silent entry without harming the boys. He nodded at them to go
east, around the guards.
The sounds of a jai alai game blasted from an old
transistor radio. Clearly the boys’ team was winning, as they listened
intently, whooping at each score. Just as well. The more distraction the
better. Circling around, they approached from the boys’ backs.
As Svengurd kept watch, Lopez and Brandt slung their weapons
and, step by step, came up behind the boys. They needed to be perfectly
synchronized, or there would be blood on their hands.
Brandt counted down with blinks.
Three. He took his final step to the child soldier.
Two. His hands came up into position.
One. Brandt’s arm lashed out, grabbing the boy in front of
him around the neck, lifting him from his feet. His gun clattered against the
small metal table, knocking the radio onto the ground. The commentator’s words
muffled by the dirt.
The boy flailed in his grip, fingernails raking down
Brandt’s sleeve.
It’s way better than death , Brandt thought, but knew
the kid wouldn’t understand. Silently he kept his hold, closing off the
sentry’s windpipe until the child slumped in his arms.
Lopez had been equally successful. As his guard’s eyelids
fluttered, the corporal whispered, “ Cuando te despiertas . Ejectar. ”
Lopez tucked several hundred dollar bills into the boy’s pocket.
The money had been meant for bribing any local official a
little too interested in the foursome of American men. Brandt agreed. The cash
was better spent here. He nodded as Lopez did the same for Brandt’s boy.
Hopefully the kids would find the money and get the hell out of Campeche. Start
a new life that didn’t involve killing innocents to keep the drug cartels
profitable.
Movement from the side brought Brandt’s gun up, but it was
only Svengurd. Lopez handed the point man a fistful of dirt. The tall Swede
looked confused until the corporal rubbed a bit of earth onto his own head.
Svengurd’s platinum blond hair, even shaved down to a half
inch, stood out against the mottled jungle. They all wore camouflage face
paint, but keeping the point man’s towhead under control seemed to be a bit
more of a problem.
Taking a deep breath, Brandt gave the signal to move into
the final stage of this operation. Breach and extract. It sounded so simple.
Yeah. Right.
Wordlessly, they broke formation, splitting off to surround
the nearest building. Actually, “shack” would be a generous term for what stood
in front of them. The CIA insisted the hostages were being kept there. Which
gave them about a fifty–fifty shot they were actually there. But beyond playing
paper, rock, scissors, it was the best shot they had.
Cautiously, Brandt made his way to the north side of the
wooden structure. The walls bowed and the ceiling sagged. The rest of the
buildings didn’t look much better. This wasn’t a resort. It was an outpost. One
that moved every few days. One of the reasons why his team had to strike now.
Today. Before they moved the hostages.
The guard at the door wasn’t much more attentive than the
boys had been. He had an ear bud in that leaked the jai alai game. It
must have been a championship match or something. An unfiltered cigarette
drooped from the guard’s lips.
Even though his men were out of line of sight, Brandt
counted down, trusting that they were doing the same. At exactly sixty seconds
from the moment they split off, Brandt pulled his knife out, sliding it across
the man’s neck. This guy had had a choice and he chose the cartels. Brandt
didn’t mind the hot blood spilling across his hand. One less Zetas to terrorize
the countryside. Pulling the man out of sight of the rest of the village,
Brandt tested the door.
Locked.
Quickly, he searched the dead guard’s pockets and came up
with the key. Right on time, Svengurd turned the corner, Lopez behind him. They
gave a curt nod. Their guards had been dispatched, as well.
Sliding the metal key into the lock,
east, around the guards.
The sounds of a jai alai game blasted from an old
transistor radio. Clearly the boys’ team was winning, as they listened
intently, whooping at each score. Just as well. The more distraction the
better. Circling around, they approached from the boys’ backs.
As Svengurd kept watch, Lopez and Brandt slung their weapons
and, step by step, came up behind the boys. They needed to be perfectly
synchronized, or there would be blood on their hands.
Brandt counted down with blinks.
Three. He took his final step to the child soldier.
Two. His hands came up into position.
One. Brandt’s arm lashed out, grabbing the boy in front of
him around the neck, lifting him from his feet. His gun clattered against the
small metal table, knocking the radio onto the ground. The commentator’s words
muffled by the dirt.
The boy flailed in his grip, fingernails raking down
Brandt’s sleeve.
It’s way better than death , Brandt thought, but knew
the kid wouldn’t understand. Silently he kept his hold, closing off the
sentry’s windpipe until the child slumped in his arms.
Lopez had been equally successful. As his guard’s eyelids
fluttered, the corporal whispered, “ Cuando te despiertas . Ejectar. ”
Lopez tucked several hundred dollar bills into the boy’s pocket.
The money had been meant for bribing any local official a
little too interested in the foursome of American men. Brandt agreed. The cash
was better spent here. He nodded as Lopez did the same for Brandt’s boy.
Hopefully the kids would find the money and get the hell out of Campeche. Start
a new life that didn’t involve killing innocents to keep the drug cartels
profitable.
Movement from the side brought Brandt’s gun up, but it was
only Svengurd. Lopez handed the point man a fistful of dirt. The tall Swede
looked confused until the corporal rubbed a bit of earth onto his own head.
Svengurd’s platinum blond hair, even shaved down to a half
inch, stood out against the mottled jungle. They all wore camouflage face
paint, but keeping the point man’s towhead under control seemed to be a bit
more of a problem.
Taking a deep breath, Brandt gave the signal to move into
the final stage of this operation. Breach and extract. It sounded so simple.
Yeah. Right.
Wordlessly, they broke formation, splitting off to surround
the nearest building. Actually, “shack” would be a generous term for what stood
in front of them. The CIA insisted the hostages were being kept there. Which
gave them about a fifty–fifty shot they were actually there. But beyond playing
paper, rock, scissors, it was the best shot they had.
Cautiously, Brandt made his way to the north side of the
wooden structure. The walls bowed and the ceiling sagged. The rest of the
buildings didn’t look much better. This wasn’t a resort. It was an outpost. One
that moved every few days. One of the reasons why his team had to strike now.
Today. Before they moved the hostages.
The guard at the door wasn’t much more attentive than the
boys had been. He had an ear bud in that leaked the jai alai game. It
must have been a championship match or something. An unfiltered cigarette
drooped from the guard’s lips.
Even though his men were out of line of sight, Brandt
counted down, trusting that they were doing the same. At exactly sixty seconds
from the moment they split off, Brandt pulled his knife out, sliding it across
the man’s neck. This guy had had a choice and he chose the cartels. Brandt
didn’t mind the hot blood spilling across his hand. One less Zetas to terrorize
the countryside. Pulling the man out of sight of the rest of the village,
Brandt tested the door.
Locked.
Quickly, he searched the dead guard’s pockets and came up
with the key. Right on time, Svengurd turned the corner, Lopez behind him. They
gave a curt nod. Their guards had been dispatched, as well.
Sliding the metal key into the lock,
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