Payback

72

Dean and Karr took the small runabout downriver about a mile before turning back. There was little traffic nearby. Karr’s PDA had survived the dunking, and they used it to help guide them to a spot a half mile below the Inca ruins that the Art Room had identified as a good place to hide the boat.

Fashona had left them with some new gear, including new radiation detection gear, an MP5 submachine gun, and night-vision goggles. He’d also brought replacement boots for Dean. They were a bit on the stiff side, but Dean changed into them when he got out of the boat, figuring they would be better than sneakers when climbing the rough terrain.

“You’re not to engage any forces,” Telach told them after they tied the boat up. “Especially Peruvian. Avoid contact.”

“What if they’re hostile?” said Karr.

“Avoid contact,” she snapped. “Avoid contact. You got it?”

“You’re no fun.”

“Charlie?”

“Yeah, we understand, Marie. If we find this guy, though—”

“Simply report what you find. We’ll handle the next step.”

“Gonna send the Delta boys to finish the job,” said Karr.

The hike to the buildings would be about ten miles long. Along the way, they would climb about five thousand feet, a little more than a mile. An unmanned aircraft known as a Global Hawk had been launched on a mission from the U.S. to supply overhead reconnaissance, which would make things easier than they might have been. There were a number of road patrols and checkpoints, and the eye in the sky would tell them which were occupied and which weren’t. They’d also be able to use the trails without having to worry about being surprised by a patrol, even though they were walking in broad daylight.

Fifteen minutes into the hike, Karr suggested they snack while they walked. Before Dean could offer an opinion, the other op was halfway through his third sandwich.

“That food’s supposed to last us until tomorrow,” said Dean.

“Can’t work on an empty stomach. Something will turn up. Worst case, we chow down on some of those MREs Fashona gave us. Good enough for the troops, good enough for us. Right?”

“I guess.”

“You prefer C rations?”

“MREs will do.” MREs—“Meals Ready to Eat”—were the modem equivalent of C rations, the World War II era canned food issued to troops in the field.

A few minutes later, Sandy Chafetz checked in with them from the Art Room, telling them she was taking over from Rockman as their runner.

“I’m sitting in for a bit,” she told Dean. “I’m looking at you right now on the infrared feed from the Global Hawk. Going back to optical. You have a nice, easy walk around the perimeter of those Aztec ruins to the outpost. There are two soldiers down the road, but we think you can get around them easily.”

“Incas,” said Dean, correcting her. “The Aztecs were further north. How’s Lia doing?”

“Lia’s all right,” said Chafetz.

There was a defensiveness to her voice, the tone a kid might use if he was being questioned about breaking curfew.

“What happened to her?” said Dean.

“Charlie—”

“What happened to her?”

“She’s OK.”

“Let me talk to Telach.”

“It’s under control, Charlie.”

“If it were, Rockman would be talking to me.”

Telach broke in. “What’s wrong, Charlie?”

“Where’s Lia?”

“Her helicopter crashed about eighty miles north of La Oroya. She was rescued by some soldiers there, but now they’ve been ambushed by local guerrillas.”

“Where is she now?”

“We have it under control.”

“I want the whole story,” insisted Dean, stopping.

“That is the whole story, Charlie. We have a team standing by to assist.”

“Standing by where? Is this the team in Ecuador?”

“Charlie, I really don’t have time to explain this to you. Please let us handle it.”

He slapped the communications unit off in a fit of anger.

“Charlie?” said Karr.

Dean pointed at his ear. Karr turned off his communications set.

“Lia’s in trouble,” Dean told him.

“Where is she?”

“North of La Oroya. She has no backup.”

“We have the paras in Ecuador,” said Karr. “And there’s all sorts of Delta people arriving in Lima.”

“Ecuador’s a couple of hundred miles away, more. They’re situated for a mission near Iquitos. She’s down near La Oroya. One of us should be there backing her up.”

Karr ambled over toward him. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

“I am going to leave.”

“How are you going to get there?”

“I’ll rent that airplane.”

“You don’t even know where you’re going.”

“Telach said the helicopter crashed eighty miles north of La Oroya. It’ll be in the same valley we took north with Fashona. I’ll look for it.”

“Come on, Charlie. Let the Art Room take care of it.”

“This is just a sneak and peak. You can handle it by yourself.”

“That’s not the point.”

“I have to go, Tommy.”

Karr stared at him for a long moment before frowning and shaking his head. “I really don’t think you should do this.”

“Come with me.”

“Aw, come on; I can’t do that.”

“We let her get raped in Korea, Tommy. We should have been there.”

Karr frowned but didn’t answer. As Dean started to step around him, Karr grabbed his shoulder. It was a strong, tight grip, and Dean worried that he would have to fight Karr to get by.

“I don’t think you should go,” said Karr. “But if you have to, all right. Just remember the Art Room is going to know right away.”

Dean nodded.

“Take the boat. Hire the geezer with the plane,” said Karr. “I’ll catch up when I can.”