DEADMAN SWITCH (Joe Brennan Trilogy Book 2) by Sam Powers

Author:Sam Powers [Powers, Sam]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: J.I. Loome
Published: 2015-04-17T04:00:00+00:00

12./

MARCH 27, 2016 MASSALI LAGOON, CABINDA

Francisco put the Land Rover into neutral and it rolled the last kilometer. He stopped before the last bend, unable to switch off the day running lights but wanting to avoid attention in the still of the evening. It was eleven o’clock, and once the Land Rover was quieted, the jungle was silent save for the camp sounds, and the surrounding hiss, chirrup, crack and cry of the jungle insects.

“This is my stop,” Brennan said, his face and hands darkened with boot black, smeared in thick lines. “This might get hellish loud when it goes down, but hang tight and we’ll be back in no time.”

“Sure, sure,” Francisco said, relighting the stub of his cigar. “But I still get the extra five thousand, right?”

In the end, it wasn’t such a bad deal, Brennan thought as he climbed out of the Land Rover. The handful of small extras Francisco had coughed up was probably worth half the money.

He used the road for the first three-quarters of a kilometer, staying close enough to the edge of the overgrowth that he could duck into it if a vehicle came, but avoiding excessive noise caused by tramping over a kilometer of foliage. Once he was within site of the gates, he moved a few steps into the jungle, out of sight. He had to push forward slowly, moving brush, branches and vines aside, mindful of running into local wildlife. A snake bite would end his evening really quickly, Brennan knew.

His initial foray was a simple recon mission; he’d trace the perimeter of the compound from just inside the tree line looking for entry points, weaknesses and guard movement patterns. His mind flitted back to Colombia, three years earlier; he pushed the thought away, an unnecessary distraction. During his pass around, he’d set a charge for a distraction; he planned to enter the camp and find Kovacic, blow the charge when needed to divert attention or if cornered, and take the Chechen strongman with him. Francisco had insisted he had a safe route out through the Congo to the North and Porte Noire, if they absolutely needed it.

The jungle was almost impenetrably thick, foliage crashing into itself, branches twisted and knotted together; he got about twenty yards before pushing into a spider web so large it could have swallowed a wild pig. It was tacky like glue and strong as fishing line, ripping leaves away as he stumbled into it; Brennan had to back track a few paces to clean off – including some of the family of basically harmless Tarantulas living in the web. He reached into his small kit bag and took out the half-sized machete. It was small for convenient storage but razor-sharp, with a short row of teeth halfway up the blade to rip through branches.

But it was making a lot of noise. Within a hundred yards of the camp, he stopped cutting and went back to methodically pulling the jungle aside, moving a foot every minute.

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