Venezuela was out as an entry point for obvious reasons, and any other airport large enough for military aircraft was now asking questions too. And many of the smaller airports were as well. But even if they could make it in, ground transportation was another problem. There were only two usable roads, each on either side of the mountain, both long and treacherous. Tiago Otero and his army would be coming up the south side, leaving the only road available as the one that ended in Guyana’s capital city of Georgetown. It was the same road the Chinese had carved into the mountain to get their treasure out, and it was already populated with local agencies investigating exactly what had happened at Acarai.
The chances of Caesare’s team getting to the top undetected were growing slimmer by the hour.
The partial 3D map in front of them displayed the area in impressive detail, including the multitude of surrounding peaks and elevations, displayed with tiny white numbers hovering over each peak.
“We’d still need two vehicles,” Corso said in a deep voice. “And extra fuel to make it up.”
He was right. That much uphill driving would require extra fuel. They could ditch the cans once they reached the top, but it still meant less space for gear. They’d need a second vehicle, which would provide some redundancy in case they ran into mechanical problems, but it also increased their chances of being spotted.
Standing to Caesare’s right, Tiewater shook his head. “It’s not gonna work. Even if we got transportation, there’s no way we’d make it to the top without being stopped.”
Caesare straightened and folded his arms. He was right. They wouldn’t have much problem disappearing once at the top, but it wouldn’t matter if they didn’t make it up first.
“Maybe we need a diversion.”
“Better be a damn good one,” Corso shrugged. “If they’re stopping flights in and out, it means they’re already suspicious.”
Caesare frowned. “And if they have any brains at all, they know a lot of people are already looking for other ways in.”
Anderson, the youngest of the four, was still staring at the map. “Christ, we haven’t even left yet and this thing’s already FUBAR.”
Caesare’s phone rang in his pocket. He pulled it out and raised an eyebrow at the number. “Caesare here.”
After a moment, he glanced up at the other men. “Well, hi there.” He paused, listening. “That’s good news… how soon?” He checked his watch. “Great. We’ll be there.”
He hung up and turned his attention back to the men around the table. “It looks like they’re in.”
“Draper and the monkey?”
“Gorilla,” Caesare corrected. “And Juan Diaz, one of their tech guys.”
“Sounds like we got ourselves a full house.”
Caesare nodded pensively, his eyes back on the digital map. “Yes, it does.”
They weren’t expecting Diaz, but it made sense. However, given their difficulty finding a way into the jungle undetected, an extra person was going to make it that much harder.
The only option he could see was trying to get into the jungle from the West. It was a significantly longer distance though, which meant it was a long shot. Yet even if they managed to make it in, it immediately presented a much bigger problem. Getting back out.
The option was feeling like a scenario in definition only. Because he was pretty damn sure that both DeeAnn and Juan were going to hate the only insertion possibility he had so far.
21
At that same moment, Steve Caesare’s bigger problem was sitting comfortably in a leather chair, peering out a double-paned window at the scene unfolding below him. From the air-conditioned third floor, Otero watched as over a hundred Brazilian soldiers assembled on the vast expanse of concrete outside.
So much for subtly.
Several covered trucks, all painted in the dark green colors of the Exército Brasileiro, also known as the land arm of the Brazilian Armed Forces, remained motionless nearby. Already parked beside the row of transport trucks were two medium-sized fuel trucks, with more on their way. The logistical challenges weren’t so much the men, it was the supplies. Transporting food, water, fuel, and even ammunition, was a herculean task, especially over a narrow road hundreds of kilometers long.
Even Otero knew that an army’s supply chain was the most critical, and most vulnerable, component of any mission. But he also knew things didn’t have to take so damn long.
He had managed to obtain an entire company, which involved pulling out all of Otero’s political stops. But now, his goal of keeping things quiet was hopelessly lost, leaving Otero shaking his head in frustration. Miraculously, most people believed that a government’s “bloat” somehow failed to transfer through to its military forces. How wrong they were. All bloat ran downhill, no matter what the nation. And it was something Otero was painfully witnessing firsthand.
If the Brazilian government ever tried to run itself like a business, they would find themselves bankrupt. Otero promptly caught himself, almost laughing at his own thought. The Brazilian government was already bankrupt.
Russo, Otero’s head of security, approached from behind. “Salazar is here.”
The older man continued peering forward as if not hearing but eventually turned his head. “Wonderful.”
A grin spread across Russo’s face, and he moved next to the large window. He watched the soldiers outside with a sense of nostalgia. Something Otero didn’t share.
Unlike his boss, Russo had himself started in the army. At that very base. It was in Belem that he had completed his training to become an infantry officer and subsequently led his first platoon during the last year of the Araguaia Guerrilla War.
But Otero had no such fondness for the base or its soldiers. He had never been in the military. To Russo, he was little more than a rich politician. Or perhaps a businessman with extremely deep pockets. Pockets, of course, that also paid Russo’s rather generous salary, especially given Brazil’s current economic climate.
“This is not what I wanted,” Otero murmured from the chair.
Russo nodded. “It’s going to make things messy.”
“Messy is an understatement.”
Both men heard the click of the door opening behind them, followed moments later by a louder clunk when it was closed.
Wearing his perfectly pressed uniform, a stout and balding Captain Salazar continued into the expansive meeting room, rounding the arm of a chair with a wry grin.
“Mr. Otero. So good to see you,” he said in a sullen voice. He reached out and offered his hand.
Otero shook it from his position but remained seated. It was a clear gesture to the Army Captain.
The truth was that neither man liked the other. Not a surprise given both their roles within a deeply corrupted government. Just as it was in neighboring countries, the military complex was quickly eroding into an “every man for himself” mentality, and Salazar was the very personification of it. Thankfully some government structure still remained, but given Otero’s urgency, Salazar and his company were the only available option.
“When will we be ready?”
“About four hours,” Salazar answered, between tight lips. “But it will take at least two days to arrive. Hundreds of kilometers on that road will not be fast. And once we’re past Sipaliwini, we don’t know the full condition of the road.”
Otero nodded but said nothing. He wondered if he’d made a mistake not taking Alves’ approach and flying up in a helicopter. It would have cut the trip down to a few hours, but it also would have meant taking only a very small group of men. Most likely not enough to find what they were looking for. No, Alves had held a huge advantage, which was having the monkey in his possession already. Now, finding the thing in the wild was going to require every man he could get.