Fifteen minutes later, drenched with sweat, Franco wanted to ask her what she’d been doing at Pastor Tobias’s church meeting the day of the shooting, but it could wait. At least she’d told him about the meeting. Although Franco hadn’t directly said it, he’d implied Tobias’s days were numbered. Perhaps she’d felt some guilt. Understandable, but he didn’t want her second-guessing her role as his personal spy. He had no emotional connection to her. They shared nothing beyond the physical relationship, and she’d never asked for anything more. She had to know she was being used as a tool for information, but her desire for a life outside Santavilla overrode her sense of self-worth.
Of course, Franco knew he too was being used. And just as she sought to leave Santavilla, he planned to leave Nicaragua one day. He had his sights on Las Vegas. Now there was a town. Nightlife. Women. Gambling. Booze. You name it, Vegas had it. If Macanas could keep a penthouse in the Trump Tower, why shouldn’t Franco as well? That was the only life worth living — to be your own boss, make your own decisions, and not be held accountable to anyone else.
CHAPTER 8
Skimming the treetops at 160 miles per hour in a state-of-the-art, blacked-out HH-60H Rescue Hawk, Nathan rested his head against the bulkhead. Were they really doing this? It seemed surreal. For a frantic second, he could almost imagine demons in the forest below, waiting to hunt them. He took a deep breath and relaxed his hands and jaw. He and Harv were about to be delivered into unfriendly territory that held hideous memories of unspeakable pain and anguish.
Nathan looked at his watch—2100 hours — right on schedule. There was no turning back at this point. Service members had risked their lives getting them down here, and scrubbing the mission wasn’t an option. The plan was to drop them four miles north of scatter point alpha, so there’d be no possible way the helicopter’s noise could be heard at that distance. If an ambush waited for them up there, they planned to sneak up on it undetected. Nathan estimated their four-mile trek would take about five to six hours.
The Navy supplied all of their equipment, including his ghillie-wrapped M40 sniper rifle built from a Remington 700 model. He’d requested the optical be predialed to a 300-yard zero and that it employ external one-quarter minute-of-angle adjustments for windage and elevation. He’d also requested Lake City match ammo, because he knew its ballistic curve well. Dressed in MARPAT woodland uniforms, they’d meld perfectly into the environment. Their faces and the backs of their hands were painted in dark shades of green and brown. The half-moon wouldn’t be a problem, as most of its light didn’t penetrate the forest’s multilayered canopy.
Through their headsets, the pilot announced they’d just crossed the Rio Coco and welcomed them to Nicaragua. They were also told to stand by — they’d be rappelling in just under two minutes.
Harv sat motionless, looking at him. Nathan nodded an okay.
The Hawk’s crew chief and gunner didn’t see their silent exchange. Wearing night-vision goggles, they were glued to their M-240D machine guns watching for any signs of human activity, most notably the twinkle of weapons fire. Nathan wasn’t concerned; the ship’s crew could deliver a few hundred pounds of high-speed copper and lead to anyone foolish enough to take a potshot at them.
He heard the turbine engines change pitch, then released his four-part seat belt. He kept his headset on, powered on his night-vision goggles, and pivoted them down to his eyes. Harv mirrored his moves.
Nathan’s world turned into multiple shades of green. He leaned across the cabin and checked Harv’s rappelling harness, backpack, waist pack, and sidearm holster.
Harv did the same for him. All secure.
Nathan moved his rifle from a chest position to his back where it fit snuggly against the side his backpack.
The pilot slowed gradually at first, then flared for a hover, being careful not to create blade slap.
The pilot said, “You’re good to go. We’ll be orbiting on the border until you send us on our way.”
“Copy,” Nathan said. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Safe hunting.”
Just before Nathan removed his headset, the crew chief told him they were fifty feet above the jungle floor. Nathan nodded an acknowledgment.
Without hesitating, Nathan grabbed the rope in the brake-hand, guide-hand technique. Keeping a tight brake grip, he quickly maneuvered into the L position, placing both of his boots on the edge of the deck with his butt hanging out the door. He held that position until the crew chief gave him the final hand signal to jump.
Nathan bent his legs, sprang backward, and loosened his brake-hand.
Gravity did the rest.
His stomach tightened as his body zipped toward the ground. He hadn’t rappelled in quite a while, and it took several seconds to get a controlled descent going.
When he landed on the damp Nicaraguan soil, he unhooked the rope and drew his Sig. Crouching, he scanned his immediate area before looking up. Harv was already coming down. Nathan inwardly flinched at the tremendous noise. The sensation of being directly below such a thunderous machine felt humbling. The ground vibrated from the Hawk’s energy. Whipping back and forth, the surrounding treetops protested in anger at the intrusion. Every low-growing plant within a thirty-foot radius was laid flat from the downwash.
Although he didn’t see any footprints, trash, or other signs indicating human presence, he now wished they’d made that HALO jump after all but knew they were both too rusty. Landing in the canopy of an eighty-foot tree would’ve ruined his evening.
The pilot had chosen a good spot, but there wasn’t much room for error. Their landing zone was a thirty-yard clearing on the forest floor where the ground wasn’t quite level. Nathan estimated it had a downward slope of about 20 degrees to the north.
Harv unhooked and gave a thumbs-up to the crew chief, who was leaning out the door.
The Rescue Hawk made a 180-degree pivot and paralleled the downward pitch of the mountainside as it flew away, its deafening noise quickly abating. The insertion had taken less than fifteen seconds.
Nathan pointed to his NV goggles, then gestured toward the far side of the clearing. He remained crouched as Harv carefully worked his way across the uneven terrain to the east side of the LZ. After Harv was safely under tree cover, Nathan mirrored the move to the east, knowing Harv had his back. Inside the tree line, Nathan stopped next to a small rock outcropping. He took a knee and surveyed his immediate area. The trunks of massive trees dominated the mountainside like sentries. Their dark forms seemed to scrutinize him, looking for flaws and weaknesses. Nathan felt like an intruder who’d stumbled into an enemy camp. Closing his eyes for a few seconds, he forced the anxiety aside. He needed to focus on the task at hand: determining if their insertion had been detected.
Over the next sixty seconds, the helicopter’s clatter faded until an eerie silence enveloped them. The air was still. Nothing moved at all. Adding to the isolation, the forest was totally quiet. The helicopter had frightened every animal in the area, including insects.
A few seconds later, a faint echo of the Rescue Hawk reached their position.
Their transition from technology to nature was absolute.
Nathan looked across the clearing at Harv, brought his hands together in an interlocked finger hold, and pointed to the south. Staying inside the tree line, they circled their way to meet at the southern edge of the open space.
Keeping his voice low, Harv said, “I don’t know about you, but that rappel triggered an adrenaline rush I hadn’t felt in years. I wasn’t sure I remembered how to friggin’ do it.”
“I know what you mean. I experienced the same thing when my ass was hanging off the deck. Let’s take a few minutes to settle our nerves. We’ve got time. Let’s also power down our NVGs to preserve the batteries.”