Suddenly the front door opened again, and the two men started walking to the plane. As they got closer Wade could hear their conversation. This time Stephan appeared a bit agitated.
The pilot spoke in English with a heavy Spanish accent. “I need to start my inspection of all sides of the plane and wings.”
Pointing in the direction of the plane, Stephan snapped, “Well, what are you waiting for?”
Wade’s new position gave him better shooting angles from all sides. The only areas that were not visible were one side of the farmhouse and the area behind the house which contained two metal outbuildings that looked like workshops or equipment storage.
The pilot, who was unarmed, slowly inspected the tip of the wing. Stephan turned away from the pilot in apparent frustration and returned to the farmhouse, while Wade counted Stephan’s steps as another means to confirm his distance calculations. The second measure verified that he had been off by thirty yards in his previous calculation.
The pilot seemed a little obsessive about his inspection routine, as he spent an inordinate amount of time on details. Wade was able to get a good look at the pilot. He was well groomed, with a short haircut and trimmed beard, which complemented his white guayabera shirt which glistened in the sun. He wore expensive aviator-style sunglasses and seemed to know his way around the aircraft.
The twin engine Beechcraft Baron 58 tail section stood in the sunlight, and Wade jotted down the tail numbers on a crumpled piece of paper which he returned to his pocket. He was far enough back in thick banana plantings to cover his shooting position from three sides.
He happened to look above him. The tall spindly light blue eucalyptus tree leaves danced in the slightest breeze. Wade remembered reading that the eucalyptus trees had been brought in from Australia and planted as wind breaks when commercial banana farming began, in the early part of the century. Wade’s immediate thought was that the movement of the blue leaves might give him a better indication of wind speed than the distant chimney flag on the farmhouse.
Wade looked around for a quick escape route from his dark hide. He stamped down the plant material covering the ground, making a path so he wouldn’t trip or encounter an obstacle he wasn’t prepared for. His extraction paths went off in three directions behind him.
To his right were the decaying remains of an old barbed-wire fence. It was leaning out, almost ready to fall from old age and the encroaching pressure of plant roots. At one time the fence must have served to separate the eucalyptus trees from the banana plants, but the roots of both species had long ago destroyed that barrier. The falling fence was an impediment that had to be avoided if Wade was forced to evacuate in that direction. Of course, it would also slow anyone down who was coming at him from the opposite direction.
Sitting among the dense cover of banana plants, Wade remembered reading that it was the Cavendish variety of bananas that had made the fruit a commercial success in Central America. Poor quality natural soils in Belize made development of large commercial banana plantations less attractive to large-scale importers, so the farms in this country were smaller and farmed by independent growers.
Wade resumed his sniper position, wondering who else might be in the farmhouse or the surrounding buildings. He felt pretty comfortable with his current estimate of the distance to the farmhouse, now at 325 yards. He would probably not be shooting directly toward the house, but that became his reference point for the distance to all his other target points.
Instinct told Wade that the plane in front of him had not been called at the last minute for this assignment. He believed it had been part of Stephan’s extraction plan all along and might have been waiting there for several days.
Wade also didn’t think Stephan’s extraction plans ever included extracting his operatives with him. This plane was Stephan’s private getaway chariot.
Stephan and the pilot headed toward the plane, talking as they walked. By then, Stephan was clearly showing some frustration. They picked up their pace at Stephan’s insistence, but neither showed a sense of urgency. As they got closer to the plane, the two men separated. The pilot walked ahead of Stephan and began checking the wing and landing gear. He held a clipboard and was systemically going through a list as if he had done it many times before.
Stephan ducked under the engine cowl and came around the wing. Walking in Wade’s general direction, he turned to look out at the dense foliage surrounding the outer perimeter. Through his scope Wade could see Stephan’s steely blue eyes. They were as cold as Wade remembered from the airport. Stephan’s back was to the plane as his eyes scanned the surrounding landscape. He was unsettled, operating by instinct rather than anything he heard. He paced nervously in a semicircle, coming closer to the banana plantings at a difficult shooting angle for Wade.
Wade’s eyes were pressed against the rubber ring on his scope. He was focused on Stephan’s blue eyes, trying to discern the complex workings of another operative’s brain. Stephan’s eyes were filled with caution and distrust, laser-like, as if they could melt metal.
The worried look on Stephan’s face told Wade there might be something telepathic going on that had brought him to the perimeter. Perhaps it was that sixth sense they both shared. Wade had known the feeling since childhood, growing up in the swamp.
Stephan scanned the long rows of banana leaves moving with the slight nudge from a light breeze. His expression didn’t change as he looked into the dark expanse of plantings. Wade wondered what his sixth sense was picking up. Suddenly, as quickly as he’d arrived, he turned back to the plane and walked with purpose toward the copilot’s door. When Stephan’s angle changed from a side shot to frontal position, Wade had his chance to fire, but he didn’t take it. Why am I hesitating again? Why am I trying to figure out how the man’s mind works?
Approaching the side of the plane, Stephan bent over and yelled to the pilot loud enough for Wade to hear, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
Wade couldn’t hear the reply if there was one.
Stephan had turned to reach for the cockpit door handle, when Wade noticed something he hadn’t seen before — there was a bulge in Stephan’s shirt — a protective armored vest. Wade had to immediately change his shooting options. A frontal shot for center mass had been Wade’s primary objective, but clearly that wouldn’t work. He quickly compared a head shot to a hip shot. A hip shot would give him a slightly larger target below the vest, especially if his leg was extended.
In a jerky motion Stephan backed away from the plane, showing frustration. He shouted again at the pilot, who was checking ailerons at the rear of the plane. “Damn it! I need to get the hell out of here.”
This time the pilot yelled back to Stephan and moved a little more quickly down his checklist. Stephan reached for the cockpit handle, lifting his leg up to the wing step. Wade had to make another quick decision. He wasn’t going to hesitate any longer.
As Stephan shifted his weight to his leg on the wing, Wade exhaled slowly while he applied even pressure on the trigger as he had done thousands of times before. The silenced thump of the round leaving the barrel reached Stephan in a fraction of a second.
Stephan spun off the wing in a pirouette landing on his back, screaming in pain. Wade couldn’t see where the round had hit. It was either in his upper thigh, hip, or crotch. Wherever it was, Stephan was hit and immobilized, but still alive. Wade readied for his next shot.