by Jack Du Brul
Foch went out first, slithering through the jungle on his stomach, his FAMAS assault rifle clamped in his hands. After moving only five feet away, it was as if he’d been swallowed. Ten minutes later he returned, sliding backward with exaggerated slowness. He didn’t rustle a single branch and barely moved the grasses growing along the slope of the mountain.
He pressed his mouth to Mercer’s ear. “There’s no one on top of the hill, but I could hear machinery from inside the caldera. I assume something’s happening on the shores of the lake.”
“Liu’s excavating equipment,” Mercer whispered back. Foch nodded.
“They sound like they are on the far side. I think it’s safe for all of us to go up.” Foch gave a thumbs-up to Bruneseau, Lauren, and Hauer.
Following in the path he’d blazed, the team crawled up the hill, moving out from the jungle cover for the last hundred feet below the summit. The grass growing along the slope was at least a meter tall, dense, and as stiff as aluminum. It sliced into skin like knife blades. More insects feasted on the shallow wounds. Once in the open, the sun beat down like a hammer, but when Mercer looked up he could see a wall of black clouds moving across the sky. Rain wouldn’t be far behind.
The storm would provide excellent cover, but would make the hike back to the Zodiac a miserable slog.
Elbows and knees aching from the crawling climb, Mercer reached the crest of the hill. Before he could take even a second to gather his bearings, Foch dragged him into the protection of a small fold in the earth and waited to haul the others behind cover when they reached the top. Only when he knew he couldn’t be observed from below did Mercer concentrate on the vista spread out below him.
The broad lake was fifty feet beneath their natural redoubt. He could clearly see the small island at its center. It looked undisturbed. Lauren moved next to him and they exchanged proud smirks, both thinking of how they’d cheated death that night. Only when he scanned along the shore could he see anything different about the isolated body of water.
From this distance, it looked like an entire army of laborers was tearing into the walls of dirt surrounding the lake. The shafts that Gary had dug over the past months were puny in comparison to these vast excavations. Hatcherly—and he assumed it was Hatcherly—had airlifted excavating machines to the lake, where they ripped huge furrows out of the mountain with their hydraulic arms. Waste dirt was bulldozed into the lake and brown stains of mud bloomed from the shore. Workers in hard hats helped guide the vehicles while others, natives it looked like at this extreme range, sifted through mounds of spoil with hand-held screens. Men with automatic weapons watched over their labors, vigilant for the gleam of gold in the overburden.
Long canvas tents had been erected for the workers, along with a field kitchen, and latrine pits and a garbage dump for the refuse generated by at least a hundred humans. There was a sleek helicopter resting on the beach, its rotor blades as limp as palm fronds, and several aluminum boats with outboard engines tied to a dock made of empty fuel barrels and sheets of plywood.
Mercer’s fears that the looting of archeological sites had turned high tech were dead-on. Hatcherly had erected a town for their robbers, brought in supplies from Panama City in the chopper, and, because of the remoteness, could operate with virtual impunity.
All the discomfort he’d endured getting to this point fell away as his anger grew. He wasn’t aware of the cuts on his hands or the raw insect bites on his neck. He felt nothing but horror at what was happening below him. His lips curled into a cruel smile. Once he had his evidence, at least this part of Hatcherly’s activities on the isthmus would be over. He pulled the pack from his shoulders and withdrew the camera. He snapped off half a role of film before turning to Bruneseau.
“I can’t see faces from this range,” he whispered. “We need to get closer.”
Foch had heard the request. “We can crawl back over the peak of the hill, circle around to just above the main part of the camp and take your shots from there.”
“Let’s go.”
They backtracked to the jungle edge and used its cover to flank the mountain, climbing back up only when they were exactly opposite the camp area. This time Mercer led them up the hill, making sure each movement was thought out before it was executed so that he made no noise, not that anyone inside the volcano could hear them over the diesel growl of the excavators. From the uneven crest of the mountain, he could distinguish faces. The guards and the men working the machinery were all Chinese. Only the lowliest laborers were dark-skinned Panamanians.
As he watched the work, he hoped to see at least one person who seemed to be in charge, but none of the men below distinguished themselves. They worked like drones, having direction, but no control. He had the camera focused on one promising man, a bit older than some of the others, who was talking with a bulldozer driver when Lauren tapped him on his shoulder. She was pointing toward one of the tents.
He saw who she was pointing out immediately. I know you, Mercer thought as he zeroed in on the figure in the lens. He wore khaki pants and a bush jacket here, but a few nights ago he’d been in the warehouse in a suit. He’d been with the other executive who’d peered at the gold. Mercer took ten pictures, the camera cycling film as if it had a motor drive. The Chinese executive appeared to be in walkie-talkie communications with a pair of surveyors working with a laser transit a quarter of the way around the lake.
That’s when Mercer realized the problem with what he was seeing below him. Hatcherly was still digging holes all over the place, working in a systematic approach that would eventually encompass the entire area. There wasn’t one spot where they were focusing all their attention, not one site that had proved to be the mother lode of the Twice-Stolen Treasure. Liu hadn’t found the gold yet. He was still searching.
Meaning the ingots Mercer had seen in the warehouse came from—where?
Rather than answering questions about Hatcherly, this trip was creating even more.
He felt a tug on his pant leg from Foch who lay a little farther down the mountain’s flank. The Legionnaire had been speaking to Bruneseau and had just slipped a piece of unidentified equipment into a large cargo pouch secured to his harness. He moved closer so he could whisper to Mercer.
“Monsieur Bruneseau and I have to get into the camp,” Foch breathed. “There is one tent they are using for administration. Bruneseau needs to get inside.”
This change in plans was a complete surprise, but Mercer’s initial shock gave way to anger and his jaw tightened. When laying out their strategy, they hadn’t talked about actually going into the camp, but now he saw it had been the Frenchman’s intention all along. “Are you out of your mind?”
Foch didn’t seem to care about Mercer’s reaction. “You will wait here with Hauer until we get back.”
“We have what we need,” Lauren protested. “Let’s just get the hell out of here.”
“I’m sorry, Captain.” Bruneseau was unapologetic. “I have to get down there.”
“You’re jeopardizing our entire mission!”
“Getting in there is our mission,” the agent replied sharply.
Without another word, the two men crawled into a gully scored on the inside of the caldera and began moving down toward the back of the camp. Once they reached the broad beach, they paused behind a collection of fuel drums until they could cover the open ground to the closest tent. Reaching it, they both vanished under its loose side. A minute later, they ran out the front of the dormitory tent and found more shelter near a pile of dirt twenty yards closer to the square administration tent. From there, they would need to cross another thirty yards of open ground to get to their target.
Mercer cursed. They’d never make it. He had no idea why they were taking this risk but knew it was a mistake. Feeling a strong premonition, he knew he had to act. Never having control over this sortie, he took it now.
“Corporal Hauer,” he said to the young Legionnaire. “Call the chopper and get it in here.�
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“Why? What for? Foch will be back in a few minutes.”
“He’s going to be caught in a few minutes. Call the damned chopper.”
The soldier was about to protest again when his radio came to life. The volume was just high enough for Mercer to hear the whispered French.
“Foch, this is Levesque.” Levesque was the Legionnaire who had remained with the Zodiac. “I’m two hundred meters downstream from the boat. There’s an armed patrol approaching. I’m backtracking now, but if they stay along the stream bank they’re going to find the Zodiac. What do you want me to do?”
“Levesque. Hauer. Foch’s in the camp. He can’t respond.” The young Legionnaire hesitated, unsure what to do. He was a soldier, not an officer, trained to follow orders, not issue them. He was completely out of his element. “Um, ah, can you take them out?”
“Negative. There appear to be four of them maintaining good separation.”
“This is turning to shit,” Mercer said with suppressed fury. “Call in the damned chopper before it’s too late.”
“Don’t argue,” Lauren hissed when Hauer wavered. “Just do it.”
“Wait one, Levesque.” Corporal Hauer changed radio frequencies and used the helicopter’s code name. “Shepherd, Shepherd. This is Hauer. Come in. We need you. Over.”
The pilot responded instantly. “Roger, Hauer, this is Shepherd. I heard Levesque’s call and have already started engines. ETA is twenty minutes. Where’s the rest of the flock?”
“Um, all over the place. Just get airborne, we’ll figure an evac point in a minute.” He switched back to Levesque. “Helo’s inbound. Give me a sit rep.”
“They’re on me in about four minutes. I can get away but they’ll find the boat.”
Mercer grabbed the radio from the soldier. “Levesque, no matter what happens you can’t let them alert their base. If you do we’re all dead. Take out the radioman, keep them pinned for ten minutes then get the hell out of there. Head toward El Real and we’ll pick you up from the river.”
The radio clicked once in acknowledgment. The patrol must have been too close to risk his voice giving him away.
Even at a distance of a mile or more the crack of a single pistol shot was distinctive. It was answered by a rip of gunfire from an automatic weapon, and then came the smoother buzzsaw sound of a FAMAS. Levesque had engaged.
Down at the lakeshore the sound of the firefight was muffled by the trucks, but it would be only minutes before Levesque disengaged and the patrol recovered their radio and contacted the base. Foch and Bruneseau were trapped but didn’t know it yet.
Hauer began to tremble, overwhelmed with a fear that all the training he’d endured couldn’t prepare him. The others in his detachment had faced combat before. He alone was the novice and cursed that he’d volunteered to follow Foch to the lake. He noted how Lauren listened to the sounds of the battle far away and maintained her surveillance of the camp, watching to see the moment the guards were alerted.
Her presence stabilized him. He remembered the incoming helicopter.
The only place the JetRanger could get close enough to pick them up was along the rim of the mountain, an exposed area that would draw a tremendous amount of fire as soon as the aircraft appeared. And then there was his lieutenant and the spy down below. They’d never make it out. Hauer hesitated, thinking, but not finding a solution. “Ah, where do we bring in the chopper?” he asked finally.
Mercer had been considering that question since Foch and Bruneseau had slipped into the camp. “Tell him we’ll be on the lake.”
It was a calculated gamble. Once the patrol reported their contact, he hoped the last place Hatcherly’s guards would search for other soldiers was within their own perimeter. It would have been smarter just to fade into the jungle and link up with the helo later, but Mercer couldn’t abandon Foch and Bruneseau. It was clear they’d held back a critical piece to this puzzle and he was determined to find out what it was.
With no plan of his own, and seeing the conviction in Mercer’s direct gaze, the trooper relayed their intentions to the pilot, praying that the American knew how to keep them alive until the chopper could reach them.
There was a lull in the distant gun battle—an eerie moment of silence that ended with the crump of an explosion. Mercer winced, certain that Levesque had just been taken out by a grenade.
There was no going back.
Even as Lauren and Hauer watched the camp, he kept his eyes on the jungle behind them.
Movement at the edge of the underbrush caught his attention. Without waiting to see what it was, Mercer cleared his pistol and fired three quick shots. He shoved Lauren over the crest of the hill and pulled the trigger again, laying down suppression fire for Hauer to get clear. The movement had resolved itself into a three-man patrol. He pitched himself over the summit as return fire from the jungle shredded the spot where they had lain a moment ago, tongues of flame from Chinese weapons flickering in the dark forest.
Lauren fired back with her Beretta. They were trapped within the caldera and had just a few seconds before they were spotted by a keen-eyed guard watching the workers on the beach. Hauer looked to Mercer.
“Into the gully. Come on.”
At a trot, Mercer led them off the escarpment and into the ravine Foch had used earlier. So far no one had heard the gunfire, but the patrol they’d just engaged would be on the radio at any moment. In seconds, the base was going to be a hive of confusion. They ran for the dormitory tent and slid inside. It took several seconds for Mercer’s eyes to adapt to the murk and for him to realize the rows of bunks were empty. They hadn’t been detected.
He put the radio to his lips. “Foch, this is Mercer. Levesque was discovered by a patrol and the chopper’s inbound. Get back to the first tent you went through. We are leaving!”
When Foch replied, anger thickened his accent. “What are you doing?”
“We’re blown. We have to get out of here.”
Lauren moved to the front of the structure and watched the camp through a flap in the tent’s side. “Mercer, I think the call just came in from the patrol. I see the guy from the warehouse yelling orders to some of the guards. Wait. Now he’s dialing a satellite phone.”
“Calling Liu for instructions.”
“That’s my guess.”
“Do you see Foch or Rene?”
“Yeah. I think they realize the jig is up. They’re behind a pile of sand about sixty yards away waiting for the compound to clear out a little. Here comes Rene.” Lauren stepped aside and a few seconds later the spy exploded through the gap, his face red with exertion, his barrel chest pumping like a bellows.
“What . . .” he wheezed at Mercer. “What have you . . . done? What happened to . . . Levesque and the raft?”
“We have to assume the Zodiac is so much rubber confetti by now,” Mercer answered grimly. “And I’m afraid so is your man.”
Foch raced into the tent, if anything even more angry than the spy. “I told you to wait up the hill.”
“We were just spotted by a patrol. We couldn’t wait and with Levesque dead we couldn’t go back.” Mercer wasn’t going to back down. “Chopper’s here in five minutes. I’ve ordered him to pick us up in the middle of the lake, the only clear area around us that’s out of range of the Chinese.”
Bruneseau sneered. “And the guards are going to let us swim out there?”
“The boats.” Mercer fought to keep his voice level. “There are two of them at the dock. We can grab one in the confusion and be out of range before they know we were even here.”
On the brink of losing control, the French spy took an aggressive step toward Mercer only to be stopped by Foch. “He’s right. We don’t have time for a different plan. The boats are the only way.”
The makeshift dock was a hundred yards from the dormitory tent and the Chinese guards appeared to be preparing for a frontal assault along the caldera’s rim. They were digging themselves in for an all-out battle agai
nst an army of commandos, never suspecting that their adversaries were already behind them. The few workers standing between the tent and the lake were a nonfactor.
Foch clicked on his radio. “Shepherd, this is Foch. What’s your ETA?”
“GPS says six minutes. Should be able to hear me in five.”
“Roger.” He was angry, frustrated, and feeling trapped by the Chinese and the circumstance.
No one saw the Chinese soldier slither under the back of the tent and didn’t know he was there until he opened fire. Corporal Hauer was the closest to him and he jerked under the hammer-blow onslaught of high-velocity rounds. Most were absorbed by his body armor but it took only one bullet to find its way through. He was dead when he hit the dusty ground. Lauren whirled at the sound and killed the prone guard with a double tap from her pistol.
“There’s going to be more,” Mercer shouted, hyped on adrenaline. He scooped up Hauer’s FAMAS. The barrel was cold, the clip full. The boy hadn’t fired a single shot in his one and only fight.
Unwilling to leave his dead comrade behind, but with no choice given the situation, Foch checked the compound. There was a cluster of guards far enough away that he thought they could make the dash for the dock. He motioned the others to the door. The four survivors met one another’s eyes with a fatalistic determination. Either they would make it or they wouldn’t.
Bursting into the sunlight, they ran for the lake in a tight group. A dark-skinned native worker gasped as they ran past but was too startled to raise any kind of alarm. The wall of bullets Mercer was sure they’d run into never came. The guards farther down the beach never turned and in fifteen seconds they reached the wooden jetty. Their weight made the structure bob on its barrel pontoons.
Lauren leapt straight into the largest aluminum skiff and began working on the engine while Foch knifed away the tie-down lines. Mercer and Bruneseau knelt near the skiff, eyeing the beach through the sights of the assault rifles. At the extreme edge of what he could see, Mercer detected a lot of movement around the Chinese helicopter. They were prepping it for flight, probably to support the patrol that had killed Levesque.