Wild Card

by Luke Murphy

  “Everything all right, Colonel? You want me to come along?” the pilot yelled out the side door.

  Hughes shook his head. “Keep trying to make voice contact.”

  He’d come alone because this was an “unofficial” operation and completely off record. The fewer people who knew about it, the fewer who’d need to lie to cover asses. If this confidential mission became public, heads would roll.

  “Keep the chopper running. We’ll be right back.”

  He took off in a slow run, watching the handheld radar as he moved through the trees. The signal got stronger as he closed in. The jungle was eerily quiet, but Colonel John Hughes had been trapped in worse survival games than this.

  Hughes could now see the signal at almost its most powerful source as he neared the pickup point. He could hear the beep of the beacon as he swiped away the last of the brush and emerged from the closed-in forest.

  The colonel stopped in his tracks. The signal had indeed been set off, but now it was covered—surrounded by his men…dead. Neatly forming a circle around the beacon lay the bodies of each member of his elite team. The seven best men the US Military had, dead at the hands of Derek Baxter.

  As sick as the sight made him, it didn’t surprise the colonel. Baxter was an expert at survival, evasion and escape. He’d been trained by the best of the best, and this is exactly the kind of message Baxter would send.

  The colonel held his breath and looked around, his gaze darting in and out of every crevasse, every hole or potential hiding spot. His ears picked up and he scanned every branch that swayed, every leaf that crackled and every twig that snapped.

  He knew he was no match for Baxter, who had youth, strength, speed and skill on his side. And although Hughes could meet him eye for eye in a mind game, and maybe even outthink Baxter, this was Baxter’s territory; Baxter’s game, and his trap set for the colonel. Hughes knew that he’d walked into the lion’s den. Not a fight he could win.

  Hughes quietly backtracked from the kill zone, walking backwards into the surrounding trees. As the boughs shielded him, he turned and moved forward, picking up speed. He could feel the sweat soak into his clothes and his breathing quicken.

  He came into view of the helicopter, the rotors moving at full speed. He signaled to the pilot to start its ascent.

  The colonel sprinted the last forty yards to the helicopter and grabbed the hand rail, yanking himself inside the cabin.

  As the pilot pulled on the collective throttle to lift the chopper into the air, a shot rang out. The front cockpit windshield blew apart, a rifle bullet splitting the pilot’s chest.

  The colonel was sprayed with warm blood.

  The next shot took out the stabilizer bar on the main rotor hub. It was an easy fix, but would take time, and there was no way he was sticking his head outside the helicopter.

  The colonel wiped the blood from his face as he watched Derek Baxter emerge from the trees, weaving towards the idle chopper. He carried a US military-issued rifle, with a heavy scope and an attached mini tripod.

  Hughes quickly grabbed a weapon from the dead pilot and covered himself behind the body and seat. Peering through a hole, he stuck the gun outside the cabin opening and fired off a shot, missing Baxter, who continued to move forward, but now in a zigzag.

  Then Baxter shifted rapidly, and took ten quick steps to his left. He stabilized the rifle, lay flat on the beach ground, and within a matter of five seconds, had aimed and fired. The bullet hit the helicopter, leaving a hole in the steel about four inches from the fuel tank.

  The colonel turned and looked at where the bullet hit—that close to the chopper blowing up.

  “I missed on purpose, Colonel. The next one won’t,” Baxter called out. “And I think you know that.”

  The colonel didn’t doubt Baxter. Hughes had seen him hit a mark from over thirteen-hundred feet. The colonel threw the gun out of the helicopter, straightened his suit, and stepped outside with his hands in the air.

  Baxter approached him, the US Marine M40A3 sniper rifle hanging at his side. “Nice to see you again, Colonel.” Baxter smiled. “You’ll be proud to know that your men fought heroically until the very end.”

  Chapter 18

  The midday heat stole Calvin’s breath. He was slick with sweat when they finally reached an opening in the forest, which he never thought they’d make, trudging through almost nothing but dense brush. It was so hot, he couldn’t find enough saliva to spit. Sweat dripped into his eyes stinging them.

  They’d been moving through the rainforest for almost two hours, and Calvin was surprised at Livia’s agility, stamina and toughness. If he’d been worried she’d slow him down, those thoughts vanished after the first mile sprint and swim. She seemed extra motivated.

  His leg had passed the stage of pain, and moved into the prickly tingling sensation phase, which Calvin suspected wasn’t a good sign. A heat now coated his entire leg and he wondered if an infection had indeed taken over. He didn’t want to be the reason they slowed or stopped, so he pressed on.

  They hadn’t spoken as they traveled, both totally focused. But now his knee started to throb, and he knew that Livia wouldn’t be able to keep up this pace without a break either. They’d started strong, but the last couple of miles had been a grind. He slowed down.

  “What’s wrong?” Livia asked, her breathing slightly labored but masked by her determination.

  “I need a break.”

  She seemed to be pleased, but again tried not to show it. Calvin wondered why she felt that she had to constantly confirm her value. After saving his life back in Brazil, she had nothing to prove.

  “There are a bunch of farms around here somewhere,” Livia said, as they sat down to rest.

  They each removed a water container and drank.

  “I guess I don’t know much about this place. Didn’t realize people lived here. It’s sad to say, but few Americans take any interest in South America.”

  “About two-hundred thousand people live in the rainforest. Deforestation has been big. They even began construction on a Trans-Amazonian highway in the seventies, but it was never completed.”

  “I see a lot of dead trees.”

  “Major droughts recently.”

  Then it grew quiet. Calvin wasn’t sure what else to say. He looked at Livia as she stood erect, staring back into his eyes. Her dark brown gaze penetrating, but she seemed a little vulnerable at that moment, the first time he’d seen her that way since the Opera House.

  Her shirt was stained and damp from sweat as it clung to her body, hugging tightly, revealing the curves he’d seen earlier that morning. Livia’s skin gleamed from perspiration, her bangs matted to her forehead. She subtly licked her dry, chapped lips, as they curled into a sly smirk. Was she intentionally toying with him, or did she not have any idea that her actions broke his train of thought?

  The sexual tension in the air was palpable, and Calvin wondered if Livia felt it too. He couldn’t get the image of her naked body out of his mind.

  Sure, she was beautiful, her Mediterranean skin, deep brown eyes and smile. Her body wasn’t exactly off-putting. But it was something about the way she handled herself, the confidence she exuded. She was easy-going with a great sense of humor—similar, but also different, to Rach.

  He popped a couple of pills and was about to say something when they heard a vehicle. It didn’t sound close, but the noise was discernible nonetheless and the ground vibrated under his feet.

  “Do you hear that?” Livia asked.

  Calvin nodded and crawled towards the edge of the brush. He slipped between some trees and found a beaten down path that looked somewhat like a weedy, long-grassed road. He could just make out a trail for a set of tire tracks.

  The noise of the vehicle grew louder and Calvin realized it was coming their way. He ducked back behind some leaves and signaled Livia to stay quiet.

  A green, six-wheel all-terrain vehicle emerged from around the bend. Two men occupied the front seats,
and the back ten seats were filled and covered by a heavy, green canvas. All the men held weapons.

  Calvin watched the vehicle pass in a cloud of dust, busting branches and cutting down long grass. He was about to speak when a black jeep, with a mounted gunman in the back, drove by, following the ATV.

  “Jesus! Colombian military.”

  “Not military. The Colombian Cocaine Cartel,” Livia corrected him.

  “With all of that military equipment?”

  Livia smiled. “These boys take their job seriously. This isn’t Brazil anymore. This is a severe business.”

  Calvin looked at Livia. “They had pieces of Sanders’ plane in the back of the truck. They must have gotten to the crash site before authorities. That means they could have Sanders, or at least some information on where he is. And if they’re making trips with an ATV, then they aren’t going far.”

  “Do you want to go ask them?” He could see the amusement in her eyes.

  “I don’t think those guys are into small talk. But I’d like to see where they’re going.”

  “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard someone say they wanted to follow the cartel. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

  He returned to where he’d dropped his bags, Livia tailing closely behind. “Let’s go,” he said.

  Livia reached down to pick up her bag, and let out an ear-piercing scream. She whipped her hand back and forth looking scared, her eyes almost bulging from their sockets.

  Calvin ran to her. “What is it?”

  She stiffened. “I got bit.”

  Calvin looked down and saw a big, brown spider, similar to a tarantula, crawling out of her bag and scurrying into the bushes.

  He looked at Livia who was already perspiring heavily, drool now foaming at the corners of her mouth. He grabbed her wrist and noticed it swelling around deep fang marks.

  “I’m having trouble breathing,” Livia panted, reaching for her throat.

  He had to keep her calm. He remembered seeing a picture and a write-up of that spider from the papers Rachel had given him on the deadliest creatures in the Amazon.

  “Take off your watch, and any other jewelry you have.” He started to unbutton her shirt. “You’re going to swell. You need to remain calm and quiet and elevate your wrist to avoid spreading the venom.”

  She did as he told her.

  Calvin ripped the bottom of his shirt and tied it tightly around Livia’s forearm. “That looked like a Brazilian Wandering Spider. I read about them. They’re common in these parts. Their venom contains a potent neurotoxin that causes loss of muscle control and breathing problems, but there’s an antivenin available.”

  “Thank you, Wikipedia,” she choked out.

  Calvin mentally kick himself for making it sound as if she wouldn’t know what he’d learned only days ago. Of course she knew.

  “It’s in the first-aid box.”

  “What?”

  “The antivenin.” Her breathing came in shallow, staggered clips, and her words got harder to make out. “Every kit around here has a vial.”

  Her moves happened in short bursts, fidgety. She looked around frantically, flailing her arms wildly as if flagging someone down. She was too panicky.

  He sat her down and gently brushed away the wet bangs from her sticky forehead and looked into her eyes. “You’re going to be all right. We don’t know how much venom the spider released. It could be very little. Stay with me, okay?”

  She nodded jerkily, trying to smile under duress.

  He moved to the first-aid kit and opened it. He saw the vial and a syringe. Calvin had received enough cortisone shots in college, had watched the trainer administer it so many times, that he knew exactly what he was doing.

  He loaded the syringe, ripped a piece from his shirt and dumped a bottle of water on it, and then returned to Livia. Her eyes were closed, she’d turned pale and her breathing was still labored. He pressed the cloth to her forehead, squeezing it gently as the cool water dripped down her warm face and neck.

  “Having…trouble…moving,” she coughed out.

  “The venom is causing slight paralysis, that’s to be expected. Once you get the antivenin, everything will return to normal.” He tried to sound as soothing as possible and hoped she bought it.

  She mumbled nonsensical words and her cheeks felt warm. Her fear made him more determined.

  He took the cloth off her head and placed it between her teeth. “Bite down on this.”

  As she bit down, he found a vein, stuck the needle into her arm and squeezed out the antidote. He removed the needle and stopped the bleeding with a dry bandage, then covered it with a band aid.

  His thoughts whirled: Was it the right medicine? How long would it take to kick in? How soon would the poison leave her body? What would happen if another spider got too close?

  Calvin sat back and watched her. His only comfort was that Livia had pointed to the vial herself, and since these spiders were well-known throughout the area, she’d know.

  He wiped her face again, wrung out the cloth, rewet it, and rubbed it softly over her cheeks, neck and shoulders.

  After about ten minutes, she seemed more relaxed. And although her breathing was still shallow, it looked to be returning to a normal cadence. Or was that just wishful thinking?

  ♣

  Alexandrov waited for them in one of the three prison interrogation rooms. It was a small observation chamber, and Dale hoped for more by removing Alexandrov from the comfort-zone of his cozy cell and his bodyguard.

  He wore his orange jumpsuit, feet chained together, connected with waist chains, and his handcuffs secured to an eyebolt on the table. He held a smile on his pale, gaunt face when the detectives entered.

  “So nice to see you again, Detectives.”

  Dale threw an unlatched folder on the table in front of Alexandrov, black and white photographs spilling out. Dale thought he noticed Alexandrov’s body language change, but only slightly.

  “You know him?” Dale asked.

  Alexandrov looked down at the pictures of his dead comrade, but his cuffs were too short to allow his hands access to them. Dale had made sure that the most gruesome photos of Dernov were on top.

  “I’ve never seen this man in my life.”

  “Funny, that’s not what Dernov told us.”

  Alexandrov’s face remained stone. Dale hadn’t expected his bluff to work, but Jimmy had insisted they try. Alexandrov wouldn’t budge. He knew his group, knew they would kill themselves before giving him up, like obedient dogs.

  Alexandrov smiled. “What did this man say?”

  “He told us everything. All about your involvement in Sullivan’s murder.”

  “Who?”

  “And your involvement in Sanders’ escape,” Jimmy said.

  “That’s an interesting story,” Alexandrov said. “Am I under arrest?” He chuckled.

  “We have video evidence that Dernov has been in here to meet with you.”

  Alexandrov nodded. “Interesting.”

  “Why did you do it? Sanders is a piece of shit. Sullivan too, but his family didn’t deserve to die.”

  Alexandrov let out a breath and shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Detectives. I’ve been in here for a long time. Is the police force really that desperate to pin a murder on an old, dying inmate?”

  Dale placed his hands on the table and leaned into Alexandrov. “Why?”

  Alexandrov looked into Dale’s eyes. Dale could see the smile behind the Russian’s old, blue orbs.

  “Do you have any kind of proof? If not, I’m heading back to my cell.”

  Their bluff had been called, and Alexandrov just took all their chips. They called for a guard.

  Alexandrov leaned back in his seat, waiting to be led back to his cell. “It’s always a pleasure, Detectives,” Alexandrov whispered. “And please give my best to the Sullivan Family. Steve was a good man.”

  Dale stood up but Jimmy stepped betwee
n him and Alexandrov.

  “Leave it,” Jimmy whispered.

  They turned to exit when Alexandrov spoke again. “How are your wife and little boy, Detective? Betty must be lonely these days, and I bet little Sammie is growing, how you Americans say, like a bad weed.”

  Dale turned around.

  “It would be a shame if something was to happen to them.” Alexandrov smiled, but his eyes remained emotionless.

  Dale took a step towards the prisoner and felt Jimmy grab his arm. Dale pulled away from his partner’s grasp and strode over to Alexandrov. He placed his hands on the table and leaned over the Russian. “What did you say?” Spit flew from his mouth.

  “I wouldn’t want anything to happen to your happy little family. It’s a cruel world out there. A lot of bad guys.”

  Dale was about to speak when he felt Jimmy’s large arms wrap around him, dragging him towards the door.

  Jimmy turned his head to the ceiling and yelled, “Guard, we’re done in here.”

  The guard finally entered the room and yanked on the chains around Alexandrov. As they left, Jimmy stood erect, arms spread, covering the space between Dale and where Alexandrov moved to exit the room. Jimmy blew air from his cheeks. “For God’s sake, Dale. What are you thinking, letting a piece of trash like Alexandrov get to you?”

  “He threatened my family, Jimmy. You know Alexandrov’s reach. He can get to anyone, anytime.”

  Jimmy wiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Then I guess that’s it.”

  Dale rubbed his face. “Not exactly.” He looked at his watch. “Are you in a hurry to get home?”

  ♣

  Dale sat and thought about his actions in the interrogation room with Alexandrov. He’d lost his cool, let his emotions win over. He’d always been a “heart on your sleeve” kind of detective, but earlier, he’d been angry to the point of wanting to hurt Alexandrov. And that scared him.

  “So, who am I looking at?” Jimmy sat in the passenger’s seat of their rented SUV. He shuffled through black and white surveillance photos.

  Dale shook his head to clear his thoughts. “Anatoly Vasnetsov. Former KGB and one of Alexandrov’s sidekicks. He’s also the one we’re listening to right now on Calvin’s surveillance taps. We believe that he’s near the top of the hierarchical food chain with Alexandrov because he visits the old man every day.”