Targets of Revenge (9 page)

Once Bergenn and Raabe entered the airspace over the Lago de
Maracaibo they would circle once or even twice. After that they would set down somewhere near the beach where Sandor was heading. They knew that repeated passes along the beach at low altitude would attract unwanted attention. They also knew they could not just sit offshore for too long without someone asking questions.

What they did not know was that things had already gone terribly wrong.

A
CCORDING TO
S
ANDOR’S
rough calculations he was less than ten minutes from the shoreline south of Barranquitas. He also computed that he was more than twenty miles south of his recovery point on the beach.

Sandor drove on for another few minutes, then pulled to a stop and switched on the phone to activate the GPS. There was no longer any risk of the electronic signal revealing his whereabouts—Adina’s men did not need a satellite fix to make his position, they already knew where he was. This was their road and there were no intersections.

Sandor confirmed that he was now less than a mile from shore. By activating the device it would also give Raabe and Bergenn the first signal that his plans had changed.

He turned off the GPS, pulled out his binoculars, and had a look ahead. The trail seemed fairly straight, but the vegetation was too dense to permit any view beyond a couple of hundred yards. He climbed out of the jeep, gathered together his pack with all of its contents, then stored everything in place.

He used his knife to tear a section of cloth from the jeep’s ragtop. He opened the gas cap and forced the cloth down inside the tank with the help of a long branch he grabbed off the road. Using some vine and a couple of other broken branches, he rigged the steering wheel and the gas pedal. He tried not to put too much pressure on the accelerator, wanting the jeep to take a slow ride along the bumpy ground
until the gasoline ignited. He did his best to set the small vehicle on a straight course, lashing the vines tightly through the spokes of the steering wheel and then securing them to the interior door handles, both left and right, for maximum leverage. Then he used his lighter to set the piece of cloth hanging from the gas tank on fire, ran to the driver’s seat, and popped the jeep into gear.

He hoped the vehicle would get far enough and the explosion would be loud enough that it would get the attention of whoever was laying in wait for him at the end of the trail.

As the jeep pulled away he snatched up his weapons from the ground, then hurried off to his left into the thick of the jungle.

————

“I’ve got something,” Bergenn said.

“What’ve you got?” Raabe asked.

“It looks like he powered up his GPS for less than thirty seconds, but I’ve got a reading.”

“Thirty seconds? You’re sure it wasn’t some crossed signal?”

“No, it was him, it tied into his code.”

“So where is he?”

Bergenn punched the numbers into his tracking device. “Looks like he’s just to the west of the shoreline, south of Barranquitas.”

“Ahead of schedule and off vector. But why would he turn the GPS off if he’s trying to let us know his position?”

“I don’t know,” Bergenn said. “Maybe he figured that quick hit was enough for now. Let’s head south and see if he ties back in.”

M
OVING AS SWIFTLY
as the terrain would allow, Sandor circled north into the jungle, his MAC 10 in hand, alert to any sounds or movements ahead. With the aid of his compass he traveled in an arc that would take him toward the shore. Hopefully he would end up behind the men there.

After he made a quick check of his watch he increased his pace, counting the seconds off in his head.

Then came the explosion.

It was loud and fiery, the gas tank igniting in a concussive ball of light and noise. The blast would have to be irresistible to the men who were waiting to ambush him.

What could it mean?
they would have to wonder.
Had Adina’s men caught the intruder from behind? Had he crashed his vehicle into the trees?

Some, if not all of them, would have to go and check, which was all Sandor wanted. He would take any improvement in the odds he could get.

————

There were four men at the shore waiting for Sandor, but they were neither well-trained military personnel nor elite guards. They were drug runners, undisciplined and ruthless men who were there to pick up the latest shipment of refined cocaine, load it onto their speedboat, and take it to the next port of call.

Two of them were Mexican, two Venezuelan. They were dressed in shorts and sandals, one of them bare-chested, one in a tank top, the other two in T-shirts. They were all muscular, unshaven, and looked in need of sleep. It was barely seven and they had already been there for almost an hour. From their grumbling it was clear that this was way too early for them to be doing anything. The calls they received about the problems Adina and his men were having only added to their annoyance. They simply wanted to pick up their goods and be on their way.

The calls warned them of the approaching man and cautioned them that he was armed and dangerous. Alejandro told them of Adina’s request that the man be taken alive.

The leader of this foursome scoffed at the notion. “What about our shipment?” he asked.

“It will be coming, but there will be a delay.”

“A delay? You want us to do your dirty work for you, then you tell me about a delay?”

“We are organizing things. Just take this man and hold him for us.”

“We don’t take our orders from you.”

There was a pause. Then Alejandro said, “You will take orders from me, my friend, because you know who those orders are coming from.” He ended the call without giving the man a chance to reply.

So the four men waited, each with an automatic weapon in hand, each leaning against the side of the Fountain speedboat that had been pulled up onto the sandy shore. They were facing the opening in the jungle where the dirt road ended. It gave them a perfect vantage point for anyone emerging from the trail. There was no urgency in their attitude or position.

And then they heard the explosion.

The four of them rose as one, the leader saying, “You two, go have a look down there, see what happened.”

The two men he had pointed to stared back at him as if he were insane. “Why?” one of them asked.

“Because I told you to.”

“This isn’t our problem, man. Why the hell should we get involved?”

“Because we want to get our shipment and get the hell out of here, that’s why. If this
pendejo
blew himself up, we can let them know, maybe it’ll get things moving a little quicker.”

The man was not convinced. “This is not our fight, you agree?”

The leader shrugged. “Just see what happened, that’s all.”

The two men hesitated, then reluctantly trudged toward the opening before them.

————

Sandor reached the edge of the jungle shortly after the explosion. Standing behind a wide tropical cedar, he had a clear view of the four men. He watched as two of them hoisted their automatic weapons and marched slowly toward the trail, which was only fifty yards south of him.

There was no one else in sight.

Sandor understood that this was no time for finesse. He waited until the two advancing gunmen disappeared into the dense stand of trees, then allowed a little more time, estimating how far they would need to walk before they got near the burning jeep, before they realized there was no one there.

He reached for the .45 automatic, made sure the silencer was securely in place, then whispered to himself, “Three, two, one,” and took off at a dead run toward the two men who were facing the trail, off to his right.

The MAC 10 was in his left hand, but he used the handgun in his right instead, opening fire on the two drug runners before they even had had time to turn toward him. The silenced shots from his S&W should have kept the other two men, now somewhere along the path in the jungle, from knowing there had been an attack. Unfortunately, the leader of this motley team managed to fire off a burst from his automatic rifle as he was tumbling to the sand under the barrage of Sandor’s well-placed shots.

Sandor raced forward to ensure that both men were dead, then prepared to deal with the remaining pair. He hopped into the cockpit of the Fountain, relieved to see the key was in the ignition and lowered himself behind one of the cushioned seats.

He did not have to wait long. The other two came running back from the trail, weapons raised, then stopped in their tracks when they saw their friends facedown on the sand.

They just stood there, not knowing how to react, leaving themselves clear targets.
No discipline at all
, Sandor thought as he raised himself onto his knees and, protected by the starboard bulkhead, took out the man to his left with a fusillade from his MAC 10. Then he trained the weapon on the second man.

“Drop it or I’ll kill you where you stand,” he hollered.

The man hesitated for an instant, so Sandor encouraged him by firing several shots at his feet. The man tossed his semiautomatic rifle away with both hands and raised his arms above his head.

“What other weapons you carrying?”

“No comprendo, señor,”
the man replied.

“Really? Then I guess I’ll just have to blow your head off.”

“No, no,” the man pleaded, his comprehension suddenly enhanced as Sandor leveled the barrel of the MAC 10 at his eyes. “Here,” he said, lifting his shirt and revealing a handgun in his waistband.

“Good. Now lift it out by the handle and toss it away. Real easy,” he added.

The man did as he was told, then watched as Sandor stood.

“You’re going to kill me,” the man said.

“No,
amigo,
I need you to help me push this little dinghy out to sea.”

K
EEPING AN EYE
on his newly indentured servant, the S&W in his right hand, Sandor and the stocky Mexican managed to dislodge the Fountain speedboat from its sandy perch and slide it into the water. When the man tried to take a step back Sandor waved the gun at him.

“No, no, no. I can’t leave you behind, and I’m only going to kill you if you insist on it. Now get in the boat.” When the drug runner responded with something that was supposed to be a frightening snarl, Sandor said, “I can just shoot you in the knees and drag you aboard. Up to you.”

The man hesitated, then stepped forward, his hands on his head. Sandor spun him around, grabbed him by the collar, and pushed him ahead.

“Move,” Sandor told him, and so the Mexican scrambled over the transom, across the vinyl-covered rear deck and into the cockpit. Sandor followed, shoved the man onto his knees, and then, for good measure, smacked him across the back of the head and dropped him to the fiberglass deck.

It was time to move out.

————

Alejandro returned to the main salon. The look on his face answered the question Adina was about to ask.

“The four men on the beach, have they reported back?”

Alejandro shook his head. “Nothing. We are calling but we get no response.”

Adina permitted himself a grim smile. “This man is a professional, that much is obvious. But sent by whom?” The question was obviously rhetorical and Alejandro made no attempt to reply.

Instead he asked, “What do we do now?”

Adina ignored him. “Whoever he is, he’s very good.”

Alejandro waited.

“What was your question? Ah yes, what to do.” Adina stood and clapped his hands together, as if suddenly energized by the task ahead. “He has obviously taken out those four idiots and probably has their boat. We’ll need to call in a favor or two, see if we can track him down.”

“Should I call Caracas?”

Adina responded with a vicious scowl. “And admit that I am surrounded by incompetent buffoons? How do you think that will go for all of you? Or for me?” He shook his head in disgust. “We have a laboratory to move. Get them working on that immediately.”

“And this man . . .”

“Call our friend in Cabimas. Whoever the intruder is, he’ll head north in their speedboat, trying to escape into the gulf. We want him alive and they will want their boat back. Have Monter get on it.”

————

The Fountain is a high-speed craft built for long-haul racing and, as such, has become the vessel of choice for narcotics smugglers who need to outrun both law enforcement and rival factions. Sandor fired up the engines, the loud, throaty sound of the twin inboards quickly harmonizing in a high-pitched whine as he threw the transmission into gear and surged forward.

The bow rose as Sandor stood at the wheel, guiding the boat into the gently rolling surf. He glanced back to be sure his new companion was still facedown on the rear deck, then placed his S&W on the seat beside him. Pulling out the satellite cell phone, he powered it up again. This time he would give Raabe and Bergenn enough time to pick up his GPS signal. Meanwhile he pushed the throttle forward and turned the boat due north.

————

Cabimas is a port town on the northeasterly shore of the Lago de Maracaibo. It is a relatively busy harbor that is home to fishing boats and commercial traffic, and host to all sorts of maritime activity, legal and otherwise. The four men who had been awaiting Adina’s shipment of cocaine near Barranquitas were scheduled to return the goods here, where the product would be transferred to an airplane and flown to Mexico.

Oscar Monter, the man in charge of arranging these exchanges in Cabimas, was handed the cell phone when Alejandro called and said it was an emergency. Monter was very disappointed to learn that there was going to be a delay in receiving the scheduled shipment. He was absolutely livid to discover that his four men and boat were missing.

“What are you telling me?” Monter demanded.

Alejandro was standing in the main salon and, with one eye on Adina, calmly explained the situation.