One Rough Man

34

I looked closely at the chain-link Cyclone fence, trying to determine if it was electrified or wired with sensors. After convincing Jennifer that this recce wasn’t stupid, it would suck to get caught like an amateur before even observing anything of value. I saw nothing to indicate that the fence had any electronic monitoring at all.

Following the directions from the man on the phone, we had driven out of the city and into the countryside, leaving all traffic behind. We had found the road leading to his estate, the pavement winding away into the hills behind a ten-foot gate. I realized that the only way I was going to get any intel was on foot, so I pulled up another quarter of a mile and hid the Jeep on the side of the road in a turnout. I left Jennifer in the woods and told her I would be gone no more than an hour. She just about lost her mind, but I didn’t give her enough time to protest before moving off into the cover of the woods. Hopefully, she wouldn’t get in the Jeep and leave me stranded.

I approached the fence and sat for another couple of minutes, watching the road on the inside that paralleled its path. Satisfied that I was alone, I vaulted over the top and raced across the road into the wood line on the other side. I continued moving uphill until I came to a large open field falling away from the high ground. In the center was the house of El Machete.

House wasn’t the right word. This was a gigantic fortress-like compound protected by an eight-foot brick wall. All it needed was a moat with a drawbridge. The centerpiece was a three-story mansion fronted by a circular drive. Next to the main building was a one-story bungalow that looked like a residence or guesthouse. Adjacent to the guesthouse was some sort of warehouse or garage, with multiple vertical doors and several chimneys. All told, the compound inside the walled area was probably three hundred by five hundred meters, with several other outbuildings. Machete clearly had money.

I glanced at my watch, thinking I’d better start heading back before Jennifer got antsy. When I looked back up, I saw a man round the corner of the wall dressed like a modern-day ninja. I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. He looked like he had gone to Commandos Are Us and bought out the store. He was outfitted from head to toe in every conceivable type of black Velcro tactical gear, complete with a black balaclava hiding everything but his eyes. All of his equipment was state of the art, including the Heckler and Koch 416 rifle he had slung over his shoulder. The 416 had been developed jointly with H&K and U.S. Special Operations as a replacement to the M4 carbine, the shortened version of the M16 A2. Both fired 5.56mm, looked the same, and in fact, the H&K was designed the same to cut down on any learning curve for soldiers who were used to the ergonomics of the M4. It also allowed any components used on the M4 to directly transfer to the 416. The primary difference was that the 416 operated with a push rod piston instead of a gas tube like the M4, making it much more reliable. The weapon was fairly new and very expensive.

The 416 was outfitted much like the man, with every conceivable gadget attached to the rail systems, including an EOTech holosight and an AN/PEQ-15 laser attached to the rail system behind the front sight post. The PEQ-15 housed both an infrared and visible laser aiming module, and was a controlled export item from the United States.

This information alone told me a great deal about my adversary. On the downside, the fact that this guard in Guatemala had such exorbitant kit meant that his boss had serious money, serious contacts inside the arms world, and the intelligence to buy the best. So much for the phone threats being a bluff. On the plus side, the fact that the target looked like the Michelin man with all of that kit on told me that he wasn’t a professional.

Anyone who used such kit for a living found quickly that less was more. Attempting to climb buildings or enter narrow rooms with ten tons of accessories flopping around usually ended in catastrophic failure. I had learned early to pare down my kit to the absolute essentials, leaving the rest of the Velcro for the wannabes who did more showing off than fighting. Like this loser.

I watched him as he continued walking down the wall and turned the corner out of sight. About ten seconds later, another guard rounded the corner to the south of the compound, opposite where the first guard had disappeared. Obviously, they maintained a roving foot patrol outside the residence and probably had a mounted patrol along the fence line.

I felt a split-second burst of fear as I realized I had been too hasty on my sensor analysis at the fence. Whoever was here had enough money to wire the entire jungle and could buy the expertise to monitor it. I then realized that if it had been wired, I would’ve already been caught. I decided not to test my theory and began moving as swiftly as I dared back down to the Jeep and Jennifer.

* * *

Jake pulled into the parking lot of the Casa Bonita Clara with a head of steam, hammering the brakes hard enough to cause a slight skid in the gravel. He had just finished talking to one of his team leaders and had discovered that the Casa Bonita hotel had been missed during the shift to the airport. Because of incompetent idiots who couldn’t follow simple instructions. The team had reported their location at the hotel, and the team leader had assumed they had gone inside and established contact. They hadn’t, and now he had a gap in the plan that might prove fatal. He felt like he was leading a bunch of children, forcing him to check and recheck everything to get the smallest task accomplished.

Walking to the front desk, he tapped his hand on the counter, waiting on the woman behind it to finish with a balding German complaining about his bill. Once he was gone, Jake addressed the woman.

“Hi. I’m looking for some friends of mine. They were supposed to arrive today, but I haven’t heard from them. I was wondering if you could look and see if they’ve checked in?”

The woman smiled warmly. “I’m sorry, I’m not allowed to reveal any information on our guests. If you’d like, you can leave me a message for them with your contact information, along with their name. I’ll ensure that they get it.”

Jake smiled back, attempting to be as friendly as the woman, but failing because his smile did nothing but bare his teeth, giving him all the warmth of a great white shark.

“Perhaps I wasn’t clear. The bloke who wants to find them is El Machete. I would hate to be the person who refused his request.”

The woman’s smile faded, replaced with a look of fear. She glanced around to see if her manager was in sight, then said, “What are their names?”

“Jennifer Cahill and a man.”

The woman tapped on the keyboard and said, “They’re here. Second floor, second room on the right. Room eight.” Visibly shaking, she said, “Please leave now.”

Jake grinned, thanked her, then went back to his SUV. He dialed Miguel’s number.

Miguel answered after the fourth ring. “What’ve you found? Please tell me you have some good news.”

“I have their location. I’m pulling in the teams and heading back to the compound. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

Miguel wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “Well, don’t make me beg. Where are they?”

“They’re staying in a hotel inside Zona Ten called the Casa Bonito Clara. It poses some additional challenges due to its small size, but nothing insurmountable.”

Miguel smiled for the first time in over twenty-four hours. “Good. Very, very good. I’m looking forward to meeting this Mr. Pike. Come on back. We’ll figure out how we’re going to skin this cat. Shouldn’t take long. Once we have the package, I want you on the road tomorrow looking for the temple.”

“Okay… Got it. We’re coming home now. See you in a few minutes.”

* * *

Sitting inside the loaned chevy suburban, Bakr and Sayyidd heard the entire exchange. Bakr started the giant SUV and drove down the winding road toward the highway while Sayyidd booted up the M4 satellite phone to search for the hotel.

Sayyidd said, “You’re going to have to stop and give me five minutes before I can get the connection. This thing doesn’t work very well on the move.”

Entering the close-packed concrete landscape of Guatemala City proper, Bakr began to look for a place to pull over. Finding one, he waited while Sayyidd achieved a satellite signal. Seconds later, Sayyidd found the hotel’s