Russell Blake - Betrayal

Jet moved to the trunk and pulled her gear out. Rob pointed at a long, flat, black nylon case.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“Depends on what you think it is.”

“You know how to use it?”

“Do I look like I’m in the mood to experiment?”

She tossed him a smaller case. “This is for you. Idiot proof.”

He opened it and peeked inside. “Very nice. Thanks.”

They hastily packed their kits into the saddlebags and mounted up, then made for the northern summit of the mountain, taking care to have their night vision goggles ready. The thickening fog provided a cloak of muffled silence. After a mile of easing along a trail, Jet dismounted.

“What?”

“Shhh. I want to walk them from here on out. We’re only about a mile behind him. I don’t want to get any closer. One stray whinny or snort will give us away.”

“Okay,” Rob whispered, aware that voices would carry once all the background noise of civilization faded. He dropped to the ground and reached into his bag for the goggles, but Jet shook her head.

“Battery life is going to be an issue. Only one of us at a time with the night vision gear. I’ll go first.”

“We have several spare batteries.”

She spun to face him. “Rob. Don’t question me, or imagine that you have a better idea. You’re here to support me, against my will. Now, please, do as I say without a hint of anything but complete approval, or you’re out, right here, and won’t be going any further. Do you understand?”

He balked, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“That’s better.”

She flipped her goggles into place and switched them on, and the coalescing gloom suddenly illuminated in neon green. The fog still limited their visibility, but at least she could make out the trail.

“Follow me,” she said, taking her horse by the bridle and leading it forward into the darkness.

They would be over the first crest within half an hour at their current speed: in Myanmar, traveling through an area of the country where heroin traffickers and slavers prowled the jungles, and death was as sudden and common as the fog that enveloped them.

Three hours into their surrealistic trek, Pu’s red dot began moving faster.

“Looks like he’s got transportation of some sort,” Jet whispered.

“I don’t hear any motors, so you were right. Has to be a horse. How far ahead of us is he now?”

“About a mile and a half. But that’s fine. I don’t want to get right up on him. He can’t keep this pace up forever, so my guess is that he’ll be wherever he’s headed by morning. At his new rate of speed, that would take us…thirty-five to forty miles northwest. In the middle of nowhere.”

A cloudburst interrupted their discussion, soaking them both and turning the trail into a muddy slog before it stopped raining as abruptly as it had started. Shortly afterwards, the mosquitoes came out. After spraying herself down with repellant, Jet tossed the plastic bottle to Rob.

“You’ll want to douse yourself.”

“I know. Nasty stuff roaming around here.”

They waited until Pu was two miles ahead of them, then mounted up, urging the horses to a trot, which was all they could safely manage in the misty murk. An hour later, they were descending the summit, well inside Myanmar. There wasn’t a sign of another human, only the sound of creatures going about their nocturnal rounds.

The red dot began to venture deeper into the treacherous hill country, the fog thickening as they proceeded. Another shower of warm rain arrived with a clap of thunder, but this time the downpour didn’t stop, adding to the discomfort of the trek.

The first rays of dawn were cutting through the clouds when the dot stopped moving. Jet held up a hand and pulled her horse up short, then dropped out of the saddle, still holding the tracking device. She moved to Rob and whispered to him.

“Bingo. He’s stopped. I think we’re there. This must be one of Hawker’s camps.”

“I’ll call it in to Edgar. He’ll want to know the location.”

She glared at him. “You’ll do no such thing. Everything about this has been sketchy since the start. I don’t want anyone knowing where we are or what progress we’ve made until we’ve secured the target and successfully concluded the mission. Are we clear on that?”

“I have my orders.”

“Your first order is not to argue or question mine. So help me, if you so much as look crosswise at me or do anything I haven’t given permission for, you’ll be my first kill out here. Look at me. Do I look like I’m joking? Do not under any circumstances call Edgar or anyone else. Give me the phone. Now.”

Rob dismounted and retrieved the phone, then handed it to her. “I guess we’ve made it this far and we’re still alive. I’ll follow your lead. Seems like that’s better than the last two teams did.”

“Exactly. Something stinks in all of this, but I don’t know where. If the target has a mole in CIA headquarters, we have no idea what information is being relayed to him. I’m taking no chances.”

He looked up at the drizzling sky. “It would be nice if it stopped raining. This is pretty miserable.”

“It could work to our advantage. The sound will mask any noise we make, within reason. Let’s get to within a mile of Pu and stake out a camp, and then I want to do some reconnaissance — see what we’re up against. If they have patrols, I doubt very much they’ll be straying beyond that range. There’s no point if they’re not looking for a specific target or expecting any unusual risk.” She glanced at him. “We’ll walk the horses from here.”

“At least we can see now. That’s a plus.”

“Yes and no. We can also be seen.”

They traversed a creek and came to a cliff face a hundred yards off the trail with several small caves at its base, carved out by the rain-swollen stream cascading down the mountain. After finding a relatively shallow area, they crossed, submerging to their waists, the current strong and constant.

The caverns were little more than indentations in the rock face, but would serve to shelter them from the worst of the rain, and the sun, should it ever break through. After ensuring the horses had drank their fill, they set up camp, and quickly ate and washed down some bottled water. Jet unpacked her saddlebags, setting her weapons carefully to one side, and Rob did the same. Glancing at the screen of the tracker, she zoomed out and superimposed a satellite photo of the area over it. All she could see was a sea of green. That would be little or no help.

“I’m going to poke around. Stay here. Don’t leave the camp,” she ordered, then wiped black streaks on her face and neck, and tossed him the tube. “This will cut any reflection.”

“What do I do in the meantime, seeing as you’re excluding me from all the action?”

She gestured with her head at the black case she had given him earlier. “Practice with that. You’ll want to be good with it by the time I get back.”

He grunted noncommittally.

Jet sheathed her combat knife, slid two throwing knives into her web belt, checked her Beretta to ensure the silencer was screwed tightly in place, and then slid the strap of the P90 over her shoulder.

“Let’s hope I don’t need to use any of this,” she said and then disappeared into the brush in the direction of the trail that led straight to where Pu’s transmitter was signaling from.

It took forty-five minutes to get to the camp’s perimeter, the intermittent rain making the path slippery as it wound through the mountains. She halted at an area overlooking a ragged clearing next to a small stream and nestled herself into a hollow spot between two large plants and peered through her binoculars at the rustic dwellings below.