“These guys are jungle fighters; they’re not worried about guards. The problem with where the factory’s located is a little bigger, but I think I have a way to narrow that down some. You said it had an airstrip?”
“Correct.”
“Then it would have to be a relatively flat area, and the terrain on this side of the river’s mostly hills.” Joe withdrew his GPS and powered it on. Once he had a lock on a signal, he zoomed in, starting at the disputed zone, and studied the imagery.
Drake checked the time and exhaled in frustration. “They could be getting tortured while we stand around here, Joe.”
“Remember what I said about positive vibes, dude.”
“Didn’t do Allie and Spencer much good, did it?”
“Remains to be seen, my man. Now let me concentrate on this.”
“What are you looking at?”
“Elevations. A flat area. It would probably be camouflaged to avoid detection from the air, and these images are probably so old it hadn’t even been built yet, but you can’t change the lay of the land. We find a decent-sized clearing that could handle an airstrip that’s no more than a day’s march from the temple, and that’s our spot.”
Ten minutes later, Joe was huddled with the colonel and his second-in-command, going over a paper map. Joe had identified a likely spot, and they were discussing how to best approach it without being detected. When they were done, Joe moved to where Drake and Uncle Pete were sitting. “He’s going to give us twenty men. He wanted to bring everyone, but I argued for stealth — so he’ll get into position, and his scouts will radio when we’ve taken the factory.” He eyed Drake. “Time to saddle up. Leng thinks it’s a five-hour march. That’ll put us there around dusk, which would work in our favor.”
“How do we avoid Red Moon killing the hostages?” Drake asked.
“We’ve got five hours to figure that part out. Now grab as many magazines as you can carry, and let’s hit the trail.”
“I should call the agency…”
“No way, dude. They’ll just tell you not to do this. They’re pencil pushers. By the time they get anyone in, your girl will be worm food.”
Drake looked over to where the men were collecting their weapons and filling satchels with grenades. “How many night vision goggles do they have?”
Joe smiled. “Enough.”
“You really think we can pull this off?”
“Positive vibes, dude. You really have to lose the cynicism.”
Joe turned and called out to Leng, who grinned and gave him a thumbs-up. Drake asked what he’d said, and Joe shrugged. “I told him that you’d double his bonus if we got everyone out alive.”
Drake’s faith in the aging hippie increased as he watched him slide magazines into his cargo pants. There was a palpable sense of both excitement and purpose among the Shan soldiers, and whatever Joe had said had clearly lit a fire under them, whether it was the lure of financial gain or the prospect of eradicating their hated adversaries once and for all. The men packed their kits with efficiency, their expressions serious, and for the first time since Drake had seen the blood in the elephant grass by Allie’s bandana, he felt a stirring of optimism.
He just hoped they’d make it in time.
Chapter 45
Joe took careful steps along the trail. Uncle Pete beside him brandished a pistol, a rifle out of the question given his infirmity. The Shan gunmen moved soundlessly behind them, all obviously on high alert. Drake brought up the rear, his feet blistering from the hiking of the last few days in wet conditions, his face drawn as he labored forward, refusing to submit to the urge to quit. Visions of Allie being tortured, or worse, raced through his imagination during the silent march, and his abdomen was a rock-hard knot of tension as the afternoon light slowly began to fade.
His watch told him they’d been on the move for almost six hours. If they didn’t reach the suspect site soon, they’d be further handicapped by nightfall. Only half the men had night vision equipment, Joe’s assurance that there was an adequate supply as optimistic as his take on the duration of their trek, and Drake was afraid that the Red Moon guards might be better equipped. If they were, any element of surprise would be overwhelmed by superior firepower, and then it would become a bloodbath whose outcome couldn’t be predicted.
Drake did his best to think optimistic thoughts, but what kept repeating through his mind was silent cursing at their predicament. He’d been suckered into a game that he was unprepared for, and now his love and his friend might pay for his poor judgment with their lives. It wasn’t lost on him how quickly things could turn from good to bad, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were headed toward disaster.
He stumbled over a vine and a flash of pain flared from his ankle, adding to his sour mood. He’d need to be more careful — preoccupation could get him killed. All he’d need to do was miss one telltale warning sign, and it would be over. His rifle felt heavier than it had when they’d started this jaunt, and he tried not to think about the gunmen he’d killed. Drake might have fancied himself an adventurer, but the truth was he knew he’d be haunted by the vision of his victims for a long time to come. That they were trying to kill him, so it had been self-defense, didn’t mitigate his guilt at having taken human life. He wondered how men like the ones he’d surrounded himself with could eagerly go in pursuit of death, and he shook his head. They were almost a different species, Joe included. The aging hippie showed no remorse at having shot more than his share, and Drake was willing to bet he’d sleep well tonight even if he killed a dozen more.
The procession slowed as Joe held up a hand, his focus on the area ahead absolute. Drake filed past the waiting Shan and drew near. Joe turned to him and whispered, his voice so low Drake could barely make out his words.
“There’s a booby trap just ahead. A trip wire. So we’re getting close.” Joe pointed to an almost invisible length of monofilament strung across the trail. One of the Shan nodded and pushed past them and, after a brief study of the device, snipped the line. Drake realized he’d been holding his breath and exhaled in relief. The rest of the men seemed unfazed.
Their progress slowed to a crawl as they picked their way along the trail. Joe spied one more trap, which the same Shan rendered safe. The gloaming’s light was fading as they arrived at the edge of the clearing, and Joe nodded in satisfaction at the sight of the building in front of them. At one end hummed a generator providing power for the interior, but only a few lights illuminated the exterior, which made sense given the illegal nature of the operation. Still, it was easy to make out dozens of armed men in the shadows; at least five times as many as in the Shan force.
Drake murmured to Joe, “We need some kind of diversion. There are way too many to take on. Looks like the CIA underestimated their strength.”
“Yup. More like a hundred men, easily. Idiots.”
“So what do we do?”
Joe gestured at a shack well away from the main building. “See that? My bet is that’s where they keep all the flammable material they use to manufacture the meth. If we can get to it, that would create a hell of a distraction.”
“Yeah, but it’s got at least twenty men guarding it. What are you thinking? Fire an RPG into it?”
“Problem is, those aren’t very accurate at this distance, so it’s just as likely to miss as hit.” Joe shook his head and then gave Drake a small smile. “Maybe something more dramatic to get their attention?”
“Like what?”
“See the airfield over on the far side?”
Drake nodded. “Yes. And?”