Chapter 45

45

Plata and Dr?gu? marched the men back to their barracks. They halted outside and Plata addressed them.

"Gentlemen, today's exercises couldn't have gone any better. You are as fine a fighting force as I have ever seen. I pity any tonto that dares challenge us. I would be proud to lead you into combat should we ever get the chance."

The hardened warriors beamed with quiet pride. Somewhere back in time before they had chosen the dark and twisted path of killing for money, each of these men had been a young recruit who proved himself worthy of his uniform and his nation. For a brief moment, they were those young men again.

"As a first reward for your extraordinary efforts, I'm canceling tomorrow's training exercises. Get some rest."

"Huzzah!" the Brit shouted. The rest of the men cheered.

"We'll pick up training the day after tomorrow and finish out at the end of the week. We'll be shipping out after that."

"Which squad scored the highest?" McGuire asked.

Dr?gu? pulled up his tablet. "It was close. But one squad was the clear winner."

He read aloud the names of Osipenko and Al-Mawas, the ex-Wagner Russian and the Syrian.

"Five thousand in Bitcoin has already been added to each of your accounts. Congratulations." He tucked the tablet under his arm and clapped. There were a few grumblings among the squads that thought they had won, but even they joined in the clapping.

"And the three squad leaders?"

"Osipenko, Al-Mawas, of course. And…McGuire."

"That's a bit of all right," McGuire said, smiling. His German squad mate slapped him on the back.

"How about telling us where we're going?" the Nigerian asked.

" No tengo la menor idea ," Plata said. "I'm like you. I'm in the dark. But I'm also a soldier, and paid well. It doesn't matter. We go wherever we are sent. Anything else?"

"You said there was a first reward. That means there's a second," Linc said.

Dr?gu? grinned ear to ear.

"First we clean our weapons, then we hit the showers. And after that? Well, tonight we're going to party!"

The mercs roared like Vikings with lusty delight.

★

In the hustle and bustle of crowded showers, getting dressed, and squared away, Juan and Linc managed to share a few carefully whispered words out of earshot.

"I know a fat man who's probably worried," Linc said.

"These guys have been on me like ticks. Maybe tomorrow." Cabrillo was referring to his miniature satellite phone stashed in his combat leg. "But it's not a one-way street."

Linc knew he was referring to their embedded trackers. The Oregon had eyes on them.

"You think maybe our other friend will show up soon?" They still hadn't seen the Vendor. In fact, his name hadn't been mentioned at all.

"Hope so."

"And if he doesn't?"

"We play it by ear, one day at a time."

A dinner bell rang outside.

Linc smiled. "Finally. I'm starving."

★

Plata's cooks had gone all-out. One of them sliced steaming hot pieces from the giant pig still crackling on the spit. Another tended a roasting lamb for the two nominal Muslims in their midst. The air was scented with the smoky sweetness of the roasted flesh.

Another cook served up fresh lobster out of boiling pots along with coconut shells brimming with melted butter. A third was grilling thick filets of tuna. A long table was festooned with papayas, guavas, mangoes, and other tropical delights. But it was the bartender offering copious amounts of whiskey, vodka, rum, champagne, and Turkish raki that was the real hit.

Plata had wisely secured all of the weapons before the drinking began. He also announced he would be closing the bar early. The unintended consequence was that everybody who wanted to get drunk simply drank more, faster. Even Plata and Dr?gu? got hammered.

A British Invasion soundtrack had been roaring out of a portable player all night. The Rolling Stones were currently belting out "(I Can't Get No) Satisfaction." Coarse laughter and friendly goading burbled up between music tracks accompanied by the vivid telling of bawdy jokes and crazy war stories.

Linc and Juan played along with the drunken revelry but were careful not to overindulge. The Frenchman staggered up to the two of them, four sheets to the wind, an empty glass in his hand.

"I know it was you two…that pulled me out of that hole. You didn't leave me behind." Mangin's eyes watered. "You probably saved my life."

Linc pointed at Juan. "I just held the rope. He's the guy that got you out."

"Team effort," Juan said.

Mangin laid a hand on Cabrillo's shoulder.

"I would serve under you anywhere, any time."

Juan nodded. "Your glass is empty. You're not trying hard enough."

The Frenchman stared at the empty glass, almost as if surprised it was in his hand.

"C'est vrai . "

"Last call," the barman shouted.

"Better get going," Linc said.

The inebriated commando scowled like a wounded child and staggered off toward the bar.

Juan and Linc were alone again. It was no longer suspicious that they hung out together. It was Dr?gu? who had paired them up. Still, they took precautions not to appear to be too chummy.

"Maybe tonight when these guys are conked out we can look around," Juan said. "Until then, we can relax."

"I think I want some more of that roasted pig."

"I'm with you on that one, big guy."

★

Despite his intoxicated state, Plata was still keeping a relatively short leash on his dogs of war. He didn't want a good time to spin out of control, and there was still plenty to do in the coming days. At midnight he blew his whistle. The music cut off and the men groaned with disappointment, but they dutifully headed for the barracks.

By twelve-thirty lights were off. Linc and Juan lay in their bunks listening to the whispered conversations melt slowly away into the deep inhalations of exhausted men falling asleep. It wouldn't be long before the entire barracks would be in la-la land.

Juan yawned two or three times and rubbed his face to stay awake. He and Linc were going to recon the facility as soon as the last man passed out. Linc was in a bunk across the aisle and two over on the left. Even in the dark his big frame was impossible to miss. Juan yawned again. He didn't realize how tired he was after the last few days of hard training. He knew it wasn't the booze. He had nursed a glass of whiskey all night, pouring most of it out in the bushes when no one was looking and filling it back up to look like he was drinking as much as the others. Linc had done the same thing.

Juan's eyelids were as heavy as cast-iron frying pans. He rubbed his face again. It didn't help. He rolled his head over to see how Linc was doing. He heard the big man's familiar snore, a steady, raspy hum. He must have been exhausted, too. Juan lifted his wrist to check his watch. It was twelve forty-seven a.m.

Too early to go out anyway , he told himself. Might as well get a little catnap…

Juan shut his eyes. And like the rest of the men in that room, he was soon rendered completely unconscious, unaware of the odorless gas clouding the air.