When he had to move during the day, it meant having to crawl along the ground, avoid rapid movement, and stop for many minutes and just let his eyes scan the foliage.
Many times, he had seen them, the hunters, like weird crocodiles standing up on hind legs, remaining motionless in the dark of the jungle, just waiting for something to amble close enough for them to ambush. And they were fast — the prey animals rarely outran a pack of hunters.
Ben often marveled at the predator’s natural camouflage — mottled patches or splotches, tiger stripes, or skin that looked to be able to mirror its surroundings and change color.
He looked up at the outline of the plateau in the distance, just recognizable against the blush of the sunrise. Clouds were beginning to form over its surface and were slowly rotating. Around him, a soft rain fell. It was as warm and slick as oil, giving him good sound cover.
He couldn’t help grinning — after 10 years, he was coming home. Ben wanted to run forward, screaming and waving, his impatience drawing him nearly mad with an urge to act, and fast. His long wait might be finally over. But he knew that impatience would kill him as surely as putting a gun to his head.
He’d find shelter now, and then in the next night, he’d begin to work his way up the slope to the tabletop mountain.
“I’m coming, Emma,” he breathed. “I’m coming home.”
CHAPTER 18
At dawn, Emma woke to the sound of a tiny whine and opening her eyes saw the cloud of gnats, mosquitoes, and larger insects trying to find a way in through her mosquito netting.
She sat up and saw that Drake and the others were already moving about. They had all spread around a campfire at the water’s edge, with one of the soldiers taking turns on guard. Though the river here moved too fast for small caimans, there were bigger ones this far in, and sleep was when people made themselves vulnerable, so there was no need to take unnecessary risks.
She watched the dark water for a moment more as she pulled her knees up to her chest. The thought of waking to the feeling of her foot clamped in a caiman’s jaws and being dragged into the water sent shudders up her spine. But this green hell was something she’d only have to experience for a number of days, and she tried to imagine what it was like for Ben, who was forced to live in a jungle far more dangerous, day after day for a decade.
If he was still living in it.
He’s alive, she demanded of herself. She had to believe that for herself and for everyone else she was driving forward.
At her feet were her jungle clothes ready to put on: the tiger-striped Army uniform, belt with knives, ammunition pouches and holster, plus the calf-high boots with in-built snakebite armor.
Emma grabbed her water, sipped, and began to dress, making sure she stayed within the netting until she could reapply her chemical shield.
It took her ten minutes to work everything out, lather on the bug spray, and then throw back her netting. Brocke was grilling some fish he’d caught, and Drake, Fergus, and Ajax had laid out their ordnance, checking it over.
Emma turned from the river to the jungle and chuckled. “Holy wow.”
The guys must have worked like machines all afternoon and evening, and now she saw what they’d accomplished. The clearing they had arrived on was now three times as large, and several hills of green debris had been pushed up to one side.
The orange balloon canopy was laid out, and she could see why they needed so much clearing space — it looked huge. Also, the basket had been constructed from the panels — it was about ten feet square, light but formidable, and would fit them all in with room to spare.
Emma inhaled the humid jungle air deep into her lungs. She felt good; she was certainly getting her money’s worth from Ben’s old comrades and felt vindicated for bringing them along.
She also knew they weren’t doing it just for the money — the motto: no one left behind, was something that was in their DNA. Ben was more than just a fellow soldier; he was a blood brother to them. They’d bring him home, or she bet they’d die trying. Her years of planning were taking shape, and so far, she regretted nothing.
Emma saw that Andy was lending a hand with the weapons, and even Helen was in amongst the soldiers, chatting and helping out. She then looked across to her outliers — Camilla and Juan. The pair hovered close by, and from time to time, Juan would take a picture or tell a joke, a funny one, by the look of the expression on the team’s faces.
Their work was nearly done, and she thought if nothing else, they all certainly looked the part in their camouflage outfits — a private army about to do battle deep in the Amazon jungle’s dark and mysterious center.
Emma reached for her holster, slid out, checked, and then replaced her sidearm — it was a new SIG Sauer M17, straight off the line. The 9mm handgun was a dark earth tone, and was lightweight, corrosion-resistant for tropical environments, accurate, and reliable. Against the adversaries she had in mind, it might prove to be more of an irritant. But it made her feel safe, and she had practiced enough over the years to know she could hit a dime from 50 feet.
She’d feel even better when she was packing an M4 rifle. She almost felt… confident.
Emma went to turn away but noticed that Camilla was staring. She nodded to the journalist, and in return, the woman scurried to the fire, poured two coffees, and came toward her, holding them both in front of her.
She held one cup out. “Good morning, Emma. Did you sleep?”
Emma took it and raised it to the woman. “Thank you, and yes, surprisingly well. You?”
Camilla shrugged. “A little.”
Emma just nodded. Given they’d be on the plateau soon, she might regret not getting more sleep.
“So.” Camilla sipped her brew. “Where do you think Ben will be?”
Emma noticed her eyes twinkled as if they were sharing a secret. “Somewhere on the tepui. I don’t know where. Maybe he’ll find us.”
“Really?” Camilla lowered her cup. “Do you really think he’s alive? I mean, really?”
“That’s why I’m here. We’re all here.” Emma turned to face the smaller woman.
“Closure.” Camilla nodded. “For you and for Cynthia Cartwright. Can’t have been easy on her. You coming back, but her son, not.” She looked up into Emma’s face and tilted her head. “I hear she’s not well these days.”
Emma’s eyes narrowed. “That generation was from far stronger stock than us. She’s fine.”
“But if she dies, who inherits the Cartwright estate?”
“Ben does,” Emma fired back.
Camilla turned side on. “But if Ben—”
“Ben does.” Emma’s jaw jutted momentarily. “He will be coming back.” She leaned in close to the woman’s face. “Got something to say, say it.”
Emma’s raised voice turned every head in the camp. She noticed that Juan was filming her and Camilla.
The journalist stood her ground, and the corners of her lips just turned up a fraction. “Well, you see, it’s just that you win either way. You find Ben, and live happily ever after. Or you don’t find Ben, inherit the Cartwright estate, and live happily ever after.”
Emma saw red and leaned in real close so only the woman could hear. “Watch that mouth, or else.”
“Or else?” Camilla straightened. “You’ll leave me here… as well.”
Emma had the urge to grab the woman’s shirtfront and shake her. “No, but I’ll break your fucking jaw.”