Choke Point

SIX

Pepper steeled himself and was just a breath away from firing. The target’s head was perfectly centered beneath his crosshairs, and the M24A2 felt magnificent in his hands.

Unlike his trigger-happy colleague, 30K, Pepper floated on waves of calm and silence — until Ross counted down …

And then it was game on.

He pulled the trigger. The round left his rifle at 990 meters per second and with an awe-inspiring report that woke something primitive inside, as though the spirits of his ancestors — those warring tribes in Europe who had worn leather plates for armor and who had fought with spears and halberds — were lifting their battle cries within the echoing shot.

Before Pepper could take in his next breath, the rebel holding the pistol fell back and away.

‘Target down,’ he reported.

Ross sighted the second man as Pepper’s target thumped to the dirt floor. Two rounds leaped from Ross’s HK and drummed the rebel into the back wall as Ross rushed forward with 30K in tow. They charged across the shack, reached the prisoner, and Ross immediately pulled the cowl from the man’s face.

Nope, not their guy.

‘Who are you?’ Ross asked in Spanish.

The middle-aged man with the thick mustache and the paunch hanging over his belt looked sweaty and terrified, his thinning hair flying in all directions. ‘Don’t kill me, please!’

‘Answer the question!’

‘I’m Raul Morales. I drive a taxi in Bogotá.’

Ross softened his tone. ‘Well, Raul, we’re the good guys.’ He pulled from his pocket his Ghost Recon skull patch and reverse-print American flag. ‘See?’

‘Sir, this one’s still alive,’ said 30K, hovering over the soldier Ross had just shot. 30K grabbed the man by the jaw. ‘Where did they take him?’

The rebel’s eyes were tearing, his fatigues darkening with blood. He sounded as though he were breathing through a straw, and his head began jerking involuntarily as his lungs began to collapse.

Ross moved in beside 30K and stared hard at the man. ‘Listen to me. You’re going to die. If you believe in God, then maybe he’ll forgive you — if you help us. Now, where did they take him?’

The man opened his mouth. ‘Timbiqui.’

‘What?’ 30K asked.

Ross and 30K exchanged a frown.

‘Timbiqui is a town about eighty kilometers south,’ said the cabdriver. ‘I ought to know. I was born there.’

‘He could be lying,’ said 30K.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Raul. ‘Los Rastrojos do a lot of shipping out of there. They use the rivers. If they wanted to keep him on the move, it’s a very good place to take him.’

Los Rastrojos. Ross had heard that name before. They were a neo-paramilitary organization, basically a private army commanded by a warlord. During the FARC’s cease-fire with the government, Los Rastrojos had moved in and struck up a deal. Some called them a ‘narcogang,’ others a fully-fledged cartel. They were now allied with the FARC to produce and export cocaine and heroin to the international markets. Initially, the group and the FARC had fought against each other; however, like many criminal organizations, their mutual enemy was the government. Like Colombia’s own military, they fielded the Galil assault rifle, originally made in Israel but produced under a license by Indumil, a Colombian weapons manufacturer headquartered in Bogotá. The standard assault rifle’s 5.56mm cartridge would make it hard to distinguish between them and friendly forces — not exactly welcome news.

‘The man you were driving … was he ever here?’ Ross demanded.

‘Yes, he was with me. Then we were separated maybe an hour ago. I heard the trucks leaving.’

‘Hold here a minute,’ said Ross, then he sprinted out of the hut, calling Captain Jiménez along the way. The SF officer met him near the front doors.

Jiménez narrowed his gaze and backhanded sweat from his bald pate. ‘He’s still on the move, isn’t he?’

‘Timbiqui. Can we get some air assets to cut them off?’

‘Pretty remote. No LZ in the mangroves, and I’m sure they’re nowhere near the local airport.’

‘Fast rope some guys in there?’

‘We’d need exact GPS coordinates first.’

Ross cursed.

‘Look, Captain, even if there was an LZ, it’d take them a couple of hours — if the weather holds, which it won’t. There’s another storm moving in.’

‘What else we got? Coast Guard?’

‘The Marine commando teams, along with some of your DEA advisors, are always running patrols through there. I could call them in, but I think we’d scare off our boys. They could panic and kill your man.’

‘So then we just drive.’

‘Yes.’

Ross considered that. The Ghosts and the AFEUR team had left their Humvees and the old M35 cargo truck a few hundred meters south of the main trail leading into the valley. Kozak could put the drone up ahead, depending upon how much battery life he had in the main and spare cells.

Then again, the rebels would have at least a couple of hours’ head start. They had probably reached Timbiqui about now, if Raul’s estimates were correct, and they could already be moving yet again, perhaps smuggling their package down to a boat.

Time to call higher for a little backup — but no, they would not break off the pursuit.

‘Do you agree?’ Jiménez asked.

Ross nodded. ‘Let’s get back to the trucks and saddle up.’