Vega cursed repeatedly and fumbled around until he found his underwear and camo pants. He walked out bare-chested, proud to display the claw marks on his arms and back.
“What now? I’m trying to get laid,” he snapped at the man named Stefano.
“It’s Eduardo, boss. He got drunk and didn’t feel like waiting his turn to get laid, so he went down to the village to grab another girl. The Guaranis are all drunk and he started a fucking war down there. You better come quick, boss.”
“Jesus Christ. I give you guys a fucking present and this is how you repay me? I need these fucking Indians, Stefano.” Vega ran, without shoes or shirt towards the village, then stopped, spun around, and ran back to jam a .45 into his pocket. He and Stefano arrived at the center of the village, between the ogas where the fires were, in time to see Eduardo and two warriors screaming at each other nose to nose. Eduardo’s nose wasn’t the one with the large sharpened boar bone through it.
Vega walked into the center of the crowd, and the music stopped. Kuka appeared from the back of the crowd holding an almost empty bottle of rum. He was obviously hammered.
“Oh great,” said Vega out loud when he saw the chief’s condition. Vega’s men slowly began to arrive, anxiously watching the scene unfold.
In his slurring drunken speech, Kuka told Vega, who understood the basic sentiment, that this pig Eduardo was trying to take another girl, and this girl was the warrior’s daughter and not available for Eduardo’s entertainment. On top of that, Vega’s men had abused their privileges, since the other women had returned bruised and somewhat beaten. Furthermore, Kuka had only been paid for six, and now this man wanted a seventh. A seventh that he couldn’t have had at any price, anyway. In the chief’s mind, it was a big deal and he wanted retribution.
Vega tried to explain to the chief that he had given him that second bottle, so his man thought they could have more women. The chief had forgotten it was his second bottle, blasted as he was, and walked in circles for a moment while he pondered that. Vega was hoping that would end it, and it might have, had not the girl’s father, one of Kuka’s best warriors started screaming at Eduardo. Eduardo, drunk himself, and now getting scared, pushed the Guarani. Big mistake. The chief saw him push the warrior, something that was tantamount to an act of war. The Guaranis didn’t “play fight.” Kuka picked up a macanas by the fire. It was a long wooden club that had been inset with alligator teeth so it looked like a giant alligator jawbone. Kuka crossed the distance between him and Eduardo in an instant, leaping high through the air like a howler monkey while bringing the club down with both hands on Eduardo’s face.
Vega screamed, “No!’ but it was over in an instant. The cracking noise echoed through the jungle and Eduardo dropped like a rock, dead before he hit the ground, his face literally split in two. Vega’s men ran towards Eduardo, but Vega stepped in front of them and held them back. The insulted warrior, father of the girl that Eduardo had tried to take home, knelt on Eduardo’s chest and reached in to pull out Eduardo’s warm brains. He pulled them out and showed them to Kuka, who grunted, allowing the drunken warrior to take a bite out of them before throwing them into the fire. That brought a cheer from the others, and sent chills down the spines of Vega and his men, who were now slowly backing away.
Vega spoke evenly to Kuka and said in Guarani, “This is over, chief. My men are going back to their huts. No more killing.”
Kuka dismissed Vega but told Vega that Eduardo was now property of Manguk. Hearing the word Manguk, Vega’s men got the gist and immediately began protesting to Vega, who told them to shut up.
“Unless we all want to end up like Eduardo, slowly back away and get back to my cabin. Get your AKs and ammo up. Slowly—now go.”
Vega’s men did what they were told, as they were outnumbered thirty to one and terrified as they watched Kuka’s warriors begin shooting arrows into Eduardo’s body as a final insult. Kuka’s men did not consider Eduardo a warrior, but rather a piece of cheap meat. Eating him would not give them power, but soup was soup, so they would bring him to Manguk.
Vega and his men walked backwards, watching the drunken warriors beating and dismembering the bloody mess that had been one of their own a few moments before. As soon as they were thirty yards away, they sprinted back to their cabins to grab weapons and barricade themselves inside Vega’s cabin. Vega threw the girl out to return to her family, lest that make things worse, and loaded weapons to prepare for a long night surrounded by drunken cannibals. Although the Guaranis rarely ventured outside their ogas past dark, Vega was taking no chances.
Down by the fires, the music began again, and the smell of meat cooking filled the jungle. Vega and his men remained holed up in Vega’s hut, weapons ready, through the longest night of their lives. The sight and sound of Eduardo’s head being opened and his brains being pulled out and eaten was something none of them would ever forget. The sweat that poured from their bodies wasn’t just from the jungle heat—it was from stark terror.
Chapter 19
Langley
Darren Davis had spent the better part of three hours going over details of the team’s cover story that they had worked out with Julia Ortiz. Leah’s people had arranged for a Connex container full of building supplies and lumber that had already been brought to Langley. Once on site, it was unloaded to allow the weapons and gear to be stowed in the back of the container in crates marked as tools. Once that was loaded, the lumber and building materials were put back, completely obscuring the crates in the back. With the large quantity of materials, even if they were stopped and searched, no inspector would take out every single item to get to the hidden crates.
The team had enough food, ammunition and gear to operate for three weeks in the jungle if they had to, but they were trying for a week to ten-day mission, max. Unlike most missions, they couldn’t pinpoint everything because the jungle terrain was extremely difficult, and the exact location of Vega’s camp was unknown. A couple of the Guaranis that Julia helped at her outreach facility would act as guides, but even they hadn’t traveled as far back into the jungle as Vega was reportedly located. The jungle was so thick that satellite imagery was useless, even at night. The campfires and other heat signatures were too weak to show up even to the most sensitive settings of their satellite computers. They’d have to do it the old fashioned way, using rafts and walking through unexplored jungle. For the SEALs and marines, it was a big change from normal operations, which were exact in planning and execution. For the rangers and CIA operatives that had worked with them in Afghanistan, it wasn’t that far a stretch. Many of their missions in the mountains had been carried out without timetables and exact locations, relying on local populations for aid and intelligence.
The team did have jungle camouflage uniforms, but they were packed with the gear. For the purposes of traveling to Paraguay, they were given blue jeans, work boots and obnoxious yellow t-shirts that read “Outreach Ministries of Greater Los Angeles.” There was a large cross with “Matthew 25” written below it, and in a circle around the cross it read: “Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.”
Mackey read it and asked Cascaes, “If I am wearing this when I kill somebody, ya’ think I’ll go straight to Hell?”
Cascaes smiled and said, “Stay alive and you won’t have to worry about it.”
One of the SEALs, a quiet young Jewish kid named Jonathan Cohen smiled when he held up his shirt. “My grandmother is going to turn over in her grave,” he said with a laugh.
Davis heard him and laughed. “Don’t worry Jon—your new passport has you as Jon Murphy. Make sure you can spell it.”
Davis got control back over the meeting after the men had a few minutes to throw their shirts on and start preaching to each other. He let them joke around and genuflect to each other, then clapped his hands twice, and everyone settled down.
“Mack,” asked
Davis, “You have a medic in this crew?”
Mack looked at Cascaes, who pointed to Ryan O’Conner and said, “O’Conner isn’t an actual corpsman, but he has the most advanced first aid courses of my crew. What about you, lieutenant?” he asked Lt. Koches. “Didn’t I see advanced first aid courses in your file?”
“Roger that, sir. rangers train like SEALs to be self-sufficient in the field. You wouldn’t want me operating on you, but I can stitch and pop a chest tube.”
“No thanks,” replied Cascaes with a grin. “Stay the hell away from me unless I’m almost dead. Anybody else?”
The rest of the men had all been given first aid courses as part of their advanced combat training, but none of them were actual corpsmen.
Davis sat back and crossed his arms, frowning. “It’s too late to shove somebody new into your group, but I have to tell you, I don’t like you going out there without a doc. You can’t call for a dust-off where you’re going. Anybody gets hurt out there, they’re walking out the same way you walked in. Could be a few days out. Mack?”
Mackey and Cascaes looked at each other and shrugged. Mackey asked, “I haven’t had the luxury of a Medivac in twenty years. What do you think, Chris?”
Cascaes addressed Davis. “Sir, my team has always assumed we were on our own when we worked in the past. We’ve all been trained in basic first aid. Unless someone was very seriously injured, I think we’re fine.”
Leah had been listening and thinking while the men were speaking. She stood up. “Darren, I have an idea.” Everyone turned to her, realizing now that when she had an idea, it was usually pretty good. “Down at the outreach facility, Julia has a doctor that gives immunizations and physicals and the usual kid stuff…”
Cascaes interjected. “With all due respect, ma’am, is this doc an old man? We are going to be going through some pretty rough jungle…”
“She is not old at all. Doctor Theresa Orlando is in her thirties. My guess is, it will be you trying to keep up with her. She has lived in Paraguay for two years now, helping Julia, and she works for us. She speaks some of the Guarani language and just might come in handy. Of course, that’s assuming she’ll go along with you into the unexplored jungle.”
Mackey and Cascaes looked at each other and grimaced. Cascaes spoke, “Ma’am, I don’t know. This will be a dangerous job. She has no combat experience…”
“Actually, she does. United States Navy corpsman. She was in Desert Storm One attached to the First Marines as a combat medic. I believe her Bronze Star is as shiny as yours, senior chief.” She smiled and Cascaes was aware that she knew his file inside out, including the two Bronze Stars, a Purple Heart and his shiny new Navy Cross.
“I guess we’ll meet the ladies in Paraguay,” said Mackey.
“Guess so,” said Cascaes quietly.
“’Bout time we had some chicks in this outfit anyway,” said Ernie P. with a smile. “I was starting to worry about you guys…”
“Don’t worry,” said Moose from the row behind him, “You ain’t my type.”
Darren Davis stood up. “Okay, then that’s it. Your gear is being assembled and transferred to airfreight as we speak and will be sent to a cargo ship in Puerto Rico. You will fly out the day after tomorrow, and will spend tomorrow working with our jungle warfare specialist doing more plant, insect and animal identifications. The guy is good—so pay attention to him. Tomorrow night we will go over your route again. You’ll use the river as much as possible at night to move quickly. During the day, you’ll disappear in the jungle. The Paraguayan government doesn’t know you are coming, and you’ll be uninvited guests. Stick to your cover story and stay out of sight once you leave Julia’s clinic. You men are going back in time a few hundred years, and this won’t be like anything you’ve done before, so stay sharp and look out for each other.
We still haven’t been able to confirm the whereabouts of Qasim, Aziz or Bin-Salaam, but will be working on the assumption that they are still around. Hopefully, you’ll take out the whole bunch of them, but even if you only get Vega and take out his operation; it will be considered a success. The director really wants those three scumbags, though—McKnight was a personal friend of his. If we are able to get any decent intelligence on them, it will be forwarded to you while you are in the field. Any questions for now?”
Cascaes answered, “Sir? What about the Guaranis? Are these tribal people considered hostile combatants? What are the rules of engagement with them?”
Davis looked over at Leah and raised his eyebrows. It wasn’t his call.
Leah exhaled thoughtfully and crossed her arms, looking at her shoes for a moment. Finally, she looked up and grimaced. “Look, these people are being used by Vega. They have no point of reference as to what he’s doing out there. If possible, I’d prefer to leave them out of this. That said, Vega used them in the past as his personal army against other drug lords, and I think you know that they ate his biggest competitors. If you are attacked, you’re free to respond. We’d like Vega and his men removed permanently. As far as the Guaranis go—if they take off into the jungle, you have no reason to pursue them.” She was finished, but then added, “But do not take these people lightly. They use primitive weapons, but the blow darts are poisonous and deadly, and these warriors have no fear. The Guaranis that Julia works with are scared to death of those people, and these are people that know the jungle. I suggest you listen and learn from the locals, and steer clear of the Pampidos if possible.”
“But we are cleared to fire?” asked Cascaes, wanting total clarity.
“Yes, if you feel that you are in danger, you’re cleared to fire.” It bothered Leah to say that, but she also knew that these were fierce cannibals, and being used or not, they were extremely dangerous.
The men were dismissed and assembled outside to work out and run. They would push themselves hard, as usual, to prepare physically and mentally for what would surely be a rough trip.
Chapter 20
Vega’s Camp
Vega and his men spent the entire night awake and on guard. His cabin was up a small trail away from the center of Kuka’s tribal camp, where the ogas were located in a clearing around the central fire pits. The long houses were home to almost three hundred Guarani men, women and children. Vega and his men sat facing out of every direction of the hut, waiting for an attack that never came. The men were thoroughly freaked out, after having seen one of their own killed so violently, and then watching his brains being eaten by a man that could only be described as a savage. No one spoke much during the night, even as they smelled their friend being roasted while the drums and singing grew louder all night long.
Fortunately, after the warriors had feasted and gotten drunk, they returned to their ogas to celebrate inside, where most of them passed out from the alcohol. By the time the sun came up and the sounds of the jungle grew loud again with the screeching of birds and buzzing of insects, the entire Guarani tribe was sleeping.
Vega and his men looked like hell. Most of them hadn’t slept more than an hour or two, in shifts, and they were nursing their own hangovers and graphic images that were permanently burned into their brains. They would think twice before looking at the Guarani women again.
Carlos was the first to speak as they stood up and stepped out into the sunshine, their AK-47s loaded and at the ready. “What are we going to do, boss?”
Vega looked harshly at Carlos and his men. “Nothing! We are going to do nothing! If the chief wanted us dead last night, we’d all be roasting over his fire. I will find a new hiding spot for the rum while they are asleep and if he asks, I’ll tell him it’s gone. Eduardo got himself killed—it’s not my fault. I suggest you keep alert and stay together in groups of three or more for the next couple of hours until we see how Kuka is feeling when he wakes up. I don’t want this incident screwing up my production. In two years, we’re all rich and out of this God forsaken ju
ngle. Don’t mess this up or I’ll kill you myself.”
Vega’s men left his cabin like scolded schoolchildren and returned to their own huts in search of potable water and aspirin. Carlos and another man stayed with Vega as bodyguards. They sat out on his little porch and ate a few bananas with rice as they waited for Kuka to wake up.
The sound of Vega’s radio squelching was a big surprise. Carlos walked over and retrieved it for Vega, who said a quiet “Who is this?”
“Señor Vega, it is Hakim. We’re getting close to your camp again, but will need a few of your Indians (as he always called them) to bring us in before we get totally lost.”
“Hakim? What are you doing here? I thought you were long gone, back across the Atlantic Ocean again?” asked a surprised Vega.
“Problems at the airports. It appears that we are wanted men for the time being. We need to disappear for a while. Your camp is ideal. We’re at the river. We got a ride back down from our Iranian friends, but we need you to bring us back. How long will it take?”
Vega took his finger off the transmitter and asked Carlos, “Can you find a couple of sober Guaranis and get back to the river?”
Carlos nodded.
“Tomorrow afternoon. All three of you are there?”
“Yes. We will look for you tomorrow afternoon. Out.”
Vega sat back and wiped his tired face with a bandana and said, “Well at least the Guaranis will have more to eat if this goes south.”
Chapter 21
Santos Airport, Brazil
The team landed in Santos in the morning, after an overnight commercial flight out of Dulles. They landed wearing sandals or sneakers, cargo shorts and their yellow T-Shirts. If they looked goofy, no one was going to say it to their faces. They were fairly nervous going through immigration and customs in Santos since it was their first time ever using false ID’s, with the exception of Mackey and the other three CIA agents, who used them all the time. They cruised through without a hitch, and even had a few people “bless them and their good work” in the airport
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