Glancing at his wrist again, Alexander was dismayed to see another light come on, slightly to the left of the first one. That could mean only one thing: Someone had gotten hurt or hung up and couldn't make it to the captain. Alexander adjusted his path and headed toward the second light. In less than a minute of scrambling up the hillside and breaking brush, he came upon the source of the second light.
Through his night-vision goggles Alexander could make out the dark pattern of a parachute hung up in a tree. Coming closer he found the jumper lying beneath it. It was Paulson, the weapons man. To make sure he wouldn't be fired on, Alexander called out softly, "Eyes Two," as he approached.
Alexander knelt next to the jumper. "What's the matter?"
Paulson shook his head. "I think I busted my ankle. I hit the trees and thought I was hung up, and then the chute popped free and I hit the ground. I can't stand on it. I tried and it hurt too much. That's when I turned on the transmitter."
Alexander turned to Atwaters. "Leave your ruck here and go to the captain. Tell him to turn off his transmitter and bring everyone here." Atwaters nodded and, checking his direction on his wrist, turned and headed off to get the team leader.
Alexander quickly did a primary survey of Paulson to make sure there was nothing else wrong with him. Sometimes the pain of one injury masked the warning signs from another more dangerous one. Satisfied that nothing else was seriously wrong, he checked out the ankle.
Hearing someone coming through the brush, Alexander swung around with his silenced MP5, pointing it in the direction of the intruders. He watched as four men broke out into the small clearing at the foot of the tree.
"Eyes Two," one of the figures hissed. Alexander relaxed. The rest of the team was here. Vaughn and Colden, the medic, came over while the other two men settled in as security, pointing upslope and down. Alexander quietly briefed the captain while Colden worked on Paulson.
After a few minutes Colden rendered his report. "It's a broken ankle, all right. We'll have to carry him."
Alexander reached for the captain's ruck. "Let's see where we are." Digging through the parachute inside, he pulled out a piece of electronics that looked similar in size and makeup to the SATCOM radio. The machine was called MANPADS, for man portable position azimuth distance system. Alexander had relied on it several times before and thought it was one of the most useful pieces of equipment he had ever used.
Opening a cover on the machine, he typed in a brief code by feel. The small LED display dimly lit up with eight numbers, which stood for the grid coordinates of their present location. Then he punched in a second set of numbers that he had memorized — the grid coordinates for the lab site. The display lit up with a second set of two numbers: 282-2.13. Alexander shook his head in amazement. Didn't even need to do a map check. He wasn't sure how the damn thing worked, although he knew it had something to do with satellites. The machine had calculated the azimuth and distance from their present location to the target. Without the machine, they'd probably have spent half the night fumbling around in the dark — a frustrating and time-expensive exercise. According to the information, they had been dropped only about twelve hundred meters from where they had wanted to be.
Alexander looked up at Vaughn. "Just over two k's to the target." He checked his compass. "Thataway."
Vaughn nodded and turned to Colden, who was splinting Paulson's leg and foot. "What's his status?"
"Simple break of the ankle. I'm extending the splint below his foot so he can limp along on it in an emergency, but I don't recommend that unless absolutely necessary."
Alexander pulled a poncho from the outside pocket of his ruck. "I'll make up a travois. We'll pull him. It's downhill most of the way."
Riley woke with a start. Reaching over, he pulled his watch off the nightstand. 2312. Damn, he hadn't meant to sleep so late. Eyes Two was already long gone and on the ground in Colombia. Riley lay his head back on the pillow and silently wished them luck.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Alexander looked up in surprise. Four hundred meters downslope from his location, the dark night sky was split as arc lights clicked on at the lab site. He glanced over at Vaughn, who returned his puzzled look. They watched for a few minutes as activity burgeoned in the camp, then Alexander edged away from the recon site and slid into some bushes where the radio was set up. Colden was there watching over Paulson. The sliding ride down the mountainside from the drop zone to the recon site had entailed a few spills for the unfortunate weapons man, and Colden was monitoring Paulson to make sure shock didn't set in.
Vaughn slid in behind Alexander, having left Atwaters and Haley continuing the surveillance. The captain looked uncertain. "What do you think is going on down there?"
Alexander looked at the young team leader in the darkness. "I think they're either moving or getting a shipment ready to go."
"What do you think we should do?"
Alexander picked up the handset for the SATCOM. "Let's see if we can get the Hammer down here a little earlier. Not much else we can do by ourselves."
Suarez swore to himself as the jeep lurched along the unpaved mountain road. The lights from the truck following him wavered crazily in the cool night air as the truck negotiated the trail. Suarez was tired and hungover, but he was also very angry. Angry that he had received word so late.
Only an hour ago one of his informers had reported receiving the warning phone call. The caller claimed that Ramirez's people were going to raid Suarez's main lab in the mountains outside Medellin the next morning.
Unable to confirm the report with his own sources, Suarez had reacted. He couldn't afford not to. He had quickly gathered together all the guards he could find and, after radioing the camp to warn it, had led them out on the narrow trail through the mountains to where the lab was located. Suarez had a well-earned reputation as a man who led his men by example, always putting himself in the middle of any activity.
Suarez blinked as a figure stepped out of the dark in front of him onto the dirt road. He relaxed as he recognized one of the lab's guards. The man waved at him.
"Buenos dias, Senor Suarez."
Suarez ignored the greeting. "Is the camp prepared?"
"Si, senor. We have two machine guns here guarding the road. It is the only way someone can get in. We have mountains on all other sides. If someone comes we will kill them before they realize the mistake they have made."
Suarez looked around. It was a good location for an ambush. Good fields of fire on a narrow bend of the road. The camp was another three kilometers away, higher up on the mountainside. But the guard was right. The road was the only way someone could come and attack. Unless of course they used helicopters, but Suarez knew that The Shark didn't have access to enough helicopters to get a sizable force up here, unless he used the military's — in which case Suarez's informants in the air force would have given him ample warning. Besides, the military wouldn't dare. Furthermore, there was still more than enough firepower up at the lab to beat off an airmobile assault. There was only one cleared place flat enough for a helicopter to land within two kilometers of the lab, and that was the lab's own pad. A helicopter attempting to land there would be easily destroyed by ground fire.
"Good. I will leave the men in the truck here. I am going up to the main camp." Suarez signaled his driver to keep going.