Ambush (3 page)

Another shot chipped a piece of rock nearly into his eye.

Brandt was doing his best to provide cover fire, but one of
the gunmen hid behind a large tree. It would only be a matter of moments before
a fatal shot found them.

Then a growl drowned out even the gunfire as the perfectly
gold–and–black camouflaged jaguar leapt from the branches, knocking the man to
his knees. She swiped his back with her huge claws, leaving bloody gouges. The
other gunman couldn’t turn in time as she launched at him.

His scream was cut off by a bite to the neck.

Green eyes found Svengurd’s. He could see why the Mayans had
worshipped such creatures. Then the jaguar was gone, melting back into the
forest.

He didn’t have any time to thank her or even be relieved, as
shouts carried through the forest. The rest of the Los Zetas guards were
rapidly approaching. Gathering his strength, Svengurd pushed off with his legs
and hauled his and the boy’s body weight upward. He caught the craggy ledge
with one hand, then was able to find purchase with a toe to catapult them onto
the narrow rampart. The CIA operatives were not far behind, scaling the rock
wall and cresting the ledge at about the same time as Svengurd.

The only ones still on the wall, halfway up, were Brandt and
Vanderwalt.

Svengurd removed the boy’s arms from around his neck and
unhooked a line from his belt. “Kirkland, climb down. Then Pollov lower the boy
to him.”

He didn’t have time to see if the CIA operatives followed
his instructions as he unslung his gun, firing into the forest. He had to give
Brandt every opportunity before the guards figured out they had two sitting
ducks just waiting for them.

* * *

Amazing how adrenaline worked. Seeing that jaguar in action
had pumped Vanderwalt up enough to climb the wall, but it couldn’t fix torn
ligaments and severe dehydration. The Brit was flagging. He wasn’t going to
make it up the wall on his own.

Brandt climbed up directly beneath Vanderwalt, trusting that
Svengurd would provide cover fire. Making sure that his fingers had as strong a
hold on the smooth rock as possible, Brandt braced himself.

“Put your foot on my shoulder.” He looked up to find
Vanderwalt wide–eyed and flushed. The pasty–skinned Brit wasn’t meant for such
heat, humidity, and torture. Brandt had to give it to the guy though. He caught
on pretty quickly.

“I can’t. You could fall or—”

“Do it,” Brandt grunted, tiring himself on the sheer wall.
He dug in as Vanderwalt put one foot then the other on his shoulders. “Go!”

The Brit pushed off, gaining precious inches up the wall. It
wasn’t enough, damn it. Despite Svengurd’s best efforts, the Los Zetas were
still taking potshots at them, sending flying limestone everywhere. It was like
being in the middle of an exploding quarry—only not quite as safe.

Brandt climbed up to position himself under Vanderwalt
again. “Brace!” The Brit’s eyes shone with worry, but he did as he was told. “Go!”
Not bothering to wait for confirmation that they still hadn’t reached the top,
Brandt just got into position. “Brace.” He took Vanderwalt’s weight as his arms
started shaking. “Go!”

This time Vanderwalt must have made it to the top, as his
feet disappeared from overhead. Time to do some climbing of his own. However,
the ascent was slightly complicated by the fact that the Zetas must have
realized their quarry was skipping town, and really put the pressure on. The
sound of automatic weaponry filled the air. Brandt scrambled, pushing past the
strong likelihood that he wasn’t going to make it to the top. At least not in
one piece.

But what he should have been worried about was how slick his
fingers had become. Just inches from reaching that precious ledge, his grip
slipped. The foothold he’d thought was solid gave way. Brandt could feel
gravity just sitting on his shoulder, ready to take him down.

Then there was a strong hand on his neck, grabbing him by
the flak jacket.

“Gotcha, Sarge,” Svengurd said as he pulled him up.

Of course this meant that the point man couldn’t provide cover
fire. As bullets zinged all around, Brandt’s feet found purchase and pushed him
up and over the ledge.

And by over, he meant over. He and Svengurd sailed over the
narrow rampart. Twisting mid–air, Brandt caught some stone on the other side.
As he slid down the rock, his fingers desperately searched for a handhold. He
did not want to end the day with a broken femur.

There! He’d found it. The tip of his boot crammed in between
the seam of two rocks. Not much further down, Svengurd broke his fall.

Gunfire went from loud to ballistic on the other side. With
his cheek against the cool stone, Brandt was so very glad that the ancients
really knew how to build a retaining wall. However, it would only be a matter
of moments before they realized they couldn’t shoot through the rock and
decided to hop on over.

He was about to climb down when he caught something in the
corner of his eye.

“Is that…?” Svengurd asked.

If the point man was talking about a hang glider, than yeah,
it was.

The wide yellow wings flared in the late afternoon sun. The
thing must have come from deeper within the ruins. While remote, the Becán site
had become popular with “extreme” tourists. You know, those Yuppies who did
things like mountain bike up ancient temples, bungee jump off stone bridges,
and, apparently, hang glide off of Mayan step–pyramids.

Great, now they had some civilian flying into a kill zone.

Only it wasn’t a civie at the helm. As the glider expertly
banked, Lopez waved. Sailing over their heads, the corporal shouted, “Don’t worry!”
Tacking northeast, he finished, “I’m on my way to get the Jeep!”

Brandt hadn’t been worried…until now.

* * *

Svengurd watched as Lopez sailed over the ruins.

“Nothing we can do but follow,” Brandt grumbled as he
descended the wall. The sergeant was correct. Lopez didn’t exactly follow
regulations to the letter, but he did get the job done…usually.

Making his way down the wall was far simpler than the ascent
had been. His boots hit dirt again. Brandt crouched next to him, aiming up,
just waiting for the first brave Zetas to peep his head over.

Slinging his weapon, Svengurd gathered the boy into his
arms. They would have to move out ASAP. He scanned the Mayan ruins. Broken
walls and toppled temples littered the landscape. Trees lined ancient avenues
and a step pyramid stood high above the rest of the city. Even in ruin, though,
Becán was something to behold. The Mayans knew how to use rock. Many of the
buildings had elaborate lattice work…in stone.

Carvings of skulls and crowned gods adorned many of the buildings.

They weren’t here for a history lesson, though.

Svengurd knew the layout of the plaza. They could leapfrog
from temple to temple, using the solid stone structures as cover as they made
their way to the rally point.

At least that was the plan—until Brandt yelled, “Incoming!”

A grenade sailed over the wall as everyone scrambled to get
out of the way.

The thing landed on the ground. A dud.

The next one wouldn’t be, though.

He got the CIA operatives up and heading toward the cover of
a small outbuilding just as the second grenade fell from the sky.

* * *

Brandt shoved Vanderwalt behind a low wall as the grenade
exploded. The heat passed overhead, but the stone protected them from the
concussive force. Brandt poked his head over the rock to find a charred spot on
the ground and several trees on fire.

It looked like Svengurd had gotten his group to shelter, as
well. Brandt went to rejoin them, when another grenade sailed over. Ducking
down, he rode out the explosion with Vanderwalt.

This time when he looked over the wall, he gave Svengurd the
signal to move on.

“We’ll catch up!” Brandt yelled when the point man seemed
hesitant to leave them.

Finally, with a nod, Svengurd moved his group out, striking
directly toward the Jeep’s location. Vanderwalt and he were going to have to go
the long way around. Brandt indicated a small retaining wall with several trees
growing out from the stone.

As the fourth grenade came over, Vanderwalt scurried across
the open grassy plaza and dove behind the ancient stone. Brandt followed close
behind, only when he landed, he spun and set up his shot.

One of the guards tried to crest the high wall. Brandt made
sure he didn’t make it over. Svengurd must have had the same idea, as the
second man pitched head–first to the ground.

That should give the Zetas something to think about.

“Let’s move,” Brandt said, urging Vanderwalt toward another
cluster of ruins. This one looked like a small temple. The Brit tried, he
really seemed to try to keep up, but he stumbled. Brandt caught him by the
elbow and propelled the MI–5 agent forward, reaching the next set of stony
protectors before the next grenade sounded behind them.

Though they were out of range, Brandt still fired, forcing
the Zetas back even though he couldn’t hit a single one of them. That was the
last time that trick was going to work, though. The guards were going to come
over in full force at any second, and there wasn’t a thing Brandt could do
about it.

At this point, their best shot at survival was speed. Brandt
dragged the exhausted Vanderwalt through a thick grove of trees, angling for
the large temple on the other side of the plaza. There were plenty of cubbies
and hiding spots. The Zetas were going to have to split their forces. The more
they could force the guards to play hide–and–go–seek, the better.

Brandt wished he could see where Svengurd and the others
were, but he had to trust his point man. Svengurd knew the terrain even better
than Brandt did. He would get the others to safety. The burden was really on
Brandt not to screw up the others’ extraction.

Urging Vanderwalt up a stone ramp, they made it to the main
temple. Ducking under the rocky arch, they hit shade. The temperature must have
dropped a good ten degrees. Brandt resisted the instinct to flip on his light.
The ruins had fallen into silence—the Zetas must have been climbing the wall
and setting their trackers on Brandt and the others. The less evidence of their
path, the better.

Vanderwalt sagged heavily against the stone wall. His breath
was coming in heaves. Brandt really wished he could give his old friend a
break, but they just couldn’t spare the time. Instead, he draped the Brit’s arm
over his shoulder again.

“We’ve got to move out.”

The MI–5 agent gave a weak nod and shuffled alongside
Brandt. They were moving half–speed at best. Svengurd was probably already at
the Jeep. In all honesty, Brandt would rather be in the dark making his way
through an ancient temple than sitting at the rally point wondering where the
hell Svengurd was.

Light peeked out at the end of the long tunnel. Brandt
quickened their pace. If they could cross the plateau unseen, they could cross
behind the large pyramid, which would block any enemy eyes, making it a whole
hell of a lot easier to get over the outer wall and reach the rally point.

Leaves played in the breeze just outside the tunnel. Their
fluttering filtered the view of the enormous step pyramid, which was just on
the other side of the common area. The place where spectators had gathered to
watch the sacrifice.
Human
sacrifice.

Brandt could only hope that his and Vanderwalt’s blood would
not join the ancients’.

They were nearly to the opening of the tunnel. Light
streamed in, reminding them of the jungle’s heat. Vanderwalt visibly wilted.

“Not much further.”

Brandt got an incoherent mumble in response. He swung his
gun up as they approached the exit. A single shadow was his only warning that
they weren’t alone. He fired before he even thought. Blood splashed across the
opening. Shoving Vanderwalt into an alcove carved with a coiled snake, Brandt
fired some more.

The fuckers must have had someone up in the trees,
monitoring their progress through the ruins. The Zetas were vicious, but smart.
Vanderwalt crumbled to the ground.

“Oh no you don’t,” Brandt said, trying to tug the man to his
feet. Yes, there were gunmen out there, but not that many of them. Properly
timed, they could burst out of the tunnel and make it those few dozen yards to
a new source of cover before they got shot.

“Sorry, mate,” Vanderwalt whispered. “I can’t go any farther.”
He took a shuddering breath. “Leave me a gun. I’ll cover you.”

“Yeah, right,” Brandt countered. Leaving the Brit wasn’t an
option. Leaving anyone wasn’t an option. “I’ve seen your aim.”

Vanderwalt managed that dopey grin of his. “Better than
nothing, chap.”

Perhaps, but there had to be another way.

Then he heard the rev of an engine. The type of rev only
Lopez could produce—it was more of a tortured automotive cry. Brandt peered
between the leaves but couldn’t find the vehicle. It had to be close, though,
as loud as the engine was. He risked popping his head out from the alcove. He
got chased back by bullets, but confirmed that the Jeep was nowhere on the
commons.

Where the hell could it be, then?

With one final screeching rev, the Jeep leapt over the top
of the pyramid. The vehicle landed hard on the stone steps, then bounced its
way down. The Zetas must have been as shocked as Brandt. Svengurd firing into
their ranks seemed to startle them from their stupor, though. One ran across
the doorway. Brandt took him down. Given the screams from outside the tunnel,
the rest were injured or on the run.

Grabbing Vanderwalt by the collar, he jerked the Brit to his
feet.

“Can you run that far?”

The Jeep rattled its way down the stony steps.

“Hell, yes,” Vanderwalt answered, surging forward.