Minutes to Burn

The driver turned a hard right, barely avoiding a large divot, and suddenly they were on a street filled with high-rises. Vendors pushed carts, and bicyclists flew by on both sides of the chiva, so close Cameron was amazed they didn't nick the bumpers. They turned up a street that ran along the west bank of the Guayas, and Cameron craned her head, checking out the different military outfits overseeing construction and running vehicle checkpoints. A platoon of iwias, Ecuadorian specialty troops, gathered by the river's bank. Farther along, a UN tank was stopped beside a large statue of two men shaking hands, the white and sky-blue flag rippling against the backdrop of the river. A number of French soldiers sat around the tank, legs dangling over the sides, eating sandwiches and drinking Coke from bottles. The tall, chain-link fence of the cordon loomed ahead.

A major stepped forward as they slowed at the checkpoint. He examined Derek's military ID, tilting it to check the holograms. "Mitchell, huh?" he said. "Team reserves?"

"Yes, sir."

"Nice ride."

Derek took a moment before answering. "Thank you, sir."

The major bobbed his head, the faintest beginning of a smirk crossing his lips. "Got a call this morning regarding your mission." He pulled off his soft, blue beret and ran a hand up the back of his bristling gray hair. He tapped the end of Derek's M-4 and Derek lowered it. "No weapons out past checkpoint. We have the city center secure." He glanced at the squad in the chiva. "Last thing we need is a bunch of…" He stopped short, clearing his throat.

"Soldiers," Tucker said. "We're soldiers."

"How long are you here?" the major asked Derek, ignoring Tucker.

"Lifting out tomorrow," Derek said. "0700."

The major handed back the ID. "I don't want to see any of you carrying within my AO. You're to keep all weapons and ordnance under watch at the hotel. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir."

The major knocked the side of the chiva, and it pulled through the checkpoint. Savage snapped the major a crisp, exaggerated salute. The major looked over and Savage winked at him, clearly enjoying the major's expression as the chiva turned the corner. "Christ on a stick," he muttered. "What an asshole."

The chiva cut inland and pulled up to the hotel, a decrepit colonial-style high-rise on Calle Chile. Two guards at the entrance held pump-action shotguns, and wore red berets and pressed navy blue pants with yellow piping down the seams. They nodded at Derek and Rex as they passed inside. Cameron waited behind with the others, guarding the gear.

A mother pushed a baby in a carriage up the street toward the hotel, pausing beneath a torn green store awning. The window, shattered but protected with bars, was filled with knockoff Nikes and Levis. Leaving the carriage, the woman inched up the street to examine a pair of jeans stretched out at the side of the display. Cameron caught herself staring at the baby carriage. Cheap, black-painted metal, wobbly back wheels, blankets arranged lovingly around the inside as cushions.

A horrible squalling suddenly issued from the carriage. Cameron ran over and gazed down at the baby. A band of sunlight had worked its way through the torn awning above, falling across the baby's plump thigh. It had already reddened.

Adjusting her gun on her back so it dangled from the sling, Cameron leaned over and picked up the baby, holding it awkwardly out away from her body. She tried to shush it, bouncing it up and down in a way she thought might be soothing. The others stared over at her, puzzlement across their faces. A cigarette dangled from Savage's lips, a tendril of smoke curling up between his eyes.

The mother came scurrying over, holding up her sweeping red dress as she ran. Cameron handed off the baby roughly. "El sol," Cameron said, pointing at the ripped awning, then at the baby's leg. The mother thanked her profusely before heading off, comforting the baby softly.

Feeling self-conscious before the others, Cameron found Justin's eyes, and he smiled at her reassuringly.

"Hey there, Mother Goose," Szabla smirked, holding one boot up before her. "I think I stubbed my toe. Would you mind kissing it to make it better?"

Cameron knocked Szabla's boot away. Szabla stumbled backward into Tank, who caught her under the arms and hauled her to her feet.

Derek and Rex emerged, and Derek signaled the squad to grab the gear. Szabla climbed up on the roof of the chiva and began lowering the cruise boxes and duffels to the others. Across the street, two men leaned up against a building, watching them unload. One of them, a tall, hand-some guayaquileno, wore an unbuttoned shirt to show off a dazzling array of gold chains. He watched Szabla bend over and blew her a kiss. His friend, a shorter man with his hair pulled back in a ponytail, laughed. Szabla squared herself on the roof of the chiva, facing them, and grabbed her crotch. The shorter man cheered and she curtsied before sliding off the roof.