Crocker and Davis were still laughing when they arrived at a makeshift plaza where five narrower dirt trails converged. It was lined with a few little bodegas, two bar/restaurants, a bicycle repair stand, and a peluquería.
Neto said, “This is El Centro. We’ll distribute the toys here.”
Sanchez got out of the lead vehicle, and he and Neto walked into one of the bodegas. A few minutes later a half dozen boys and girls in shorts and dresses ran out into the rain. Seeing Santa Claus, they pounded aggressively on the Toyota’s doors and hood. Mancini got out “Ho-ho-hoing” and started handing out toys, one per kid.
The number of children grew exponentially—like the raindrops. They seemed to come from all directions, shouting with excitement. The SEALs couldn’t hand out the toys fast enough. When they ran out of gifts, they gave the kids dollar bills until they had no more.
It all happened in a fifteen-minute frenzy of hands, pleas, and squeals of delight. Then, shouting “Feliz Navidad!” the men piled back into the trucks and raced up one of the trails into the dark.
“What about the gangs?” Crocker asked, checking the SIG Sauer P226R 9mm pistol Neto had given him and concealing it in the inside-the-waist holster under his black shirt.
“Seems like they’re taking the night off.”
As they climbed, the shacks seemed to be packed closer together and the trail became so narrow they could barely squeeze through. Sanchez, who was driving the lead vehicle, braked at a steep turn that veered to the left and cut the lights.
Neto stopped behind him. With the wipers flapping frantically, he said, “It’s just ahead, at the top of this hill. We should get out here.”
“Okay.”
Mancini slipped out of the beard and Santa suit, and they armed themselves with handguns, a few MP7 submachine guns, and night-vision goggles.
“Do you think they’ve been warned that we’re coming?” Crocker asked.
“It’s possible,” Neto answered.
“Let’s move fast.”
Davis and Cal stayed behind to guard the vehicles. Sanchez led the way, with Crocker and Mancini behind him. Neto took Ritchie and Akil down another trail to cover the rear of the shack, which hung precariously on a ledge to the right of the trail at the top of the hill. The shack was little more than a patched-together wood-and-tin-siding structure with a big blue plastic tarp covering most of the right side. The whole thing was perhaps thirty feet wide in front, accessed by a door on the right side next to a narrow debris-filled dirt alley that separated it from the shack beside it. The left side of the building bordered the edge of a cliff, and though it was difficult to see, there appeared to be a whole slew of shacks behind it.
A pale yellow light shone through the soiled and cracked window. Crocker and Mancini took up preassigned firing positions as Sanchez rapped on the door.
A woman appeared, wide and dark-skinned, midtwenties, her dark hair pulled back, wearing what looked like panties and a blue sports bra. A very young boy and girl stood behind her. She held the screen door open and was waving her hands and explaining something in Spanish when Crocker heard the sound of scraping wood in the narrow alley, then footsteps. Turning to Mancini, he whispered, “You and Sanchez inspect the house. I’m going into the alley.”
He took off, pushing past Sanchez, and tried to find the object moving in the narrow space. Everything he saw was either black or shades of green through the night-vision goggles.
Hearing something being dragged across the roof, he looked up and saw a dark object the size and shape of a length of sewer pipe falling toward his head. There was no room to jump back and no time to lunge forward, so he tried to push it away with his hands.
The cement pipe grazed his left forearm, tearing away skin. Gritting his teeth against the pain, Crocker jumped back against the opposite wall so the pipe wouldn’t hit his feet. He wanted to scream, but focused on scooting around the big pipe and following the sound of feet scurrying across the tin roof, then jumping and landing farther down the alley.
He quickly reached the back of the house and, seeing a moving shadow to his left, turned and squeezed into a little passageway, past a latrine overrun with rats. As he stepped around them, he heard three quick gunshots from the house, followed by a woman’s screams.
Crocker had no radio. For a second he considered entering the shack from the rear, but decided to continue pursuing the person running away. He wondered what had happened to Neto and the others, then saw the back of his assailant’s head sliding down a ledge and disappearing from sight.
He ran fast, and when he tried to stop on the muddy ground, his feet slid out from under him and he fell off the cliff. He saw the tops of skyscrapers and clouds in the distance, and had enough presence of mind to twist his body and get his arms under him to break his fall. Still, he hit the wet grassy turf with a thud that jarred his neck and caused him to tumble sideways into the back of his assailant’s legs.