The technician’s shoulders slumped. He said, “Shooting me will be better than what Adina will have them do.”
Sandor shook his head. “You answer the rest of my questions and I’ll make it look like I came to steal cocaine. The guard I left outside already believes that. Just stay with the story and you’ll be all right.”
“No. When they capture you they will make you talk.”
“I won’t be captured, trust me.”
Carlos gave his head a vigorous shake. “You are wrong. They already know you’re here.”
“How would they know that?”
“You breached the perimeter, which means you had to come through the alarm system.”
Sandor gritted his teeth. “What alarm system?” he demanded.
CHAPTER TEN
INSIDE ADINA’S COMPOUND, SOUTH OF BARRANQUITAS
CARLOS DESCRIBED THE laser security system that ringed the perimeter of the property.
“The alarm is silent,” he added. “It registers in the guardhouse above us.”
“Damn,” Sandor said.
The CIA has a device known by various nicknames, but is technically referred to as a specialized electronic pack. About half the size of a pack of cigarettes, it serves various functions including the decoding of keypad locks, reading safe combinations, and detecting laser alarm systems. Unfortunately, Sandor could not risk taking one from the Farm before leaving D.C. Each of them has to be signed for and he feared Byrnes would find out.
“They must be out there looking for you now,” Carlos was saying. “Eventually they will come here and we will both be dead.”
“We’ll see about that,” Sandor replied. Then he had the technician tell him everything he knew about the manpower on hand, the vehicles on the premises, and the road out of there.
“Now you must go,” the man urged him when he answered all of Sandor’s questions. He had a quick look at the hole in the wall where the ventilation grill had been “Get out however you came in. I will say nothing.”
“First I want to know what else is being cooked up in this place.”
The man stared at him without speaking.
“Whatever it is,” Sandor went on, “it’s going on behind that closed door in the other room.”
“Yes. But I am not sure what they are doing in there.”
“You’re a rotten liar, Carlos, not to mention that you must be a senior man here to be alone in the lab in the middle of the night.” Sandor lowered the gun so it was trained on the man’s left kneecap. “I said I had no intention of killing you, but I need some answers and I need them now.”
Carlos gazed down at the lengthened barrel of the automatic, then looked up again. “Anthrax,” he said.
“Anthrax?”
He nodded. “It’s a secure area. Sterile. I don’t even have access without a guard present.”
Sandor thought it over for a moment. “What are they doing with anthrax?”
“Nothing yet.”
“They have plans to ship it somewhere?”
“I am not involved in that part of these operations. I only oversee the extraction and refinement of the coca.”
“You said you’re involved in organizing shipments.”
“Yes, but only from here to the shore,” he replied, nodding toward the bags of cocaine.
Sandor knew the man was lying again, but time was running short. “Tell me about the men from Egypt. Then tell me how the hell people get out of here.”
————
The two men in the guardhouse above the laboratory received the electronic alert that someone breached the perimeter. They expected one of the sentries to report in but too much time had passed as they stared into the darkness, waiting.
“They would never take this long without checking in. Should we report this to Alejandro?” the junior man asked.
“If it turns out to be nothing one of them is going to be in big trouble.”
“Should I go outside and have a look?”
“I’ll go,” the senior guard said. “Give me five minutes, that’s all. If I’m not back in five call the main house.”
Francisco took his AK-47 and headed to the south end of the compound in search of Manuel. He held the weapon at the ready in case his concerns were justified, but he saw no one else in the darkness.
When he reached the end of the complex he called out Manuel’s name but received no reply.
Warily he stepped into the dimly lighted area beneath the low-register halogens. He called out “Manuel,” again.
Nothing.
Hurrying back into the darkness he reached for his walkie-talkie.
The junior man in the guardhouse picked up immediately.
“Manuel is not here. I’m heading for the other end of the property. Stay alert.”
————
As Carlos explained the routes used to transport the narcotics, Sandor grabbed sacks of the processed cocaine and tossed them into the open vent, where they fell to the ground at the bottom of the shaft. He toppled one of the tall stacks of bags and used his Ka-Bar to rip open a couple of the fallen packages, letting the powder spill onto the floor. Then he returned his attention to the technician.
“I don’t care what you say to them when they come for you,” he told him, “but your best bet of living through this thing is to tell them we never spoke.”
The technician looked at Sandor as if he were insane.
“Listen to me. When I climb back up there I’ll replace the grill. You tell them you heard something in here, you came in and tried to stop me and I hit you.”
“But . . .”
Carlos never got to utter another word. Sandor lashed out with his pistol and smacked him across the side of the head, knocking him to his knees. A second blow, to the back of his neck, rendered him senseless as he collapsed to the ground.
Sandor holstered the S&W, shouldered his M24 rifle and the MAC 10, then, using the pile of cloth-encased narcotics as a platform, scampered up and into the air duct. Remaining in an awkward crouch he did his best to replace the mesh grill, figuring anything that might buy him a little time would be useful. He stood and, using his feet, did his best to cover the bags of coke he had dumped into the bottom of the shaft with dirt. He wanted to make it appear that some of the drugs had been taken.
Then he began the difficult process of hoisting himself up against the surface of the slick metal cylinder.
There was nothing to grab hold of, but his gloves and boots provided enough surface tension to help him claw his way up. Bracing his back against the shaft he inched his way upward in a painfully slow exercise of arm and leg strength. After a couple of minutes he could finally reach out and hold the sharp edges of the duct. Pulling himself up, he stopped just as he was able to see above the level of the shaft.
It was difficult to make out anything in the darkness, and he could not reach the PNVGs in his pack, but he was certain there was a man running in the distance. Thankfully, he appeared to be rushing away rather than toward Sandor’s position.
Heaving himself over the edge, Sandor rolled onto the ground and came to a stop in a kneeling position, his pistol again in hand.
It was dark and still all around him.
He had a look at his watch. It was nearly 5:00 A.M. Sunrise was not far off.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
INSIDE ADINA’S COMPOUND, SOUTH OF BARRANQUITAS
FRANCISCO REACHED THE far end of the compound. Once again he found nothing and no one on the perimeter, and he was not about to move beyond the lighted area into the jungle. It was uncomfortable enough standing near the halogen glare, an easy target for intruders who might be lurking amidst the trees. He was not going to make matters worse by venturing into the darkness.
He turned and took off for the guardhouse, grabbing his radio as he sprinted back across the complex. “Ramon?”
“What have you found?”
“Nothing,” he reported into the mouthpiece as he continued to run. “A
lert them at the main house.”
————
Sandor was faced with several problems and little time to solve them. His principal dilemma was how he should respond to what he had discovered in the lab.
Anthrax was frequently threatened as a mode of terrorist attacks, and Sandor had spent time studying its production as well as its lethal effect. It is composed of three proteins, none of them independently dangerous until the ingredients are combined. It is relatively easy to manufacture once you have the components—specific instructions on how to synthesize anthrax are even available on a jihadi website—and once they are mixed the resulting exotoxin becomes deadly to the handler as well as the target. Sandor had no way of knowing what stage of fabrication had been achieved in the sealed-off room below, or how much of the noxious powder might be stockpiled there.
Some of the substances used to refine cocaine can be inflammatory—kerosene, ammonia, other chemicals commonly found in cleaning agents, and different forms of ethyl ether—but if Sandor found a way to destroy the lab by igniting these substances, they could launch a deadly anthrax cloud that would be a catastrophe for the surrounding area and suicide for Sandor.
As if that concern was not enough, Sandor realized that sabotaging the facility would be unlikely to derail Adina’s plans. The operation would quickly be relocated and the trail of narcotics—and, more important, the anthrax—would grow cold.
Sandor reluctantly felt his priorities shifting under the weight of what he had discovered belowground. He had come here to assassinate Adina, but now he had a responsibility to determine where they were taking the toxin and what they were intending to do with it when it got there. And time was running out.
He had already left behind one dead guard and two unconscious men, all of whom were about to be discovered. The man who just ran the length of the complex was evidence of that. To add to his predicament, the sun would be rising soon, increasing the degree of difficulty for his escape.
It was time for him to move out.
————
Sandor’s thoughts were interrupted by the blare of a loud siren that cut through the night like a shrill announcement of danger. That noise was followed by the sudden glare of spotlights from atop the roof of the main house. Through the snakelike vines and branches of the banyan trees, the glare cast long and eerie shadows.
By the time a series of halogen lights outside the laboratory glowed to life, Sandor had already replaced the domed top on the vent and was on the run. He found shelter behind a kapok tree, where he knelt down and took the MAC-10 in hand. The time for silencers was over.
Even after the lights on the main house and laboratory were switched on, most of the compound remained dark. Adina was obviously taking no chance of illuminating the entire area—it would then be vulnerable to a night sighting by air or satellite. From the looks of things, Adina was relying on his security forces to track him down.
From what the lab technician had described, those security forces were assigned to protect Adina first and the laboratory second. It was a limited contingent of guards according to Carlos, and Sandor had already taken two of them out of play.
As the rest of Adina’s sleeping men were roused into action in the predawn hour, Sandor circled away from the laboratory and the main house. If these were the areas that would receive the most attention, he wanted to get to a safe distance where he still had a line of sight for both.
Sandor took cover behind a huge tamarind tree that was roughly equidistant from the back of the laboratory and the rear corner of the main residence. In the lighted area in back of the house he could see the four vehicles Carlos had described to him—a truck, a large SUV, and two Jeeps. He needed to get to one of them, and soon.
It was too late to consider an escape by foot, although backtracking into the jungle had been his intended route to safety. Sandor had expected to infiltrate this compound, locate Adina, take him out with the sniper rifle, and then disappear back into the tropical forest before his presence had been detected. The discovery of the lab and the activities belowground had changed everything, not to mention tripping the alarm system.
Subtlety, he ruefully accepted, was out the window.
He still wanted to do anything he could to make it appear that this was a raid on the cocaine rather than an enemy incursion—the less he did to disrupt Adina’s plans now, the easier it would be to uncover them later—but at the moment, survival was the premium objective. He had information he needed to get to Bergenn and Raabe, and that required getting out of here alive.
————
Francisco had returned to the guardhouse.
“Everyone has been alerted?” he asked as he burst through the door.
“You heard the alarm,” Ramon said. “I spoke with Alejandro. He’s at the main house organizing the search.”
“Good, good. Has anyone been in or out of the laboratory?”
“Not since Carlos went down there.”
“I’ll go check on him. You keep your eyes open, and do not leave here unless you receive orders directly from Alejandro. Or from the man,” he added.
Ramon gave him a look that said the last directive was not required. “Right.”
Francisco hurried down the stairs to the lab entrance. He opened the door with his passkey and stepped inside. The main room, which contained the two long, stainless steel counters, was deserted.
He pulled out his sidearm, then called out, “Carlos.”
There was no response.
He stepped toward his right, his eyes moving cautiously from side to side as he approached the door to the secure area. It was locked tight.
This was not a room he ever wanted to enter, but he had no choice. Placing a magnetic card against the wall plate he heard the bolt release. He slowly pushed down on the handle.
The room was far smaller than the main refinery area. It was also well lighted, with glass and stainless steel enclosures lining the walls.
Francisco had a quick look around, confirming the room was empty.
He exited, shutting the door behind him with a sense of relief, then called out again. When he received no answer he walked toward the storage room in the rear of the facility, his weapon extended before him. Reaching the open doorway he saw the technician facedown on the floor, blood along the side of his head. He rushed over and felt the man’s neck for a pulse.
He was alive.
Francisco straightened up and had a look at the scattered and torn sacks of cocaine.
“Mierda,” he spat into the silence.
Someone had gotten into the lab. Even worse, they had gotten out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HATO AIRPORT, CURAÇAO
JIM BERGENN PACED back and forth in the cramped space of Doug Carlton’s office. Raabe and Carlton quietly watched him since there wasn’t much else to do at this hour of the morning. All their preparations had been completed.
“Crap,” Bergenn said, finally coming to a stop, his arms akimbo, the muscles in his jaw tense. “We never should have let him go in without some means of regular communication.”
“Too risky,” Raabe reminded him. “He’ll contact us when he shakes free.”
“Not good enough,” Bergenn insisted.
“How long you know Sandor?” Captain Carlton asked.
Bergenn stared back at him with a look that said, no matter how close Carlton and Sandor may have been in the service, working together in black ops was different.
Carlton understood. “Right,” he replied to the unspoken statement. “Well, I’ve known him more than a dozen years, and I know he was doing it his way, no discussion, no edits.”
Bergenn nodded. “Doesn’t make it any less frustrating.”
“Maybe not,” Raabe agreed as he stood up and stretched his lanky frame, “but you’ll just have to get yourself un-frustrated, buddy. It’s time to rock and roll.”
The three men stepped out into the darkness and climbed into Carlton’s jeep,
which was already packed with everything they would need.
At least they hoped it would be everything.
The captain sped off toward the dock, less than a quarter mile away.
————
The seaplane waiting for them was a classic de Havilland Otter, chosen because it was fast and unobtrusive and carried no military markings. It was the sort of single-engine aircraft seen throughout the Caribbean, ready to take affluent tourists island-hopping, aerial sightseeing, or shopping. Borrowing it was another favor Doug Carlton had to call in.
“Sandor owes me big-time,” he reminded the others with a wry grin.
“I’m sure you’ve been added to his list,” Bergenn said.
Raabe laughed. “His extensive list, you mean.”
Dawn was near as they stood at the water’s edge, ready to go.
“What if he’s completely off course?” Bergenn asked no one in particular as they climbed out of the jeep and headed toward the end of the short pier. “You guys have any idea how long the western shore of Maracaibo is?”
“I know exactly how long it is,” Carlton replied, “which means Sandor better end up somewhere near your rendezvous point.”
“Exactly,” Bergenn snapped.
The other two stopped and turned to him.
“Sorry. Guess I should have caught a nap, huh?”
“Or switched to decaf a few hours ago,” the captain suggested.
Raabe reached out and placed a hand on Bergenn’s shoulder. “We’re all worried man, but we’ll find him.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
INSIDE ADINA’S COMPOUND, SOUTH OF BARRANQUITAS
SANDOR KNEW HIS only way out was to commandeer one of the four vehicles behind the main house, but he also knew he would first have to slow down their efforts to follow him. That meant he had to find a way to start one and disable the other three. With the entire compound on high alert there was no time to get under the hoods and rip out wires. That left him with the most direct approach—as soon as he got one of the vehicles running he would simply shoot out all of the other tires, hit the gas tanks, then take off.
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