“Let's check it out,” Castle said.
Flaherty looked at him. “This part of the mission? Checking ruins?”
“It gives a good view of the valley,” Castle said. He got to his feet and headed toward the stones, a hundred meters away.
Flaherty signaled for Thomas and Tormey to remain in place. Taking Dane with him, he followed Castle. The closer they got to the structure, the more impressive it was. The stone blocks were each about six feet high and wide. The stone was cut very smoothly. The joints were so well done that Flaherty doubted he could slide a knife between them. Flaherty thought of the staggering weight each stone represented and the effort required to get them to this place.
There was an entrance on the side, and Castle disappeared. Flaherty followed. Dane paused, then slowly entered. The inside was small with stone stairs wrapping around the outside wall, leading up to what had once been a wood roof but was now open. The three men took the stairs until they were at the top landing where a small, four-foot wide stone ledge was built inside the outer wall, making a parapet for watchers to stand on. The view was unobstructed for many miles in all directions.
Nothing but jungle and mountains as far as the eye could see. Early morning fog was rolling down the valley below, covering the river and its banks. Castle had his rucksack out and was looking inside.
“What are you doing?” Flaherty asked.
“Repacking my load,” Castle said.
Flaherty figured the CIA man had some sort of transponder locator in the ruck that told him where the SR-71 was. Why Castle wouldn't check it openly was beyond Flaherty.
Dane was staring down into the valley and at the land beyond, hidden in the early morning mist. Then he stepped back and looked at the ruins they were standing on. “This is old,” he said to Flaherty, his hand resting on the parapet. “Very, very old.”
“What do you think it is? A guard outpost?” Flaherty asked. He'd never seen anything like it in Vietnam or in Laos. He'd heard there were massive ruins in Cambodia, and if this lone building was any indication, that rumor was true.
Dane nodded. “A guard post. But the question is, what did it guard against?” He pointed to a large cairn in the southwest corner of the top. “Looks like that was for a signal fire. Maybe this was an early warning post against invaders.” He lowered his voice, so Castle couldn't hear. “We shouldn't go down there, Ed.”
“VC?” Flaherty asked. “NVA?” He could see no sign of life, but maybe Dane did.
Dane shook his head. “I don't think it's either. Just something bad, real bad.” He pointed at the walls of the ruin. There were very old, faded drawings of warriors on them. The figures had spears and bows in their hands. Several were mounted on elephants. There were elongated circles in the air about them, perhaps representing the sun or moon, Flaherty guessed, except there were more than one. There were also lines drawn through every picture, some of the lines intersecting with the warriors. There was also some sort of symbols scattered about the pictures, writing, although Flaherty had never seen anything like it before. On each corner of the rampart, there was a stone sculpture of a seven-headed snake, a figure Flaherty had seen at other sites in southeast Asia. He knew it had something to do with the religion in the area. The carvings bothered Flaherty and he involuntarily jerked his shoulders and stepped back.
“Weird stuff,” Flaherty muttered.
“They all died,” Dane said.
“Who did?” Flaherty asked.
Dane spread his hands. “The warriors who manned this post. And those they guarded. All dead. They were great once. The greatest of their time.”
“Yo, Dane,” Flaherty slapped his teammate on the back. “Come back to me, man.”
Dane shivered. “I'm here, Ed.” He tried to smile. “I don't want to be, but I'm here.”
Between Castle and his mysterious rucksack, the compass and radio not working, and Dane's warnings, Flaherty was anxious to get moving to the pickup zone.
“We'll get out OK,” Flaherty said to Dane, but he could tell the words were finding no purchase. Castle had finished doing whatever it was he was up to, but continued to stare toward the jungle.
“Let's go,” Flaherty said to Castle.
The CIA man sealed his pack and threw it back on his shoulder.
“Can't we just move along the high ground?” Flaherty asked. “We can see everything from up here.”
“We have to go down to the river,” Castle said. “The crash site is on the other side. Down there.”
It was lighter now, but fog still blanketed the ground below, hiding whatever was down there. It looked like the fog was lifting on this side of the river but it was just as thick on the other side.
“That’s strange,” Flaherty commented. He didn’t like the look of the fog. It was yellowish-gray with streaks of something darker in it. He’d never seen anything like it in all his years in the field. He turned back to Castle.
“My man here,” Flaherty said, pointing at Dane, “thinks we're going to get blown away if we go down there. So far he's four for four on calling ambushes. I suggest you listen to him.”
“There's no VC down there,” Castle said.
“I don't know what's down there,” Flaherty said, “but if Dane says there's something bad, then something bad is there.”
A shadow came over Castle's face. As if he were resigned, Flaherty thought with surprise. “We have to go,” Castle simply said. “The quicker we get this over with, the better. This isn't negotiable. It's too late for all that. We all signed on, we do what we're paid to. There’s no other way.”
The three of them stood on the ancient stone rampart, each lost in their own thoughts, each realizing the truth of Castle’s words. They had all taken different roads to get here, but they were here together, cogs in a machine that was not overly concerned with the quality or length of their lives.
“Let's get going then,” Flaherty said.
They rejoined the other two men and began the descent, Dane in the lead. As they left the craggy rocks behind, they again went under the blanket of green. It was dim now, despite the sun. Flaherty was used to that. No light penetrated the triple canopy unblocked. Halfway down the ridge toward the river, tendrils of fog began snaking their way through the trees until visibility was down to less than forty feet.
They pressed on. It was like walking in place, the trees and other fauna the same, the ground sloping down, the fog crowding around. Then they could hear water running, getting closer, until Dane, walking point, saw the ground drop off in front of him.
Dane halted, looking out onto the river. It was shallow and fast moving. The swirling fog occasionally parted to show the far side, a dark green line of jungle forty meters away but his vision couldn't penetrate beyond that. The fog was much thicker across there, a smear of grayish white overlaid on top of the green vegetation. But even the trees looked strange, sickly almost. It was chilly and the sweat on the men's skin met the damp air, producing goose-bumps and shivers.
Castle moved past Dane and slithered down the bank until he was knee deep in the water. He pulled a jar out of his ruck and filled it with the water, resealing the lid and putting it back in his pack.
“We have to cross,” Castle said, looking up at the four men who were kneeling on the bank, the muzzles of their weapons pointing in the direction Castle wanted to go.
“What are you doing?” Flaherty demanded. The water sample bothered him.
“I'm not authorized to tell you that,” Castle said.