Otero was watching, his features barely visible in the darkness. “When was the drop?”
“This morning.” Salazar turned back to his lieutenant. “Get your men moving.” Then he turned to Becca. “Doctor. One hour.”
With that, Salazar turned and walked back toward his vehicle. Both his lieutenant and the doctor quickly disappeared into the darkness, leaving Otero and Russo alone.
“How did he find out about the drop?” Otero muttered.
“He’s communicating with someone,” Russo mused. “Someone with access to Aeronautics Command. We don’t have any radar stations up here, which means the drop could only have been picked up by aircraft. Probably one of the Orions.”
Otero didn’t answer. Instead, he stood there thinking, still watching the lieutenant’s silhouette as he marched back to the trucks and began yelling orders.
For the first time, Otero felt a streak of nervousness run through him. He had secured support at the highest level. From the office of the President. And he was told Salazar was nothing but a pawn, whose sole purpose would be to help him reach the Acarai Mountains.
But something wasn’t right. Such as why Salazar was notified of the air drop instead of him. It made Otero wonder. The economic collapse in Brazil had left the country teetering on the brink of civil war, with the current government in tatters. A grim realization began to wash over him. Perhaps those Otero had aligned himself with…were no longer in control.
Which would mean neither was he.
64
Where we go?
Dulce was struggling to keep up through the dense foliage, even as DeeAnn pulled her along.
“We have to hurry.” DeeAnn’s breathing was labored, but she still managed to reply in a hushed tone. She gripped Dulce’s furry hand tighter and tried to stay behind the figure of Steve Caesare, hacking his way through the heavy growth.
When her vest translated her words, she cringed at the speaker volume, which blared loudly.
“Jesus,” growled Corso behind them. “Turn that thing down! Everyone’s going to hear us.”
Caesare halted in front of them and spun around. “He’s right.”
“Uh…” DeeAnn looked down at the blue light on her vest, searching.
“She can’t,” Juan answered, from behind her.
“What?”
“There’s no way to turn down the volume.”
“There’s no volume?”
Juan turned from Corso and looked at Caesare’s silhouette. “No. When we designed the vest, we didn’t think we needed one. Besides, changes in amplitude complicate things with the translation.”
Corso looked over the top of Juan’s head to Caesare. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, well, communication doesn’t work very well if one person can’t hear the other.”
Caesare stared at them, then finally nodded. He wasn’t happy about it, but he understood.
From the ground, Dulce looked back and forth between them. We stop.
DeeAnn placed a finger over her lips. “Dulce, quiet.”
Dulce quiet.
DeeAnn cringed again as the translation seemed even louder now that they were standing still.
Caesare watched Dulce, but spoke to DeeAnn. “Turn it off.”
“What?”
“Turn it off.”
“But…”
“We can’t take any chances.”
DeeAnn looked at Juan, hoping for another option, but he simply frowned.
Reluctantly, she squatted down in front of Dulce so she could see her face. She placed a hand gently on Dulce’s head and again put her fingers to her lips.
Dulce watched her curiously, unsure of why they had to be quiet. No one else was talking. With a troubled expression, she watched as DeeAnn made the blue light go off.
The screaming of the capuchin monkeys from their cages began even before an angry Hugo pushed his way through the thick brush. He stormed into their small camp, followed by the other three, and dropped his gun on a fold-out table. In frustration, he then turned and kicked dirt into the smoldering embers of their fire.
Behind him, Vito approached the truck and pulled an empty cage up onto the flatbed. He pushed the limp body of his prize into the cage and closed the wooden door, securing it with a clasp and cable.
He suddenly stopped. One of the cages was empty.
“Merda.”
The others looked up, including Hugo, who was now searching for something to stem the bleeding from his cheek. He grabbed a piece of cloth from his bag and pressed it in place before turning back to the truck.
Without moving his head, Vito’s eyes stared across the bed. “Another one gone.”
“What?!”
“Another one is gone,” he repeated.