Burial Ground

III

5:13 p.m.

They had barely heard their prey coming in time to duck from the path and into the jungle. Tasker didn't enjoy being surprised, but that was exactly what had happened. From where he crouched in a cage of tented roots with ant-covered vines draped over his head, he watched them race down to the swollen stream and attempt to ford it to no avail. The dark-haired woman, Carson, had tried to hop to where the first stone lurked beneath several inches of racing water and had nearly been swept off her feet, would have were it not for a last second save by the pilot, who had dragged her to the muddy shore. She now screamed up into the raging storm in frustration and futility. The others paced the bank nervously. He could almost hear their thoughts as they contemplated the possibility of braving the rapids.

What had spooked them to flight? Had they sensed his approach? He couldn't believe that was the case. Neither he nor McMasters had done anything to warrant their suspicion. They must have encountered something that frightened them up the path ahead...but what?

Again his mind recalled the carcasses they had disentombed in the cave, but he chased the image away and focused on the task at hand.

It would be simple enough to take down their targets at the river's edge right now. Five quick shots and they could drag the bodies into the underbrush, but where were the other men in their party? Had they secured the high ground at this very moment? Were he and McMasters pinned down under unseen sights? He thought it unlikely. If that were the case, then that meant the others were using the panicked civilians as bait, and that went against their job description and any even moderately developed sense of ethics. He and McMasters needed to stick to cover for the time being. It was too soon to betray their presence. They had a solid plan in place. Straying from it would only allow variables to crop up at the least opportune moments. They had been patient thus far. It wouldn't be much longer now.

The pilot attempted to console Carson, but she swatted his hands aside, whirled away from the impasse, and stomped back toward the path.

Tasker pressed back deeper into the blind. Brown ants crawled over his face and scalp. He suppressed the sensation.

Carson sloshed up the muddy slope a mere ten feet to his left. Even over the clamor of the rain in the upper canopy, he could hear her crying. The pilot followed, trying in vain to console her, even though he appeared every bit as rattled. The pudgy academic fought to keep up, while the blonde and her cameraman trailed, visibly struggling with the treacherous footing.

Tasker caught snippets of conversation.

"...wait out the storm..."

"...try again in the morning..."

"...if we make it that long."

"...you saw the condition of the bodies..."

None of them so much as glanced in his direction.

They were distracted, which only served his purposes.

But what had they discovered? And where was their security contingent?