Caught by surprise, the Black Eagle between the teenager’s legs was in the process of jumping up onto his feet, his pants dropping to his ankles, when Avery shot him three times high in the chest and face from seventeen feet away, dropping him like a sack of a shit. The girl shrieked and rolled out of the way as the body slammed face first against the cement and emptied its bladder and bowels.
Then the terrified girl was on her feet, entering Avery’s line of fire as he tracked his next target. He swore and angled his barrel up, clear of her head, as she ran past, and reacquired his target.
The third Black Eagle was on his feet and running. Avery nailed him cold with a single shot high and center in the back, below the neck, severing his spine.
By that time, the remaining Black Eagle had reached the workbench, grabbed the Uzi sitting there, and spun around to confront Avery, bringing the submachine gun to bear on him while Avery still had the Glock angled seventy-five degrees to the left.
Avery was aware of the threat in his right peripheral. As time seemed to freeze frame and his whole body tensed in anticipation of catching a stream of 9mm, he knew he could never get the Glock around in time, and he thought that was okay, because he’d at least been able to spare the girls and he’d never have to think again about Rivero’s dead son, who he hadn’t saved.
But another shot exploded close by, off to Avery’s right — it didn’t sound like an Uzi, and it came from the wrong direction anyway, and he never felt a bullet strike him — and the Black Eagle’s head jerked back and his arms sagged with the Uzi and his legs gave out
Avery spun fast around, leading with the Glock, and dropped his aim and relaxed his finger on the trigger when he saw Aguilar, who then gave the lone surviving Black Eagle, paralyzed and twitching on the floor, a head shot.
Avery and Aguilar exchanged looks. The Colombian looked pissed off about being dragged into this, but he didn’t say anything, knowing that what was done was done.
The girls flinched and cowered when Avery came near them, seeing him not as a savior but as another violent, threatening man with a gun. He ignored them, conscious to keep his eyes off their bodies, as he untied their mother. She sprung up from her chair, pushed past him, and took her children in her arms.
“Let’s get out of here,” Aguilar said, after giving the killing floor a once over to make sure that nobody was moving who shouldn’t. “You’ve done all you can for them.”
“Not really,” Avery replied, knowing it wouldn’t be enough to clear his conscience. He should have dropped those fucks, and anyone who tried to stop him, the second they threatened the kids.
Outside, they walked to a black SUV with a Colombian Special Forces NCO waiting behind the wheel. Daniel, who had heard the gunshots and saw the muzzle flashes, didn’t look pleased, but he wisely kept his mouth shut after catching the glare in Avery’s eye.
FOURTEEN
Less than an hour later, they were in the air, flying from Medellin to Bogotá, aboard a Colombian Air Force Fokker VIP transport. Despite functioning on less than seven hours of sleep over the last two days, Avery had no trouble staying awake that night. Every time he shut his eyes he saw the masked man shooting the little boy, the bullet strike against his head.
Avery chugged a Monster energy drink to further put off sleep for as long as he could. He stared at the back of the empty seat in front of him and was careful not to turn his head to the right, so he wouldn’t have to see his reflection in the window eight inches away.
Aguilar and his men were asleep in the back. Avery didn’t know how they could do it, but he supposed that Aguilar must have seen far worse. After all, he’d been fighting this war for the past twenty years, where every life was cheap and expendable. Avery had barely been here two weeks.
Seated across the aisle from Avery, Daniel drank Cuban rum, pouring it into a lowball glass. As quickly as he downed it, he refilled the glass. Avery had declined Daniel’s offer of a drink earlier, preferring to confront the repercussions of his decisions sober and allow it to eat away at his soul. It was the least he deserved. Neither man had said a word since.
At least Avery’s stomach had finally settled down. He’d thrown up shortly after take-off, and his body had continued to heave and go through the motions even after his stomach had purged its contents. He’d remained in the Fokker’s tiny lavatory after that, on his knees, where he did something he hadn’t done in over a decade. He broke down and cried.
Then he returned to his seat and wondered what was wrong with him. He normally had no problem keeping himself detached and unaffected by things, but now he was ridden with guilt, regret, shame, and anxiety. It was like the brick walls he’d carefully constructed years ago in his mind were suddenly crumbling apart, and a dozen memories, and all the associated emotions, suddenly came pouring through.
He no longer gave a damn about the Viper or the mission. He was content to leave her for Daniel and the CIA to find. He wanted only to return home, to be alone, far from everyone, and leave this deplorable place behind.
“I told you that it wouldn’t be easy,” Daniel finally said over an hour into the flight, reading Avery’s thoughts and breaking the silent tension.
“You didn’t say anything about murdering noncombatants.”
“You told me that you were willing to go as far as it took.”
“They killed a fucking kid!”
Hearing the outburst, one of the Colombian troops sat a little straighter on the edge of his seat, looking from Avery to Daniel, and reluctantly relaxed when the latter waved him off.
“How many times have you done shit like that, Daniel?”
“More than I care to think about. But I am completely willing to trade a couple lives to save hundreds, or thousands. I don’t make the rules, I only play by them. If your conscience is troubled, you might want to remind yourself why we came here in the first place. If you want, I can show you the passenger manifest of Avianca Flight 224. There were several children onboard.”
Daniel refilled his glass after downing the rest of its contents in one gulp.
“Our world is an ugly place, and there’s no room for moralizing, especially not by men like us. We are not moral men. You should understand better than most. The masters you serve collaborate with killers and butchers in Iraq and Syria in the name of freedom, liberty, and protecting the innocent. How many wives and children has your government killed in drone attacks?”
Avery’s first inclination was to say that this was different, but then he stopped himself. He averted his gaze forward and rested his head back against his seat. It was all he could do to stop himself from getting up and wringing Daniel’s neck.
They returned to Bogotá an hour later, with the Fokker making a jarring corkscrew landing into El Dorado, a necessary security measure after the Viper’s attack less than three days earlier. They arrived in time to make the afternoon session in the Bunker.
Walking in, Culler immediately looked to Avery and said, “Where the hell have you been?” Then he lowered his voice. “Rangel’s been on my ass all day. He isn’t happy.”
Avery kept his mouth shut and took a seat without even looking at Culler, who didn’t press the matter further after seeing the look on Avery’s face.
Keeping vague as far as sources and methods, Daniel outlined the newly acquired intelligence from Medellin. Culler and Slayton both knew better than to ask pernicious questions about where this lead originated. Frankly, they didn’t want to know. It was better that way, professionally and personally.
But Rangel didn’t see it that way.