Page 11 of Wreck My Mind

Chapter Four

Coop

Get control.

Focus forward.

Work the problem.

Like a pilot in zero visibility, I had to rely solely on my instruments, namely the depth gage and GPS. Maneuvering blindly, I got back in line with my intended coordinates. Then I worked to stabilize my breathing.

I studied the dive computer. My PO2 levels were significantly higher than expected, given the short, shallow dive. While it wasn’t exactly a mission concern, it still served as a reminder that I wasn’t in as good of shape as I let on—a crisis which would have to wait.

Thankfully the part of my brain that sharpened my focus for fight or flight was unaffected by whatever chaotic hell was brewing in my skull.

Time to fight.

My planned insertion point on the bank promised greater danger than the river. I was an easy strike on the shoreline for a croc and odds were strong I’d attracted at least the attention of a couple by now. Then there was Marco and his remaining goon squad. Seeing as how I’d eliminated three of the highest-ranking members of Alvarez’s organization, it would be naïve to think he wouldn’t be prepared.

The list of snipers capable of taking out his men in the fashion I had was a short one. He also had it out for me—the man who’d killed his father. Another reason I’d opted to insert from a safe distance.

After one last hit off my rebreather, I surged out of the water like the Creature from the Black Lagoon. Head on swivel and senses fully heightened, I kept my rifle positioned to take out anything that came between me and my goal. Surveying the jungle, I mentally calculated and cataloged various routes and paths, all the while scanning for potential traps like trip lines and sniper hides.

The dense air smelled of earth, leaf decay, and snake musk. Fuckin’ hate sn— A scream ripped through the canopy, launching my heart through my chest. Whether the howler monkey had alerted his troop to my presence or to something hunting me, I couldn’t let it put me on tilt.

I centered my attention downrange. The shoreline mud sucked at my boots, as I moved off. But I couldn’t shake the feeling of something stalking me from the river. I held up, listening for any atmospheric shift at my six.

Within milliseconds of hearing the change in the water’s flow, I spun and squeezed off a round. With suppression, the singular shot hitting the water sounded like a heavy drop of rain. Ploop! The croc who’d had me on his dinner menu heeded my generous warning, splashing and churning the shoreline water as he swished away. Turning back to my own prey, I strode into the heart of the jungle, becoming one with its familiar darkness.

Thick greenery slowed my progress, but after two clicks in, I started picking up wafts of burning trash. To my right I noticed a worn path a little wider than an animal trail. As much as my legs would’ve preferred a smoother track to picking through the roots and rock, my plan wasn’t to walk right into Alvarez’s camp. I was one man who could be up against at least five and up to fifteen narcos. I needed to find some higher ground to get some recon in.

Through the heavy foliage I caught sight of some huts and a large structure sided with scrap metal. Just beyond that would’ve been a small tributary of the river. I knew it would be guarded by sentinels, which was why I hadn’t inserted there. But I maneuvered with it always in my periphery. If Alvarez was going to escape, that was where he’d squirt out.

Sighting a young male making rounds, I held position. He had an AK hanging off his shoulder, but was more concerned with his phone. After walking past me, he came to a halt barely a foot from my hide. With one hand he kept texting or whatever. With the other he undid his jeans, whipped his dick out, and started relieving himself. He was so close I could pick out nuances in his urine. Despite my cover and camouflaged face paint, I was certain he could have seen me if his pupils hadn’t been contracted tight from the bright phone screen. I wrapped my hand around the handle of my KA-BAR knife, but willed him to turn away. I didn’t want to have to use it.

Shit. I doubted the kid even had fuzz on his balls.

I’d had to kill young men, boys really, just like him in Iraq and Afghanistan. Kids who’d been strapped down with explosives meant to blow up US troops. But this wasn’t war and mine was the only life in immediate danger. I also wasn’t a mile away on some rooftop looking through my scope. I was heartbeat to heartbeat and he was just a dumbass mixed up with the wrong people.

The boy slipped the phone into his back pocket as he threw his head back and concentrated on squeezing out a few more squirts of piss. He grunted, looked down, and gave his dick a couple of shakes. His pupils would be expanding now, adjusting to the darkness. Again, I prayed he wouldn’t lift his gaze.

“Entra. Entra,” a comm-check came through over his radio.

Turn around and answer. Please don’t make me do this.

“Entra, Miguel!”

Fuck. We even have the same name.

The boy zipped up, then grappled for the radio hanging off his belt. I watched the whites of his eyes grow as he stared into the four monoculars of my panoramic NVG’s. Shit.

His hand shook as he dropped the radio and sloppily went for the AK. I slammed my grip down on his wrist while I spun his body so his back was against me. Clasping a gloved hand over his mouth, I held my knife to his carotid artery. He tried to scream against my palm.

“Callate, Miguel,” I hissed in Spanish since my Portuguese was shit. “Tranquillo.”

I backed us deeper into the foliage as the radio squawked again.

“Entra. Entra, babaca!”

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