Ramsey's Gold

Chapter Thirty-Three

The anxiety coming off Jack was palpable, creating an unpleasant aura as he and Drake waited for Spencer’s return. An hour after the Russian’s disappearance it began raining again, and Jack’s shoulders slumped — if Spencer hadn’t found the enemy camp by then, he likely wouldn’t at all, and their gambit would have been for nothing.

They never heard Spencer — he just appeared in the middle of the river, like a specter in the gray downpour, seeming to glide across the surface of the water with no visible effort. Jack jumped to his feet and moved to meet him. Drake remained where he was, figuring that if there was bad news, he’d rather Jack heard it first so he could digest it alone.

When they approached, Spencer looked grim but determined.

“There are eight of them. They’re about a half hour from here. By the same river, from what I can tell. Looks that way on the GPS. Anyway, I made out six locals and two Russians, counting the one that showed up here. So…difficult, but not an impossible number for us to take.”

“Did you see Allie?” Drake asked.

“Yes. She’s tied to a tree. They’ve got two tents set up. But if they’re smart, they’ll have a guard posted at night. Especially at night. Everyone’s armed to the teeth, so it won’t be easy.”

“How do you think we should do it?” Jack asked.

“We wait until dark. We’ve got night vision scopes, hopefully they don’t. But I’d rather not go in heavy — a lot can go wrong when the shooting starts.” Spencer appeared to consider the problem. “There are a few ways to approach it. For my money, the best will depend on where the guard’s sitting. Assuming he doesn’t patrol the perimeter.” He returned his attention to Jack. “You’ll need to see the layout. I say we head over there an hour before dusk, scope it out, and be ready to hit them once everyone’s asleep.”

“How competent do the locals look?”

Spencer frowned. “They look hard. My guess is they work with traffickers. They know how to handle their weapons. You can tell.”

“That would figure. The Russians would want seasoned help. Men who wouldn’t bat an eye about kidnapping or murder. Birds of a feather.” Jack looked around their camp. “We better pack everything up. We won’t be able to stay here if we get Allie back, unless we kill everyone — and that might not happen. So we should move our gear now while we have downtime. Probably stash it closer to the final outpost. That clearing looked as good as any.”

Spencer nodded. “We can go in light, with just weapons and whatever else we deem necessary. The bare minimum.” He studied Jack’s drawn face. “You have an idea?”

“Tell me about the river and the layout.”

The cloudburst stopped twenty minutes before they arrived at the Russian camp. The air felt thick as they crawled to a position upstream, the vegetation hiding them as they eyed the gunmen, who were eating dinner — fish, by the smell. Drake’s mouth watered as the aroma wafted on the breeze, and he was reminded that he hadn’t eaten anything but an energy bar since choking down a few mouthfuls of breakfast twelve hours before.

The Russians sat near the fire, with the natives grouped nearby, eating separately. Allie had a bandanna tied around her mouth, muzzling her so she couldn’t cry out, and nobody made any attempt to offer her food. As the late afternoon light faded, the natives finished their meal and went to relieve themselves. The taller of the two Russians approached Allie and pulled the bandanna down. He poured a few gulps of water into her mouth before putting it back in place. Drake’s anger swelled at what she’d probably been through all day, tied to the tree, no food, at the mercy of her captors. He had to force it down, and emulate Jack’s dispassionate precision.

The sliver of sky overhead turned vibrant orange and red, high wisps of clouds like trails of white smoke as the sun set, and then it was dark, the transition from twilight taking only a few minutes. The Russians entered the two tents, leaving the native gunmen to sleep outdoors under a tarp they’d strung from several trees on the opposite end of the grotto. One of the men took up a position on the perimeter near the fire pit, his gun across his lap as he sat cross-legged beneath a smaller tarp.

They waited an hour and a half. Jack watched through his rifle’s night vision scope as the locals rolled into sleeping positions and dozed off. Unfortunately, even after a long wait the guard still looked alert, which didn’t bode well for a surprise attack.

Jack put the gun down and faced Drake and Spencer, his voice barely a whisper. “Here’s how we’ll play this. I’ll go in and take out the guard. Spencer, you cover the others. I want to avoid shooting unless we absolutely have to, but if we do, make every burst count. Drake, once I’ve neutralized the guard, get to Allie and cut her loose. Take her to the river and follow the bank to where we are right now while Spencer and I cover you. We’ll be able to move faster than they can once we’re clear of their camp. I didn’t see any NV gear on their weapons.”

Spencer nodded at Drake. “Take the night vision goggles so you can see what you’re doing with Allie. We’ve got the rifle scopes,” he murmured. He extracted the goggles from his backpack and handed them to Drake. “The strap goes around your head. Try them on. Get used to them, because when it’s showtime, they’ll be your lifeline.”

Drake did so, and Spencer flipped a small switch on the side of the goggles. “There.”

The night lit up in a yellow-green haze. Drake’s eyes adjusted, and soon he could make out the guard and the sleeping gunmen — and Allie, who looked like she’d also fallen asleep.

“I can see pretty well.”

Jack nodded. “All right. Spencer, follow me in. Don’t get too close — let’s try to do this without waking anyone up.”

“How are you going to eliminate the guard?” Spencer asked.

“Knife. The old-fashioned way.”

Spencer nodded in the gloom. “Too bad we can’t use the crossbows.”

“Too much noise. And if for some reason I didn’t get a clean headshot, he’d go berserk, and then we’re in a firefight. No, I’m going to circle around, come up behind him, and put him down before he can make a sound. It’s the only way.”

A low rumble of thunder sounded and Spencer grimaced. “Damn. That’s going to wake them.”

“Nobody said this would be easy.”

The sudden downpour fell heavy from the night sky, fat drops the size of marbles pelting the trees around them. Drake watched through the goggles as the natives awoke and made hasty adjustments to their shelter before crawling as far under it as they could and resuming their slumber. The guard sat impassively, rain streaming off his tarp. As the downpour intensified, he stood and walked through the rain to Allie’s position. He looked down at her for a long time before moving back to his original spot, where this time he squatted, squinting into the dark as sheets of water rained down on the camp.

Jack nodded at Spencer and left without a sound. Drake and Spencer watched as the guard bounced on his haunches and then stood again. He paced back and forth before easing himself into a seated position beneath the drooping fabric square, seemingly unruffled by the cloudburst.

Jack appeared at the edge of the clearing behind him, moving in a crouch, each step carefully placed, the falling rain masking any sound his boots made on the wet ground.

Spencer leaned in to Drake. “When he drops the guard, don’t hesitate. Get to Allie, cut her loose, tell her to stay quiet, and get to the river. If something goes wrong and there’s shooting, don’t stop, don’t try to join in…don’t do anything but get her clear. Understand?”

“Got it.”

Jack prowled through the tall grass toward the sentry. Drake watched through the goggles, fascinated, his stomach in a knot as the older man closed the distance to the guard. Twenty feet, then ten, then five, and then he was on him, one hand across the man’s mouth as he drove his combat knife into the base of his neck, instantly severing his spinal cord. Spencer nudged Drake into action, and he sprinted from behind the plants and across the clearing as Jack gently lowered the guard’s inert form to the ground. His first errand complete, Jack swiveled with his rifle, watching for any movement from the sleeping gunmen.

Drake reached Allie and she started awake, obviously surprised by his sudden proximity. He saw panic in her eyes and realized that she couldn’t make out who it was, especially with the night vision goggles covering most of his face.

“Allie, it’s me. Drake. I’m going to cut you loose and we’re getting out of here. Don’t say anything, stay quiet.” Drake realized as he spoke that she couldn’t talk with the bandanna gag. He pulled it out of her mouth and sliced at the rope binding her wrists, careful not to slash her with the big knife’s razor-sharp blade.

“Wha—”

“Shhh. Are you hurt?” he murmured.

“No.”

“You think you can run?”

“Damned right I can.”

“Okay. Quiet as possible. Take my hand and follow me,” Drake said, sheathing the blade and gripping his rifle.

They rose and, after a final look around, crept to the river twenty yards down the bank. They were three-quarters of the way to the water when Allie stifled a cry. She’d landed on her bad ankle the wrong way, sending a streak of blinding pain up her leg.

A grunt sounded from beneath the tarp, and one of the men called out a query in Spanish.

When no response came, the gunmen scrambled for their weapons as Drake practically carried Allie the rest of the way to the river. Gunfire exploded behind them in the night, instantly answered by the percussive bark of Jack’s rifle. After that, everything seemed to happen at once. Muzzle flashes lit up the clearing as the guards fired indiscriminately at the perimeter. They were quickly joined by the two Russians, who emerged from their tents spraying lead with their AKs on full auto.

Spencer picked off one of the guards, and Jack another, and then a stray round struck Jack in the chest. He went down hard, coughed, and scrambled to his feet, returning fire as he made his break for the jungle’s cover. Spencer lay down measured volleys as Jack stumbled toward him.

Jack threw himself into the undergrowth as rounds whistled by, and then Spencer had his arm around him and half dragged him farther into the jungle. Spencer held his AK in front of him, using the scope to see, and soon the hiss of slugs tearing through the leaves died as they moved deeper into the brush.

“We…need to…get to the river…Allie…” Jack said. Spencer heard the telltale burble of blood in his breathing, as well as the sound of air sucked through Jack’s chest wound.

“Okay. We will. Save your strength. The river’s off to our right. Come on. You can make it.”

They stumbled through the undergrowth, Jack’s legs barely supporting him as he tried to keep up with Spencer. After what seemed like an eternity, they saw a ribbon of water, rain rippling the surface in the darkness.

“We’re here. Now all we have to do is wait,” Spencer hissed. Jack collapsed in a heap on the bank, his lifeblood seeping from his chest, his shirt soaked with its inky stain.

They heard splashing from their right. Drake and Allie materialized out of the night. When Allie saw Jack struggling to breathe in the dim moonlight, she dropped to her knees next to him.

“Oh, God. What happened? Are you…” She looked up at Spencer.

Spencer shook his head. “He’s hit. Bad.”

Allie put her hand on Jack’s cheek. He felt cold. His eyes flitted open and he took her in.

“We…got you out…of there.”

“Yes. You did.”

“Took a couple of them with us, too.” He coughed, and she could see the crimson trickle from his lips. He groaned and shut his eyes again. “Get moving. I’m done for.”

“No. I won’t leave you here,” Allie cried. Drake squeezed her hand.

“Shhh. They’ll hear you, and then we’re all dead.”

She bit back her response and nodded, her eyes welling with tears as the rain washed Jack’s blood into rivulets that strained down to the river.

Jack hacked, an ugly wet sound. “Drake…I’m….sorry about…your dad…”

“You did everything you could. Don’t worry about it, Jack. It’s over.”

Jack shook his head. “No. You…don’t…understand.”

Drake leaned in closer. “What don’t I understand?”

“I…he wasn’t…supposed to get…hurt…” Another cough, this one accompanied with blood and wheezing through the chest wound. “Something went…wrong.”

“What do you mean, he wasn’t supposed to get hurt? By who?”

“I’m…sorry. The…Russians. They…promi—”

Drake had never heard a death rattle before. It wasn’t so much a rattle as a long, gurgling moan. Jack stared heavenward, his final regret dying on his lips, gazing into eternity as droplets of warm rain fell into his open eyes.

“We need to get out of here. Grab his gun and his backpack. Hurry,” Spencer whispered, breaking the spell. Drake picked up Jack’s rifle and slipped his backpack off, his movements wooden, his mind reeling from Jack’s revelation. The bastard had sold his father out. No doubt for a handsome figure — enough so he’d never had to work again. But something had gone wrong. Dad hadn’t cooperated and things had turned ugly, robbing Drake of his father.

They plodded down the side of the river until Spencer stopped and turned.

“The goggles. Give them to me. Quick.”

Drake handed them over. Shots rang out behind them, and slugs smacked into the wet dirt. Spencer scrambled up the bank and growled at Drake and Allie. “Follow me.”

Allie crawled to Spencer and he pulled her to her feet. Drake was right behind her, his boots slipping in the slick mud as he fought for a foothold. Then they were moving along a trail, branches tearing at his skin as he pushed through them, Jack’s confession burning in his ears as they plunged deeper into the jungle’s embrace.