Chapter 5 - Fire in the Canopy
The freefall through the freezing cloud layer was a silent rush of adrenaline and ice. Wind roared against my pressurized suit at a hundred and twenty miles an hour. On my wrist display, the altimeter ticked down rapidly: 8,000 feet... 5,000 feet... 3,000 feet.
Below me, green thermal outlines of the jungle canopy materialized through my night-vision visor.
"Deploy!" I commanded over the tactical comms.
Twelve stealth parachutes opened simultaneously with a soft, muffled THWACK, catching the night updrafts. We glided silently over the treetops, hovering like black phantoms above the brightly lit perimeter of Hector Salazar’s compound.
"Vance," I whispered into my throat mic. "Disable their primary power grid now."
Three thousand miles away in New York, Vance hit an enter key.
BOOM!
A localized electromagnetic pulse burst—delivered via a pre-set bug Vance had uploaded to the regional power substation—detonated.
Instantly, the entire Salazar compound went pitch black. The glaring floodlights vanished, the electric fences died with a shower of blue sparks, and the automated turret displays went blank. Screams of confusion in Spanish erupted from the guard towers below.
"Touchdown!" I barked.
I cut my parachute lines twenty feet above the grass, dropping silently onto the roof of the main guard house.
Before the two mercenaries on the roof could react to the sudden blackout, I drew my combat knife and stepped out of the shadows. Two swift, lethal motions—a severed carotid artery and a broken cervical spine. They dropped without making a sound.
My Omega team landed like rain across the courtyard.
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
Suppressed rifle fire echoed softly through the night as my men systematically cleared the guard towers, dropping Salazar’s mercenaries before they could even comprehend that an invading army was inside their walls.
"Alpha team, secure the main villa!" I ordered, sprinting across the wet grass toward the detached guest house near the helipad. "Dominic, with me!"
Dominic and I reached the heavy iron door of the guest house. Two guards were frantically trying to rack their AK-47s in the dark.
I didn't waste a bullet. I kicked the door off its frame with a thunderous impact, slamming it directly into the first guard, throwing him across the room. Dominic raised his suppressed pistol and dropped the second guard with two rounds to the chest.
"Clear!" Dominic shouted, holding his weapon low, sweeping the room.
The guest house was small, furnished only with a bed, a small table, and a pile of wooden toys.
In the corner of the room, crouching beneath a heavy woolen blanket, was a four-year-old boy.
He was trembling violently, his big, dark eyes wide with unimaginable terror as he stared at the dark, armored figures standing in his doorway.
Dark curls.
That stubborn little chin.
And on his left cheek, a faint, familiar scar from a childhood fall he had taken when he was two years old in New York.
My rifle slipped from my hands, clattering onto the floorboards.
I unclasped my heavy tactical helmet, tearing it off, letting it drop beside my gun. Tears streamed down my face, cutting clean tracks through the gunpowder grime on my cheeks.
I dropped to my knees, spreading my arms wide.
"Mateo..." I rasped, my voice breaking into a sob.
The little boy froze. He slowly pulled the blanket down from his face. He looked at my eyes, my silver-streaked hair, the face he had seen only in faded photographs hidden under his mattress.
"Daddy...?" a tiny, trembling voice whispered in English.
That single word shattered whatever was left of my cold, dark soul.
I rushed across the room and pulled my son into my arms, lifting him against my chest, burying my face in his soft dark curls. He wrapped his tiny arms around my neck, sobbing hysterically, clinging to me like a drowning survivor reaching a lifeboat.
"I'm here, baby," I wept, kissing his face, his forehead, his tear-soaked cheeks. "Daddy's here. I'm never letting you go again. Never."
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"Boss!" Dominic shouted from the doorway, his tone laced with sudden danger. "We've got a problem! Salazar isn't in the main house! He’s at the helipad!"
Outside, the deafening roar of helicopter blades began to chop through the heavy jungle air.
