Viper: A Thriller Read Online Free

branches, and vegetation. Absolutely no light from
the moon or stars penetrated the canopy top.
    To make matters
worse, the rain began to pick up again, muting out all surrounding sound as
water poured steadily through the treetops and pooled into puddles in
depressions in the ground. Fortunately, Moreno was desperate to get far away,
which made him easy to track. In the jungle, you had to sacrifice stealth for
speed.
    A couple yards
deeper into the forest, Avery couldn’t even see the flame and lights from the
FARC camp off to his right anymore. There was only darkness transformed through
his night optics into a wild, cluttered green alien landscape.
    He stopped briefly
alongside a wide tree trunk for cover, and carefully studied the environment
for movement. Finally, he saw a dark, man-shaped target pass along a copse of diseased
trees that were nearly bare. The head whirred once round, panning left to
right, oblivious to Avery’s presence.
    Anticipating his
target’s path now, Avery aimed ahead through a space between two trees offering
him clear line of sight. This time he caught sight of the fleeing figure—the
FARC soldier accompanying Moreno—aligned his crosshairs over the target’s back,
and broke the trigger with a firm three pounds of pressure. He felt the M4’s
stock buck against his shoulder and saw his target drop, as if the forest floor
had opened up and swallowed him.  
    Less than a
second later, Moreno sprung out from behind the same copse of dead trees. He jumped
over the body of the FARC soldier, sprinting now, frantically maneuvering
around trees and shrubs with natural ease. He turned and fired off a blind burst
from his M16 before leaping over and throwing his weight behind the thick,
sturdy trunk of a fallen kapok tree overturned on its side.
    Avery lost sight
of him. He studied the thick and high carpet of shrubs and decaying plants
directly behind the driftwood, looking for motion or shapes that did not belong,
but the forest floor remained completely still.  
    Although Moreno
was an assassin, Avery remembered that he was also a trained jungle warfare
fighter, having been brought up through the ranks of FARC as a foot soldier
over two decades before. Moreno definitely held the advantage if it came to a duel
in the jungle, which Avery sought to avoid at all costs, knowing that he wouldn’t
stand a chance. He needed to end this quickly, before Moreno gained the upper
hand.
    Avery held his
rifle in the ready position with his finger indexed over the trigger. Leaning
into the stock, he ventured forward, staying behind trees, careful not to
disturb branches or bushes, while simultaneously searching for a vantage point
offering suitable line of sight. He took high steps to avoid kicking loose
twigs or leaves, and with each step, he gently lowered his foot onto the leaf
litter and saturated mud to reduce the risk of audibly signaling his approach.
    The problem with
jungle warfare was the poor visibility. You could be completely oblivious to
the enemy’s presence until you came within a couple meters of him, especially
if the enemy had good discipline, knew how to blend in, and didn’t so much as
move a muscle. Meanwhile the same enemy was tracking you the whole time,
waiting to get a clear shot. Operating solo, Avery was at a further
disadvantage. Ideally, he’d have someone staying stationary, putting down fire,
while he moved in on the enemy’s position.
    A helicopter
whipped by low overhead, one of the Mi-17s, its bright white searchlights
cutting through the overhead canopy. Taking his eye away from the night optic, Avery
used the noise of the helicopter’s rotors and engines to mask his approach,
covering an ambitious five meters in one go. He kept his unblinking gaze locked
on the driftwood, to make sure Moreno didn’t have the same idea and tried to
slip away.
    Once the
helicopter passed, Avery became aware of silence in the surrounding jungle. No
longer were there the sounds of combat