Chapter 54

54

Plata had ordered the mercs to meet at cache D, which happened to be an old Japanese bomb shelter dug into the side of a hill, well out of sight from any overhead surveillance.

The Vendor was giving them every chance for survival by putting food and ammo caches in protected positions. He wasn’t doing that out of any kind of charity, Juan knew, but for test integrity. Had he put a cache out in the middle of an open field it would have been like scattering apples at the base of Rahul’s drone-powered deer blind.

Once clear of the cave and under cover of a thick stand of trees, Cabrillo checked the Mini-Sniffer to see if it had finished cracking Rahul’s encryption codes. So far, it had failed to do so, but was still in the process. He wasn’t sure if his stint in the cave had somehow interrupted the attempt or if the Mini-Sniffer simply lacked the computing power to pull it off. Only time would tell.

Juan and Linc were the last to arrive at the cache, though they were right on time. Juan counted six survivors besides themselves: Plata, Drăguș, McGuire, Osipenko, the Frenchman, and the Brit.

Osipenko and the Brit were devouring MREs and washing them down with liters of bottled water. McGuire was stretched out on a cot, his face hidden beneath a cap and lightly snoring. Plata and Drăguș were hovering over a topo map they’d found in the cache storage.

“Nobody else?” Juan asked.

“Five dead, plus the Syrian,” Plata said. “Though he got his before we even got started, didn’t he?”

“More money for the rest of us,” the Russian grunted.

Linc made a beeline for the stash of food and snagged up a ripe mango, yellow as a daisy in bloom. He pocketed a couple of bananas, too, before pulling his combat knife and peeling the mango.

“I take it the men who didn’t make it are the ones who didn’t get their flags?” the Brit asked.

“Non,” the Frenchman said. “The Nigerian got his before he bought the farm. Same with the Turk. I couldn’t get to mine. I saw two drones on patrol. I would have waited longer but we were ordered back to the rally point. I have an idea how to capture my flag, but I’ll need at least one other person to help me out.”

The Brit counted on his fingers. “Six flags captured. Two captured by the dead. Eight left alive. Frenchie missed his. I got mine. What about you, Ivan?”

The Russian scowled. “Check your map. You can see I got my assigned flag.” He pointed at Linc and Juan. “So did they.” The big Slav grinned like a toothy pumpkin and pointed at Plata. “But our fearless leaders fell short.”

The Guatemalan’s reddened face glanced up from the map.

“Like Frenchie said, there were drone patrols all over the place. We know how to get our flag next time.”

Juan fought back a grin, enjoying Plata’s embarrassment. He tore open a bag of Pili nuts, branded in packaging from the Philippines. The high-fat treats were an excellent energy source and tasted like toasted butter. He popped a handful into his mouth.

“That makes four flags left with just under forty hours remaining,” Juan said. “So what’s the plan, jefe?”

“What do you think it is? We find a way to grab those four last flags,” Plata said, turning back to the map. “You have a better idea?”

The buttery Pili nuts, softer and sweeter than almonds, practically melted in Juan’s mouth.

“Not getting killed would be at the top of my list.”

Plata faced Juan. “We need to figure out what went wrong with each previous attempt and try to overcome it. We have eight people for four flags. We’ll go back out in pairs and grab them.”

Plata pulled the small camp table with the topo map to the center of the cramped room. “Everyone take a look.”

The mercs shuffled over. Except for McGuire, still stretched out on a cot with a cap over his eyes. Plata kicked the sole of his boot. The Irishman stirred, and peeked out from beneath his hat.

“What?”

“Get over here.”

Linc handed Juan a slice of slimy mango. Cabrillo shoved it into his mouth, savoring the tangy sweetness as the Irishman shambled over to the table.

“All right, let’s start with the Polish mission,” Plata said. “Flag number nine. Any idea what happened?”

“I saw their bodies in the open field,” McGuire said. “Could’ve been shot, but I heard three explosions earlier.”

“Minefield?” Drăguș asked.

“That would be my guess.”

Plata shrugged. “I didn’t see any mine-clearing equipment in the armory. Nobody requested any.”

“Why would we? It was supposed to be a VIP security mission,” the Frenchman said.

“Is there a truck or a car we could wire up and send out to explode the mines?” McGuire asked.

“Even if there was, the first mine would disable the vehicle. No telling how many are out there.”

“Or how the mines got there,” the Russian said.

“What do you mean?”

“Dropping mines from the air is a dirty little trick my people have perfected. You stop the advance with a nasty surprise and then you cripple them further as they retreat. Killed a lot of Ukies that way.”

Plata shook his head, despairing. “We’ve got no chance, then. And if we fail to get even one flag, we’re dead.”

“Did you inventory that armory?” Cabrillo asked.

Linc handed Juan a banana. “Potassium. You need it.”

“Thanks.” Juan peeled it.

“No, as a matter of fact,” Plata said. “There was an entire room full of equipment. But I’m telling you, there’s nothing for clearing mines.”

“We’ll take care of it,” Juan said. “Davis and me.” Cabrillo took a giant bite of his banana.

“How?”

“Not your concern,” Juan said, his mouth full of mush. He pointed at the map with his half-eaten banana. “Let’s talk about the other flags.”

---

★The mercs discussed various plans to overcome the defenses of the other three flags. Juan and Linc offered the best solutions, which Plata immediately took credit for. They didn’t care. All that mattered was that every flag was captured before the deadline.

Capturing the flags meant not only survival but riches for the mercs. But for Cabrillo, sticking the Vendor in the eye with a bitter defeat and capturing or killing him was an even sweeter thought.

Minutes later, Juan and Linc were making their way back to the armory beneath the cover of the jungle canopy, their eyes constantly scanning the ground and the trees in front of them.

“So, you gonna tell me how we’re going to work our way through a minefield beneath an open sky without the benefit of mine-clearing equipment?” Linc asked.

“I was thinking about building a giant kite and having you hold on to the tail and I would fly you over it,” Juan said. “But I know how much you hate heights.”

“Yeah, I’d say that’s at least one reason why that plan might not work. Anything else?”

“The Vendor builds drones. Maybe he’s got a rig squirreled away in that storage room.” Juan tapped his watch as he marched. “If we can find a way to remove my watch and attach it to the drone, we can fly the drone close enough to the flag to capture it without exposing ourselves to overhead surveillance and avoiding the minefield altogether.”

“But what if we can’t get your watch off? And what if there isn’t a drone?”

“Then I’d say we’re back to the giant kite option.”

Juan suddenly froze in his tracks.