Page 3 of High Value Target

The men gave him some water while Grady clicked on his radio. “Got another target coming with us. Jason Mallard, Green Beret. Held with Lopez. Out.”

There was no response, but they didn’t have time to wait for one. The distant sound of a truck engine carried through the night from the east.

“Resupply,” Stan said, looking at Grady.

“Let’s move.”

Stan put a shoulder under Jason’s arm, and Grady did the same with Enrico. The four moved quickly through the jungle toward the river.

There were shouts in Spanish behind them and gunfire in the air. Grady supposed they’d found their dead comrades.

The men doubled their speed, moving as fast as the hostages could manage.

The sound of thrashing in the undergrowth behind them carried through the quiet night, and Grady stopped and scooped Lopez over his shoulders, carrying him firefighter style the rest of the way.

Shots chopped the vegetation around them as the ELN closed in.

The fast boat waited in the moonlight just ahead, Chris at the helm, and Big Al manning the M2 fifty-caliber machine gun they lovingly referred to as the Ma Deuce. The four men burst out of the thick jungle onto the riverbank and splashed into the knee-deep water.

Grady and Stan quickly loaded the two rescued hostages and climbed aboard.

Big Al fired into the jungle, lighting it up with the glowing trails of the rounds from the Ma Deuce.

Chris wasted no time in throttling up, and the boat roared toward the Caribbean Sea, churning up the water in a huge wake. It didn’t matter any longer how much noise they made. Word was out.

Grady knew it was a long sixteen minutes to the gulf. He didn’t think the Colombians could scramble their meager Navy in that time, but you never knew.

They passed a few quiet villages, early fishermen looking up in surprise at the fast, armed gunship roaring past.

Reaching the mouth of the river, the boat fought the tide and the surf, Chris heading them into it, nose first. They crashed into the water on the other side. It was a rough ride, but soon they were through the surf and heading to international water.

Dawn was lighting the sky when the big ghostly shadow of the Navy ship came into view on the horizon.

Two hours later, and after receiving medical attention, the men were loaded on a helicopter to Puerto Rico, then on to Miami, where Enrico’s family waited, and the Army would be waiting for their missing Green Beret.

As Grady and the Tri Star team stepped off in Miami, they watched the touching reunion. Mission completed, Grady slipped sunglasses over his eyes and picked up his pack, preparing to leave. The Tri Star jet waited on the other side of the airport.

Before he and the guys could make an exit, Enrico’s wife ran over to the team, tears in her eyes, and hugged each one of them, too choked up to get much out other than two words.

“Thank you.”

Chris took her hand in his, patting the back of it. “You’re welcome. Glad we could bring him home to you, Luisa.”

Her eyes shifted to Grady and the others again. “Thank you all.”

“Just doin’ our job, ma’am,” Grady murmured.

She wiped her eyes and ran to her husband and two daughters.

“That never gets old,” Stan said softly.

Grady couldn’t agree more. “No, it does not.”

Six hours later, they touched down at DFW, then caught the Tri Star helicopter for a fifteen-minute jump out to their facility in Granbury, Texas.

By the time Grady stepped off, stretching, he was exhausted—from the mission, from the long travel time. “God, I’m ready for a hot shower.”

The men all headed to the locker room, but Chris grabbed Grady’s arm and pulled him to the side. “We need to talk about Jason Mallard.”

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