It had a side-loading door, angled armor facings, and fire ports for small arms. Like its bigger brother, the V-279 offered protection from nuclear, chemical, and biologic attacks.

  A .50 cal gunner unleashed the Ma Deuce at the small band of rebels. The searing rounds splintered trees, showering bark and debris, eviscerating bodies, spraying bone and flesh into the air.

  What was left of the rebels withdrew into the jungle.

  Smoke wafted from the barrel of the gunner’s Browning M2, drifting through the air.

  When the area was clear, we emerged from the tree line and rendezvoused with the two V-279s. Santiago apparently only had one AAV-99.

  They were instructed to take us the rest of the way to Medellín. If an AAV-99 was that easy to derail, I worried about the safety of the V-279s.

  We climbed into the cargo area, strapped in, and continued cautiously down the road. There was no telling how many more IEDs had been placed along the path.

  32

  By the time we made it to Medellín, I was ready to get out of the cramped space. The driver dropped us off on the outskirts of town, then we caught a cab back to the hotel. Frankie and I crammed into the backseat, and Dragonfly sat up front with the driver.

  We zipped through the city, and my nerves began to settle. There wouldn’t be any IEDs in the roadway. No guerillas shooting at us from the tree line. It was crazy to think about the chaos that was happening in the jungles only a few hours away.

  We crossed the river, and before long we pulled into the hotel driveway, and the cab stopped near the entrance.

  “I will check with my contact and get back to you with the information you requested,” Dragonfly said. “How much longer are you staying in Medellín?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It depends on what information you give me, and how fast I can take care of things."