JET, no. 3

by Russell Blake

  Jet hadn’t told him about the baby. There would be time for that. The scar from the caesarian had faded into the natural fold of her abdomen, and he hadn’t noticed it in the gloom of the rooms they’d been in, saving her a hurried explanation – an esoteric plumbing problem, perhaps, or a cyst: one of the mysteries of the female anatomy. Her physique had quickly returned to her pre-pregnancy fitness due to her rigorous exercise regimen and diet, and she’d been fortunate to inherit good genes – like her mother, who’d always leaned toward a slim, well-muscled figure.

  David returned from the ticketing area a half hour later, interrupting her ruminations, and she beamed a warm smile at him as she rose from the screen and moved to pay the girl at the counter.

  Whatever the future held, for the first time in a seeming eternity, she felt happy, even headed into the lion’s mouth.

  For now, that was enough.

  Chapter 25

  The Jeep was a black two door with a soft top, and thankfully, the air-conditioning worked. The laconic agent at the rental car desk told them it would take around four hours to reach Punta Gorda and handed them a stained brochure with a map inside to guide them.

  “Doesn’t seem to be too difficult,” Jet said as she studied it. “Head south. Keep going. Take the coastal road. Stop when the road ends. You are there…”

  “You want to drive or shall I?”

  “Either way. How’s the stomach?”

  “Better every day.”

  They placed their bags in the back, and Jet elected to drive, following the highway across the Belize River and into Belize City.

  “What a dump,” Jet remarked as they threaded their way through the afternoon traffic. Most of the homes they passed had an air of disrepair and poverty that was completely unexpected after the relative order at the airport. Dazed inhabitants shuffled down the street in the heat, wearing little better than rags, and many of the cars surrounding them would have made a junkyard blush.

  “I guess we can cross Belize City off our dream destination list.”

  “But I hear the rents are affordable,” she observed.

  “And there’s no shortage of opportunities to keep your combat skills sharp with the gang violence.”

  David craned his neck, looking at the rough downtown business district with cautious trepidation.

  “Pull over whenever you see an electronics shop. I want to get a phone so I can make calls. I have no idea how remote Punta Gorda is, but if this is any example of Belize’s biggest city, we’ll want a working cell.”

  “Assuming there’s coverage there.”

  “Good point.”

  She braked in front of a shop with stereos and computers in the window, and David hopped out.

  “I’m not going to leave the car unattended. Hope you don’t mind.”

  “I don’t blame you. Be back in a minute.”

  He returned, holding a cell phone aloft in a gesture signaling victory, and they got under way again. Once they were south of town, they were able to make decent time, although they would go for a mile or so at the posted speed and then come to a beaten vehicle chugging along at barely above walking pace.

  “Look. Coastal Road,” she said, pointing at a small sign.

  “What? That?”

  “I…I think so…”

  They turned onto the red dirt road and bounced along its rutted surface. A few miles from the highway, they passed an olive-colored horse-drawn buggy with rubber tires. The couple driving it were from a bygone century – the woman wore a long country dress, hair covered with a bonnet; the man in long-sleeved black in spite of the oppressive heat.

  “Am I seeing things?” David asked.

  “You mean the horses?”

  “What was that?”

  “Mennonites. A religious group. Like the Quakers. There are a lot of them in Belize.”

  He looked at her without expression before returning his attention to the dirt road.

  “I’m not going to ask how you know about obscure religious sects here.”

  “I had time to kill after booking the car and hotel,” she explained.

  David grunted.

  Daylight was fading by the time they reached PG Town, as Punta Gorda was called by the locals, and after a couple of wrong turns, they found their hotel. Four hours of marginal roads in barely tolerable seats had taken their toll, and they were glad to stretch their legs, although when they opened the doors, the blistering humidity assaulted them with full force.

  “It’s not the Ritz, is it?” David commented.

  Jet shrugged and grabbed her bag, lifting his out of the back and hitting the door lock button as she made for the front entrance.

  The room turned out to be comfortable, the air-conditioning efficient and cool. Jet used the bathroom to rinse off while David made a call from one of the payphones in the front of the hotel, preferring a landline over the cell out of habit. When he returned to the room, Jet was waiting for him, glancing through the local paper that had been left for their entertainment.

  “I’ll meet up with our man here in an hour over by the cemetery,” he reported.

  “Seems fitting. I’ll come with you.”

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t. That way only one of us is at risk if he’s not playing completely straight.”

  “And you’re going to meet him alone because…?”

  “I should be able to manage this.”

  They finally agreed that she would scope out the meeting place, which was easy walking distance from their room.

  At the appointed time, David was waiting near the junction by the cemetery, eyes roving over the weathered grave markers in the small cemetery, when a Seventies-era Nissan truck rolled to a stop. The driver lowered the window and looked David over before gesturing for him to hop in.

  “Tom?” David asked.

  “The one and only.”

  “Don’t suppose your air-conditioning works.”

  “Sorry.”

  David returned to the room half an hour later, apparently no worse for wear.

  “How did it go?” she asked.

  “Good. We’ll meet again tomorrow afternoon, and he’ll have the weapons. He’s not sure about the MTAR-21s, though. The Hondurans use them, but the Guatemalans use the larger TAR-21. It’s whichever he can more readily get his hands on. I told him either one was fine, although we wanted them with suppresors if possible. He also wasn’t sure about the 9mm versus the 5.56 NATO round. Again, whatever they have lying around is what he’ll get.”

  “Hope it’s the 9mm. I like the stopping power. What about the grenades and the night vision gear? And the knives and pistols?”

  “He didn’t seem to think any of it would be a problem.” David tossed a manila envelope onto the table. “Latest satellite images.”

  They pored over the photos, hoping to spot any weaknesses in the defenses.

  “Where did you have him drop you off?”

  “Over by the church. I circled around and took parallel roads for a few hundred yards before cutting back across and taking the main drag. No way he followed me.”

  She glanced at the door and lifted her hair with one hand, allowing the chill from the air-conditioning to blow on her neck.

  “I’m hungry. Where can a girl get something to eat around here?”

  “There are a few restaurants we passed. How adventurous are you feeling?”

  “We’re in the middle of the jungle on the mosquito coast. I’d say pretty adventurous.”

  Near the beach, they found a little family-style place that was half-full, all locals, and they both ordered fish with rice. When it arrived, the portions were huge, and neither of them spoke as they ate.

  After dinner, they ambled down the waterfront road, hand in hand like newlyweds, listening to the waves as they broke upon the rocky shore.

  “So tomorrow. You get the weapons, and then what?” she asked in a quiet voice.


  “We check them and confirm that everything is good, and then we reconnoiter the camp before it gets dark. Assuming there are no surprises, once it’s night, we hit them hard and do as much damage as we can. And we try to take one of them alive. I want to understand what they’re doing here.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Does this Tom guy know where we’re headed?”

  “Negative. He just knows I’m friends with his CIA conduit and need an arsenal. And I’m willing to pay top dollar to get it.”

  “What about the photos?”

  “The envelope was sealed when he gave it to me. My hunch is he’s the local errand boy, nothing more. A relatively harmless low-end operative, probably part-time, doing a little smuggling, a few coke runs, maybe some shakedowns or protection work. More of an amateur feel.”

  “That would make sense. There isn’t a lot here to warrant the A-team that I can see.”

  They looked around at the beaten buildings; a scrawny thing of a dog was nosing through a pile of garbage across the street.

  “That’s the understatement of the year.”

  Chapter 26

  At four o’clock the next afternoon, David returned to the room with a camouflage-patterned canvas rucksack. He unzipped it and extracted two MTAR-21 compact assault rifles and placed them on the table. Jet picked one up and methodically field-stripped the weapon down to its component parts, and then inspected it carefully, eying the integrated silencer with a practiced eye. Satisfied, she did the same with the second before re-assembling them both. She removed eight thirty-round magazines from the bag and put them on the table.

  Next came the pistols. SIG Sauer P226 Tactical 9mm pistols with custom suppresors and three twenty-round magazines for each weapon. She broke down the guns as she had the rifles and scrutinized them, nodding.

  “The pistols are good, not great, but they’ll do. Looks like they’ve had a decent level of care, but they’re showing signs of wear. The MTARs are almost new. They’ve got the laser and infra-red pointers, and are also 9mm.”

  “They’re Honduran special forces. I presume Tom has a contact in their armory who ‘loses’ them when he has an order.”

  Jet raised an eyebrow. “I wonder how many of these go lost every year out of Honduras and Guatemala and the surrounding countries?”

  “Probably a lot. No wonder the Mexican cartels have no problem arming themselves with state-of-the-art weapons.”

  She extracted six grenades.

  “That’ll work.”

  David hefted a folding Hornet II combat knife and opened it, inspecting the razor-sharp edge, then pulled out a pair of head-mounted LUCIE night vision goggles and placed them on the table next to boxes of 9mm rounds. Jet reached into the sack and extracted a handheld GPS unit and batteries, and after rooting around some more, a combat first aid kit.

  “It’s all here. I’d say with this amount of gear we should be able to handle whatever is waiting for us out in the jungle.”

  “Rule number one of field work, I was told by my control years ago, is to never get over-confident.”

  “Good rule,” David acknowledged. “I seem to remember something about that.”

  They spent a half hour familiarizing themselves with the weapons, cleaning and loading them, and then David tossed a small package to her.

  “I hope they had my size,” she commented, unpacking the black coveralls and holding them up.

  “I’m sure you’ll be the best-dressed woman in the bush.”

  Once the weapons were replaced in the bag, they grabbed bottles of water and then moved their arsenal out to the Jeep. Jet started the vehicle and pulled out of the dirt lot onto the road.

  “The compound is six kilometers from the border,” David said, “deep in the jungle. Only one road, so we’ll be doing some hiking to get there. Let’s hope they don’t have anything too sophisticated set up on the perimeter.”

  “I can deal with anything they’re likely to have deployed. Just stay behind me.”

  David frowned, and she caught his look.

  “Sweetheart, when we’re in the field, I’m the one with the most experience, so you need to get comfortable with the idea that I’m in charge there, okay? It’s not a power thing. It’s a survival thing. You still have the biggest equipment in this car…” she said with a smile.

  “I get it. I’ll just carry your gear and stay quiet.”

  “Try to look pretty for me, too, would you?”

  They approached the waypoint she had plugged into the GPS and pulled off the dirt track. She continued until the dense vegetation blocked their way, and then killed the engine.

  “Quarter mile to the south. Time to earn our keep.”

  They donned the overalls and grabbed their weapons, Jet loading her backpack with the bulk of the grenades before handing him two, which he stuffed into his pockets. They set off into the brush, listening for any sounds, but only heard the usual jungle calls of birds and small animals. It would be dark in a few hours, but Jet had wanted to get a feel for the lay of the land before night fell – it would be easier to spot any surveillance equipment during the day.

  After fifteen minutes, they were both covered with sweat, and she stopped, using a hand signal to indicate it was time for a break. They’d agreed on no conversation once they were on approach, and Jet was deadly serious about it. After five minutes rehydrating, they set off again, she peering occasionally at the GPS before advancing stealthily through the thick undergrowth, David following her with his MTAR at the ready.

  She stopped abruptly and pointed a few feet ahead of them at a barely visible wire strung at calf height between two trees. David couldn’t make it out at first, and then nodded. They approached the tripwire carefully, and she moved to one side, flipping open her combat knife as she did so. She was back in two minutes and gave him a curt nod. She’d de-activated the triggering mechanism – standard Russian special forces issue, and one she was more than passingly familiar with.

  An hour later, they were lying in the tall grass, peering at the camp, which was composed of a large mess tent, two bunk areas and a latrine. A diesel generator clamored off to one side, providing power for the buildings, which were temporary structures obviously erected in the previous week.

  They lay motionless, conserving their energy as they waited for the sun to set. Mosquitoes buzzed everywhere as dusk approached, and they were glad they’d sprayed themselves with copious quantities of insect repellent before setting out. Malaria was a regular visitor in the jungles of Central America, a joy that they would both rather avoid.

  An occasional shout or exclamation of hoarse laughter floated from the camp as the men gathered for dinner; Jet counted sixteen in all. One man was clearly in charge, and she watched as the men deferred to him, two of them sitting at his table studying a map.

  Darkness came slowly, and when it finally arrived, the surroundings were pitch black, as only the jungle can be. The lights from the camp, powered by the generator, stood out against the inky backdrop. They would wait until they were extinguished and the men were asleep before making a move.

  Only two sentries remained outside on patrol when the rest of the group moved into the buildings for the night. They strolled around the clearing with assault rifles, clearly not expecting any trouble, which was an advantage for David and Jet. At sixteen to two odds, they would need every break they could get.

  One hour rolled by, then another, and then the lights went off, except for two low-wattage bulbs mounted atop poles at either end of the grounds. The Russians were confident there were no threats, she could tell, and the sentries were sloppy, not paying attention. After all, they were in the middle of nowhere, and they were the predators.

  David and Jet moved together, separating at the tree line and moving in a crouch to the perimeter. She saw him dart behind one of the parked vehicles out of the corner of her eye, and then focused on the task at hand – disabling the sentries without alerting the rest
of the camp.

  Her man moved nearer, twenty yards away, as she crouched by the generator, waiting for her opportunity. The noise from the motor would conceal the sound of a silenced shot, but she preferred not to chance it. A knife was better for this sort of work.

  The guard tapped a cigarette out of a worn pack and was lighting it when she struck, sprinting in a flash and gripping one black-gloved hand over his head as she drove the point of her blade just below the base of his skull. Blood ran down her arm as he convulsed and then dropped, dead weight, his spinal cord severed. His weapon, an American M4 rifle, fell softly onto the grass beside him.

  She spun when a cry from near David’s location pierced the night, and she cursed inwardly. After a few seconds, he came running, but the damage had been done. A light went on in one of the two buildings. She bolted to the generator and pulled the pin on a grenade. With a final glance at the building she tossed it next to the fuel tank and darted back behind the SUV where David was waiting.

  The explosion shattered the night, and the compound went dark. She flipped her night vision goggles down and switched them on. David did the same.

  “What happened?” she hissed.

  “I was right on top of him, and he turned. Something alerted him – he must have sensed me. I’m sorry.”

  “Remember. We take the leader alive,” she whispered. “Move over there. Let’s not make this too easy for them.” She pointed at another vehicle, then spun and trotted back to the smoldering wreckage of the generator.

  The door of the first building burst open and men poured out, guns sweeping wildly in search of threats. After pausing for a brief second, she sighted with her pistol and squeezed off three silenced rounds. Two of the men collapsed, tripping two others behind them whose momentum had carried them forward. The second building’s door exploded outward with gunmen, and she saw the distinctive shape of night vision equipment on at least three of their heads. Those were the priority targets.