Chapter 28
Tomás
Five minutes earlier
The ultralight buzzes as we cruise above the sea of trees.
Getting a few nearby landing strips lined up for possible use made it easier—once I had the probable locations narrowed down to within a certain radius of Brisbane, where Karsten always set out from.
Blindfolded or not, he nailed the time he was travelling fairly accurately, and the mountainous setting is unique and has helped even more.
“Going to drop you soon!” Simmons yells above the engine noise.
I nod and prepare to bail out.
An update from Rafael comes in on my headset comm. “On schedule. Going in. No signs of detection. Just a van parked on the main road, half a klick away. Occupants unseen.”
“Copy.” If they are down there, hunting or something, Rafael will know.
We’re barely high enough for a parachute drop, and I’m praying Zasha and Shawn don’t have anything scanning the skies. The ground approach to their house is more than likely surveilled by external cams.
The lack of time since we acquired the location means we’re almost blind regarding any defenses or added structures. The house plans are a decade old. Then again, I’ve done worse, hit more dangerous places with fifty men guarding camps.
Sure I did, seven years ago. I’m fit but probably stupider. I clamp down on my concerns.
Can’t beat the stupid of Shawn and Zasha. Me, walking up with Karsten, tried to get into the car. I got aggressive and pushed Zasha, twice. He shoved back…
Then I staggered backward and fell to the pavement beside the car. After that, planting Aaron’s tracker in the wheel well of their car was easy. I levered myself to my feet, clumsily, using the nearest parts of the car. I glared as they drove away, with Shawn giving me the bird.
I smile into the wind and Simmonds taps my leg.
“Twenty seconds!”
“Got it!”
Mountains are to our front and left, with a steep slope dropping away to the other side.
The door is already off, and I unbuckle the belt and twist my body so I can reach for the wing strut that’s behind my exit space. For the tenth time I fucking wish this could’ve been nighttime, but Simmonds said he can’t do it.
Rafael can handle the added difficulty.
“Go!”
I leap out, dropping rapidly, pull the ripcord and grab the steering toggles, searching the ground as I reorient and look for the house among the acres of endless green forest.
A clearing swings into view.
There!
I aim for the house sited in the middle of that clearing.
The cold wind tears at my face, clothing, and anything loose.
My hair is mostly under my helmet. The chute pops out, and I’m counting down, praying my velocity will lessen enough to make the roof landing safe enough that I won’t break my legs, or anything else I need.
If the roof wasn’t mostly flat, I’d have been forced to arrive through the external doors.
A fucking car is driving below me toward the house. Their car, not a van. They must’ve left on the smaller road, before we set up. Only so much we can cover without a full team. If the charge is on the door they use, we’re busted.
Our timing sucks.
Rafael is down there. Fuck. I hope he isn’t seen. I’m clear, I think. I was above the car, and now they’ve swung behind the structure, so the house shields me from them.
The sound, though, the sound could betray us.
I hit the concrete roof as softly as I can, running across the flat space, hauling in the chute. It billows slightly past the edge, until it’s puffing out above where the car has gone. I haul faster.
I bundle it up, tuck it into the pack, and head for the roof pergola, where a door leads down into the house.
There I crouch to plant a charge next to the lock, before backing away to wait for the sign.
It’s likely to be alarmed, so once I enter, I have to go fast and shoot and do more of that praying.
Two stories. Bottom story seems likely to be where they have them. No basement as far as we know. Stairs are central.
We don’t even know how many there are.
I look at my watch.
I should’ve taken a week to check the place. Should’ve would’ve, if this were seven years ago.
But these two are friends.
Risk is relative, and Karsten told me they generally kill their captives. Generally, is a word that should never be used about murder.
For two years, Karsten knew of this, and he let them play on.
My gloved right hand twitches on the pistol. My left waits, unmoved, to trigger the charge. Half of me is still calm. I survey my gear, the Beretta pistol, the MK 18 rifle, my clothing, combat boots, nothing untied or flapping? I’m rechecking it’s all correct and in place.
My heart winds down to a regular thump-thump-thump, and I think backward in time and sink into the mindset of El Loco. No dejes que el mal te Venza. Mata a los malos.
I check my watch and contact Rafael. “We good?”
“Yes. Almost there. Begin synchronized countdown.”