Ready to Kill (7 page)

CHAPTER 10

Nathan looked for Harv, but saw no sign of him.

The unmistakable thumping of a main rotor echoed in from the northeast. And it was definitely getting louder.

Nathan felt his entire body tighten, and he forced himself to think before moving. He looked through the treetops, hoping to catch the flashing beacon of a commercial bird but saw nothing.

Without warning, the noise tripled in intensity. The helo was flying low, and it must’ve just cleared the ridge they’d traversed.

Abandoning all stealth, Nathan hustled over to a massive tree and put its trunk between himself and the threat. He unslung his rifle, thumbed the safety, and steeled himself for a fight.

If the helicopter were merely passing through, he’d have his answer within the next fifteen seconds. He pressed his chest against the tree, hoping it wasn’t crawling with ants. Fighting two battles didn’t seem fair. Time seemed to stretch as the whooping slaps of the helo’s main rotor pulsed up the canyon.

Nathan breathed a sigh of relief when the noise quickly faded. From what he could surmise, the helo had been on a westerly course, and it had just ducked behind the ridge they were climbing.

If that had been a military bird, he knew they wouldn’t have been spotted by night vision, but a thermal imager might’ve nailed them. It was impossible to know why it had crossed the area, but the Honduran border wasn’t more than six or seven miles away, so it could’ve been a routine patrol. Their current location was only an hour’s flight from Managua. The Rescue Hawk had flown well under the radar, and even if it had been seen, a Nicaraguan patrol bird should’ve scoured the area hours ago.

He looked for Harv and saw his friend standing on the south side of a tree, also in an effort to visually screen himself from the helicopter’s line of sight. Nathan issued a closed fist and then spread his fingers. Harv acknowledged with an okay gesture. They’d sit tight for five minutes to make sure the helo didn’t return. The NV-capable weapon sight on his M40 was zeroed for three hundred yards, so if the helicopter reappeared and things turned ugly, Nathan was more than capable of accurately shooting at its crew or engine compartment. If the bird was one of the Nicaraguan air force’s Mi-24 Hind attack helicopters, Nathan knew the Hinds employed armor plating to protect their vital areas, which meant he’d have little chance of shooting it down. The best he could hope for would be a wounding shot to make it withdraw. He felt fairly confident it hadn’t been a transport; its rotor noise hadn’t been throaty enough.

There was no sense in speculating further, but he wasn’t convinced the helo’s passage across the canyon wasn’t connected to them. Hearing several helicopters at the same time could’ve meant serious trouble, because each Hind had the capacity to carry eight combat troops and all their gear.

He didn’t deny his previous ordeal down here made him edgy, but it was prudent to hold their position for a spell. They had time. If all went well, they’d have alpha thoroughly scouted before their mysterious messenger arrived, but he suspected the reverse was true. If their messenger possessed formal Echo training, he would’ve arrived by now to secure the area himself. And he might not be alone—there could be more than one person up there.

Before five minutes had elapsed, Nathan gave Harv the form-up gesture, and they moved laterally toward each other.

“Talk about a pucker factor,” Harv said.

“Yeah, no kidding. Think it was a Hind?”

“Probably. It didn’t sound like a transport, and it was definitely a single rotor. Its noise was never constant, so I don’t think it hovered and deployed troops. If it did, we could be facing a squad-sized force.”

“Quit trying to cheer me up.” Nathan looked toward the west where the helicopter had disappeared. “We’ll stay a little longer.”

“The helo could’ve spooked our messenger. He might bug out thinking he’s been blown.”

“If we don’t find anyone up there, I suspect it would only delay the inevitable. I’d like to solve this mystery tonight and be done with it.”

“Agreed.”

“Did your RF detector vibrate?” Nathan asked.

“No, I didn’t feel anything. You’re thinking if it saw us, it would’ve radioed our location. If it did, the detector should’ve picked up its transmission. Nate, we can’t rule out the possibility it rappelled troops on the north side of that ridge we just came from and then blew through the canyon to deceive us. To make matters worse, Raven could be with them.”

“How long would that have taken?”

“If they’re seasoned combat troops, less than twenty seconds.”

“How much time do we have if that’s the case?”

“If they take a direct route over the summit like we just did, thirty minutes to an hour, depending on how stealthy they want to be. It would take them considerably longer to traverse the mountain to the east or west.”

Nathan didn’t respond.

“Do you want to leave?”

“I think we’re okay. Like you said, its noise never sounded constant from a hover. Just because it was dark, doesn’t make it a Nicaraguan air force bird. It could’ve been a drug runner or a private ship.”

“That’s true.”

“We have several options, but all of them terminate with two possible outcomes. We either complete the mission as planned and meet with the messenger, or we don’t. Cantrell won’t second-guess us either way. A helicopter’s passage through the area doesn’t seem like a strong enough reason to scrub the mission. I think we should hunker down right here and see if anyone shows up. We can’t worry about meeting our messenger until we’re certain we’re not being pursued.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

They separated again to give themselves the best chance of detecting intruders. The next thirty minutes seemed to stretch into thirty hours. Nathan didn’t like being immobile, but it was the right thing to do given their situation. Sometimes no action was the best action.

Nathan tapped his memory of the mission briefing Bill Stafford had given them. The Nicaraguan air force had several Mi-8 Hip military transport helicopters and at least five Mi-24 Hind attack birds in its arsenal. With skilled pilots, the Hinds were capable ships, and Nathan had no desire to engage one of them. If a Hind had bored down on them, they would’ve had little chance of surviving, even with all the cover. Trees were no match for rockets and large-caliber machine guns. There was an outright terror associated with being hunted by a helicopter, especially a Russian-made gunship.

With five minutes to spare, he looked over at Harv’s position, issued the form-up signal, and started in that direction.

“I think we’re good,” Harv said. “If anyone’s tracking—” His friend stopped midsentence. “Someone’s talking. The RF detector just vibrated.”

Nathan pulled his Sig and crouched. Harv followed suit. Were they blown? How? And who was it?

“Nate, it’s going off again.”

“Shit.”

The next thing they heard was a voice from somewhere above. It had a Southern drawl.

“US Marines, one-one.”

CHAPTER 11

What the hell?
Nathan exchanged a stunned glance with Harv and quickly considered their options. He needed verification in a big hurry. That voice could belong to anyone.

He called out a question. “Where’re you stationed?”

“Pendleton.”

“Where did one-one see its first major campaign?”

“Guadalcanal.”

“What’s great about
Sports Illustrated
?”

There was a brief pause. “The swimsuit issue.”

“What cities have the Raiders played in?”

“Oakland and Los Angeles.”

“Do you like them?”

“No.”

“Copy that. We’re coming up.”

“Shit, Nate. You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Harv mocked his question. “‘What’s great about
Sports Illustrated
?’—what kinda question is that?”

Nathan shrugged.

Harv shook his head. “Cantrell said we’d be supported, but I sure as hell didn’t expect this.”

“Let’s beat feet up there.”

Since their USMC friend had been vocal, it could only mean the immediate area was secure. They made their way up to the summit without haste.

Slightly winded, they arrived at the highest point of the bowling-pin formation but didn’t see anyone. The tree cover up here was modest, but it obscured most of the moonlight. Waist-high ferns and shrubs dominated the area. Like something out of a video game, six ghillie-suited figures materialized from crouched positions. Within seconds they were surrounded. Nathan had his Sig in his hand but kept it lowered.

One of them approached, presumably the marine who’d made contact. In the dim light, he looked identical to Nathan and Harv, just not as tall. When the man pulled his hood back, Nathan saw his face was also painted. The other marines formed a defensive perimeter. Nathan and Harv released the elastic straps and pulled their hoods back.

Nathan extended his hand. “You guys are a damned welcome sight.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m Staff Sergeant Lyle, one-one. We don’t know your identity, and we won’t ask.”

“Understood. Sorry about the interrogation, but we weren’t expecting you. I had to be sure you were the real deal.”

“That’s not a problem, sir.”

“Did you get a good look at the helo? Was it a Hind?”

“Yes, sir. A twenty-four. Nicaraguan air force.”

“Is there any chance it inserted troops?”

“No sir, at least not within our visual range. We monitored its thermal signature. It never hovered, and it wasn’t high enough for jumpers. It was probably just a routine patrol. They’re used mostly for drug interdiction.”

“A long time ago, we were with one-eight,” Nathan said.

“Recon?” Lyle asked.

Nathan nodded.

“Outstanding.”

“Sorry you guys got dragged out here.”

“Are you kidding? We love deploying.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Corporal Ramirez and Sergeant Birdsall have been with you since the LZ. The rest of us have been up here for the last twelve hours.”

“Are you serious? We were followed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We never saw or heard anyone.”

Lyle smiled. “No sir, you wouldn’t have.”

“How’d they beat our TI sweeps?” Harv asked.

“When you stopped for thermals, they ducked behind trees to hide their signatures.”

Harv shook his head. “We were too predictable.”

“No, sir. Rammy and Bird lost you several times and had to reacquire. You weren’t easy to track.”

As if on cue, two more men rounded the summit from the north, making Lyle’s group a squad-sized unit.

Very tight
, Nathan thought. “You guys find anyone up here?”

“Yes, sir, he arrived five hours ago. He made a good approach, but we bagged him. He’s been tight-lipped. Says he won’t talk to anyone but one of you. We haven’t interrogated him. Our orders were to secure him and maintain a perimeter until you arrived.”

Lyle looked to his left and issued a hand signal. Two of Lyle’s men appeared, and sandwiched between them was a third man who appeared to have his hands secured behind his back. The man didn’t seem nervous, just the opposite. Dressed in a woodland combat uniform with a light coating of face paint on his exposed skin, he walked with confidence.

The moment of truth had arrived.

They were about to meet the mysterious messenger from the embassy.

A ray of moonlight hit the man’s face, and Harv took a step forward. “Viper? Is that you?” he asked in Spanish.

“Mayo!”

Harv embraced him. No words were spoken.

Nathan smiled at hearing Harv’s old nickname. During their Echo operations, Harv had procured an entire case of the little squeeze packs. He used to put mayonnaise on everything, even his hot dogs. The kilo teams settled on
Rojo
for Nathan.
Red.
Back then, his hair had lacked any traces of gray.

Lyle pulled a knife, cut the disposable binds around Viper’s wrists, and gave him his handgun back.

Viper tucked the gun into his holster.

“I apologize for cuffing you,” Lyle said, “but we had to be sure you weren’t a threat.”

“It’s okay,” Viper said. “No harm done.”

“You speak English,” Harv said.

“A lot has changed over the years.”

The two marines who’d brought Viper over lowered their handguns and withdrew.

“It’s good to see you again,” Nathan said. He too gave the man a hug. Being a good ten inches shorter, Viper nearly disappeared inside Nathan’s grasp. They couldn’t reminisce in front of the present company, but Viper had played a critical role in Nathan’s rescue.

“I need to get on the SATCOM and update our status,” Lyle said.

“How do you do that?” Harv asked. “I didn’t see a dish.”

“We use a backpack unit for LEO birds. We can type or dictate messages into a terminal, and the unit sends an ultra-short encrypted burst.”

Nathan wondered how many low-earth-orbit satellites the US military had
. . .
probably dozens. Joint Special Operations Command had many resources at its disposal.

Harv said, “So the burst transmission minimizes your RF signature.”

“Exactly, sir. It’s not foolproof and can be jammed, but the unit rotates frequencies in that event. We’re currently in a dark period until the next bird clears the horizon. We usually have a twelve- to thirteen-minute window before it drops back down. We can talk to JSOC in real time with an HEO bird if we have to, but that’s not as stealthy, and it depletes the batteries faster. I’ll give you guys some time alone.”

Nathan said, “Thank you, Sergeant. Do we need to move out?”

“Not just yet, sir. I’ll let you know what JSOC comes back with.”

They waited until Lyle rejoined his men.

“Damn, it’s really good to see you again,” Harv said.

“Yeah, you guys too,” said Viper.

“I never had a chance to properly thank you. You helped Harv save my life. I’ve never forgotten it.”

“I felt terrible about what happened. I’m really sorry you went through it.”

“It happened. I’ve moved on.”

“I’m sure you guys are wondering why I asked for your help.”

Nathan lightened the moment, knowing Viper felt uneasy about all of this. “The thought had crossed our minds.”

“We kept our real identities secret, even from each other. I haven’t used Viper since I saw you guys last. My real name is Estefan Delgado.”

“We can only give you our first names. I’m Nathan. That’s Harv.”

“It’s okay. I don’t need to know more than that.”

Harv said, “In your second note to the embassy, you said Pastor Tobias was killed by a sniper, presumably Raven.”

“That’s right. Tobias was his first name. His
apellido
—” Estefan had trouble finishing his sentence, emotion catching in his throat. “His surname was Delgado.”