“Da, thank you,” replied Yuri.
“Okay, folks, I have to get back to the consulate and brief my boss,” said Michaels. “I’ll hopefully be back in a couple of hours. Until then, I suggest you all get as comfortable as you can.”
“Thanks,” replied Jen with a warm smile.
After the door closed behind Michaels, Sam stood up, quietly made her way to the door, and placed her ear against the door. Silently cursing to herself, Sam turned around, walked back to the table, and took a seat with a heavy sigh.
“How many?” Cardinal asked Sam.
“There are at least four different voices out there. Could be more.”
“You can’t be thinking of trying to escape,” said Jen. “You heard Michaels; it’s all just some big misunderstanding. I bet when he returns we’ll all be free to go on our way.”
“I don’t know,” said Sam. “I don’t trust the man.”
“Neither do I,” added Cardinal.
Jen shook her head. “My God, you two are paranoid.”
“Jen, a little paranoia is good for you in this business,” replied Sam.
“Whatever,” muttered Jen. “Yuri, what do you think?”
“I think we will know what is going on when man from the consulate returns. Until then, I’m going to make some coffee,” said Yuri as he got up and walked over to an empty coffee pot.
Jen couldn’t believe how her friends were taking the news. She was ready to jump for joy, and they were pessimistically settling for a long stay. She sat back in her chair and for the first time in a few days, she began to wonder how Mitchell was doing. She was sure that he wasn’t sitting in some dingy room in an old military hangar. In fact, she was certain that he and Jackson were probably sitting at a bar somewhere in the sun having a good laugh.
28
“I can’t see a thing,” grumbled Jackson as he looked out the cracked window of the ancient truck he was driving. It was as black as pitch outside.
Rain had been coming down for hours, turning the narrow trail into a soupy morass. A jagged flash of lightning lit up the path.
“According to the GPS, we’re less than a klick from the border,” said Mitchell as he studied the map in his lap.
After swimming ashore, Grace, true to her word, gave Mitchell and Jackson a lift to Caracas and then dropped them off near a convenience store where Mitchell was able to buy a cheap disposable cellphone. After filling in General O’Reilly with everything that had happened, they rented a room in a roach-infested hotel and waited for O’Reilly to get back to them. A couple of hours later, an old friend of O’Reilly’s knocked on their door. He introduced himself as a former Venezuelan special forces officer who was loyal to his country but had no love for the current regime. Smuggled out of the city in the back of a truck filled with produce, Mitchell and Jackson were handed the keys to a vehicle that had been built in the early fifties. A tattered map that was at least that old sat on the dash along with a GPS stolen from the Venezuelan army.
Jackson stopped at a fork in the trail and looked over at Mitchell. “Which way, Captain, left or right?”
Mitchell turned the map around in his hands. “Left, I think.”
“Are you sure?” asked Jackson. “There’s nothing as dangerous in the army as an officer with a map.”
“Not that old line again,” said Mitchell, pointing down the trail. “Don’t forget, map and compass training is taught by non-coms, so if you have an issue with my map reading, remember, one of your friends taught me how to read a map.”
“Touché,” responded Jackson, turning the wheel hard over to the left.
Less than a minute later, they came out into clearing. Suddenly, a blinding light lit up their truck.
Jackson jammed his foot on the brakes. The truck came to a sliding halt.
Instinctively, Mitchell reached for a weapon; however, neither he nor Jackson was armed.
A man called out in English, “Get out of the truck nice and slow with your hands held up in the air.”
“What are we gonna do?” Jackson asked Mitchell.
“We don’t have much choice,” replied Mitchell. “I guess we’re going to do as the nice man suggested and step outside nice and slow with our hands up.”
Mitchell and Jackson stepped out into the rain with their hands up in the air. The bright light prevented them from seeing what was going on in front of them. A second later, a couple of men emerged out of the dark. Mitchell could see that they were dressed in a mix of military and civilian clothes. Both men were in their early twenties and carried rusty-looking AK-47s. While one man covered Mitchell and Jackson, the other quickly searched them and their truck.
“Jesus, I hope we didn’t stumble across a bunch of guerillas,” whispered Jackson to Mitchell.
“No, you did not, Mister Jackson,” said a voice in the dark.
The bright light turned off, plunging the jungle back into darkness.
A couple of flashlights were switched on.
Mitchell watched as a slender man in a rain-soaked flight suit walked towards the truck. He had short, white hair and a weathered face.
“You heard me?” said Jackson to the man.
“Yes, I have incredibly good hearing,” replied the man. “You have nothing to fear. Please lower your hands.”
Mitchell dropped his hands by his sides. “I take it you’re our contact?”
“Correct. Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Fred Jones, and I used to work for the company down here,” said the man, offering his hand in greeting.
Mitchell kept his hand by his side. “Mister Jones, if you are who you claim to be, what color am I thinking of?”
Jones chuckled. “O’Reilly and his games. Mister Mitchell, you’re thinking of the color red.”
“Pleased to meet you,” said Mitchell, shaking Jones’ hand. He was certain that Jones wasn’t the man’s real name; it was probably one of dozens the man had used when he worked for the CIA.
“I take it that we are in Colombia?” said Jackson to Jones.
“Yes, but this is a hotly contested area. Both countries and the narco-traffickers around here claim this as their turf. We had best get moving before we run into a patrol.”
“What’s your plan?” asked Mitchell.
“Leave your truck where it is. My men will take it with them when they leave. As for you two, I have another truck waiting for us. It’s only short drive from here to Cucuta. I have clothes, passports and plane tickets waiting for you at one of my safe houses. You’re scheduled to fly out first thing in the morning to Bogota. From there, you’ll catch a flight back to the States.”
“Sounds like you have it all in hand,” remarked Mitchell.
“I aim to please,” replied Jones with a smile on his narrow face. “Besides, your boss is paying me a fortune to get you both back home safe and sound.”
“God bless General O’Reilly,” said Jackson.
“Yes, indeed. Now, if you will both follow me, we’ve got to get going.”
They fell into line behind Jones and a couple of well-armed men who had been waiting in the dark. Mitchell and Jackson were thankful for the deep pockets and almost inexhaustible supply of people O’Reilly seemed to know all around the globe.
“Man, I can’t wait to have a shower and a decent meal,” said Jackson.
“Yeah, sounds good,” replied Mitchell. “I hope wherever we’re going has a phone. The battery on my cheap cellphone died hours ago. After we check in with the boss, I’m going to give Jen a call and see how things are going with her and the rest of the gang in Russia.”
“I bet they’re all at the bar in some swanky hotel in Saint Petersburg drinking beer and telling stories about us and having a good laugh about it, too.”