“Jaguar, come in, damn it.”

A burst of static squelched from his handheld radio and forced him to pull the device away sharply. Jimenez had reported that they had pumped a couple hundred rounds into the downed chopper, waited for a few minutes to see if it was going to explode, and then sent three men down on fast-rappel ropes.

“Jimenez, is that you?”

“Jefe?”

“Jimenez, come in.”

“It’s me, sir. Not good.”

“What happened?”

“They booby-trapped the helicopter. It blew just as my men were about to set foot on the jungle floor. The blast wasn’t big, but it was enough to shove my chopper a hundred feet or so, and that saved my life because then the fuel tanks exploded. The fireball was enormous.”

“What of your men?”

“The three on the ropes are gone, sir. Blown to ribbons. But we see another man on the ground who survived the blast.”

Espinoza seized on this news and asked, “One of them?”

“No, sir. It’s the other pilot, Josep. He appears injured, but it looks like they patched him up before taking off.

Defeat left Espinoza’s mouth bitter. He thought for a moment. “You said you’re about five miles from the Rio Rojo, yes?”

“That is correct.”

“They have a boat,” Espinoza said. “They must have snuck through the border last night when those worthless frontier guards were either asleep or too busy scratching themselves to notice.”

“I don’t think we have the fuel to chase them,” Jimenez said. It was clear in his voice this was a disappointment. “And the pilot says the chopper might have been damaged by the first explosion.”

“No matter, mark Josep’s position on the GPS so we can send a team to get him, then head straight for the base. Radio ahead so our third EC-135 is ready to take off as soon as you land. They probably have a fast boat, but you should be able to catch them before they reach Paraguay. I’m also going to alert the border guards. They can send out some patrol boats and stop anyone who looks suspicious.”

“We’ll have them yet, Jefe.” Jimenez’s wolfish grin carried through the static-filled connection.

“We will,” Major Espinoza agreed, and, if anything, his smile was more dangerous.

JUAN AND THE TWO other survivors reached the RHIB a little over an hour later. It had remained undisturbed under its cover of foliage. Juan lashed the power cell to the deck while Murph and Trono stripped away the camouflage. The twin outboards came to life with a turn of the key. Juan knew their boat, with its performance-tweaked engines, could outrun anything on the river, but he had no illusions that a reception wasn’t already being planned for when they neared the Paraguayan border.

“Lines are clear,” Mark said, coiling the dark nylon rope around a cleat. When the Chairman didn’t react, he called out, “Juan?”

“Sorry. Thinking.”

Juan bumped the throttles, and the boat emerged from its hidden lair. The river was clear of traffic, so a few moments later he had them skimming across the surface at better than forty knots, slowing marginally in the blind corners, then giving the RHIB her head once again.