by Luke Murphy
“How much less?”
“It’s eight miles,” Calvin answered.
Sanders grunted. “No way. You’ve seen the size of my ankle. I can barely put pressure on it and you want me to run eight more miles? No fucking way.”
“I can make it,” Livia said.
Calvin looked at Ace. “You want to live or die?”
When Ace didn’t reply, Calvin got up, helped Livia to her feet, and stood still, listening for two more minutes. When he heard nothing, he started out in a half-sprint.
♣
Sanders had really slowed them down. They reached the murky shores of the riverbank in a little over an hour. Ace hobbled and cursed the whole way. They’d lost valuable minutes each time Calvin had to pull Sanders to keep up.
Livia looked ready to collapse but forged on. She breathed heavily and her shirt was covered in sweat stains.
Calvin leg was on fire, and sensitive to even a light touch. But there was no way he was going to let his leg be the reason they didn’t make it.
They hadn’t seen or heard the Cartel for the entire trip, which not only confused Calvin, but concerned him. There was no way the Cartel would let them escape without a fight and risk tarnishing their reputation as Colombian bad-asses. But the ransom money, which they’d never risk losing, might mean even more to them than their reputation.
Calvin was the first to make it to the water’s edge, followed by Livia and a hobbling Sanders, who limped behind, then dropped to his knees and rolled onto his back.
He was impressed, as Calvin always seemed to be, with Livia. She’d shown incredible fortitude and strength as they moved along the rain forest. She’d been beaten and tortured at the camp, and yet she continued on without complaining or arguing.
Calvin could hear Ace breathing loudly, and then the casino owner grunted and pulled himself up. He sat with his legs outstretched, leaning his weight onto his hands planted on the ground behind him. His ankle looked huge under his pant leg.
Sanders grinned that smarmy, casino owner grin. “When did you plant those bombs, Watters?”
“Last night, while you slept. You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you up.”
“Fuck you,” Sanders’ smile had been replaced with a snarl. “Where’s the plane?”
Calvin pointed to the swamp. “There’s a small island about a mile out. We landed it and left it there.”
“Are you fucking crazy? Now you want me to swim a mile in this God forsaken sludge?”
Calvin looked at Livia. “Can you make it?”
She nodded. “Yes.”
Calvin looked into her eyes, and could see the determination in them. He was about to speak when the moment was broken by a loud, angry Spanish scream. Their three heads turned and their attention was directed to the thick forest surrounding them, where they could hear the vehicles and soldiers coming from the other side.
“Fuck,” Calvin said. “That’s why we hadn’t seen or heard them, they came here to wait for us.”
“How did they know we’d be here?” Livia asked.
“I don’t know. We’re gonna have to swim for it.” He said the words, but he was hesitant, hearing the trepidation in his own voice. As he looked out into the murky water, he thought about Rachel’s research, the piranhas, and the croc that had pulled under the soldier.
But the gang of cartel members looming confirmed to Calvin that if he stayed, he was one hundred percent dead. This was the only escape route.
Sanders rubbed his red, swollen wrists and looked at Calvin. “I’ll make it.” It was as if Sanders had a sudden revelation, now trying to one-up Livia.
Shots rang out. Bullets tore up mud at their feet. Calvin strapped the duffle bag over his back before he and Livia waded into the swamp. Bullets struck the waist-high water, splashing up fountains of green-black liquid.
But Sanders hesitated, looking around, as if frozen and sinking in quick sand.
“He’s not moving,” Livia said to Calvin.
Calvin turned and looked at the casino owner. His leg hurt and he was tired, but Sanders knew they had to get the hell out of there. Calvin took a step towards the casino owner when he felt Livia’s hand on his arm.
He turned to her. “What?”
She pointed at Sanders.
Calvin turned back in time to see something slither out of the black river, just behind Sanders.
Calvin pulled free of Livia’s grip and took three steps forward.
“Sanders!”
“Calvin, no!” Livia screamed.
He stopped in his tracks, frozen with fear. His blood ran cold, his heart caught in his throat. Even the Colombian drug cartel, who had reached the muddy shoreline, stopped and stared.
A Green Anaconda, about twenty-five feet long and five feet thick, with cat-like speed, coiled its body around Sanders and constricted with extreme force. The giant snake, sensing danger and protecting its habitat, struck with great strength.
Within seconds, Sanders’ face was a dark blue, his eyes blood-shot and bulging from their sockets and his cheeks had caved-in. Calvin could almost see Sanders’ internal organs, lungs and bones, crush under the impact.
Calvin took a step towards the large snake.
“You can’t save him,” Livia said.
“He’s the reason I’m here, my mission. He’s my job, my responsibility.”
There were no more backup plans. If he lost Sanders now, the job was over. He was unwilling to lose sight of the operation.
“You have no chance.”
He looked at her. “I don’t like to lose.”
“Well, you have to accept defeat this time.”
“There’s always a chance.”
Calvin unholstered his gun and aimed it at the anaconda. He was about to pull the trigger when Livia swatted his weapon away.
“Don’t waste your bullets, they won’t penetrate the anaconda’s skin.” But she quickly raised her gun and pulled the trigger, the bullet striking Ace in the forehead and snapping his head back. “He won’t suffer any more,” she said.
For the time being, the drug cartel had trained their focus on the large anaconda, opening fire at the snake as it retreated, slinking into the muddy water.
Calvin still stood frozen, staring at Sanders, staring at his mission’s target.
“This is our chance. Let’s go!” Livia shouted.
But he still hadn’t moved, watching Sanders’ dead body float on the water, being pulled under by the snake.
Livia grabbed Calvin by the shirt sleeve and pulled hard, turning him towards her. She looked into his eyes. “Listen to me. Those things hunt in groups. We need to get out of here.”
That snapped him out of his disillusion.
Calvin stood in the waist-high water, twisting in a three-hundred and sixty-degree turn, checking the top of the water line for any kind of movement, slithering or swimming. His heart pounded his chest.
If it hadn’t been for the clack of the gunfire pelting the water around him, he might not have awakened from his fear-filled trance. He shook his head and glanced at the shore, where a dozen soldiers lined up, opening fire into the dark water around him, aiming for where they thought he and Livia were.
The only thing that saved them from being hit was the night’s darkness aiding their invisibility, the protection of the black water around them, and the Amazon creatures lurking, keeping the soldier’s minds off task. It also brought into question the young guards’ skills with the heavy military weapons. Had they had any form of training at all? Doubtful.
Calvin shifted the duffel bag to the side, then he and Livia dove into the waist-deep water head first, and used powerful strokes to distance themselves from the gun fire and predators preying in the murky swamp water.
As his head emerged, he swam with front strokes, pausing between arm-lengths to listen for the sound of a motor boat, thinking the cartel might have been ready to go out on a water pursuit.
Even though his heart pounded
, and his ears were full of water—yet to pop—he knew that the thunderous hum of a powerful motorboat would be discernible above all else.
But the only things he heard were his own arms stroking through the warm water and Livia’s deep breaths as she struggled to keep up.
He wasn’t sure if the silence was a good sign or not. He knew the predators of the Amazon Forest made very little noise when they stalked their prey. He was no longer thinking of the Colombian Cocaine Cartel.
He wondered about the dirty Amazon River water trickling through his bandaged leg and into the hole in his hamstring. That wouldn’t help, and probably only magnify the infection.
The moon was bright and helped guide them a little, giving them vision to about three feet, but after that it was black. Everything looked the same: the muddy water, the bushels of trees, the tiny, secluded islands. All he could do was lead Livia, hope he remembered where the plane was, or at least hope Livia knew where she was going and could perhaps direct him.
They’d been swimming for about fifteen minutes when a low humming sound in the distance prompted Calvin to turn his head.
“Wait,” he whispered to Livia.
Calvin swung around and saw a dim light growing brighter as it got closer. The sound of a motor confirmed a boat approached. He treaded water, looking around for cover but they were in the middle of the river. They didn’t have time to reach the nearest shoreline, which was probably hundreds of yards away. The bulkiness and weight of the duffel bag over his shoulder tried hard to pull him to the bottom, and it slowed his pace.
“We need to go under,” he said.
“What?” She looked uncertain.
Calvin put his arms on her shoulders. “Trust me. It’s all we can do. Take a deep breath.”
The boat drew near, the sound of the motor grew. Calvin could hear voices on board, the soldiers directing orders in Spanish. The soldier manning the light followed instructions, aiming the beam around the water.
Calvin grabbed Livia by the wrist and pulled her close. Just as the light swung towards them, Calvin put his hand on the top of Livia’s head, they each drew a deep breath and then he pushed her below the surface.
It was black under the water, and Calvin couldn’t see the bottom, but he knew it was deep. He looked up to the surface of the dark water, watching the beam spray across the area where their heads had bobbed moments earlier. Although he couldn’t see Livia, Calvin held her close. He wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold her breath under water, but she hadn’t yet showed any signs or panic for needing air.
They waited. Seconds turned to minutes. Calvin wondered why the boat wasn’t moving. Had the Cartel seen something to give them pause? Had he and Livia left some sort of sign? Waves, circles or bubbles in the water?
Calvin’s temples throbbed. The pressure on his skull increased with each excruciating second that passed. He could hear his heartbeat drum in his ears and wondered how Livia was holding up.
He gripped Livia’s arm harder, but she didn’t respond. He tried to look into her face but the water was too dark. His lungs screamed for air.
Then Calvin noticed the boat flashlight gradually disappear. He smoothly glided up, pulling Livia with him.
When Livia hit the surface, she broke out in a panic, flailing her arms wildly, greedily sucking in gulps of air. She inhaled hard. Calvin’s lungs burned. He wrapped his arms around her, squeezing them to her body, settling her down.
“It’s okay,” he comforted her. “Breathe in slow, deep breaths. It will come back.”
A bright, full moon shone on them.
Livia calmed. Her chest heaved. Her hair was matted to her forehead and cheeks. She stared at Calvin with those dark, penetrating eyes. To Calvin, she looked vulnerable, and never more beautiful.
They were face to face, so close Calvin could see the pores on her skin.
Breathing evenly again, she removed a short steel rod from her pocket and pulled up her hair, holding it in place with that same steel pin. With her hair up, he could see her fine, smooth neck.
He wasn’t sure if it was the thrill of the moment, or everything they’d been through, but as they treaded water there together, he wanted to kiss her, to taste her soft, moist lips. To reach out and pull her in, close to him, their bodies melting into one. To feel her heartbeat against his chest, to cover that neck with small butterfly kisses.
But he didn’t. He wasn’t going to cross that line. He thought of Rachel, pictured how water beaded on the line of her collarbone when they stood in the shower.
“That’s a weird looking hair pin,” he said, distracting himself, trying to focus on another part of her body.
“It’s from my brother. The last gift he ever gave me. Stainless steel, with our names engraved on it. It’s my good luck charm.”
A moment of respectful silence passed.
“I think we’re safe to move now,” Calvin broke the quietness.
“They’re going for the plane.”
Calvin had thought the same thing, or at least they headed in that direction. Did the drug cartel know about the plane? Had they seen it land or had the Brazilians told them about the hijacked aircraft? They would know that was the only logical place to land and store it.
Calvin was certain no one had seen it, and he and Livia had covered it well.
“It’s still our only chance,” he replied.
Chapter 23
It was midnight when Dale’s cellphone buzzed. He’d been sleeping for almost an hour, and had to gather his thoughts. He flipped over his phone as it vibrated on the coffee table.
A middle-of-the-night call to a Vegas detective was not uncommon or cause for suspicion. Dale had received his share of them, but now with Calvin in another continent, a three-hour time zone away, this could bring any kind of news. Calvin wasn’t one to call for no reason.
He looked around his lonely, low-rent apartment. His suitcases were still on the floor, open and full of folded clothes, waiting for the day he got the okay to move back home.
Before answering the phone, Dale tiptoed to the bedroom door and cracked it. Rachel’s low muffled snoring reached him. He closed the door tight and looked at the call display on his phone but didn’t recognize the number. He answered.
“Dayton.”
There was a distinctive click on the phone, which Dale had heard before, telling the detective the call was being switched to a secure line. Dale thought about the type of people worried about security in their phone conversations.
“Someone in your department has been sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Dale recognized the voice, had heard it before, put couldn’t place it.
“What’s this about?” Dale asked. Was someone warning him to stay away from Alexandrov?
“Classified information. You don’t have the pay-grade, Detective. No more internet searches.”
Dale took a minute to mentally weed the last few days. Who in his department had been snooping and what had they been looking for? Was this a prank? The caller sounded serious. Dale racked his brain for answers.
“Time to move on to a new case, Detective Dayton.”
It clicked. The voice. It was Major General Howard Kennedy. The man who’d called Dale just the other day to gather information, find out what Dale knew after the death of Colonel Hughes at the hands of Derek Baxter.
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Major.”
Dale walked over to the window, the one Baxter shot out. It had been repaired, but there were still bullet holes in the drywall. Secured measures for him and Rachel had been upped, in the form of a babysitter-cop on duty in his car, in the apartment building parking lot. Dale looked down and could see the cop sitting in the patrol car.
“It’s Major General. And I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Someone in your department looked up information on a symbol today that’s not part of any investigation the LVMPD has a right to. That symbol has significance outside
of your jurisdiction. I’m doing you a personal favor by calling, because I know you helped the Colonel.”
Dale could see it in his mind, the symbol that had been carved into the tree by Baxter. A snake in the shape of an “S”. The snake wore a military helmet and had a long knife stuck up through the bottom of its mouth, right through the skull and out the top of the helmet. At the top of the knife waved a half-burned American flag.
“That symbol has to do with Derek Baxter. Baxter has killed men in my city and is wanted in connection to multiple homicide investigations. He killed one of my men, and put another one of my friend’s in jeopardy. You don’t know me, Major General, but a call from the US Military is not going to stop me from a personal vendetta. I gave up Baxter to you guys the first time. Don’t think I’m going to let that happen again.”
Kennedy was quiet. Dale wondered what was going through the military leader’s mind. He was sure that Kennedy had never been spoken to like that before.
Finally, the Major General broke the silence. “If Derek Baxter has been as close to you as you claim, multiple times, then you’re still alive for a reason. But don’t expect that to last much longer.”
“How reassuring.”
“I think it’s time we meet.”
Dale scribbled down the details of where and when. He hung up, then immediately called Jimmy. The phone rang six times. Dale felt regret, knew that Jimmy and his wife would be sleeping, but he was too geared up not to tell his partner.
“Hello?” a sleepy voice answered. It was Jimmy.
“Sorry to call so late.”
“What’s wrong?”
Dale could hear Jimmy telling his wife to go back to sleep in the background, and a creak from the bed springs as his partner rose.
“We’re meeting with the Major General tomorrow.”
Jimmy whistled. “Wow, that’s a pretty high-ranking officer to be meeting a couple of simple Vegas detectives. What do you think it’s about?”
“It’s gotta be about Baxter. I also think that’s why that car has been following us around.”
“That it?”
“Yeah. Go back to bed. I’m going to call the department and have someone come over to my apartment tomorrow to sweep for bugs. You better do the same.”