A Hill to Die On by Peter Hogenkamp

Author:Peter Hogenkamp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: new york city mexico mexican highlands, human trafficking sex trade slave, assassin killer murder kill death, hunting stalking track down pursue, danger dangerous threaten treachery, psychological thriller emotional personal, save rescue free liberate freedom
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing

Chapter 27

Mark

My first impulse was to go to Gabor’s aid. A descendant of the Night Jaguar though he may be, he was still an elderly man being threatened by a bunch of armed thugs from the Montoya cartel. But, as much as I would have liked to, I didn’t have a clue how to get back to the house, and it was just a terrible idea to leave the cenote unguarded as Diego retrieved the thumb drive from the island. The point became moot shortly thereafter, as search beams became visible, bobbing and weaving in my general direction. It became clear to me not only had we led the Montoya cartel straight to the flash drive, but we were also literally retrieving it for them from an island in the middle of a piranha infested underground lake, from which they would never have been able to get it themselves.

But there was no time for commiseration, because I needed to do something, fast, before one of the swinging beams landed on the pile of earth sticking up from the ground like a billboard advertising our location. For a second, I thought about closing the lid, grabbing one of the shovels and replacing the dirt, but I was sure I would be discovered prior to getting the hole filled in. And even if I managed to get the dirt back in the hole in time, I was doubtful I would be able to find the spot again, effectively burying Diego alive.

I looked around, trying to find some cover, which was surprisingly difficult considering I was in a jungle. It was the lack of ground cover and undergrowth that was the problem; all the places to hide were up in the canopy. I considered climbing a tree, but gave up the idea right away, because the moment I fired my gun they would know where I was, and I would have lost my ability to maneuver.

In the end, I settled for hiding behind the bole of a tree, about thirty yards to the rear of the entrance to the cenote, which featured an excellent line of fire to the approach to the passageway. I peered around the massive trunk, trying to get an estimate of the number of enemy combatants. Two search beams were visible off to right, two directly in front of me, and two to the left, all several hundred yards away still.

They were sweeping the jungle, walking about twenty yards apart, shining their shafts of light back and forth as they plodded forward. I estimated they would be in firing range in a minute. The first target would be easy pickings; I might even be able to bring a second man down. The problem was that still left four of them, and I was never going to be able to outgun that many men. It occurred to me I was going to die in this jungle, never to see the two women I loved again. The concept filled me with rage, which spurred on my racing heart like a jockey spurs a horse into a full gallop.

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