Our pace quickened to a brisk walk, which was easier even though this road had to be about 4,000 years old. It was smoother than the jungle trail we had been following. Still an unbelievable experience, I thought. We were high in the Andes, moving easily on a road still intact after all this time, even though the altitude and thin air were making things a little more difficult.
The day progressed without any changes at the ambush site. Joe had armed the motion detection feature on the trail cam to automatically record and send an alert to his tablet if motion was detected. None was. O’Reilly had dropped back to cover our six, and Joe had come forward and was walking with me. He kept checking the GPS on his tablet, and toward the end of the day, said, “I think we’re about four miles past Tamara’s village. Our circuitous detour should keep any of the Brotherhood or Vatican mercs following us away from the village and keep the villagers safe; at least that was the plan. We should find a point to make our turn, so we intersect the path coming out of the village now that we are a safe distance from it.”
I called a halt, and as everyone gathered around, said, “Okay, time to leave the road and head back into the bush. Let’s see if we can find any kind of game trail or path that we can use. I don’t look forward to having to bushwhack our way out of here.” Eduardo had been riding all day and seemed like he was back to his old self, except for the minor headache. Doc had been monitoring him closely and said his recovery looked good. He wasn’t exhibiting any signs of a concussion, which was good news. He joined the search for a break-out point somewhere along the road. Unfortunately, we found none. So, bushwhacking it was. We turned into the brush, trying not to leave a noticeable trail. The mules made this task more difficult. Reggie and O’Reilly followed behind and covered our trail as best they could. In the beginning, we kept our brush clearing to a minimum and suffered the inconvenience that the thick brush inflicted as best we could.
Once we were a couple of hundred yards away from the road, we started clearing our path with our machetes. That made it a little easier going for all of us, mules included. Eduardo had insisted that he could walk, so we redistributed the loads again on the mules and were back to four pack animals now.
It was starting to get dark, so I called a halt, and we began setting camp. Joe had double-checked the last trail cam at the ambush point—still no movement.
“Well, that’s a good thing, I guess. Now that it’s getting dark, I hope the Vatican mercs don’t try following us and wait till morning to continue,” I said.
“With no easy path to follow, and who knows what happened in their meeting with the Brotherhood, I hope they’re tied up for at least another day,” Doc said.
Dimitri shook his head, “I don’t think we’ll be that lucky if they’re as badass as that priest indicated. They’ll find a way through our roadblock and be hunting us by mid-day tomorrow. Just my two cents worth.”
Nothing more was said as we set up camp, but I had a feeling that Dimitri was right. We couldn’t take any chances. That’s why I had Joe set up another trail cam, well hidden, where we turned off the Inca Road and hit the bush. If they found our trail, we would at least know about it.
We felt safe enough to break out the Sterno to heat our water for coffee. It gave off a good flame with no smoke or smell, and we needed something to warm our insides as the temperature dropped. We consumed some of the foodstuffs we had purchased at the market in Cuenca. Tortillas, dried meat, and a biscuit or cookie that had a brown sugar coating. Certainly not a feast, but good enough. We set up three-hour sentry shifts and climbed into our sleeping bags for a less than restful night’s sleep.
I awoke the following day at first light to the smell of hot coffee and saw Eduardo sitting there with the flames from the can of Sterno licking the underside of the pot we used for brewing it. He smiled when he saw me rouse and sit up.
“Senor Colt, just in time—the coffee is ready.” He was sitting wrapped in a blanket with Joe’s tablet in his lap and an M-16 propped next to him.
“What the heck are you doing up, Eduardo?” I asked.
“I took last watch, Senor Colt; my head was still hurting some, and it was hard to sleep, so I got up and relieved Senorita O’Reilly so she could rest. I knew we would be leaving early, so I put on the coffee to have it ready when everyone woke up.”
“And how’s your head?”
“Much better; the pain is almost all gone. I’m still a little sore, but other than that, I am ‘good to go’ as you say.”
One tough little dude, I thought.
“Any action on the trail cams?” I asked.
“None, Senor; I have been watching the camera at the rockslide and the one where we turned off the road. No sign of anyone.”
Some good news to start the morning, I thought as I poured myself a cup of coffee and held its warmth in my chilled hands. Everyone else was stirring, and like moths to a flame, were drawn to the simmering pot. One cup to open our eyes, then energy bars, dried fruit, and beef jerky with a final cup to wash it down before we broke camp. Joe consulted his tablet with our original GPS track marked on it and said, “We should
