A stalking horse worked best against predators driven by instinct, not thoughts. He didn’t want the Vietnamese army to scare Victor Gant away. Then Shel realized that the presence of the army might enhance Victor Gant’s desire to attack his enemies. It would be a real coup. If he could pull it off.
Shel became aware that Estrella was talking to him. He focused on her. “Sorry.”
“I was wondering how your father is doing,” she repeated.
“Fine,” Shel replied. “I talked to Don this morning. Daddy’s almost strong enough to deal with the pacemaker.”
“That’s good.”
It wasn’t, though. Not really. As his daddy had told Don, the only reason Tyrel McHenry had agreed to the pacemaker was because he figured he owed somebody prison time, or a death, for killing PFC Dennis Hinton.
In all probability, his daddy was giving up. Shel had never seen his daddy give up on anything.
Except living his life for his wife and kids. That sober thought rocked him.
“All right,” Estrella said, interrupting his dark thoughts. “If you’re ready, I am.”
Shel nodded and rose to his feet. He took a fresh reading with his GPS, signaled the dog handler, then started walking again. They were staying close to the road for the first sweep. If they didn’t find anything, they would go deeper into the jungle.
What they were looking for was a man-size depression in the ground. After forty years, all the flesh would have sloughed away from Hinton’s corpse. When he’d been buried, his body had been one size. But after time and nature had stripped his flesh, his body would have been another size, and the dirt on top of his mortal remains would have sunk. Most old graves were found through visual searches.
If the approximate location was known.
And they had the dogs. It was something to hope for.
Shel glanced toward the horizon and saw the black clouds that had been forming to the east were now more vigorous. They were also on a direct approach. The storm would be upon them soon.
59
›› Nine Klicks Outside Qui Nhon, Binh Dinh Province
›› Socialist Republic of Vietnam
›› 1658 Hours (Local Time Zone)
“What do you think they’re looking for?”
At first, Victor Gant ignored Fat Mike’s question. They sat under a thick copse of brush on a hillside over a half klick from where the Marine who had killed Bobby Lee was searching. Victor held the high-power field glasses carefully so that the sun wouldn’t ever reflect from the lenses. There was less and less chance of that happening as the cloud cover from the approaching storm became more complete.
Finally Victor lowered the field glasses and stared at the figures in the distance. Without the lenses, he could barely make out the people searching the land.
“This far out in the brush, there’s only one thing they’re looking for,” Victor said.
“That kid’s body?” Fat Mike asked.
“Did we bury anybody else out here?”
Fat Mike looked like he was thinking about that. There had been a number of bodies back in those days. And that wasn’t even counting Charlie and the Kit Carsons they’d left lying where they’d dropped them.
“Did we?” Fat Mike asked finally.
“No.”
Fat Mike snorted. “They’re not going to find that grave.” He cursed. “As long as it’s been, I don’t think I could find it now.”
“They brought those dogs for a reason.”
“Maybe they’re trying to track us.”
“No.” Victor put the field glasses in the protective case on his hip.
“Do they have grave dogs?”
“I don’t know.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Fat Mike said. “There’s probably so many people buried out there, they’ll never find Hinton.” He glanced at the darkening sky. “Not only that, but the storm that’s coming is gonna be a toad strangler. The ground we’re standing on is gonna turn to muck.”
Victor watched in silence.
“You know,” Fat Mike said, “I was thinking that if we had a Barrett rifle, something with some serious range, you could settle that Marine’s hash and be done with this before they could ever find you. We could fade the heat and be gone before they could catch us. None of them know this jungle like we do.”
“No,” Tran said. The slightly built Vietnamese crime lord sat farther back and up the hill. His hair was cut short and was mostly gray these days, which amused Victor. “If you attack, even from this distance, the local soldiers will hunt us down. And I don’t believe we could escape them before they closed in.”
Victor silently agreed with the assessment. He’d noticed the quiet way Tran had been watchful about the NCIS team’s search. As always, Tran didn’t miss much. Most people didn’t get that because Tran was tight-lipped and didn’t speak until he had something he was willing to talk about. Outside of himself, Tran was the most vicious and dangerous man Victor knew.
He looked over at Tran. “I don’t want to drag this thing out. We know where their base camp is. They’re staying out here.”
Tran looked at him. Both wisdom and wariness showed on his friend and business partner’s features.
“I want to take care of this tonight,” Victor told him. “I don’t know how long they’re going to be here or what they’re going to find, but I don’t want to wait, and I sure don’t want them dragging anything out of the ground that’s better off staying buried.”
“All right,” Tran said. “We do this tonight.” His eyes locked on Victor’s. “Then you are done with this thing, Victor. Your son would have wanted you to live, and you have wasted enough time with this. You and I, we have a business to run that requires our attention. We have lost some ground in the United States.”
Anger roiled up inside Victor, but he didn’t say anything. Tran was probably the only man on the face of the planet who could speak to him so bluntly. They’d shared danger for so long that Victor respected the man. More than that, Victor knew without a doubt that Tran would kill him if he started endangering his drug operation.
Thunder rumbled across the sky.
“We may get an early start,” Victor said, “if this storm rolls in within the next hour.”
›› 1823 Hours (Local Time Zone)
Rain spattered against the broad leaves of the trees. Will thought it sounded like he was surrounded by footsteps. His nerves jangled because he wasn’t used to being in enclosed places like the jungle. The only enclosed environment he’d dealt with had been aboard ship. But there he could always go up on deck and feel the world open up around him.
Rainwater collected on the ground. It was the rainy season, and the earth was already saturated. Pools formed first; then they began tiny rivulets that gathered more volume and became miniature streams.
The historical remains dog ahead of them suddenly took on renewed energy. The animal hardly ever lifted its head from the ground as it became a flesh-and-blood vacuum cleaner for scents.
Rain wouldn’t hamper the dog. The water actually reactivated the smells trapped within the earth, making them sharper and stronger and more easily detected.
Mud clumped to Will’s boots and made his feet feel like they weighed a hundred pounds apiece. Walking became a physical toll, and that was without the constant threat of slipping.
“Sir,” the handler called.
Will tore his gaze away from searching the trees to keep watch and glanced at the young man working the dog.
The dog had stopped moving forward and was zigzagging through the trees. The sensitive nose never lifted from the ground.
“I think Rusty’s found something, sir.” The handler was a young man with a forthright manner and a shy smile. His name was Neal and he’d been working with the historical remains dog program for eight years. He wasn’t chatty, preferring to get his job done, but he seemed to express himself enough for people to get to know and trust him.
Will stood in the rain. Although his rain poncho had a hood, he didn’t pull it up because it would have restricted his hearing and his vision.