“Before anyone gets any crazy ideas at the conclusion of our business transaction, I’d like you all to know that I’m wearing a heart monitor. Now, this heart monitor looks unimpressive, but it serves a very important function. Currently, it’s sending my heart rate to a computer on my boat,” he motioned out the window behind me, “which then relays that information to a black site in Nevada.
“And at that black site is a pilot. He’s currently in command of a USAF Predator drone, flying far overhead of us right this very second.” He looked at the Colonel, waiting for him to catch up in his translation. “I want to make sure you state this part very clearly to the General,” Greer said.
The Colonel nodded.
“Before anyone gets any strange ideas, like they want to shoot me, or stab me, or—” he looked straight at me “—break me into little pieces, you should know that if this device no longer picks up a heart rate, that Predator drone—the one I said is flying overhead right now—will launch a hellfire missile directly on my bracelet’s last known location.
Again, Greer paused, waiting for the Colonel to finish translating.
“So, General Barrios, I think it would be in your best interest to let me go, unharmed.”
The General held his hand where it was. Surely, he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and kill Greer here. He wasn’t bluffing—I didn’t think he was bluffing, at least.
“Lower your rifles,” the General said. He sounded disappointed.
“I warned you about doing business with the Americans,” Colonel Milares snapped at the General. “You were always too confident in yourself.”
“Is there a problem, Colonel?” Greer asked coolly.
The Colonel grumbled.
“No problem?” Greer said. “Good. Before I leave, there’s one more thing I’d like you all to do for me. I think you’ll agree it’s to our benefit to keep this meeting to as few of us as possible. Obviously, we’re not going to kill ourselves, or any of the men you brought along, General. But there are a couple extra pairs of eyes here.” He lowered his arm, then motioned in my direction. “Let’s kill Mason and the girl he brought.”
Chapter 31
THEY MARCHED US OUTSIDE. A pair of guards in front. Me behind them. Carolina behind me.
The night air between all the pipes was hot and still. Beneath the sound of combat boots crunching over the gravel lot where Julio Diaz’s car was still parked, I heard the gentle murmur of the Caribbean Sea crashing on the shore somewhere to the north.
I thought of my family. Across that body of water, up the eastern coast of the US, they were there. Pissed me off to know how close I was to freedom. And, now, I’d be shot in an oil refinery in Venezuela. My body would be thrown into the sea. My bones picked clean by hungry fish.
I wondered if Libby and Kejal would ever know the truth of how I died.
“You shouldn’t take orders from this Yankee bastard,” I heard behind me. Spanish. Boyish sounding. The Colonel’s voice, I was sure. “He’s testing you, Pedro. Seeing how obedient you’ll be. His big, mean Venezuelan hound. Today, you’re killing a citizen for him, tomorrow he’ll have you marching on your own people, shooting them in the streets, leaving their children to starve. And when does it—”
“Enough, Nestor,” the General bellowed.
The men marching out front of me stopped. I did too. They pretended not to be listening to their commanders arguing behind us. I’ll be damned if there’s a member of any fighting force that didn’t indulge in eavesdropping whenever the opportunity presented itself.
I peeked over my shoulder.
Colonel Milares and General Barrios stood practically chest to chest. Neither one giving up an inch to the other.
“No,” the Colonel shouted back. “You listen to me. I was quiet when you murdered women and children in their own homes—I told myself their deaths were necessary, that they will not have died in vain if we could build a better, stronger, more independent Venezuela free of corruption and ready to lead South America into a new age. But I was kidding myself!”
“Stand down,” the General said quietly.
“You lied to me! You lied to every man who followed you!” Colonel Milares wasn’t going anywhere.
Barrios would do his damnedest to test him. He ripped a pistol from a holster on his hip. He pointed it at Colonel Milares’ forehead. A wave of uncertainty slid outward from them. I saw it splash across all their men around us—probably a half dozen or so. Some tensing up, others looking to their comrades for help.
Not one of them knew what to do.
“What’s that for?” Milares shouted. “You can’t see the truth you’ve made, so you’ll kill me?”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with what you believe is the truth. I ordered you to stand down,” the General’s voice was low and even. “Either you follow that order, or you’re guilty of insubordination and treason.”
“Treason?” Milares was incredulous. “Is disagreeing with you treason? Are you the state? Is that the future we’re all heading toward? A great General-turned-despot, cutting deals with the Americans and killing all dissenters? Is that what those women and children died for?”
“I am saving our country.” General Barrios pressed the muzzle of his gun into the Colonel’s forehead. “I don’t regret killing Los Chacales and their families—they are traitors, and they are a disease that must be destroyed! For decades, people like them have raped our country. No one did anything about it! No one, until me! Because I’m the only man strong enough to do it!”
The General’s voice bounced around the pipes. Echoed off the large, metal tanks standing around us. The ghosts of Venezuela’s past. The specter of her future.
“And if you cannot help me cure Venezuela, you’re part of the disease, Nestor.”
I couldn’t pull my eyes off them. No one could. Milares glared at the General. A Browning Hi-Power didn’t scare him. Probably should have. I don’t think anyone doubted the General’s will. He was going to pull the trigger.
And I’m pretty sure Colonel Milares understood that too.
Because in a flash he bobbed to his right. He reached out with both arms, almost quicker than I could see—the guy was faster than Tyson—and the General’s pistol clattered to the ground.
Both men locked into each other like antelopes fighting over turf, going horn to horn. They hit the gravel together, furiously trying to rip each other to pieces.
That was all I saw. Like hell, I was gonna stand around and watch the fight. I needed to go see my family again.
I grabbed Carolina by the arm and ripped her to the left with me—around a bank of pipes as wide as a car.
A few steps later, with the pipes covering our backs as I put more ground between Carolina and me and the armed men trying to kill us, I heard shouts and gunshots. Aimed at us.
Chapter 32
THE AMERICAN—MASON—GRABBED the woman and ran. Someone fired after them, but missed.
Colonel Milares made the mistake of looking away from Barrios for a quick second—his natural reaction to the sound of gunshots. Barrios capitalized on Milares’ lapse in concentration. Swept his legs out from under him. Sent him sprawling to the gravel. He landed hard on his back. His ears hummed and he saw nothing but the starry sky.
Then Barrios’ face. His mouth tight, his eyes blacker than his beard. He stood over Milares, then grabbed him by the lapel of his jacket and lifted Milares’ head off the gravel.
“General Barrios!” Greer shouted. Barrios looked away, annoyed.
Greer, unable to speak Spanish, impatiently motioned after Mason. He wanted Barrios to pursue.
“Then go!” Barrios shouted. He put his attention back on Milares, drew his fist back, then cracked his knuckles into Milares’ nose. His head flopped around on the end of his neck. If the two of them were in a boxing match, the ref would’ve called it.
Barrios brought his eyes up again.
“You men,” he said. “Go with Greer. Help
him find Mason and the girl—they are not to escape, and neither is Greer.”
Colonel Milares heard boots grinding down gravel as Barrios’ men ran after Mason. He blinked his eyes, clearing the stars away. Felt the hot bubbling of blood trickling out of his nose, and down past his ear. Barrios still had a firm grip on his jacket lapels. And Barrios still had his eyes on his men, watching them follow Greer into the refinery.
A mistake. Milares paid Barrios back in kind. While Barrios’ attention was divided, Milares quickly grabbed onto his hand—the one holding Milares’ jacket. He ripped Barrios’ thumb backward until it snapped like a muddy stick.
General Barrios howled. He let go of Milares, and stepped backward, holding his broken thumb.
Milares jumped to his feet. He threw his jacket off, then brought his fists up.
“I don’t want to kill you, Nestor,” Barrios said as he ripped his jacket off too. The thumb on his left hand hung like a piece of loose skin. “I’ll need good men at my side in the coming years. Strong men.”
“The only way I’ll stay at your side is if you step down from leadership and let the people choose a new government.”
But Milares knew that wasn’t going to happen. The General had all the makings of a despot. All the characteristics and markers. Why in God’s name hadn’t he seen them before all of this started? Why hadn’t he talked Barrios out of helping Los Chacales?
The General shook his head. “Only I can save Venezuela.”
He brought up his hands, matching Milares’ guard. Even in his fifties, Barrios was still quick as a jungle cat. He shot forward three meters in the blink of an eye. Pounced on Milares.
The two men tumbled backward. Milares slipped his arm around the back of Barrios’ neck. Tried to pull him in close and control his head, forcing Barrios to move the way Milares wanted him.
But Barrios had sparred with Milares a hundred thousand times. At least. He knew to bow his head, touch his chin to his chest, and let Milares’ arm slip off.
Barrios countered by getting Milares’ back on the ground. He locked his legs around Milares’ waist. Rather than try to choke him out, Barrios sat up, put as much distance between him and Milares as he could, then rained a fist down into Milares’ face—attacking his already broken nose
The first blow rattled Colonel Milares’ brains. But he had to keep it together. He had to stay alert. He raised his arms, grabbed the top of his head with his own hands, and Barrios’ fist hammered into Milares’ forearms.
General Barrios changed angles. Tried to come in from the sides, but Milares expected that. He let Barrios get one good hook in, then Milares grabbed the General’s broken left thumb.
Touching the thumb was jamming a hot iron up General Barrios’ arms. He grunted in agony and scrambled back. Milares got to his feet, slower and looser than he was used to. Barrios’ punches had knocked some sense out of Milares’ ears.
But he was still up.
“You didn’t have to kill those people.” Milares’ breath was heavy and his tongue tripped, making it harder to speak. “Those families—the women and children. They had nothing to do with any of this.”
“They would want revenge,” Barrios said. He raised his hands and set his feet. “It would have been too dangerous to let them live.”
Anger swelled inside Milares. Ballooned into every nook and cranny—every wrinkle of his brain. He almost couldn’t think. Couldn’t understand how a man who had fought so bravely all his life let his fear take hold of him and drive him into killing little girls in their living rooms.
Looking at Barrios disgusted Colonel Milares now.
“When did you turn into such a coward?” Milares asked quietly.
Barrios dropped his fists, astonished. “What did you say to me?” His voice was deep with rage. The ferocious animal that always lived inside Barrios had finally come out, flashing its teeth, baring its killer instinct.
“You heard me,” Milares said. “Coward.”
Barrios rocketed forward. Faster than Milares had ever seen.
But he expected it this time, even with his brains knocked halfway out of his head. Milares sidestepped. A quick shuffle to the left.
And as Barrios surged past, Milares stuck his arm out. Caught Barrios across the neck, and rode the General’s momentum to the ground. Looped around his back. Locked his legs around Barrios’ hips.
They crashed into the gravel together. Barrios face-first, Milares holding tight on his back, already cinching his arm around Barrios’ neck.
“I won’t let you kill anyone else!” Milares said through his teeth. Barrios’ pulse thumped against the crook of Milares elbow. Barrios swatted at his arm. Scratched it, tried to wedge his fingers through—anything to create some space between his neck and Milares’ arm as it sunk deeper, cutting off the blood supply to his brain.
But he couldn’t. Nothing had worked.
Milares held on tight. Even the toughest bastard would give in to the choke soon. No one could take more than fifteen or twenty seconds of this.
He kept his heels pressed against Barrios’ thighs. Even as General Barrios rolled onto his back—trying to press Milares into the gravel. When that didn’t work, Barrios swiped over his shoulder. Tried to scratch out Milares’ eyes. But he missed.
His body was quitting now. Starting to loosen up. His muscles wanted to sag, and Barrios’ vision was probably like two white needle points in a sea of black static. His pulse shoved weakly against the flesh on the bottom of Milares’ arm. Barrios was done.
All Milares had to do was hold on for a few more seconds. Make sure the choke sunk into him.
Then, he swiped at Milares again. A quick, sharp strike. Colonel Milares wasn’t expecting it. The General’s body was just starting to shut off. Somehow, the wiry son of a bitch had a little juice left in his muscles.
And he snapped his hand up and over his shoulder. A fistful of gravel mashed into Colonel Milares’ eyes like a tenderizer. Then rubbed around.
Milares couldn’t keep his hold on Barrios. His body screamed at him to let go. He had to protect his own eyes!
So, Milares let go. He rolled off and lay in the gravel lot. His eyes burned. No, worse than burned—they were like hot slag in his skull. The world was a smear. He didn’t know if he wanted to hold his eyes in with his hands or dig them out.
He thrashed on the gravel. Rubbed helplessly at his eyes. Nothing would get rid of the burning.
“It’s regrettable—” Barrios took a long, rasping breath. “—that those people had to die in order for Venezuela to be saved.”
Milares had to pull himself together. He was still in this. If he couldn’t see, he had to listen. Had to lay still and will himself to find the opening. He pulled his hands from his eyes and got up to a knee.
General Barrios’ feet crunched on the gravel. Walking away.
“I misjudged you, Nestor.” His voice rebounded off the pipes and tanks. His back was to Milares. Wasn’t it? Or was that just an echo? “I thought you had the strength to be my right hand. That you understood the lives we took would be sacrificed on the altar for a better future. For a country free of communist control.” He sounded closer now. Moving toward Colonel Milares.
“I won’t slip off their chains just to put on the chains of another master,” Milares said.
“Then help me lead our country!” Barrios was beside himself. “The Americans will lose interest in us—they don’t have the stomach for imperialism anymore! When the time is right, we’ll throw them off, too!”
“When?” Milares shouted. “When will the time be right? When we’re fat and happy in villas in the mountains? While our people starve under the thumbs of American businessmen? When they’ve sucked all the oil from our country? Is that when we toss them off our backs?”
“We have to sell them the oil,” Barrios said.
“Forget the oil!” Colonel Milares shouted. “The oil is what caused all of Venezuela’s problems! It’s why we’re here, now, fig
hting each other in this refinery! It’s why the Americans are interfering yet again! And as long as it’s here—as long as we’re trying to process it and sell it—we’ll fail our people just as the communists did.”
A long moment of silence smothered Milares. Had Barrios run off? Was he listening? In the distance, gunfire crackled wildly.
“This is the only way,” Barrios said. His voice came from the right. A few paces off. “The oil. The Americans. The deaths. All of these things are the markers on our path to freedom.
“I know that is hard for you to accept, Nestor, but we have to be strong to endure. The future isn’t for the weak-willed. It isn’t for the meek or the starving or the families of our enemies. It’s for those of us who won’t turn away when we’re confronted by what must be done.
“We cannot be merciful if we want Venezuela to be strong.”
Barrios’ words smothered Colonel Milares. They were almost too heavy to bear.
“If you can’t show mercy, you’re every bit as weak as the communists,” Milares said softly.
And that was enough. Enough for Barrios. He speared into Milares. The two men hit the ground. Even seeing the world as a dark smear, Milares knew what to do. He rolled onto his back, then went into his guard, ready to grapple with Barrios.
But instead of finding the Barrios’ arms or legs or neck, he found cold steel. The General’s Hi-Power pistol pointed at Milares’ chest.
Colonel Milares rolled left just as the gun fired. He was quick. Any man who fought against the Colonel could swear to that—the General, himself, probably knew it better than anyone.
This time, Milares wasn’t quite quick enough. A burning lance shot through his gut. Milares bellowed in pain. He clutched the gunshot wound with his hand—the shot hit halfway between his rib and his hip, close to his right side.
Beyond his own pain, Colonel Milares heard General Barrios sucking air. Like he was working through an agony of his own.
Then, Milares remembered the General’s broken thumb. It was on his dominant hand. His shooting hand. When the gun went off, the recoil would’ve pushed straight into the fleshy part of Barrios’ thumb. Would’ve hurt like he’d re-broken his thumb all over again.
Jackal: Barrett Mason Book 3 Page 18
