They bounded away, following the path taken by Yorgi through impossibly overhanging trees and a huddle of jagged rocks down which a waterfall rushed. The stream at its base gurgled happily. Another few meandering jungle bends and they saw the pastel green easily through the vegetation. Then they saw Yorgi and Kinimaka.
Half a dozen men stood facing them in a semi-circle with guns drawn and faces inwardly lit at the prospect of committing murder.
“Last chance,” one of them shouted. “Give us the prey or you die too.”
“Look guys,” Kinimaka rumbled. “It’s a fair hunt. We found him first. Come on.”
“So give us his head.” One of the men laughed. “You keep the rest.”
Yorgi stood in front of the prisoner. “He is ours.”
“Have it your way.”
Drake gasped as the six men opened fire.
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Bullets ripped into the ground at Kinimaka’s feet as Drake leapt forward. Yorgi danced away, his own shoes also being used as target practice. Dahl and Alicia circled the six men, weapons leveled. The prisoner in the pastel colored T-shirt quivered in fear, pressed up against a withered tree.
“Cool it,” Drake said. “Or you all die.”
Three gun barrels rotated in different directions, giving Kinimaka chance to draw his own gun. Drake breathed almost silently as a sudden tension fell over the clearing, each man eyeing his enemy in the Amazon-Mexican standoff. Even the breeze dropped and the only sound was the quiet ooze of the forest.
Ramses stepped into view. “Well!” His voice boomed so loud every eye swiveled except those of the SPEAR team.
“It seems we have a problem.” The prince chuckled. “I see no winner here and I really don’t want to see guests shedding each other’s blood. Put your weapons down, my friends, the prey is going nowhere.”
Drake saw Akatash sidling up behind the prisoner. Never even saw the asshole coming.
Weapons were lowered; Ramses was respected in the wild as much as in his element, even outgunned. The Crown Prince of Terror nodded with satisfaction.
“Good. Good. So what say we let the quarry loose again? After all, the game is unfinished, yes?”
A flick of his head and Akatash jabbed at the prisoner’s spine. When he flinched, rooted to the spot, Akatash persuaded him some more, then drew a wicked, blood-encrusted machete. Even Dahl’s eyes widened slightly at the size of the thing, which had to be three feet long. Ramses smiled as his future victim departed.
“The hunt resumes. Shall we give him, oh, sixty seconds? And dear guests, please know that committing murder at my last bazaar comes with the punishment of death by machete.”
Alicia motioned at the still-twitching underbrush. “Then why are we chasing this guy?”
“Of course, I should have specified Ramses’ law only protects human beings. Animals, they’re fair game.”
The countdown commenced and Drake made a point of moving away from the six-man pack. Ramses and Akatash watched, easy in their surroundings and confident with their expertise. Drake rendezvoused with his team and leaned in for a quick confab.
“Any ideas?”
“Distraction,” Dahl said. “Melee. You guys cause it and I’ll grab the kid.”
“And where will you stash him?” Alicia scowled.
“There is only one place,” the Swede said. “Back at the boat.”
Drake exhaled. “You might be mad, mate, but even I don’t think you’re crazy. You’d never make it.”
Dahl tightened his grip on his rifle. “As a team we wouldn’t make it, but two men might.”
“Ready?” Ramses called out.
The team straightened and rolled out stiffening muscles.
“Go!” Ramses and Akatash turned and sprinted. Drake raced after them, leading his team down a parallel game trail. The track was narrow, the ruts and channels perilous, winding to and fro, but Ramses had the same problem. Drake assumed Akatash, ranging a dozen steps ahead, was tracking the boy.
He nudged Alicia as she panted behind his right shoulder. “You’re the distraction.”
A shake of the tied blond locks. “And nothing really changes.”
She sped up, taking the lead, and employed skill and risk to close the gap between herself and Ramses’ bodyguard. It took a moment for the man to notice her, so intent was he on following their quarry’s trail, but when he did she immediately saw the deep light of cunning in his eyes.
“ ’ow’s it hanging?” she asked as she ran. “The machete, I mean.”
Akatash ignored her. Alicia took in his frame, his physique and posture. “Work out, do we?”
The trails parted for a moment, looping apart before coming back together. Alicia heard footsteps at her back and knew the team were close.
“Seriously though. If you get a few spare minutes later I could teach you how to put that body to much better use.”
Akatash swung his head around, slowing. Alicia knew this approach could have gone one of two ways — and still might. But all was well as her team and Ramses crashed past.
“I do not have time for games,” Akatash said in a thin voice, an accent she couldn’t place. “This is your warning. Do not push me, married woman.”
Alicia held out both hands as she slowed even more, making Akatash slow right along with her. “Hey, people have fought over this body.”
“But I am a man of the strangest tastes and, I fear, not even a whore like yourself could survive my attentions.”
Akatash ran off as Alicia sputtered and searched for a reply. A small part of her held back though. She had seen that feral light, the presence of something broken and vicious, an inner fury that could never be sated. She had seen it and wanted no part of it.
Allowing the bodyguard to leap away she followed carefully, hoping she had gained the team enough of a lead.
Drake recognized Alicia’s ploy and led the entire team, barring Dahl, slightly away from the trail their prey was leaving. His plan was based on Ramses’ inability to track, his reliance on Akatash, and it bore fruit. Ramses joined them on their trail, smiling broadly, an inharmonious giant in the rainforest.
Drake ducked a low bough, skirted a fallen tree and then leaned over as he sprinted around a long bend; water, mulch and tree sap dogging his every step. Twice, his boots slipped but he caught the slide. Once, he heard a booming gunshot echo through the jungle. Another half minute and he caught sight of the six-man team crossing their path, arrow-straight and unfortunately heading in the right direction. He made a show of pointing out their “mistake”, and received more than a few puzzled looks and comments for his troubles.
“Guy’s lost it. Trail’s clearly this way.”
“Idiot’s lost it. Ignore them.”
“Hey, what if they know something we don’t? Ramses is with them.”
Drake was passed by that time and still following the rough track. Outwardly he had shown no signs of concern for Dahl’s plan, but inwardly something acidic burned his stomach.
Dahl bounded after the man dressed in pastel, knowing that the hounds of hell would soon be snapping at his heels. Before long he was reminded that the combatants they had thus far seen weren’t the only ones vested in this chase as he came alongside two Americans arguing about which way to go. Both sported double-barrel shotguns bored out for the sport of it all. When Dahl passed they followed and he let out a silent curse.
No helping it. I’m too close to the victim to lead them astray.
He slowed, whirled and threw a hammer blow into the face of the first. The man fell, poleaxed, as if he’d sprinted headlong into a stationary elephant. The second slowed more quickly, brought his double-barrels down and fired without thought.