Jamie Freveletti - Running from the Devil

“Thank you.”

“How many were left when you were done?” Miguel eyed the sky, as if he thought the copters would suddenly reappear.

“Two, but there’ll be more. Those were Cartone cartel guys, along with some guerrillas. Those groups never get along, but here they were actually cooperating. Do you have any idea why?”

“Do you know anything about this area?”

Sumner nodded. “We’re fairly close to the pipeline now. Once we get within five miles of it, this jungle is going to be swarming with guerrillas of every shape and size. Their soldiers are good, but they’re high on drugs most of the time, so don’t expect anything like rational behavior. What about the special forces there? Are they still guarding the pipeline?”

Miguel shook his head. “Not likely. Last I heard the Colombian government asked them to leave.”

“Asked them to leave? Why?”

“When your plane was hijacked, the U.S. suspended aid to Colombia unless the Colombian president agreed to extradition.”

Sumner got an enlightened look on his face. “So that explains the fighting. The Cartone cartel and the paramilitary groups hope to put an end to the crisis and restore their sweet deal with the Colombian president?”

Miguel nodded. “Something like that. The FFOC and Rodrigo’s group are fighting back.”

“And we’re stuck in the middle,” Sumner said.

“Hopefully not for long. I expect some more rescue helicopters in three hours.”

The group marched forward. Boris loped between Sumner and Miguel. Sumner spelled the passenger and carried the injured soldier. Miguel carried Drake.

“This guy’s leg looks bad,” Sumner said.

“He’s not the worst. Drake here is. He hasn’t woken up at all.” In the distance came the drone of helicopters.

Miguel looked at his watch. “Shit, we’re late.” He stepped onto the path and waved the flagging passengers forward. “Let’s go. That’s our ride!”

Washington hobbled forward. “We gotta run. I am not missing that train.”

A Blackhawk extraction helicopter appeared above the path. Miguel’s phone crackled to life.

“Major Gonzalez?” The man spoke in a thick southern accent.

“I’m here. Come on down and pick up these civilians.”

“There’s a clearing one hundred yards north on the path. We’ll put down there. But you better make it quick. There are three enemy copters behind us, and they’re all headed this way. These guys are better armed than most military bases.”

“Most of it’s ours. We sell it to Colombia and they steal it.”

“In Arkansas we call that free enterprise.”

They reached the pickup location just as the first helicopter came into view. It touched down and took on the injured soldiers. The old man and several women followed. The pilot waved several more on. The second copter landed and loaded more passengers. This pilot took on extras as well.

Then the third touched down. It was the pilot from Arkansas.

“Come on in! We’re short on birds, so I’m gonna fly heavy. You got six enemy copters coming your way, each packed to the brim with guerrillas, drug guys, and I don’t know who all.”

“How far?”

“Thirty minutes away, no more.” The pilot watched as the passengers packed into the helicopter. “Where the hell you get all these people?”

“The guerrillas walked them right to us,” Miguel said.

“I can’t fit you all.”

“Take the civilians. I’ll take care of myself.”

“That’s a death wish.”

“You got any better ideas?” Miguel said.

The pilot shook his head. “No, but I do hate to leave you here, and that’s for sure.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Miguel said, with more confidence then he felt. The copter soon was filled to the brim and beyond. Miguel watched as Boris got his turn to load. Kohl waved him into the copter.

The dog refused to move. He swung his head back and looked at Miguel.

“Come on, Boris, up,” Kohl said.

Boris sat down.

Kohl put his hands in the air.

Miguel walked over and waved at Boris. “Come on, get in the copter, Boris.” He patted the copter’s doorway. “Up.”

Boris whined.

“He doesn’t want to go either, sir,” Kohl said.

“I can see that. Boris. Up. Now,” Miguel said.

Boris lay down.

“Now, that’s a well-trained dog,” the pilot yelled over the rotor noise.

Miguel gave up. “Put the other shepherd in the copter.” Miguel stepped away to allow Natasha to load. Boris followed Miguel, his tail wagging behind him like a flag.

Miguel, Kohl, and Sumner were left.

“Room for one more.” The pilot yelled over the noise of his rotors.

The men all looked at one another.

“You’re the civilian, Sumner. Get on,” Miguel said.

Sumner shook his head. “I don’t leave without Caldridge. I’m going back in to find her.”

Miguel eyed Sumner. He had no real authority over the man, and he knew it. He sighed and turned to Kohl.

“I ain’t leaving without her, either,” Kohl said.

“I’m giving you a direct order, Private,” Miguel said.

“Sir, I gotta stay!”

Miguel pointed to the open field. Kohl turned to look, and Miguel punched him in the head. Kohl dropped like a stone. Sumner looked as surprised as hell.

“Put him in,” Miguel said.

Sumner shook with laughter as he grabbed the unconscious Kohl under the arms. Miguel took the legs, and they heaved him into the copter.

“When we get there you want him sent to the brig for insubordination?” the pilot asked.

Miguel shook his head. “That was a heat seizure you saw. I never touched him and there was no insubordination.”

The pilot grinned. “Got it.” He reached back into the copter and grabbed a small pack. “Woman named Stromeyer from Darkview said to tell you that Banner is out of communication. And she sent you this.” He threw field rations to Miguel, and more to Sumner. “And this is from me.” The pilot handed him a pocket cigar humidor. “They ain’t Cuban, but they’re great. There’s one in there for him, too.”

Miguel nodded to the pilot. “Thanks.”

The pilot got a grim look on his face. He saluted both men before returning to the controls. The helicopter rose slowly into the air and flew away.

46

BANNER SAT IN A GRIMY ROADSIDE BAR IN A PARAMILITARY-CONTROLLED town near the border of Venezuela. He drank sips of coffee so thick that the grounds formed a silt pile at the bottom. They slid into his mouth. He swallowed without blinking and scratched absentmindedly at his day’s growth of beard.

He’d taken steps to alter his looks. His hair was dyed black and he wore dark contact lenses to dim his blue eyes. The measures were only half successful. Two women who loitered at the bar had already marked him as a wealthy outsider. They’d approached him, twining their arms around his neck, telling him how handsome he was, and whispering the things they would do to him. For a price, of course. Their bodies were warm and full and he’d enjoyed the brief contact. He’d thanked them for the offer, bought them both coffees, and sent them on their way.

Ten minutes later, his good friend Raul Perez sauntered into the bar. Perez nodded at the bartender, ordered an espresso, and took a seat at the bar stool next to Banner.

“Hello, amigo, you don’t like our girls?” Perez said.

Banner shrugged. “I like them just fine, but my interest is elsewhere.”

Perez gave him a shrewd look. “And how is Major Stromeyer?”

Banner eyed Perez over the rim of his coffee cup. “Still my employee.”

Perez chuckled. “And therefore untouchable. You know, for a covert operator, you sure do follow the rules.”