“You think I can do this?” Annja asked.

Vic laughed. “Well, you know, you’ve got a pretty strong motivational factor going for you.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, if you don’t hold your own, I’ll leave you behind. These woods are about to turn ugly on me as well. The people I annoyed last night will be out in force looking for yours truly. I’m not hanging around any longer than I have to.”

“You’d leave me behind?” Annja asked.

“In a heartbeat, sister. I’ve got my own agenda to play to. Sorry to break your heart and all.”

Annja frowned. “You’re not breaking my heart,” she said.

Vic smiled. “Let’s get moving.”

Annja stood and rubbed on some more mosquito repellent. Vic hefted his rifle and then stopped. “Here,” he said, holding out a small-caliber pistol. “You know how to use one?”

Annja took the gun, dropped the magazine and racked the slide. As the bullet in the chamber spun out, she caught it in her hand. Then she topped off the magazine, rammed it home and racked the slide again.

“Yeah, I think I can handle it,” she said.

Vic nodded and grinned. “You’re not exactly a damsel in distress, are you?”

Titles in this series:

Destiny

Solomon’s Jar

The Spider Stone

The Chosen

Forbidden City

The Lost Scrolls

God of Thunder

Secret of the Slaves

Warrior Spirit

Serpent’s Kiss

Provenance

The Soul Stealer

Gabriel’s Horn

The Golden Elephant

Swordsman’s Legacy

Polar Quest

Eternal Journey

Sacrifice

Rogue Angel•

Sacrifice
Alex Archer

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Special thanks and acknowledgment to Jon Merz for his contribution to this work.

T HE L EGEND

…THE ENGLISH COMMANDER TOOK JOAN’S SWORD AND RAISED IT HIGH.

The broadsword, plain and unadorned, gleamed in the firelight. He put the tip against the ground and his foot at the center of the blade. The broadsword shattered, fragments falling into the mud. The crowd surged forward, peasant and soldier, and snatched the shards from the trampled mud. The commander tossed the hilt deep into the crowd.

Smoke almost obscured Joan, but she continued praying till the end, until finally the flames climbed her body and she sagged against the restraints.

Joan of Arc died that fateful day in France, but her legend and sword are reborn….

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

1

The air was so thick, Annja Creed felt she could use her sword to slice it open. But doing so wouldn’t affect the extreme humidity that seemed to surround her every second of the day. Even when the blistering sun didn’t penetrate the thick canopy of the jungle, she could still feel the heat of its merciless rays burning down. Something as simple as taking a breath felt as if she was swallowing thick porridge.

She’d already resolved herself to the one simple fact about being in the jungle—she would never be dry. Her clothes clung to her, accentuating every curve of her body. They were soaked through with sweat and the twice-daily rains that haunted her new home.

It wasn’t a home she wanted to live in. But, for the moment, she had no choice.

She worked her hands behind her back, trying to relieve some of the pressure on her wrists. The handcuffs didn’t help matters.

She stretched to get her hands under her, hoping she’d eventually be able to slide them under her legs so her hands ended up in front of her rather than behind her. A stream of sweat ran down her face for her efforts.

Annja took a deep breath and sighed. How do they stand it here? she wondered. She’d been in the Philippines for less than a week and she still hadn’t acclimated to the tropical environment.

Of course, she hadn’t come here thinking she would end up as a prisoner of the dreaded Abu Sayyaf, the notorious terrorist group with links to al Qaeda. Annja was supposed to be researching a new story for Chasing History’s Monsters. But a contact hadn’t turned out to be who he said he was. Instead, Annja found herself looking down three gun barrels, and when the small Toyota van had rolled to a stop in front of her, the wisest move was to get inside.

She smirked. If she was being totally honest with herself, part of her wanted to see where things led. She was getting used to unexpected adventures and the truth was she usually enjoyed them. She was pretty good at getting herself out of tight spots.

Her smile faded. I should have considered all the options beforehand, she thought. Before she was forced to endure a bumpy flight away from Manila, and then a riverboat ride to some desolate part of the country.

And there was also the fact that she had no idea where on earth she was. The Philippines comprised over seven thousand islands. Annja could be on any of them.

With no real way home.

She racked her brain. What do I know about Abu Sayyaf? Not much. Just what had made it to the news. She knew they were notorious for their cruelty. They hadn’t pulled off much in the way of actual terrorist attacks—a stray bombing here and there. But what they lacked in a track record, they made up for in terms of their lucrative side business—kidnapping.

Abu Sayyaf operatives had resorted to kidnapping over the past ten years to help finance their various other operations. Normally, the kidnappings took place at expensive resorts frequented by wealthy Europeans. But in the past few years, Annja knew that Abu Sayyaf had also kidnapped several missionaries. The results weren’t always positive. If the ransoms were paid, by and large most of the victims were released. In the case of one missionary, however, he was beheaded.

Annja wondered what they hoped to achieve by kidnapping her.

She looked around the makeshift camp. There were several huts built a foot off the ground on stilts. Their rooftops had been painted and thatched over to help conceal them among the other plants of the jungle canopy, probably to discourage them from being seen from the air by the military units that hunted the terrorists.

She wondered if it was true that U.S. special-operations troops were involved in the hunt for Abu Sayyaf. She supposed they could be, and the thought of them attacking the camp cheered her.

The reality of it seemed unlikely, though. Annja hadn’t heard any type of aircraft in the area since she’d been here.

The jungle, she knew, could be utterly impenetrable. Walk in any direction and within ten yards, you’d be totally lost unless you knew exactly where you were going and how you were going to get there.

She heard a chicken clucking off in the distance. They were one of the few animals that Abu Sayyaf members seemed to keep around the camp. She was grateful they at least fed her well enough. Last night she’d had a chicken-and-rice dish that had filled her stomach and set her at ease for the first time in a few days.

They kept her well hydrated, too. Of course, they had to. In this heat, even just being leashed to the wooden pole a few feet away, Annja could dehydrate fast. Someone stopped by about once an hour and forced her to drink water.

The dark skin of her Filipino hosts suggested they were indigenous to this area, rather than city transplants. She knew that Abu Sayyaf, like many terrorist groups, preferred the disenfranchised lower classes to the middle class or wealthy. It was easier to recruit them, easier to get them to commit to suicide missions if they believed their families were going to be taken care of after they were gone.

From her vantage point in the camp, Annja had seen a total of twelve men and four women. Each one of them was dressed in camouflage fatigues. And even Annja was wearing fatigues. Her own clothes had been unceremoniously stripped off when she’d first arrived. Annja wondered if her nakedness might have aroused any of her guards, but they merely looked away while she put on the new clothes, which smelled of mothballs.

She heard the tramping of feet and looked up. One of the guards, a guy she’d named Big Nose because of the bulbous snout he had, approached with her hourly ration of water.

“Drink.”

Annja tilted her head back and opened her mouth. The water was cool. Annja wondered if they had a refrigerator somewhere, and if so, what sort of power it was running on. A generator out here would be too noisy and would require a supply of gasoline to run. She didn’t think they would opt to trade their concealment for a creature comfort. But who knew?

She swallowed some water, pausing to take a breath before finishing off the water off. She felt a few drops run down her chin and smiled at the guard. “Thank you.”

He frowned and walked away.

So much for making a friend, she thought. I don’t think I can count on him as an ally.

She continued the struggle to get her hands around to her front, but couldn’t make it work. She slumped forward, straining to stretch her back muscles. She’d already worked on keeping her legs flexible, but her arms had pretty much gone numb.

She sighed and took another deep breath. Now what? Annja closed her eyes and looked inside of herself. The sword she’d somehow inherited from Joan of Arc hung in its ready position. All she had to do was reach in and take it.

But how could she do that when her hands were cuffed?

She was still learning about the powers of the sword and what she could and couldn’t do with it. Maybe I don’t need my hands free in this plane to do it in that plane, she thought. Perhaps she could reach into the otherwhere and then, when she opened her eyes, the cuffs would be gone. All she had to do was see it so.

Annja saw her hands as free as she reached toward the sword.

She felt the hilt and wrapped her hands around it.

She opened her eyes.

Her hands were still cuffed behind her. The sword was nowhere to be seen.

Annja frowned. So much for that.

She knew she had to get her cuffs off before she tried to do anything at all that might spring her from this place.

The problem, she realized, was that even if she did escape, where would she go? She had no idea where she was. They’d blindfolded her until she arrived in the camp. And stumbling through the jungle wasn’t the smartest thing she could do.

There had to be another way. But what?

Annja looked up. Somewhere in the camp, there seemed to be some sort of commotion. She heard more voices. They spoke loudly. Was it an argument? Annja strained to listen, but her knowledge of Tagalog was minute. And there was no way of knowing what particular dialect these terrorists were using.

The voices seemed to be getting closer. Annja sat back, trying to feign disinterest.

The guard with the big nose came into view. The AK-47 assault rifle he wore dangled from its strap on his shoulder. The gun looked large in his smallish hands, but he kept it fixed on Annja.

She wanted to smile. Like I’m any type of threat right now, she wanted to say. But she kept her mouth closed.

Big Nose knelt behind her and untied the leash binding her to the tree. He stood and gestured to Annja with his gun. “You will come with me,” he said.

Annja nodded and the guard motioned back the way he’d come. Annja took a few stumbling steps, waiting for the blood to flow back down her legs. She tried flexing her arms, but the cuffs really restricted her movement.

The man led her to a large hut. As Annja walked toward it, she saw other members of the terrorist cell peering at her intently. Did they know who she was? Was this why they’d kidnapped her? Did they even get Chasing History’s Monsters out here? And if they did, Annja would still be surprised they might know who she was. Since she didn’t make a habit out of wearing skimpy clothes, her fan base was significantly smaller than her buxom cohost’s.

The guard walked her up the steps of the hut. Annja’s feet felt the rough-hewed wood flooring under her. It felt good to be standing again after sitting for so long. She ducked under a palm frond opening and walked inside the hut.

It was much darker inside. But a small fire kept it just shy of total darkness. The heat was worse in here and Annja instantly felt herself sweating even more than she had outside.

“What is your name?”

The voice wasn’t one she’d heard before. It sounded quite cosmopolitan.

“Annja Creed,” she said, looking for the source of the voice.

“Where are you from, Annja Creed?”

“Brooklyn.”

Annja strained to make out any details, but she could only see that he had close-cropped hair. There was also a vague tinge of some sort of cheap cologne on the air. He’d obviously showered recently. Or maybe he’d rolled around in the cologne sample inserts that they stocked magazines with these days.

“What brings you to our country?”

“I work for a television show. One of the story ideas brought me here,” she replied.

“You’re a reporter?” he asked.

“Sort of.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not with the news. It’s more of a history show. Like documentaries.”

“You don’t have a camera crew with you?”

Annja shook her head. “I came over first to see if the story was legitimate. Only then would the camera guys come over so we could film it.”

“I see.”

Annja heard the rustle of papers. “We have your passport here.”

“They took it from me when I was kidnapped,” she said.

“Yes, and it’s a shame they didn’t bother to look at it. Otherwise it might have saved us both from the embarrassing situation that now confronts us.”

“Embarrassing?”

“Yes. You see, my colleagues are sometimes a bit, shall we say, overzealous in their work? It’s a stressful thing—I’m sure you can appreciate it. There are all sorts of logistical elements to planning a proper kidnapping. Emotions run high. People make mistakes.”

“Mistakes?” Annja wondered where this was going.

“Yes. You were not our intended target, Annja Creed.”

“You didn’t mean to kidnap me?”

“No.”

Annja smiled. “Oh well, that’s cool.”

“It is not…cool. It is a bad mistake,” the man said calmly.

There was movement behind Annja. A guard pushed another man through the doorway. His hands were bound behind him and he was gagged. But Annja recognized him as the terrorist who had kidnapped her.

Annja looked back into the darkness. “Well, like you said, everyone makes mistakes.”

“Mistakes are not tolerated in our organization. It would set a bad precedent if I allowed such behavior to fester within our ranks.”

The gunshot sounded like an explosion and Annja jumped. She looked behind her and saw her kidnapper facedown on the floor, a pool of blood rapidly pooling around his head.

Annja turned back. “So, we’re all through here, then? I’m free to go?” she said quickly.

“Unfortunately, no. You’ve seen too many things here.”

Annja shook her head. “I didn’t see a thing. I was blindfolded until I got here.”

“Even still…”

Annja shook her head. “I have no issue with what you do or who you do it, to. You said this was a mistake. So let’s correct it. Let me go,” she spoke confidently, hoping she was persuasive enough.

“No. I think you’ll be able to help us out, after all,” the voice said.

“Oh?”

“Indeed. But it will, most unfortunately, mean your death.”

2

The guard with the big nose steered Annja out of the cloistered environment of the thatch hut and back down onto the muddy ground. He deliberately pushed her fast enough so that Annja’s legs had trouble keeping up with the momentum, causing her to stumble and trip most of the way down. At last he shoved her and Annja had to turn her head at the very last minute before she crashed to the ground.

She sat up and spit out some dirt. “Thanks for the help, jerk,” she muttered.

The guard grinned and took his pistol out. Annja frowned. This was not good. The guard thumbed the hammer back.

“Stop.”

The guard and Annja both turned toward the veranda of the hut she’d just left. The man standing there lit a cigarette. He exhaled a thin stream of smoke into the dense jungle air and regarded Annja.

“Are you scared about dying?” he asked her.

Annja got to her knees and stared at him. “I’ve faced death before.”

The man nodded. “I can tell. You have that look about you. My friend here doesn’t intimidate you much, does he?”

Annja smiled. “Who are you?”

“My name is Agamemnon.”

“You’re joking, right?” Annja said.

Agamemnon grinned. “My parents. What can you do? They grew up with this fixation on Mount Olympus. They named us all after the gods and goddesses of mythology. My brother was named Midas.”

“Was?” Annja asked.

“Government troops killed him while he slept. Him and his young bride. They were but twenty years old.”

Annja flexed her wrists. The cuffs still held her tight. “I’m sorry for your loss. Really.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“Is this really necessary?” Annja asked, hoping she could talk her way out of her predicament.

Agamemnon shrugged. “Is anything we do ever really necessary?”

“You tell me—you’re the one in control right now.”

“Yes.” Agamemnon nodded. “I am indeed. And unfortunately, your death will help to convince the government we are truly serious.”

“Since when have you had trouble with the government thinking you aren’t serious?” Annja asked.

Agamemnon came down the steps. Annja could see he looked to be in his late thirties. His close-cropped hair was still jet-black. His eyebrows hung over his dark eyes like heavy velvet drapes. The way he walked reminded Annja of some of the more ferocious fighters she’d met in her lifetime. Agamemnon was thin, but he resonated with strength and cunning.

He stopped just short of coming into range if Annja had decided to try to kick him. “Ever since the American troops started hunting us, the government has considered us a has-been organization,” he explained.

“I didn’t realize the U.S. forces had done so much damage to your organization,” she said.

Agamemnon stepped on his cigarette butt and ground it under his foot. “They hunt us when they can find us. Their special-operations troops are quite skilled at navigating the jungle. Even though we know it like the back of our hand, they are quick to adapt and learn our tactics. I have lost many soldiers since they started combing the islands for us.”

“And so now you’ve taken to kidnapping?”

Agamemnon shrugged. “We kidnap high-profile targets in the hope that our cause gets publicity, drives more recruits to us, and that the ransoms get paid. That money helps fund our operations in Manila and other places.”

“I see.” Annja saw that several other members of the impromptu village had come out of their huts. Agamemnon certainly seemed to hold sway over them; they seemed to be hanging on his every word.

“These are my people,” he said spreading his arms as if about to hug them all. “I’ve led them through some harrowing incidents. They trust me completely and I do believe they would follow me straight into the depths of hell itself if need be.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Annja said. “And I have no doubt they trust you completely. But I still don’t see why you need to kill me.”

“Because our intended target was not picked up. The plan cannot be canceled just because of that one simple flaw,” he said.

“I won’t get you any type of respect. I’m a nobody,” Annja said.

Agamemnon shook his head. “Nonsense. You said it yourself—you’re a television personality. I’m sure a woman as lovely as yourself has thousands of devoted fans.”

“I don’t think the number’s that high. It’s just an offbeat history show on cable.”

Agamemnon frowned. “I don’t follow.”

Annja shook her head. “The show is a bit of a joke. No one takes it seriously,” she said.

“We will videotape your beheading and then broadcast it all over the world. Your death will help us reestablish ties to our friends in other regions. It will also serve as a call for others to join us and help overthrow the government.”

“Beheading?” Annja asked, horrified.

Agamemnon unsheathed a large knife hanging at his side. “Unfortunately, the world has grown desensitized to shootings. People see thousands of them on TV and in the movies. Simply shooting someone has no impact. But decapitation, well, that is something else again.”

Annja swallowed hard. Having her head sliced off wasn’t what she’d imagined coming to the Philippines would entail. And the thought of that knife cutting into her neck sent adrenaline flooding into her veins.

I have to get out of here, she thought. She closed her eyes and saw the sword hanging where it always did when not in use. If she could just get it and get free of her cuffs, she could cut these butchers down and then disappear into the jungle.

But where would she go?

She frowned. It didn’t matter. Anything was better than staying here and waiting for her head to be lopped off.

“Annja?”

She opened her eyes. Agamemnon was staring at her intently. Annja coughed and cleared her throat. “I wasn’t expecting to be killed in that fashion. You don’t strike me as being that barbaric,” she said angrily.

Agamemnon laughed. “Oh, but I am. Trust me.”

Annja flexed her wrists. There was no give in the cuffs. If she didn’t get them off, she was as good as dead. And by the sound of it, beheading wasn’t exactly a quick and painless event unless done by guillotine. Being hacked off with a knife sounded extremely painful and messy.

“I need to pray,” she blurted.

Agamemnon frowned. “What?”

Annja looked at him. “I need to pray. Surely you wouldn’t begrudge me a final chance to make amends with my god before you kill me?”

Agamemnon lit a fresh cigarette. “Forgive me for saying so, Miss Creed, but you don’t exactly strike me as the religious type. I’ve killed missionaries before. They walked with much more an air of God than you do.”

“And you’ve never heard of people finding religion right before they die?” Annja said.

“I have.”

“Then you should have enough respect for me—if only for what my death will represent to your cause—to grant me a few final moments of inner peace.”

Agamemnon sighed. “Very well. I will give you five minutes to pray. I suggest you use it well.”

Annja turned herself slightly. “I need the cuffs removed, please.”

“Why?”

“My religion dictates that my hands be free when I pray. In order to make the proper signs of my god, I must have both hands free.”

“What religion is this? I’ve never heard of such a need before.”

“I’m not exactly orthodox in my religion,” Annja said. “I belong to a new church that incorporates the teachings of many religions into its values,” she said.

Agamemnon took a deep drag on his cigarette. He gestured to the guard. “All right, you may have your hands free. But I warn you not to try anything. My friend there will have his gun trained on you at all times. And he will shoot you if need be.”

Annja bowed her head. “Thank you for the consideration.”

The guard knelt behind her and Annja heard the key slip into the lock. In another moment, the pressure on her wrists vanished. Annja took a deep breath and rubbed them, trying to flush some blood and feeling back into them.

“All right. Your time starts now,” Agamemnon said.

Annja brought her hands together in front of her. I have to make this look good, she thought. They’ll expect me to make a move immediately if I’m going to try anything at all. So let’s give them a show when they least expect it.

Annja raised her hands overhead and opened her mouth. She called out in an imaginary dialect and mixed it with a bit of Swahili slang she knew. As she did so, she moved her hands around her, gesturing first to the sky and the sun and then to the ground and the trees.

She let her head loll around as if she was possessed. She got off her knees and squatted, drawing a circle on the ground and then dancing in the center of it.

Her words grew louder. Annja felt her body responding to the sense of freedom for the first time in days. Adrenaline pumped through her veins. She felt energized and alive.

With her eyes closed, she saw the sword.

She reached for it with her hands.

Felt the hilt of the sword slide into her hands.

She instantly dropped to the ground and pivoted, slicing as she opened her eyes.

A gunshot rang out, but Annja knew that the guard would have fired above her head. She heard the bullet ricochet but then felt her sword cut into something even as she continued to spin.

The guard grunted as the blade bit into his midsection, slicing him open.

Annja yanked her sword free and rushed toward Agamemnon. He looked utterly unfazed by the sudden appearance of the sword in Annja’s hands.

She was just thirty feet from the hut. Agamemnon disappeared inside.

A volley of gunfire exploded across the camp. Annja felt hot lead zipping past her head. She ducked and zigzagged across the compound. Agamemnon’s people must have had their weapons closer than she realized.

I have to get out of here!

Annja took a hard right and ran between two huts, the sword leading the way. A young man stepped in her path and aimed his AK-47 at her. Annja leaped into the air and screamed as she came down, swinging the sword.

The man dropped dead and Annja ran on.

Ahead of her, she could see the thick jungle. She ran for the twisted vines and warped tree trunks as if the devil himself was on her tail.

She entered the foliage.

Under the dense canopy, the air grew even thicker. Annja didn’t think the terrorists behind her would stop. She needed to put some real distance between them.

Annja pressed on, using the sword to cut a swath through the dense jungle.

Suddenly she stopped. They’ll track me if I keep doing this, she thought.

She sighed. As much as she hated doing it, she closed her eyes and returned the sword to the otherwhere.

Annja opened her eyes again and took a deep breath. From here on out, it gets tough, she thought. I’ll have to take my time and creep through this jungle if I have any hope of getting out of here alive. The more I fight it, the quicker it will win.

Annja parted a blanket of vines in front of her, carefully moving them out of the way just enough for her to get past. Once she did so, she turned and slid them back into position.

She hoped her pursuers would think she had magically disappeared.

Annja looked overhead and all around. The color was the same anywhere she turned. Green.

How in the world am I going to get out of this mess?

3

Agamemnon watched as his men scampered about the camp collecting themselves and their weapons. The carcass of his man lay in the dirt, staining the ground with dark blood and gore. The air stunk of his death and it only made the rage growing in Agamemnon’s chest swell even further. Already hundreds of tiny flies and mosquitoes fed upon the corpse.

One of his men noticed the sudden invasion of bugs and came over. “Shall we dispose of Jojo’s body?”

Agamemnon watched as the flies seemed to form one undulating mass as they crawled over Jojo’s body, eagerly feeding. He watched for another full minute and then finally shook his head.

“Leave it.”

“Sir?”

Agamemnon faced him. “I want him left where he died. Let the bugs eat him for all I care. His death is an object lesson to you all. You can never, ever let your guard down. Not for one instant. If you do, the same will happen to you.”

His man blanched. “I understand, sir.”

“Do you think that is cruel of me?”

The man’s eyes never met Agamemnon’s. He was far too scared to look his boss in the eyes. “I understand your intentions, sir.”

“Further,” Agamemnon continued, “if your search parties do not come back with the woman, then all who failed will meet the same fate as Jojo. Am I making myself perfectly clear? I will not tolerate failure.”

“Yes, sir.” The man jerked his hand up in salute and then excused himself.

Agamemnon watched him run away, corralling the other men who would assist him in the search. He could hear the hushed tones they used as they discussed the urgency of the mission before them. Of course, Agamemnon wouldn’t kill them all. That would be foolish of him. There was little sense killing his own troops. But with the image of Jojo’s body still so fresh in their heads, he knew the threat of another death would make his men work harder. It would drive them to turn the jungle upside down.

And then they would find Annja Creed and bring her back to the camp, where Agamemnon could dispose of her properly. After all, her death would play a key role in the events that were about to unfold in Manila.

Agamemnon smiled and turned away from the corpse. He wandered over to his hut. At the steps leading inside, he paused and watched the various search parties fanning out to enter the jungle.

Good luck, he thought to himself.

Inside, he sat down at the small radio console and opened up the channel. A screech of static punctured the humid air, and then he heard the voice he wanted on the other end.

“Yes, sir?”

Agamemnon leaned into the microphone. “Is everything ready, Luis?”

“The package has been delivered as promised. We are in the final stages of preparing it for delivery now.”

“Excellent. And how long do you anticipate it taking?”

“Perhaps the rest of the night. If all goes well, we will leave with it tomorrow morning and have it in position the following day.”

Agamemnon smiled. Luis was his most trusted man. If he set a task before him, he knew Luis would always get it done. Unlike Jojo, Luis would not have let himself be taken so easily.

He leaned back and took a breath. Who would have ever expected that the son of a beggar could have risen so far as Agamemnon had? Certainly not the worthless souls who called themselves his family. They’d forsaken him years ago when he’d revealed his plans to them. The idiots—they were content to stay in the slums he’d grown up in, scavenging a meager existence while the wealthy aristocrats and new entrepreneurs drove past them, oblivious to the children running barefoot in the late night traffic hoping to beg a few coins off of them.

The inequity of the classes had drawn Agamemnon to the promise of change that a revolution offered. And Abu Sayyaf seemed just the organization to grant this chance at making things better.

The problem, as it always seemed to be, was that no one in the upper class would listen to rhetoric. All the protests and words would never make them open their eyes and see the hell that the majority of the population lived in on a daily basis.

Something bigger had to be done. And Abu Sayyaf made the people listen with its bombings and violence. A body count guaranteed news coverage. And it made the people in power pay attention.

Now Agamemnon stood poised on the brink of his biggest accomplishment to date. There was just one final little bump to deal with—the American woman.

Once that was done, everything else would fall right in line and Abu Sayyaf would bring the government of the Philippines to its knees. When it was over, a new power paradigm would rule in its place.

And Agamemnon would be the grand architect of the entire operation.

“You’re a good man, Luis. I know we will enjoy success soon,” he said.

“Inshallah.”

God willing indeed. Agamemnon smiled. In order to gain influence over the men of Abu Sayyaf, Agamemnon had, of course, played on their religious fervor. He knew how it remained one of the most potent methods for controlling the masses. Men stirred into a religious zealotry would do anything if they thought their god demanded it. And radical Islamic fundamentalism seemed a perfect way to accomplish his goals. There were already plenty of examples throughout the Middle East that helped Agamemnon justify certain violent tendencies.

And while he knew true Islam was a religion of peace, Agamemnon had found that any religion could be twisted to the machinations of a man in charge. After all, born-again Christians and fundamentalist Baptists were given to extremes as horrifying as anything al Qaeda had engaged in.

Agamemnon took a breath and then keyed the microphone again. “I have just sent half of my force into the jungle.”

“What for?” Luis asked.

“We had an escape.”

“The American girl?”

“Yes. She was something more than we expected. Jojo is dead.”

There was a pause over the air. Luis had always viewed Jojo as something of a student to be mentored. Agamemnon worried he might take his death hard.

“How?”

“She cut him in half with a sword.”

“A sword?”

“I have no idea where she was able to obtain it. One minute she was praying, and the next, she’d cut Jojo in half,” Agamemnon said.

“I don’t understand where she could have gotten a sword.”

“I don’t, either. But rest assured when we find her—and the men will find her—I will make her tell me everything.”

The radio squawked again. “Agamemnon?”

“Yes?”

“When it is time to kill her, I want to be the one to do it,” Luis said.

Agamemnon smiled. Revenge was something that Luis always took as a matter of personal pride. He keyed the microphone. “She will be yours, my friend.”

“Excellent. I will inform my men to post additional sentries around our camp, in the event that she happens to wander right into our welcoming arms.”

The other camp was situated ten miles away from Agamemnon’s location. By splitting their resources and locations, they believed it afforded them better security. And with the American military now actively engaged in hunting down Abu Sayyaf camps, such precautions ruled the day.

“Be careful with your preparations, Luis. Any misstep—”

He heard Luis chuckle through the static. “If there are any mistakes, I think it will be readily evident to you, Agamemnon. You won’t need me to call you on the radio, that’s for sure.”

“I suppose not.”

“I must go now. There’s much to be done before we launch this upon the godless infidels.”

Agamemnon keyed the microphone a final time. “Good luck to you, Luis. And to the men you choose to go with you.”

“I need only the grace of God to help us find our way. Then we will deal them all a blow from which they will never recover.”

Agamemnon turned off the radio and leaned back in his chair. Luis would accomplish his mission, no doubt. But there would be casualties when they launched their mission. Such losses were to be expected. In this fight, there was no such thing as a bloodless battle.

The only thing that still bothered him about the operation was the loose thread of Annja Creed. He hadn’t had time to think about it until he’d mentioned it to Luis, but where on earth had she gotten the sword?

It was as if the thing had appeared magically in her hands.

Agamemnon frowned. It was my fault for agreeing to uncuff her. I should have had Jojo kill her instead of granting her a moment to be with her god. Then again, not granting her the freedom to pray one final time might have been misconstrued by his people that he saw religion as frivolous.

No, he had done what he had to do. Unfortunately, Jojo paid the price for it.

No bloodless battles, he thought.

One thing was certain, however—when he recaptured Annja Creed, Luis would make sure that all the magic in the world wouldn’t be enough to help her. Agamemnon had, after all, witnessed Luis’s savagery. It was one of the things that had attracted him to the young man in the first place. Luis had a killer’s cold, calculating capacity for extreme violence combined with a reasonably sharp intellect.

He wasn’t as smart as Agamemnon, but then, that was the point.

Agamemnon didn’t need someone smarter than him around. That would have been foolhardy on his part. He needed men with courage and the ability to kill without regret. He needed women who cared little for the pleas of their victims as they detonated bombs and sprayed bullets in crowded shopping malls.

So far, Agamemnon had been fortunate enough to attract the people he needed.

But losing Jojo would be a blow to morale around the camp.

He sighed. Later on, when the search teams returned with the American woman, Agamemnon would see to it that everyone was properly rewarded. A party of sorts would be in order.

He nodded. He would send some of the women to the nearby village to secure some pigs for roasting. There was nothing like a feast to make his people forget a tragedy.

Combined with the success of their planned operation, Agamemnon felt certain that any lingering sadness over Jojo’s death would evaporate in the joyous triumph they would all experience.

Perhaps he would have Luis bring his men over to the party. Luis had a young girl in his camp that Agamemnon hadn’t yet taken the time to properly indoctrinate into the more delicate ways of being a revolutionary. After all, the sweet thing would need to understand how the needs of her leader always had to be met in order for the revolution to grow stronger.

He grinned. The island girls were always so much easier to deflower than their counterparts in the big cities. They could be readily persuaded with a bit of extra food and wine.

He felt a swelling in his pants and smiled. Rank, it was very true, had some very distinct privileges.

All I need is for tomorrow to go off well. And for my men to find Annja Creed.

Agamemnon stood and walked out of the hut. Daylight was already starting to fade. Night would soon blanket the camp.

He waved over one of the few men left in camp. “See to it that Jojo’s body is prepared for burial. If we leave it too long, he will only attract predators.”

The man saluted and ran to find help. Agamemnon watched the flies buzz away from the carcass as a woman approached, waving a broom at the body.

His people, he knew, had learned the lesson.

All around him, people came out of their huts and approached Jojo’s body with a degree of reverence. They would see to it that he was buried in the ground beyond the camp.

Later, when the American woman was dragged back into the camp, Agamemnon would allow them to vent their frustrations on her.

Then, and only then, would he allow Luis to kill her.

4

A special-operations commando had once told Annja that the biggest problem in the jungle was disorientation. She now understood why. It was entirely possible to have no sense of direction. Looking out five yards in front of her, Annja couldn’t see much. The green-tinged semidarkness surrounded her, giving her a vague sense of claustrophobia.

Already, under the canopy, she felt the jungle’s shadowy onslaught starting. Small bugs nibbled at the exposed bits of her skin. The humidity must have soared to over ninety percent. Her clothes were all wet and clung to her like a second skin.

She took a deep breath. Somewhere behind her, she could hear people shouting.

They were looking for her.

Annja knew the direction she’d run into the jungle. She picked out a landmark in front of her roughly fifty feet away. A tall tree arcing up toward the inevitably green sky. Annja maneuvered her way to the tree and stopped when she got there.

She was desperately out of breath, not necessarily due to the exertion. After all, Annja was in excellent shape. But stalking through the dense undergrowth while breathing air that seemed more like soup than anything else taxed her like nothing she’d done before.

At the tree, Annja picked out another landmark to aim for and then started off toward the clump of vines that stretched high into the treetops.

Behind her, she could hear more noises. The telltale clang as a machete cleaved its way through the greenery.

I need to find a place to hide, Annja thought. And then I need water. Lots of water.

Already she could feel the beginning stages of dehydration coming over her. In the jungle, with her body temperature rising and sweat dripping off of her, she would need a constant supply of water to replace what she was losing. Otherwise, her vision would fade and her body would start to shut down. It already felt as if her skin temperature was higher than the air temperature. Worse, her sweat wasn’t evaporating.

She knew she was on a steep downward spiral.

Annja spotted what looked like a red buttress tree farther off in the distance and struck out for that. Scores of thick vines wrapped their way up the trunk like giant snakes. Annja grabbed the vines and pulled herself up the trunk. If she could get off the jungle floor and into the tree, she might be able to wait out her pursuers. With luck, they might walk right past her.

Annja scrambled up the trunk, feeling her feet dig into the vines. Bits of leaves and bark broke off and flittered to the jungle floor beneath her. She hoped it wasn’t enough of a sign to indicate to a tracker where she was.

She finally managed to get herself into the nook of the tree where its lower branches forked off in a variety of directions. She found a pile of reasonably dry leaves nestled in the hollow and settled herself down against them, sucking in air.

I need water, she thought.

Annja looked at the round vines wrapping their way up the tree and wondered if they might be tube vines. They were round rather than ribbon flat. That was a good sign.

She closed her eyes and reached for her sword. When she opened her eyes, the blade was in her hands and Annja reached farther up the trunk and cut one of the vines.

Here goes nothing, she thought.

She held the cut vine over her mouth and almost instantly, a stream of water flowed out of the vine. Annja took a mouthful and despite the mossy taste, she thought it was delicious.

She gulped as much as she could. The effect seemed instantaneous. Her vision cleared and she felt better. She took as much water as she could and then slumped back into the hollow.

The sounds of her pursuers grew closer.

She could hear them now, their Tagalog dialect unfamiliar to her, but she could tell by the tone that they meant business. They sounded furious that she had escaped.

Annja risked looking out of her improvised shelter and down on the ground. Several batches of leaves obscured her view, which made her feel somewhat more secure. If she had a hard time seeing them, they would have a hard time seeing her.

Two men in green fatigues and backpacks scoured the ground. A third held back. All three were armed with AK-47s and pistols.

They seemed to be stopping every few feet, checking the ground and then continuing along.

They’re looking for ground sign, Annja thought. If she hadn’t been careful enough, they would see where she’d left the ground and climbed into the trees. She found herself praying that they weren’t used to this jungle any more than she was.

She heard another clang as the lead scout moved away from her tree, hacking into a fresh batch of jungle. The two other men followed, still chattering away to themselves.

Annja sighed. She was safe.

At least for the time being.

But where was Agamemnon? He didn’t seem the type to give up so easily. And Annja knew that he was probably insulted that she had managed to escape. She wasn’t sure if Filipino men were like Latin men, who took such things as an affront to their masculinity. They’d pursue Annja even if every bit of reason demanded otherwise.

Annja licked her lips.

More bugs buzzed in her ears. The mosquitoes would be terrible tonight unless she figured out how to ward them off. She wasn’t exactly prepared with a good medical kit full of antimalarial medicine.

She scampered around her tree and tried to look off into the distance. If she could get a bearing for some area that was clear and out of the jungle, she’d be on her way back to civilization.

She looked off in all directions, but could see utterly nothing.

Damn.

Annja slumped back into her hiding spot and took stock of her situation. Soon enough, it would be night. She’d need a shelter. In the jungle, there are always two rains a day and she was overdue.

Combined with the heat and the bugs, Annja knew she was in for a rough night if she couldn’t find a way to make herself more comfortable.

A fire would keep the bugs away, but it would also alert her pursuers to her presence. She couldn’t take a chance that they would track her. If they brought Annja back to the camp, she had no doubt that Agamemnon would give her no quarter. She’d be killed immediately.

Annja made her way out of the nook in the tree and slid down the vines to the jungle floor. She summoned her sword and cut two more lengths of vines, this time letting one of them pour its water into the ground, making it muddy.

Then she knelt and kneaded the dirt into a pasty black mud that she used to smear all over her skin. She started with her face and neck and hair, caking on the dirt until she felt sure she’d covered herself well.

Annja worked her way up and down her arms and legs, smearing any part of her exposed skin and working the mud into any areas that might come uncovered. Then she worked the mud all over her clothes.

When she was done, Annja found a fresh patch of ground covered in leafy debris. She lay down and rolled back and forth several times, working all manner of dead leaves, bits of vines and twigs into her makeshift camouflage.

Annja stood back up and tried to imagine how she looked. Most likely she probably resembled some bizarre swamp creature. But if she was going to get out of this situation alive, she had to ignore her desire to be clean. She had to give herself over to her primal self, rely on her instincts and keep one step ahead of her pursuers.

She knelt back by the buttress tree and cut more vines. Annja drank down as much water as she could. She’d move on quickly, so she wasn’t particularly concerned about leaving signs. Anyone with half a brain would be able to see that someone had been active in this immediate area. A few more cut vines wouldn’t compromise her any more than her camouflaging activity would.

But now where?

Annja stayed low to the ground. She could follow the men chasing her; they were leaving enough of a trail to do so. But if she did that, there was a chance she would walk into an ambush.

Her better option was to strike out on her own, in a direction that took her away from the terrorist camp and away from her pursuers.

Left or right? she wondered.

Annja closed her eyes and checked each direction against her gut instinct. She opened her eyes and frowned. Neither direction had produced the sense of relief that normally told her she was on the right track.

It was going to have to be a pure guess.

Right it is, she decided.

She moved off, keeping herself in a stealthy crouch that she knew would tax her quadriceps but would keep her profile low. The last thing she wanted was to present an easy target someone could take a shot at if she was heard.

With her sword stowed safely away, Annja took her time moving vines and branches out of the way. She ran into scores of thick spiderwebs, each with a very annoyed owner. Annja hadn’t read up enough on the tropical varieties of spiders, but didn’t want to start thinking about how many poisonous creatures scampered all around her.

Just keep moving, she told herself. Eventually, she would find her way out.

She hoped.

A sudden burst of high-pitched, purring bleeps surrounded her. For a moment, Annja froze, halfway to closing her eyes and calling the sword back out.

Then she smiled with recognition. Her friend from England had called them “basher-out beetles.” It was the jungle’s way of announcing that it would be nighttime soon enough.

She heard a rumble overhead.

A steady deluge erupted and streamed down through the canopy, soaking her and causing a good deal of her camouflage to drip off. Annja opened her mouth and caught a few mouthfuls of rainwater.

The good thing was that at least her pursuers would have to endure the jungle just as much as she did.

Annja found her way to another tree and maneuvered her way up into the thick branches. As the rain continued to drum down from the heavens, she cut a few vines and sucked them dry. Then she tried weaving them into a makeshift cover for herself.

When she was done, she positioned it over her head.

It wasn’t great, she decided, but it did keep some of the rain off her.

Annja nestled herself into the trunk and leaned her head against the wet bark. She could smell more things than she’d ever smelled before. It was as if someone had cranked up her olfactory sense to eleven. She could smell the leaves, the trees, the dirt and the bugs; virtually everything around her had a scent that was at once peculiar and familiar.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had begun, like someone turning off a faucet.

Already twilight was giving way to pitch darkness.

Annja felt relieved that she was at least off of the ground. Her friend in British special forces had once told her that staying off the floor in the jungle was paramount to surviving. At night, the jungle floor became a superhighway for every insect, rodent, reptile and creature that made its home in the jungle.

If Annja stayed on the ground, she would be bitten by thousands of things that she’d be better off avoiding.

The best shelter she could take was up in the trees.

She wondered if there were pumas in the jungles of the Philippines. She didn’t think so. Or, at least, she hoped there weren’t.

But what about snakes?

Annja worked her way around until her back was settled comfortably in the crook of the tree. I can’t think about that now, she decided. I just have to try to endure this for as long as it takes for me to get out of here alive.

And when she did, she’d make it her business to tell everyone about Agamemnon and his merry band of terrorist scumbags.

5

Annja awoke to gunfire. A single shot at first. Then she counted off a series of semiautomatic shots followed by intermittent automatic gun blasts. From the sound of it, there was a bit of a pitched battle going on some distance away.

Annja peered out into the darkness, which seemed as thick as the air itself. All around her, the jungle croaked, buzzed and whined with the calls of animals out on their nocturnal forays. Annja’s muddy mosquito repellent seemed to have done its job at least somewhat. There were still squadrons of buzzing mosquitoes about her head, but they didn’t seem able to penetrate the thick cover of her muddy hair.

At least there’s a chance I won’t get malaria, she thought with a grin.

The gunfire stopped. But the animals of the jungle simply carried on. Annja frowned. They should have quieted as soon as the bullets started flying, but they didn’t. That meant they must be used to the violence that sometimes erupted in this part of the Philippines.

Wherever this part was, exactly.

Annja stretched and tried to work a kink out of her back. It was going to be tough finding any degree of comfort in a place like this. She closed her eyes and imagined what it would feel like to sink into a tub of hot steamy bubbles, lounging for hours until every one of her pores had given up the very last remnants of the jungle mud and grime.

She almost moaned but stopped herself. The jungle around her might still contain a few surprises. For all she knew, Agamemnon might have told his men to fire their guns in the hope Annja would run in the opposite direction. Right into his waiting arms.

Fat chance, jack, she thought. She’d been around the block a few times and knew how things worked. And she was most definitely not interested in the prospect of losing her head to some megalomaniac.

She relaxed her breathing and her muscles. She knew she needed a lot of rest if she was going to try to get out of here in the morning. Her plan was simple. She’d get up at first light and cover as much ground as possible.

If she could find a small river, she’d follow it downstream until it merged with a bigger river and then that would eventually run right out to the ocean. It was survival 101. Once she got to the coast, she’d be able to find someone who could help her.

She hoped.

The problem with Abu Sayyaf was that they had a lot of local support in the poorer areas of the Philippines. Many of the local villages and towns would readily give them money and supplies to help their cause.

That meant Annja might find herself being handed right back to Agamemnon.

She’d have to proceed carefully.

Still, her plan seemed sound. Find the water and follow it. Simple and easy. But she wasn’t stupid. She knew there was a good chance that Agamemnon would position a lot of his men along the riverbanks in the hopes that Annja would do exactly that.

But what choice do I have? she wondered. There’s no way I’ll find my way out of here unless I use the water.

With that in mind, she felt herself drift off into a light sleep. She woke every hour or so, shifted position and then dozed off again, only to awaken roughly hours later when it was still quite dark.

“Ugh.”

She sighed and shifted position. For some reason, she felt uneasy. More so than she had when she’d first run into the jungle.

She peered over the edge of the tree and searched the darkness. There was little ambient light to use, so Annja couldn’t make out very much detail with her eyes, even when she peered at things using her peripheral vision.

But she could sense something moving in the darkness, something that didn’t seem so much dangerous as simply out of place with the flow of the jungle around them. The animals seemed to have taken little notice of it and continued buzzing and chirping and clicking their way through the night.

But Annja felt it.

She heard a vague rustle off to her left somewhere. It seemed a microsecond out of the timing of the rest of the noises, as if someone had jumped their cue to move.

She was sure it had to be a person.

But was it one of Agamemnon’s men? Or someone else?

Annja frowned. Who would go wandering around the jungle this late at night? Especially one as dangerous as this? The sound of gunfire would certainly travel for miles, and surely, the local villagers knew enough to stay clear of the jungle if they wanted to stay on Agamemnon’s good side.

Another rustle sounded closer to her. Whatever it was, it was definitely moving toward her location.

Annja closed her eyes and saw the sword hovering just in case she needed it. But even as Annja felt the glow of its security, she knew she wouldn’t need it for this particular situation.

She had the distinct impression that whoever was moving through the undergrowth below her was friendly.

Or at the very least, an ally.

Annja shifted her position so she could see over the edge of the tree. Her body seemed to know the direction the person must have been taking. Annja leaned farther out of the edge of the tree, her fingers slowly walking toward the last outcropping of branches.

Suddenly she found herself leaning too far, felt her weight shift on the wet vines and her balance vanish as she toppled out of the tree.

Annja tried to pivot in midair, but knew she wasn’t high enough to pull off the move. She felt the rush of air—briefly—and then the dull hard thud of impact along her back.

The wind rushed out of her lungs and Annja lay there a moment, stunned.

She tried to sit up, but felt a piece of metal jammed under her chin. A harsh voice broke the night air.

“Don’t move.”

Annja froze. “I’m no threat to you,” she said calmly.

She looked up and saw a vague outline, like a giant blob of leaves and branches, hovering over her. The gun barrel that was aimed at her looked real enough, even in the darkness.

“Who are you?” the man asked.

Annja eased herself up, trying to breathe her way through the pain that shot up and down her spine. She didn’t think anything was broken, but she’d be feeling those bruises for a while. Luckily, she seemed to have landed in thick leaf litter.

“My name is Annja Creed. The Abu Sayyaf kidnapped me several days ago. I have no idea where I am.”

The gun barrel didn’t move. “Kidnapped?”

“That’s right.”

“I didn’t hear anything about a kidnapping.”

Annja frowned. “Great. So much for the cavalry coming to my rescue.”

The shape shifted. “Doesn’t seem like you need them that much right now anyway. You obviously escaped.”

“The camp, yeah. But I have no way of getting out of here,” she said.

The gun barrel lowered. “You look okay. Seems like you’ve been getting enough water.”

“Tube vines,” Annja said.

“Good choice. And your camo looks pretty good. You look like a cousin of Bigfoot.”

Annja smirked. “I won’t win any beauty contests this way, but it keeps the mosquitoes off of me. At least temporarily.”

“Who taught you how to survive in the jungle?”

Annja shrugged. “I’ve had some friends in the military over the years. I picked up bits and pieces of what they used to talk about.”

“Well, it’s kept you alive, that’s for sure.”

Annja looked at the mass before her. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You just passing through these parts?”

There was a low chuckle. One of the shape’s hands reached up and slid back part of the mess that covered him. Annja could just make out the heavily camouflaged face that emerged from under a thick suit of burlap, grease paint, grass and leaves.

“Gunnery Sergeant Vic Gutierrez, United States Marine Corps. At your service.”

Annja pointed at his outfit. “You sure know how to dress for a party, Sergeant.”

“This here would be my Ghillie suit, ma’am. And it does a wonder keeping the bad guys from finding me.”

Annja looked out into the jungle. “Were you the cause of all that gunfire I heard a short time back?”

“Guilty as charged. They seemed a bit upset that I shot one of their superiors.”

“Not a guy named Agamemnon, by any chance, was it?” Annja asked.

The soldier shook his head. “I wish. He’s my primary target on this op, but I haven’t seen him yet.”

“Well, when you do, please be sure to give him my regards, would you?”

“Sure thing. He a friend of yours?”

“Best buddy, actually. So much so he wants to cut my head off.”

The soldier shook his head. “Sick bastard. We’ve had him on the radar for some time now, but only just got the green light to come in and take him out.”

“So you’re with special operations?” Annja asked.

He nodded. “A couple of us got assigned to do some deep jungle penetrations. Solo ops. No spotters, no backup. Just a man and his rifle alone in the jungle. The belief was no one would ever expect us to go in alone. Hell, I don’t even have a radio with me. Just a couple of exfiltration times. I miss one, they come back two more times. I miss those, they presume me dead.”

Annja blinked. “That’s exactly the kind of assignment I’d expect most men to jump for.”

He smiled. “Well, I don’t exactly have the kind of workday that most men would pick for themselves. There ain’t a lot holding me to this life, if you get my drift. This thing seemed like the perfect chance to get alone with my thoughts while I did some valuable trash removal for the country.”

“Interesting euphemism.”

“Ma’am?”

“‘Trash removal.’ And please call me Annja. You keep saying ‘ma’am,’ and it makes me feel old.”

“In that case, just call me Vic.”

Annja nodded. “You have any food there, Vic? I’m starving.”

He nodded. “Sure do. But first, I want to get us out of here. I have the feeling they might start combing this part of the jungle for me soon. They seemed pretty determined back there.”

“How did you get away?”

Vic smiled. “Part of the training, Annja. And with this Ghillie suit, I can slip away into the darkness pretty easily. I’m surprised you heard me coming.”

“I didn’t so much hear you…”

“Felt it, huh?”

Annja nodded. “Yeah, actually.”

Vic grinned. “Don’t look so surprised. Sometimes out here, a feeling’s all you’ve got. And plenty of us know that if you don’t trust your instincts, you’ll end up dead.”

Vic held out his hand and Annja grabbed it. He pulled her to her feet. “You okay? That was quite the fall you took out of that tree.”

“I’m all right,” she said.

Vic looked her up and down. “Yeah, I suppose you are.”

Annja smiled. “So, where to now?”

Vic pointed. “I’ve got a hidey hole two klicks east of here.”

“Is it safe?” Annja asked.

Vic looked around. “Well, ‘safe’ is a bit of a variable around these parts, but it’s about as safe as you can get. And once we’re there, we can eat, get some more water and then work on how we’re going to get you out of here.”

Annja smiled. “Now that sounds like a plan.”

6

Agamemnon crouched over the radio, listening to the chaos on the other end crackle out through his speakers. His heart hammered in his chest and he felt as if someone had just kicked him square in the crotch.

He keyed the microphone. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yes, sir.”

“There’s nothing that could be done?”

There was a pause and the delay caused Agamemnon to stab the key button again. “Answer me, dammit!”

“I’m sorry, sir. The doctor did the best he could, but the bullet entered his head right between the eyes and just dropped him. There was no exit wound. According to the doctor, the round must have tumbled around inside his head, killing him instantly.”

Agamemnon slumped back into the swivel chair. The old rusted springs creaked in protest. Agamemnon felt the air surge out of him, leaving him deflated.

Luis was dead.

I just spoke with him a short time ago, he thought. Everything was set for tomorrow. Everything they’d worked so hard to achieve. Now, it was all evaporating right in front of him.

He leaned forward and keyed the microphone again. “Who did it?”

“We don’t know. The shot came from the jungle. Possibly, it was a sniper. That’s what we think it was.”

“You have men out there now looking for him?”

“No.”

Agamemnon frowned. “Why on earth not?”

“It’s night, sir. Our men would never find him in the dark. Worse, they might get lost and we’d have to send out more men. Plus, we weren’t sure what you would want us to do given the scope of our operation tomorrow.”

Agamemnon chewed his lip. “Send out a squad of your best and most experienced men. I want the sniper found. And I want him dead,” he ordered.

“And tomorrow?”

“Everything is on hold until we can determine if this killing was due to a leak of our plans to the enemy. If it was, then we’d be fools to go through with it right now. We could be walking into an ambush. And I don’t intend to lose the one thing that can level the playing field.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Report back when you have the sniper’s body.”

“Very good, sir.”

“But before you kill him…”

“Yes?”

“I want him tortured. I want to know who he is and why he was assigned to kill Luis. We need to know the extent of what our enemies know about our plans. If they know anything at all.”

“I understand, sir.”

Agamemnon was about to disconnect when he thought better of it and keyed the microphone again. “What’s your name?”

“Eduardo, sir.”

“Good.” He switched off the microphone.

The connection broken, Agamemnon slumped back in the chair again. He supposed being a leader meant somehow managing to keep his people focused even in the face of adversity like this.

But losing Luis was a tough blow. Agamemnon, as much as he manipulated his people for his own purposes, still had a great deal of respect and trust for Luis. He’d kept him close, entrusting him with tomorrow’s operation.

Now he would have to find a suitable replacement.

And soon.

A loss, even a small one like Luis, had to be filled or else his people would think Agamemnon had lost his edge, his ability to function in the face of a crushing loss.

We’ll see how well Eduardo does with his quest for the sniper. Perhaps if he is successful with that task, then he might make a suitable replacement for Luis. He’d already shown prudence by not sending out his entire force to get the sniper. He had to have something kicking around in his skull. Most people would have panicked and emptied the camp.

Eduardo at the very least seemed to understand the greater good.

He studied the map of this area of Mindanao. The jungle grew thick and impenetrable around these parts, which was why Agamemnon had chosen it as their base of operations. Most of his people had grown up in the area and knew the jungle well.

A thought occurred to him then. Perhaps the sniper was the American woman he’d almost killed earlier.

“That’s impossible,” he said aloud.

She would have had to kill one of his men and gotten their weapon. And then she would have had to cross the jungle to the other camp, get herself into position and then figure out a good kill shot on Luis.

Agamemnon shook his head. There was no way she could have done that. Annja Creed wanted nothing more than to get out of the jungle and find her way home with her head still intact.

No, the sniper was someone else.

He sighed. He knew that the American military had sent a lot of its special-operations commandos into the Philippines, ostensibly to help an ally, but also to hunt down al Qaeda operatives. And Abu Sayyaf, with its feelers extended to other radical Islamic fundamentalist groups, was a logical target choice for the roving Yankees.

Perhaps one of their famed snipers was on the prowl now in Agamemnon’s jungle.

He took a drink of the water in front of him and then replaced his glass. He would have to find out who was causing this disturbance.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. Tomorrow was supposed to mark the greatest event in Abu Sayyaf’s tortured history. Tomorrow they would have unleashed hell on the government scum that ran the country. The masses would have woken up out of their poverty-induced slumber, risen up and overthrown the fat cats who had their fingers in everything.

No more.

Agamemnon rose from his chair. The pause in the operation would be temporary. Just long enough for Eduardo to find the sniper. Once he did that, Agamemnon had little doubt that his potential Luis-replacement would exact great pain and suffering in his quest to find out all the sniper knew.

Not that Agamemnon expected to learn all that much. He was a realist, after all, at least in some matters. He knew the soldiers in the field generally had little knowledge beyond what their assignments were. If Luis had been the target, then the sniper may not know the reason why, just that he had to be killed.

Still, he would not discourage Eduardo from attempting to find out more than that. Agamemnon knew that Luis had been loved and respected by his men. They would feel his loss hard.

And they’d want revenge.

Agamemnon stabbed his finger into the jungle map. “I hope wherever you are, you are well hidden.”

The curtains by the entrance to his hut suddenly parted. One of his men entered the hut, sweat covering his face. Agamemnon could see the dark stains around his uniform. He’d clearly exhausted himself.

“Report.”

The man tried to come to attention, but could barely manage it. “Sir.”

“Did you find her?”

“No, sir.”

Agamemnon frowned. “Did you find anything?”

“Tracks. She’d hidden in a tree. She seems to have a working knowledge of the jungle.”

“What in the world does that mean?”

The soldier coughed, but somehow maintained his composure. “We found tube vines. Cut. She knows how to get water.”

Agamemnon shrugged. “So she knows how to stay hydrated. That doesn’t concern me. And you’ve hunted enough people in the jungle to know they don’t always last that long. Even if they get a promising start.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your men have all returned?”

“We needed more supplies, sir. In order to hunt her properly, we had to come back.”

Agamemnon quelled his displeasure. The rush to get them into the jungle earlier had been too impulsive. He looked at the soldier and then offered him the remaining water in his glass.

“Drink it, and then go get yourself cleaned up.”

The soldier gulped down the water. “Thank you, sir.”

“Get your men squared away. Food and baths and then get some sleep. I want you back out there first thing in the morning. And this time, I don’t expect you to come back unless you have the body of the American woman with you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go now. Rest well.”

The soldier turned and exited the hut. Agamemnon walked to the red plaid recliner he’d had brought into the camp some months ago. The cloth fabric was already beginning to deteriorate in the intense humidity of the jungle air, but Agamemnon loved it anyway. The Americans made the most comfortable furniture.

He kicked his feet up and felt the footstool come up under them.

Today had not gone well.

And certainly, tomorrow was now compromised.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. He could feel his heart slow as he inhaled and exhaled in slow, steady time.

A slight breeze washed over him and he cracked his eyes. Marta, his personal assistant, stood before him.

“Sir?”

“What is it?”

“You’ve missed dinner. Would you like me to bring you a plate of something?”

“Is there any adobo left?”

She smiled. Even at her advanced age, Marta could cook circles around most of the chefs in Manila. “I think I might have saved some for you. Just in case.”

Agamemnon closed his eyes. “You’re too good to me, Marta. And I sometimes wonder why you choose to stay here. You could live a luxurious life anywhere you wanted with your kitchen skills.”

“You are a great man. And I have chosen my place well,” she said.

“Very well, then. I would love some of your adobo.”

“Yes, sir.”

But she didn’t leave. Agamemnon opened his eyes again. “Is there something else?”

She smiled. “It’s just I thought you might like something after dinner, as well.”

“After dinner?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Marta turned and with her withered hands, clapped twice. The curtains parted again as two young girls entered the hut.

Agamemnon could see them trembling. They didn’t look much older than sixteen, and their light skin marked them as coming from the north. Perhaps from the cities. He could see a few light bruises from where they’d been roughed up by their handlers.

“Where are they from?”

“Bagiuo.”

Agamemnon smiled. “They’re a long way from home.”

“They are the daughters of a spoiled landowner.”

Agamemnon grinned. “Careful, Marta. You betray your past with statements like that.”

She bowed her head. “Forgive me, sir.”

Agamemnon waved the girls over. They walked tentatively toward him. “They’ve been trained well,” Agamemnon said.

Marta nodded. “They know their place.”

“And what is expected of them?”

Marta nodded. “Without question.”

Agamemnon smiled and waved Marta out of the hut. “Perhaps I’ll have my dessert first tonight.”

7

Annja had trouble following Vic through the jungle. He seemed to move like a ghost, intuitively knowing where the biggest tangles of vines were and how to get past them without disturbing anything. And while he carried a fair amount of equipment, he made almost no noise as he moved. In contrast, the night jungle was full of all sorts of animal noises. Annja found herself constantly swatting away the squadrons of mosquitoes that could apparently sense her mud shield was wearing away.

Only after they’d traveled a mile or so from Annja’s hiding spot in the tree did Vic signal for a water break. He handed his canteen to Annja, who eagerly gulped down the foul-tasting water.

Vic noticed the look on her face and smiled. “The sterilization tablets still don’t do a thing for the taste, but I can’t be picky about it. As long as it keeps me hydrated and all.”

Annja tried to grin. “I’ve heard there are better devices on the market now.”

“Sure, but you have to take time to use them. I don’t have time. So I fill up, drop two tabs into the water, and then my movement alone mixes them up and by the time I stop, I can just go ahead and drink.”

“I suppose,” Annja said.

He took the canteen and helped himself to a long swig. “In my line of work, the less time spent on the smaller stuff is more time spent on completing my mission.”

“What was your mission?” Annja asked.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and shook his head. “That’s classified.”

“You obviously killed someone,” she said.

He looked at her. “You think?”

Now it was Annja’s turn to grin. “You’re a lone sniper in the jungles of the Philippines. And knowing what I now know about this godforsaken area, this is a hotbed of Abu Sayyaf activity.”

“I could be out on a training assignment.”

“Right,” Annja said. “And you accidentally shot someone.”

Vic looked off into the jungle. “We should keep moving. It’ll be light in another hour or so. I want us bedded down and concealed prior to dawn. That’s when they’ll come looking for us.”

“You really think so?”

He nodded. “They can’t find anything right now. Night in the jungle isn’t the best time to be out in the bush. No, they’re back sleeping now. Resting. Tomorrow, in the full heat of the day, they’ll be out. And they’ll be hunting us with a gusto.”

“Because of who you killed?” she asked.

Vic nodded. “Yes.”

He turned and slipped off into the jungle. Annja followed him.

They traveled another mile before Vic slowed and started making frequent stops. He seemed to be checking his bearings quite a bit more than he had earlier. Annja guessed they must be close to his hiding spot.

At last, he cleared away a dense outcropping of twisted vines and dead tree trunks. Annja heard a rustling that sounded like a thousand tiny jaws eating through wood.

“Ugh.”

“What?” she asked.

Vic pointed. “The ants have found my hole.”

He brought out a small flashlight outfitted with a red lens and flashed it down into what appeared to be a six-foot wide hole. Annja watched as waves of ants scampered over bags of equipment.

“Great,” Annja said.

Vic looked at her. “Cardinal rule in the jungle is don’t sleep on the floor. The bugs will get you. Plus, the scorpions and snakes. But sometimes, you’ve got no choice. And the people hunting you will presume you’re off the ground. So they spend a lot of time looking in trees.”

“So you did the opposite.”

Vic shrugged. “I’ve got liners that I’ve used in the past and they’ve kept me pretty comfortable. I never recommend sleeping on the jungle floor, though.”

Annja watched as another wave of ants seemed to crest and then fall all over the contents of the hole. Vic leaned in and hefted one of the bags. Ants by the dozens fell off it.

“Hungry?” he asked.

Annja looked at the ants and then at the bag. “Starving,” she said. Vic nodded and reached inside. Annja heard a zipper being drawn down and a second later, Vic handed her a small cardboard box.

“Spaghetti okay?”

Annja tore into the box and then into the plastic bag filled with noodles, sauce and small meatballs. She didn’t care that it wasn’t served hot. The food tasted amazing.

Vic helped himself to another box and leaned against a tree as he ate. “Make sure you don’t leave any bits of that box on the floor. They’ll have trackers with them. Any sign and they’ll find it.”

Annja swallowed and nodded. “How long have you been working in the jungle?” she asked.

Vic shrugged. “My whole life it feels like. I was born in Panama. I grew up around stuff like this. I guess it feels like home to me. I never did enjoy doing stuff in the snow.”

“You were in the snow, too?”

He frowned. “Yeah. Winter training. I hated it. I’m a natural in the jungle, but the snow? Forget it. I freeze in that stuff. Doesn’t matter how much gear I’ve got with me.”

“How long have you been here?”

“The jungle, a week. I’ve been in country for about two months. Getting ready for this assignment.”

“It’s a big one?” she asked.

Vic nodded. “The biggest, I guess you could say.”

“Are Abu Sayyaf really so bad that they warrant an American sniper stalking them through the jungle?”

Vic swallowed a gulp of his dinner and washed it down with a swig of water from his canteen. He set his spoon down and looked at Annja. “I don’t ask a lot of questions. My job is pretty simple. It suits me. I could never handle a complicated lifestyle, you know? That’s just who I am,” he said.

“No shame in it,” Annja replied.

“Of course not. How many people you know go through their lives trying to be something they’re not? Christ, society puts all these labels on everyone, you know? If you’re not married with kids by the time you’re thirty, you’re some kind of failure. My question is, according to who? Do I really give a rat’s ass about what the people are doing next door in their four bedroom two-and-a-half-bath Colonial on a half-acre parcel with the minivan and sedan in the garage?”

“Do you?” Annja asked.

“Not one freaking bit.” Vic looked up. “This is my home. This is my life. Things get easier once you’re honest with yourself about what makes you tick. It’s just a matter of being able to look into a mirror and not be terrified at what’s staring you back in the face.”

Annja sucked another strand of spaghetti into her mouth. “A lot of people, they wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Sure. They can’t.”

“But you can.”

“I don’t ask questions above my pay grade. I’ve found that if I just do my job, everyone’s happier. Most of all me.”

“So you don’t know what Abu Sayyaf have planned?”

Vic frowned. “You don’t give up very easily, do you?”

“I’ve been told I’m a bit stubborn,” she said.

“That’s a fair assessment.” Vic ate another bite of his dinner. “So, who are you anyway? There’s something about you that seems familiar. But I can’t quite place it.”

Annja smirked. “I look like Sasquatch right now and you think I’m familiar to you somehow?”

Vic shook his head. “It’s not the look. It’s the mannerisms.”

“I’m a journalist of sorts. I work for a show called Chasing History’s Monsters. ”

“Yeah, okay. I remember that now.” He frowned.

Annja held up her hand. “No, I’m not that host.”

Vic nodded. “You don’t look the type who would lose her top on a televised show.”

“I’m not.”

“Good. At least that means I’m not being saddled with an idiot,” he said.

Annja laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

Vic finished his dinner and Annja watched him wrap everything up, stuff it back into the cardboard box and then put that into his pack.

Annja did the same and then handed it to Vic. In exchange, he handed her a quart-sized plastic storage bag.

Annja held it up. “What’s this for?”

“Number two.”

“Excuse me?”

Vic stood up. “Look, I know this isn’t exactly going to be your idea of a dream date, but there’s a simple rule I live and survive by—leave no sign.”

“You mentioned that already,” Annja said, realizing where the conversation was going.

Vic nodded. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t just apply to dinner. It applies to everything. You have to crap, you do it in that bag I just handed you. Then you tie a knot in it and bring it back to me.”

“I never figured you for a collector,” Annja said.

Vic sighed. “It goes in the bag along with everything else. We can’t leave anything behind. If you take a dump out here, the animals will know about it and the bugs will swarm all over it. A tracker will see and hear all that activity and know he’s on the right trail.”

“What about if I have to pee?”

“Well, we’re a bit short on jerry cans, which is what we’d normally use—”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m absolutely serious. On a normal op, we’d patrol in with empties and on the way out, we’d haul our full cans with us.”

“Great life you got there, Vic,” Annja said with a chuckle.

Vic pointed out into the jungle. “As I was saying, if you have to go, walk out about ten yards—no more or you’ll get lost—and find a dead log. Pee under that and then cover it up with the same dead log. It’s not a great method, but it will minimize bug activity.”

Annja sighed. “All right.”

Vic frowned. “There’s one more thing.”

“Do I want to know?” she asked.

“We don’t have any toilet paper.”

Annja looked at him. “Are you kidding?”

“Nope.”

“How—?”

“If you really need to—”

“If I really need to? What the hell kind of statement is that?”

Vic shook his head. “Like I said, this isn’t home, Annja. You’d be surprised what you can do without out here in the bush. If you really need to, use a leaf and make sure you put that in the bag, too.”

“A leaf.”

“Preferably one that doesn’t have bugs or fungus on it. You don’t want to deal with that.”

“A leaf,” Annja said. She was used to primitive life on archaeological digs, but this was pretty extreme.

Vic smiled. “Jungle living isn’t too bad, believe it or not. But you do have to make certain sacrifices. Once you do, you’ll find it’s much easier to get by. You might even grow to like it out here.”

“Fat chance of that,” Annja muttered.

“Well, it is an acquired taste.”

“I don’t think I want to acquire it at all. I just want to survive long enough to get the hell out of here and go home.”

Vic nodded. “Simple enough request. Let’s see if we can make it happen.”

Annja sighed. “All right.”

Vic waved the flashlight over his hole. “There, now, see the ants have moved on already.”

“Where did they go?”

Vic shrugged. “I don’t know. Don’t really care, either. As long as they’re not in the hole with us, that’s all that matters.”

“We’re sleeping in there?”

“’Fraid so.”

“But I thought we had to get off the ground. Won’t the bugs gets us?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“And you don’t mind?”

“A few bug bites are always preferable to the other alternative.”

“Which is what?”

Vic looked at her. “Being captured and beheaded by your Abu Sayyaf buddies.”

8

Annja slept fitfully.

Throughout the night, she had to contend with an airborne armada of mosquitoes that seemed all too willing to brave the gauntlet of mosquito repellent that Vic had caked them both in for a shot at some of Annja’s blood. She grew tired of swatting at the incessant buzzers and eventually figured out that if she tried to remain as motionless as possible under the cover of the hidey-hole, she was better off.

She glanced over at Vic as the hours passed. He seemed to be resting quite well in contrast to Annja’s situation. She chalked it up to his being more used to operating in this type of environment than she was. Plus, he had the advantage of layers of camo cream and mosquito repellent on his skin. Any of the bloodsuckers trying to pierce that might end up with a broken proboscis.

Annja watched his eyelids flutter, indicating he was deeply asleep. She’d asked earlier if maybe they should take turns sleeping while the other stood watch, but Vic had disagreed. According to him, there was little chance they’d be stalked at night. And in the morning, they had to move at first light if they hoped to stay ahead of their pursuers. Better, he said, to get as much rest as possible and then be ready to go.

Easier said than done, Annja thought. And just who is this guy I’m sleeping in such close proximity to, anyway? He’s obviously incredibly dangerous, at least with his rifle. And he’s no doubt killed more than his share of people.

Annja grinned. Not exactly new ground I’m traveling here, she thought. She’d been keeping company with the killer elite for more time than she cared to recall.

She knew little about the world of snipers, only that they were a select group of men trained to be able to see their targets up close, watch them through a microscope and then kill them without getting emotionally involved. They had to be able to place a bullet in a kill zone while anticipating movement, predicting windage, figuring out exact ranges and more. And they had to get into and out of position without being detected.

One shot, one kill.

Annja marveled at the picture of composure sleeping next to her. Vic made no noise while he slept. It was as if he’d trained himself not to snore or even draw heavy breaths while he rested. And despite the bugs that landed on him while he slept, Vic showed no signs their presence even registered in his conscious or subconscious mind.

Interesting.

Annja tried to take a cue from him, closing her eyes and placing herself someplace else. She imagined a beach far off in some tropical resort where the crashing waves lulled her to sleep against a backdrop of sugar-white sand as the warm sun’s rays toasted her skin.

Her dream was shattered by another wave of buzzing near her ear. Annja swatted at the intruder and felt the bug’s body come apart in her hands. She wiped it on her pants and then drifted back off, happy with her small victory.

Vic’s hand on her shoulder woke her a minute later.

Annja cracked her eyes and saw that she’d actually managed to sleep for longer than she thought. The canopy had begun to lighten and she could make out a few more details now than when they’d come here during the night.

“You sleep?” he asked.

Annja stretched as much as she could given the confines of the hole. “I guess. Not nearly enough.”

Vic poked his head out of the cover and looked around. “Well, some is better than none. Even if it feels like you got nothing, you probably did. And a little bit goes a long way around these parts.”

“It’d be nice to sleep in,” Annja said.

Vic glanced at her. “You can sleep when you’re dead.”

She smiled. “Good morning to you, too.”

Vic took a swig of water and then handed the canteen to Annja. “That’s something an instructor said to me one time. During training, we had to go for extended periods without much sleep. At first, it was a novelty, but eventually you wonder just what the hell you’re doing.”

“But you did it anyway.”

“Had to,” Vic said. “I wouldn’t have passed the course without going through it. But when you’re dead tired, you long to close your eyes more than any other desire. I’ve been hungry and thirsty like you don’t know, but the sleep thing hit me hardest.”

Annja helped herself to the canteen again. “How’d you come to terms with it?”

Vic shrugged. “I just did. I know now that I can go a lot further than I thought on precious little rest.” He winked at Annja. “I don’t recommend it, however. A lack of sleep compromises your immune system, opens you up to sickness and it clouds your ability to make good decisions.”

“You didn’t seem to have any trouble sleeping last night,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, well, that was the next part of the training. We learned how to steal sleep anywhere. Even with artillery shells bursting around us, the ground thundering as they hit. Bullets? No sweat. As long as we were tucked in our holes, we learned how to pass the night in blissful slumber.”

Annja handed him the canteen. “So, now that you’ve told me all about your stint as a tour guide in the Land of Nod, how about telling me where we’re heading?”

Vic broke out another cardboard ration box and handed it to Annja. “Forced march. We need to cover six klicks if you want to spend the night someplace a lot more comfortable than another hidey-hole.”

Annja tore into the breakfast of ham stew, chewing the dense meal. “Six klicks is a helluva lot of country to cover in thick jungle.”

Vic nodded. “Sure is.”

“You think I can do it?”

He laughed. “Well, you know, you’ve got a pretty strong motivational factor going for you.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, if you don’t hold your own, I’ll leave you behind. These woods are about to turn ugly on me, as well. The people I pissed off last night will be out in force looking for yours truly. I’m not hanging around any longer than I have to.”

“You’d leave me behind?” Annja asked.

“In a heartbeat, sister. I’ve got my own agenda to play to. Sorry to break your heart and all.”

Annja frowned. “You’re not breaking my heart.”

Vic smiled. “Let’s get moving.”

Annja stood and rubbed on some more mosquito repellent. Vic hefted his rifle and then stopped. “Here.”

Annja turned. Vic held out a small-caliber pistol. “You know how to use one?”

Annja took the gun, dropped the magazine and racked the slide. As the bullet in the chamber spun out, she caught it in her hand. Then she topped off the magazine, rammed it home and racked the slide again.

“Yeah, I think I can handle it,” she said.

Vic pursed his lips. “You’re not exactly a damsel in distress, are you?”

Annja pointed out ahead of them into the dense jungle. “Just set the pace and don’t worry about me.”

Vic turned and broke down the hidey-hole, scattering the framework that concealed the hole and then filling in everything with deadfall, leaves and bits of dirt.

“As it gets hotter, the heat will help conceal our presence,” he said.

Annja slid the pistol into her belt. “You sure they won’t know we were here?”

“Oh, they’ll know. These people know this jungle like the backs of their hands. It’s only a matter of time.”

“You don’t seem worried,” she said.

Vic shrugged. “I’m a little new to the whole teamwork concept. Like I said, I normally come out here alone. I’ve been in plenty of tough spots before. I guess I’m not used to showing my fear on my face.”

“How long do we have?”

Vic checked his watch. “It’s 0500 now. I’ll give us maybe a forty-minute head start.”

“That’s it?”

“Hey, I let you sleep in.”

“What?”

Vic chuckled. “If it was up to me, we’d already be done with the first mile. But you spent so much of last night swatting mozzies, I figured you needed the extra time.”

“Just what time did you wake up?”

“Probably right after you finally fell asleep.”

Annja frowned. “Great.”

Vic strapped down his pack and unslung his rifle. “We move as fast as possible, but carefully. You follow my lead. And watch for any hand signals. If I motion to stop, freeze. And always keep your eyes peeled for the next bit of cover and concealment. Got it?”

“Aye, aye, captain.”

Vic aimed a finger at her. “Hey, look, I didn’t ask for this. As far as I’m concerned, you’re a bit of an unwelcome guest. I’m watching out for numero uno on this jaunt. I suggest you do the same.”

“Sorry,” Annja said.

“Forget it. It’s just the exfiltration is always the toughest part of any assignment. And—no offense—having you along has just complicated things tremendously.”

“I’ll hold my own, Vic. Just set the pace and let’s get hustling.”

Vic looked at her for another moment and then nodded. “All right. Any last-minute trips to the toilet before we go?”

Annja checked herself. Her stomach seemed to have clenched up. Vic must have noticed because he started chuckling again.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“That look.”

“What look?”

Vic pointed at her stomach. “The MRE look. The rations we carry are so dense that they almost block you up, if you get my drift.”

“You mean—?”

He nodded. “Yeah, you’ll be constipated for a few days, I’d expect.”

“Great.”

“It’s no biggie. Happens to everyone who eats those things. Best cure is some fresh food. Maybe a chocolate bar and a cup of coffee. That’ll clear you out once you get back to civilization.”

“This is some amazing lifestyle you’ve got for yourself here, Vic.”

“Ain’t it, though?”

Annja frowned again. “I was being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t,” he said with a grin.

“You really like it?”

Vic nodded. “Yep. I’m my own boss out here. As long as I complete my assignments, no one hassles me. I’m working in nature, having a ball and loving life. Not too many other people can say the same.”

“You’re killing people.”

Vic shook his head. “I’m killing monsters who kill innocent people. Far as I’m concerned, it’s justifiable. Even necessary.”

Annja shifted the pistol on her belt. “I guess it would be futile to argue with you.”

Vic leveled a finger at her. “Are you telling me you’ve never killed anyone before? I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?” Annja asked, shocked by the question.

“Because you’ve got the look,” he said.

“There’s a look?”

Vic shrugged. “I think so. People who have been close to death or even dealt some of their own have a certain expression that creeps over their face from time to time.”

“And you see it on my face?” she asked.

Vic smirked. “Well, not right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re filthy from all that mud you caked on yourself.”

Annja sighed. “You’re no prize yourself.”

Vic nodded. “Yeah, but I clean up real well.”

“I’ll bet.”

Vic pointed out to the jungle. “Let’s get moving.”

“Okay.”

“One more thing.”

Annja stopped. “What is it?”

“We go out in the bush, we don’t say a word. Sound travels out here, even with the thick canopy all around us. The last thing we want to do is make it easy for them to find us.”

“Understood.”

Vic looked at her for a final moment and then turned. Slowly, they began making their way back into the jungle.

9

Eduardo Archibald Gomez could not believe his luck.

Their great leader Agamemnon had radioed him and informed him that he was being tasked with the search for the mysterious sniper who had killed Luis in the night.

“I am placing great faith in your abilities, Eduardo,” Agamemnon had said.

Eduardo could barely contain his excitement. To be given this great a responsibility after only a year in the service of Abu Sayyaf was truly an incredible event. And it was one Eduardo took extremely seriously.

He had bowed toward the radio a moment before keying the microphone. “I swear to bring him back. Or I will not return.”

Then he had assembled the best men he knew in the camp. All of them wanted a piece of the action. Luis had been a kind and remarkable leader for their group. He had personally taken Eduardo under his wing and taught him the finer points of ambushes, shirtsleeve explosive formulas, improvised munitions and much more. To see him cut down with a single shot to the head last night had scared and infuriated Eduardo.

He looked toward the jungle. Somewhere out there was the man who had killed Luis. And he would prove a very competent quarry. Eduardo would need to be careful; otherwise the sniper would sense them coming and kill them all.

Eduardo had no intention of letting that happen.

He called forth a withered old man with a long, wispy, white beard. The old man was clothed only in the scantiest of rags, but apparently cared little about his state of dress.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

The old man nodded. “Leave me be for now. I will find the trail before long.” His voice sounded like a rock being scraped against moldy bark, and he smelled of a thousand layers of dirt, but Eduardo knew he was the best tracker in these parts. The old man had grown up in these jungles and knew every one of their secrets. Even around the campfire he spun odd tales of strange serpents and people who wandered into the deepest parts of the jungle never to return.

Eduardo and many of the others considered the old man strange. He’d simply shown up one day as they were building the camp. They hadn’t been able to get rid of him. Death threats didn’t sway him. He insisted he could be useful.

Eduardo nodded. “Very well, but you will need to report back to me within the hour or we will lose any time we might have gained with this early start.”

The old man bowed once and then seemed to slide right between two clusters of dense shrubs at the periphery of the camp. In another second, he had disappeared completely.

“He is a strange one,” the man behind Eduardo said.

Eduardo smiled. “How many times have I heard you say that, Miki?”

“Probably too many times. But I am not comfortable with the idea that this old man is responsible for leading us around the jungle. We have many other competent trackers that could do the same job.”

Eduardo shook his head. “No, there’s only one who knows the jungle as well as we need in order to fulfill our mission. And it’s that man.”

“So you say, Eduardo. But do you trust him yourself? He’s not really one of us, after all.”

“He has shown himself willing to lead us around the jungle in our search for the sniper. He saw the death last night, as well. Perhaps he knows it could have just as easily have been him that was felled by that single bullet.”

Miki frowned. “I don’t presume to understand his motivations for helping us. It is too dangerous to do so, I believe.”

“Be that as it may, Agamemnon has ordered us to find the sniper and bring him to justice—our justice. I intend to succeed in that mission. Only when we have the sniper will we be free to undertake the mission that Luis intended to launch.”

Miki sighed. Eduardo looked at him. They had been fast friends for many months now, their skills complementing each other on kidnapping missions and extortion runs. Eduardo felt a certain kinship with Miki and they both held the same rank, although with Agamemnon’s blessing, Eduardo was currently the man in charge of the camp.

Still, he wouldn’t let the rank go to his head. And he valued Miki’s opinion, even if it differed from his own.

“Don’t worry, my friend. The old man will not let us down. He knows what will happen to him if he does.”

“I don’t think he cares,” Miki said.

Eduardo waved his hand. “Regardless, how is the rest of the team? Are they prepared?”

Miki pointed at the four other men sitting on their haunches nearby. “They are anxious to go out.”

“As we all are.”

“But only four? Surely, that will not be enough to capture the gunman,” Miki said.

“I think it will, actually.”

“The others in camp are restless. They want to be involved in the capture just as much as everyone else. I think some of them feel left out by your decision to only use a small unit.”

Eduardo nodded. “I do not doubt their commitment or their willingness to participate in the mission.”

“So why not take them along?”

“Because the man we are tracking is not an ordinary person, Miki. A sniper is a specialized breed of soldier. If we were going out looking for a band of civilians, then yes, the more men we employed in that regard, the better.”

“But the sniper is different?” Miki asked.

“Yes. Extremely so. A man like this is used to operating alone. He knows how to move, how to use the jungle to evade and confuse us—even though we might know it better—so that he is able to take advantage of the situation.”

“But he is only one man.”

“One well-trained man. And he is motivated to escape us, surely knowing what we will do to him when we find him. No, by going out with a large force, we will simply make larger targets of ourselves. A small force of highly trained men is exactly what we need.”

“Well, the four you had me assemble are the best we have here.”

“And along with the old man tracking for us, I fully expect that we will have the sniper in our possession before nightfall,” Eduardo said.

Miki glanced out at the jungle. “There are many ways to get out of the jungle without seeing another person.”

“The old man will plot our path and then we will take steps to set an ambush.”

Eduardo reached down and hefted the AK-47 he carried. The gun was heavy but its reliability in the jungle was superb. And the rounds it fired could take an arm off at distance.

“While I’m gone, you will be in charge of the camp,” Eduardo said.

“Me?”

Eduardo looked at him. “It only makes sense, don’t you think? We are the same rank, but Agamemnon has given me this assignment to carry out prior to our real mission. In the event I don’t come back, the people here need someone to lead them, someone who can be trusted. That person is you.”

“I don’t know if it will even be necessary—”

Eduardo shook his head. “I’ve already spoken to Agamemnon about it. He agrees you are the most logical choice to assume command if I am killed.”

Miki frowned. “I don’t like the way you are talking.”

Eduardo smiled. “Don’t get sentimental on me, my friend. You know as well as I do that the path to heaven lies before us. One way or another we must persevere on our mission to rid the planet of the infidels. Only then will we find ourselves in the graces of God.”

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