tamarind tree that was roughly equidistant from the back of the laboratory and the rear corner of the main residence. In the lighted area in back of the house he could see the four vehicles Carlos had described to him—a truck, a large SUV, and two Jeeps. He needed to get to one of them, and soon.
It was too late to consider an escape by foot, although backtracking into the jungle had been his intended route to safety. Sandor had expected to infiltrate this compound, locate Adina, take him out with the sniper rifle, and then disappear back into the tropical forest before his presence had been detected. The discovery of the lab and the activities belowground had changed everything, not to mention tripping the alarm system.
Subtlety, he ruefully accepted, was out the window.
He still wanted to do anything he could to make it appear that this was a raid on the cocaine rather than an enemy incursion—the less he did to disrupt Adina’s plans now, the easier it would be to uncover them later—but at the moment, survival was the premium objective. He had information he needed to get to Bergenn and Raabe, and that required getting out of here alive.
————
Francisco had returned to the guardhouse.
“Everyone has been alerted?” he asked as he burst through the door.
“You heard the alarm,” Ramon said. “I spoke with Alejandro. He’s at the main house organizing the search.”
“Good, good. Has anyone been in or out of the laboratory?”
“Not since Carlos went down there.”
“I’ll go check on him. You keep your eyes open, and do not leave here unless you receive orders directly from Alejandro. Or from the man,” he added.
Ramon gave him a look that said the last directive was not required. “Right.”
Francisco hurried down the stairs to the lab entrance. He opened the door with his passkey and stepped inside. The main room, which contained the two long, stainless steel counters, was deserted.
He pulled out his sidearm, then called out, “Carlos.”
There was no response.
He stepped toward his right, his eyes moving cautiously from side to side as he approached the door to the secure area. It was locked tight.
This was not a room he ever wanted to enter, but he had no choice. Placing a magnetic card against the wall plate he heard the bolt release. He slowly pushed down on the handle.
The room was far smaller than the main refinery area. It was also well lighted, with glass and stainless steel enclosures lining the walls.
Francisco had a quick look around, confirming the room was empty.
He exited, shutting the door behind him with a sense of relief, then called out again. When he received no answer he walked toward the storage room in the rear of the facility, his weapon extended before him. Reaching the open doorway he saw the technician facedown on the floor, blood along the side of his head. He rushed over and felt the man’s neck for a pulse.
He was alive.
Francisco straightened up and had a look at the scattered and torn sacks of cocaine.
“Mierda,” he spat into the silence.
Someone had gotten into the lab. Even worse, they had gotten out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HATO AIRPORT, CURAÇAO
J IM B ERGENN PACED back and forth in the cramped space of Doug Carlton’s office. Raabe and Carlton quietly watched him since there wasn’t much else to do at this hour of the morning. All their preparations had been completed.
“Crap,” Bergenn said, finally coming to a stop, his arms akimbo, the muscles in his jaw tense. “We never should have let him go in without some means of regular communication.”
“Too risky,” Raabe reminded him. “He’ll contact us when he shakes free.”
“Not good enough,” Bergenn insisted.
“How long you know Sandor?” Captain Carlton asked.
Bergenn stared back at him with a look that said, no matter how close Carlton and Sandor may have been in the service, working together in black ops was different.
Carlton understood. “Right,” he replied to
It was too late to consider an escape by foot, although backtracking into the jungle had been his intended route to safety. Sandor had expected to infiltrate this compound, locate Adina, take him out with the sniper rifle, and then disappear back into the tropical forest before his presence had been detected. The discovery of the lab and the activities belowground had changed everything, not to mention tripping the alarm system.
Subtlety, he ruefully accepted, was out the window.
He still wanted to do anything he could to make it appear that this was a raid on the cocaine rather than an enemy incursion—the less he did to disrupt Adina’s plans now, the easier it would be to uncover them later—but at the moment, survival was the premium objective. He had information he needed to get to Bergenn and Raabe, and that required getting out of here alive.
————
Francisco had returned to the guardhouse.
“Everyone has been alerted?” he asked as he burst through the door.
“You heard the alarm,” Ramon said. “I spoke with Alejandro. He’s at the main house organizing the search.”
“Good, good. Has anyone been in or out of the laboratory?”
“Not since Carlos went down there.”
“I’ll go check on him. You keep your eyes open, and do not leave here unless you receive orders directly from Alejandro. Or from the man,” he added.
Ramon gave him a look that said the last directive was not required. “Right.”
Francisco hurried down the stairs to the lab entrance. He opened the door with his passkey and stepped inside. The main room, which contained the two long, stainless steel counters, was deserted.
He pulled out his sidearm, then called out, “Carlos.”
There was no response.
He stepped toward his right, his eyes moving cautiously from side to side as he approached the door to the secure area. It was locked tight.
This was not a room he ever wanted to enter, but he had no choice. Placing a magnetic card against the wall plate he heard the bolt release. He slowly pushed down on the handle.
The room was far smaller than the main refinery area. It was also well lighted, with glass and stainless steel enclosures lining the walls.
Francisco had a quick look around, confirming the room was empty.
He exited, shutting the door behind him with a sense of relief, then called out again. When he received no answer he walked toward the storage room in the rear of the facility, his weapon extended before him. Reaching the open doorway he saw the technician facedown on the floor, blood along the side of his head. He rushed over and felt the man’s neck for a pulse.
He was alive.
Francisco straightened up and had a look at the scattered and torn sacks of cocaine.
“Mierda,” he spat into the silence.
Someone had gotten into the lab. Even worse, they had gotten out.
CHAPTER TWELVE
HATO AIRPORT, CURAÇAO
J IM B ERGENN PACED back and forth in the cramped space of Doug Carlton’s office. Raabe and Carlton quietly watched him since there wasn’t much else to do at this hour of the morning. All their preparations had been completed.
“Crap,” Bergenn said, finally coming to a stop, his arms akimbo, the muscles in his jaw tense. “We never should have let him go in without some means of regular communication.”
“Too risky,” Raabe reminded him. “He’ll contact us when he shakes free.”
“Not good enough,” Bergenn insisted.
“How long you know Sandor?” Captain Carlton asked.
Bergenn stared back at him with a look that said, no matter how close Carlton and Sandor may have been in the service, working together in black ops was different.
Carlton understood. “Right,” he replied to
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