“Try not to hit any trestles then,” Raabe suggested.
“Ah. Good plan.”
Carlton was staring at them. “You’re out of your mind, you know that?”
Sandor nodded. “It’s been said.”
“I’m not kidding. You know the odds of making a safe landing in the dark? In the jungle?”
“Let me guess.”
“Don’t bother.”
“You have any idea what the odds are of my getting there in daylight without someone spotting me?”
“Zero,” Jim Bergenn said.
“Exactly,” Sandor agreed. “So this is my best shot.”
“What about a private chopper?”
“We’ve already been through that. Too easy to spot and too noisy. If they don’t shoot it down when we enter their airspace, they’ll spot us on the radar and launch a search-and-destroy operation before I even get close to their base. The glider is my best chance of getting in there undetected.”
“He’s right,” Bergenn admitted.
For a few moments no one spoke. Then Raabe said, “Come here, let’s go over the controls again.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Bergenn had a look at his watch. “Time to do this.”
Sandor strolled to the side of the tarmac, knelt down, and opened his backpack to check the contents one more time. He had a satellite phone with a GPS function; two compasses, one traditional and one digital; a Smith & Wesson .45 1911 automatic with two extra magazines; a MAC 10 with four extra clips; and a US M24 Woodland portable sniper rifle with silencer and scope.
Carlton watched as Sandor went through each item. “You going in there to start World War III?”
“We’ll see,” Sandor replied. Then he held up a pair of bathing trunks, a T-shirt, and black flip-flops. “I guess I’m ready for anything,” he said.
“Some disguise.”
Sandor smiled. “You’d be surprised. Now where are the night goggles?”
“In the cockpit with your helmet,” Bergenn told him. “Want to check them out again?”
Sandor shook his head. “No,” he said, “I’m good to go.”
Doug Carlton was going to pull the ASG 29 with a C-47. It was a military variation of the DC-3, one of the most reliable warhorses in air travel, but not an obvious choice for this purpose.
“Not exactly the ideal way to tow a glider,” he admitted as they prepared.
Sandor smiled. “Beggars can’t be choosers, right?”
“You just hang on,” Raabe said as the three men watched Sandor climb into the glider.
“Roger that,” Sandor replied.
Carlton was going to pilot the twin-engine transport himself, directing his second in command to make a log entry listing the flight as a “nighttime takeoff and landing exercise, IFR.” There was to be no mention of the black glider he was towing or the two passengers he was carrying for the short trip.
It was after midnight, but Carlton ordered that the runway lights remained shut down until after takeoff, then turned on later for his return. Inside the C-47 he went through the preflight checklist with Raabe, who had settled comfortably in the copilot seat, prepared to assist. Bergenn was buckled in the seat behind them.
Once Carlton confirmed that all systems were operational, he revved the two engines, radioed his second that they were ready to go, then flashed a thumbs-up.
Less than an hour later Sandor’s glider had been released over the Lago de Maracaibo, where he piloted it inland, south of Barranquitas, and crash-landed at the end of the clearing.
CHAPTER SIX
After the crash, Sandor did his best to rouse himself. The reinforced harness had kept him in place. Now his training instinctively led him through an ingrained sequence of personal checkpoints.
First he took a few deep breaths to ensure he had not cracked any ribs or suffered chest injuries. Next he confirmed that his vision was clear, pulling off his goggles and moving his head slowly side to side to loosen his neck muscles. Then he moved his fingers and toes, finally uncoupling the seat belt so he could confirm his other extremities were intact.
He looked at his watch. It had only been a few minutes since he last checked the time, before he spotted the clearing and hit the ground.
It was just before 2:00 A.M.
Sandor climbed out of the seat and stood beside what was left of the mangled cockpit. His eyes had adjusted to the unremitting darkness, and he had a look around. He could make out the pieces of the demolished glider that were scattered across the entire field. Come sunrise the evidence of the crash would be evident from the ground, and possibly the sky, reminding him again that time was short. Reaching behind his seat he lifted the knapsack. He grabbed the night-vision goggles and digital compass and tossed both into the pack, then hurried off into the trees, just in case anyone had been near enough to see or hear the crash and might be coming by to have a look.
Safely in the thick of the jungle, he sat against the wide trunk of a large, gnarly kapok, pulled out his canteen, had a drink of water, then took out two 800 mg ibuprofen gelcaps and washed those down with a second gulp. The real pain he would feel was a couple of hours away and he wanted to head it off if he could. He placed the manual compass in his lap and had another quick look at his watch. He figured he had less than four hours before sunrise. In that time he would have to make his way through almost three miles of dense jungle, find Adina, send him to hell, and then make his escape.
Sandor nodded to himself. He was thinking clearly and ready to get started.
He removed his earpiece and zipped it into a side pocket of his vest. He was going to maintain total radio silence until the mission was complete — he didn’t want to risk the chance of anyone intercepting even a one-word message letting them know he had touched down.
His Mark II combat knife, popularly known as the Ka-Bar, was in place on his right thigh. He reached into the knapsack for the S&W .45 1911 automatic in its holster and strapped it on. He placed the two extra magazines in another compartment of his vest.
He stood and hoisted the pack onto his back. When he put on the PNVGs the entire jungle became illuminated, as if a hazy, green-tinged light had been turned on. Then, compass in hand, he set off in a northeasterly direction.
The information developed by Jim Bergenn indicated that Adina’s base of operation was southwest of Barranquitas. It was a typical choice of hiding place for a man like Rafael Cabello.
Barranquitas was a village of barely ten thousand people, but in medical circles it was famous for all the wrong reasons. Barranquitas has the highest per capita concentration of Huntington’s disease in the entire world, with more than half the population testing positive for the fatal gene. Studies have been made, scientific expeditions undertaken, and the inevitable result, in the end, is that the small town has gained a reputation akin to a leper colony. Although there is no evidence that the misfortune of these inhabitants is in any way contagious to outsiders, people from surrounding areas simply stay away.
A perfect place for Adina to set up shop, seeking cover behind the misery of others.
Sandor moved as quickly as he could through the dense vegetation, but progress was slow. The ground was uneven and covered with a network of large twisted roots. The trees themselves were not a problem but the thick vines were. He would frequently have to reverse course and find alternate routes around these hanging obstacles.