“It’s never a good time to call Worley, Scott, but it’s a good time to arrange a flight out of here.” She handed him the sat phone. “You do the honors.”
He took the phone, but before he dialed, he said, “We did it, Maggie. Couldn’t have done it without you.”
“My next partner will appreciate me even more.”
Brodie smiled and dialed Brendan Worley. He pictured the Otter landing on the jungle airstrip and taking them away to someplace where he could get a hot shower and a cold beer.
He glanced at Mercer again. Would Brendan Worley be happy to see Kyle Mercer alive and well? Probably not.
So maybe home was not a phone call away.
The phone rang, and continued to ring.
CHAPTER 46
Brodie shut off the sat phone. Worley would, of course, think it was Mercer calling from that number, and for some reason Colonel Worley didn’t want to speak to his old partner in crime. He looked at Mercer lying face down across the seats, hands and legs hog-tied, gag in his mouth. The situation had changed since that last call.
Worley didn’t know that. But Mercer did.
Taylor said, “Call Dombroski.”
Brodie twisted the throttle and the boat picked up speed. “You always make the most important call first. The call that can get you home quickest.”
“Dombroski can call Worley.”
“Dombroski can talk a battery dead.” He opened the gas tank and pulled out the dipstick. “Fuel’s a problem too.”
“What’s the good news?”
“Haven’t seen a croc in awhile.”
“Do you think we can drink this water?”
“Ask Mercer. He drank a lot of it.”
Taylor put her hand over the side, scooped up some water, and looked at it. “It has bugs and stuff in it.” She dumped it. “Maybe it’ll rain.” She added, “This is a rain forest.”
Brodie remembered the Iraqi desert. Now and then they’d get low on water, and water became everyone’s obsession. It’s the little things that you take for granted—like food, water, and ammunition—that become critical when they’re gone. He said, “We’ll drink it if we have to, and worry about it later. Meanwhile, keep an eye on the right bank. If Mercer’s men discover that Senor Kyle is missing and they see that one of their boats on the mudflat is gone and the other boats are disabled, they might be bright enough to figure out we’re on the river with their boss.”
“They’ll probably think we went downstream, toward Kavak—not farther into the interior.”
“Hope so. Also keep an eye out for Pemón in boats or Pemón on the riverbank with rifles—or blowguns, or whatever.” He added, “We’re not in Quantico anymore, Maggie.”
She thanked him for his perceptive observation and added, “If the gas runs out, we’ll have to paddle.”
Brodie nodded and looked again at Mercer. He was like the trophy fish you caught—the two-hundred-pound prize that was too big for your small boat.
“Try Worley again,” she suggested.
Brodie cut the engine and called Worley’s number. This time the call was picked up, but no one answered. Brodie said, “It’s me, Brendan. Don’t hang up.”
Silence. Then Worley said, “Are you…?”
“We are free. Captain Mercer is not.”
“Okay… are you saying—?”
“We busted out. Ms. Taylor and I are in a boat on a river called River. We have the fugitive with us, restrained and ready for pickup.”
