CHAPTER 13
“Cap, we have a problem.”
John came awake as the sharpshooter shook his shoulder. “What?” he asked.
“You know I am the body guard of the local chief around here, right?”
“Yeah, so what?”
“Well, he told me something disturbing. It seems some of the young men in his tribe don’t like the fact that these foreign kids are walking around their island. Some of them have slipped off into the jungle to hunt them down.”
John sat up. “Isn’t that against the rules of this game? Won’t the mob try to stop it?”
“I thought so too, so I mentioned it to my superiors. They are annoyed at the lack of progress that the contestants have made. So far, they’ve been a real disappointment. No one’s died yet—though I don’t know how long that Neesha can hold out. Sylvester’s ankle is getting worse. I figure him for dragon bait soon.” Trigger shook his head. “Anyway, they decided to ignore it. They think the added variables might increase the entertainment factor. Their words, not mine.”
John swore. “These are natives, right?”
“Yep. They know the Island and have hunted on it their entire lives. Those kids won’t have a chance against one of these Dayak hunters. If you want to save their lives, you need to get out here. Now.”
John began pulling on his boots. “How many went out?”
“Two of them. They are particularly upset that Sylvester crossed some sort of sacred ground or something. They’re out for blood and they don’t intend to be nice about it. John, they have been known to torture people for days before killing them.”
Standing up, John walked over to the equipment table. “Great. That’ll sure raise the ratings.”
“That’s what the mob figures.”
While he stowed gear into his pack, John looked at the locator screen, trying to pick up Sylvester’s location. The kid seemed to be far from the other two, nowhere near the location of the Komodo dragon he had been sent to kill. Most everyone already knew the kid had given up. But with the added factors of two Dayak hunters thrown into the mix, bets would fly. He needed to reach those hunters before they reached Sylvester.
“I need a compound bow, Trig. And some arrows—preferably the exact same kind that the kids have.”
Trigger nodded. “If you kill the hunters, you need to make it look like one of the kids did it.”
“Right.”
“That’ll be tricky. The cameras are going to be keeping a close watch on things, and they’ll know where the kids are and most likely where the hunters are. How are you going to pull that off?”
John shrugged. “I’ll think of something.”
“You’re going to get yourself killed, you know.”
“Probably. But I’ll die with a clear conscious.”
Trigger snorted. “Too late for that.”
“Shut up. You have that bow?”
Trigger walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a bow and a quiver of arrows. “The arrows are similar enough to what the kids have that no one will know the difference unless they physically come and examine it. Just don’t let anyone see you.”
“I knew you loved me.”
“Now you shut up,” Trigger muttered.
John collected his gear, saluted Trigger, and ducked out into the night air. He paused to look at the handheld device that his friend had rigged up for him. It looked like Sylvester was about ten kilometers from his current position. A long walk in the dark over rugged terrain. Oh well. He had done worse hikes in worse countries before.
As he started off, he tapped his wrist watch. “Trig? You hear me?”
“Loud and clear, Cap,” came a voice from his ear bud.
“Good. Do you have a line on those two hunters?”
“Yeah. Thermal scans show them about two clicks ahead of you. They’re moving slow. I think they only have a vague idea where the kid is.”
Starting to walk at a fast clip, John nodded. “That makes sense. Hopefully, I can catch them before they find that kid.” He paused just out of sight of the first camera’s view. “You sure this thermal repellant will work?”
“Reflectant, Cap. Not repellant.”
“Is that even a word?”
“How should I know?”
“Fine. You’re sure this will work?”
“We’re about to find out, aren’t we? You are about five meters from entering the camera’s field of view and thermal sensors. If this works, I should see only a small heat signature, obviously not that of a human. Hopefully everyone will think monkey.”
Taking a deep breath, John moved five meters into the camera’s view and stopped. “Well?” he demanded.
“It’s too dark for the camera to get a visual, but thermal scans show something, nothing that looks human though. Wave your arm.” John did. “Okay. Now your head. Ah, your head does show, but if you make your walk erratic, most will just think you are an animal stalking the night.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“Have I ever been wrong before?”
John decided not to answer that as his mind thought back to a certain building in Cairo where a solider had nearly killed him after Trigger had indicated the all clear. Trig’s off the hip shot had taken the enemy combatant in the hip, twisting him around. The spray of bullets had narrowly missed John’s head by inches.
“Okay,” John said in disgust, “besides Cairo.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Didn’t have to.”
“Going silent now. I don’t know how good the mics on those cameras are.”
“Rodger. I’ll monitor from here.”
Moving like a ghost, John faded into the darkness and eased through the trees. He needed to move quickly, but erratically enough to confuse anyone monitoring the heat signatures of the other cameras. He hoped that most would be focused on the kids or the hunters and not even notice the monkey-sized heat signature that seemed to float above the ground more often than on it.
It was possible, he mused as he flitted through the rain forest, that Manari knew he had not returned home. It was possible that the mob boss even knew he had somehow returned to the island. But it was doubtful that the man would inform his superiors. The man needed to present a modicum of control, even when he wasn’t in control. His ego would demand no less. But if the man knew John was on the Island, he would be looking for some sign of him. John needed to be extra careful.
The camera angles were controlled remotely. The device Trigger had rigged for him often showed him corridors through the fields of view that kept him out of sight entirely, but there were times he had to cross one, and when he did, he moved in a jerky motion that he hoped would resemble that of a monkey or other animal.
In the space of an hour, he had made up significant ground on his quarry. Trigger kept feeding him the hunters’ location, and they were closing in on Sylvester, who apparently had bedded down for the night. He wore night vision goggles and with the moon overhead, they allowed him to see clearly enough in the dark gloom. He evaded at least two Komodo dragons and one python as well as a nest of army ants, agitated at his passing.
Another hour later, he and the two hunters were converging on Sylvester’s position. John was forced to slow down since he knew more and more cameras would be watching carefully as the entire world laid wagers on the outcome of the two Dayak hunters and Sylvester’s fate. The terrain showed a ridge that overlooked Sylvester’s position. The Dayak hunters had skirted it, choosing to come at the kid obliquely, rather than climb the ridge.
Perfect.
“Trig, I’m moving into position atop the south ridge,” he whispered.
“Gottcha, Cap. The hunters have slowed down. They know they are close, but you should have time to get to the ridge. None of the cameras are pointed in that direction; you will be hidden.”
Moving swiftly, but carefully, John climbed the ridge. It was harder than he supposed and he quickly learned why the two Dayak hunters had elected to
just go around. He slipped once, eliciting a grunt of pain as his chin scraped along a rocky outcropping. Cursing under his breath, he finished the climb and peered over the top of the ridge. He could see nothing. He moved over and shuffled through the trees until he came out on another outcropping, this one overlooking the area where Sylvester slept.
The youth had found a place in a crook of a tree, his heat signature obvious from where John watched. A Komodo dragon that had been sniffing around the base of the tree suddenly lifted its snout in the air, sniffing. Soon it scrambled away, the noise not even waking the troubled youth in the tree. John figured it had gotten wind of the two approaching hunters.
He knelt on the outcropping and unslung his bow. Taking an arrow from his quiver he mounted it and then froze in place, waiting. He studied the foliage and brush below, knowing that the two hunters were stalking their prey. He figured that neither knew of the lad’s precise position, and were relying upon other means to find him. Doubtless, Sylvester had left a trail obvious enough that the hunters could even follow it in the dark. Which means they will have to come through there, John mused to himself. He focused on the spot Sylvester had taken to get to the tree and waited.
A leaf shook, a bush moved, and out stepped a man, half crouched, his head slowly moving from side to side. The man was dressed in traditional Dayak hunting clothing, which consisted of little more than a loincloth and face paint. He carried a long knife about the length of his forearm. A spear was held loosely in his other.
There’s one. Where is the other? He glanced at this hand computer. Trigger’s device only indicated the one Dayak. Where did the other go? Looking back at the clearing, he saw the hunter studying the ground. He was about 30 paces from Sylvester, who slept soundly in the crook of the tree. It wouldn’t take the hunter long to spot the youth.
Maybe this would work out to his advantage. If he shot the hunter now, everyone would just blame it on a bad shot by the other Dayak—the one no longer on the cameras. How did he know how to evade the cameras? He bit his lip, and drew back on his bow, sighting in on the hunter who was inching forward, clearly knowing he was close to his prey.
Where was the other? You would either have to be incredibly lucky or have a device like mine to evade the cameras. Or…he grew cold with dread…or you follow someone who has such a device. He swore and swung around just as a knife flashed towards his face.
The tip bit into his cheek, and a spray of blood spattered the stones around him. He rolled to the side and kicked the hunter in the knee. With a gasp, the second Dayak crumpled, but not before warding John off with another furious slash of his long knife. They both climbed to their feet and faced off.
The hunter was not a professional fighter. John could see that immediately. The man was a hunter who could walk without making a sound—as evidenced by how close he had come upon John, and knew how to fight the local predators in the animal kingdom. But his stance with the knife was all wrong for hand-to-hand combat.
Waving his hands in intricate movements that mesmerized the eyes, John stepped in. The knife slashed towards his chest, but he pushed it aside and slammed a palm into the Dayak’s solar plexus. His attacker gasped and staggered back. John didn’t hesitate but waded in.
Three punches later and the Dayak lay dead on the ground, his neck snapped. Whirling around, John sought for the first hunter and found him about 20 paces away from Sylvester. He bent down and retrieved an arrow from the hunter’s quiver. He then ran to his left about 20 yards to put Sylvester in a direct line between him and the other hunter. He mounted the arrow on the bow and drew the string back to his cheek, the line resting just below his eye, and held his breath.
He only had one shot at this. He had to make it look like the second hunter had shot at Sylvester, missed and tragically killed his partner instead. This meant he had to shoot awfully close to the boy—in the dark—and still hit the second man so that he was killed.
The hunter was crouched low to the ground, studying it. John waited.
Come on! Come on, you ugly murderous pig sucker. Come on!
Suddenly the hunter stood to his feet and looked right at Sylvester.
John let the arrow fly.
The black shaft sped through the lower branches of the tree, missed Sylvester seemingly by inches, and struck the first hunter in the upper right portion of his chest.
The hunter screamed as he spun around and slammed face first into the dirt. Nesting birds scattered into the night and Sylvester came awake with a cry of his own. He practically fell out of the tree, and when he hit ground he threw himself up against the tree trunk, an arrow held out before him—his only defense.
The injured hunter screamed again, writhing on the ground. Soon the sound would attract predators—all whom knew the sound of an injured animal, or person. The man was dragon food. Get out of there, Sylvester. Just leave before you get caught up in an eating frenzy! John dared not offer any assistance. Every camera in the area was no doubt trained on the boy and injured hunter. He glanced at his computer and saw a few cameras tracking in his direction, obviously having figured out where the arrow had come from.
Cursing under his breath, he ducked low and made his way back to the corpse of the second hunter. He needed to dispose of the body and a hungry dragon seemed to be just the thing. He doubted anyone would be able to tell how he had really died. He glanced once more at the clearing and saw Sylvester running off into the night.
Good lad.
Job done, he turned back to cleaning up the mess and making sure no one knew he had ever been there.