Sacrifice

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.