Burial Ground

VIII

11:33 p.m.

"You have to see this," McMasters said.

The words snapped Tasker from his slumber. He was instantly awake.

"What is it?" he asked, donning his camouflaged jacket and slipping out through the seam in the mosquito netting over his hammock.

McMasters had already climbed out of the tent and into a small gap they had created between their tents, over which a blind of leafy branches had been constructed. Tasker followed, and found the other four men bickering in whispers. They wouldn't have roused him if it hadn't been important.

Their muddy faces were stained by the weak blue glow of the beacon on the monitor of the tracking device. McMasters looked up at him as he sat, then passed him the handheld unit.

"At twenty-two twenty-three, the beacon began to move at a rate of somewhere in the neighborhood of five miles an hour."

"Why would they break camp in the middle of the night?" Tasker asked, thinking aloud.

"We're not sure, but here's the kicker. They weren't traveling deeper into the jungle. They were heading straight back toward us."

"What do you mean 'were'?"

"The beacon's movement subsided at exactly twenty-three fifteen," McMasters said. "And it hasn't moved since."

"Not at all?"

"No, sir."

"That doesn't make any sense." Tasker paused while he tried to work it out in his head. His men had surely been trying to do the same, and when they hadn't reached a consensus, the only alternative they had seen was to wake him. "What could have spurred flight in the middle of the night, and why would they have stopped so abruptly? They sacrificed nearly half a day's progress."

And then it hit him.

The sudden and rapid movement. The stasis of the beacon for almost an hour now.

"Saddle up men," he said. "We break camp in fifteen minutes. Full night vision. We're running hot."

There was a moment of hesitation.

"They've discovered the tracking device," Tasker snapped. He shot a glance at McMasters, who seethed under the accusation. "Once they found it, they relocated it as quickly as possible, hoping to throw us off their scent. They're probably already moving out while we're wasting our time sitting here debating it."

Tasker looked at each of his men in turn. McMasters, Telford, Reubens, and Jones: four identical dark-eyed, mud-crusted interchangeable grunts. How dare they not immediately respond to a direct order.

"Move!" he snapped. "Now!"

This time the men leapt up from where they sat. Within ten minutes, all supplies were packed and all gear stowed. They hit the path in double-time with the awkward lenses strapped tightly across their foreheads. The darkness brightened in subtle shades of green and gray. Snaking roots cast uneven shadows across the path, making the ground appear to rise and fall in waves. Severed vines dangled to either side from where they'd been hacked away during the previous day.

McMasters fell back from the lead when the trail widened and spoke softly so that only Tasker could hear.

"What are the rules of engagement?"

"You are not to directly engage the targets until I give the order. We need them to lead us to the prize first. For now, this is old fashioned recon. We wait and watch. And once they've led us to the treasure, we wipe them off the face of the planet."

McMasters gave a sharp nod and jogged back to the point.

Tasker was furious that their surveillance had been discovered. He had thought McMasters the most skilled of his men, but apparently he had been wrong. Their prey had found the tracking device within twenty-four hours of its placement, which was entirely unacceptable. Now, like rabbits, they were running. As always though, Tasker was prepared for this contingency. The night vision goggles would still allow them to track their quarry, and they would be able to do so under the cover of night. Everything would still go according to plan. All this setback had cost them was sleep. Still, they were better rested and in better shape than those they pursued, who had barely slept either of the past two nights, and had surely exhausted themselves creating this path that he and his men could now traverse at more than ten times the speed with which it had been forged. They would reach the location of the tracking device shortly after sunrise, and by the time the sun set again, they would be within striking distance.

Movement from his right caught his eye. For a fraction of a second he could have sworn he'd seen the blur of a running man off in the jungle. It must have only been an illusion created by the random alignment of branches and leaves. They were professional soldiers. They would have known if anyone had even tried to get within a hundred yards of them.

He returned his focus to the path ahead, and the fortune that awaited them.