* * *
J.J. LEANED FORWARD THEN sat back hard in hopes of breaking the chair. Maybe he could free a hand and start working on the tape that bound him, but he couldn’t create enough force to fracture the oak. Despair began to set in. Then something occurred to him.
“Mrs. Cenobio … Julia … can you hear me?” Nothing.
Pushing with his feet J.J. scooted the chair closer to the bathroom door. “Mrs. Cenobio, my name is J.J. I’m here to help you … actually, I need your help. Can you hear me?”
A muted sound pressed through the door. “Yes … yes, I can hear you. Who are you?”
“I’m part of a team here to free you and your husband, but I need your help.”
“The guards.”
“They’re gone for now, but they might come back. We have to act quickly. Can you come out here?”
“I’m locked in.”
J.J. examined the doorknob. It was a cheap, simple affair with a twist latch. If he had one hand free he could easily twist the lock into the open position, but even that was beyond him. He contemplated turning the lock with his mouth but doubted he could do it.
“Are they really gone?” she asked.
“Yes, for now. I think they went after my friends.”
“Okay … okay. Wait.” She said something else J.J. couldn’t hear. He assumed she was speaking to the children.
J.J. started to speak when he heard an explosive bang and the bathroom door shook in its frame. A second later it happened again, then again. A little above and to the right of the lock a splinter-laced hole appeared. Several more times the door shook, and with each impact the hole grew larger. J.J. had no idea what she was using as a battering ram but it was working. A moment later a white, flat, hard object punched through the hollow-core door. J.J. recognized it immediately. The woman was knocking a hole in the door with the lid to a toilet tank.
He heard grunting and more of the hard porcelain lid appeared. The tank top disappeared back into the bathroom, and a delicate hand replaced it and fumbled with the outer lock. Two seconds later the door opened slowly, and the tear-smudged face of Julia Cenobio appeared. Before opening the door all the way, she glanced around the room.
“Stay with me, children.” She stepped out and her children followed her. They looked frail and frightened beyond words. Julia stepped to J.J. She held something in her hand.
“Is that what I think it is? Is that a flush arm from a toilet?”
“Yes.”
J.J. shook his head. “Lady, no matter how many times I tell this story, no one is going to believe me.”
“You sound American.”
“I am. Can you free me?”
Julia studied the duct tape. Then she looked around the room.
“I’m afraid they took everything from us.”
Julia nodded, lifted the metal bar she had sharpened on the concrete floor, and cut one of J.J.’s hands free. She started onthe other arm. “Is he dead, Mamá?” the boy pointed at Caraway. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Try not to look.”
J.J. understood. Caraway looked as if he had been run over by a tractor. Blood pooled beneath his injured leg. Once his hands were free, he took the makeshift knife from Julia and cut away the rest of his bonds. It took five minutes for him to free Caraway, who continued to draw breath, although J.J. didn’t know how.
CHAPTER 52
JOSE DUCKED BEHIND A stack of cardboard boxes when the battered van came speeding down the street. It rode heavy, as if weighed down with equipment or a full load of passengers. Even in the dark, Jose could tell it was the same van they had spotted after setting up the video recon systems. Once he was certain he was out of sight of the van, Jose pulled the encrypted cell phone from his vest and dialed Moyer. No answer. He then tried Rich, who answered on the fourth ring.
“Doc, that you?”
“Shaq, I can’t reach Boss.”
“He’s here. We have the package but have to beat feet.”
“I’m near the building we had under surveillance. A van just tore down the street. I’m sure it’s the same one that brought the woman and her kids.”
“Did you see who was in it?”
“No. Too far away. But I’d assume hostiles are inbound to your location.”
“Roger that. Boss is headed your way. He’s in a 1958 Chevy pickup.”
“Say again.”
“Boss is coming in. Look for an old pickup.”
“Understood … I think.”
“Any word on Colt and Billy?”
“Negative. Will report soon.”
Jose ended the call and wondered what he had missed.
* * *
SANTI SCREAMED AT HIS pilot, “What are you doing? Turn back. Wecan’t lose them.”
“I can’t do that, Minister. We’re losing oil pressure.”
“You said we were too far away for them to do any real damage.”
The pilot shook his head and struggled with the controls. “Maybe it was a lucky shot. I don’t know. I do know that we’re losing oil, and if I don’t get us on the ground soon the engine will seize and we will drop like a stone.”
“Can’t you hold our position just a little while longer?”
“We must maintain forward motion. If the engine stops, I can use autorotation for a controlled crash. If we are hovering when the engine stalls, we will fall with no hope of survival. I’m going to find a place to set down.”
It took all of Santi’s willpower not to scream at the top of his lungs. Three men had killed six of his people and snatched Cenobio. He had watched his most faithful mercenary collapse to the ground after being shot in the head. It was all falling apart.
He snapped up his cell phone again and placed a call to the man he had ordered to the scene a few minutes before. “My helicopter is damaged. You must get Cenobio back. Do you hear? Get him back!” He slammed the phone on the seat next to him. The helicopter descended. “Let me talk to your commander.”
“With all due respect, sir, I’m a little busy now.”
“I want to talk to your commander.”
The pilot did something Santi couldn’t see. “Go ahead.”
Santi began talking before the commander could speak. “I want another helicopter in the air. Now.”
* * *
“YOU AMAZE ME, JUNIOR.” Moyer buttoned his vest and began stocking the cab of the classic truck with loaded weaponry.
“I wasn’t always the fine, upstanding soldier I am today, Boss. I learned a few things back in high school.”
“They taught you how to hot-wire an old truck in high school?”
“It was one of the lesser-known classes. You can drive a stick, can’t you?”
“Ain’t nothin’ I can’t drive, Junior.” He slipped into the cab.
Shaq approached. “There has to be a better way.”
“Just follow the plan and get Cenobio out of here.”
“I think you’re taking an unnecessary risk.”
“You can file a complaint with Colonel MacGregor when we get back. Besides, you were the one that wanted to go back for Colt and Billy.”
“I know what I said—”
Moyer snapped his head around. “Shaq … Rich, you have your orders. Carry them out.” Shaq’s ebony face darkened all the more. “Understood?”
“Oorah, Boss.” His expression softened. “Don’t get dead.”
Moyer held out his hand and Rich shook it. Then Moyer dropped the old truck in first gear and slipped the clutch. As he pulled away, he saw Rich put Cenobio in the back of the sedan. The car had sustained damage but was still operational. Pete had checked for leaking fluids and cut away the deployed air bags. The car started up and headed in the opposite direction, and Moyer shifted into second.
* * *
JOSE’S PROBLEM WAS A lack of knowledge. He had no idea if J.J. and Caraway were in the building he approached; if they had been carted off in the van; if their bodies were lying in some alley; or if heavily armed gunmen wait
ed for him. He just didn’t know, and there was only one way to find out.
According to the book he should wait for Moyer to arrive, but the amount of blood Jose had seen behind the work table barricade likely meant that one of his team was well on his way to dead.
Staying in the shadows, Jose reconnoitered the perimeter of the building and saw no guards. That didn’t mean a half dozen men didn’t wait for him inside. He did notice that the front gate lay wide open, which fit with the speed of the van. Perhaps the bad guys had all hightailed it out.
The sound of a vehicle on the street sent Jose sprinting to the other side of the street, where he hid in the narrow space between two buildings and raised his M4. The vehicle, an older-looking truck, stopped a block down. A man exited and moved stealthily across the street then started toward Jose. Through the night-vision goggles, Jose recognized Moyer’s gait. A moment later, his cell phone vibrated.
“Whatcha got?” Moyer asked.
“No sign of hostiles. Front gate is open. Doors are all closed. I was just getting ready to check the windows.”
“Meet me at the southwest corner of the fence. We’ll go in together.”
“You come alone?”
“Shaq and Junior are busy.”
Jose didn’t bother to ask. If he lived he could hear the whole report later. All he had to do now was rescue J.J. and Caraway, escape Caracas, find a way home, and a dozen other small matters.
* * *
“DO YOU THINK THIS will work?” Pete asked.
Rich glanced at him then tilted his rearview mirror to better see Hector Cenobio stretched out on the backseat as he had ordered him to. “Not a chance.”
“Yet we’re going to try.”
“Boss said to do it, we do it. Besides, the last part of the plan couldn’t work either, but it did. Maybe it’s our lucky day.”
“Do you feel lucky?”
“Luck or no, we’re committed.” Shaq fought with the steering wheel. “Man, this thing is a bear to drive. The alignment is all out of whack.”
“Ramming other cars can do that.” Pete leaned over and looked at the gauges. “At least it’s not overheating. You know, the rental agency is going to charge you more for scratching the paint.”
“I figured as much. I’ll gladly pay it if—” Shaq tilted the rearview mirror up. “We got company.”
Pete turned. “I don’t know about you, Shaq, but I’m getting real sick of these guys.”
“On the floor, Cenobio.”
“I’m already lying down on the seat—”
“ON THE FLOOR!”
The rear window exploded. Shaq pressed himself down in the seat. Pete popped his seat belt, turned, and lifted his M4.
The front window shattered, sending a million spider-web cracks through the whole glass surface, the safety laminate holding the shards of glass together.
“I can’t see,” Rich barked.
Pete lifted his weapon and smashed the butt of the stock into the window repeatedly until he created a hole. Rich stuck his head out the window. Pete lowered his weapon and started pulling the windshield out of its track.
“That’ll do it,” Rich said. “I can see enough. How about returning the favor?”
Pete turned in the seat again, aimed the automatic weapon out the back window, and pulled the trigger. Spent cartridges flew from the chamber and hit Rich in the head. He didn’t complain.
“Talk to me.”
“Looks like a single vehicle—a van I think. Hard to see because of the headlights. Shooter is—” Pete fired a burst, “was hanging out the window.”
“You know how to fix the lights.”
The sound of several bullets hitting the trunk of the car made Shaq crank the steering wheel left then right.
“I need two seconds without the evasive maneuvers,” Pete said. He spoke calmly as if all this were a video game.
“Ready?” Shaq asked.
“Ready.”
Rich straightened the car and Pete released three quick bursts. Rich looked in his mirror. One headlight disappeared. The van veered right, then left.
“I saw steam,” Shaq said.
“I hope so. I was hoping to take out the radiator while I was at it.”
Shaq zigged then zagged as the sound of gunfire erupted from behind. “Hang on, we’re coming up on our turn.”
“Hanging—”
The car turned sideways as Rich pressed the accelerator even harder and jerked the wheel to the left. Pete grunted as he hit the passenger side door. As the car straightened, Pete released three more bursts out the back window. In the mirror Rich saw the van overshoot the intersection. Steam passed in front of the remaining headlight. Rich had shot up the radiator and maybe hit an oil line.
“Caught the tail end of the van. He’s moving fast.”
“Hang on,” Rich said again as he made a sharp turn on a side road, backtracking their previous direction. At the next street he turned right. “Anything?”
“No. I heard brakes. If they want us, they’re going to have to search for us.”
“Stay sharp. They can’t be more than a block or two away.”
* * *
HECTOR LAY OVER THE driveshaft hump in the backseat, covering his head to protect himself from the hot cartridges regurgitated by the automatic weapon. The noise was deafening, the smell of burnt gunpowder gagging, and the fear almost overwhelming. “I should have been a meteorologist,” he said to himself, then returned to praying for his family.
CHAPTER 53
J.J. CUT AWAY THE tape that held the unconscious Caraway in the chair and eased him to the floor. He then reapplied the tourniquet. He looked around the large room, hoping for another industrial-class first-aid kit, but found nothing.
His mind raced. What to do next? Their captors could return any minute, but he couldn’t move Caraway without further endangering his life. He also had a frightened woman and two terrorized children to rescue.
The sound came from the front of the building, near the entrance door, by the window. They were back, and this time he was certain they would kill Caraway, him, and maybe the woman and children. “Get back in the bathroom,” he said. He picked up the sharpened metal bar Julia had crafted and started for the front of the building.
“No. I’ve had enough of that space.”
J.J. didn’t have time to argue. He moved to the office area and placed his back against the wall, the shiv clutched in his right hand. He heard the doorknob jiggle then stop. He tried to peer around the wall to see if the door had opened. It hadn’t.
This was madness. He was a single weary soldier with a weapon made from a toilet, going up against a half dozen heavily armed enemy combatants.
The window exploded and J.J. took a step back. Two men charged through the opening. J.J. swung his arm in a wide horizontal arc then stopped. The blade was an inch from the throat of Jose. Just behind him, with the barrel of his M4 pointed at J.J.’s head, stood Moyer.
J.J. lowered his arm, bent over, and took several deep breaths. “Gee, Colt,” Jose said. “I thought we were friends.”
J.J. straightened and embraced the medic. “Sorry. I thought you were a bill collector.”
But Jose had spotted Caraway and already moved to help him.
“You okay, Colt?” Moyer asked.
“Yeah. A little worse for wear.”
Moyer frowned. “Report.”
“Six men. Some Iranian, some Hispanic. They got an emergency call and bolted out of here. Caraway is bad. The things they did to him …”
“Save that for later, soldier. We’re clear for now?”
“Clear.”
“Good. We’re leaving. Kill the lights and open the big door.”
* * *
SANTI STOOD OUTSIDE THE Bell helicopter, pacing in the grass of the infield of a community baseball diamond where the pilot had set the craft down. Any other night Santi might have admired the pilot’s skill and daring in landing the crippled craft, but all he could
think of at the moment was the interminable time it was taking for another helicopter to find them and land.
Two minutes later a massive Russian-made MI-17 thundered overhead, hovered, then landed in center field. Santi was moving to the craft before it had fully settled on the grass surface. The moment he had his safety belt fastened, he said, “Go!”
The craft lifted from the ground, leaving the crippled helicopter and pilot behind. The MI-17 was heavily armored, heavily armed, and designed for military operations. There was room in the compartment aft of the two-pilot cabin for a dozen more people. A soldier manned the massive machine gun.
“See if you can shoot us down now,” he mumbled to himself.
* * *
RICH TURNED THE HEADLIGHTS off and cruised the back streets, taking a circuitous route to their destination. Cenobio sat in the middle of the backseat, swiveling his head from side to side. He and Pete studied each street, looking for the van that had been chasing them. So far there had been no sign of it.
“Only a couple of hours left before daylight,” Rich said. “I’m seeing more vehicles on the road.”
“What, you think a smashed-up car with no front or rear window might attract attention?” Pete sat with his M4 pointed between his feet.
“If I was a cop, I’d stop me.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“I’m not leaving without my family,” Cenobio said.
“I’m sorry, Dr. Cenobio, but you are. It’s the only way.”
“I’m not leaving Caracas without my wife and children.”
Rich sighed. “I have a wife and kids too, Doctor, and if I were in your situation, I’d be saying the same thing. We have men trying to rescue your family now. Once we have you safely out of country, the bad guys won’t need your family.”
“And they will be free to kill them.”
He was right. “We’re doing our best to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“If things had gone a little differently, you would have killed me, wouldn’t you? To keep me out of the hands of the Iranians, you would have killed me.”
Pete looked at Rich.
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