Sam and Ryland and the rest of the team made their way through the tangled vines and tall fronds to the creek.

“Over watch in position,” Kadan reported.

“We’re at staging point in the creek,” Ryland answered. “We’re splitting up here. Sam and I will slip up on them using the water for concealment.”

Tucker, Kyle, and Gator melted into the jungle silently.

“In support position,” Tucker announced first.

Kyle and Gator echoed him in seconds.

“Heads up,” Nico said. “They are accompanied by twenty armed men. All have rifles and sidearms. I see no packs, no other equipment.”

“We copy,” Ryland said.

“Copy twenty,” Tucker said.

“All right, they set up right where we wanted them to. We are moving out. Sam, let’s get this done.”

They both slipped into the water, wading downstream, going into the deep, faster-moving stream, until they were fully immersed.

Ryland came up out of the water just at Ekabela’s feet. He rose fast, a dark ghost, covered in black paint and dripping water as he caught the man in a tight grip, knife to his throat. He grinned savagely at the CIA operative who had orchestrated the double cross.

“I’m here for the package,” he said, keeping his voice pitched low.

Ekabela had barely caught a glimpse of the dark shadow before his head was jerked backward, putting him off balance and exposing his throat to the very large, sharp blade sitting on his skin. Breathing, swallowing, any movement at all would result in the blade drawing blood.

The man in jeans and a light sports jacket raised his hand as if he could ward Ryland off. “Whoa, soldier. Stand down. I was supposed to meet you upriver and guide you here.”

Ryland stayed perfectly still, letting his cold gray eyes say it all for him.

“I’m Duncan Forbes,” the man from the CIA tried again. “Ekabela has the package for you. There’s no problem whatsoever. Just put down the knife and we’ll discuss this. We were told Sam Johnson would be picking it up. You’re clearly not Sam.”

“I am,” Sam whispered from behind Forbes. “Don’t move, sir. I wouldn’t want to accidentally shove this knife through your kidney.”

Forbes felt the tip of the blade stinging through his clothing. “There’s no need for this.”

“Just taking care, sir,” Sam said. “We wouldn’t want anything to go wrong like it did the last time one of us came into contact with an Ekabela. Give me the package and we’ll complete the rest of the mission quietly. No one will know we were ever here.”

“Your orders were to wait for me to guide Sam Johnson, and only Sam Johnson, to the rendezvous location,” Duncan hissed. “You can’t treat an important ally like this. I’ll have you two brought up on charges. Put down your weapons. That’s an order. Shit, you’ve messed up everything.”

“Sorry, sir,” Sam said. “I take orders from him.” He brought his free hand sweeping past Forbes to indicate Ryland. “Give me the package. When it’s secure, we’ll go our way.”

Forbes jumped a little, his eyes following the hand that pointed to the man holding Ekabela so still.

In the absolute silence of the jungle, the constant drone of cicadas and crickets returned full force. Sam felt exposed, his back to the creek, knowing Ekabela’s men were ready to cut them down the moment Ekabela was released from Ryland’s grip. He could feel them, more, smell their sweaty bodies as they crept into position, having been forced to shift to better protect their leader.

Ekabela was sweating and slippery, his eyes conveying both outrage and fear. He kept looking out to the jungle, trying to convey silently to his men to stay back. Forbes slowly nodded his head. Ekabela’s hand crept toward his jacket.

“Be very careful,” Ryland advised. “You bring your hand out of that jacket with anything but the package, you’ll be the first to die.”

Ekabela let out his breath in a kind of angry rush, but his hand was very steady as he reached into his coat and withdrew a small, brown paper– wrapped object. He slowly extended his palm. The package was small, no bigger than five inches in length.

“Please take that, Mr. Forbes, but be very careful,” Sam advised. “You don’t want to reach for a weapon and blow it at this stage of the game. That will get you both killed.”

Duncan Forbes’s face twisted into a mask of anger. He stepped forward and took the package from Ekebela. “Now what?”

“Open it and make certain it’s what it’s supposed to be,” Sam instructed. He had stepped forward with Forbes as the man moved, knife tip still pressed tight against his kidney.

Forbes didn’t dare turn around, or look over his shoulder; instead he glared hard at Ryland. “This is absolutely preposterous. Both of you will be court-martialed for this.”

“Do what you have to do, sir. We’re just following orders.” Sam’s voice came from behind him, low, close to his ear, and the blade never so much as trembled or moved from Forbes’s kidney. “But you open that package now.”

Swearing, Duncan tore open the brown paper. Sam could see a large chunk of what looked like an uncut diamond. It was quite large and thick, maybe three inches in diameter. Keeping the knife pressed close to Duncan’s kidney, he held out his palm. Duncan dropped the half-opened paper with the diamond into Sam’s hand. He closed his fist around it and slid it inside his jacket.

Package secure, sir. He used telepathy.

Ryland gave the smallest of nods.

Sam stepped even closer to Duncan Forbes. “Do you have a vehicle close, sir?” he whispered.

Forbes nodded.

“I suggest you run to it and get the hell out of here fast. This is going to get ugly.” That was all the warning Forbes was going to get. Sam released Duncan and slowly backed away.

Ryland drove his knife into the base of Ekabela’s skull, severing the spine and killing him instantly. He held the body upright for an instant, his gaze drilling into Forbes.

“Geez. Oh, God.” Duncan backed away from him, turning white under his skin, sweat beading on his forehead. “You have no idea what you’ve done.”

Ryland’s eyes met Sam’s. Sam was very aware of the jungle around him, as if the world was still right, the sounds of the jungle, the constant shifting above their heads, the continual drone of the cicadas, the calls of the frogs, a cry of a monkey. His heart thundered in his ears.

Ryland let Ekabela’s body fall to the ground, and just as if he’d triggered a bomb, the world erupted into hell around them. Duncan Forbes turned and ran for his life. Bullets tore bark off trees and vines, hissing through the air and spitting bark and splinters at them. Ryland and Sam both fired an entire magazine on full automatic, bullets spraying the jungle, driving the soldiers away from them.

Tucker, Kyle, and Gator had all gone to one knee and began to eliminate preselected targets. Simultaneously, Nico, Kadan, and Jonas on the hill in the over watch did the same. Smoke and red-hot streaks sizzled through the roar and shock of the guns, accompanied by high-pitched screams and explosions. Rock and wood chips rained down. Dirt flew around them as shrapnel hit everywhere.

Sam could tell how close the bullets were by the various sounds they made. The snapping sound was ominous, three feet or closer. The scent of cordite from the gunpowder grew strong. The distinctive smell of burned composition “B” from the grenades was heavy in the air.

Reloading. Bounding. Ryland called out telepathically to the others indicating he and Sam were moving and someone had to cover their targets.

Sam and Ryland retreated five meters, reloading as they ran. At five meters they both went down to one knee to place covering fire—rapidly aimed shots—at the swarming army of angry soldiers, giving the other two teams a chance to pull back. Once in line, they naturally became two teams and began to alternate covering fire.

The fighting was intense, an explosion of violence, and Sam just held on to one thing. He would go home to Azami. He was not buying it out here in the jungle.

Reloading. Bounding. The words were repeated often as one team would retreat toward their destination while the other provided cover.

The ragtag army didn’t seem to have leadership, following in anger more than with any strategy. Clearly they felt they were a superior force, but they were scattered, not as well trained as the rebels Ekabela had had months earlier.

All clear of the danger range? Ryland asked as they continued moving into the trap, drawing the rebels into the funnel.

All members of both teams had to be a good twenty-five meters away from the first of the claymores.

Clear, the men responded one by one, using the telepathic link Ryland formed.

“Claymore,” Kadan yelled as he detonated the first two antipersonnel mines.

Simultaneously Jonas pulled the igniter rings. The claymores had a range of fifty yards. Anyone inside that sixty degree horizontal fan was going to die or wish they were dead. As the claymores went off, the team hightailed it out of the war zone, back toward the hide.

Moving fast in their standard formation, cover and run, they made it past their second defense, the next line of claymores. Any combatants following would get caught in the next set of mines, and aside from taking out most of the rebels Ekabela had recruited, another devastating blow definitely would take the fight out of most that were left.

At the hide, Team One recovered gear while Team Two stayed on guard. They switched, working fast in silence while Team Two retrieved the rest of their gear.

We’ll wait ten minutes and see if anyone was stupid enough to follow us, Ryland said, still using telepathy. He looked his men over. Anyone hurt?

Gator nudged Jonas with his foot. Heard high wire here tripped over his big feet. He somersaulted down the hill this time.

Fuck you, Gator, Jonas replied with a sheepish grin. What the hell is that bloody streak on your face? You try to kiss one of those guys?

The jungle bit me, Gator quipped back.

The relief of being alive crowded in while they did a quick inventory of body parts, hoping everything was still attached. Sam checked his gear, knowing they would be moving out fast, going somewhere a lot quieter before the next phase of their mission.

Ten minutes, Ryland announced. Team One, gather all unused claymores. Team Two will cover. We go out in single file, four meters apart.

They didn’t want to give the enemy a large target, but it was more than that. If one person accidentally stepped on a pressure mine, no one else was going to take the blast.

Kadan, you’re on point.

Kadan was a ghost, drifting in and out of shadows, up and down rocks, trees, any kind of terrain, never making a sound. He would be ten meters ahead, which would give the rest of them a chance if he came across the enemy. If he found anything, he would signal the rest of them to stop, move up on line quietly, or send Ryland up to investigate and make the decision which way to proceed.

The smell of rotting vegetation and mildew grew as they went deeper into the jungle. The jungle could be as deadly as—or even deadlier than—the enemy they were hunting. Everything seemed to want to kill them—bugs, snakes, crocs, and caiman, as well as larger animals and even the trees and vines. Monkeys had a nasty habit of giving away position with their screams.

The team kept their movements slow and deliberate, not wanting to stir up trouble while they slipped single file through miles of jungle. Kadan signaled Ryland when he found a good defensible position, and Ryland moved forward to consult.

We regroup here, Ryland decided. We’ll put phase two into operation from here.

The men set up the base, took stock of supplies left, set their claymores, and posted guards while Sam made the call home.

“Valhalla … Valhalla, Reaper One, do you copy?”

“This is Valhalla . . .”

Sam gave his report as succinctly as possible. They were deeper into the rebel territory, and the chance of anyone listening was greater.