Chapter Six
Surprisingly, things were far less awkward than I had expected them to be.
Hangman was good fun, that was for sure, and he didn’t seem to be fazed by everything that had passed between us – Freddie included.
I had known Hangman was carrying a torch for my boyfriend from the moment they had met, but now I was sure there was something special between the two of them, or at least the potential for there to be.
I was eager to allow them to explore that connection.
Hopefully they’d let me join in sometime.
An hour or so later, I heard the words I had been waiting for.
“Target location sighted,” Hangman’s voice crackled in my ear. “You ready, Jugs?”
“Jugs?!” I cackled. “That’s a new one.”
“The symbol for Aquarius is the water jug. Surely you know that?” He paused. “I will admit the excellent tits were my main inspiration, but…”
“Very witty,” I sniggered.
“I do try.”
I unstrapped myself from my seat and checked if my parachute was still correctly fastened. Sucking in a steadying breath, I flipped the visor of my helmet down and braced.
“Target is highlighted on your Infolink. Once you’ve landed, review your location and I will assist in guiding you in,” Freddie said.
“Got it. Ready when you are, Hangman.”
He chuckled. “Do you want a countdown?”
“Sure.”
“Ten, nine— zero.”
The floor opened up beneath me and my stomach turned over as I plummeted out of the jet with a screech of surprise.
Cold wind battered me in an instant and I flailed around in the air for a moment, fighting to get into the correct position for a skydive.
The stealth jet disappeared into the clouds quicker than I had expected.
Even over the wind roaring around me, I could hear Hangman chuckling to himself over the radio.
“You son of a bitch,” I gasped, finally managing to get my body into a more streamlined position. “You’re going to pay for that.”
“Bring it on.”
I soared through the air, slicing down towards the ground at speed. I would get as close as I could before pulling the toggle at my chest. There was nothing subtle about a parachute. I didn’t want to draw any attention too early.
“Four-thousand feet,” Freddie said in my ear.
I didn’t reply, mentally calculating how long I could feasibly leave it until I needed to take action. A little while yet… I continued to soar through the air, my arms and legs tucked neatly behind me. This was no pleasure dive and the sooner I reached the ground, the better.
“Two-thousand feet. Think about deploying your chute.”
Not yet…
“Fifteen-hundred feet.”
Almost.
“One-thousand feet. Aquarius – deploy your parachute.” I could hear the tension in Freddie’s voice. He hated it when I did this, but he really should expect it by now.
“Nine-hundred feet, eight-hundred, seven-hundred— Aquarius! Deploy. Your. Parachute.”
I yanked the ripcord, my parachute exploding from its casing at my back.
In an instant I was jerked roughly backwards as the material opened up and slowed my descent.
The straps bit into my shoulders and I gritted my teeth.
The ground was still approaching at a startling rate, but I took control of the steering line, guiding myself towards a nearby open field.
This was going to be a rough landing. The ground rushed to meet me and I braced for impact, stumbling as my feet met with it.
I tumbled along, losing my footing in the long grass and rolled to a stop.
There was a moment of tense silence before I heard Freddie in my ear.
“I fucking hate it when you do that. Are you alright?”
“Phew,” I sighed down my mic. “All good. Have you got my location?”
I sat up and snatched my knife from its holster on my leg, quickly slicing the blade through the strings of the parachute. I didn’t have time to painstakingly untangle myself. Now I was on the ground, time was of the essence.
“Got you.” I could hear Freddie’s fingers tapping on his computer keys. “Head north-west, a klick and a half.”
“Ugh, that far? You couldn’t have dropped me a little closer, Hangman?” I grumbled, heaving myself to my feet and glancing around to get my bearings. I studied the compass built into the wrist of my suit and turned on the spot until the arrows were indicating north-west.
“Sorry, it’s kind of hard to be precise from ten-thousand feet up.”
“Excuses, excuses…” I muttered, trudging through the long grass as I followed Freddie’s coordinates.
It would probably take me twenty minutes to hike to the destination, and God knows what obstacles I might come across in the meantime.
“Say, Relay, there aren’t any, y’know, dangerous animals native to Colombia that I should know about, are there? ”
“Plenty – the extremely toxic golden poison frog, anaconda, black caiman, bullet ants—”
“Alright, I get the picture—”
“Jaguar and puma, too.”
I scowled. “Fucking great.”
“Your suit should protect you from most things. Perhaps not the jaguar or puma though… But you’ve got a gun for that,” Freddie teased. “I don’t foresee you stumbling across anything too problematic. Looking at the terrain scanner, it seems to be mostly uncultivated pasture and grassland.”
“Here’s hoping, hm?”
With Freddie guiding me and my trusty compass, it didn’t take too long until I had reached the perimeter of what appeared to be an exceedingly lavish estate. A stone wall, perhaps ten feet tall, topped with spirals of barbed wire. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the place.
“Heat scans do not reveal any imminent threats. Looks as if everyone is inside the property. You’re clear to enter.”
I craned my neck back to look up at the wall as it towered over me. Easy for you to say.
From a holster at my waist, I pulled free a grappling gun, and after taking a moment to familiarise myself with it, I carefully aimed at the barbed wire.
With a loud snap, the grappling hook flew from the gun before tangling itself up in the metal snares.
So far, so good. I dropped the gun to the floor and gave the rope a few yanks to ensure it was firmly secured before fishing around in the pockets of my cargo trousers for my wire cutters.
Taking a deep breath and placing the handle of the cutters between my teeth, I leapt up, grabbing the rope, and kicked away from the wall with my legs.
After expertly twisting it around my thigh and beneath my behind, I began to climb.
A ten-foot drop wouldn’t be a death sentence, but it was sure to hurt.
As I reached the top, my body shaking with the effort of supporting its own weight, I hastily took the wire cutters from my mouth and leant across to snip a gap in the barbed wire, taking care not to compromise the section my grappling hook was currently attached to.
With muscles burning and trembling with fatigue, I gave one last push.
I hoisted myself up over the wall before lowering myself down the opposite side and dropping silently into the grass below.
In stark contrast to the bleak scrubland I had passed through to get here, the garden of Garcia’s mansion was lush, a sea of greens and carefully tended flower beds. Just ahead, across a manicured lawn, was a huge house, so white and pristine it practically glowed in the early morning light.
“I’m in,” I whispered, my hands finding my pistol. It was special issue with a built-in silencer for when I inevitably needed to use it.
“The intelligence tells us Garcia’s private suite is on the second floor, the room with the balcony. I’m going radio silent now. Good luck and be careful.”
“Always. Thanks, Relay.”
I took my time to study my surroundings, feeling a familiar razor-sharp focus overcome me. It was invigorating, thrilling. I lived for these moments and with cool calculation, I crept towards the impressive house.
As I got closer, the shining paintwork of a sports car drew my attention.
It was still and silent, the interior empty, and my eyes dropped to the registration plate – GAR614.
Garcia. In a country that didn’t allow personalised licence plates, there was no doubt that one had cost a pretty penny.
At least I knew Garcia was likely to be at home if his pride and joy was still parked on the driveway.
I moved on, making my way around the house towards the rear.
A large outdoor swimming pool, surrounded by a vast patio area and expensive-looking furniture, greeted me.
The turquoise water glistened invitingly in the sunlight, but that wasn’t what had caught my attention.
My eyes locked on a towel laid out across one of the sun loungers.
A cigar, still smoking, rested in an ashtray nearby.
I froze, muffled voices growing louder, and flattened myself against the wall of the house, hidden from view behind a trimmed topiary.
The backdoor flew open and I peeked through the branches to see Alroy Garcia striding out towards the pool, two huge goons at either side.
He had his phone pinned to his ear, speaking in Spanish.
I hastily tapped the translation module on the Infolink, the intelligence system processing his conversation and translating it into English through my earpiece.
“—That’s what I told him. No product until I see the money. I want it in my bank account by this evening, or the deal is off,” Garcia snapped, pacing back and forth beside the pool. His rounded belly protruded over the top of a pair of swimming trunks that were at least two sizes two small.
I wrinkled my nose.
“I don’t care what that jumped-up British prick says.
The money – tonight – or it’s off. Remind him who needs whom more here.
” Without waiting for a response, he hung up and threw his phone down onto the lounger before sitting at the edge.
“Foreigners,” he muttered tersely, running his hand through his shoulder-length, greased-back hair.
“They don’t know who they’re messing with, hm?
” He laughed, a rasping, rattling sound.