After firing, Shooter One came to his senses and lay as flat on the ground as he possibly could, pressing his cheek hard against the dry compacted soil, hoping it would somehow cover him. His AK-47 was tucked beside him as his only comfort. His eyes followed the small trail of smoke coming from the end of his recently fired barrel.
Shooter One now figured there were multiple shooters in the dark expanse of banana foliage, but didn’t know how many. He heard the plane as it approached lift-off speed, but didn’t dare turn his head to look. More tolerable because of his position, the hard dry dirt seemed somehow softer. He was now alone in an open field with no cover.
The shooter’s mind was working hard, knowing that he had just loaded a full magazine into his weapon. Now that the plane was aloft, he wondered if a full clip of AK-47 rounds would cover his escape. Something about the hard ground suddenly appealed to him.
He scanned the edge of banana plants lining the open field. Every plant looked like a shooting position. He wasn’t about to lift his head; his only hope now was that his low position might offer some protection.
From Shooter One’s reactions, Wade realized that he was not used to fighting in the open. He was probably trained for jungle warfare, where dense cover meant everything. The shooter now lay as good as naked on the ground separated by 100 yards of open space between him and dense cover without a leaf to hide under.
Shooter One became either restless or confident enough to fire two short bursts while lying perfectly flat. The rounds landed in the dark vegetation on either side of Wade. In desperation, he must have been hoping for a miracle shot. The random shot pattern confirmed that he still didn’t have a fix on Wade’s position.
His flat in-line position in front of Wade made for a small, difficult target. There was little Wade could scope except a portion of his head sticking only few inches above the ground. Wade took a quick look above him for one last check of the eucalyptus leaf movement. He made a minor adjustment to his scope for the afternoon breeze that had just picked up.
Seeing the man breathe, Wade mimicked his breathing rhythm. His target turned his head to one side, trying to lower his profile even further. Wade knew that the difference between a hit and miss would be less than one inch at the near 100-yard distance.
There was contrast between the gray ground dirt and the shooter’s dark green watch cap. Wade aimed one inch above the contrast line and fired. The target’s body didn’t twitch, no movement of any kind, and Wade thought he might have missed. Not wanting to expose himself, he remained in position, searching for signs of life through his scope.
A trickle of blood emerged from the watch cap, crawling down like a red centipede and confirming that Shooter One was no longer a threat.
Wade turned just in time to see Stephan’s plane gain altitude and bank right toward the mountains. The memory of Stephan’s face looking back at the rear of the plane would remain in Wade’s memory forever. There had been so much movement, plane vibration, and distraction in the last moments before he shot that Wade lacked confidence. He couldn’t see where his round had landed, and he turned on himself in frustration. The second miss on the same target in one day.
Wade felt that if Stephan got medical attention soon, he might survive his wound. Perhaps they would even meet on another assignment, in a different time and place.
He turned his attention back to the farmhouse, not certain if more fire power would emerge. He adjusted his scope and scanned the two roads bordering the open field. Concern ran through his mind. Perhaps more armed men will soon be arriving from trucks blanketing the field. Instead of the roads, perhaps they’re already encircling my flank from the farm side.
Remaining hidden in his current position was his best tactical alternative even if it meant he would soon be under additional fire. An eerie quiet settled over the farmhouse and his position. He rested his back against a large banana plant, surrounded by its large, overhanging leaves, content to wait for sunset.
Wade reflected on the scene before him. It would be picturesque were it not for the dead bodies lying in the field. The beautiful white farmhouse surrounded by lush foliage and the open green field reminded him of a dream he’d once had about retiring on a country farm with the swamp at his back.
He waited until satisfied that there were no further threats. Walking back to his car, he heard the faint sound of an engine sputter a long distance away. The source of the sound wasn’t clear. Perhaps it was a dreaded vehicle backfire that was coming his way. He rushed to the edge of the clearing and began scanning with his scope.
A metal reflection in the sky caught his eye. The flashing metal reflection was miniscule. Grabbing his binoculars, Wade adjusted the focus to the dot and he saw a plane heading in the same general direction as Stephan’s plane had been. It was trailing a small stream of white smoke under the right wing, and seemed to be losing altitude.
Within a few moments he heard the sound of the sputtering engine gradually becoming more distinct. The plane banked left, using the stronger of its two engines to perhaps guide it to a landing spot. However, the plane was still over thick, mountainous jungle.
Wade squinted to see the details. In a few seconds the stream of white smoke turned black and expanded in size, now engulfing the entire right wing. He switched to the strong resolution in his rifle scope. He assessed the plane’s chances for survival. There’s no way this plane is going to make it over that mountain top.
The plane lost more altitude and then banked left again just before disappearing below the tree line. A moment later a single column of white smoke emerged above the treetops. The column expanded into a white plume against the purple afternoon sky.
Wade quickly turned his attention back to his mission. The extraction plan called for him to complete several tasks in Belize City before leaving for the airport. He tried contacting Max on the radio, but only got return static. Max should already be at the airport by now, waiting for his return flight to Houston. There was no point in hanging around. More uninvited guests might arrive. With no further need to stick around, he gathered his weapons and headed back to Belize City, taking the same route he had come.
He pulled up to the storage locker near the marina to unload his equipment. After wiping down his equipment for fingerprints he transferred everything to the storage locker and headed to the library several blocks away. The call to Yari was a necessary part of his extraction plan.
“Hi, it’s me.”
“How’s did everything go?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later. Look, I’m trying to get out of here, but I need to make the other call we spoke about.”
“Sure. What do you need from me?”
“I need to call the MI-6 woman, Zara Wicks, at the secure number you have for the British Embassy.”
“I remember.”
“Not only do I need a secure encrypted patch, but can you do something else for me?”
“What? Like make the call for you?”
“No. Can you put my voice through some kind of filter, so it’s disguised?”
“I think so. We’re playing around with some interesting software that not only disguises the voice but gives you a different language accent.”
“I don’t care about any of that. I know the call will be recorded. I just want to make sure there’s no identifiable voice recognition pattern.”
“Would you like a British or a French accent?”
“I don’t give a damn. Make it British. I just need you to hurry.”