With a solid horizon, he arrested the spin, stabilized into controlled free fall, and checked his coordinates and altimeter. Both good.

He remained on target as he tore through 12,000 feet and welcomed the slight increase in temperature. That cloud mass had been freezing. He zeroed in on a large, dark area.

Eleven thousand feet.

He visualized the exterior layout of his mark’s house. Plantation style. A backyard pool and spa occupied a landscaped courtyard.

Ten thousand.

Two security cameras were mounted atop a ten-foot perimeter wall, with two more on the roof observing the rear yard and pool. Another camera eyed the entrance courtyard and driveway. Two Dobermans patrolled the property inside the walls. Three bodyguards were present. Two worked with the dogs, while a third monitored the camera feeds.

Eight thousand.

He stayed on pure oxygen.

Six.

Thicker air now. Five seconds per thousand. Perfect terminal velocity.

Four.

Warm air engulfed him.

Three thousand.…

Two….

Fifteen hundred—  now!

The multicell, ram air canopy issued a whoof and burst open at eleven hundred feet.

His body jerked to a relative stop compared to its previous speed. He removed his oxygen mask and goggles and let them dangle around his neck. Next, he unzipped the belly pack, powered up his night vision goggles, and secured them in place on his helmet. He pivoted the device down to his eyes and adjusted the focus. The world turned bright green, resolving into perfect clarity. It felt eerily quiet now with the roar of rushing wind gone. He began a rapid spiral descent toward his LZ, the Mount Irvine Bay Golf Course. At 300 feet AGL, he lined up on a fairway and focused on the exact spot he wanted. Ten feet above the ground, he pulled hard on both toggles, executed a perfect flair, and touched down in a slight run.

Incredible.

Thirty thousand feet to sea level in under three minutes.

***

Juan Montez de Oca peeled his latex gloves and washed his hands in the marble sink. His richly appointed bathroom brought a smile. Ten years. That’s how long it had taken him to rebuild his wealth. The regime change in Nicaragua had stripped his military power and prestige and left him with only the clothes on his back. Literally. He’d barely escaped into Honduras. Only his lifelong devotion to fitness, endurance, and survival skills saved his life during the arduous trek through two hundred miles of jungle. Lesser men would have perished. To make matters worse, all his property and bank accounts had been seized and stolen. Never again, he had vowed. Now, a full decade later, he’d rebuilt his life and his status. One more year and he’d have enough to retire and live a secure life. He didn’t feel guilty about hoarding money. He gave plenty to an orphanage on Trinidad, more than most Tobagonians made in ten years. Having never known his own parents, he had a soft heart for homeless kids.