Ready to Kill (10 page)

“Thanks, sergeant. Did our man have NV goggles when you intercepted him?”

“No, sir.”

“Do you have a spare set?”

“Yes, sir, we always carry extras.” Lyle motioned to one of his men. The recon came over and took a knee. Lyle accessed the man’s pack and pulled out a pair of goggles—an expensive gift. “Do you have plenty of ammo? Do you want anything else? Some stun or frag grenades? We’ve also got a couple of Claymores.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea, but we don’t have a lot of backpack space. We’ll take a few stuns and frags. They might come in handy.”

Back at Estefan’s position, Nathan handed him the goggles and gave the explosives to Harv.

“Nice,” Harv said, packing them away.

“Okay, we’re bugging out. How far is your truck?”

“About a mile to the south.”

“Lyle’s team is going to escort us.”

Estefan adjusted the NV visor to fit his head.

Nathan nodded at Estefan’s hip. “Your handgun isn’t suppressed.”

“Understood.”

“Okay, let’s move out.”

They shook hands with Lyle and his men and started down the mountain to the south. Nathan hadn’t asked how Lyle and his men were going to be extracted. It wasn’t something he needed to know and asking would’ve been inappropriate. He had no doubt the recons would exit Nicaragua as covertly as they’d entered.

Nathan and Harv maintained a five-yard separation; Estefan followed twenty yards behind. Even though they had a recon escort, they’d still make a stealthy approach to Estefan’s pickup. The passage of the two trucks ten minutes earlier had probably been harmless, but it was tactically sound to remain on high alert. One or more men could’ve exited the vehicles and set up an ambush. Nathan thought that scenario was unlikely, but he didn’t rule it out.

Nathan logged a mental note to thank Cantrell for the support. Finding the marines had been a pleasant surprise, and their presence reflected favorably on Cantrell’s commitment to get them in and out of Nicaragua safely. Although they wouldn’t see or hear Lyle’s team now, knowing it was back there felt good.

Once they reached a cellular signal closer to Managua, he’d contact Cantrell using the phone she’d supplied and give her a complete update. He’d also ask her to thoroughly look into Paulo Macanas. With a little luck, the CIA might have a file on him. The murder of Estefan’s father—seemingly for educating the miners on basic safety precautions—didn’t seem reasonable. Something else had to be going on. Could Estefan’s father be connected to Macanas? If so, how? He hoped the letters in Estefan’s house would give them some answers.

He had his reservations about helping Estefan, but as long as he and Harv stayed in a support role only, their presence down here should remain secret. Cantrell had told them not to engage, but her meaning could be loosely translated into not to
actively
engage. As of now, their plan was to retrieve Pastor Tobias’s letters before heading to Estefan’s office for the topos and aerials. They couldn’t plan much more until they had a better picture of the situation. Harv’s point was well taken regarding the townsfolk not wanting to betray their employer, but there had to be somebody willing to talk.

Nathan pushed his thoughts aside. For the moment, he needed to focus on getting off this mountain safely. Although the undergrowth wasn’t as thick on north-facing slopes, he maintained a slow, deliberate pace. It was easier to miss footholds going downhill. Most of the exposed rock was covered with moss and quite slippery.

As it happened, it wasn’t the footing that stopped them.

Without warning, the forest erupted all around.

CHAPTER 14

A loud growl followed by a snarling yelp came from directly over Nathan’s head.

What the hell!

“Harv, get down!” He instinctively dropped into the ferns and brought his Sig up.

He toggled the laser and aimed into the tree directly above him but saw nothing in the green image of his goggles.

A single voice became two, then tripled, and tripled again. Within five seconds, the entire area echoed with obnoxious grunting and barking. It sounded like a pack of rabid Rottweilers right on top of him.

His mind took a second or two to process the sounds.

Nathan looked upslope and saw Harv put Estefan on hold.

Harv’s voice came through his ear speaker.
“Howler monkeys. An entire family unit.”

“So much for our stealth.”

Nathan remained motionless, still recovering from the shock. The monkeys’ din sounded like something out of a demented haunted house filled with screaming psychopaths. It gradually ebbed, then stopped altogether. The ensuing silence lasted a few seconds before the insects, birds, and frogs started up again. Nathan shook his head in awe at the exotic environment. He wished this place didn’t hold such bitter memories.

At a small stream at the bottom of the mountain, Nathan took a knee and motioned for Harv and Estefan to advance.

Keeping his voice low, Estefan said, “Those howlers are crazy. I’ve heard them a lot, but it still freaks me out.”

Nathan acknowledged and asked Estefan to take point for the final leg. As Estefan led them, Nathan watched his former student closely but didn’t see anything alarming about his technique. The man hadn’t lost his edge. He seemed acutely aware of his surroundings while being careful where to step. He was also cautious to avoid letting the undergrowth snap back after pulling it aside. If Estefan had traversed along this stream on his way up to alpha, Nathan saw no signs of it.

After a hundred yards or so, Estefan issued a form-up signal. Harv and Nathan joined him.

“My pickup is just ahead. I drove up this stream. It’s around the next bend. I cut some branches to conceal it. There’s no place to turn around, so I’ll have to back out to the road. It’s a little tricky in one place where the rocks are bigger, but I shouldn’t have a problem. It’s a four-wheel drive.”

“We’ll stay on your six. When Harv and I reach your truck, we’ll keep going and scout the road. We’ll climb in down there.”

Estefan smiled. “I’m glad I bought a crew cab.”

“Yeah, me too,” Nathan said. “Stay dark and use the NVGs to drive.”

“The brake and reverse lights will come on. There’s no way to prevent it unless we break the bulbs.”

“I think we’ll be okay. After you reach your truck, give us a few minutes before you start backing out. Harv, give Estefan one of our spare radios. It’s preset to our frequency, but it’s not wired for stealth. We’ll do that later. I’ll give you a heads-up if I want you to stop for any reason.”

“Just like old times,” Estefan said.

Nathan and Harv reached the concealed truck and kept going. Well screened behind the cut branches, the vehicle appeared to be a fairly recent-model Ford. They couldn’t see its color with the NV, but it wasn’t overly bright. A minute or so later, they heard Estefan toss the cut branches aside and open the truck’s door. Nathan glanced back to make sure Estefan had disabled the cab’s dome lights—he had.

If all went well, they’d be on their way toward Managua in a few minutes. Nathan wished he could thank the marines again, but Lyle and his men would remain concealed. One thing was certain—they couldn’t have missed the howler monkeys. Hell, anyone within a half-mile radius had heard them.

The stream followed a sweeping left turn, and they lost sight of the truck.

“Should we leave our face paint on?” Harv asked.

“At least until the sun comes up.”

“What do you think about Estefan’s situation?”

“We’ll help him, but we can’t get too involved. We’ll be unsupported from this point, and I don’t want to kill anyone just to avoid being taken into custody. That wouldn’t sit right with me. If we help Estefan, we’ll have to trust him with our lives—there’s no way around it.”

“I think he’s already proven himself.”

Nathan didn’t respond. He hadn’t realized until he’d said it aloud how much they’d be depending on Estefan from here on. If things spiraled out of control, they could always bolt and work their way north into Honduras, but that could take weeks. A helicopter ride from the US Navy would be infinitely preferable.

“I trust Estefan,” Nathan said. “I don’t think he’s hiding anything from us, and I don’t think he’s been dishonest.”

“Me either. Here’s our road.”

Their Nicaraguan “highway” was a single-lane dirt track that looked as primitive as any they’d ever seen. In some places, it might be possible for two vehicles to pass each other—barely. They weren’t getting any sleep in Estefan’s crew cab. Its potholed surface was going to rattle their fillings. A ten-foot-wide swath filled with rocks channeled the stream across the road. Two sets of muddy tire tracks trailed away from the stream toward Managua. Nathan turned his NV to maximum gain and looked in both directions. He hadn’t expected to see any headlight glow and didn’t.

They looked toward the sound when Estefan started his truck; it had the unmistakable drone of a diesel engine.

“NV off,” Nathan said. They needed to protect the phosphorescent screens inside their devices.

Half a minute later, the bright glare from the pickup’s reverse lights reflected off the water as it came into view. After their friend maneuvered onto the road, Harv climbed in next to Estefan and Nathan slid into the back, taking the middle position of the bench seat from which he could see the road ahead. Nathan turned his NV back on, and just like that, they were leaving the area.

“Leave your headlights off. NV only until the sun comes up,” Nathan said. “It’s tempting to use the AC, but let’s leave the windows down.”

“These goggles are awesome,” Estefan said. “Can I keep them?”

“They’re yours.”

The truck jolted, and Nathan’s head nearly hit the cab’s roof. He hoped the road improved soon. Enduring several hours of this would grate on his nerves. In another hour or so, morning twilight would be in full effect. Although Nathan had a modest tan, his skin was significantly lighter than the locals. He’d use the brown paint stick to darken his complexion. He could also slump down in the seat to conceal his size. The tinted rear windows helped. Harv wouldn’t need face paint—the Latino half of his genes was dominant. Nathan wasn’t overly concerned. As long as they didn’t have any close contact with law enforcement during their drive south, they’d be okay.

“What do you know about the Central American summit next week?” he asked Estefan.

Cantrell had told them not to share anything they’d discussed prior to coming down here, but bringing the subject up couldn’t hurt as long as he didn’t mention any specifics.

“A lot actually. Why do you ask?”

“I’m just curious.” Nathan saw Harv shift his weight.

“It’s not common knowledge, but it’s going to be focused on the gold industry and its growth in the region. There’s more gold in Nicaragua than most people know. A lot more, actually. According to my best estimates, I think there’s five to six million ounces fairly close to the surface in Atlántico Norte alone. Most of the world’s gold remains undiscovered or unreachable. We’re probably finding less than a tenth of a percent of it.”

“Why is the summit happening in Managua and not Bogotá or Caracas?”

“President Torres arranged it, and he’s footing the bill. There’s prestige associated with hosting the summit. He also wants to put everyone on notice that Nicaragua intends to be a player. We’ve already secured some big leases, and there are more in the works. The reemergence of gold mining has triggered concerns that South American countries with bigger mining operations, like Colombia and Venezuela, will try to corner the market in this part of the world. Torres doesn’t want Nicaragua to lag behind.”

“So by hosting the summit, Torres is telling the gold industry that Nicaragua isn’t going to be bullied by the larger-producing countries.”

“Yeah, that’s basically it. We’ll never be able to compete with super producers like the US, Canada, and China, but we can compete with South America. We also don’t have all the red tape.”

Harv asked, “You’re talking about environmental concerns?”

“We’re not irresponsible when it comes to the permitting process, but it doesn’t take years and dozens of costly studies either. Labor costs are significantly lower. It’s easier and more cost effective to set up shop down here.”

They rode in silence for a few miles.

Millions of ounces of gold?
It seemed surreal. Nathan hadn’t given it much thought before now, but that kind of money had to invite corruption. And probably did.

“We need to find out where Macanas lives,” Nathan said. “If Raven’s a gun for hire, there’s a good possibility he’s working for the man.”

“It’s not a coincidence all the sniper murders are in or around Santavilla,” Estefan said. “Think about it. The man who ran Macanas’s lumber mill was murdered, and the mill suddenly started producing again. My father was murdered, because he was trying to help the miners who work at Macanas’s sites. A helicopter comes and goes regularly from Santavilla. It’s not hard to figure out what’s being taken out of there. All roads lead to Macanas. If we find him, we’ll find Raven.”

“Is there any way you can discreetly ask your lunch partner in the police department for an address? Do you know him well enough?”

“I can try, but he’ll want to know why I’m asking.”

“Yeah, you’re right. It’s a red flag. My instinct says hold off on doing that for now. If word gets back to Macanas that Estefan Delgado is asking about his personal information, bad things will happen. If we run out of options, you can talk to your police friend as a last resort. We may be able to make that work for us, not against. You said you’ve already mentioned your father’s murder to him, but you didn’t name any suspects, did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Then so far, no one knows you’re Tobias’s son. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“There are people in Santavilla who know, but they have no reason to mention me. From what I remember reading in my father’s letters, they don’t like Macanas much even though he gives them work.”

After a few seconds Nathan said, “Pull over at the next open store or roadside stand you see. We all need food. Harv and I haven’t eaten much since yesterday. We’d prefer to save the MREs we brought with us. We’ll wait in your truck. Grab a case of bottled water too.”

Over the next half hour, Nathan watched the landscape gradually brighten, revealing the forest’s true nature—a mixture of every shade of green imaginable. The landscape looked similar to that of other tropical forests. Every so often they passed a rusting sheet-metal hut or decaying barn, but there was no sign of human presence. Small farms and ranches lined the road, but from the look of things, most of these people lived in abject poverty.

“It’s getting pretty light out,” Nathan said. “We should change clothes and remove our face paint.”

Nathan pulled Harv’s clothes from his backpack and handed them forward. Both of them swapped their MARPATs for cargo shorts, T-shirts, and flip-flops. Aside from their height, they ought to blend into the civilian population fairly well. Bill Stafford had made the wardrobe suggestions based on what the majority of Nicaraguan locals wore. Blue jeans were popular but bulkier, and they had limited space in their backpacks. Although they hadn’t anticipated needing civilian clothes, they were glad they’d brought them. Nathan also applied a fair amount of brown skin paint in an effort to darken his skin and cover the contours of his facial scars.

Finally, Estefan made the right turn onto a much better road. Its surface, although rough, looked to be regularly bladed by a road grader. They drove through village-like pockets of civilization where no more than several dozen people lived, while other towns looked to be home to several hundred. None of them qualified as cities in the traditional definition. Unfortunately, none of the places where they could buy food were open yet. Their hunger would have to wait. Nathan expected Santavilla to look similar to one of these towns. Most of them had churches, general stores, small shops, taverns, cafes, and painted-plywood roadside stands.

Nathan kept checking his cell, but it didn’t register a strong signal yet. They were still in a predominately rural area. He didn’t want to make a call to Cantrell until they had at least two bars of coverage. Nathan was sure he’d get a better signal further south. Until then, Cantrell would have to wait. The delay turned out to be fairly short. Fifteen miles closer to Managua, his phone picked up three bars.

“We’ve got coverage, but it may not last,” Nathan said. “Estefan, see if you can find a place to pull over where Harv and I can get out without drawing too much attention.”

“I’ll turn onto a side road and drive a safe distance away from the highway.”

“Sounds good.”

“Harv, will you grab my cell from the glove box?”

“Hey, no texting and driving,” Nathan said.

“I never do,” Estefan said. “I’ll check it when you guys climb out to make your call.”

Estefan found a good spot and made the turn. Barbed wire lined both sides of the road, but no animals were present. The primitive dirt track didn’t show any signs it had been used since the last rain.

“There doesn’t appear to be any place to turn around. How far do you want me to go?”

“The road curves to the left in that valley up ahead. We don’t want to drive into someone’s front yard. Let’s go another five hundred yards. Backing out to the highway shouldn’t be a problem.”

“For who?” Estefan said with a smile.

Although their friend was emotionally frayed, he seemed to be in good spirits. Nathan didn’t want to ruin the mood by talking about the difficulty of what Estefan planned to do, but sooner or later, Nathan would need to reaffirm they didn’t have unlimited time down here to conduct a prolonged surveillance of Macanas’s gold-mining operations. At this point, they didn’t even know where the guy lived. If Macanas possessed the kind of wealth Estefan suspected, he probably owned several homes. Unless Estefan had a reliable source within law enforcement, they’d have to rely on Cantrell, and if she couldn’t produce anything on Macanas, they’d have to start from scratch and learn what they could from people who lived in Santavilla. Nathan didn’t like their odds.