Exhausted, fatigued, tired, sore, and stiff. That pretty much summed it up. Grant stared at the small campfire, longing for a steak to grill over the flames, not caring that the glow ruined his ability to see in the dark. The campsite was on a small open bluff about fifteen feet away from the river. The gurgling water and moment of peace threatened to lull Grant to sleep. He finished wiping down the MP-5 he had fished from the stream and stowed it in a backpack.
Tedesco, using a medical kit found in one of the soldiers’ packs, ministered to the men’s wounds. Both of them were bound by hands and feet, arms tied behind their backs, dressed only in their briefs. Grant insisted they be stripped down to ensure no other weapons were secreted in their clothing. When Tedesco finished tending to them, he sprayed them down with bug repellent.
Tedesco finished his doctoring and returned to kneel near the fire. He held out a bottle of pills and a canteen toward Grant. “Take these, it’ll help.”
Grant grabbed the aspirin, shook two into his palm, and popped them in his mouth. He washed them down with a long pull off the canteen and passed the items back. He mumbled his thanks.
Tedesco fashioned pillows out of the prisoner’s backpacks and made sure they were as comfortable as possible, before lounging against his own pack. Tedesco inclined his head in the prisoner’s direction and spoke in just above a whisper. “So, why didn’t you kill him?”
“Do you think I should have?”
“No, no.” Tedesco waved a hand in front of him. “Just curious.”
“He’s a kid. I didn’t have to. And … well … dammit, it just didn’t seem right.” Grant shrugged his shoulders. “To be honest I just don’t know. Okay?”
Tedesco smiled and Grant felt a sudden urge to take a swing at his block head. Then the big doof changed tack.
“Why did you protect me back there?” Tedesco poked a thumb in the general direction of the kidnapper’s compound. “You could have just left me.”
Now Grant really wanted to wrap his hands around the man’s neck. The truth is, he hadn’t thought about it, but something made him do it. “If anybody is going to kill you, it’s going to be me.” Grant raised his eyebrows. “Any more questions?”
“Okay, okay,” Tedesco said. “Why don’t you try to get some sleep? We still have a few hours til dawn.”
“All right. Keep your eyes open.” Grant pointed at the bound men. “Especially on them.” Without any argument Grant shifted and laid his head on his own pack, closing his eyes. “Wake me in an hour. I’ll relieve you.” His last thoughts before he succumbed to sleep were of a woman. Her smile, her smell, her face filled his imaginings. He forced down a pang of guilt when he realized his thoughts were not of Susan, as they had been each and every night for the last sixteen years, but of Jaime.
* * * * *
The boat skimmed across the calm waters in the confident hands of Evans, the moon lighting their way. Dr. Morgan and his family had retired to the small cabin belowdecks. Jaime stared through the windscreen. The stars were so thick it seemed the blackness between them had lost the battle for control over the expanse. But in the western portion of the sky the moon’s glow carved out a place of dominion, its ethereal light guiding their way.
Since he didn’t know the waters Evans had made the decision to follow the coastline. He kept the boat just far enough out and deep enough to avoid the numerous rock formations along the shore. Jaime was supposed to be helping him keep an eye out.
Her anxiety consumed her thoughts and stole her focus. They had just left him. Grant may at this very moment be grievously injured. Or worse.
A tingle on her cheek made her realize a tear had rolled from the corner of her right eye. She swiped it away with her palm and realized Evans was looking at her.
“He’ll be fine.” Evans took a hand from the wheel and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “He can take care of himself.”
Jaime just nodded and used her sleeve to wipe away a sudden deluge pouring down her face. It would be a tough couple of days. You better be okay. I can’t lose you again.
* * * * *
The cry of a morning bird jarred Grant awake. He sucked in a breath, bolted to a seated position, and scrabbled for the gun in his waistband. He blinked his eyes and noticed the gray light filling the sky.
Tedesco was in the process of shoveling dirt onto the fire. Grant wiped the grit from his eyes and stared toward the captives. They were either asleep, or faking it. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I thought you could use the rest.” The big man shrugged his shoulders. “I’m a night owl anyway. I enjoyed the peace.”
Grant stood, barely stifling a groan, rotated his neck, and stretched. While the fire was tamped out, Grant collected their gear and stowed it in his pack. The soldiers’ clothes and weapons took the majority of the space. The MP’5s and extra clips would make a welcome addition to their depleted arsenal. Grant threw the backpack over his shoulders. “You ready to move out? It shouldn’t take long to reach civilization.” He nodded toward the bound men. “If their crew doesn’t catch up to us first.”
While they prepared to leave the two men sat up, staring, yet to speak a word. “What about them?” Tedesco asked, while shrugging into his own pack.
Grant considered. They should be left bound and gagged to boot. But there was no guarantee anyone would find them. He drew his pistol. “Make sure the ropes are tight.”
Tedesco looked like he wanted to raise and argument.
“Just trust me. Please,” Grant said.
Tedesco nodded and moved to check the ropes. “Still tight.”
Grant replaced the pistol in his waistband and knelt in front of the two men. “I need you to give a message to Cane.” Stares were his only reply. “We’re out. All we wanted was to rescue Dr. Morgan’s family.”
“They were kidnapped,” Tedesco informed them. “Morgan never had any intention of giving away the formula. He just took a vile to fool the mole in your operation.”
Grant shook his head and sighed. “Let’s go.”
“What about th—”
Resisting the urge to yell, Grant said, “Will you just come on you big pansy.”
Tedesco’s jaw muscles bulged and he ripped his backpack off the ground before joining Grant.
As they entered the trail that than ran along the north side of the stream, Grant turned. He removed one of the soldier’s knives from his backpack and threw it into the ground where the blade stuck. “We’re out. Clear?” As he turned to walk away he called. “And please, don’t let me hear you on my back trail.”
Before he took three strides one of the soldiers called after them and Grant turned back. “He’ll keep coming for you. It’s enough that you know about the formula at all. He won’t let you go.” The soldier that spoke was the one Grant had tangled with. The man’s companion glared at him. “You should disappear.”
Grant nodded. That’s what he had been afraid of.
They hiked along the stream, generally south, for a couple of miles and the trail widened, showing signs of travel. The stream grew broader. It remained clear and mostly shallow, but there were some pools deep enough to swim in. The rush of water grew loud and they found themselves peering over the edge of a waterfall, the trail winding down to the bottom on their right. They climbed down and Grant stopped. He glanced at Tedesco, then down at himself. They were filthy, their clothing tattered, faces and hands covered in grime.
“You look like crap,” Grant said.
“Yeah.” Tedesco stared at Grant. “But you look shower fresh.”
In addition to being grubby, they were both dressed in black fatigues. “We’ve got to do something about this. Take off your clothes,” Grant said.
Tedesco’s brow wrinkled.
“Just do it.” Grant pulled off his shirt, pants, and boots before stepping into the stream in only his underwear. “Watch our backs. You’re next.” The water was chilly, but he plunged ahead, positioning himself beneath the falls. The cold blast of wat
er stole his breath. Using his hands as a sponge he washed the grime away as best he could and climbed out. “Your turn.”
While Tedesco took his turn at washing, Grant dried himself with the remains of his long sleeve black shirt, using it to wipe away any remaining smudge on his face and hands. He rummaged in the pack and extracted a black tee-shirt and fatigue pants liberated from the soldiers. With the knife he cut the pants legs, and trimmed the sleeves from the tee-shirt. He dressed as Tedesco joined him on the bank. “Just another tourist,” Grant said.
The other pair of pants were too small for Tedesco, so Grant trimmed the pants he had worn with the knife. Some stretching and pulling of the fabric of another tee-shirt were enough to allow Tedesco to slip it on.
Sans socks Grant slipped on his boots. “I’ll take ‘em off when we get there.”
They continued down the trail. After about a quarter mile they heard voices and giggles floating toward them.
Tedesco cleared his throat. “Umm, hmm.”
“What?”
Tedesco reached over and tapped a finger against the grip of the pistol stuck in the front of Grant’s waistband.
“Oh, yeah.” Grant pulled the gun from his waistband. He took a second to study the trail behind them before stowing it in the backpack.
The voices drew closer and a pack of people, led by a guide, traipsed past them on the trail. They all smiled and called greetings. “Morning. Hello. Beautiful day, huh?”
The trail ended at a gravel road. By the stream, next to a small dam and a swimming hole, stood a two-story building designed to appear like a jungle hut, complete with a thatched roof. Next to a walkway leading from a small parking area rested a faded and rusted military helicopter. A sign indicated it was a relic from the filming of the movie Predator. The smell of cooking wafted to them on the breeze. Grant’s stomach gurgled and his mouth watered.
Tedesco sniffed the air and smacked his lips. “We should really get a quick bite. You, know, to ... uh ...keep our strength up.”
“We better not,” Grant said. “We really need to get some distance.”
“You’re right.” Tedesco rubbed his stomach. “I’m just not sure my stomach understands.”
A cab pulled up and disgorged some passengers.
Tedesco flagged him down. “Hola, mi amigo. Puedele nos da un paseo?” Hello, my friend. Can you give us a ride?
The cabdriver studied them, his thoughts about their grungy condition obvious.
Tedesco unslung his pack and extracted a wad of bills. The man smiled and bobbed his head. “Si, Si, amigos.”
They piled into the backseat and, trailing a cloud of dust, left the jungle behind them.
TWENTY
Colonel Cane squeezed the crook of the walking stick. He held his temper in check through sheer force of will. “They all got away. All of them.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cane stood and began to pace around his desk, tapping the walking stick on the floor.
“We did locate their hotel rooms. We recovered the case.”
“Okay. Keep trying to locate them. If you don’t find them soon, return to base.”
“Yes, s—”
The colonel ended the call with a jab of his finger. Grant Sawyer and Jimmy Tedesco had outmaneuvered him again. He swung the cane, smacking it against his palm. The men the two of them overpowered delivered their message. It made no difference.
He knew with his actions he had stepped, no leaped, over the line. But this command had been given to him for a reason. Duty first. He would do what must be done. Regardless.
* * * * *
The 1972 Ford F100 pickup creaked, groaned, and rattled its way to the top of the hill. Tedesco levered the three speed column shifter into a lower gear as they lost speed, a groaning-grind pealing from the transmission.
The truck jounced over yet another pothole on the ancient dirt road, lifting Grant from the seat. The pale blue pickup’s paint was marred with rust, the suspension rattled, and the play in the steering wheel made it a battle to keep on the road. The blue vinyl seats were cracked and the interior had that unmistakable musty old car smell. Even so, the engine ran like a top. The truck had been purchased for twenty-seven thousand pesos, about two-thousand dollars, from the owner of a mom-and-pop store the cab driver had taken them to. The owner, obviously a savvy business man, must have sensed their need, because no amount of bartering by Tedesco had been able to get him to come down on the price.
The store had also provided them with a change of clothes. Both men wore jeans and dark tee-shirts.
After spotting black SUV’s on the 200 highway north of Puerto Vallarta, they had decided to leave the main road. When it veered east toward Tepic to join the 15 highway to Mazatlan, they turned on a small side road, using a map to follow a zigzagged series of turns toward the north. Unfortunately 15 was the only main artery traveling to the northwest. Upon leaving the state of Jalisco, the home of Puerto Vallarta, and entering the state of Nayarit, the roads took a decided turn for the worse. They needed to traverse the entire state of Nayarit to reach the state of Sinaloa, the location of Mazatlan.
On highway 200 there had been little traffic; hence there decision to leave it, they were the proverbial sore thumbs. There were truck stops, little more than shacks with tents attached, with signs advertising items such as Mariscos, Sopades, Ricos, Pozoles, and Birreays, and the occasional Frutas stand. But since leaving the highway they had seen nothing but the infrequent village, brown grass, skeletal trees, and thatched roof huts along the winding dirt trail they now traveled on.
A bump forced an involuntary groan from Grant. It seemed they had been driving forever. The truck scratched its way to the top of the hill and a stretch of blacktop dissected their path.
Tedesco studied the road. “I don’t know about you but I’m ready to get off this goat path.”
Grant nodded. “Me too.” He spread the map across the dashboard. “I think we’re here.” He pointed to a faint line on the map marked with the number 66. If they went right they would intersect with the main highway north of Tepic, the capitol of Nayarit. Left would apparently lead them on a winding path through a couple of villages, still eventually taking them back to the highway.
“What do you think?” Tedesco asked.
“We should stay out of sight for as long as we can. Maybe we can find a place to hole up for the night in one of these villages.” He tapped the map with a finger. “Tomorrow we can hit the highway to Mazatlan. Hope for the best.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“You want me to drive for a while?”
“No, I’m good.” Tedesco eased off the clutch and turned left on the blacktop, which turned out to be a collection of potholes connected by the occasional stretch of pavement.
Tedesco shifted through the gears and brought the grizzled old Ford up to a comfortable cruising speed. He placed a hand on the backpack lying on the seat next to him. It seemed to provide some sort of comfort. Grant couldn’t fathom the reason why.
Grant stared at the man’s profile. “So, Boom. How did you get your nickname? Was it some mafia initiation thing?” Grant needed a reason to dehumanize this man. He needed to hate him. “Your preferred way of killing became your moniker?”
Tedesco shook his head. “No. Nothing like that.”
He didn’t seem to notice Grant’s mocking tone. Or at least he didn’t acknowledge it.
“When I was fourteen I was at football camp,” Tedesco said. “Our coach was in our dorm room ranting about something, I think it was our long hair. Anyway, when he finished and turned to leave the room I called. ‘Hey coach.’ But he didn’t stop. He just slammed the door.” Tedesco smiled at the memory. “I’ll never forget it. The metal door made a loud boom. From that day on my buddies called me Boom. And it stuck.”
Oh well, isn’t that sweet. “So, how does a guy become a hit man? Correspondence courses? A general propensity to enjoy causing pain? What?”
Tedesco took a
deep breath through his nose, his jaw muscles bunching as he seemed to gather his thoughts. “My mother worked like a dog to keep a roof over our heads. Food on the table. She met a guy and re-married when I was twelve. He was a real bastard. Within six months he was beating on her. I tried to talk her into leaving.” He drew another long breath before releasing it in a sigh. “She wouldn’t. She was more afraid of starving than she was of him. Do you really want to hear this?”
Grant nodded. He actually did.
“Through it all I made good grades. I began high school. Earned a starting position on the varsity football team my sophomore year. Not long after my fifteenth birthday I came home from practice and found my mother lying on the floor. Both of her eyes black. Bruised all over. Strangle marks on her neck.” Tedesco’s knuckles whitened as he gripped the wheel. “I took her to the hospital and went back home to wait. When he came home I killed him. I used a kitchen knife. And I ran.”
“Why? You were under age. Under the circumstances I don’t think you would have gone to prison.”
“The guy was a cop. A decorated police officer. Who would have believed me?”
“So, what happened?”
“I found my uncle. My mother didn’t think I knew about him, but I did. He sent letters over the years. My mother kept them hidden in a drawer. I found them. Anyway. My uncle was connected. Organized crime. He took me in. Protected me. I did odd jobs. I learned explosives in one of his legitimate businesses. A demolition company. We tore down bridges, old buildings, and such.” He guided the truck around a curve. “Later I killed another man. My uncle asked me to. I couldn’t say no.” Tedesco worked his jaw muscles. “It just snowballed from there.” He risked another glance toward the passenger side. “I know it wasn’t right. I’m not trying to make excuses. It was a vile world. Filled with vile men. But I had rules. The rules made me at least feel human. At least … well … until, you know.”
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