* * * *
Trigger took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “They’ve just made landfall, John. A helicopter let the three teams off in triangular formation at the Island’s shore line. Clearly they don’t know where we are.”
“Don’t count on that,” John said as the three contestants crowded close to hear. “Which team is closest?”
“The US team—I think.”
“How far?”
“Two clicks.”
“Bring up the map.” Trigger did so and John leaned close to examine it. “They’ll be coming this way since this is the nearest dead zone for the camera networks. We need to lead them elsewhere. If our plan is to work, we need to deal with the other two teams first.” He looked at the map and the elevation contours, his mind trying to picture the pieces on the board like a chess game. “Okay, Trigger, here’s what we need to do. Flash a sighting of Neesha at the edge of that the eastern dead zone. Just her. I suspect that everyone will converge towards that location, but that team there—” He pointed to a spot on the map.
“The Russians,” Trigger supplied.
“Yeah, the Russians will have to pass this juncture of the jungle near the village. We will ambush them there.”
Sylvester frowned. “Why take out the Russians first? Why not the Americans?”
“We need the Americans to be last,” John answered. “Remember the plan. Trigger’s covert message to Ann Saunders was perfect. We no longer have to deal with nine men in a single cohesive unit. We have divided them. Now we must conquer.”
“Are you sure this will work?” Ali asked, walking over to the table and picking out a shotgun.
“Nope. But it is our only chance.” John turned to Sty. “Listen, they will be reluctant to shoot at you since most Russians are betting on you to win. You are our ace in the hole. When we deal with the Arabs, it will be you Ali. Understand?”
They both nodded.
Trigger frowned, standing to his feet. “Guess you’re going to need me, aren’t you?”
“The kids are going to be the bait, but it is up to you and me to eliminate the teams. Once the shooting starts, the others will most likely converge on our location. You’ll need to slip away and start feeding false information through the network to confuse them. I seriously doubt they know about you. The Americans have been briefed about me, but not you.”
Trigger grinned. “I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Me too.”
Neesha moved over to the table and picked up a handgun. She fingered it nervously. “What do you want us to do?”
“Mostly, I just want the cameras to see you for short periods of time. I don’t really want you to get involved in the shooting if we can help it.” He moved over and put a hand on her arm. “You should carry that, but only use it you need to.” Looking at the rest of them, he said, “That goes for the rest of you. Only Ali has had any combat training, but mostly, I suspect, it was evasion techniques, right?”
Ali nodded. “They only taught me certain things so I could plant explosives in key areas. Most of it would do me little good out here.”
“Still, I want all three of you armed. You may need to defend yourself before this is over.” John paused, considering. “Keep your guns out of sight, though. It would be counterproductive if you were seen running around armed at the moment.”
All three nodded.
Everyone moved quietly then as they armed themselves and prepared to venture into the jungle once again. John moved with an economy of movements. He selected a light automatic rifle that had a built-in silencer. The silencer cut down on its accurate range, but with the denseness of the jungle, he would need to get rather close anyway. There would be few opportunities for long shots. He also took a modified handgun that held 30 rounds in a long magazine that extended below the grip. A machete completed his armament.
The kids each selected a concealable handgun, but Trigger holstered two wicked-looking old revolvers. The trigger had actually been removed on both. This was another reason Trigger had earned his nickname. He was the trigger. He could thumb the revolvers faster than any man could actually pull the trigger or even fan the hammer. The technique, known as a slip gun, was used in the old Western ear of the United States. Trigger could get off 12 shots and a few seconds and hit everything he aimed at. He was deadly with either hand and could use both hands simultaneously while shooting at different targets. John had seen him in action on a number of occasions and the man was downright terrifying.
When they were set, Trigger linked the kill teams’ locations to a hand held computer, and they slipped out of the hut and into the jungle. They jogged for better part of an hour outside the perimeter of the camera network. They skirted the village and set up an ambush less than a mile from the outer edge of the village.
The only concession John had made to his clothing was an American flag patch that he slapped onto his shoulder. Neesha saw him attaching it and frowned. John shrugged. “If our plan is to work, we need to cultivate some erroneous impressions.”
She said nothing, but a wrinkling of her forehead told John how much pain she was still in. He considered sending her back to the hut, but he feared having any of them out of his sight. He looked at his computer and saw that the three-man Russian team was only about somewhat over 100 meters out. He signaled to everyone to take their places.
Ali and Neesha crept back behind John, who slithered forward to take up a position between two rock formations. He had a clear line of sight for about 20 yards, but a game trail led right by the rocks and was the logical path for the Russians to take.
Trigger circled around and moved into position on the other side of the trail, allowing the two veterans to flank the most logical route the Russians would be advancing from. Trigger whistled that he was in position.
That was Sylvester’s cue. Sty stepped out onto the path and edged nervously forward, coming into view of the first camera. He wore his tattered and threadbare clothes and carried his pack over one shoulder. They had rubbed dirt on his face and had even scratched his cheek to let some of his blood mingle with the dirt to form a crusty paste on his face. John had wanted to make the young man’s appearance look like he had still been wandering around the jungle but had inadvertently evaded or stepped outside the camera network.
Sty staggered forward as they had discussed. The young man moved up the trail slowly, peering this way and that. Under normal circumstances his actions would have been perceived as suspicious and would have alerted the Russians that something was wrong, but for over a month now the cameras had seen him do exactly the same thing nearly every day. In this case, Sty’s fear worked to John’s advantage. Sty was to walk no further than 50 meters down the trail. He did and stopped nervously, shifting from foot to foot and looking around into the jungle.
John relaxed, allowing the tension to drain from his body. It was an old soldier’s trick, to keep a person’s limbs loose. He focused on flexing different muscle groups in his body, starting with his arms and working his way down to his legs, to prevent anything from growing stiff in his awkward position.
He peered up the trail. He could barely make out Sty, but at least the young man hadn’t run away. Since the Russians had bet heavily on Sty to win, John felt rather confident that the Russians would not seek to harm him. Indeed, they would most likely try to make contact with Sylvester in an effort to protect him from the other six soldiers that were roaming the Island.
Glancing at his computer, John realized that the soldiers had already spotted the young man and had fanned out, approaching him skillfully from three different angles. He shifted his grip on the stalk of his weapon and brought the muzzle up to cover the trail. Soon.
Sylvester must have finally heard their approach, for he gave a startled yelp and darted back towards John and Trigger. Good lad!
Someone yelled something in Russian, and suddenly three men in full combat gear converged on the trail, running after the scared young man.
When all three had come into range, John selected one of the men and pulled the trigger. There was a zipht sound and a plume of blood exploded from one of the Russian’s heads. The soldier dropped as if poleaxed right in front of the camera.
The other two soldiers reacted like the elite soldiers they were. Both twisted towards where the shot had come from and began laying down covering fire as they began to back up, seeking cover.
John swore viciously as bullets splatted around him, biting into the stone and ricocheting away. Chips of stone splintered off the rocks and cut into his face and body like shrapnel. He rolled more protectively behind one of the rocks and swore again as a round nicked his leg, cutting the fabric in a long line. The skin beneath it bloomed into a line of blood. It was a flesh wound only, but it was enough for him to jerk his legs close to his body and more out of the angle of the attacks.
And then Trigger was there. He jumped out on the trail, his own body outside the camera network, with both revolvers drawn. Like a demon spouting fire from his hands, he thumbed all 12 rounds, each revolver focusing on a separate target.
The two soldiers never even had a chance. All twelve rounds, six per man, hit within mere seconds of each other. A few rounds were stopped by body armor, but the rest found exposed flesh around the neck and face. Both soldiers dropped in their tracks.
John peeked out, saw all three men down and blew a sigh of relief. He stood shakily to his feet and winced when his injured leg protested. Trigger looked over and nodded. Picking his way down to the trail, he approached the body, careful to keep his face concealed from the camera. The only distinguishing mark on his body was the American flag patch. He picked up their weapons and communication gear and slipped away, back out of the camera network. With any luck, the whole world just saw an American soldier ambushing the Russian soldiers.
That should get someone’s attention.
Trigger and the three youths were waiting for him back beyond camera range. Quietly they moved even further away to avoid any of the microphones from picking up their conversation.
“That went rather well,” Trigger said, his face flushed with excitement. He was reloading his revolvers.
“Still haven’t lost your touch, I see,” John commented.
Ali was staring at Trigger in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like that,” he breathed. “How do you do that?”
Trigger shrugged his lanky shoulders. “Talent, I guess.”
John shifted the conversation. “That’s three down. What are the others doing?”
Trigger holstered his revolvers and took out his computer. He stared at it for a moment. “It looks like they have all stopped.”
John frowned. “I thought for sure they would be moving this way like bees to honey.”
“Nope. They’ve just stopped. All of them.”
“What are they doing?”
“How the blazes should I know? Do I look like a mind reader to you?”
For what seemed to be a long time, they stared at the computer screen. John tried to reason out what they were all up to. By rights, they should be converging on his location. Sure, the ambush would make them more wary, but stopping? Suddenly, the blips that represented the six remaining soldiers blinked once and then completely disappeared.
Trigger swore, shaking the device.
“What happened?” John demanded.
“Shut up and let me work,” the other soldier snapped. He tapped various commands into the device. Finally, he let it drop to his side and sighed. “They took down the camera network.”
John let that sink in for a moment. “Okay, that kinda makes sense. They must’ve figured that someone was tracking them with the cameras and decided to neutralize that threat before moving. But that means the rest of the world is blind too. No one can watch what is going on. I don’t understand the move.”
“What about their helmet cams?” Trigger asked. “Essentially that is all they need. Anything they see is no doubt being relayed to the networks instead.”
“It’s not as efficient,” John muttered.
“But we’ve just proven we’re tapped into it. This effectively cuts us off.’
Ali looked puzzled. “How will they find us then without the cameras?”
“They have satellites. It won’t be nearly as reliable, since there is so much heat and cover on this Island, but I suspect they are re-tasking some of them to this location.” John chewed his lower lip in thought. “We need to move. Come on.”
John led the five of them into the jungle and away from the village. “They know our last location, or at least some of us. I can’t imagine that they won’t come here first to at least try and pick up our trail.” He glanced at Trigger. “Is there another way to track them? They must be wearing some sort of com device, and no doubt their helmet cams must be sending out a signal as well. Trigger, can you isolate the frequencies and tap in?”
The long-faced man rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “Possibly. It would take time and I can’t do it with this.” He shook his small computer. “I need my equipment back in the hut.”
John nodded. “Go back then and work on it. We’ll start moving to high ground and see if we can’t locate the Arabs.”
“Will you be able to handle them without me?” Trigger asked.
“Hopefully. The Arabs have to move past the central mountains. If we can gain some height, I might be able to pick them off from a distance.”
“Not with that pea-shooter,” Trigger scoffed. “That’s inaccurate after 50 yards.”
“I’ll think of something.”
“Fine. I’ll stay in touch. As soon as I learn anything, I’ll send it to your handheld.”
“Thanks.”
“You can thank me by staying alive—and keeping me alive too.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Rolling his eyes, Trigger set out for the hut. John wished him luck.