Page 6 of Vaquero
Chapter Two
Corporal Duncan wasn’t here. No one was. By the looks of the burned-out buildings and the few upright timbers still standing, the total destruction, Duncan hadn’t been around this out-of-the-way village for a week or more. He may not even be alive. Creeping vines had already invaded the scorched wreckage of what might have been an orphanage. In forests like these in Brazil, invasive plant life could take over anything in its path within days.
Julio found the bomb craters interesting, though. This level of destruction hadn’t been caused by ordinary fire. Duncan could’ve been killed in whatever battle had gone down here. The orphans he’d wanted exfils for, too. Who would’ve caused this level of destruction? Who was evil enough to try to kill motherless kids?
As if Julio didn’t know. Standing in the middle of what should’ve been an active, thriving orphanage, he cast an evil glare in the direction he’d just come from, to OZ Metallurgy Mining, Inc. Orlando Zapata and his army of local thugs, mercenaries, and renegades. That was who’d done this despicable damage, to an orphanage, for hell’s sake. To children and aid-workers.
After finally making it to this part of Minas Gerais, Brazil, and before reaching out to Duncan, Julio had paid OZ Mining, an odd name for a black, colorless scar on the land, a visit. He’d planned to set up a sniper hide and wait the bastard out. Zapata was Julio’s number one priority. Until now, locating Duncan had been an extra, when-I-get-around-to-it duty. An add-on, something any operator would do, but onlyif or whenhe or she were able to during the completion of their primary goal.
But it hadn’t been difficult getting close to, then into, OZ Mining. When he’d stopped there earlier, both Orlando Zapata’s impressively large wrought-iron gates had been propped open instead of locked-up tight. Julio had even talked with the single guard at the entrance. A. Single. Guard. Who couldn’t have stopped anything if Oz’s enslaved workforce would’ve attempted a coup.
As it was, Julio had nearly walked past the lazy oaf sitting on the hood of a derelict Jeep in the shade. Said guard’s teeth had been discolored and crooked. Like his eyes. Judging by his dilated pupils and slurred speech, he’d been smoking something that was not tobacco.
Julio had simply walked up to him and asked to speak with his boss, Orlando Zapata.
“He ain’t here,” the guard mumbled.
“Do you know when he’ll return?” Julio used his best manners.
“I own’t know. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week…” He stared off into the nearby trees as if he needed somewhere to nap. Or to take a leak.
“Where’d he go? Maybe I can meet him there,” Julio offered cordially. It never hurt to ask.
“Doubt it. He’s hunting. Him and his guys. Took all of ’em. Never know when he’ll be back when he takes everyone like he done.”
“How long has he been gone?”
“Couple weeks. Err…” The guy rolled his eyes. Thinking seemed to be difficult for him.
“No matter. What’s he hunting this time of year? Jaguars? Monkeys?”
“Rats-s-s-s-s-s,” the idiot hissed. “Just rats-s-s-s-s-s.”
Which meant Oz was hunting either runaway slaves or troublesome foreign aid-workers. Still, Julio prodded. “I thought this place was a thriving business. Looks deserted.”
The guy grunted. “Ain’t you the genius? For your information…” He’d actually puffed out his chest like he had something important to share. “This placeisdeserted. For now. Might not reopen for business.”
Julio had read the ‘Eyes Only’ brief Sullivan had sent, but the object of Orlando Zapata’s greed hadn’t stuck in Julio’s mind. Might be gold. Might be a hundred different types of precious gemstones for all Julio cared. Whatever Oz mined, it would still only be fool’s gold in Julio’s book.Familiawas all that truly mattered. But a bastard like Zapata could never comprehend a simple truth like that.
“A strike then?” Julio packed as much disbelief into the question as he could.
The guard guffawed. “Them slaves? Strike? Hell, no. The ore’s run out. Don’t need workers when there ain’t nothing in the ground.”
“So everyone’s gone but you?”
“Yeah, but he’ll be back soon. Maybe in a couple days-s-s-s-s-s. Maybe weeks-s-s-s-s-s… Just you wait. He’ll bring everyone back, ’less he kills ’em first.”
And there, intelligence gathering had stalled. With a quick goodbye, Julio’d left the guard sitting on his Jeep in the middle of nowhere. Turning into the same trees the quirky guy had been staring off into, Julio had beelined for the coordinates of Duncan’s orphanage.
Which was where he stood now. Only Oz wasn’t here, and he’d definitely struck the orphanage with fury. Even the leaves on the highest branches overhead were scorched or missing all together. Had Corporal Duncan gone down fighting Zapata’s army?
Except for the over-abundance of fifty-caliber brass littering the rutted ground, the ruined camp certainly looked like it. There were more expended shells than one man could’ve fired. If he’d thought he could protect children while fending off Oz’s army at the same time, with just a fifty cal, Duncan was a fool. He should’ve run.
At least there weren’t any bodies. Small consolation, that. Julio worried. A two-week hunting trip, huh? The timeline fit what appeared to have taken place here. Vining tendrils were already creeping through the ash and debris. Leaves from scorched branches overhead had fallen onto the firepit and onto ruined tents, into the ruts.
Julio slapped the annoying insect stinging the back of his neck. The forests of Minas Gerais weren’t as lush nor as formidable as the rainforests up north. The waterways of the Amazon River didn’t reach this far south. The entire state lay within the hilly, mineral-rich Brazilian Highlands, where elevations reached as high as twenty-eight hundred feet.
But the blessing and curse of Minas Gerais had always been its wealth. First the Portuguese raped the country and its indigenous peoples for its minerals and gold. Then the English. Now slash-and-burn farming, open-pit mining, and the double-edged sword of civilization were doing the same. The once proud indigenous tribes of Brazil had been reduced to mere handfuls, all now living on government reservations. Slavery was no stranger to Minas Gerais. Neither were ruthless men like Domingo and Orlando Zapata.
