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12
Most people got to the top of Rio’s Sugarloaf Mountain by riding its famous cable car. Thousands of tourists a day visited the observation deck at the summit for the spectacular view, as well as its snack bars and shops. From down in the city, the monolith towering thirteen hundred feet above the entrance to Guanabara Bay looked like a bomb standing on end, with sheer, rocky cliffs on all sides. But from the bay, boaters could see a sloping ridge covered with low trees and scrub brush extending from the sea all the way to the summit. Almost none of the visitors took the alternative route up along this ridge, a rough and difficult hiking trail marked by steep stone faces and several near-vertical rock climbs.
“Whose idiotic idea was this?” Hali Kasim asked, wiping sweat from his brow as he trudged up the worn dirt path near the peak. The slim Lebanese-American served as the Oregon’s communications officer and seldom ventured into the field. He certainly wasn’t used to the rigors of the three-hour trek carrying a huge pack on his back. His T-shirt and cargo pants were covered in dust and soaked in perspiration.
Marion MacDougall “MacD” Lawless chuckled.
“Ah believe it was yours,” the blond Army veteran said with a honey-thickened Louisiana drawl. He followed behind Hali to catch him in case he stumbled and fell backward down some of the steeper inclines. Although MacD carried the same kind of backpack, he didn’t think the hike had been so bad. “This is nothing compared to Ranger School. Our packs weighed twice as much as this one, and we’d go twenty hours straight on two rations daily and four hours’ sleep.”
Hali waved his hand dismissively. “Yeah, but I’m used to sitting in a comfy chair with a refreshing beverage by my side, and the heaviest weight I typically lift in my workday is the headset hanging around my neck. You, on the other hand, look like you were designed in a laboratory experiment to bring marble statues to life for Army recruiting posters. If a movie were made about your life, Chris Hemsworth would be considered too ugly to play you.”
“And too wimpy,” MacD said, happily going along with the premise. “Ah do think Ah was a Spartan in a previous life.”
MacD laughed as Hali threw a glance over his shoulder and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. I’m just thankful I don’t have to see you in a loincloth. My humiliation would be complete.”
“This might be a good time to remind you that it was your hobby that convinced the Chairman to let us try this.”
“I didn’t think he’d actually go for it,” Hali said.
“Neither did Ah. But that video of you flying over Mexico was impressive. You’ve got a knack for it.”
“So do you. It’s infuriating that in only two days you mastered the hobby I’ve been pursuing for three years.”
“Ah wouldn’t say ‘mastered.’ But Ah’ve jumped out of my fair share of airplanes. It ain’t that different.”
“Is there anything you’re not good at?” Hali asked.
“Ah don’t know,” MacD said with a smile. “Ah haven’t tried everything yet.”
They were within a hundred yards of the dirt trail’s transformation into a paved path when they got a call on the comm system.
“Gamma, this is Omega,” Gomez said. “We’ve had some issues down here. You need to push your timetable up as fast as you can.”
The two of them stopped walking and exchanged glances. That didn’t sound good, especially because it wasn’t Linda Ross, as expected, talking to them.
“Everyone all right?” MacD asked.
“We’ve had some casualties. The CIA agent’s identity may be compromised sooner than we thought it would.”
“Is our extraction rendezvous still a go?”
There was a pause before another voice came through their molar mics. This time, it was the Chairman on the other end.
“Rendezvous will be as planned,” Juan said. “We’ll meet you at the designated coordinates whenever you get there. Let us know when you’re on the way.”
“Acknowledged. Gamma out.”
Hali’s face was a study of concern. “Sounds bad.”
MacD shook his head in confusion at what he’d heard. “Ah don’t get it. Should have been a simple op on their end. But we can’t do anything about it right now. We need to focus on our job.”
As if they needed any more distractions, three monkeys hopped through the bushes beside them, begging for food, but MacD and Hali ignored them. The monkeys chattered in disappointment but hovered nearby just in case.
MacD looked at both sides of the trail and saw that there was a relatively level spot to the right that sloped down to a cliff twenty-five yards away. The tiny island of Ilha da Laje, with its deserted concrete fortress, was far below them at the entrance to Guanabara Bay, and, beyond it, was the eight-mile-long Rio–Niterói Bridge stretching from one side of the bay to the other. Farther in the distance he could make out the shape of the Oregon, which was probably in the process of recovering the Gator so they could treat the casualties. Since the ship was turning, that meant it’d raised anchor.
MacD and Hali were low enough on the hill that tourists on the observation deck above couldn’t see them, and a mass of trees obscured the view of the path higher up. MacD walked over to an area that was covered only by tall grasses and shrugged off his backpack.
“This is as good a place as any to launch,” he said. “Can you get them both set up while I’m gone?”
