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It would’ve been much safer to have slit Miguel’s throat. Smarter, even. But thankfully not necessary. After relieving him of his AK, I left him in a warm embrace with the nearest tree thanks to a set of zip-tie handcuffs. After shoving his T-shirt in his mouth, I grabbed the dropped radio and headed back into the jungle.
Confident Miguel would relay which direction I’d gone, I doubled back before changing directions. Then I tried to find a suitable tree to climb, avoiding kapoks as they were covered in thorny spikes. The smoother trees all had extremely long trunks before branching into their canopies. Even if I wasn’t too tired for a hundred-foot shimmy, I was way too old for a hundred-foot drop.
Over Miguel’s radio, I heard Alvarez’s men put the camp on blast. I turned the volume as low as possible then wrapped the column-like trunk of a suitable tree with a doubled-up rope from my kit. Clamping the inside edges of my boots so my big toes almost touched, I scurried up.
I’d honed the skill after spending a couple summers in Oregon with my uncle, who was a regular pole climber at the Lumberjack World Championships. Admittedly it had been a lot easier at thirteen, when I’d had barely any muscle tone to weigh me down and a hell of a lot more energy. I was still heaving in air as I laid out on a bough thick enough to hold my weight. I positioned myself belly down with legs flopped to each side like a jungle cat taking a nap. Leveling my rifle, I used the limb to help stabilize it, then bumped my NVGs up, trading them for my rifle scope.
The tree served as a comfortable sniper hide except for two factors. One, my nuts were crushed. Two, after I took Marco out, I had no idea how I was going to get my old ass down without attracting his men.
I scoped the camp, hoping to surprise Alvarez with a nice quick head shot. But he wasn’t about to make it easy for me. In fact, he had a few surprises. The first RPG came wheezing through the open camp, landing right where I’d doubled back from. Thank you, Miguel.
I held tight as the concussive thunder shook the tree. Debris rained down through the cloud of smoky haze. Not exactly the kind of weather pattern the rainforest was known for.
Another RPG launched, this time nearly taking out the speedboat waiting at the dock. I would’ve laughed, but compromising my cover and falling to my death didn’t sound all that appealing.
I scoped the village, waiting for Marco to squirt out toward the river during the distraction. But the first explosion still had my head ringing. Now the aural migraines were back and I couldn’t manage to get in focus.
I tried changing my visual angle a bit by scoping along the forest floor. Alvarez’s men were picking their way through the maze of tree roots toward me. I could probably knock off three or four of them before the virgin rocket launcher could clue in on precisely where to lob his load. But there was only one man I’d come to take out—Marco.
It was imperative I finished the job without additional bloodshed on my hands.
Hearing another grenade launch, I locked my legs at the ankles and held tight. I didn’t think I’d actually take a hit, but even a blind squirrel occasionally got a nut. This one landed so far from my location the leaves barely rustled.
Speaking of nuts, I shifted position. Not much relief, but wasn’t like my future was destined to include having children.
As the men below got closer, I spotted Marco making his move. Shit. My one chance at getting the guy came with losing my cover. I lined up my shot. Just as I was preparing to exhale and squeeze, two things happened simultaneously—the aural migraine completely knocked out my vision and an RPG launched right for me.
