Lethal Agent (Mitch Rapp #18)(63)
CHAPTER 31
SOUTHERN MEXICO
AFTER almost two days, Rapp had his accommodations feeling pretty homey. The rusty steel cage itself measured about six feet long by three feet wide, by four feet high. It was located back far enough into the jungle that he could see the dim glow of Esparza’s complex in the evening but nothing more than foliage during the day.
He’d managed to pull up the tall grass that grew around the cage and use it to create a fairly comfortable surface to stretch out on. A stick secured to one of the bars above him created a convenient stream of drinking water when it rained, which seemed to be about two hours every night. Bugs were plentiful, but a little too juicy and a touch bitter. Better than the lizard he’d caught last night, though. That thing had been dead hard to choke down. The bottom line was that the Lacandon jungle didn’t seem to have anything with the pleasant texture and slight nuttiness of an Iraqi scorpion.
He’d been stripped of everything he’d brought with him and was now wearing a bright orange jumpsuit reminiscent of the ones ISIS passed out to their beheading victims. It was soaked through to the skin and covered with mud, but the material was still capable of keeping him comfortable through the relatively warm nights.
So he wasn’t going to starve or freeze. The question was no longer whether he could survive out there; it was how long he was going to have to do it. So far, no one had come to visit and while the cage’s lock was old and unsophisticated, it was solid. In the end, it might be boredom that got him.
? ? ?
Based on the temperature and the sound of the jungle, it was probably an hour from dawn when he heard soggy footsteps coming in his direction. Someone to let him out, hose him off, and give him a job? Someone to put a bullet in his skull? In the end, there wasn’t much he could do about it either way. He had to fight his instincts and remain passive. He was there to win a popularity contest, not perform a bunch of executions.
The man who appeared wasn’t Esparza, which was probably a good sign. If it was going to be the bullet in the head or the blowtorch, the cartel leader would want to do it personally.
He stopped in front of the cage, backlit by the light bleeding from the compound. A little shorter than Rapp, with a scraggly beard and a gut straining against grimy fatigues. Weaponry consisted of an AK slung over his shoulder and a Bowie knife sheathed on his right hip.
“What?” Rapp said.
The gun came off the man’s shoulder and he leaned it against a tree before using the knife to hack off a thick branch. When he returned, he came a little closer, but stayed out of reach.
“California,” he managed to get out through a barely comprehensible accent. “My cousin.”
The fact that he then shoved the branch through the widely spaced bars and into Rapp’s ribs suggested that one of the corpses currently ruining Claudia’s Airbnb rating had been a relation. Rapp feigned pain, covering his side and cramming himself into the back of the cage.
As anticipated, the display of weakness encouraged the man. He rammed the branch in over and over as Rapp slapped ineffectually at it. The fact that this asshole hadn’t been smart enough to trim the leaves was making it impossible for him to build enough momentum to do any real damage. He seemed to realize this and instead of stepping back to fashion a more effective weapon, he decided to go for a gravity assist.
He took a step forward and went in from the top, jabbing Rapp in the chest. The force increased a bit, but was still nowhere near what would be necessary to cause injury. Having said that, the guy seemed to just be warming up, and lying in the mud getting poked with a stick was already getting old.
He was now only about a foot or so out of reach. The opportunity was there, but Rapp couldn’t decide if it made sense to take it. Esparza’s assistant was probably still checking out his story and getting too aggressive might be a mistake. On the other hand, letting himself get trapped in a cage for days on end might suggest that he wasn’t worth hiring.
Rapp suspected he was just talking himself into it, but he quickly decided that killing this piece of shit was definitely the right course of action. He waited for the stick to come down again and instead of slapping it away, he grabbed it and pulled. The already off-balance man pitched forward, struggling to keep his footing in the slick mud.
His right leg came into range and Rapp yanked it through a gap between the bars. The cartel enforcer made the mistake of bending at the waist to try to free himself and Rapp got hold of his beard, using it to slam his face into the top of the cage.
Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough leverage available to do any real damage. A thumb in the eye socket was an option, but sound was the main problem at this point. Rapp managed to use his beard and hair to spin him around and clamp a hand over his mouth. At that point, it was just a matter of getting hold of the knife.
Ten more seconds and it was over. Rapp kept the back of the man’s head pinned securely against the bars as blood cascaded from the gash in his neck. When he finally went still, Rapp let the body slide into the mud and turned his attention to the lock. The mechanism wasn’t particularly sophisticated, but the overall build quality was depressingly solid. Prying it open with the knife wasn’t going to happen and a search of the dead man turned up no keys. Just a half a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
Rapp needed something stiff enough to work the lock mechanism but soft enough that he could fashion it with the knife. Materials at hand were limited. Rocks were hard, but not easily carved into a pick. The jungle foliage was easy to carve, but too flexible to move the heavy tumblers.