Camouflage Heart (6 page)

“A handful of leeches don't take enough to be concerned over.”

“They're still nasty.” Her voice was thick with revulsion.

“We better get going. We have to find a place to camp before nightfall. Tomorrow's gonna be a rough day. But if we keep a good pace, we'll be at Hamid's camp by tomorrow night.”

She nodded and followed him without complaints. They walked upriver, at enough distance from the muddy bank to avoid leaving tracks and keep out of the dense undergrowth that grew there. He cut back to the water only twice, to remove the two vine ropes from the palms and toss them into the river.

Something about those guerillas didn't sit right with him. They might yet come back to look for the poachers. He didn't want them to find his and Audrey's tracks instead.

 

F
IRE MADE
all the difference. The smoke repelled the bugs, the heat kept the chill of the night at bay. Audrey picked the last of the meat off the fish bones. Compared to the bitter roots they had existed on all day, the meal seemed like an extravagant treat. Thanks to Brian.

He sat across from her, engrossed in making more hooks from bone. His clothes were drying on the bushes, side by side with hers. Since it wasn't raining for once, they were aiming for a dry night with dry clothes and some sleep in comfort. Their boots hung upside down, speared on three-foot-tall sticks to keep them off the ground and away from bugs. Brian had sprinkled the perimeter of their small camp with ashes to keep crawling insects away. Ants hated ashes, apparently, as did a number of their other bugsy friends.

If you had to be stuck in the jungle, this was the man to do it with. Audrey stood to stretch her legs, her eyes straying to his shoulders, the way the firelight played on the muscles that flexed when he put pressure on his knife. His hands were steady. She only remembered seeing them shake a couple of
times today. Amazing what two days of freedom did to the man.

He was transforming slowly, in front of her eyes. He was moving better, his legs getting accustomed to walking. Even his gestures and the way he carried himself were changing. She could have sworn he had grown taller, although it was probably an illusion. He was walking straighter, his body growing used to being free from the confines of the cage.

“How old are you?” she asked, then regretted it. The question would probably make him think of the years he'd lost. “You don't have to answer. Never mind.”

“What's today?”

She left the hotel a week ago. “The seventh. August,” she added.

He raised his gaze to her, his expression inscrutable. “I turned thirty-one last month.”

She stared at him. “I'll be thirty-one this fall.”

They were the same age. It drove home the horror he must have been living in the past couple of years. When she had first seen him, she had thought him old enough to be her father. Even now— She would have definitely not guessed him to be thirty-one.

It wasn't his body—that looked powerful, ageless. She let her gaze slide over the wide shoulders again and the well-muscled arms, the flat stomach, then glanced away when she got to his underwear—if it
could be called that—the handmade piece was little more than a loincloth.

The illusion of age came from the ever-present shadow on his face, and in his brilliant blue eyes. Eyes that said they'd seen too much.

She'd glimpsed eyes like that before at the clinic, seen the men and women who had tried to escape their memories by hiding behind drugs or alcohol. Half the people she'd admitted had had some history of severe trauma, physical or sexual abuse, rape, war. A handful of veterans were in residence at any given time.

Brian fed the fire.

Where would his past take him? He had such a strength, not just of his body, but a steel core inside.

He met her gaze, and she looked away.

She shook their clothes out, turned them on the branches to bring the wet sides closer to the fire. A wad of crumpled papers fell out of his pocket. “What's this?”

“Probably Omar's shopping list. It got wet before I had a chance to read it. I can read words here and there. None of it makes any sense. I kept them to use as tinder, but they never had a chance to dry out.”

“Do you speak Malay?”

He nodded. “I picked up some over the years.”

She flipped through the pages, her gaze settling on what looked like numbers. She pulled closer to the
fire. If she looked at it from just the right angle… “There's a date here.”

“Yeah?” Brian went back to carving, not looking too excited.

“August ten.”

“Maybe he was asking Hamid to a meeting, although—” He set the hook aside and reached for the papers.

“What?”

“The guerillas don't exactly schedule like businessmen. It's always
in a few days,
or
after the monsoon.
They have a different sense of time here in the jungle. Giving or taking a day doesn't matter much. Hell, most of the time they probably don't even know what day it is.”

“What's KL?” She scrutinized the paper over his shoulder.

“Where?”

She pointed.

“Damn.”

“What?”

“I thought it was a blotch. KL is what the locals call Kuala Lumpur, the capital. Nobody but tourists say the full name.”

He riffled through the pages. Silence stretched to a minute, then two.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

He turned to look at her. “The crate in the boat.”

She nodded.

“Maybe the guerillas didn't shoot at the poachers because they couldn't risk return fire.”

“Makes sense if the crate was full of explosives.”

“Or maybe they were just in a hurry to get somewhere.”

She tilted her head. “Kuala Lumpur, August tenth?”

He came to his feet and put on his pants. “When we get to Hamid's camp, we'll radio it in.”

“Do you think they're planning an attack?”

“A couple of days ago, I would have said no. Going after civilians wasn't Jamil's M.O. and Hamid wouldn't have done something this major without his support. But now…” He shrugged. “Omar is just hotheaded and bloodthirsty enough. He wants to make a name for himself. He wants to bring the fight to the next level. He probably has some kind of an agreement with Hamid. It makes sense.” He stared into the fire, his expression pensive.

“This is major, isn't it?”

He nodded. “There've been changes. Talk. I don't know—a feeling around camp. Too much coming and going. I knew something was up, but I thought it was just Omar, trying to figure out a way to get himself to the top. If we are right and there's an at
tack planned in KL, it could be just the opening act. Omar and Hamid are both in on it. What if the others are, too? What if this is the beginning of a major offensive?”

“We have to let someone know.”

“We can't be still in the jungle when it happens, that's for sure. I have a feeling the Royal Malaysian Air Force will retaliate by bombing the hell out of this patch of the island.”

She checked her clothes, found them dry and put them on, except for the socks. Brian had warned her to let her feet breathe at night.

It said something about the man that he took care to explain the smallest things to help her avoid discomfort. He had been giving her a crash course on jungle survival as they'd walked, giving her his vote of confidence that she would remember and could handle things. Instead of treating her like a clueless burden, he related to her as an equal—a teammate. She appreciated that.

“So what do we do now?” she asked.

“Get as much sleep as we can, then start out at first light. Hamid probably has a satellite phone or radio. We'll call in what we know.”

The rain had started toward dawn and forgot to stop. Although they kept close to the river, there was no point trying to get a fish for lunch—lighting a fire was out of the question. They ate grubs and whatever fruit they could find as they walked, boots sticking in the mud.

Starting midafternoon they started to check the water's edge more and more often, fighting the dense vegetation to get to it. Then they came across the spot they were looking for—a narrow area where the bushes had been cleared. Brian looked over the two motorboats pulled up on shore.

He watched the trail from the cover of the bushes, and when he was certain it was deserted, turned back to Audrey, who squatted behind him.

“I have to go check out the camp while there's still daylight to see.”

She rose, ready to follow him wherever he would lead her. Her blind trust in him was gratifying and frightening at the same time. What the hell was he supposed to do with her? She'd be in danger if she came with him and she'd be in danger if he left her here alone. There was no safe spot for an untrained civilian in the jungle.

“What's wrong?” She blinked away the raindrops that clung to her eyelashes, squinting, puzzled at his hesitation.

She looked like a drowned mouse. She looked gorgeous. He'd had beautiful women at one time in his life, although his relationships had tended to be as brief as they were few and far between. One girl had accused him of missing the bonding gene. She had been right. He barely remembered her, other than that she'd been fun-loving and easy.

“I can't believe we're finally here. We're going to get Nicky back today.”

He nodded. There was nothing easy about Audrey Benedict.

He motioned to her to stick to him as he followed the trail at a distance from the forest.

Unlike Omar's camp, Hamid's was much bigger than just a clearing in the jungle. Shacks spread up the hillside, with a large steel-frame building dominating the landscape, a gray satellite dish on top outlined
against the green background. He could see all manner of industrial equipment, rusting, overrun by vines, in the process of being reclaimed by the jungle.

“An abandoned mine,” he whispered to Audrey, keeping behind the bushes as he eyed the structures. There was nobody outside, and he couldn't blame them, the rain was coming down pretty hard. He could see shadows moving in several windows. They were watching.

He tensed when the door of one of the sheds opened, but the man who came out sprinted to another building without looking their way.

“Come on.” He kept low as he moved ahead, circling the camp. They had to get the layout before night fell.

“How many of them do you think there are?” Audrey kept close behind.

With everyone inside, it was hard to tell. The rain complicated things. From the size of the dozen or so huts, he figured about fifty men. Of course, half the huts might be empty or, on the other hand, there might be many more guerillas, hiding from the weather in some mine shaft. There could be an army underground, the mine could probably hold hundreds. But he didn't think so.

Hamid's men had visited Jamil from time to time. His impression was that their group was larger than the one that held him captive, but not by much.

“Four, maybe five dozen.” He gave her his best bet, seeing no sense in sugarcoating things. Better for her to know what they were facing, better to be prepared for it.

“Do you think the hostages…” She looked at him, her voice rough with worry.

“I'm sure they're still alive. Hamid is a professional at this kind of thing. They're probably in little danger until the deadline is up tomorrow.”

Even after that, the man wouldn't kill all of them. Just one or two to show everyone he was serious, then he would probably set another deadline for the rest. Brian judged the distance between the buildings, tried to see if there was a way to get into the big one without having to use the front door that was most likely guarded.

He had a feeling that's where the hostages were. Somewhere down the mine, not the most ideal location for a rescue operation—like going to fight a bear in his cave. Getting trapped would be all too easy, and Hamid's men would have the home advantage. They knew every tunnel, while he would be fighting blind.

And alone. No way was he going to take Audrey in there with him.

He moved on, memorizing the terrain, careful to note distances, the position of the huts. There was
very little activity. If the men moved around more he could have gotten a better handle on their number, but everyone seemed content to stick out the miserable weather inside.

Dusk came on them fast.

“Let's go while we can still see.” He backed away, not wanting to waste time with fumbling around in the dark.

Hamid and his men were in for the night. Time to start putting his plans in action. They went back to the river, using the trail this time, listening for anything suspicious.

“Help me with this,” he said when they got to the spot they'd found earlier. He heaved against one of the motorboats, pushing it into the water.

“Where are we going?” Audrey gave it her best effort as always, and the boat slipped into the river with ease.

“Just down a little. Get in.” He helped her, then pushed out the boat even farther before pulling himself over the side. He grabbed the pole lying in the bottom and used it to give the vessel direction.

“I want the boats somewhere where we can get to them quickly, somewhere they wouldn't be looking for them when they come after us.” He didn't turn the motor on, but let the river carry them. “What does your sister look like?”

“She's my height, short blond hair, skinny. She works out like a banshee. You're not going to have to worry about her keeping up unless she's injured.”

The last couple of words came out shaky.

“She's fine. Hamid treats his hostages well. To him they're merchandise. He'd want to keep them in sellable condition.”

She didn't respond to that, and her silence got to him more than if she had thrown a crying fit. There were words, he was sure of it, that someone who knew them could have spoken to comfort her. But it wasn't him. It filled him with an impotent anger he recognized as useless, so he forced his mind back to the hillside, to the camp, planning his route and course of action.

When they got a good two hundred feet from the trail, he jumped out and pulled the boat to shore, pushing it up on the slick mud into the cover of the overhanging vines and bushes. They scratched the hell out of his hands, but he ignored the pain, a minor irritation compared to his leg that was torturing him at full throttle.

Darkness fell by the time they were done. Getting back into the water without being able to see what debris was coming at him would be a reckless move, but he didn't have a choice. He had to get the second boat. Even if, God forbid, not all of the hostages
were able to make it this far, he couldn't leave that one for the guerillas to follow in.

“Stay here. I'll bring over the other boat.” He handed Audrey the rifle. “You keep this.”

He hated to leave her alone, remembering well what had happened the last time she'd been left with the gun to fend for herself. And she was probably remembering, too.

“Nobody goes outside in weather like this, especially not at night,” he tried to reassure her.

He couldn't see her face, but could see enough of her silhouette to know she was straightening her spine. He smiled into the darkness.
That's my girl.

“Be careful,” she said.

He reached out, but stopped short of caressing her face, waved a lame farewell instead and turned into the woods. Rain pelted him from above, his progress slower than he would have liked on the muddy, slippery ground.

He thought of Audrey behind him and the hostages ahead, the lives that depended on him. How the hell did that happen? He wasn't sure if he was up for the task. He was a broken man, and not just his bad leg. He was way out of practice. It was too much responsibility, more than he was prepared for. Still, quitting wasn't in his nature. He had to try.

He reached the boat, pushed it into the water
and floated down the swollen river with a fair speed. The darkness was complete, he was going by feel. Then he heard the most fake birdcall he'd ever heard in his life. And a minute later he heard it again. He grabbed the pole and pushed the boat toward the sound, letting Audrey guide him to a safe landing.

“You're a regular nightingale. Any other hidden talents?” He jumped out, and she was right there, helping.

“I can wiggle my ears.” She pulled on the boat.

The woman wasn't afraid of work, that was for sure. Come to think of it, she wasn't afraid of much.

“Did you run into any trouble?” she asked.

“Not yet. But I have a feeling I'll be coming across some soon.” He tied the second boat to a nearby palm tree, next to the first. He wasted no time, but climbed the palm and hacked off a good pile of leaves.

“I want you to stay here,” he said after he skidded down. “Cover the boats so they don't fill up with rain.” He could have turned them over, but he wanted them to be ready to jump in, had a feeling they would be leaving in a hurry. “Keep the gun. Don't be afraid to use it.”

This time when he reached out, he did touch her, drew his crooked index finger over her wet cheek. “If I'm not back by daybreak, get into one of the boats
and go downriver. Let the current float you, don't turn on the motor unless someone notices you and they give chase. Keep down. Make every bullet count.”

“You need it more.” She pushed the rifle toward him.

“It's not up for discussion,” he said, and heard her long draw of breath.

“Okay.”

She was smart enough to know that fighting over this would waste precious time.

“Do you want the bank statement?”

A second passed before he remembered what she was talking about. “Audrey, I'm not going there to negotiate.”

He was bringing back all the hostages, or as many as he could, and he meant to push Hamid for an explanation of Omar's message. Although he had a date, Kuala Lumpur was a major metropolis. To prevent an attack, the government would need an exact location. Damn, it was a tall order—a tough operation he wasn't sure he was fit to attempt. But he was going to do it anyway.

The job was in his blood, trained into him—complete the rescue, save the weak. He had no fear for himself, no hesitation on that score, and he was glad to discover that here was at last some deep part
of him that the guerillas didn't manage to take away, couldn't beat out. It was a fragment he recognized, something he could maybe build on to regain the rest.

She reached out a hand in the darkness and put it over his that somehow had come to cradle her face. “Be careful,” she said again, with tremors in her voice this time.

That got to him. She was scared, and there was little he could do to protect her. He couldn't be in two places at the same time. He should have been able to offer some reassurance and comfort, but saying “you'll be fine” just didn't seem enough.

He stepped forward and enfolded her in his arms awkwardly, the gun between them. “I'll be back for you,” he said, surprised at his own reluctance to move away.

She leaned her forehead against his chin. “I know.”

It would have been the most natural thing to press his lips against the crown of her hair, but he couldn't do it. Instead, he walked away.

His mind was full of her, every cell of his brain, all his senses. His nose was full of her wet scent, her last words still ringing in his ears. God, he was pitiful. Thinking about her instead of what he was about to do was a surefire way of getting them both killed.

The mission. He refocused his mind, alert once
again as he moved forward in the jungle. He could barely see a foot or two in front of him, any noise an enemy might have made was drowned out by the rain. He was deaf and blind, in enemy territory, without as much as a gun. But he wasn't unarmed. He'd been a soldier an awful long time. He had his instincts.

He kept close enough to the river to let the sound of the water guide him, then once he reached the trail that led to camp, he followed that. He moved off it just before he reached the hillside camp, creeping forward slowly. Not that he was too concerned about running into anybody, but he was concerned about taking a wrong step and rolling down into a ravine, sinking into a rabbit hole and breaking a leg.

He reached camp after a couple of minutes. Lights shone in the windows, except for one shack. He kept in the shadows and stole closer to that one. He peeked in through the cracks in the wall, not wanting to put himself in line with the window. Just because the light wasn't on, it didn't mean nobody was in there.

But he lucked out. He could see the outlines of two people inside, both lying down. They were silent and unmoving. Good. He crept to the door, tried it. Unlocked. Which meant the two weren't hostages. He opened the door a fraction of an inch at a time then
ducked inside, waited until his eyes further adjusted to the darkness.

He put his hand over the mouth of the first guerilla, his knife to his throat. The man woke with a start and grabbed for his wrist. Definitely not a hostage then, his hands hadn't been tied. Brian slit the man's throat and moved on to the other one.

When he was done, he tucked the man's handgun into his waistband, threw the two rifles over his shoulder. He pocketed the box of matches from the table on the way out.

He moved on to the next shack, looked inside. Four men there, playing cards, their guns within easy reach. He could have picked them off with a rifle, but didn't yet want to alert the whole camp to his presence. He waited, ducked deeper into the shadows when the door of another hut opened, then moved forward, keeping an eye on the fighter outlined by the hut's light. The man fumbled with his pants.