Gunfire cracked through the rain, rounds snapping into trees and tearing leaves from branches around Don, but the jungle's density and the storm's noise worked in his favor.
He weaved between trunks, using the uneven ground and the thick undergrowth to break line of sight, every stride throwing water and mud behind him.
The extraction point lay ahead through the thinning trees.
He could already hear the distant crash of waves against the coastal cliffs and smell the salt on the wind.
His watch suddenly buzzed hard against his wrist.
Don glanced down without slowing. The device flashed with rapid, insistent beeping—no message, no display, only the continuous pulse of light.
The signal.
He did not hesitate. One hand dipped into a pouch on his utility belt, fingers closing around the small remote Diego had given him.
He pressed the button while still running.
A second passed. Nothing.
Then…
