Hostage Zero

General Ignacio Ruiz was the head of the PNC- Policia Nacional de Colombia — the Colombian national police force. He had risen through the ranks, as had most of his predecessors except for a brief period in the late nineties and early 2000s, on the corpses of assassinated and disgraced former leaders. Given the brief tenure of most incumbents in his position, they tended to live large and fast during the time allotted to them. This evening, the general had shed his uniform in favor of beige linen pants and a white guayabera.

Ruiz looked around uncomfortably. “I think this is perhaps the wrong place,” he said.

Mitch resumed his seat. “With all respect, sir, I think this is exactly the right place. You’re not in uniform, we can converse in English, and I will remain in a public place during my meeting with a man who is so… renowned for his skills.”

Ruiz hesitated a moment longer, then produced a smile as he lowered himself into his chair.

“State what is on your mind,” the general said.

The waiter returned. The recognition was both instant and awkward. Having clearly been made, the general told the young man in Spanish to leave them. Two seconds later, they were alone.

“You were saying,” Ruiz reminded.

Mitch smiled. “Yes, I suppose I was. I came here to alert you to an invasion that is ongoing in your country.”

Ruiz’s expression darkened. “What kind of invasion?”

“Small but important. It involves my business interests in the Santa Marta.”

Ruiz’s expression reflected a foul odor. “I’m not a fan of your business interests,” he said. “They are ugly and violent.”

“And profitable,” Mitch reminded. “Profitable enough to be of great interest to your bosses.” He let that sink in. He and the general had had this discussion before. While they stood on different sides philosophically, each understood that philosophy paid no bills. “If the businessman in you does not care, then I appeal to the patriot within you. Do you really want these invaders to return us to the nineties?”

“These invaders as you call them. They are Americans?”

Mitch nodded.

Ruiz waved his hand dismissively. “I do not believe it. We have assurances from the U.S. government that-”

“They still don’t care about the factories, sir. Their official incursions are over. This is a smaller invasion than what you have seen in the past, but if I’m not mistaken some of the players are the same.”

Ruiz shot annoyed glances over both shoulders, then leaned his forearms on the table. “You’re speaking in riddles, Mr. Ponder. I have neither the desire nor the time to figure them out.”

Mitch gave an understanding nod. “Of course, sir. At one of my business establishments, I have some rather specialized business going on. Believe me when I tell you that you don’t want to know too many of the details. This is above and beyond the manufacture of our usual product. It is for this expanded product line that these commandos are invading your country. They entered on commercial flights from the United States under false passports, but unfortunately, I don’t know under what names they arrived.”

Ruiz raised his hands palm up in an extended and exaggerated shrug. “If you know where they are going, surely you have enough men and weapons to take care of things yourself. What could you possibly need from me?”

Another thoughtful nod. “Well, sir, we have reason to believe that they have raised something of an army for themselves.”

“Surely not an army bigger than yours.”

“No, sir, probably not. But it’s entirely possible that they are better skilled than mine.”

Ruiz lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned in very close. Mitch joined him. “If you are asking me to deploy my soldiers into the mountains to defend your operations, then the answer is no. My God, you’ve been allowed to assemble-”

Mitch raised his hand to interrupt. “No, sir, I would never ask you to do that.”

The general leaned back into his chair and crossed his arms. “What, then?”

Mitch laid out his entire plan in less than five minutes. After another ten minutes of questions and answers, it was a go.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

With the jungle this thick, satellite access was spotty at best-far too unreliable for Jonathan to track his own progress on the computer, or even on his GPS system-but compasses never lied, and his good old-fashioned land navigation training was so ingrained that he was almost pleased to have an opportunity to use it again. He found reassurance in the fact that their route was well worn by wide-wheelbase vehicles that clearly traveled heavy.

Thank God for Venice. By tasking the SkysEye network to scan the areas marked by Josie, she was able to confirm the presence of the villages and the mountaintop factory. With the current weather conditions, though, she’d only been able to use the thermal sensing capabilities. No visual confirmation of individual people would be possible until the skies cleared.