“Then I suggest you carry out your orders.”

“What? Look, I don’t know what just went down between you two—”

“What went down is that I failed to stop an assassin who is going to murder a Third World dictator if you do not pull that trigger. Now carry out your mission, Alpha.”

Marcus was struck silent by the command. He had killed men before, and the mission was worthy—kill one to save hundreds, probably thousands.

“Do it!” Jonas’s voice cracked in his ears.

Marcus steadied himself, settled the crosshairs of the scope on the officer’s upper back, exhaled and, when his lungs were empty, squeezed the trigger. The suppressed M24 made a muffled sound as it fired. The target jerked, then slumped over, the sniper rifle falling from his lifeless hands.

Marcus straightened up and replaced the covers on the sight, then slung his rifle. He crept forward to the edge of the clearing in time to see Jonas step back out, his mask in his hand again. He walked over to the still form, knelt and took the body in his arms, enfolding it close to his chest.

Although he didn’t make any sound, his body shook with silent sobs.

Marcus gave him as long as he could—a minute, perhaps—then came up behind him. “Jonas, we have to go.”

His back still to the younger man, Jonas slipped on the mask, drew his pistol and stood up. “Let’s move out.”

With Marcus in the lead, they headed due north again, slipping through the foliage to the edge of the refinery’s perimeter. The sun’s rays were illuminating the eastern horizon, with golden-and-red fingers.

Just as they were about to leave the jungle to cross the first field, Marcus held up his hand, and Jonas froze.

“I thought I saw something to the east, but there’s a lot of heat bleeding off the factory, so I can’t be sure.” Marcus gave himself a second. “Can’t confirm it—let’s keep moving before someone does spot us.”

He took a step out into the open, and the pop of an AK-47 on full auto shattered the silence. Marcus spun to the ground, hit by at least three rounds that perforated his clothes and chest. Sudden pain washed over him.

“Marcus!” Jonas hit the dirt and crawled to him. “Hold still!”

“Shit—wasn’t planning on buying it here. Funny, my arm doesn’t work anymore.”

Jonas swung his MP-5 up and peered down the sights through his mask. Rifle rounds spit over his head. They both heard shouting from the sugar mill. Clawing off his mask, Marcus lifted his head just as Jonas fired a long burst, then dropped the MP-5 and picked up Marcus’s rifle. “He’s down. Now, let’s get you out of here.”

“No—I’m not going anywhere,” Marcus said.

“The hell you aren’t. I’m not leaving you here to die.

Now, get up!” Jonas yanked on Marcus’s shirt, hauling him upright and slapping a pressure bandage in his hand. “Keep that tight on your shoulder. This is going to hurt—a lot.” He bent over and threw Marcus over his shoulder in a modified fireman’s carry. Marcus found himself staring at the ground as white spots faded from his vision.

“Jonas, you’re gonna get us both killed.”

“Don’t talk, we’re getting out of here. Keep that bandage tight against your shoulder.”

Unable to speak, Marcus shook his head and held out his hand. Jonas held it tightly as he carried him into the forest.

Part of Jonas’s thoughts screamed that he was out of his mind to even think he could bring this man out of the jungle alive.

He didn’t consider the very logical arguments for leaving Marcus behind, but concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, staying in the tree line and moving as fast as possible.

After about one hundred yards, he crested a small rise and ducked behind it, then cut north and trotted as quickly and quietly as he could, listening all the while for sounds of pursuit.

With each step he saw brighter glimmers of sunlight creeping over the horizon, and knew they were really racing the break of day, with more than ten miles to go before reaching safety.

“How you holding up back there?” he asked.

“I think I’m gonna be sick from all the up and down but otherwise, I’ve been worse. How ’bout you?” Marcus said weakly.

“No problems—we’ve only got about ten miles to go.

Piece of cake.”

Jonas didn’t hear anything behind him yet, but he knew that didn’t mean much. Crossing the highways would be the most dangerous. He figured he had covered another half mile when he heard the roar of a racing engine. Whirling around, he saw an old pickup truck with a man standing in the back behind a light machine gun that had been mounted on the roof. It was barreling down the road on a parallel course to him.

“Company coming, got to set you down for a minute.”

Jonas dropped to one knee and rolled Marcus off him. He unslung the M24, aimed at the engine, then changed his mind and put a bullet into the gunner and more in the windshield. The sound suppressor made it seem as if the shots had come out of nowhere. The truck lurched forward, then drifted right and rolled off the road into the ditch, where it stalled.

“Marcus, you’re not gonna believe this, but we just got ourselves that ride you wanted,” Jonas said.

Slinging the rifle, Jonas lifted the younger man, trying to ignore the dark red mess his shoulder was turning into, and carried him to the truck. Depositing Marcus a few yards away, Jonas wrenched open the door, pistol out to finish off anyone wounded. The two men in the cab were both dead. One had taken a hit in the head and one in the neck. The gunner gurgled in the bed of the truck, his upper chest a bloody pulp. Jonas finished him then pulled him out. He smashed out the rest of the shattered windshield, dumped the other two bodies on the ground, started the truck and gunned it back on the road. He hopped out just long enough to hoist Marcus into the front seat, then jumped behind the wheel and floored the accelerator.

“Looks like you got your wish, buddy. The boat’s just a few minutes up the coast, and then we’ll be out of here and back to the States, where they’ll get you patched up and as good as new.”

Marcus coughed, the effort shaking his body. “Jonas, my glasses. On the boat—Valdes had a family. Found them in Havana.”

“Hey, don’t worry—you can give it to me soon enough.

But you’ve got to stay awake for a little bit longer now, all right? Hey, you got a family? Tell me about them,” Jonas said.

“Oh, yeah, do I ever…” As Marcus rambled on about his parents and younger brothers, Jonas kept a sharp eye out for any sign of the army or police on the road. The landscape was quiet, although Jonas knew the locals would be out soon, and a truck like this would attract a lot of attention.

Driving cross-country was also bound to raise a few eyebrows, but Jonas was more concerned about not breaking an axle or blowing a tire and leaving them stranded.

After several miles, Jonas reached the first road they had crossed on foot a few hours earlier. He turned right, knowing that it would connect with the main highway in the region.

A few minutes later, he came to the bigger highway and slewed onto it with a squeal of the aged tires. Jonas slowed to the speed limit as he headed toward the boat.

At last he came upon the coast, and followed it to where the road met the bridge. Marcus had fallen unconscious, but a quick check revealed he was still breathing. Peeking out of the cab for trouble, Jonas found he had company.

Three kids stood on top of the bridge, staring off the side at the long cigarette boat bobbing in the swells. Jonas made sure his mask was securely over his face, then hoisted Marcus over his shoulder, grabbed the rifle in his other hand and waded into the water, causing the children to chatter among themselves.

“Hey, your friend looks hurt! Is he gonna die?”

“Is that your boat? How fast does it go?”

“My father called the border guard! They’ll come and take you away!” one of the kids shouted.

“?Viva la revolucion!”

The chant was taken up among the other kids, making a chorus that could be heard all along the shoreline.

Jonas ignored them as he heaved Marcus aboard the boat, then climbed in after him. He took a moment to tear

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