Authors: Gary Ponzo
Trent appeared to derive strength from the chief’s presence. He reached out his hand and placed his index finger on the chief’s forehead. The two of them closed their eyes as if communicating with each other was more effective that way.
Nick could see a tear trickle out of the corner of the chief’s eye. These were emotional creatures and weren’t afraid to display their passion for one another.
The sound of helicopters approaching quickened the pace of their unique embrace.
As they broke apart, Trent looked at Nick.
“How did you find me?” he asked in a weak, raspy voice.
“We’re good at our jobs,” Nick said. “Now stay down. Jaqui is looking forward to seeing you.”
At the sound of his wife’s name, Trent seemed to choke up a bit. He leaned back and draped an arm across his face.
Kalinikov brought some rope into the tent and began securing Trent’s body to the cot. Nick followed his lead and tied the rope around Trent’s chest, while Kalinikov managed to wrap it around his thighs. Nick felt Trent’s skin and noticed it was warm. Hope.
Nick and Kalinikov carried the cot out of the tent and lifted Trent over the bridge and down a steep slope to the opening where the choppers would land.
Nick went back up the hill where the Maruto chief stood tall and watched the proceedings with great interest. Kalinikov joined Nick.
“Bow slightly from the waist,” Kalinikov instructed him.
Nick stood in front of the chief and leaned forward. A moment later the chief mirrored his stance. Their foreheads gently touched. There was a sense of unity as the rest of the Maruto tribe congregated around the pair.
The chief stood back and assessed his guest with a purposeful look. He gestured to Kalinikov.
“He says to make sure the great storyteller heals so he can tell their story,” Kalinikov translated. “He understands that the fire shooters will return with more fire. They will need our help to keep their civilization alive.”
Nick nodded with a genuine expression of appreciation. “Tell him we will do everything we can to keep his people safe from the fire shooters. Also, tell him I am grateful for his wisdom and counsel.”
Kalinikov responded with hand signals.
The chief and Kalinikov lowered their heads and stood forehead to forehead for a few seconds while the remaining Marutos chirped with delight. As Nick headed to the bridge, the Indian who’d demonstrated the blowgun technique stood in his way. For a moment Nick thought there was a problem, then he saw what the Indian held in his hand. Two thinly wrapped poison frog darts. The Indian wrapped the darts in an extra layer of leaf and extended his hand with the gift.
Nick took the darts and showed a grateful expression before placing them into his jacket pocket as a souvenir. The helicopters were hovering now and the team was already assembled in the clearing for the rescue. Once outside the natural covering of the Amazon, the rain pelted them in the open space. There was barely enough room for one helicopter to land at a time, so Nick reached the chopper just as they had secured Trent onto the medical transport stretcher inside the first helicopter.
A soldier leaned outside the opening and yelled, “Are you Agent Bracco?”
Nick nodded.
“We’re taking this patient to the hospital in Brazil,” the soldier hollered over the engine noise. “The second chopper will transport your team to Bogota.”
“Bogota?” Nick said.
As the helicopter lifted from the ground, the soldier shouted something back, but none of it was audible.
Nick looked at Matt who was crouching low from the downdraft of the helicopter’s blades. “Bogota?”
Matt yelled, “Walt doesn’t trust Santoro.”
As the first helicopter put its nose down and shred through the rain, the second helicopter gradually landed in the opening in the jungle. Nick took one last look at the Camenos’ camp and realized it was completely vacant. The Marutos had already taken to the trees and blended back into the environment. They would only be seen when they wanted to be seen.
The door slid open and five Delta Force soldiers greeted them with camouflaged gear and stoic expressions. There were no introductions as the lead soldier quickly pointed to the seats along the wall. Nick, Matt and Kalinikov strapped themselves in while the three SEALs sat across from them and did the same.
The chopper slowly lifted off the ground, tilted down and jerked forward. The helicopter seemed to bounce along the tops of the trees like it was hitting potholes, then it banked left and Nick’s stomach sloshed around with it.
Matt slapped his leg. “Good job, partner.”
Nick felt a mixture of emotions. There certainly was a sense of relief accomplishing their mission and getting out of the jungle before it was overrun with enemy guerillas, but there was something was wrong in Bogota. President Merrick was there with an army of Marines and Secret Service agents. Why in the world would they be needed there?
“Yeah,” Nick said, getting his phone out and seeing three missed messages. “We made it.”
Chapter 32
Fisk felt his phone vibrate and saw the news. He smiled at the text message from Walt Jackson:
“Trent rescued. Condition is stable. On the way to hospital in Brazil. Get out!”
Fisk gave a quick fist pump, then walked over to Santoro’s bathroom door and knocked. “Mr. President!” he shouted.
Nothing.
Fisk banged harder this time.
Nothing.
Fisk’s heartbeat quickened. All kinds of bad thoughts rummaged through his mind. He backed away from the door and gestured to the closest Secret Service agent.
“Open this thing,” Fisk ordered.
There was no protocol for such a request, but with the president out of sight, the agent didn’t wait for permission. He reared back and kicked the door with his right foot and watched the structure swing open.
The room was empty.
The two Secret Service agents shoved Fisk aside and rushed into the vacant bathroom, scouring the walls and floors for an exit. There was a door opposite the entrance which was probably checked prior to Merrick’s visit, but the Secret Service had already secured the dead bolt lock. They were making sure no one could have access to the room, but they weren’t looking for an exit strategy for an obsessive president who was prepared to risk his life for his only brother.
One of the agents reexamined the lock. He twisted the doorknob and the door swung open easily, without the use of force. Wherever Merrick went, he went willingly. Fisk followed the two agents out the door and into an underground garage. He translated a sign on the wall that said, “Employee Parking.”
“Shit,” Fisk shouted. He didn’t have to give any more instructions to the Secret Service, they were already on their wireless headsets barking out orders to the rest of the security team surrounding the complex.
Fisk marched back into Santoro’s office and pointed a finger at the Colombian president. “You son of a bitch. Where did they go?”
Santoro had the innocent expression of a five-year-old child caught playing in a forbidden playground. “I only gave him the phone,” Santoro shrugged. “I couldn’t possibly know what they were discussing.”
Fisk had no time to dole out punishment. He scowled at the small man as he ran out of the office while pulling out his phone. As he did, he couldn’t subdue a last minute burst of anger brewing inside.
Fisk stopped to look back at Santoro and said, “Get your good-byes in order.”
* * *
“He’s gone!” Fisk screamed over the speakerphone in Walt Jackson’s office.
At first Walt didn’t comprehend how President Merrick could be missing with the entourage they’d sent down to Colombia. Dutton, Riggs and Walt were on their feet leaning over the desk, while Stevie Gilpin worked feverishly on the computer terminal.
“Where’s the satellite?” Riggs asked the tech.
“Out of range,” Stevie said. “I’m getting the Zephyr in position right now.”
“Sam, what the fuck happened down there?” Riggs hollered.
There was some exterior noise over the speaker. Fisk was getting information from the Secret Service. After a couple of quick bursts of orders, Fisk returned to the phone.
“He took a call from Moreno in Santoro’s office. I didn’t hear the conversation, but I’m guessing Moreno was giving him instructions on how to get out of there. John went to the bathroom and a few minutes later we broke the door down and he’d already left.”
“How?” Riggs asked. “Wasn’t it inspected first?”
“Yes, it was secured from outside entry, but they didn’t know John was the one who’d be breaking out.”
“Why would he do that?” Walt asked.
“This is my fault,” Fisk said, his tone forceful. “John was not in his right mind. He was willing to give himself up in exchange for Trent. I was stupid for letting him in that room by himself. I should’ve . . .”
Fisk’s voice drifted off, but Walt Jackson had been in enough of these situations to know to forget the past. You could always analyze your mistakes later, but right now they needed to focus on the mission.
“Where’s that drone?” Walt barked.
Stevie clicked his mouse several times. The image on the monitor blurred as the drone travelled at maximum speed across the Colombian sky.
“Almost there,” Stevie said. “Can I get some data?”
“Sam,” Walt said. “Do you have a description of the vehicle he left in?”
Fisk was already in discussions with other people as Walt tried to get his attention. They could hear Fisk yelling, “What color was it?”
There was some static, then, “Black sedan,” Fisk said through the speaker. “Black sedan. Maybe a Mercedes.”
“Got it,” Walt said, looking over Stevie’s shoulder to search for a black sedan. The screen was just now beginning to clear up and the drone’s camera was broadcasting the aerial view of the countryside just outside of Casa de Nariño. The facility was surrounded by a black iron gate and a driveway which spilled out into the streets of downtown.
At one time the Marines must’ve had the place surrounded, back when they were looking for outside dangers to their visiting president, but now they were spread out in a frenzy. Some were swarming any vehicle on the premises and ordering passengers out of their cars, rifles pointed. Others ran into their escort vehicles, Hummers and Cadillac SUVs, and smoked the tires as they sped out of the complex. The Marines and Secret Service task force had gone from a security detail to a hostile takeover in a matter of moments.
As the first Hummer reached the entrance, it smashed through the gate so hard it knocked down the two guards protecting the Colombian president’s residence. Their bodies flew to the ground and stayed there without moving.
“There it is!” Stevie shouted, pointing the curser at a black sedan fishtailing down a side street a half mile from the complex.
“Follow it,” Walt ordered.
There was a buzz in Walt’s office as they tracked the sedan, Stevie telling Fisk exactly where to send the first Hummer as he choreographed the chase. A second Hummer was close behind them. They watched the scene play out on the monitor while fidgeting and uttering expletives as the Hummer gained on the sedan.
“It’s heading toward the woods,” Walt said, pointing to a heavily wooded area just east of the complex.
The sedan accelerated through a red light just missing a small two-seater as the driver hit the brakes and skidded into a half turn, stopping lame in the middle of the intersection. The sedan climbed up on the curb now, knocking over a newspaper dispenser and fishtailing through a sharp right turn down an alley.
The Hummer barely slowed past the spun two-seater and squeezed into the alley just in time to find the sedan jump across two lanes of traffic and slam into a parked car before turning left against traffic causing a pileup at the first intersection.
The second Hummer was already shooting down the main thoroughfare to gain a strategic advantage should the sedan decide to flee for the woods. But that’s not what happened next. The sedan stopped down the middle of a side street, the car bucking to a quick halt and two men in the front and three in the backseat came rushing out of the car and headed up the steps into a house, or apartment complex. All the red roofs tended to blend into one another and it was hard to tell whether they were connected or just shared walls.
All five men wore army fatigues but for one man from the backseat who wore a dark suit and was pulled out of the vehicle and pushed into a building in the middle of the street.
“Merrick,” Walt breathed out the words as they lost visual contact.
There was a beep on the speakerphone line. A digital display allowed them to see the incoming call.
“That’s General Henning,” Stevie said, recognizing the coded phone number.
“Conference him in,” Walt said.
Stevie tapped a button on the phone’s base station and a new stream of static was added to the speaker.
“General, this is Marty,” Riggs said. “Where are you?”
“The black Cadillac SUV,” came a gruff military voice. “We’re heading east on Seventh Street.”
“Give me a sign,” Riggs said, searching the monitor.
Suddenly a large black vehicle began to swerve side-to-side while speeding down an east-bound street.
“Got you,” Riggs said.
Stevie gave General Henning instructions and watched as the thirty-five-year veteran put his team into motion, encircling the building where they spied the fleeing guerrillas. Now the entire complex was completely surrounded by the United States military personnel and the atmosphere in Walt’s office became only slightly less anxious.
Stevie maneuvered the drone to stay with the scene. Other military vehicles began to arrive, Colombian soldiers integrated with the American task force.
Fisk’s voice said, “I’m here now. Santoro had his hand in this. Their soldiers aren’t necessarily here to help.”
“General,” Marty said. “Do not allow these Colombians to have any intel about your operation. Use them to secure a perimeter and keep the civilians away from the area. Nothing more.”
“Agreed,” Henning returned.
The four of them watched the monitor, waiting for something good to happen. Riggs paced. Dutton sat at the edge of Walt’s desk. Walt leaned over Stevie’s shoulder and battled a racing heartbeat.