The enhanced vision afforded by his goggles was invaluable as he avoided ditches and small ravines he might otherwise have plunged into, as well as fallen branches and dead roots he would have tripped over. It also helped him steer clear of the occasional curious snake that warily eyed this nocturnal interloper marching purposefully through its domain.
The backpack was heavy and his protective clothing too thick for the tropical humidity; although the night air was cool, he felt the clammy perspiration cover his skin beneath the microfiber shell he wore. He frequently wiped his face with the back of his gloved hand.
As he pressed on, Sandor continually checked his compass — he knew how easy it was to move off course on this sort of trek, and that would cost him precious time. After more than an hour of pushing himself through nature’s unrelenting obstacle course, he saw a glimmer of light several hundred yards ahead.
He stopped at the edge of a small clearing, placed his pack on the ground, and sat. He drank some water, then reviewed his coordinates on the digital readout of the electronic compass.
This was it.
The satellite photos they received did not reveal much about the layout of the compound. Under the cover of so much large vegetation there was almost nothing visible from above. The entire area was a thicket of tropical trees with enormous trunks and wide, spreading canopies that blocked out aerial surveillance. This was thought to be Adina’s retreat, a home away from the mainstream of the Venezuelan capital. However, the satellite heat sensors revealed a larger amount of activity than Sandor and his team had anticipated — perhaps this was also a base where Adina would plan and even equip his terrorist plots.
He checked his watch. It was just past 3:00 A.M.
Sandor opened the backpack and readied himself for the assault. He took his time assembling the US M24 Woodland portable sniper rifle, silencer and scope. Then he loaded the MAC-10, pocketed some extra clips and stood up. With the rifle strapped across his back, he left the backpack behind the tree, picked up the submachine gun, and moved out.
CHAPTER SEVEN
However carefully Adina laid out his secret home in the jungle, Sandor was certain it would also be carefully guarded, even in the dead of night. There might even be trip wires or land mines outside the perimeter, so his progress became even slower. He circled back using the trees for cover, moving with extreme caution until he saw another clearing just ahead.
He stopped and took out his night vision binoculars, removed the PNVGs, and crawled toward a wide jungle cedar to have a look around.
He saw that the light he had been following was one of four low-intensity halogen floods that sat atop metal posts at the corners of a large rectangle. There were no fences, which confirmed his suspicion there might be traps or some sort of laser sensors in place. The floodlights were stationary, each directed outside and down, leaving the interior space almost completely in the dark. He could make out a few small buildings within the rectangle, each situated alongside a stand of the large trees that had blocked a clear satellite view. Most important, for the moment, he spotted a sentry off to his left.
The guard was leaning against one of the tall metal stanchions smoking a cigarette. He had an assault rifle slung across his chest and wore the look of a man doing a thankless job in the middle of the jungle in the middle of the night.
The trees would not provide much cover if Sandor chose to come at the man from here, leaving him exposed for too long when he emerged into the clearing. Charging from this angle would force him into the open for more than forty yards.
He could take the man out with a silenced sniper shot, but he preferred to get some answers first.
He had another look through the binoculars to see if other sentries were posted, but the trees and buildings made it impossible for him to see the other end of the compound. He decided he would circle all the way around to his left and then come at the guard from behind.
Just as Sandor prepared to move out, the sentry straightened up, threw down his cigarette, and began to walk toward Sandor’s right. It appeared to be part of the man’s patrol, a simple stroll along the edge of this large complex. Sandor placed the binoculars on the ground, crouched behind the large cedar, and waited. The guard moved slowly, passing across Sandor’s field of vision toward the other light post off to the right.
As soon as the man’s back was visible, Sandor did not hesitate. Leaving his rifle and submachine gun behind the tree he came out fast and low, his knife drawn.
By the time the sentry heard the sound behind him it was too late. Sandor hit him with the full force of his weight, driving the guard facedown into the soft earth with a thud, the sharp blade of the Ka-Bar already at his throat. With his left hand Sandor yanked the man’s head back by his hair.
“Habla inglés?”
The sentry barely managed to say “No,” the pressure of the knife already drawing a trickle of blood that ran down his neck.
“Bueno,” Sandor said, then spoke to him in Spanish. “How many guards?”
The man tried to shake his head, but Sandor pulled tighter on his hair.
“You screw with me and I’ll kill you right here. How many guards on patrol?”
“Two.”
“You mean you and two more, or you and one more?”
“One more,” the man told him.
“Where is he?”
“Other side.”
“Any laser detectors?”
The guard did not respond.
“You understand laser?”
“I understand. No, no laser.”
“Anything else, any alarms?”
“No, not here,” the man said, then began to struggle against Sandor’s hold.
“I told you, you move and I’ll kill you.” The guard stopped moving.
“Where are the alarms?”
“Some buildings.”
“Which buildings?”
“Main house. The guardhouse above the laboratory,” he said.
Sandor did not like surprises, so he was not about to admit he knew nothing about a laboratory. “Where’s Adina?” he demanded.
The man’s body tensed. “I don’t understand.”
“Hell you don’t. Tell me which building? Where do I find Adina?”
The man suddenly began speaking very quickly, something about narcotics Sandor could not make out.
“Speak more slowly.”
He did, saying something about cocaine, accusing Sandor of coming here to steal drugs. As the man rattled on he tried to move his left hand, which was pinned underneath him, reaching for something along his side. He made a sudden, desperate effort to break free but the pressure of Sandor’s hold was too strong, the knife too tight to his throat. As the man tried to spin to his side, the razor-sharp blade sliced through his windpipe and carotid artery. Blood began pumping out of his neck as he gave up grasping for his gun, now clutching at his throat. He died facedown in the dirt without uttering another word.
“Damn,” Sandor said through gritted teeth as he rolled off the man’s back and raised himself to a sitting position. He looked around, but everything was quiet. He cleaned his knife on the guard’s pants, replaced it in its sheath, then stood and, taking the dead man by his ankles, dragged him into the jungle.
Sandor knew it was not going to be long before the guard’s disappearance would be discovered. He took the man’s walkie-talkie, realizing there were probably regular check-in times.
“Damn,” he said again.
His timeline had just been accelerated.
CHAPTER EIGHT