“Yes, sir.”
Troy moved to the edge of the clearing where he pulled out several creased pictures from his pants pocket. The first was of his girlfriend, Jennie Perez. He and Jennie were going through a rough time, and he grimaced as he thought about what he’d done back at the tent. Despite the troubles, he and Jennie hadn’t broken off the relationship. They weren’t married, they hadn’t even talked about it yet, but they’d made a pledge to each other over the summer, in better times. So, technically, he’d cheated.
He shook his head. And there’d been that woman in Spain six weeks ago.
He moved on to the other pictures — his mother, Cheryl; his brother, Jack; and his father, Bill — so Jennie’s photograph wouldn’t keep reminding him of what he’d done back at the campground — and in Spain. But the mental images of the interludes began haunting him even as he gazed at the photos of his family. That exotic young woman in the tent looked a lot like Jennie. So had the woman in Spain.
Troy pulled a lighter from his pocket, set the photos ablaze, held them until the last possible second by the corners, and then allowed them to fall to the rocks.
“What are you doing, sir?” Bennington had moved away from the others to where Troy was standing.
“Burning pictures of my family, and you’d be wise to do the same if you have any on you.”
“Why?”
“If you’re caught by the man we’re going after tonight, he’ll use those pictures to find your family.” For the first time Troy caught a blink of fear in Bennington’s expression. “And he won’t care if they’re women or children. And he’ll make you watch what he does to them before he finally kills you.”
Bennington’s eyes narrowed. “Who is the target tonight, sir?”
Troy had to give the man credit. He’d waited longer to ask that question than most people would. “Daniel Gadanz.”
“Holy shit. He’s the most powerful drug lord in the world.”
“Worth more than $200 billion.”
“Billion?”
Troy and a special-forces team had almost captured Gadanz last December at a secret compound the drug lord maintained in south Florida. But he’d escaped in a Gulfstream G650 at the last moment.
“You want out?” Troy asked. Bennington looked shocked, and Troy didn’t want men with him who weren’t fully committed. “I’ll give you that option. But one way or another I’m coming out of the jungle tonight with Gadanz’s head in a sack.”
Bennington pushed his chin out defiantly. “No, sir, we’re with you.” Bennington took a step toward his men, then turned back around. “Are you Red Cell Seven?” he asked Troy.
“No.”
Bennington stared at Troy intensely for a few moments, as if hoping he might get more, then turned away.
“What was the vision?”
Bennington turned back around again. “Sir?”
“Before we broke camp, you told me Pablo had a vision last night. What was it?”
“That we were all killed in a gun battle tonight.”
Troy pushed out his lower lip in a satisfied way. “Well, that’s a relief.”
“What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Being captured by Daniel Gadanz would be much worse than being killed.”
Jack’s gaze moved down the silver barrel of the Colt to the trigger — and Russell’s fingertip, which was on it. “Jesus Christ!” he shouted suddenly, slamming his palm on the bulkhead as he looked and gestured wildly to the right.
In the split second Russell was distracted Jack leapt from his chair and lunged for the distraught bond trader. He grabbed the wrist clenching the big revolver and held on as Russell began pulling the trigger over and over.
The massive trading room, which had been chaotic before going totally silent, now catapulted back into bedlam with the earsplitting explosions.
As people screamed and fled, Jack slammed the hard sole of his black tasseled loafer into the side of Russell’s knee, exactly at the point Troy had taught him. The knee snapped loudly, Russell shouted in agony and collapsed to the floor, and Jack was left holding the smoking gun.
Several of the men in the area, who’d turned to flee, jumped on Russell and subdued him while others rushed to Jack’s side.
Frank Dorsey, the head of the corporate bond desk, patted him on the back. “It’s been a market bloodbath in here for all of us today, but you kept it from being a real bloodbath.”
“Thanks.”
“Have a martini tonight when you get home. Have a few of them and think about how you saved lives. Don’t worry about the millions you lost this afternoon. Senior management isn’t gonna give a rat’s ass about that after what you just did.”
“I guess you’re right.”
As four men hustled Russell Hill toward one of the trading room doors, Jack considered telling Dorsey the truth. But he didn’t. He kept it to himself.
Jack had made almost seventy million dollars this afternoon by going short, by being a contrarian and betting interest rates would rise — as they had with the Fed’s action. In the wink of an eye what had been a nine-hundred-million-dollar portfolio was now worth nearly a billion.
He eased back down into his chair as Russell disappeared from the trading floor and Dorsey headed back to his position to try and pick up the pieces. It was time for Jack to start covering those short positions and locking in his huge gains. His bonus this year was going to be excellent.
He shook his head as he picked up one of his phones to start the process. Russell’s knee had snapped like a toothpick, exactly as Troy had described it would all those times he’d shown Jack the basics of self-defense. He’d always known Troy was a dangerous man. But that reality suddenly seemed more apparent.
CHAPTER 4
“You can leave now,” Troy said to Pablo before searching him again for communication devices. Bennington had frisked him back at the base camp, but it was always a good idea to check twice in situations like this. “Or you can stay here and wait for us.” There weren’t that many places you could hide something in a T-shirt, cargo shorts, and sandals, so it didn’t take long for Troy to confirm that Pablo was clean. “I’ll make sure we find you before we leave the area, if you want to wait.” He shrugged. “It’s up to you.”
At twenty-seven minutes past midnight the team had reached the outskirts of the Gadanz compound. Pablo had proven himself a worthy guide, but he was no warrior. It wasn’t just fear brimming in those brown eyes; it was outright terror. He’d only be a liability from now on. Maybe this was a raw deal, being left here alone, but Pablo had earned a good deal of cash to lead them here, more than he could in a year at his construction job back in Guayana City. So Troy didn’t feel that bad.
“What do you want to do?”
“I’m leaving,” Pablo answered firmly. “Adios.”
Moments later the small man had disappeared into the jungle. He was more willing to take on the wild animals of the Venezuelan jungle alone than face Daniel Gadanz if this mission went terribly wrong. Pablo wasn’t stupid.
“Come on,” Troy said to the other three when he was gone. “Don’t fire unless you absolutely have to,” he ordered. “If we shoot, we lose surprise, and that’s our most valuable asset at this point.”
The team hustled after Troy as he slipped through the moss-draped trees, massive ferns, and the steady rain, which had begun falling twenty minutes ago. They quickly reached the east bank of a deep, slow-moving creek, where Troy eased into the stagnant black water with a grimace. Twenty-foot anacondas loved to rest on these creek beds, and there were probably piranha schools in here, too. As the other men dropped into the warm water behind him, he started swimming when it reached his chest.