The Lost City

CHAPTER SEVEN

As soon as he saw it through the field glasses, Hawke saw Alex’s research had been bang on the money. This was no full-scale FARC rebel camp. Those were ten times bigger than this and usually far away from the prying eyes of the cities. What he was looking at now was an impressive three storey mansion perched in the hills high above Bogotá — terracotta tiled roof, intricate white Colonial architecture and a neat balustrade running around the top floors.

It sat like a Puna hawk on a cliff-edge, overlooking a vast valley of feijoa trees and partially hidden behind the passionfruit vines twisting up its Roman arcades and double-hung windows. From their elevated position in the hills above the house, Hawke was able to see a good two acres of flattened ground in the property’s west where some smaller chalets were situated and a jumble of other less impressive buildings. This must where Chastain’s CGF training goes on, he thought.

Two Bell Kiowas were taking in some sunshine in the center of the training area. Normally used for direct-fire support, these were probably just used for transporting men and weapons through the mountains. The roads here were unsealed and the hairpin bends were very unforgiving if you made a mistake.

He watched small groups of men and a handful of women as they went about their business in the camp. They would feel totally safe up here, and that was a sense of false security Hawke was going to exploit.

They seemed relaxed as they milled about, and now a man in a hard-worn sweat-stained Gambler hat strolled out of the mansion with his hands in his pockets and stood in the middle of the training area. He leaned forward and casually spat on the ground, and then removed his hat for a second to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Beside him was the unmistakable figure of Dirk Kruger in his battered suede safari hat, black shirt and crocodile boots. A moment later two more men appeared in view — Hawke instantly recognized them from the Cartagena CCTV as Ziad Saqqal and Bashir Jawad. Chastain appeared to be showing them the training area and was pointing out the choppers and the contents of some plastic banana crates, but something told Hawke they weren’t admiring bananas.

“They’re our guys, all right,” Hawke said, passing the field glasses to Reaper. “The whole Groovy Gang all together… but no sign of Ryan.”

Reaper looked through the binoculars and gently nodded his head. “Oui — we know Kruger and the others all match Alex’s description perfectly, but as you say — no Ryan.”

Chastain yelled some orders and moments later a number of the men were running around the training area while holding their assault rifles above their heads. Another man was shouting at them in Spanish. Another group of men began loading the banana crates into the Kiowas.

“There goes the gear for the Inca mission,” Hawke said. “I wonder what goodies a man like Chastain packs for a holiday to the Lost City?”

“Certainly not deodorant by the looks of his shirt,” Scarlet said.

Lea sighed. “Guns, ammo, rappel lines, Maglites, glow sticks… you name it.”

Hawke nodded. “I think you’re on the money.”

“They don’t look too scary to me,” Scarlet said.

“Don’t get cocky. These are the men who have turned their backs on the peace settlement that FARC have committed to with the Colombian Government. I’m thinking they’re not going to be a pushover.”

Reaper watched through the field glasses as a small crew of men in the far corner of the training quad set up a machine gun.

“They’ve got an NSV to play with mes amis,” he said, passing the binoculars back to Hawke.

“A what?” Luis said from the Jeep.

“It’s an old Soviet heavy machine gun,” Hawke said. “Eats up fifty-round boxes like a hungry wolf on a lamb. Replaced now by the Kord, but still a savage little beast. Eight hundred bullets per minute in our faces so try and stay out of its way everyone.”

“Good advice,” Reaper said with a calm nod of his head.

“Time for the off?” Lea said.

Hawke nodded and put the binoculars on the front seat. “Let’s do it.”

They told Luis to stay with the Jeep, and after tooling up with as many weapons as they could carry, they hiked straight down the old goat track and made their way toward Chastain’s mansion. Hawke knew they would be outnumbered, but they had the element of surprise, plus he was willing to bet that aside from Chastain, the enemy would have zero Special Forces experience, and that gave them an edge.

Closer to the property now, they waited in the jungle while they made another surveillance of the enemy, counting guns and looking for any surprises. The only thing out of the ordinary was a large cage partially covered in vines which was situated a couple of hundred yards from the main house. It looked like it had some kind of viewing platform above it.

“What the hell is that?” Lea said, passing Hawke the binoculars.

He checked it out. “Looks like panthers to me… two of them.”

“Why the hell are they in that cage?” Lexi asked.

“I dread to think,” Scarlet said. “But I doubt Chastain keeps them for petting.”

“We can worry about that later,” the Englishman said. “Let’s do this.”

They fanned out and broke into two units. One led by Scarlet went to the south of the camp while Hawke’s team dropped below the ridge line and approached from the north. Reaper kicked things off when he threw a grenade and took out several men hanging around one of the chalets, and then Scarlet followed suit by destroying one of the Jeeps with another grenade.

The reaction was furious, but panicked, and soon Chastain’s men had split into two groups. One moved into the hills to the south of the property in pursuit of Scarlet while the other skirted the carnage of the burning chalets and moved toward Hawke’s unit.

“Forward!” Hawke shouted.

Their guns blazed as they advanced toward the enemy, and Reaper felt a burst of morale as he watched the CGF men back at the mansion crumble and scatter. They were showing their weakness in the face of SBS, SAS and Foreign Legion training but there was no time for pride or premature celebrations.

Hawke had seen a group of men sprinting behind the Kiowas toward the NSV and that meant trouble for everyone. It was at the far western end of the training quad but it had a range of around one mile, which meant they were well in its sights. Not only that, but the sub-unit who had gone into the jungle south of the house had now regrouped and was starting to advance toward them from the west, creating a classic pincer movement. With the NSV on their right flank they would easily drive them into the loving arms of Chastain’s team back in the cover of the mansion ahead of them.

Hawke’s team doubled back and dipped below the ridge to the north of the training ground before coming in behind the sub-unit. Across the flattened grassy quad they watched a two-man crew open fire at Scarlet and the others, its vicious muzzle flashing white and orange as it spat out over a dozen rounds per second.

Hawke grabbed a grenade, pulled the pin out with his teeth and tossed it into the NSV nest and watched as the men reacted to it with savage, animal panic. They fumbled over each other for it, and then gave up and decided to flee, but it was too late. The explosion blasted them and the NSV to pieces and scattered the debris and body parts in a wide area around the nest.

“We need to get back to the others,” Hawke said. “Chastain must have ordered an evacuation — the Kiowas are firing up.”

“Not so fast, Joe…” Reaper raised his hand and pointed through a gap in the trees. Hawke looked through the gaps in between the trunks and saw the mansion. Standing in front of it was a smirking Ross Chastain and a huddle of men scanning the jungle with guns in their hands.

“Something’s happening,” Reaper said.

Hawke waved a mosquito away and stared at the men. “I don’t believe it.”

“What’s going on?” Lea said, taking the field glasses.

“He’s alive!” Hawke said.

Kruger gave an order and a moment later some men in jungle camos dragged Ryan out of the property and threw him down in the dirt.

“I don’t believe it,” Lea said. “I really thought he was dead. When I saw Kruger on the CCTV I thought maybe there was a chance, but even then…”

“Not me,” Hawke said. “I knew he was alive.”

The sight of Ryan Bale had lifted his spirits. What he had told the others about never giving up on him was true, but what he hadn’t told them was how close he had come to deciding he was dead and letting him go.

And then Chastain called out into the trees. “All right, assholes… listen up! I don’t know who the hell you are or what you want, but this guy’s going to get it in the neck right now if y’all don’t make like in the movies, and come out with your hands up. Any funny business and he’s dead before your next breath.”