The Devil's Elixir

67

I killed my engine and gestured for Munro to do the same—maybe we could hear the Jeep and get a direction that way—but Munro kept his engine running. I was about to ask him what the hell he was doing when he removed an oversize PDA from his black BDU pants’ thigh pocket, flipped open the plastic cover, and looked intently at the screen. I thought back to how Munro had managed to find us, and Munro could obviously hear the wheels spinning inside my head.

He just pointed skyward and said, “Predator,” then swung his attention back at his screen.

I looked up to the sky, which was Fantasy Island blue. I couldn’t see any drone.

“Ours?” I asked.

Without taking his eyes off his screen, he said, “Well it ain’t federale, that’s for sure.”

“You’ve been tracking us? For how long? Why didn’t you pick us up before we left U.S. soil?”

He gave me a look that reeked of disdain. “We didn’t know if Navarro was there or not. We had to follow you to get to him. What’s your problem? You’re all in one piece, aren’t you?”

“Hey, Navarro has Alex, asshole.”

He shrugged and shoved the device into his pocket.

“This way.” He pointed to a road to the left that seemed to head off the plateau and dip down toward lower ground.

I charged my quad forward and blocked his way. I scowled at him and yelled, “Alex comes first, no matter what.”

He raised his hands in feigned surrender. “Absolutely.”

I’m sure my expression betrayed the fact that I didn’t fully believe him on that.

“No. Matter. What,” I repeated, firmly.

“You got it, buddy,” he protested.

I still wasn’t buying it, but I had no choice.

I hit the gas and stormed ahead. He followed close behind as I wondered how Alex was feeling right now and hating Navarro even more for it.

The road started to slope down and turned into a dirt trail that was so narrow we had to ride single file. There was barely enough room for a Jeep to make it through, but the cluster of birds that had just burst into the air maybe half a mile ahead seemed to confirm that Navarro wasn’t too far.

We followed the trail until the tree cover fell away and we emerged into the open again. I got a clearer view of the geography and realized the track we’d been following ran along the top of one side of a wide ravine. Up ahead, the trail switched back in front of a wall of solid rock that closed the ravine at the near end.

We maneuvered the quad bikes around the 180-degree bend and were rewarded with a view down the length of the valley, which was completely open at the other end, although the ravine narrowed before it got there. This was clearly Navarro’s target. The perfect place for an escape chopper to get him out of any unexpected jam—like maybe his ex-narco buddies finding out he was still alive. It was isolated and completely out of sight while the bird was on the ground, the ravine cushioned the rotor noise, and it had good cover from the air due to the surrounding jungle.

Hence the chopper with its rotors spinning up in a flat clearing down at the far end of the ravine, with the Jeep thundering toward it, out of reach.

Rage tore through me and I choked the handle as far as it would go. The quad’s engine roared in protest as I hurtled down the trail, pushing the four-wheeler as fast as I could, sliding around the bends at the edge of adhesion with my body slung out as far as it reached as a counterweight, my heart flailing against my throat—

I burst into the clearing and beelined for the chopper as, up ahead, Navarro and his two men were hustling out of the Jeep, with Alex in the madman’s grip. They all saw me. Navarro kept herding Alex to the chopper while the pistoleros turned around and whipped their guns out toward me.

I bent down and kept going.

Bullets whizzed by me, but within seconds I’d reeled them in, aiming straight at the gunmen, and I plowed straight through one of them, hitting him with a jarring thud. He bounced off the front of the bike and disappeared behind me, and I hit the brakes while spinning the handlebars as far as they would go. I leapt off the quad before it had even slid to a stop and, with my gun already out, just charged at the other gunman. He fired off a couple of rounds at me, then I saw him flinch sideways as Munro cut him down from his bike.

I rushed up to the chopper, with Navarro and Alex almost at its door, the rotor wash beating the air into us and kicking up an infernal dust cloud.

“Stop,” I yelled.

Navarro turned and glared at me—

Then he pulled Alex right up against him, a four-year-old human shield—not a very effective one, given that Alex only reached his waist, leaving his entire torso exposed. I had a shot, clear and true—but Navarro had a blade pressed against Alex’s neck, and visions of what happened to Corliss’s daughter froze my trigger finger.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Everyone calm down here, all right,” Munro shouted as he sauntered up close to me, his gun arm also held straight out at Navarro, his other hand making a staying gesture. “Let’s all take a breath here, guys.”

“Put your guns down or the kid dies,” Navarro yelled back, edging backward, closer to the chopper’s cabin.

I felt my limbs go rigid with dread, but from the corner of my eye, I caught Munro’s impassive look and something was very wrong about it.

“No one’s going anywhere,” he told Navarro. “Just put the fucking knife down and get your ass over here or I’ll take the kid out myself.”

He lowered his aim.

His gun was now leveled at Alex.