Near Chapala, Mexico
Diego pressed his hand to the earpiece tighter. “Fuck me!” He turned to Slippy and yelled, “They’ve shot a missile! It’s headed here!”
Slippy felt his blood run cold as he keyed his coms. “Bridger! Incoming missile!” He waited for a response and his head swiveled, looking for a vapor trail in the early sunrise.
“Christ, Bridger, get out of there!” Diego yelled into the coms.
Both men stared in horrified fascination as a streak zipped through the shallow valley and the compound below erupted into a massive fireball. Shards of wood, steel and glass flew in all directions.
Even at their elevation, the two men had to throw themselves to the ground to avoid being peppered with missiled projectiles.
Once the dust settled and debris stopped raining from the sky, Slippy slowly rose up, his eyes scanning the crater below. “Mother…”
“Fucker,” Mauk finished for him. Both men turned and saw him standing over their position, his sniper rifle cradled in his arms. “They didn’t stand a chance.”
Slippy slumped beside his computers and stared in shock. “What…what do we do now?”
Mauk took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We muster at the campsite. If any of them somehow made it through, that’s where they’ll go.”
Diego shook his head. “We should go down there and look for them.” He swallowed nervously. “They could be hurt.”
Mauk shook his head. “If they were down there when that thing hit, trust me, there’s nothing to find.” He blew his breath out forcefully to keep his voice from cracking. “We can only hope that they did what needed doing and are working their way back through the jungle.”
Slippy gave him a knowing look. “They’re not on coms.”
Mauk nodded. “I know.”
Near Chapala, Mexico
Raul fell against the wall of the tunnel as dirt and debris rained down from the ceiling. “Señor, they are bombing us!”
El jefe pressed an arm against a thick wooden brace to steady himself then cursed as the lights flickered, faded and went out. “Si, hermano. That would be the federales doing the Sinaloa’s dirty work for them.” He stared into the inky blackness of the tunnel then ground his teeth together. “I thought there was a generator!”
“There is, señor. But it is at the hacienda. If they bombed the villa then…” He shrugged in the darkness.
El jefe cursed in Spanish then flicked his lighter, bringing a warm orange glow to the vast blackness of the tunnel. “Tell me there are lamps down here, Raul.”
“Si! There are. They are hanging along the walls, señor.” He forced himself back up to his feet and fell into step behind him. “Look along the walls. Near the electric lights.”
El Fantasma worked his way deeper into the tunnels, his eyes following the electric cables strung along the wall until he found a kerosene lantern. “Here’s one.” He lifted it from a hook on the wall and quickly lit the wick. “Pray that the federales didn’t think to blow up our plane as well, Raul.” He glanced back at the smaller man. “Or these tunnels may well become our tomb.”
Raul swallowed nervously and nodded. “Si. I pray that the tunnels didn’t cave in as well.” He found his mouth going dry and the air suddenly feeling thicker. “I am not ready to die, señor.”
29
Near Chapala, Mexico
Bridger slowly tried to come to his feet, coughing and wiping dirt from his face. “Sitrep!”
“I’m good,” DJ groaned as he came to one knee. “What the fuck was that, Top?”
“Still breathing,” Lisa choked as she leaned against the wall of the tunnel.
“I’m alive,” Laughlin wheezed. “Did we set off a boobytrap?”
Bridger flicked on the LED torch attached to the barrel shroud of his carbine. “If we’d tripped a boobytrap we wouldn’t still be breathing.” He spun slowly and looked at the near cave-in behind them. “I think the house was rigged.” He coughed harder and spun his torch in the other direction. “The ghost probably thought we were still up there in it.”
Lisa keyed her coms. “Slippy, you still out there?” She waited a moment, her face painted with worry. “You don’t think that blast could have…”
Bridger shook his head. “He was too far up the ridge.” He coughed again and blew dirt from his nostrils. “We’re probably too deep for these coms.”
DJ pulled Laughlin to his feet. “You in one piece?”
He nodded then realized it was too dark to see. “Yeah. I’m good.”
“Let’s move.” Bridger edged forward. “There’s no getting out the way we came.”
“Keep tight,” Lisa stated, for Laughlin more than anything. “We can’t risk separating down here.”
Bridger picked up the pace, hoping to close the distance with the ghost of Murillo. The team was practically running through tunnels, jumping over debris that had fallen, their torches weaving back and forth along the walls as they trotted deeper underground.
He slowed his gait and held a fist in the air. “We got a choice to make.” He pointed at the Y intersection with his torch. “Which way?”
Laughlin pointed to the bright orange arrow spray painted on the wall. “I’d say this way.”
Bridger raised a brow, his Bullshit-O-Meter pegging. “DJ, take point. Watch for boobytraps.” He looked at Laughlin and shook his head. “I don’t buy the road sign at all.”
“But…” He pointed to the large orange arrow again. “Why else would they put these?”
“It’s called a misdirect,” Lisa stated as she fell into step behind DJ.
“Move.” Bridger practically pushed Laughlin into step. “Don’t worry though. If they’re down this way, you can take all the credit for reading the neon orange arrows.”
“Jesus, Bobby. You can stop being a prick already.” He trotted alongside the man.
Lisa scoffed. “That ain’t him being a prick.” She turned and gave him an evil grin. “If your testicles were in your shirt pocket, that’d be him being a prick.”
DJ rounded a bend and practically slid to a stop. “Whoah! We ain’t going that way.”
“What’s wrong?” Bridger barked from the
