Dead Ringer #2

Hyrum dropped the range finder’s red laser light on the coat of the big man getting out of the back seat. Hy focused. A guard was holding the limo door and someone was getting out on the other side—a woman.

Hy whispered, “Sammy! 13 point 7 and it’s 281.4 meters to target.”

Sammy relaxed his hold on the M-24 and adjusted the knurled knob slightly on the Leupold© scope. Hyrum wiped the rain off Sammy’s forehead with a green rag; Sammy held his breath and fired. There was only a slight ‘shooop’ sound and a light puff of smoke, dissipating in the rain.

The big man slowly fell. Sammy and Hy tossed some of their equipment into the wet jungle, but Sammy hung onto the rifle and the ammo. The murky jungle and the plush shrubs and vines would hide the equipment for a few hours—at least until daylight. They moved rapidly towards the muddy road.

Lightning and then deafening claps of thunder—the jungle around them lit up—the noise was horrific—flash after flash. Their footprints could be seen in the mud when there was a lightning flash. They had no choice. Sammy and Hy ran sloppily and as fast as they could.

The three guardas were momentarily perplexed. Why was the Colonel squatting down? Then one saw the blood forming on Colonel Lucero’s white shirt. The middle-aged woman screamed!

Lucero had just unbuttoned his military styled tuxedo after eating and drinking too much during the big party at the Casa de Rincon. ‘General von Dolmetscher gave too long of a toast, but Colonel Salazar certainly knew how to throw a party’ were his last thoughts.

The limo driver yelled, “Atencion Guardas!  Jefe Coronel Lucero—esta muerto!”

Two more raingear-dressed guards appeared in the large opening of the barn—running—waving their weapons excitedly.

The drug cartel chief did indeed appear to be dead. The woman was on her knees in the mud—holding the Colonel’s head. Bloody fizz came with his last breath. In the excitement one of the guardas was unconsciously standing on her long dress—one kneeled beside her—she let out a low, keening moan and tumbled into his arms. Her pinned dress wouldn’t let her stand up.

Sammy and Hy could hear voices and noises behind them. The river was in sight. They dove through the reeds and bushes for the portable rowboat at the riverbank.  It was gone!

The river had risen over two feet during the heavy downpour in the low mountains and valleys upstream—the watershed that fed the river basin. The small tree had been uprooted from the stream’s pressure on the rowboat’s line. The little boat was drifting away and nearly out of sight around the bend—slowly dragging the small, floating tree behind.

“Into the water Hy. We’ll have to swim for it!” Things were not going well for the two Marines.

They stripped off their web equipment belts, pack snap-hangers, leaf netting, and quickly weighted them down with an ammo belt.

Hy threw the pile into the river—and jumped into the still rising water after the bundle. The equipment sank out of sight. Hy had kept three small cans of different colored smoke in a small waist pack. Sammy still had his weapon and some ammo. Hy had dumped the spotting scope back in the jungle.

They were downstream only twenty meters before probing flashlights appeared on the opposite shore. The two barely made it to the other side. The guardas had easily followed the large footprints in the mud—slowing only between lightning flashes.

The guardas shined their flashlights towards the river and saw the little inflatable rowboat floating away. One kept his flashlight