were temporary structures obviously erected in the previous week.
They lay motionless, conserving their energy as they waited for the sun to set. Mosquitoes buzzed everywhere as dusk approached, and they were glad they’d sprayed themselves with copious quantities of insect repellent before setting out. Malaria was a regular visitor in the jungles of Central America, a joy that they would both rather avoid.
An occasional shout or exclamation of hoarse laughter floated from the camp as the men gathered for dinner; Jet counted sixteen in all. One man was clearly in charge, and she watched as the men deferred to him, two of them sitting at his table studying a map.
Darkness came slowly, and when it finally arrived, the surroundings were pitch black, as only the jungle can be. The lights from the camp, powered by the generator, stood out against the inky backdrop. They would wait until they were extinguished and the men were asleep before making a move.
Only two sentries remained outside on patrol when the rest of the group moved into the buildings for the night. They strolled around the clearing with assault rifles, clearly not expecting any trouble, which was an advantage for David and Jet. At sixteen to two odds, they would need every break they could get.
One hour rolled by, then another, and then the lights went off, except for two low-voltage bulbs mounted atop poles at either end of the grounds. The Russians were confident there were no threats, she could tell, and the sentries were sloppy, not paying attention. After all, they were in the middle of nowhere, and they were the predators.
David and Jet moved together, separating at the tree line and moving in a crouch to the perimeter. She saw him dart behind one of the parked vehicles out of the corner of her eye, and then focused on the task at hand — disabling the sentries without alerting the rest of the camp.
Her man moved towards her, twenty yards away, as she crouched by the generator, waiting for her opportunity. The noise from the motor would conceal the sound of a silenced shot, but she preferred not to chance it. A knife was better for this sort of work.
The guard tapped a cigarette out of a worn pack and was lighting it when she struck, sprinting in a flash and gripping one black-gloved hand over his head as she drove the point of her blade into the base of his skull. Blood ran down her arm as he convulsed and then dropped, dead weight, his spinal cord severed. His weapon, an American M4 rifle, fell softly onto the grass beside him.
She spun when a cry from near David’s location pierced the night, and she cursed inwardly. After a few seconds, he came running, but the damage had been done. A light went on in one of the two buildings. She bolted to the generator and pulled the pin on a grenade, tossing it next to the fuel tank, then darted back behind the SUV where David was waiting.
The explosion shattered the night, and then the compound went dark. She flipped her night vision goggles down and switched them on. David did the same.
“What happened?” she hissed.
“I was right on top of him, and he turned. Something alerted him — he must have sensed me. I’m sorry.”
“Remember. We take the leader alive,” she whispered. “Move over there. Let’s not make this too easy for them.” She pointed at another vehicle, then spun and trotted back to the smoldering wreckage of the generator.
The door of the first building burst open, and men poured out, guns sweeping wildly in search of threats. After pausing for a brief second, she sighted with her pistol and squeezed off three silenced rounds. Two of the men collapsed, tripping two others behind them whose momentum had carried them forward. The second building’s door exploded outwards with gunmen, and she saw the distinctive shape of night vision equipment on at least three of their heads. Those were the priority targets.
She heard David’s MTAR spit from behind the truck and saw the first of the men slam backwards. Jet joined him in the fray, slipping her pistol into her belt before swinging the assault rifle into play, carefully squeezing off bursts. The second night vision-equipped man’s head burst open, and he sank to the ground in a heap. Several of the Russians had taken cover behind crates or barrels, and now bullets slammed into the metal of the generator housing as they returned fire. She counted a few beats and loosed another burst, then another. More men fell, their weapons dropping uselessly by their sides.
The night vision goggles were the deciding factor. Only a few of the gunmen had them, and once they’d been taken out, the only option the remaining men had was to fire at Jet and David’s muzzle flashes — a less than ideal scenario. One by one, the Russians fell to the MTARs, the deadly rain of lead devastating them as they struggled to defend themselves.
More slugs thumped against the generator. Jet steeled herself, drew a deep breath, then scurried to the nearest truck, rolling behind an oversized tire as she blasted at the remaining gunmen. The trick now was to keep moving. All of the night vision-equipped targets had been neutralized, so the surviving men were almost blind in the black of the night. She considered tossing a grenade at them and finishing it, but that was too messy — and they needed to take at least one of them alive.
The firefight lasted another two minutes, then the camp went silent except for the sound of men dying. She caught a glimpse of David by one of the far vehicles, and he gave her a thumbs-up. Thank God, he was fine. She shouldn’t have been worried — he’d seen more than his fair share of action before moving behind the scenes, but years of desk work could dull even the most field-honed reflexes.
Motion at the back of the building caught her eye, and she spun. A survivor was running for the tree line, a pistol clenched in one hand.
She instantly leapt to her feet and raced towards him, her steps muffled against the moist ground. He seemed to sense her pursuit at the last minute and turned, pistol pointing vaguely in her direction. Without night vision gear, he was blind, she knew, but even so, as she moved closer, he could get lucky. She dropped into a crouch and gripped her SIG Sauer with both hands and fired a single shot. His leg went out from under him, and he staggered with a grunt, then squeezed off four rounds, their impact tearing at the ground around her. She fired again, and he spun, struck in the chest, and collapsed to the ground. She waited a moment. Another. Then she edged closer, wary of another shot from him.
He was moving, struggling to raise the pistol. She darted towards him, zigzagging to present a more difficult target, and then was on top of him, kicking the weapon away. She heard the distinctive sound of bones cracking, and he screamed, his hand ruined.
David reached them twenty seconds later. Jet was kneeling over the man, watching the bloodstain spread on his shirt over his left pectoral muscle. She looked up at David.
“We need the first aid kit.”
He grunted assent then turned to retrieve it.
Jet returned her attention to her captive.
“It’s over,” she said in fluent Russian, and then he passed out.
Chapter 27
When Yuri came to, he was lying in the mess area, illuminated by one of the SUV’s headlights. His men lay dead all around him, and his chest throbbed with unspeakable pain. He tried to move, but couldn’t.
A man stepped into his field of vision, and then…a woman, her hair tucked under a black knit cap. He blinked sweat out of his eyes, and then they widened in shocked recognition.
“No,” he croaked incredulously, wincing as he did so.
“I see there’s no need for introductions.” She turned to her companion. “Show him.”
David held up a syringe and stepped forward.
“Morphine. If you answer my questions, you’ll get the shot. If you don’t, I’ll make your last hour on the planet the most miserable of your life. Do you understand?” David asked in Russian.
“Yes.” The agony was unbearable, and he was having difficulty breathing. His appendages felt cold. His hand was numb, but his leg pulsed. One of them had tied a belt around his thigh to stop the bleeding.
“You’ve been hit in the chest and the leg. Believe it or not, the chest looks like you could survive it if you
