Another river crossed the path ahead, likely draining into the other waterway. He slowed their pace—or rather the jungle did. With the river ahead carving a rut through the forest, the raw sunlight fueled the riotous growth at the water’s edge. Vines and bushes grew into a thorny, shrouded barrier. Rotted deadfalls of tree trunks, covered in emerald moss and fronds of fungi, had to be climbed over.
Tucker noted another problem. The wireless feed from Kane’s camera had begun to stutter inside his goggle, the image fritzing with pixelating dropouts. Tucker licked his lips. He could guess the reason. He glanced back along their trail, remembering where Monk’s transponder had faded out.
Someone’s jamming radio frequencies in this area.
It was also interfering with Kane’s gear.
Tucker grimaced, but at least it confirmed he was on the right path after all. The bigger worry was that it meant he would have a hard time radioing back to Ndaye. If he was successful in freeing the others and sneaking away, he would have to get the group beyond the suppressive reach of the jammer before he could summon the helicopter. It made matters all the more difficult.
But it’s not like I have much choice.
He continued forward, worming and half-crawling to the riverbank. The brighter sunlight stung his eyes, reflecting harshly off the water’s flat black mirror. Blinded, he heard the warning before he saw it. A sonorous thump-thumping. The noise echoed across the water. He traced the source of the noise to a large island in the middle of the confluence of the two rivers. A silver glint rose from the forests there. As Tucker blinked away the glare, he recognized a helicopter lifting off from the island.
Fearing he had already been spotted, he retreated away from the river. He buried himself farther in the jungle, but he kept watch on the aircraft. Was it the same one that had attacked the university? The chopper cleared the trees and turned in the opposite direction. It headed downriver. Tucker watched its path. It eventually swung away from the bow of the river and aimed inland. Tucker noted several columns of smoke in the distance. If he strained, he could make out a distant grinding echo. A sharp whistle also blew from that direction.
It must be a mining town. The Congo was riddled with them. He stared toward the distant plumes of smoke. Had the others been taken there? Or had they been dropped off on the island? He studied the forested silhouette in the river. He could just make out the tip of a long pier jutting downriver. Several boats were moored there. He also took into account the radio jamming of this area.
Someone’s definitely set up shop there. Even if I’m wrong, I’ll have to do a recon.
Which meant a swim.
He stared at the black mirror, wondering what dangers lurked below. Still, he had no choice but to risk it. With a sigh, he studied the sun, which sat low on the horizon. If there were eyes watching any approach from the river, it would be best to wait until nightfall.
With sunset only half an hour away, he settled back to wait, already strategizing in his head.
Kane did not seem happy with this plan. The dog growled deep in his throat, less a noise as a shaking of his body against Tucker’s crouched form. Tucker glanced over. Kane was facing in the opposite direction— toward the shrouded forest—which looked even darker after the bright sunlight.
Kane growled again, signaling his partner.
Something’s out there.
Tucker trusted Kane’s instincts. He stared into the jungle. He needed eyes on whatever the dog sensed. He signaled his partner by lowering a palm before Kane’s nose, then pointing a finger toward the jungle: STAY LOW, TAKE POINT.
Upon this command, Kane slunk off into the forest, slipping from shadow to shadow. As Tucker tracked him via the camera feed, he added a second silent command: Be careful, buddy.
Kane inhales the forest as he trails back into the trees. He takes in the scents to build what his eyes can’t see.
Coming here, he has already memorized the spoor in the area: the bright tang of urine on a trunk, the darker musk of dung, the ammonia spatter of guano. Etched over all lingers the rot of leaf and buried bones, the ripeness of fallen fruit and maggoty decay.
On the back of his tongue, he tastes the dankness of this damp world, the sweet drifts of pollen in the air, the redolent loam stirred underfoot.
As he continues, he keeps his belly low and his ears high, tracing the unusual noise that had drawn his attention. It does not belong here. A growl of challenge builds in his throat, fueled by a hormonal fire to dominate. But he fights his own blood and holds back.
He pads forward, careful with each step. Thorns comb his ruff, but he shifts to keep those same barbs from scratching against his coarse vest and giving his position away. He is rewarded as the noise grows louder ahead.
—a squelching crunch of wet leaf, heavy, too rhythmic.
—a sharp whirring that sets his hackles high.
—a ticking, tanging of metal.
Then his nose picks up its scent, unique and separate from the forest world. It is lightning in the air, accompanied by a whiff of gun oil (of which he knows well). He also tastes burning plastic on his tongue.
The foreignness spikes his blood even hotter.
Still, he stifles any challenge.
He slows instead, shifting one paw ahead, then another. He holds his tail low. He sticks to the darkest shadows. Then he sees his target, both of them. They move with clumsy synchronicity, stalking through the forest with a dread determination, whirring with each step.
His hackles rise higher. A storm builds in his chest.
Then a command reaches his ears, urgent and forceful.
TAKE COVER!
He obeys, not out of fear, only from a loyalty that burns bright in his heart. He slips back into the deeper shadows, dropping to his belly. His haunches remain hard and tense, readying him to flee or attack.
Until then, he simply watches as the strangeness ambles closer.
Tucker gawked at the sight revealed in Kane’s camera feed.
What the f . . .
A moment ago, two robotic figures had thumped into view, a matching pair of glossy black quadrupeds. They had clumped through the forest, moving in sync, like a deadly ballet of engineering and threat. He studied the closest one. It stood Kane’s height at the shoulders, but it was missing its head. It had been replaced instead with a ring of camera lenses surmounted by a stub-nosed rifle assembly.
Tucker understood what he was seeing.
Guard dogs.
He had been following the development of these units for some time, having skin in the game when it came to military working dogs. They were called Quad-legged Unmanned Ground Vehicles, or Q-UGVs. They were intended to add a heightened level of security around military installations. But even the NYPD had briefly employed nonmilitary versions to assist in searching apartment complexes.
Tucker gritted his teeth.
Apparently, their deployment has expanded considerably—all the way to the Congo.
He searched beyond the pair for any sign of a handler, but he knew the robotic dogs were semi-autonomous. They were designed to patrol remote areas of a base, leaving soldiers to monitor more vital areas. The units could be controlled by a virtual reality headset worn by an operator or sent out along preprogrammed paths and assigned to react according to a set of algorithms.
He held his breath as the pair approached Kane’s hiding spot. According to their specs, their ring of fourteen sensors scanned a full 360-degrees around them. They could crouch, jump, sprint, even operate at temperatures well below zero or in the most scorching desert. Then there were those rifle mounts. He hadn’t heard of that addition to the robotic dogs, unless such weapons were unique to these jungle units.