Chapter 49
“Are you sure you want to go to Yucatula?” Antonio asked as we stood on the dock in the Puerto del Sol Marina just after sunset.
"Yep," I said. "That's where we want to go.”
Antonio cringed. "That place, no good.”
I shrugged.
He relented. "I take you wherever you want to go. But you're asking for trouble.”
"The cartel?”
"Si. Bad hombres.”
I smiled. "We’ll be careful.”
We loaded our gear aboard Antonio’s center console. He took the helm and fired up the twin outboards. I cast off the lines, and he navigated us out of the slip.
The moon hung low in the sky, shimmering the water. The outboards howled, and mists of seawater sprayed. The air was hotter and thicker than in Coconut Key. In the day, it could get hot in the direct sun. At night, you’d be feasted on by the mosquitoes, especially in the jungle.
JD and I were decked out in our jungle camo, tactical vests, and night vision optics. We kept the guns in the duffel bag for the time being.
Once we got far enough away from shore, we pulled them out, locked, and loaded.
Antonio didn't bat an eye. I got the impression this wasn’t the first time he’d taken people with guns on an adventure. But I don't think he took people to go up against the cartel often.
"So, what do you want me to do? Drop you off?"
"We need you to stick around and pick us up as well,” I said. “That was the deal," I said, getting the distinct impression he didn't want to be anywhere around once we stirred up the beehive.
"What if you don't come back?”
"We’ll come back," I assured.
"How long do you think this will take?”
I gave him a look.
"I just need to have an idea of when I should start to worry." He smiled.
"You won't have to worry. But if we don't make it back to the rendezvous point in two hours, contact Isabella.”
He nodded.
JD and I painted our faces on the trip. It took about an hour to get to the island. I told Antonio to come in against the wind and cut the engines at a distance. We’d paddle in to minimize our sonic signature.
We circled the island and came in from the east side. We paddled the boat into the shallows, then JD and I hopped out with our gear and the briefcase. I brought it along as a bargaining chip in case things went south.
I told Antonio, "Stick around. Don't go far. We may have to leave in a hurry.”
He nodded again, but fear lingered in his eyes. I'm sure the guys who ran this island had a reputation.
"I'll be right here," he said.
"There's an extra thousand American in it for you if you’re here to pick us up.”
"No problem. You can count on me, boss.”
I had an uneasy feeling about it.
JD and I ran up the beach to the tree line and regrouped.
I pulled up the satellite images on my phone and studied them, matching landmarks.
“We’re here,” I said in a whisper, pointing. “The compound should be over this ridge.”
Dense and dark, the jungle was not friendly. The canopy was so thick that barely any moonlight seeped through.
I drew my machete and started hacking through the dense foliage. The terrain moved from flat to sloped pretty quickly. It soon became a steep incline.
We moved through the jungle, climbing over roots and fallen logs, ducking under branches. It didn't take long to work up a sweat. Soon, my quads burned, and my chest pumped. My shirt stuck to my back. I had traded cold and wet for hot and damp. At least I was getting a good workout in.
I knew from experience this jungle was full of snakes and spiders and monkeys that would bite. The venom from La Muerta Verde, the Green Death, would put you under in a matter of minutes. No way to get an antidote out here.
It took about 30 minutes to hike up to the top of the ridge line. From there, we crept through more dense foliage to the tree line at the edge of the compound.
With wireless earbuds connected to an encrypted app on our burner phones, we had secure comms.
JD and I were on the backside of the compound, near the large metal warehouse. We scoped out the compound from a slightly elevated position.
This was a major drug operation.
The acrid chemical smell from the manufacture of cocaine drifted through the air—kerosene, ammonia, acetone, HCl, and other solvents. The persistent aroma alone would be enough to cause brain damage or lung issues with chronic exposure. But we were a long way from OSHA.
Armed guards with machine guns patrolled the grounds.
I stashed the case with the prototype in the jungle and covered it with leaves and branches.
"Where do you think they’re holding Paisley?" Jack muttered.
I shrugged. "Probably in the house. But they could be keeping her anywhere. In the shed, the warehouse, in a hole in the ground."
It wasn't a pleasant thought.
A guard stepped around the corner of the warehouse and walked the perimeter.
He marched along the east wall, scanning the jungle for threats, but he wasn't paying that much attention.
I didn't think many people were stupid enough to make an assault on this compound.
We were the only ones crazy enough to do that.
JD and I held still in the underbrush as the goon continued to march in our direction.
My heartbeat pulsed my ears.
The thug moved past us, then stopped. He pulled a phone from his pocket and read a message, then texted back. The glow from the screen illuminated his face.
By that time, I was right behind him. I said, “?No te muevas, cabrón! ?Ni un puto sonido! ?Suelta el arma!”
After a moment’s hesitation, he complied and dropped the weapon to the ground.
In Spanish, I told him to get on the ground and put his hands behind his back.
He laughed and said, "You're a dead man, gringo."
"On the ground now, or I'll put a bullet in your back."
By the tone of my voice, he figured I wasn't playing around. He complied, and I put flex cuffs on his wrists and drew them tight. "Where's the girl?"
"What girl?"
"Don't play games with me.”