Sacrifice

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.”