Targets of Revenge by Jeffrey Stephens Page A

said.
    “I’m out of time here,” Sandor told him, then gave a full assessment of the situation, available weapons, and his plan.
    “Once you blow them sky-high we’re going to have the entire Venezuelan navy after us.”
    “I have to figure they’ve already been alerted by security on that oil rig. Which means you’ll have to come in for a landing right now or we’ll all wind up like sitting ducks.”
    “Roger that. You going to cover us?”
    “Like a blanket.”
    ————
    The men in the other speedboat noticed the Otter for the first time as it circled in a descending path, just far enough away to be out of their range. Before they could decide what, if anything, there was to do about that, Sandor peeked over the gunwale and opened fire with one of the long-range rifles from the locker.
    All three of Monter’s men hit the deck, which is just what Sandor wanted. With the men in the other Fountain diving for cover and out of view, Sandor mounted the rocket launcher on his shoulder, steadied himself on one knee, and fired.
    There was the customary instant of hesitation when he squeezed the trigger, then the thump of recoil as the rocket sped away, followed by a thin trail of white smoke. With Sandor’s fusillade having temporarily abated, the three men peered over the side just as the missile was released. Their boat was still moving and, at the sight of the onrushing projectile, the pilot instinctively shoved both throttles forward and yanked the wheel to starboard. His two cohorts, having no way to control the speed or path of the boat, took the simpler approach and dove over the side into the dark waters.
    For a moment it seemed to Sandor as if everything was happening in slow motion. It was quiet, with no shots being fired. The only action was the frantic attempt by the pilot of the attacking boat to avoid the path of the rocket.
    But it was too late.
    The projectile hit the port side of the boat with a loud crash, followedby an explosion of light and smoke and noise. The missile, which was heat-guided, found its optimum target toward the aft of the Fountain, detonating with full force as it struck the port engine, driving the stern of the boat into the air with propellers spinning helplessly as the fuel lines ignited, creating a pyre of burning gas, rendering the once sleek boat an unrecognizable tangle of destruction.
    As Sandor got to his feet he watched the Otter complete its landing a few hundred yards away. He moved back to the cockpit, put the engines into gear, and headed toward the waiting plane.
    “Get ready pal,” he said to the man who was still tied to the railing, “you and I are taking a little trip.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CARACAS, VENEZUELA
    A S SOON AS Adina got word of the debacle in the Lago de Maracaibo he commanded Alejandro to speed up the work dismantling the laboratory and making preparations to relocate the facility.
    His men crated and loaded the sacks of cocaine as well as the various apparatus. Then everyone was ordered out of the area as the final work was turned over to four specialists who had access to the segregated area where the anthrax was manufactured.
    They pulled on their hazmat suits and went about the dangerous business of placing the deadly toxin in airtight containers and readying the encapsulated parcels for transport in a separate vehicle. They also gathered the various chemical components that had not yet been combined into the lethal concoction and placed those in the back of the same truck.
    Then they doused the entire subterranean installation with gasoline and set it ablaze.
    At Adina’s direct instruction, Carlos, his trusted lab technician, was left locked inside the secure room, from which none of them could hear the man pleading for mercy, or later, begging for his life to end as he was engulfed in the chemical fire that melted his skin away before incinerating him beyond all recognition.
    From a safe distance, Adina watched as the flames shot up