Chapter 4

"According to the villagers, if we take this path, it will get us up to the cartel a lot faster if we travel on the road," Michael told Meyer and Carson as they approached the brush. A distinct but narrow clearing led the men to the rocky dirt path.

"It looks like it's almost straight up," Meyer declared from his position to Michael's left. He stood staring upward through the trees until the path seemed to disappear. A mosquito dared to get close, and he swatted it out of existence. "Think we'll need more ropes, Sir?"

Michael shook his head. "Lucinda said that the few villagers who have travelled this way say it looks more dangerous than it is. I'm taking that to mean it's not so steep. Let's go."

"You put a lot of stock in those villagers, Sir," Carson said as he followed Michael. "What if they're playin' some kinda trick on us?"

"That's what I was thinking," Meyer chimed in. "That woman, Lucinda, could be telling us whatever she wants to just to get us out of their village."

Michael stopped and turned to face them, his face stony as he replied. "If I didn't have Hewitt backing up everything, we wouldn't be doing this. You want to doubt your fellow team member?"

"No. Sorry, Sir. Guess we're a little too... careful... sometimes," Carson said.

Michael's expression changed to one of understanding. "Can't say I blame you guys. But I've been in this business enough to know that you can't believe the first thing you hear unless it's backed up by someone or something else. Hewitt vetted the conversation around the campfire last night, so I'm convinced that no one in that village wants us to fail. As a matter of fact, the concern they have for any kids that might be up there was pretty obvious. So let's stop wasting time and get moving." He turned and started walking the path, and the two SEAL team members followed.

None of them spoke a word, and they stopped only for short breaks. The trail was almost straight, with meanderings now and then around trees or a pile of dead brush. Animal tracks showed in the moist dirt here and there, criss-crossing the trail or following it for a time. The sun turned the leaves above into spots of green-gold, the shade a welcome relief against the blazing rays. Even so, the air was humid, causing perspiration to break out on their skin, which attracted the mosquitos and bugs.

During one break to reapply bug repellant, the men heard a rustling in the underbrush. Everyone pulled a weapon and trained it on the source until a small rodent stuck its furry nose out from under some dead leaves. It spied the intruders and ducked back inside its camouflage.

"Just a dumb rat," Meyer muttered.

"We're almost to the top," Michael announced after hiking a few hundred yards ahead and returning. "The path hits a plateau up there, and goes around the mountain, just like the old man said. The cartel isn't much farther away after we round that bend."

"Good. But what kind of cover will we have," Carson asked. "We're not going to be out in plain sight, are we?"

"I'm hoping not," Michael replied. He picked up the gear he set down to put on the lotion. "It's almost seventeen hundred hours. I'm hoping we can do a little recon inside the compound before these guys take a dinner break. Otherwise, we'll see if we can get a bird's eye view from somewhere."

"Sounds like a good plan," Carson agreed.

"Before we move, I want to check in with Lieutenant Commander Axe." Michael unsnapped the radio from his belt and depressed the broadcast button. "Alpha, this is Beta, can you read me?"

The reply came with a lot of static, but Sam's voice could be heard as he replied, "Beta, this is Alpha. You're kind of scratchy, but I read you."

"Affirmative. You're not so clear yourself," Michael countered and held back a smile. "Nearing the nest, just wanted to check in on our progress."

"You made good time. Hurry up and you might make a late supper," Sam came back.

"We'll see. Beta out."

"Be careful, Beta. We'll keep dinner on for ya."

"Thanks, Alpha. See you soon." Michael put the radio away and spoke to his team. "Alright, let's proceed with caution."

Michael wasn't much of a conversationalist unless he had to be, and when it came to a mission like this, he could clam up and not say a word for hours. On the journey up the mountain, Carson and Meyer had kept up a running banter, soft but ever-present. Their chatter annoyed Michael, but he understood that some men worked out their tension through talking. As long as they didn't give away their position, he was fine with it. He knew that SEALs were trained to be on alert at all times, and despite the earlier easiness, their eyes kept roving the jungle around them in search of trouble. Now, both men felt the closeness of their target and put on their game faces and ceased talking, and Michael noticed the change in their stances and the way they carried themselves through the brush. They were on and ready for resistance.

As the three rounded a curve, the path leveled off and brought them to where it disappeared, ending abruptly at a large patch of manicured lawn. Keeping themselves hidden by the bush, Michael spied the area ahead of them. The land was flat and seemed to drop off into blue sky. At the edge sat a dirt helopad with bright orange markings for a daylight landing. A windsock fluttered in the breeze, indicating from which direction the wind blew. Closer to the path, to the left stood a modern yet simple house three times the size of Lucinda's hut. To the right, almost out of view, stood two shacks on crumbling foundations. They looked much older and unkempt, as if the owners didn't care if they fell down around the occupants. A canopied area covered several long tables with benches and a stone cooking area stood at one end of the shelter.

No one seemed to be about, so Michael slipped out of their cover and took large steps as he hurried to the first building. Carson and Meyer followed, covering him. If he stood, Michael could see through the windows. At least someone installed screens on them to keep out the bugs. He peered over the sill and looked inside for a moment, then ducked down and reported what he'd seen.

In a low voice he spoke. "Looks like a school. There were eight desks, in front of a table and chair, but I didn't see any learning materials. Or any students."

"Maybe school is out for the day," Carson suggested. "Sir, do you think this is really an orphanage? I never heard of one with a helopad."

"I don't know what to think. Let's check out that other building, and then try to get to the house and see if anyone is around." Michael trotted to the next building, watching as he slipped into the line of sight with the house for a few seconds before becoming obscured by the other shack.

Michael heard voices. He turned and held up his hands, pantomiming for the two SEALs to stay where they were. They came up short of the corner and nodded, guns at the ready, waiting for the signal to proceed. If the situation had been less serious, he would have thought about how pleased he was with their performance. He shouldn't have been surprised, especially since they were under Sam's command. Alone, he slid alongside the clapboard siding and listened, but he didn't hear the voices anymore. With caution he peered into one window. He saw three sets of bunks arranged in rows along the far wall. Another wall held pegs, and shirts and pants of various sizes hung on them. They were small, kid sized. He repeated his reconnaissance at the next window and saw the same number of bunks with pegs on the walls, only these held girls' dresses. Many of them were well worn, but they appeared to be clean.

He waved to Carson and Meyer, and the two joined him at the corner. "What did you see, Sir," Carson asked.

"Looks like a dormitory, one side for boys, the other for girls," Michael replied, biting back the emotion he felt bubbling up inside him. "But no kids anywhere."

"Maybe there's another building somewhere where they're at," Meyer said.

"I heard some talking, and that's why I held you back. It didn't sound like kids, though. So we know there are at least two adults around here somewhere."

The team found another path into the jungle, only this one was much wider and more worn. It was more like a road. They followed it with cautious moves, keeping an eye on the surroundings and what was up ahead. Sounds filtered through the trees, gaining volume as the three neared another turn in the path. A break in the leaves gave them a good look at the scene below. A long building made of corrugated metal stood on a plot of land, and a generator outside the building masked any noise that Michael and his men might have made as they approached it. No one was around outside. Inside, however, a dozen guards watched over children as they worked, resting their forearms on automatic weapons strung around their necks.

Michael held his breath when he saw that the children, who all wore masks, were packaging cocaine into smaller, more easily transported bricks. One child stopped working, holding her hand with the other and massaging it. One of the men yelled at her in Spanish, and with the whites of her eyes showing her fear, the little girl went back to her task with pain on her face.

A sound come from Carson, like a low grumbled curse, and Michael turned his head enough to see the younger man's hands gripping and loosening on his rifle. He thought it was nerves until he caught sight of the dark anger on his face. Michael laid a steadying hand on his sleeve. Carson's blue eyes were stormy when they locked onto Michael's.

"Easy, Carson. We're just here to look, remember," Michael warned in a soft tone.

"Those kids... they're being treated like slaves, and we're just gonna stand here and let it happen?"

"No. We're getting out of here once we know their strength, and we'll take care of them later and rescue the kids." Michael's voice was reduced to a whisper. "I promise." He skirted around Carson and started walking back the way they came. Over his shoulder, he saw the two men watching him. With a scowl he beckoned them to come, and the men's shoulders drooped in resignation. They had no choice but to obey the man who at that moment was their commanding officer, even if he was CIA.

Getting back to the path would be easy if everyone in the cartel was down in the field. Michael counted a dozen men, not too many for their team of six if they were to have surprise on their side. When he and the men ran across the back of the property, he counted three more hanging around the house, and he saw a few women. The group drank cocktails and music wafted across the compound. All of them were dressed far better than the children. Michael could see the opening into the jungle, and he took a moment to stop behind one building and report to Sam.

"Alpha, this is Beta. Found the target, minimum of fifteen men, five women, sixteen kids. Returning to base."

"Copy, Beta. We'll be waiting for you."

"Alpha, positive on drugs. The kids were packing cocaine."

"Dammit."

"Uhoh, gotta run." Michael set the radio into its cradle and said, "They saw us! Run for the jungle!"

Guards ran toward them, shooting and kicking up pits in the grass as the trail of bullets moved in closer to the fleeing men. Michael ran half turned toward them, covering the others and returning fire. Carson fell in beside him and joined the return volley. Meyer brought up the rear doing the same. Michael heard a shriek and his head snapped around to see Meyer fall face first into the lawn. He didn't move, and one of the guards headed straight for him.

"Move!" Michael pushed Carson toward the entrance to the jungle, but he turned and ran to Meyer's side. He didn't have time to see if he was alive. Michael grabbed his arm, hauled him up into his arms, and hefted him over his shoulder. A bullet whizzed past and another came in quick succession, not far from his head. He whirled and trotted to his only hope of escape.

A round hit him hard in the back, but his vest stopped it from penetrating. The force of it, plus the momentum of running was enough to send him tripping down the path. The weight of the man on his shoulder didn't help, and Michael hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of him. He gasped, unable to breathe. His mind screamed at him to get away while his lungs fought to catch some air. Above him, he saw blotches of color that grew more out of focus by the second. Voices barked at him in a language he didn't know, and it was all too much for his body to take at one time. Despite his will and best efforts, Michael lost consciousness.

When Michael awoke, he didn't expect to find himself in a nicely furnished study. He lay on a lounger, and he took care to sit up. The room swam a little in the low light from a couple of electric lamps. He glanced at another figure to his right. Carson sat in a leather wing chair, bound and gagged, fighting against the ropes that held him tight. Meyer lay on the floor on a sheet that bore blood stains. Michael stood and tried to move to the other man's side to check on him, but he found that he was also bound. The gag, however, was missing. Maybe his captors were afraid he would stop breathing if they gagged him, since he'd had so much trouble before he passed out. No matter. The important thing was seeing if Meyer was okay.

It took some work, but Michael fought the residual dizziness and hopped over to Meyer, dropped to his knees, and used his nose to touch Meyer's carotid. He heard breath sounds and there was a pulse, so Michael hoped that he wasn't injured too badly. He wondered what Sam would think about this little turn of events. He saw a clock on the wall and realized that almost six hours had passed since he contacted Sam. He wouldn't really start to worry, knowing that it took almost that long for them to get to the cartel's hideout. But in another three hours, he could just imagine how his friend would react when they didn't return.

Michael hadn't done a lot of praying lately, and he hoped that wouldn't count against him as he looked up toward the ceiling and muttered, "Let this work out okay for us. Let us get away safely before Sam has to come for us." He didn't get an answer, and he didn't exactly feel at peace, but he felt that he'd done all he could and his only option at that point was to go back where he awoke. Wait for help to arrive, or a means of escape. Until then, rest. If Michael had been more aware of himself, he would have been shocked at how easily he slipped back into the murky world between conscious and unconscious.