John Gilstrap - Hostage Zero

“Then we’ll find him before we blow the gas. Eyeball the kid, then bring hell to life.”

“Then we’ll be the only things moving in the camp,” Harvey said. “I’m not the tactician that you guys are, but that sounds scary.”

Boxers laughed. “Scary, huh? You do know about the guns and stuff, right?”

“I’ve got it,” Venice said.

All heads turned to the computer. “Got what?” Jonathan asked for all of them.

“How to track him after dark-at least until he goes under cover. It’s not about acquiring his heat signature. It’s about eliminating all the other identical heat signatures.”

Jonathan looked to Boxers. “Did you understand that?”

“Absolutely not.”

Jonathan smiled. “So it’s not just me.”

“It’s a simple concept,” Venice continued. “Normally, we worry about heat signatures as a way to differentiate one target from others. That doesn’t work in a population of targets who all have a signature of ninety-eight point six degrees, give or take a couple of tenths. So what we do instead is teach the computer to ignore all but one of the identical signatures.”

“Oh, I get it,” Jonathan said. He wasn’t sure he actually did, but as he said so, he made a slicing motion to the others, telling them not to pursue it any further. When Venice said it was possible, it was possible. Understanding the hows and whys really wasn’t all that important.

“It shouldn’t take all that long,” Venice said. “First I want to mark the GPS coordinates for every target and download them to your equipment. We don’t want you getting lost in the dark.”

Jonathan smiled. Technology had changed so much of warfare over the years; and it wasn’t just in the weaponry. In fact, the business of the actual fight hadn’t changed much at all. You still had to pierce the flesh of other human beings to kill them, albeit with progressively greater accuracy and effectiveness. The real changes came in the noncombat elements. When Venice was done with the download she’d just mentioned, the specific coordinates of every landmark in the enemy compound would be documented to within inches, as would the details of their infiltration and exfiltration routes. On a cloudy, foggy night with zero visibility, they could arrive at their destination and get home again. It was a whole new world of land navigation.

While Venice worked on her cyberspace easel, Jonathan and his team hammered out their assault plan. Given the limits of their intel, it was necessarily straightforward. Get in, create a diversion, and get out. Any enemy with a weapon would be killed without hesitation. Unarmed enemies would be spared as long as they stayed out of the way.

“Tactically, Box, you’re the explosives king. Harvey, you’re the medic. I’m the lead on whatever entry we need to make. We stay together as a team, we cover each other’s asses, but once we have the PC in hand, nothing stands in the way of getting him to the vehicles. And I mean nothing, understand? If things go to shit and we get separated, whoever gets to the vehicle with Evan leaves immediately and goes to the exfil site. The reason we have two vehicles is specifically to plan for us getting split up.

“Once the PC is secure and on his way, if we’re separated, there’s some room for improv.” He looked directly at Harvey. “You’re the new guy on the team, so you need to know the rules of engagement. We will not leave you behind if you’re alive, unless it’s the only way to exfil the PC. Understand?”

“Us jarheads aren’t big on leaving people behind, either,” Harvey said.

Jonathan nodded. “Didn’t mean to imply otherwise.” He checked his watch. “It’s five twenty-eight. That gives us fifty-six minutes till sunset, and that’s when we step off. Figure three hours to get to the compound, and then the night gets interesting. One way or another we should be clear of this shithole country in thirteen hours, tops.”

“Spit that shit out,” Charlie said when Victor finally walked away. “It’ll mess up your head. These people are all half crazy anyway. Don’t need anybody being any crazier.”

Evan hooked a finger into his cheek and pulled out the foul-tasting leaves. “How do you keep him from hitting you?”

Charlie’s expression said, Give me a break. “Remember the scars? That’s the part I’m not good at.” He walked to one of the few trees that were growing amid the field of bushes and pulled off a few of the green leaves. “Suck on these.”

“What are they?”

Charlie shrugged. “Not a clue. Not that other shit, but after you suck on ’em for a while they look the same, and they don’t make you feel like crap.”

Evan took the leaves gratefully and slid them into the space formerly occupied by the coca leaves. “Why are you here?”

“We better get to work,” Charlie said. “There’s nothing to this. You just pull the leaves off and stuff them into the bag.” He demonstrated. Using his thumb against the first knuckle of his forefinger, he could clear a whole branch in a single swipe.

Evan mimicked the motion, then shook his hand in the air to relieve the hot spot caused by the friction. “That hurts.”

“Yeah, you might want to pluck them for a while till your skin gets tough. After a few weeks, you won’t even feel it.”

Evan gaped. “A few weeks? I’m not staying here a few weeks.”

Charlie chuckled.

“What’s funny?”

“Nothing’s funny,” Charlie said. “That’s just the same thing that everybody says. But nobody ever leaves. Not the way they want to, anyway.”

“Why not?”

Charlie gave him a glance, but kept stripping leaves. “You’d better keep plucking. That whip hurts like shit.” He craned his neck to see if they were being watched. “They don’t leave because there’s no place to go. You walked in here, right? You see any places to escape to?”

“I could go to the police.”

This time, Charlie laughed in earnest. “Don’t bother-they’ll be here. They come all the time. And don’t bother looking all hopeful like that. Helping you will be the last thing they’re about. They come here to get paid by the bosses, sample the product a little, and then do the village girls down the hill. This is like Rain Forest Disneyland. A damn amusement park. You go lookin’ for police, they’ll just grab you and bring you back. Then you get to have a serious talk with Victor and his toys. Trust me. You’re not going anywhere. It’s better if you get used to being here.”

The knot of fear returned, churning Evan’s stomach. “How long have you been here?”

Charlie shrugged. “I have no idea. I was ten when my parents were killed in a robbery in Bogota. I shuffled around to orphanages and stuff for a while, and then I ended up here. That was a long time ago. I really don’t know. It’s not like we celebrate holidays. No birthdays, no Christmases. And the weather never changes. How can you know? How old are you? We’re about the same size.”

“Thirteen,” Evan said.

Charlie stopped and gave him a look. Color had drained from his face. “Thirteen? Really?”

Evan nodded.

“You small for your age?”

“Not really.” As soon as he said it, Evan wondered if he should have lied.

Charlie looked away. He didn’t do or say anything for a long time. Maybe a minute. When he went back to work, he kept his back turned.

Evan felt like shit. If Charlie had really spent three years of his life out here, doing this, how could he keep going? Could he really not have known how long it’d been? Evan shouldn’t have said anything.

“Why is your English so good?” he asked.

“My parents were American,” Charlie said. His voice was softer, huskier. “Victor likes me to keep up with English for when people like you come.”