“Yes, Major,” Juan said, recognizing the insignia on the other man’s collar. He took his foot off the brake and slowly passed the convoy on the narrow road. It took all his self-control to keep a grin off his face.

A few minutes later, they pulled into the base camp. Down here where the brush piles burned, the smoke haze was so thick they couldn’t see more than thirty yards, and each breath was like inhaling razor blades. Juan knew they only had a tiny window to make their escape. As soon as the Argentine Major figured out he’d been tricked, his entire reserve force would come down the mountain like the hammers of hell. He drove toward where the choppers were parked.

They were Eurocopter EC-135s, a medium utility chopper with a ten-year history of some of the most rugged flying in the world. These were stripped-down troop transports with the doors modified so they could mount .30 caliber door guns. One of the choppers had a rear access panel open and the pilot half buried in the machine’s innards. Juan assumed he was working on the fault he had overheard Lieutenant Jimenez mention.

He pulled closer to the second chopper. The pilot of this bird, sporting a bandanna around his nose and mouth to filter out the worst of the smoke, was asleep in his seat. Cabrillo got an idea; better to use a well-trained enemy than an amateur ally. He sounded the truck’s horn, which turned out to be the only part of the old vehicle that still showed signs of life.

The man startled awake and lifted his sunglasses. His dark eyes widened when he saw the bloody apparitions stepping from the old pickup.

“We need an immediate evac,” Juan called to the pilot, pausing to help Mike Trono and his Quasimodo-like gait.

“Not without the Major’s permission,” the pilot replied.

“Radio him,” Juan said sharply. “He was the one who said to take off immediately. But fire the turbines first so we don’t waste any time.”

The pilot made no move to turn on the Eurocopter’s engines. Instead, he reached for his helmet, with its integrated communication’s system. Cabrillo glanced up the mountain. Through the smoke, it was difficult to make out details. It didn’t appear the lead vehicles of the rescue convoy had made it to the crash scene, but he decided they’d wasted enough time.

He moved quickly, drawing an automatic from his hip holster and rushing forward to place the muzzle against the pilot’s head before he could don the bulky helmet. The man froze.

“Start the engines now.” The cold timber in Juan’s voice was enough to command compliance.

“Take it easy, amigo. I’ll get you and your buddies out of here.” He carefully set the helmet back onto the copilot’s seat and set about preparing the chopper for flight.

Juan turned back to his men. “Miguel,” he said nodding to Mike Trono and then pointing to the cockpit. Trono knew immediately that the Chairman wanted him watching the pilot for any sign he was going to trick them. The pilot should be thinking that these were badly wounded and even more frightened comrades who needed medical care. It would come later that he’d realize he was being kidnapped.