Lethal Misconduct (11 page)

“Okay. Do we have your permission to go out of the country?” asked Cal.

“Where to?”

“Colombia. I think we need to get our hands on that medicine man before Cromwell does. If I were him, the first thing I’d do was secure the source.”

Zimmer thought about it for a moment then said, “Do what you need to, but you know the drill. Low profile. We won’t need to piss off the Colombians. They’ve got enough on their plate right now.”

Cal smiled. “You got it.”

Chapter 18

Enroute to Leticia, Colombia

7:25pm, April 7
th

Dr. Price couldn’t believe how quickly Cal’s team saddled up for their expedition to Colombia. Not only did the former Marine have the ear and consent of the president of the United States, he also apparently commanded enough clout to charter a National Guard KC-130 for transport. The pilot looked like a kid except for his blazing yellow handlebar mustache. Everyone else knew him. He introduced himself as Cowboy. It was an appropriate call sign considering the matching cowboy hat and blaring country music as they departed Andrew Air Force Base.

While not exactly eager to fly out of the country, Price knew the trip would have to happen at some point. Better to go with a group of warriors than on his own. He’d tried to plan an excursion to South America months before, but without appropriate identification or means of travel he was literally stranded in his home country. Not that it was a huge issue, but if he wanted to produce more of the vaccine, a trip south was necessary. If only he’d had the access to the starter serum when he’d left!

He looked around at the men he’d hoped would help him on his quest and to regain his old life. Much like his time with the SEALs, some of them slept, others chatted over the drone of the military aircraft and the rest played cards or read. It was like coming home. It felt familiar being amongst such men.

Determined to be prepared before landing, Price went back to the notes he’d started extracting from his brain. That, along with his knowledge of the area, would be vital in the coming days. He did not want to let these men down. They might only have one chance.

+++

They touched down in Leticia, Colombia without incident. Despite Gaucho’s assurances to the contrary, Cal half expected a delegation of Colombian drug lords or FARC soldiers to be waiting. That didn’t happen. Instead, a kind and stately looking gentleman named Augusto escorted them through customs with a wave of his hand. Their path had been paved in dollar bills.

Founded as a Peruvian port in 1867, the small city of Leticia was annexed by Colombia in 1922 after their war with Peru. Sitting at the corner of the drug smuggling world, bordering Peru and Brazil, the one-time haven of smugglers and adventurers alike now seemed to be reborn. Cal had never been to Colombia, but Gaucho had. He’d given the rest of the team a briefing on the area.

Located more than 500 miles from Colombia’s main highway, the main ways in and out of Leticia were by plane or by boat on the Amazon River. Gaucho had instructed his fellow operators to keep their mouths shut and eyes and ears open. Although the area was relatively tame compared to the lawless ‘80s and ‘90s, criminal elements still had a firm grip on the area. It would be inevitable that they would be seen, but money went a long way in Colombia. Public officials and criminals alike were used to turning a blind eye as long as they were allowed to wet their beaks with cold hard cash.

And so it was that Cal’s team, led by the aristocratic Augusto, made their way to a muddy grouping of late model Toyota 4x4s and piled in.

They got to their initial destination without incident. No tails. No surveillance that any of them could see. Augusto had chatted in his nasal clip, extorting the many fine qualities of “The New Colombia” and the growing economy of Leticia. Cal wondered how much of the growth was attributed to the cocaine trade.

“This is it.” Dr. Price pointed to a spot ahead marked by two fallen trees.

The team got out of the vehicles warily, weapons trained on the surrounding tree line, its gigantic trees casting shadows across the dirt road. Without prompting, Gaucho’s men secured the perimeter while Cal, Daniel, MSgt Trent and Dr. Price took a look at Price’s sketches.

“I’ll take point,” said Daniel.

While Cal would’ve rather had the sniper by his side, he knew the best place for Daniel was in the shadows. His uncanny luck and sixth sense were invaluable.

“Okay. Doc, I want you in the middle of the pack. Me and Top will follow Daniel with a couple of Gaucho’s guys. Any questions?” asked Cal.

There were none.

Two minutes later they stepped off, pacing into the steamy jungle as their host remained behind with two of Cal’s men, just in case.

The jungle was eerily quiet, making the hairs all over Daniel’s body stand straight up. He could sense that something wasn’t right in the mugginess of midday. Sniffing the air for confirmation, Daniel moved ahead, careful to move slowly down the exposed path.

Coming around the bend, he was hit by a face full of flies. He tried to swat them away, continuing his forward movement. The insects must have decided there were easier targets close by and flew off. Rounding a slight bend, alarm bells rang in Daniel’s head.

When the clearing finally appeared, he took in the scene with a detached eye, still scanning for threats. Even as he did so he said a silent prayer for the carrion-covered dead crucified in the blood-streaked trees surrounding the empty village.

Chapter 19

Colombian Jungle

1:19pm, April 8
th

After securing the area, the team set about taking the villagers down from the trees. Children. Wives. Fathers. All dead. All told, there were over fifty murdered villagers, many with their insides, eyes and tender portions already torn out by animals and insects.

Cal’s men methodically stacked the bodies. Most had done this horrid duty before. Men of honor abhorred such atrocity and to a man they hoped to put their hands, or better yet a bullet through, the murderers who’d descended on the peaceful village.

Dr. Price found it hard to help, tears streaming as he went about the gruesome task of removing the natives from their hanging perches. He blamed himself. If he’d never set foot in the village, the death of the kind Indians never would have happened.

Price searched the bodies, looking for the wrinkled medicine man who’d called him “The Traveler.” Frantic to find him, Price’s breathing came in gasps. After making a full circle around the upturned bodies, he looked up.

“He’s not here.”

After setting the bodies on fire and leaving two more men to guard their way back, Daniel led the way further down the path in search of the missing shaman. Jaws set to match their resolve, the warriors crept on.

They found the medicine man much as they had his fellow villagers. The only difference was that instead of being nailed to the wide tree with his hands and feet, the medicine man had two foot-long railroad stakes nailed through his eyes, his heart and his groin. There was also a crude sign nailed to the tree above his head. It said, “Diablo,” Devil in Spanish.

As Price rushed to the old man’s hut, fire erupted from their flank, taking down two of their number.

Like the trained professionals they were, Cal’s men took cover and returned disciplined fire, even the wounded. You could hardly see a thing through the undergrowth, except for the occasional muzzle flash. Then came the RPG rounds.

Cal directed the men to move forward, seeing one of his men take a hit in the shoulder. The experienced operator shook it off and kept moving, firing and maneuvering as he went.

More rounds flew overhead and more explosions sounded as repeated RPG rounds slammed into the trees above them. Poor aim, but still deadly should someone get lucky with a shot.

Daniel was nowhere in sight. He’d disappeared. Cal knew the sniper was doing what he did best, finding the enemy. From the gunfire Cal estimated that there were at least twenty enemy fighters and they didn’t appear to be closing in, instead maintaining cover. Sensing it before it actually happened, Cal threw himself to the side just as another RPG round slammed into the tree next to where he’d been standing, sending Cal flying, the creeping darkness already swallowing him.

+++

Daniel couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the ambush coming. Cool anger fueled his movement as he sprinted his way through the jungle, trusting God and his instincts to keep him safe. If he didn’t get to the enemy soon more of his friends would die. He couldn’t let that happen.

Plowing ahead, a ghost in his element, Snake Eyes closed in, his inner beast unleashed.

+++

Raul Nadin was on his fifth magazine, the rounds going quickly. He’d opted to stick his AK-47 above his head and over the log he was hiding behind, squeezing the trigger. To hell with aiming. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t getting paid enough money for what he’d done in the last day. It wasn’t that he necessarily felt remorse over what they’d done to the Amazonian tribe, they were Godless heathens after all, but Raul didn’t want to die.

Only twenty-one years of age, Raul hoped to marry within the month, and he needed money, not to mention his life, to do it. Loading another magazine into his weapon, Raul lifted the barrel over the sturdy log even as he noticed a shadow to the side. He turned, confused. He was on the far right flank. Shrugging when he didn’t see anything to confirm his suspicions, he went to lift his weapon again only to find that it was no longer in his hands.

Then the pain hit as he raised his arms, bloody geyser stumps spraying his lifeblood like the burst pipe at his grandmother’s house. A man crouched next to him. He had just enough time to make out the man’s eyes and the crimson dripping machete in his hand as the blade swept in, finishing the deed.

+++

Cal woke to MSgt Trent shaking him, his ears ringing.

“Cal, you okay?”

“What?”

His vision was blurry, but his other senses were returning. Except for a raging headache and a few soon-to-be bruises, he felt whole.

“I’m good.”

Cal could barely hear his own voice, but took Trent’s hand and hefted himself back to his feet. Rather than babysit his friend, Trent took off in the direction of the firing. Cal followed right behind.

+++

Half of the Colombian line had fallen silent before their commander, a chubby thirty-something with an eye patch and a hair-lip, noticed that anything was amiss.

Fuckers better not be running away
. He growled to himself.

Unafraid of death, he moved to see what the problem was. He’d picked out the position personally, knowing a fair amount about infantry tactics from his time as a sergeant in the Colombian army.

His boss had given him a score of untrained troops, promising him a big payday when he succeeded. He didn’t care about his troops being killed. That meant more money in his pocket, but if any of the idiots ran off, he would find them and kill them personally.

The first sign that something was wrong was when he found his most seasoned man, an aged foulmouth from Bogota, with his decapitated head lying next to his body. His body froze, everything coming into stark focus. He realized the only firing he heard was from his own men. The telltale feel of rounds overhead were no longer coming. As if in slow motion, he whirled around to face the menace at his back. He was met with curved blade arching toward his face.

+++

Cal knew how Daniel worked and left him to his task, ensuring that the rest of his men held their fire. Something told him that he would know when to press the attack. They still moved forward, but more cautiously. He felt the tide turning. Fewer rounds coming, more empty space to move.

Suddenly a blood-curdling scream sounded from ahead, followed by the cessation of most of the automatic weapons. Without hesitating, Cal sprinted out of his crouch and charged.

+++

Most of the work was already done by the time the rest of the team got there. Cal took down two with his pistol. Trent another with his own. Others had neatly placed head shots from earlier. The rest of the men secured a hasty perimeter under Gaucho’s direction.

They found Daniel searching the bodies of the dead. All alone, the deadly sniper had dispatched twelve men with a fucking machete. He’d brought it along just in case.

Cal shook his head, wincing at the pain in the side of his neck. That was going to be sore.

“Thanks for saving some for us,” he said.

Daniel didn’t stop his search.

“I’ve got one over there. I think he’s their leader,” said Daniel without looking up.

Cal moved to where Daniel pointed, finding a paunchy guy in a stretched pinstriped button down and a patch over one eye. He looked like an overweight pirate. Cal nudged him with his boot. The man stirred, his eyes fluttering open.