I drew my machete and started hacking through the dense foliage. The terrain moved from flat to sloped pretty quickly. It soon became a steep incline.
We moved through the jungle, climbing over roots and fallen logs, ducking under branches. It didn't take long to work up a sweat. Soon, my quads burned, and my chest pumped. My shirt stuck to my back. I had traded cold and wet for hot and damp. At least I was getting a good workout in.
I knew from experience this jungle was full of snakes and spiders and monkeys that would bite. The venom from La Muerta Verde, the Green Death, would put you under in a matter of minutes. No way to get an antidote out here.
It took about 30 minutes to hike up to the top of the ridge line. From there, we crept through more dense foliage to the tree line at the edge of the compound.
With wireless earbuds connected to an encrypted app on our burner phones, we had secure comms.
JD and I were on the backside of the compound, near the large metal warehouse. We scoped out the compound from a slightly elevated position.
This was a major drug operation.
The acrid chemical smell from the manufacture of cocaine drifted through the air—kerosene, ammonia, acetone, HCl, and other solvents. The persistent aroma alone would be enough to cause brain damage or lung issues with chronic exposure. But we were a long way from OSHA.
Armed guards with machine guns patrolled the grounds.
I stashed the case with the prototype in the jungle and covered it with leaves and branches.
"Where do you think they’re holding Paisley?" Jack muttered.
I shrugged. "Probably in the house. But they could be keeping her anywhere. In the shed, the warehouse, in a hole in the ground."
It wasn't a pleasant thought.
A guard stepped around the corner of the warehouse and walked the perimeter. He marched along the east wall, scanning the jungle for threats, but he wasn't paying that much attention. I didn't think many people were stupid enough to make an assault on this compound. We were the only ones crazy enough to do that.
JD and I held still in the underbrush as the goon continued to march in our direction.
My heartbeat pulsed my ears.
The thug moved past us, then stopped. He pulled a phone from his pocket and read a message, then texted back. The glow from the screen illuminated his face.
By that time, I was right behind him. I said, “¡No te muevas, cabrón! ¡Ni un puto sonido! ¡Suelta el arma!”
After a moment’s hesitation, he complied and dropped the weapon to the ground.
In Spanish, I told him to get on the ground and put his hands behind his back.
He laughed and said, "You're a dead man, gringo."
"On the ground now, or I'll put a bullet in your back."
By the tone of my voice, he figured I wasn't playing around. He complied, and I put flex cuffs on his wrists and drew them tight. "Where's the girl?"
"What girl?"
"Don't play games with me.”
50
"She's in the main house," the goon said.
"Where?"
"I don't know where.”
"Tell me exactly where she is,” I said, drawing my knife and putting the blade to his throat.
