It hadn’t taken much effort for Jason to persuade Crawford’s disenchanted marines to step aside so that he and Meat could get into the tunnel.
After squirming through the opening above the debris pile, they’d progressed quickly through a series of interconnected tunnels. Tight winding passages had widened into a subterranean corridor with a lofty ceiling joined at a point, which in turn, fed them through a tunnel that looked as if it had been dug by a huge gopher. Halfway through the gopher hole, where a sharp bend yielded to a lengthy straightaway, Jason abruptly dropped to one knee with his M-16 directed straight. He immediately signalled to Meat to halt his advance.
With no words exchanged between them, Jason leaned sideways and shone his light low to the ground less than ten metres ahead to emphasize a contorted body in desert camouflage blocking their path. The dead man was on his stomach in a pool of blood that looked purple against the dark limestone. Though the face was turned away from them, a glinting gold crucifix dangling from the corpse’s neck left little doubt as to the marine’s identity.
‘It’s Ramirez,’ Jason whispered softly to Meat.
Meat’s face gnarled with disgust.
Jason eased back to a standing position, listened intently for any activity. He turned to Meat. ‘Hear that?’
Meat nodded. ‘Sounds like rusty wheels.’
Jason proceeded forward and Meat followed close at his heels. As he stepped over the body, he caught a glimpse of the dime-sized red hole drilled through Ramirez’s temple.
Crawford, you bastard. You’re going to pay for this. All of this.
The tunnel curved yet again. After cautiously rounding the bend, Jason saw the slightest trace of light softening the darkness. He also heard screaming over the growing din of tinny squeals. One of the voices belonged to Crawford; the other, tinged with an accent, unmistakably Hazo. The exchange wasn’t pleasant. It sounded as if the two were arguing about something.
Jason looked back at Meat and said in an urgent tone, ‘Let’s do this.’