Chapter 5 - The Ambush in the Orchard
Muzzle flashes strobed through the citrus trees like lethal strobe lights.
Dozens of high-caliber rounds slammed into the armored hood and windshield of the black SUV, spider-webbing the thick ballistic glass but failing to penetrate the reinforced cab. The sound inside the vehicle was deafening, like being trapped inside a metal drum beaten by iron hammers.
Damon gripped the leather steering wheel with both hands, staying low in the bucket seat. He did not switch on the headlights. Relying purely on his knowledge of the estate’s private roads, he tore through the narrow dirt lane between the orange trees, kicking up plumes of dust and crushed fruit.
Behind him, two modified technical trucks mounted with heavy machine guns pursued relentlessly, their high beams blinding him through his rearview mirrors.
“He’s in the black truck! The boss is fleeing toward the south boundary!” a voice crackled over Damon’s hijacked radio scanner. “Do not let him reach the main highway! Box him in and detonate the charge!”
Damon checked the odometer. He was three hundred yards from the irrigation drainage ditch that separated his property from the barren desert scrub.
He locked the cruise control at forty-five miles per hour. He reached down to his right, grabbing his tactical rifle and a heavy roll of industrial duct tape from the glove box. He jammed a heavy iron tire iron against the gas pedal, strapping it tight against the seat rail.
With the SUV hurtling forward on its own power, Damon kicked open the driver’s door, tucked his head into his chest, and threw himself out of the moving vehicle into the soft dirt of the irrigation berm.
He hit the ground hard, rolling three times through the mud and brambles, tearing his suit jacket and bruising his shoulder, but he kept his rifle secured against his chest. He came to a halt behind the thick trunk of a century-old olive tree, quickly crawling into the shadows.
Fifty yards ahead, the driverless SUV careened violently into the center of the orchard crossroads, crashing through a wooden fence and plowing directly into the shallow irrigation canal, where its tires spun uselessly in the mud.
Delgado’s lead truck screeched to a halt alongside it. Four heavily armed mercenaries hopped out of the bed, their rifles trained on the smoking, steam-hissing SUV.
“Check the cab! Pull Reyes out!” their team leader shouted, advancing toward the driver’s side door with his pistol drawn.
A second pickup truck arrived, pulling up bumper-to-bumper with the crashed vehicle to prevent any possible escape. Six more men spilled out, surrounding the SUV completely.
From his hiding spot seventy yards back in the tree line, Damon pulled out Julian’s seized cellular phone. He brought up the speed-dial list. There was only one saved contact labeled: E.D. - DETONATE.
Damon raised his thumb over the green call icon.
“This is for Mateo,” Damon whispered into the dark.
He pressed call.
An instant later, the night exploded in a blinding column of orange and white fire.
The military C4 charge rigged to the SUV’s chassis detonated with cataclysmic force, turning the armored vehicle and the two surrounding enemy trucks into a roaring fireball of shredded steel and flying shrapnel. The shockwave ripped through the orchard, snapping branches and blowing Damon’s hair back against his forehead. The concussive roar echoed across the Arizona valley for miles.
When the smoke and fiery rain began to settle, both enemy chase vehicles were burning hulks. The ten mercenaries who had surrounded the trap were completely eliminated.
Damon stood up from the mud, racking the bolt of his rifle.
One enemy truck remained, parked near the northern perimeter fence. Its headlights were flicking frantically as the remaining mercenaries realized they had walked into a slaughterhouse.
Damon didn't give them time to regroup. Moving like a ghost through the burning orchard, he stalked toward the remaining invaders. He fired three precise shots through the rear window of the final pickup, dropping the driver and the gunner before they could bring their weapons to bear.
The two surviving Delgado soldiers threw their rifles to the dirt, falling to their knees with their hands locked behind their heads, terrified of the solitary, soot-covered silhouette emerging from the burning trees.
“Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! We surrender!” one of them screamed, his voice cracking with terror.
Damon stepped into the light of the burning wreckage, the barrel of his rifle aimed directly at the leader's chest. “Where is Emilio Delgado?”
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“He’s at the private airfield outside Marana!” the man sobbed. “He was waiting for Julian Vance’s confirmation call before taking off for Guadalajara! That’s the honest truth, I swear on my mother’s life!”
Damon tapped the barrel against the man’s forehead. “Get in the truck and drive me there. If you take a single wrong turn, you won't live to see the sunrise.”
