Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
“You will need hammocks, ropes, some food and water, toilet paper, and wet wipes can be nice as well.” Grif opened a door that was almost hidden between the weapons cages.
He pushed some boxes through the door, “Prepackaged trail mix, and snacks. But there’s a small kiosk on the boat that sells snacks, drinks including soda and beer, and three meals a day are included in the ticket price.
“If you need Colombian pesos, tell me now, and I’ll go grab you some while you’re gearing up. ”
“We have hammocks in our rucks,” Rowan peered down the barrel of the weapon he was cleaning, “and cash, so we should be good there.”
“Don’t forget to give them ass paper.” Rock grabbed the box of snacks and started tossing some to each of the guys, “the boat doesn’t provide that.”
“The lancha leaves at seventeen hundred.” The voice from the computer, which he now knew was Ghost Three, said. “But with the slow boats, there isn’t really a schedule, and the captain decides, so it’s best to be there a couple of hours early just in case.”
Makes sense to me.
“Man, coming in as a civilian-ish outfit is hella different from fast-roping into a clearing, doing a snatch and grab, and rucking it to extraction.”
“Right?” Rock placed three magazines in front of each man. “Three should be enough. No, you can never have enough bullets when you’re going after the cartels.” He placed another two next to the bullets he’d already provided.
Rowan glanced at Gael and met his gaze. He lifted an eyebrow in silent query.
Is he talking to himself?
It was weird seeing Rock and Grif in a setting that wasn’t a military base.
They ran one of the most classified Black Ops teams in the world, had access to intel from any country across the globe, and a budget that would put a royal treasury to shame.
Yet here in this place, with kids’ drawings on the walls, inflatable toys in the pool, and a daughter who clearly was going to give them heart failure when she got a little older, they seemed almost normal.
Normal?
Normal, my ass.
They’d prepped for missions so many times that there wasn’t a need for much talking.
Every man had his own routine as go-bags and rucks were packed, weapons broken down, cleaned, and loaded.
Everything from extra socks to field knives, to tampons, antibiotics, burner phones, and the essentials—shit you didn’t realize you needed until a mission had you cursing that you’d left it behind in the cage—was checked, double-checked, and ticked off the list.
Finally, Rowan zipped his ruck closed and stepped back to scan the room. “All set?” A chorus of ayes, yeses, and yes sirs filled the room in response, and he took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. He glanced at Rock and Grif, “Let’s roll.”
“Lancha’ll move when the captain feels like it.” Rock led the way back to the trucks. “But get your asses in the trucks, and we’ll get you to where you’re going.”
Rowan and Gael’s men split between the two vehicles and climbed in without fanfare.
Rowan slid into the passenger seat next to Rock and slammed the door shut.
He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he had Edge, Fuse, and Scout with him.
Gael, Titan, and Valley were riding with Grif in the other truck.
About ten klicks from the house, the road turned from gravel to potholes to mud. Rowan braced his hand on the ‘oh shit’ bar when Rock swerved to avoid a pair of kids who ran barefoot down a path. Rowan squinted through the window. “What kind of game requires a chicken and a soccer ball?”
“Fucked if I know.” Rock slowed and turned onto an even smaller track that led them toward a curve in the river.
“You don’t ask questions in this place. Just do your thing, and try not to catch a bunch of flies every time your mouth drops open because something that twigs on your WTF radar happens right under your nose. ”
“I hear ya, bro.” As operators, their What The Fuck radars were a little different from most people’s. But still, a chicken and a football…? That was weird even for a ranch kid from the hills of Kentucky.
Rock slowed even further at a rusted jetty and made a three-point turn so the nose of the truck was facing back up the track. Grif did the same and parked next to them.
“Geez, I’ve seen bicycles that look sturdier than that.” Gael came to stand next to him.
“Agreed.” There wasn’t much about the boat that exuded confidence or the ability to stay afloat, never mind to get the miles into the jungle without breaking down.
This is what we’re working with.
Edge clearly knew what Rowan was thinking, because he pushed a ruck into his chest. “Just think of it like you do ol’ Joe’s combine.” He turned and whistled softly to get Grif’s attention, “You got any baling twine, St. Clare?”
“You forget to bring Zip-ties, Edge? I told you three times to load them in the gear, asshole.”
“Oh, I brought the zip-ties, St. Clare.” Edge smirked. “We’re just better at fixing shit with baling twine if the engine in that thing decides to die in croc-infested waters.”
“You were a damn Frog, man. Shoot the croc, and swim like you’ve got a BUD/s instructor yelling at your ass. You’ll do just fine.”
Rowan directed his men toward the boat with a jerk of his chin. “Rock, Grif, we appreciate the assistance.”
“Anytime, bro.” Rock smirked as he shook hands with him and Gael. “You’ll return the favor when we need it sometime.”
“Just say the word. If we can do it, it’s yours,” Rowan promised, then turned to board the boat.
He was relieved that no one checked for IDs or even asked why they were there, because the second his boots hit the deck, he only had one thing on his mind.
Go time.
Get in, get her, get out.
“Kinda weird not having to buy tickets.” Gael followed him up the stairs to the first level. “I’m digging the no manifest or names thing though.”
“Me too.” Boats like this moved people, freight, and secrets through parts of Colombia the government pretended didn’t exist. The last thing most of the passengers wanted was a record of where they’d been, when, and with whom. He couldn’t see the guys and gestured up with his thumb. “Up again.”
“Yeah.” There was no way Gael would have been comfortable here on this deck with so many people they didn’t know. Locals with crates of produce, battered coolers, chickens in woven baskets, and a whole host of other things.
“Up top,” at least he hoped that’s where they went, because the battered walls of the boat were already closing in on me. “Too close to the engine down here.”
“You mean too many people for my liking,” Gael grunted and made a beeline for the next round of narrow stairs.
At the highest level, the wind cut hard across the open space, thick with the reek of river mud and diesel, but at least it was slightly cooler up here, and the breeze was strong enough to hopefully keep most of the bugs away.
“There they are.” The guys had picked a spot on the far side, past a little kiosk selling beer, soft drinks, and cups of soup from a dented aluminum pot. To be clear of any other travelers and the stench, they slung their hammocks about halfway between the kiosk and the bathrooms.
Gael settled beside him as he shrugged off his pack and pulled his phone from somewhere in his ruck. “There’s a Starlink connection,” he muttered, tapping his screen. “I’m gonna talk to Joel for a bit.”
Rowan scowled. “We’re in the middle of the freaking , and you have an internet connection. While at home, I spend way more time than I should have to, leaning out windows trying to get a better signal.”
“That’s what happens when we live in the sticks, boss.” Dawsyn offered him a wired earpiece. “We’ll even let you pick the soap opera.”
“Fuck, asshole.” Being in public places like this with a stash of weapons and going where they had no permission to go gave him hives. Rowan scratched at the phantom itches. It was unlikely anyone on this boat would try anything stupid, but if they did, his guys could handle it.
“Food’s starch and sugar.” Jericho lowered his hand to show him the plate he’d gotten from the kiosk with something that might’ve been breakfast. “Bun, mystery tea, and some kinda fish, I’m not sure I want to know the name of.”
“It’s gotta be better than MREs.” Colson popped the tab on a can of Monster and took a swig.
The boat shifted under them as it shoved away from the bank. The motor whined, caught, and started grinding them upriver. Rowan leaned back in his hammock and pulled his hat low. “Wake me if we hit something that shoots back.”
“Sure thing,” Gael replied.
He had no idea how long he’d been snoozing when Gael touched his elbow, “We’ll be at drop off in an hour.”
Rowan shook himself awake. “Did you sleep?” He could guess the answer. The last thing Gael would want to do when they were so close to where he’d nearly died was let his guard down and sleep.
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”
“That’s what I thought you’d say.” Rowan swung his legs off the hammock. “How bad are the latrines?”
“Wait until we get off,” Titan advised, “I was in there ten minutes ago, and some asshole musta dropped a nuclear shit just before I went in. My nostrils are still burning.”
Yeah, no, I’ll piss in the jungle.
He stood up and stretched. “I’m gonna need coffee.”
“It’s not bad.” Fuse held up a paper cup. “Don’t get the milk, it’s got a weird aftertaste.”
Edge, smacked Fuse on the back of the head. “It’s goat’s milk. You don’t know what’s good for you.”
The guys teasing the crap out of each other told him everything was moving as they wanted it to.
The river had narrowed, and the boat moved a lot slower, its engine coughing now and then like it was clearing its throat before dying altogether.
The jungle canopy pressed tighter to the banks, branches clawing out over the water as if they were the Kraken rising from the water to snag a careless victim into the murky depths of its lair.
By the time he’d bought a black coffee and some food from the kiosk, Gael stood near the edge of the deck. “Do you think they know we’re coming?”
Rowan sipped his coffee. Maybe bringing Gael back here was a mistake. “I think,” he took a bite of the bread roll and spoke around it, “they have no fucking clue what’s gonna hit them.”
“If we see that motherfucker,” Gael pinned him with a steady glare, “his balls are mine.”
“Hell, I’ll hold him down for you, little brother.”
“I’m older than you.”
“By ten minutes.” If his twin was throwing him snark, then he was dealing a hell of a lot better than Rowan had expected him to be. “I’m taller than you.”
“No, you ain’t. Spiking your hair up doesn’t count.”
“It does.”
All around them, the hammocks were being taken down, coiled, and stuffed into compression bags.
But for these five minutes in the quiet before the storm to come, it was almost as if they had gone back in time, and the brother standing at his shoulder was the one from three years ago and not the broken shell he’d been trying to pull from the black hole of despair since he’d rescued him.
“You know, it’s not going to be easy for her.” Gael’s voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the growl of the engine, and the boat made a slow turn toward the bank. “If she’s alive, she probably wishes she wasn’t.”
“I know.” He’d been refusing to think of it.
Which was a hell of a lot easier to do when he was awake.
His nightmares were filled with what Enya Moore had been suffering.
But he had an inkling Gael wasn’t exactly talking about Enya Moore.
“But where there is life, there is hope, and sometimes hope is all a family has to hold on to.”
“Yeah. I suppose.”
Resolving to keep an eye on him, Rowan trashed the coffee mug and the rest of the roll.
He gathered his gear and, with a nod to his men, dropped to a crouch as the boat bumped into the muddy slope of the riverbend to let them off.
The others followed, one by one, until all seven of them stood hip-deep in green, watching the boat as it reversed out into the current.
“Change into cammo, and let’s roll,” Rowan ordered.
They moved into the cover of the canopy where they couldn’t be seen from the riverbank.
He knelt and ran a quick GPS ping to mark their position for Theo.
When he glanced up, gone were the tourists heading for a trek into the .
In their place stood a team of Operators, armed to the teeth and ready for war.
Let’s do this.
Get in. Check.
Next checkpoint. Get her.
“Okay, Seahorse, radio check.” Every time he used their chosen call sign, he got a kick out of it. He’d been searching for a call sign that would tie into Stronghold, and Seahorse fit the bill to a T. His men answered in turn.
As always, Gael was first to thumb his radio. “Seahorse two here.”
“Seahorse Three, on deck.” Colson was a split second behind his brother.
“Seahorse Four has you loud and clear, Seahorse One.” He could always count on Dawsyn banking his usual snark when tasked with the responsibility of a mission.
“Seahorse Five is all painted up and ready to dance, boss.” Jericho spread his arms out wide and approached Bronx.
“Keep your fucking twinkle toes over there by Three.” Bronx shoved Scout in the center of his chest, causing their tracker to take a giant step forward. “Seahorse Six requests permission to punch this dumbass on the nose.”
Rowan snorted. If his men weren’t throwing down snark at this point in a mission, something was very wrong. “Denied. Behave, Five, or I’ll make you wait here for the Lancha to come back, and you can find your own way home.”
“Seahorse Seven, locked and loaded.” Calloway.
“All present,” Gael confirmed.
“Okay, boys,” Rowan whispered into his mic, “we’re at the jump-off point. Stand by to move to your pre-assault positions. Seahorse one, out.” Then he keyed his other radio, the one that connected him to their support net.
“TOC, this is Seahorse One. You with us, over?”
“TOC is standing by and in position. We also have Ghost TOC, aka G-TOC, laying up fifty mikes at a fast run from your primary extraction site, over.”
A wave of relief swept over Rowan. Their extraction team was in place just as they’d planned.
Had it been otherwise, Theo would have told him.
Still, it was comforting to know there were friendlies nearby.
He was going to owe Rock and Grif big time for this one.
“Good to have you with us, TOC. We are on target and moving to our pre-assault positions. Is our bird airborne, over?”
“The bird and Ghost’s Skillet is airborne, Boss, and headed your way. G-TOC is standing by for any local intel you need to send their way. Good hunting, sir. TOC out.”
Thank fuck for that.
Somewhere out here, Enya Moore was hopefully still alive, and if so, there was nothing in this jungle that was going to stop him from bringing her home.