Rolling Thunder. Don Pendleton

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СКАЧАТЬ in the cab and slapped Brinquel on the shoulder. “You’re more of a truck driver than you thought.”

      “Maybe so.” Brinquel’s face had broken out in a sweat. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, then pulled a fresh cheroot from his pocket. Miguel lit it for him, then they drove in silence, heading back the way they’d come. Brinquel had to steer wide several times to avoid oncoming cars, then, after a quarter mile, Miguel pointed out the windshield.

      “Turn up there.”

      Brinquel frowned. “That road dead-ends at Lake Pabal. What is the point of going there?”

      “You’ll see,” Miguel told him. “I’ve come up with a better plan. The roadblock wound up working in our favor.”

      “Are you sure?” Brinquel sounded skeptical.

      “Positive,” Miguel responded. He quickly divulged what he had in mind, concluding, “This way it will be even more difficult for them to realize we’ve pulled a switch on them.”

      Zacharias still wasn’t convinced but he wasn’t about to argue. He drove on, and once he reached the turnoff, he guided the rig onto an even narrower dirt road that led down a steep, winding incline. He had to downshift to keep the vehicle under control, and soon there was yet another obstacle to contend with.

      They were entering a fog bank.

      Brinquel slowed the truck to a crawl and leaned forward in his seat in hopes of getting a better view of the way before him. It helped a little, but soon his visibility had been reduced to less than five feet.

      “Maybe Luis was telling the truth about the fog,” Brinquel murmured.

      “I doubt it,” Miguel said.

      After another few yards, the road straightened and began to level off. Suddenly Miguel held his hand out, motioning for Brinquel to stop.

      “Turn off the engine and kill the lights,” he said.

      “Why?”

      “Just do it!”

      Brinquel obliged, planting his foot on the brakes to keep the truck still. In the wake of the engine’s constant roar, the sudden silence seemed almost deafening. But soon Brinquel was able to make out the sound Miguel had apparently heard moments before. It was a mechanical droning, sounding from overhead.

      “A helicopter,” Brinquel whispered.

      Miguel nodded, putting a finger to his lips. He had his gun back out, and he reached to the floor of the truck, then handed Brinquel a 30-mm AGS-17 grenade launcher. The weapon, with its thick stock and barrel, had the look of a futuristic rifle out of a science-fiction movie.

      As Brinquel cradled the launcher on his lap, a faint beam of light appeared ahead of them, probing into the fog from above. The fog was so dense, however, that the beam was barely able to penetrate it. As the shaft of light swept toward them, Miguel kept an eye on the hood of the trunk. If light reflected off the hood, it would likely mean the truck had been spotted, forcing their hand.

      Seconds crept by slowly, then the beam washed faintly over the truck. The fog blunted the light before it could reach the hood, however, and soon after the light disappeared, the sound of the helicopter began to fade, as well.

      “They missed us,” Brinquel whispered.

      “I hope so,” Miguel responded. He quietly opened his door again. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

      Brinquel was about to ask where Miguel was going, but the door closed and Miguel vanished from view into the fog. Brinquel’s cheroot had gone out. He reached for some matches, then changed his mind and contented himself with chewing on the end of the cigar.

      Less than a minute later, Miguel appeared out of the fog and returned to the truck. He’d left the door open and he reached in, pulling the transceiver from under the dashboard as he spoke to Zacharias.

      “Shift into Neutral and point the wheels straight,” he said. “When I tell you, take your feet off the brakes and make sure the truck keeps going straight until it reaches the water.”

      Brinquel couldn’t hold back his reservations any further. “I can’t believe you talked me into doing this.”

      “You’ll be fine,” Miguel insisted. “Just remember to keep your window down and lay down across the seat once you hit the water. After the explosion, wait a few seconds, then you can go ahead and swim out through the window. We’ll be waiting for you ashore.”

      “You make it sound so simple,” Brinquel said. “Maybe we should trade places.”

      “If that’s what you want,” Miquel offered.

      Brinquel thought it over, then shook his head. “No, I’ll do it,” he said warily. “But I have to tell you I don’t swim very well.”

      Miguel grinned. “You said you couldn’t drive a truck, either. Maybe you’ll surprise yourself again.”

      Miguel clipped the transceiver to his belt, then took the grenade launcher before closing the door and stepping back from the truck.

      “Good luck, Zacharias.”

      Brinquel smiled wanly. “I’ll take all the luck I can get.”

      The older man sat back behind the wheel, lit his cheroot and took a few slow puffs and listened to Miguel as he spoke with his brother and the other men inside the trailer home. Then two of the men got out and climbed up onto the prefab’s roof. Brinquel knew the men were placing small plastique charges along the middle of the roof, as well as on the front and back seams that held the two halves of the trailer home together.

      The work went quickly. Once it was finished, Brinquel took a final puff on his cheroot and was tossing it out the window when the sound of gunfire suddenly ripped through the night air. Alarmed, Brinquel glanced to his left.

      Forty yards away, two armed commandos had materialized out of the fog, carbines blazing. There was a thump up on the roof of the trailer home, then Brinquel heard one of the men rolling over the side to the ground.

      “Bastards,” Brinquel muttered. He realized the commandos had to have rappelled from the helicopter. They’d spotted the truck after all.

      Outside the truck, Miguel returned fire with his pistol, as did the other gunman still on the roof. The two commandos dropped in their tracks. They weren’t alone, however. More gunfire streaked out through the fog, glancing off the side of the truck, as well as the trailer home.

      “Go!” Miguel shouted to Brinquel as he holstered his Walther in favor of the grenade launcher. “Now!”

      Brinquel let his foot off the brakes and ducked in the cab after a round of gunfire took out the front windshield. The truck began to pick up speed as it rolled downhill through the fog.

      Miguel, meanwhile, dropped to a crouch, peering into the fog where the shots were coming from. When he spotted a faint muzzle-flash, he fired the ASG. Seconds later, a 30 mm grenade exploded loudly, drowning out the pained screams of at least two men who’d been nailed by the projectile’s shrapnel. The Basque who’d leaped from the roof stood alongside СКАЧАТЬ