Authors: Ross Sidor
Avery sighted
on the exposed soft spot a couple inches beneath Trujillo’s armpit, unprotected
by the armored vest, visible with his arm raised, and hit the trigger.
The bullet went clean
through, penetrating a lung, exploding inside, sending fragments throughout
Trujillo’s chest cavity, into ribs and arteries. Trujillo’s whole body shuddered
and jerked, and then went limp, his finger slipping from his own trigger before
he finally let go of the Uzi.
Without taking
his eyes off Trujillo, Avery carefully eased himself back up onto his feet.
Each time he inhaled too deeply, he felt a blunt pain pressing on his sternum,
like someone was sitting on the chest. He kept his rifle trained on the inert
figure lying in the shed as he approached.
Through narrowed
eyes, Trujillo stared up at Avery, who towered over him. The Peruvian coughed
and wheezed. He bled through the wound in his side, and little bloody bubbles
formed between his lips when he exhaled. More blood poured through the hole
under his armpit, and his jeans were soaked. His body convulsed and twitched as
he struggled to bring air into his collapsed, blood-filled lungs, and when he
spoke, his voice was weak and barely audible.
Avery thought he
heard Trujillo say, “You are Carnivore?”
Avery frowned,
looked around to make sure no one else was there, and stepped in a little
closer, tilting his ear toward the wounded man.
“She hoped you’d
co-”
Avery fired once
through the center of Trujillo’s face.
Then he swept
his surroundings for additional targets before slipping a hand beneath his vest
to feel his own body for blood or holes. He was okay. Nothing went through, but
it hurt like hell.
Taking high,
wide steps over the bodies, Avery entered the shed and aimed his rifle down the
shaft into the tunnel. It appeared clear, other than the dead Mexican at the
bottom of the ladder. He listened several seconds longer and heard nothing.
Holding the M4 in his right hand, he gripped the ladder behind him with his
left hand so that he faced forward as he descended into the shaft. Three
fourths of the way down, he jumped the rest of the way.
The tunnel was
long and looked like it could go on forever. Avery couldn’t even see the other
end. The walls were made of plywood, about five feet apart. The floor was
cement, with a built-in drainage system. Candescent light bulbs were set
overhead, spaced about twenty feet apart
.
There was total silence; no echoes of
footfalls or voices from the other end.
Avery started
down the tunnel.
He made it
fifteen feet in when all the lights shut off, blanketing the entire length of
tunnel in deep, impenetrable darkness. He stopped and waited a couple seconds,
hoping for the light to come back, and swore softly under his breath when it
didn’t. He hadn’t brought his night sight. He had a mini flashlight on his
vest, but if there was anyone else down here with him, the light would give him
away before he spotted them.
He tried to
reach Aguilar, but his radio didn’t work down here, and there was only static.
It was too dark
for his eyes to even partially acclimatize, with absolutely no natural light
filtering through from anywhere, but the tunnel ran in a straight line, so he
kept his head low, shoulders packed, and continued forward, taking slow, light
steps to limit the sound of his footfalls. He kept the rifle extended in front
of him, gently probing the darkness with the barrel.
He took deep,
slow breaths through his nose to keep his body oxygenated and limit anxiety.
His heart pounded against his chest. The body naturally went into a panic mode
when abruptly placed in an unfamiliar environment, deprived of its senses. The
darkness itself didn’t bother him. His concern was if someone managed to slip
through the tunnel from either end without him hearing it.
Moving forward,
the only thing he heard was the sound of his own breathing, and occasionally
his foot kicking a loose rock or other piece of errant debris. Time dragged by
slowly, and he felt like he was walking with no end sight, but he reminded
himself that the actual time span was much shorter than it felt.
Finally, a small
sliver of sunlight appeared in front of him, somewhere far and deep into the darkness.
It became slowly larger as he drew nearer, and he realized it was coming from
the opened space at the top of the north side shaft.
When he was
about seventy feet away, there was enough lighting for his vision to gradually
restore. When he reached the end of the tunnel, the sudden intensity of the
sunlight burned the photoreceptors of his dilated eyes, and he averted his
glare downwards until his pupils adjusted accordingly.
Avery had no
idea what he’d find on the surface, but he knew the shaft led outside, not into
another structure, and he imagined the California landscape to be much the same
as the Mexican side of the border. But how many men were up there? From the
helicopter, he’d seen at least two, including the woman, enter the shed. And
they’d hopefully have their arms full with the launchers. They’d have to have
transportation arranged on this side of the border, so that could mean additional
men, but hopefully they’d be in the process of loading the vehicles.
Avery tried to
get Aguilar on the radio again, but there was still interference.
He fastened the
M4 to his vest and drew his Glock, since the former was too large and cumbersome
to ascend the ladder and exit the shaft while maintaining a defensive position
and retaining the ability to move and shoot quickly.
He slowly and
cautiously scaled the ladder, stopping just two feet short from the top to cock
his head and listen, but he heard only the wind, and he wondered if the Viper
had already slipped away again.
After climbing
the rest of the way through the shaft, feeling the warm, dry air on his face,
Avery saw flat open terrain in one direction, leading into nearby low hills
blanketed by dry grass and weeds. Beyond the hills was an empty two lane road.
When he started
to step clear of the shaft and turn right, bringing up the Glock, he felt a
hand grab onto his shoulder from behind, drawing him in. He detected the scent
of a female. Before he could react, something punched him low in his left side.
It wasn’t hard or painful, but it was sharp and long, and it went through his
body on an upward angle beneath his vest.
Avery gasped.
Adrenaline coursed through his body on full flow, masking the pain, but he felt
hot, flush, and lightheaded. He stumbled three more steps forward before
falling over onto his right side. The Glock fell out of his hands and skittered
across the dusty ground, landing well out of reach.
The handle of
the Kizlyar tactical knife jutted out from beneath his side, more than half of
the seven inch blade buried inside his body. He felt the piece of steel inside
him—it felt hot—and knew better than to try to pull it out. His body shook a
little, and blood soaked the bottom of his shirt. His mind went into overdrive,
visualizing the placement of the blade in relation to vital organs and
picturing the effects on his body and the treatment this would require, if he
made it to that point, and the possible impurities being carried through his
blood right now.
“It’s you. I
remember you from Panama.” There was surprise and excitement in the Viper’s
voice. “How many more are coming through that tunnel after you?”
Avery stared at
the Glock on the ground, barely hearing the Viper’s words. He reached out a
trembling hand for the pistol. His fingertips just barely graced it, an inch
too far, and then a boot kicked the Glock an additional eight feet away.
“No, no. Don’t
worry. You won’t need that. I promise.”
The Viper
crouched over Avery, straddling him. Her hair fell in his face. She removed the
M4 from his vest, and tossed it aside. Then, before getting back up, she pushed
the knife a little deeper into his body and gave it a swirl.
Avery screamed
like a madman. He clasped both his hands around one of Moreno’s ankles as she
got up, but his grip felt very weak, and she effortlessly broke her leg free
and kicked him hard in the face, knocking his head back and opening a gash
across his forehead.
“We have to
leave now!” a new voice shouted, commanding the Viper’s attention.
The voice caught
Avery’s attention, too. He’d been unaware of anyone else present until now. He craned
his head around, recalling what the interrogated Zeta said about the Viper being
accompanied by a white man who spoke like a North American.
A tall, fit
white man stood near one of two vans. The crew door was open, and inside, Avery
saw the SA-24 launchers laid out on a tarp. Nearby, a Mexican—another cartel
shooter—lay on the ground with the back of his head blown away.
“Do you know who
this man is?” the Viper asked Mirsad Sidran.
“I do not give a
damn, woman. He is not important. Do not forget the mission.”
The Viper
kicked Avery in the head again. He took the blow and felt ready to pass out. He
struggled to stay awake, fought the urge to shut his eyes and drift off. He
thought he heard Aguilar’s voice, telling him they were on their way to his
location, and it took him a couple seconds to realize it was the receiver in
his ear and not an auditory hallucination. Aguilar was asking him to
acknowledge, to respond if he was okay, but Avery couldn’t speak.
“Cover the
tunnel,” the Viper ordered Sidran.
The Bosnian Quds
Force operative scowled. He started to protest, but then understanding and
agreeing with the Viper’s concern, he cautiously approached the tunnel entrance.
He pulled a grenade from his vest and, after plucking the pin with his teeth,
dropped it into the shaft and threw the hatch shut. The explosion sounded a
second later.
“Kill him now
,
and be done with it,” Sidran shouted to the Viper. “We are running out of
time.”
“He’s coming
with us,” the Viper said. “I am going to enjoy this and make it last a very
long time.” To Avery, she shouted, “Get up!” and drove the tip of her boot
between his legs. Avery jolted, the kick temporarily waking him back up, as
well as sending new waves of pain coursing from his groin to his abdomen. “I
said, up!”
When he attempted
to stand, Avery became immediately nauseous and unbalanced as the world spun
rapidly around him in a haze, and dots speckled his vision. He made it halfway
up before dropping onto his knees and vomiting. There was blood in the bile. He
fell forward and reached out to catch himself, his hand pressing into the hot,
sticky bloody puke.
The Viper kicked
him in the side as he wretched. He fell over this time, like deadweight,
landing a little closer to the Glock. It was within five feet of his face, but
it may as well have been a mile away for the exertion it would require to grab
it, and he possessed neither the strength nor energy.
She squatted
over him again, resting on her haunches. She grabbed onto his hair with one
hand and tugged, lifting his head so that she could see into his eyes, which
were now vacant and glossy. He stared past her at the white man.
Mirsad Sidran,
up until now a spectator, stared far past the Viper and her captive. Something
far out near the horizon commanded his attention. He lifted his binoculars to
his eyes and saw the ATVs rolling across the desert. Helicopters hovered in the
air. Sidran lowered the binoculars and glanced back to the Viper as she taunted
the wounded American, completely oblivious to the oncoming Border Patrol units.
Sidran sighed. Well,
he’d always expected that it would come down to this.
Looking past the
Viper, Avery’s gaze stayed on Sidran as he reached into the open van to
retrieve an AK-74.
“Behind you,”
Avery breathed into the Viper’s ear, almost choking. His mouth and throat were
dry and tasted of vomit. “Look behind you.”
The Viper
frowned, and then her mind put the pieces together within the next millisecond.
She released her grip on Avery, letting him fall to the ground. She spun around
while bringing up the VSS into firing position, and reflexively sidestepped to
the left as Sidran’s single shot whipped past her. He didn’t get a second
chance.
The Viper’s
first shot caught Sidran through the center of his chest. He gasped and staggered
back against the van. His arms dropped with the AK. The Viper took another step
closer, and this time shot Sidran low in the gut. He released the rifle, and
then slid down the side of the van until he sat on the ground. The next bullet
went through his groin He grimaced, but he didn’t utter a sound, knowing that the
pain would end very soon.
The Viper
elevated her aim several degrees, stopping when her sights passed over Sidran’s
contorted face. She paused, allowing him to wither in agony for several seconds.
He stared at her in indignant shock, his mind unable to fathom how this woman,
an unbeliever at that, had possibly bested him, but he supposed it didn’t
matter. In his physical body’s last breaths of life, his mind was a thousand
miles away as he made peace with his God and accepted his failure.
Eight feet
behind the Viper’s back, Avery shivered. Despite the sun baking him, he felt so
cold, and weak, but he forced his body to move, telling himself that it might
be for the last time so he might as well try. He reached out with one hand and
dragged his weight toward the Glock. He didn’t believe he’d make it, but he
wasn’t going to lay here and do nothing.