Ready to Kill (32 page)

This showdown in the dark would become the ultimate test of wills.

Who would blink first and turn on the lights?

A step inside the secondary crosscut, he flashed back to when he’d activated his IR and formed an image in his mind. This connecting tunnel acted like an overly tall hatch on a naval ship. The ceiling was about ten feet high and extended upward at a shallow angle before intersecting the lighter-colored rock and rising much more steeply. From there, it went about thirty feet higher. The floor contained blasted rocks of all different sizes, but the miners had leveled it somewhat with smaller rocks and gravel.

Nathan didn’t need to climb very high; he just needed to wedge himself about five feet above the tunnel’s floor. Rock climbers called it a chimney climb, and it was one of the easier ascents they performed, assuming the gap didn’t become too wide.

He felt for a foothold and found a sharp crag at knee height. Using his right arm, he reached across the narrow passage and braced himself. His clothes issued a barely audible whisper as he hoisted himself up eighteen inches. He extended his free foot to the opposite side and found an angled spot to bear his weight. He repeated the process three more times. With adequate light, he could’ve made this ascent in a few seconds, but blindly feeling for footholds and handholds had taken over a minute. He achieved a stable position by resting his bent knees on one side of the chimney and his back on the other side. He now wished he had his pack. These walls were far from smooth, and he felt every imperfection with perfect clarity.

If he had to stay like this too long, it was going to turn ugly.

Franco hadn’t seen or heard anything in a long time. He didn’t know how much time had elapsed since the tall man had entered the mine, maybe seven to ten minutes, but he
did
know a blood trail when he saw one. Rather than continue a low crawl down the main tunnel all the way to the light stick, he unslung his rifle, popped up, and ran the remaining ten yards, careful to tread only on the ties wherever possible. His footfalls made noise but not too much. He hurled the light stick as far as he could back toward the portal and quickly dropped prone. If any bullets were going to come his way, he expected them right now.

Nothing happened.

This gallery remained utterly silent other than the occasional sound of dripping water.

Could his quarry already be unconscious from blood loss? Franco had seen a lot of blood, but even superficial wounds could bleed freely. And he hadn’t seen strong enough evidence to believe the guy had taken anything but superficial wounds. Blood was smeared along the left rail, but it was likely from bullet fragments, not a direct hit. Either way, his prey had to be under a tremendous amount of stress.

Without the light stick’s blinding source in front of him, he could see a glow coming from the right side of the T junction. The left looked dark.

Franco gained his feet.

Aiming his rifle from the shoulder, he silently eased deeper into the mountain.

Once Nathan found a stable position, he reached into his thigh pocket and removed the stun grenade. Feeling its form, he quickly identified the dual-safety-ring system. Keeping his hand firmly around the cylindrical device, he gave the circular ring a clockwise twist and pulled it free. Rather than let it drop to the floor, he pocketed the ring. He left the triangular ring in place for now. If he pulled the secondary ring, the grenade would detonate if he released the handle. Even with the triangular ring still in place, he felt like he had a handful of sleeping wasps. Once he tossed it, detonation would occur in approximately two seconds.

Nathan waited and listened. He couldn’t hear water dripping anymore. He strained to hear even the slightest sound and got nothing.

This was frigging unbelievable.

If there was such a thing as buzzing silence, this was it.

Did absolute silence exist? Did molecules make noise at the subatomic level? He didn’t think so but wasn’t sure.

After two minutes of being wedged in the chimney, he began to feel fatigue in his back and legs. He slowed his breathing and tried to remain calm, but a sense of resentment washed through him. He resented hiding in here like this. He resented Raven’s turn toward crime. He resented this hole in the mountain and everything it represented. Greed. Power. Money. What real value did any of that crap have?

In less time than he’d hoped, his back was killing him, and his legs burned beyond all hope of ever recovering. At any moment, a crippling cramp threatened to seize one or both of his quadriceps.

His sense of time became a pain gauge, complete with a black needle. Each second moved the needle closer to the red zone and
. . .
failure.

It really frosted him that Raven might win this battle. How could he let that happen?

He tried to use his heartbeat to count seconds, but the burning in his legs overruled his ability to keep track of numbers. All he saw was the slow creep of the pain needle toward the end of its arc.

He had to hang in there a little longer.

He’d been through worse . . .

No!

He shouldn’t have thought that—gone there—but it was too late to pull back now.

He’d opened the door.

It happened suddenly. Like a boiling kettle beginning its shriek, Nathan’s mind reached critical overload.

Within seconds his entire body trembled. He closed his eyes and clenched his teeth.
Shit! Not now . . .

The last time he’d felt this coming on, Harv had been there to help him suppress it. If he didn’t compose himself, he’d end up charging the entrance in a panic just to get out of here.

Things got worse when the dark entity living in his soul saw an opportunity to test its chains. Hate-filled memories surged across his brain like time-lapse videos of dying flowers. Life and death, love and hate, strength and weakness all collided. He felt as if his body were being stretched and compressed at the same time. Nausea took his stomach as a sense of weightlessness made him gasp. He banged his head against the wall to verify he was still wedged in reality. His brain registered the impact but little else. Somewhere in the depths of his being, he knew this downward spiral had to end or he would die. If he didn’t trigger his mental safety catch,
the Other
would get a foothold and climb out of its cage.

He couldn’t let that happen. Bowing his head, he reached for a virtual switch he hoped was still there . . .

And found it.

Click.

Blackness turned to color as he pictured himself inside a grove of autumn-colored trees. A gentle breeze swayed the branches, freeing their leaves. Each descending leaf drained a small piece of hatred and malevolence from his soul. The leaves fell by the hundreds, then by the thousands. They swirled around his body and tumbled away on the wind.

Through the falling leaves, he caught a glimpse of Holly’s face and extended his mind toward it. Like running toward a train, Nathan used the visual to stay focused. He had to get aboard before it left the station. A split second before the doors closed, he slipped inside.

And had her.

Holly’s face filled his vision, giving him warmth and hope. She was so incredibly beautiful. He missed her and knew he had to survive in order to see her again.

Mind over matter.

He opened his eyes and didn’t know how long he’d been in a trance, only that he’d been acutely aware of his surroundings at the same time and he’d heard no sounds from Raven.

He said a thank-you to God for giving him the ability to fight off the hatred consuming his soul. He could now focus on winning the battle against Raven—not himself.

It was time to kick some ass.

With renewed confidence, he pulled the triangular ring.

CHAPTER 35

Franco peered around the corner into the right side of the drift and saw two light sticks. They lit the craggy cave in eerie, unmoving shadows. He was tempted to try another peace offering, but that would make him look weak. He’d given the intruder his last chance, and there was a fair possibility he was mortally wounded and would die without further help.

Keeping his rifle up, Franco looked the other direction into the dark side of the drift. His goggles couldn’t detect anything recognizable.

Wait, there
was
something down there, maybe fifteen yards away. He stared for a long moment. If he went in there to investigate, he’d be backlit by the light emanating from the other side.

It felt like a trap, but with a fully automatic M-4, lots of ammo, and well-honed combat instincts, Franco felt certain he could spray the entire area before his prey got a bead on him.

In a somewhat risky move, he crouched and reached up to activate his IR illuminator for a split second. If lurking eyes were down there, their pupils would reflect the invisible infrared flash and light up like a Christmas tree. He’d seen the effect many times. Then he remembered the guy had a pair of goggles on. Still, Franco decided it was an acceptable risk. He felt fairly confident he knew what the object was, but he needed to be certain.

He twisted the knob for a split second and during the brief flare of light, he saw several things at once.

An ore cart.

A backpack hanging from it.

And a trip wire made of fishing line.

Oh, that’s clever
, he thought. Just inside the drift, one side of a nylon fishing line was tied to the rail, and the other end was attached to an empty water bottle covered with bloody handprints. If he hadn’t activated his IR, he wouldn’t have seen the trip wire. He would’ve walked through it, yanking the plastic bottle free. Although harmless, it wasn’t silent.

Finding the trip wire became a valuable discovery. If his opponent had eyes inside this drift, he wouldn’t have needed the booby trap. Franco knew there were several openings into secondary drifts on the right side. The discovery of that vein had led to an exceptionally high yield of gold per ton. He couldn’t remember how many openings there were, but they all lay to the right-hand side.

His treasure was now within reach.

Licking his lips, he stepped over the water-bottle booby trap and eased down the railroad ties toward the backpack hanging on the ore car.

Like a spider Nathan waited, focusing on the opening below. The sudden blast of light startled him. From his elevated vantage point inside the short passage, he saw the rear half of the ore car flash for a split second, then nothing. Franco had activated his IR to look down this side of the passage. Since there wasn’t enough light coming from the light sticks on the opposite side to create a shadow, Nathan was 100 percent dependent on sound. He wanted to close his eyes, but he needed to know if Franco used his IR a second time. The tiny amount of light spilling in here from the two light sticks on the right-hand side of the crosscut wouldn’t allow Raven to see more than dark nebulous shapes in here.

When the plastic water bottle remained silent, Nathan hoped Raven had discovered it.

He waited through another minute of absolute silence, knowing Raven might be investigating the lighted side. Nathan thought he’d found the right balance between making the water-bottle trip wire too obvious versus too hard to find. He didn’t want Raven to trigger it; he wanted Raven to think he’d defeated it.

Completely blind, Nathan focused solely on sound and hoped his mind could overrule his aching body.

Moving deeper into the drift toward the ore car, Franco experienced a growing sense of calm. He knew he was backlit and vulnerable, but no bullets flew his way. Surely if the man he’d chased in here were looking down this passage from beyond the ore car, he would’ve fired by now.

In five more steps, he’d be within reach of the backpack and wished he had x-ray vision. He’d be pissed if the damned thing was empty. With each slow step he took, his belief grew stronger that his enemy had abandoned the fight and left the gold behind. A wise move.

He stopped about four paces short of his goal and held perfectly still. A field mouse couldn’t move in here without being heard.

After ten seconds of utter silence he took another step.

And felt the resistance on his right thigh.

He froze, but it was too late.

His skin crawled as he heard a rock slide, then fall to the floor. In the absolute silence, the sound was like a car alarm.

He’d been had!

Franco leveled his M-4 above the ore car, pulled the trigger, and swept it back and forth, spraying the entire passage.

Nathan heard the rock plummet from the alcove and knew exactly where Raven was. Half a second later, his world erupted again as Raven emptied an entire magazine.

Some of the bullets whizzed into the opening below him.

If he’d been standing there, he would’ve been nailed.

When the deafening salvo ended, Nathan tossed the stun grenade, started a mental countdown, and heard the grenade bounce off the wall next to the ore car.

Two seconds.

Nathan reached up and flipped on his IR.

One second.

Nathan timed it perfectly.

He dropped down at the same instant the M84 detonated.

The concussive blast took his breath away as white light bleached every surface.

As if shimmering from a mirage, the air seemed to throb for an instant just before the deafening concussion slammed his ears.

Nathan didn’t know how fast Raven would be able to reload his M-4, but no human being could withstand such a disruptive blast unscathed. The man had to be hammered into submission from the simultaneous assault on all his senses.

Sig in hand, Nathan rushed through the opening.

Raven appeared to be holding his stomach, bent over at the waist. His rifle hung uselessly from its sling.

Nathan painted his laser on Raven’s bowed head. “Show me your hands!”

Raven didn’t move.

“Do it now!”

Raven looked up a split second before Nathan saw the handgun.

Nathan fired.

The bullet punched Raven in the upper stomach. The man’s gun hand sagged, but he tried to bring it back up.

Nathan fired again.

Raven’s arm shuddered and the handgun fell. It clanked off the rail and came to rest on a wooden tie.

“It’s over, Raven, don’t make me shoot you again.”

“How do you
. . .
know that name?”

“Have a seat right there and don’t move.”

Raven plopped down and rested his back against the tunnel wall. His demeanor was that of resigned defeat. Blood poured from his arm wound, soaking his sleeve. His midsection was also getting wet. Raven had to know his wounds would be fatal without immediate treatment.

Keeping his Sig against the side of Raven’s head, Nathan reached down and cycled the M-4. Empty. He checked Raven for additional weapons, found a knife in an ankle sheath, and tossed it and the handgun down the tunnel.

“Who are you?”

“You don’t recognize my voice?” Nathan pulled out a light stick and activated it. Carefully, he removed Raven’s NV visor, then his own.

“Rojo? Is that you?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

Raven smiled through the pain, his face a sickly pale hue in the green light. “I wondered if I’d ever see you again. I guess I have my answer.”

Nathan put the light stick down. “Why’d you do it? Why work for someone like Macanas?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Give me the short version.”

“I needed work.”

“The truth, Raven.”

“All right, I was bored.”

Nathan considered that, and although he didn’t want to admit it, he understood it perfectly. He nodded at Raven’s wounded arm. “You took a bad shot.”

“Brachial?”

Nathan nodded.

“Don’t tie it off.”

Nathan didn’t respond.

“How long?”

Nathan squinted. “Ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes,” Raven said slowly. “Will you stay with me?”

Nathan sat cross-legged between the rails.

Raven seemed remarkably calm given his circumstances. After a moment, he actually smiled. “Tell me something
. . .
Have you always wanted to be a sniper?”

“No, not really. It just sorta happened.”

Raven closed his eyes and didn’t say anything.

Nathan knew he was waiting for more. “I wanted to be a stage actor, but my high school drama teacher told me I was too tall. My father didn’t like the idea either. What about you?”

“I wanted to be an engineer on a train.”

“I can’t picture it.”

“It’s true, but it’s also ironic.”

“How so?”

Raven indicated with his head. “The train tracks.”

Nathan waited.

“The rails, they don’t let you stray.”

“No, I suppose they don’t.”

“Is Mayo here?”

“Yes, he’s down below with Estefan, dealing with your other men.”

“They’re dead then.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Is my cousin really going to die?”

“I just said that to rile you. He’ll be okay.”

“He’s had a tough life.”

“Haven’t we all?”

Raven went silent and closed his eyes again.

Nathan asked, “Did you like being a shooter?”

“If I say yes, does it make me a monster?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“There’s no simple answer to that.”

“We’re the same then?”

Nathan spoke with conviction. “I’ve been tormented by this subject for decades. Why should I feel bad about killing serial murderers and rapists, who included children in their sprees? I—
we
—ridded the world of the worst psychopaths imaginable. My mission down here wasn’t political; it was purely humanitarian.”

“Nicaragua will always owe you for that.”

“I don’t count favors I’m owed. As far as I’m concerned, no one owes me a thing.”

“I like that attitude. Tell me something
. . .
did
you
like being a shooter?”

Nathan wouldn’t lie to this man. He’d created Raven and owed him the truth. “Maybe I should’ve
. . .
disliked it more than I did.”

Raven coughed and tried to smile. “We did our jobs. You were always a man of deep conscience, something I’ve known
. . .
is missing in me.”

“You didn’t kill Estefan’s wife.”

“No women. No kids.”

“Well, then you just confirmed it’s there. You’ve just never embraced it. What’s your real name?”

“Roberto Miravel. What about you?”

“Nathan McBride.”

“I knew you had some Irish blood, but I’d never hold it against you.”

Nathan smiled, and they didn’t speak for a few seconds. “Is there anyone you want me to contact?”

“No, not really. What are you doing to stay busy these days?”

“I’m partners with Mayo in a private-security company.”

“I’m betting you’ve pursued more . . .” Raven coughed. “More exciting ventures on the side, no?”

“A few here and there. Maybe it’s in our blood. We’re like moths.”