Slippy glared at him, his eyes narrowed. “If you want the other one…” he mocked.
“What was that?”
“I said, ‘I’ll try to hurry!’” he yelled over his shoulder. He started down the hill mumbling, “Jolly green moron.”
30
Near Chapala, Mexico
“Great,” Lisa groaned. “Another Y.”
DJ stepped past her. “Hold on.” He bent low and pressed a hand to the floor and another to the wall. He paused a moment and stared into the darkness, listening intently. “Left.”
Laughlin stared at him in total fascination. “You could feel something through the earth? Like when the Indians used to listen to railroad tracks to know when a train was coming?”
DJ shook his head and pointed with his flashlight. “Fresh tracks in the fallen dirt.” He pointed with his boot. “Dress shoes. I’m betting this is probably your ghost, Top.”
“Let’s go.” Bridger pushed past them, his jaw set. He was determined that Murillo’s ghost truly would become part of the spirit world.
Laughlin trotted to keep up and Lisa pushed for him to travel faster. “Step it up. You don’t want to get stuck down here.”
“I see light!” Bridger announced as he slowed his approach. “Stay frosty. They could be waiting for us.”
“I got this.” DJ moved ahead and crept along the wall. He pressed himself tighter to the side and stared along the bend. “I see no movement.”
Bridger waved the team ahead and fell into step behind DJ. “Keep alert. There could still be tripwires.”
DJ stopped and dropped low, aligning himself with the floor. “Nothing.” He pushed up from the damp earthen floor and nodded toward the rusty metal stairs leading up to the open doorway. “I’m betting they made a hasty retreat.”
“I would too if I had us on our asses,” Bridger grumbled as he gripped the railings.
He emerged into the daylight and the wind blowing over the ridge carried no telltale signs with it. “I’m not seeing anything.”
DJ dropped to the ground again and peered along the top edge of the grass. “There.” He pointed. “To the crest of the ridge.”
Bridger took off at a run and crested the short hill. “Fuck. There’s a runway.”
DJ appeared beside him and saw the jet at the far end. “We got a ride home at least.”
Bridger hefted his rifle and peered through the scope. “Son of a bitch. That’s them!”
He began advancing on the two men walking towards the plane, firing as he closed the gap. He emptied his magazine and ejected it, his hand automatically going to his midsection for another. He slapped at the molle vest and froze. “I’m out!”
DJ ran to him, a magazine in hand. He lifted his own carbine and fired at the two men, who were now running for the plane. “Last mag!”
Lisa and Laughlin appeared on either side, dropping to a knee and firing down the runway. “I’m out!” Laughlin yelled.
Lisa cursed and dropped her rifle, her hand automatically going for the sidearm. “Small arms only,” she announced.
DJ cursed as he ignored the other shooters and began advancing on the plane, firing with his pistol. He paused and hit the dirt as a man dressed in white emerged from under the plane, returning fire.
Bridger dropped to one knee and braced his elbow. He peered through the scope and placed the crosshairs on the man in white.
A golden flash caught his attention and he focused on the gun.
A gold plated pistol.
Bridger shifted the reticle to the man firing at them and froze. “Oh my god.” His voice was barely a whisper.
The man in white looked at his pistol, the slide locked back, then darted back towards the plane. Bridger felt his legs go weak and he had to steady himself as Lisa marched past him, changing mags in her pistol.
“Hold fire,” his voice cracked as he spoke.
She continued to advance and Bridger forced himself to his feet. He reached out and grabbed her arm, lowering her weapon. “Hold fire!”
She turned on him, hatred burning in her eyes. “What the hell, Bobby?”
The whine of the plane engines grew in intensity and the pilot began to taxi. Bridger pulled her aside and nodded towards the craft. “The ghost,” his face was pale as he spoke. “I saw him.”
“Good for you!” she yelled over the wind and turbines. “Kill the motherfucker!”
He shook his head at her. “I can’t.” He turned and stared as the plane accelerated towards them. His eyes focused on the windows. He had to be certain. He stared hard at the window and saw the same face glaring at them from within as the plane went by.
Bridger turned Lisa to face the plane and pointed. “It’s Mario.”
Langley VA
“Enter.” Jameson looked up from the file on his desk and was surprised to see the satellite tech standing at the door. “Sir? I’m sorry to bother you but we expanded the field after you left.” He seemed to squirm a bit as he spoke. “We wanted to see if the federal forces had been eliminated by the assets.”
Jameson shut the file and raised a brow at him. “And?”
“And…well, sir,” he stepped closer and cleared his throat, “we saw a plane take off from west of the compound. Apparently there was a dirt airstrip in the jungle that we hadn’t identified.” He grinned sheepishly. “Actually, if it hadn’t been for the heat generated by the engines we probably never would have—”
“Get to the point,” Jameson interrupted.
The man nodded nervously. “Actually, sir, that was the point.” He pushed his glasses up on his nose and smiled. “We didn’t notice the craft until it began to take off, so we can’t be certain the number of people who might have boarded the craft. But it fits the profile for a 75-foot Learjet. More than capable of carrying the asset and his team.” He shrugged. “IF they survived the attack.”
Jameson
