Chapter 7
THE THREE MEN IN THE WHITE CARGO VAN SLEPT. The big man reclined the front seat, the second big man reclined the passenger’s seat, and the little guy sprawled in the back, his black duffel bag serving as a makeshift pillow. Not the most comfortable positions in the world, but they had each slept in worse. In ditches in faraway lands, lying straight as corpses, arms crossed over their chests while the hot desert sun beat against their closed eyelids. Under dense green leaves, curled up with their heads upon their knees as sheets of rain poured down from soaring jungle canopies and beat incessantly against the brims of their hats. In the vast cargo hold of military planes, seated ramrod straight, shoulder harnesses digging into their necks as turbulence bobbed their exhausted heads up and down, up and down, up and down, and still, no one cracked an eye.
They were men who’d been trained to sleep when they were told and to wake when they were told. Mission first. Personal comfort second.
Which made this brief respite an unexpected treat. Z had made the call. They’d been up for the past thirty-six hours, between preparation, travel time, then deployment. By definition, those hours had been long with significant events requiring the cover of night.
Now, having successfully concluded the initial phase of operations, they were 80 percent of the way back to target, making good time, feeling comfortable with themselves, their progress, their objectives. Daylight was not an issue. At this point, they had traveled so far north, they were closer to the border of Canada than to Massachusetts. They had passed through mountains so tall and forests so wild that they had a greater chance of being spotted by a bear than a human being. Given that this far north, the bears were already holed up for the winter, they basically had minimal risk of encountering any life-forms at all.
Z had debated making one of the others, Mick or, more likely, Radar, keep watch over their charges. But, freshly drugged, they had yet to stir. Which was just as well. Missions inevitably came with parameters and one of their first parameters was to minimize physical harm to the woman and the girl, especially during transport.
Once at their destination, they would receive fresh instructions regarding the next phase of operations.
At which point their charges might or might not become fair game.
Whatever. It was not their place to reason why.
They took a job. They executed it at the highest standards of performance. Then, at least in this case, they would be paid such a fucking shitload of money, Radar personally planned on never working again. White sandy beaches, sweet rum drinks and large-breasted women. That was his near future. Hell, maybe he’d even marry one of the large-breasted women. Have a couple of babies and settle into paradise. Fish all day, have sex with his beautiful wife all night. Sounded like a plan to him.
So when the van had first pulled over, tucking into an old campground, where it was quickly obscured by walls of dense evergreens, Radar had administered a fresh round of sedatives. For the sake of napping, fishing and large-breasted women everywhere, he’d given an extra-large dose.
Radar had started packing up his gear, mentally skipping ahead to three hours’ sleep, when his internal sensor had once again begun to ping. The woman. Something about the woman.
He’d studied her closer. Noticed that her face had lost some color, was covered in a faint sheen of sweat. Her eyes were not open. In fact, her eyelids appeared squeezed shut, twitching even, as her breathing accelerated rapidly.
She didn’t look so good. Maybe from the sedative, though it was mild enough. He took her pulse, listened to her heart, then checked her temperature. Nothing. She just looked…wrong. Car sick? Flu? Shock?
Maybe she was dreaming, he’d decided. Judging by her heart rate, not a nice kind of dream.
And not his problem.
Radar packed up his bag, climbed into the back and within minutes was out cold.
Three men in a white cargo van, asleep.
Then the first man opened his eyes, sat up in his seat, started the engine and turned back onto the winding mountain road.
Eleven o’clock Saturday morning, one white cargo van headed due north.