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  His timing perfect, he drove across the wooden bridge at 1955 hours. He wanted to roll into town just as the general store closed. The town looked asleep, no activity to be seen. No doubt the peasants were well into their marijuana and moonshine.

  At Tobias’s church, a pit bull mix wandered into the street—he’d seen the dog before. If Tobias had been feeding it prior to his death, no one seemed to have assumed the job. The emaciated animal stopped and stared, its eyes pleading. Franco eased off the gas and rolled the passenger window down. The dog cringed and backed up a step.

  “Easy boy, it’s your lucky evening.” He tossed his barbecued pork sandwich out the window. The animal flinched, then sniffed the air. It ran to the sandwich and consumed it in several violent chomps. Franco had planned to eat the sandwich on the way back to Managua later tonight, but this poor creature needed it more than he did. The dog looked up as if to thank him before retreating back toward the church.

  Not wanting to draw attention, Franco applied just enough gas to keep the Range Rover moving. The Perezes’ general store was just ahead on the right. In twenty more meters, he ought to be able to see the store’s side door. He had the sensation of being watched from the windows of every building lining the street but dismissed it as paranoia. No one was around. This town’s collective light switch was flipped off after 1900 hours.

  He saw her then—a bluish-white blur at the right edge of his vision. Just after his Range Rover passed the local tavern, she’d dashed from the general store’s side door toward the rear of the building in hopes of not being seen.

  Nice try, sweetheart. Franco peeled around the corner into the vacant lot south of the store and spotted her in the gap between the two Conex containers the Perezes used for dry storage. She jerked her head back, but it was too late. Scratching the tires, he accelerated across the vacant lot. He didn’t want to make it too easy, but he didn’t want to lose sight of her either.

  He skidded to a stop just short of the containers. In a fluid move he slid out, swung the door closed, and hit the lock button on the remote. The Range Rover chirped in response.

  He circled to the far side of the containers just in time to see her hop the chain-link fence and take off in a full sprint toward the river. Oh, no you don’t.

  She had a good head start, but she’d never outrun him. Her only hope of evading him would be to reach the cover of the trees and hide in the undergrowth. Her odds weren’t too bad, because the deepening twilight worked to her advantage. Franco never used night vision or thermal imagers for hunts like this. He considered it cheating. Even though she hadn’t eluded him yet, she deserved a fair chance. And she might get away this time—there was always a first time for everything. If she did, he wouldn’t punish her later. Franco had many faults, but fair was fair, and he never blamed others for his own shortcomings.

  He allowed her an extra few seconds before beginning his pursuit. The girl was fast—he gave her that, but he was faster. Enjoying the challenge, he watched her drive her legs as she bounded across the knee-high grass. When he caught her, it would be a sweet victory, in more ways than one. Her attempt to escape heightened his desire, and he felt a stirring in his groin. He hoped it wouldn’t be too easy. The last time she’d run away, he’d caught her almost immediately. Easy prey wasn’t nearly as rewarding.

  She glanced over her shoulder and changed direction, angling to the right. He guessed she was heading for the dam of rocks that allowed foot traffic to cross. On the opposite side of the pond, she’d probably turn left and try to hide in the thicker foliage. If he guessed wrong about this, she might get away.

  Franco changed direction and ran straight toward the dam. If he could reach the trees before she crossed the dam, he’d be able to see what direction she went on the other side. He slowed his approach and crouched behind a rusted car near the top of the bank. He spotted her halfway across the dam, marveling at her balance and agility as she leapt from boulder to boulder. Knowing she’d look back once she reached the far side, Franco remained motionless. What she did next surprised him. Rather than look back or turn left, she stayed on the trail that led to Tobias’s cabin and sprinted up the mountainside into the trees. Three seconds later, he lost sight of her.

  Clever girl. But this hunt was far from over. He scrambled down the bank, crossed the dam, and followed her into the trees. He slowed his pace and looked for movement. The girl wasn’t more than twenty seconds ahead of him, but that had given her plenty of time to disappear. Maybe he shouldn’t have given her such a large head start. Not wanting to give up, he continued up the trail. If all else failed, he could lie low and wait for her to reemerge. He had no illusions about it—she knew this forest better than he did. Rather than dwell on his disadvantage, he scanned the trees to his left. It was possible she’d turned east with the intent of crossing the river above the pond where the water wasn’t deep.

  Playing a hunch, Franco veered to his left and paralleled the mountain’s contour. If she’d come this way, she’d been stealthy. The crickets and toads hadn’t stopped their singing.

  There!

  He saw it then, fifty meters away, a flash of white that stood out like a cigarette on a putting green. She must’ve stopped running and gone to ground. He took a step to the right for a clearer line of sight.

  Got you!

  He could see her white blouse between two smaller trees. Like a predatory cat, he eased from tree to tree, being careful to avoid any sudden movements or noise. His camouflage fatigues blended perfectly into the colors of the forest. Even if she looked his direction, she’d never see him. She would’ve been better off trying to put some distance between them.

  He closed to within ten meters and froze.

  Something felt wrong. Her blouse didn’t look right, and the forest had gone quiet.

  It could only mean one thing.

  Franco pulled out his handgun and whipped around.

  The skin on his arms tingled at the same moment he knew he’d been tricked.

  He heard her before he saw her. With a shrill cry, she flew at him. Dressed only in her bra and shorts, she looked incredibly sexy, but now wasn’t the time to admire things. He jerked his head to dodge her fist coming at his face. He avoided the worst of it, but two knuckles still connected. He pivoted low and swept his leg. Anticipating his move, she jumped and his boot passed harmlessly beneath her. She squared off and assumed a low stance, her fists held in a defensive position. She was feisty but no match for him. Why not toy with her a little?

  He lurched forward, deliberately moving more slowly than necessary. She sidestepped and tried to kick him in the groin, but he was ready for her move. He stopped short, and her foot found only air. He smiled when she lost her balance and fell.

  The sweet taste of victory at last.

  He pounced on her and pinned her hands over her head. She tried to head butt him, but his arms were several inches longer than hers, and he easily avoided contact.

  Knowing she’d been beaten, she stopped struggling.

  Franco lowered his voice. “You gave it a good effort. You’re definitely getting stronger and faster, but I think you need another . . . private lesson.”

  She laughed and wrapped her legs around his waist. They’d gone through this mock chase many times. He lowered his head and gently kissed her. “Try not to make it so easy next time.”

  “Easy? You walked right past me!”

  “I’ll reluctantly admit your ruse worked, but I would’ve found you eventually.”

  “I’m getting better. I almost nailed you with that left jab.”

  “True, but your eyes gave you away. You should’ve looked at my chest, not my face.”

  “You can’t see my eyes, it’s too dark.”

  They both felt the carnal desire now. Franco removed his shirt and unbuttoned his pants. “I believe it’s time for your lesson to begin.”

>   They made love without concern for each other’s needs. Franco liked the challenge. The girl’s selfish desires heightened his excitement. Because she was half his age, she had twice his sexual energy—a good combination. Just before she climaxed, she whispered how much she enjoyed being his mistress. He found the comment amusing but didn’t let on. Why ruin her fun?

  Fifteen minutes later, drenched with sweat, Franco wanted to ask her what she’d been doing at Pastor Tobias’s church meeting the day of the shooting, but it could wait. At least she’d told him about the meeting. Although Franco hadn’t directly said it, he’d implied Tobias’s days were numbered. Perhaps she’d felt some guilt. Understandable, but he didn’t want her second-guessing her role as his personal spy. He had no emotional connection to her. They shared nothing beyond the physical relationship, and she’d never asked for anything more. She had to know she was being used as a tool for information, but her desire for a life outside Santavilla overrode her sense of self-worth.

  Of course, Franco knew he too was being used. And just as she sought to leave Santavilla, he planned to leave Nicaragua one day. He had his sights on Las Vegas. Now there was a town. Nightlife. Women. Gambling. Booze. You name it, Vegas had it. If Macanas could keep a penthouse in the Trump Tower, why shouldn’t Franco as well? That was the only life worth living—to be your own boss, make your own decisions, and not be held accountable to anyone else.

  CHAPTER 8

  Skimming the treetops at 160 miles per hour in a state-of-the-art, blacked-out HH-60H Rescue Hawk, Nathan rested his head against the bulkhead. Were they really doing this? It seemed surreal. For a frantic second, he could almost imagine demons in the forest below, waiting to hunt them. He took a deep breath and relaxed his hands and jaw. He and Harv were about to be delivered into unfriendly territory that held hideous memories of unspeakable pain and anguish.

  Nathan looked at his watch—2100 hours—right on schedule. There was no turning back at this point. Service members had risked their lives getting them down here, and scrubbing the mission wasn’t an option. The plan was to drop them four miles north of scatter point alpha, so there’d be no possible way the helicopter’s noise could be heard at that distance. If an ambush waited for them up there, they planned to sneak up on it undetected. Nathan estimated their four-mile trek would take about five to six hours.

  The Navy supplied all of their equipment, including his ghillie-wrapped M40 sniper rifle built from a Remington 700 model. He’d requested the optical be predialed to a 300-yard zero and that it employ external one-quarter minute-of-angle adjustments for windage and elevation. He’d also requested Lake City match ammo, because he knew its ballistic curve well. Dressed in MARPAT woodland uniforms, they’d meld perfectly into the environment. Their faces and the backs of their hands were painted in dark shades of green and brown. The half-moon wouldn’t be a problem, as most of its light didn’t penetrate the forest’s multilayered canopy.

  Through their headsets, the pilot announced they’d just crossed the Rio Coco and welcomed them to Nicaragua. They were also told to stand by—they’d be rappelling in just under two minutes.

  Harv sat motionless, looking at him. Nathan nodded an okay.

  The Hawk’s crew chief and gunner didn’t see their silent exchange. Wearing night-vision goggles, they were glued to their M-240D machine guns watching for any signs of human activity, most notably the twinkle of weapons fire. Nathan wasn’t concerned; the ship’s crew could deliver a few hundred pounds of high-speed copper and lead to anyone foolish enough to take a potshot at them.

  He heard the turbine engines change pitch, then released his four-part seat belt. He kept his headset on, powered on his night-vision goggles, and pivoted them down to his eyes. Harv mirrored his moves.

  Nathan’s world turned into multiple shades of green. He leaned across the cabin and checked Harv’s rappelling harness, backpack, waist pack, and sidearm holster.

  Harv did the same for him. All secure.

  Nathan moved his rifle from a chest position to his back where it fit snuggly against the side his backpack.

  The pilot slowed gradually at first, then flared for a hover, being careful not to create blade slap.

  The pilot said, “You’re good to go. We’ll be orbiting on the border until you send us on our way.”

  “Copy,” Nathan said. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Safe hunting.”

  Just before Nathan removed his headset, the crew chief told him they were fifty feet above the jungle floor. Nathan nodded an acknowledgment.

  Without hesitating, Nathan grabbed the rope in the brake-hand, guide-hand technique. Keeping a tight brake grip, he quickly maneuvered into the L position, placing both of his boots on the edge of the deck with his butt hanging out the door. He held that position until the crew chief gave him the final hand signal to jump.

  Nathan bent his legs, sprang backward, and loosened his brake-hand.

  Gravity did the rest.

  His stomach tightened as his body zipped toward the ground. He hadn’t rappelled in quite a while, and it took several seconds to get a controlled descent going.

  When he landed on the damp Nicaraguan soil, he unhooked the rope and drew his Sig. Crouching, he scanned his immediate area before looking up. Harv was already coming down. Nathan inwardly flinched at the tremendous noise. The sensation of being directly below such a thunderous machine felt humbling. The ground vibrated from the Hawk’s energy. Whipping back and forth, the surrounding treetops protested in anger at the intrusion. Every low-growing plant within a thirty-foot radius was laid flat from the downwash.

  Although he didn’t see any footprints, trash, or other signs indicating human presence, he now wished they’d made that HALO jump after all but knew they were both too rusty. Landing in the canopy of an eighty-foot tree would’ve ruined his evening.

  The pilot had chosen a good spot, but there wasn’t much room for error. Their landing zone was a thirty-yard clearing on the forest floor where the ground wasn’t quite level. Nathan estimated it had a downward slope of about 20 degrees to the north.

  Harv unhooked and gave a thumbs-up to the crew chief, who was leaning out the door.

  The Rescue Hawk made a 180-degree pivot and paralleled the downward pitch of the mountainside as it flew away, its deafening noise quickly abating. The insertion had taken less than fifteen seconds.

  Nathan pointed to his NV goggles, then gestured toward the far side of the clearing. He remained crouched as Harv carefully worked his way across the uneven terrain to the east side of the LZ. After Harv was safely under tree cover, Nathan mirrored the move to the east, knowing Harv had his back. Inside the tree line, Nathan stopped next to a small rock outcropping. He took a knee and surveyed his immediate area. The trunks of massive trees dominated the mountainside like sentries. Their dark forms seemed to scrutinize him, looking for flaws and weaknesses. Nathan felt like an intruder who’d stumbled into an enemy camp. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he forced the anxiety aside. He needed to focus on the task at hand: determining if their insertion had been detected.

  Over the next sixty seconds, the helicopter’s clatter faded until an eerie silence enveloped them. The air was still. Nothing moved at all. Adding to the isolation, the forest was totally quiet. The helicopter had frightened every animal in the area, including insects.

  A few seconds later, a faint echo of the Rescue Hawk reached their position.

  Their transition from technology to nature was absolute.

  Nathan looked across the clearing at Harv, brought his hands together in an interlocked finger hold, and pointed to the south. Staying inside the tree line, they circled their way to meet at the southern edge of the open space.

  Keeping his voice low, Harv said, “I don’t know about you, but that rappel triggered an adrenaline rush I hadn’t felt in years. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to friggin’
do it.”

  “I know what you mean. I experienced the same thing when my ass was hanging off the deck. Let’s take a few minutes to settle our nerves. We’ve got time. Let’s also power down our NVGs to preserve the batteries.”

  “I’ll call our ride and tell them we’re five by five.”

  Nathan turned around so Harv could access his pack.

  “This is a perfect LZ. We should have a clear line of transmission out to the Hawk.”

  From what Nathan could gather, the pilot had dropped them in the precise spot Cantrell had identified on the aerials. They were about a third of the way up the north side of a small mountain. Scatter point alpha should be four miles directly south-southwest of their position.

  Harv powered on the handheld radio and pressed the transmit button. It was preset to the right frequency. “Good to go.”

  They received an acknowledgment click.

  Harv turned it off and returned it to Nathan’s pack. “Whatever they’re paying us, it ain’t enough.”

  Nathan half laughed, knowing this was a gratis mission. “Our pilot did a good job. I wish I could’ve looked over her shoulder on the flight.” He hadn’t been able to see the flight deck because of the bulkhead separating their compartment. Rescue Hawks employed terrain-following software, and he’d never seen it in action.

  “I wonder how many pilots are women these days.”

  “Probably more than we’d imagine. She’s got the best job in the Navy.”

  Harv said, “Spoken like a true helicopter pilot.”

  “On our feet-wet leg, we were never higher than fifty feet.”

  “Driving Hornets may seem more glamorous,” Harv continued, “but helos are where it’s at.”

  “I don’t think we’ve landed on a Perry-class frigate before. The seas had to be ten to twelve feet. The McClusky’s helipad looked really small during the approach. Did you notice how she hovered above the deck and let the ship come up to her? That was a good trick. She timed it perfectly.”