Though as he thought about it, even that was off. It should have taken them at least another thirty minutes to get that close to the city. And he didn’t think that they’d sped up more than they should have, given the thickness of the jungle and the roughness of the terrain. If anything, they should be behind schedule.
He tried to peer through any gaps in the bush to see what they were up against, but all he could make out was the glow of one set of headlights. He frowned behind his NVGs. None of the Blackhearts had gotten close enough to the city to see one of the actual entry control points yet, but he would have expected more lights, especially since none of the Green Shirts they’d encountered so far had been using night vision goggles. If they didn’t have night vision capability, they’d be almost blind without illumination. He would have expected them to have at least a couple of work lights set up with a generator. But the more he studied the situation, the more he was convinced that the vehicle was the only source of light. Which meant this wasn’t one of the main checkpoints.
Still, the bad guys were right there, and from the sounds of things, they were sticking. The headlights didn’t move, and after the initial sound of the vehicle’s doors slamming, he’d heard nothing but the idling of the engine, the crunch of footsteps, and voices speaking Spanish.
He backed up cautiously, placing each step carefully so as to avoid breaking a branch—or stepping on a snake. Crouching down next to Fuentes and Hank, while Burgess watched their rear, he whispered, “We’ve got a vehicle and what sounds like a patrol immediately to our left. How close are we to the northern entry checkpoint?”
“We should still be two kilometers from the edge of the city.” Fuentes sounded scared, though it was so dark under the trees that even on NVGs, Wade couldn’t see his expression. He could, however, see the man gripping his shotgun—which he’d had buried behind his farmhouse—nervously. The weapon was probably already illegal under Colombian gun laws—he probably wouldn’t have had time to bury it before the Green Shirts had descended on his farm. Not that Wade cared. But if Fuentes flipped out and started blasting, they’d be made, and this would get a lot more complicated.
“Maybe it’s a patrol, then. Either way, we’re way too close to the road.” He looked around, though the jungle was so close that it was hard to see more than a couple of yards. But he knew which way the road was, so they needed to keep moving south while pushing west, away from the road and the headlights.
“Let’s go.” He led out, careful to move as slowly and smoothly as he could. Each step took longer than it felt like it should have. He had to look all around and test the ground with his boot before he put his weight down.
But while the three Blackhearts had NVGs, Fuentes did not. Nor was he well-practiced in moving through the bush in a combat situation. He put his foot down on a fallen branch, which cracked loudly in the night.
Wade froze, swiveling his head to peer back toward the headlights. Maybe the sound of the engine and their conversation would mask the noise.
His hopes were dashed a moment later, as a voice was raised, calling out a challenge in Spanish. Someone had heard the branch break.
“Get down!” He kept his voice to a low hiss, quickly suiting actions to words and getting down into the roots of a towering tree, his Galil pointed back toward the glow of the headlights, now all but invisible through the vegetation. Burgess had done the same, but Fuentes was slow, and Hank grabbed him and dragged him down behind a fallen tree.
Flashlight beams flickered through the forest, and footsteps crunched in the undergrowth. More voices spoke up in rough Spanish, the Green Shirts calling to each other to ask if they’d seen anything. Wade shifted his position slightly and felt something beneath him start to give. He froze again. His weapon wasn’t in a good position to shoot the closest Green Shirt, but if he moved any farther, he was going to make noise, and those flashlights were about twenty yards away and getting closer.
He stayed perfectly still, planning every move in his head, second by second, as the Green Shirts got closer. He’d have to roll onto his back and fire between his knees. He’d put a pair into the first man, then transition to the next one to his right.
Always have a plan.
The lead Green Shirt stopped a bare ten yards away, shining his flashlight around the jungle. The cone of illumination swept across the bush, passing right over where Hank and Fuentes lay in the undergrowth.
Wade braced himself. The Galils didn’t have optics or laser sights, so he’d have to point shoot. He was offset far enough from the rest that he was confident he wouldn’t hit either Fuentes or Hank. He eased the selector lever to “R,” the semiautomatic setting.
Then another voice from back by the road called out, and the man in the lead answered with what sounded like a negative. The voice in the dark called again, sounding impatient.
The lead Green Shirt swept the undergrowth with his light once more, then turned away and headed back toward the road.
Wade let out a breath he hadn’t quite realized he’d been holding and took his finger off the trigger. That was close.
He was going to wait until
