Chapter 13 - The Breakout
The torrential downpour typical of the Andean wet season turned the limestone quarry into a churning river of mud and gray sludge. The guards huddled beneath corrugated tin roofs, smoking cheap cigarettes and seeking shelter from the sheets of icy rain that fell from the darkened skies.
It was the perfect moment.
For three weeks, Dominic had meticulously hoarded scraps of wire, a rusted iron file stolen from the maintenance shed, and a small ceramic battery smuggled out of a broken communications relay. He hadn't spent his days only breaking rocks; he had mapped every blind spot in the perimeter security, memorized the patrol rotations of the guards, and bribed a disaffected logistics clerk with promises of non-existent offshore bank accounts in the Cayman Islands.
At 2:14 a.m., lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the jagged peaks of the mountains in a blinding white glare.
Dominic slipped out from beneath the rough woolen blanket on his cot, moving with the silent, desperate precision of a cornered animal. His hands, though still raw and scarred, gripped a heavy iron pipe he had hidden beneath his mattress.
He didn't head for the main gates. That was where the dogs and the heavy machine-gun nests were stationed. Instead, he scrambled up the steep, muddy embankment behind the equipment storage sheds, where the security fence met a sheer cliff face overhung by dense jungle foliage.
A single guard was stationed near the transformer box, sheltering from the rain beneath a canvas tarp, his rifle resting idly across his knees as he nodded off to sleep.
Dominic crept forward like a phantom through the rushing water and thick mud. His heart hammered violently against his ribs, sounding like a war drum in his own ears. Every muscle in his body burned with exhaustion and cold, but the adrenaline of vengeance pushed him forward.
Just a few more steps, he thought.
He lunged.
Before the guard could lift his head, Dominic brought the heavy iron pipe down with brutal, desperate force against the side of the man’s helmet. The guard collapsed into the mud without a sound.
Dominic didn't hesitate. He stripped the man’s tactical vest, grabbed his encrypted radio handset, pulled a heavy hunting knife from the sheath, and scrambled upward through the barbed wire, tearing his flesh against the sharp steel without feeling a single ounce of pain.
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Within minutes, he had vanished into the impenetrable green canopy of the jungle, swallowed by the howling wind and the pouring rain.
He was free. But he was starving, bleeding, and entirely alone in the heart of South America. And he had only one objective left on earth: to tear down everything Adrian Moretti had built, piece by bloody piece.
