Kingdom of Bones (Sigma Force #16)

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” Charlotte said from the stern, where she sat with Jameson and Kane. “That bastard spared no expense in setting up shop here.”

Tucker tightened his jaw. He searched the banks, looking for those other towers, but he failed to spot a single one. Tucker suspected it wasn’t just the jamming that hid what was going on here. De Coster must have greased thousands of palms, encouraging the authorities to turn a blind eye to his operations.

Tucker focused his own attention forward. They were getting close to a mining town. The glow of its lights reflected off the clouds ahead, roughly marking its location in the jungle.

Maybe another half mile or so.

He intended to shoot past the town without slowing. He eyed the fuel indicator. The racing boat sucked gas at an astonishing rate. Still, he kept the throttle fully open. If they slowed, it would put them all at risk.

He studied the river and glided the boat around a sharp bend. As he made the turn, a whistle blew. Directly ahead, the world exploded into a blinding brilliance. The goggles amplified it, burning away his vision. He gasped and instinctively slowed the boat. He toggled off the night-vision mode. As he blinked away the residual dazzle, the world collapsed into darker shades, except in front of them.

A brilliant line of lights spanned the breadth of the river. He thought it outlined a dam. But as the glare faded, he saw the blockade was actually a row of steel-hulled barges.

“Turn back!” Frank called.

Tucker angled away, tipping the starboard high. Gunfire erupted. Rounds pebbled the water all around them. Tucker careened the boat back and forth, making them a harder target in the dark. As he did, he fought their own momentum to swing around, but he was going too fast. The current swept them toward the brighter glow of the floodlights.

Frank must have recognized the danger and fired his weapon from the bow. The machine gun’s chatter vibrated the entire boat. He strafed the decks of the barges. One after the other, lamps shattered and went dark.

With the collapse of those lights, Tucker spotted a gap between two of the barges. Maybe wide enough for the slim boat to race through. He stopped trying to turn around. Where could they even go? Certainly not back toward the island.

With no choice, he straightened the boat forward.

“Hold tight!” he bellowed and shoved the throttle fully open.

The boat rocketed ahead.

A new volley of gunfire blasted the river. A few rounds struck the bow, but Frank kept his post, returning fire.

Just hold out a little longer.

The barges grew huge in front of him.

Then a new sight shot into view. With a scream of engines, a sun rose from behind the barges and climbed high. It was a helicopter, likely the same gunship he had spotted leaving the island earlier. It shot over the blockade and dove toward them.

Flames spat from its underside.

“Rockets!” Frank yelled.

Tucker cursed and yanked hard on the wheel. The boat spun wildly, skimming and hydroplaning over the river, like a stone skipping across its surface.

On the portside, the river exploded with a huge flume of water.

Another rocket blasted behind the stern.

Tucker regained control of the boat and sped away from the barges. The helicopter buzzed them and made a tight turn, its rotors going nearly vertical. It swung back toward them. They were sitting ducks on the river.

Monk grabbed Tucker’s sleeve and pointed his other arm toward the shore.

Tucker didn’t understand—then spotted a break in the jungle. It marked a tributary flowing into the river. Tucker didn’t know where it led, only that it was off this main channel. He turned and aimed for it, not slowing. They needed to get under the cover of the forest canopy.

The helicopter gave chase, maneuvering to compensate for Tucker’s sudden turn toward shore.

He ducked low over the wheel.

C’mon . . .

The boat flew across the water, catching air at times.

Then the nose reached the mouth of the tributary. It was a tight fit, but they had no choice. The boat shot into the refuge. It went immediately pitch-black under the canopy.

Tucker tapped his goggles back into night-vision mode.

Not a moment too soon.

The waterway twisted in a sharp bend ahead. Tucker pulled back on the throttle and hauled the boat around the curve. Branches along the far side battered at them. Still, he cleared the turn with a gasp of relief. His heart pounded. He wanted to throttle up, but the stream continued to narrow. Rocks scraped the keel.

He didn’t slow—not with a hunter in the air.

An explosion ripped behind the boat, encouraging him to keep going.

Then he hit a submerged boulder.

The boat shot high, tilting in midair. Their vessel became a spear and shot into the forest. It crashed between giant trees and nose-dived into the brush. They were all thrown forward.

As they came to a stop, the engine coughed and died.

Monk was up first. “Everyone out! Now! Get clear of the boat.”

Tucker understood the man’s haste. The gunship surely had thermal sensors. Even under the canopy, the hot engine would glow like a red coal in the night.

“Help me,” Charlotte gasped out.

Tucker turned to see the woman trying to get Jameson off the floor. The doctor cradled one arm to his chest. It hung crookedly, broken at the forearm. Tucker rushed to their aid and got the pair and Kane over board. He and Charlotte half carried the dazed and moaning pediatrician. They hobbled away from the boat.

Behind them, Frank struggled to free the machine gun.

“Leave it,” Monk hollered. “It’s too big to haul through the jungle.”

Frank accepted this and leaped down from the bow.

Monk and Frank quickly joined their group. Together, they rushed away from the crash site. They had barely gotten twenty yards when the world exploded behind them. Flames shot high. A wall of heat struck them. The deafening concussion pushed them all forward.

They kept going, not even pausing to look back at the fiery wreckage of the boat.

Tucker hoped the wash of heat would help hide their bodies until they could reach the deeper depths of the jungle. Luckily, the night also remained hot and humid, which should help mask them. But he also knew the helicopter would soon be offloading hunters into these woods.

“Where do we go?” Charlotte asked.

Tucker knew only one answer.

“Follow me.”


9:55 P.M.

From a rise in the jungle, Monk spied the shine of lights through the forest. He crouched with the others. Distant grumbles of heavy machinery and rhythmic mechanical pounding reached them.

Tucker explained why he had led them to the outskirts of the mining town. “We can’t keep running blindly through the jungle. We don’t know how far this cone of silence stretches, or even in which direction we should go. Right now, we only have a brief window. Soon, they’ll be offloading more and more men who’ll scour through here. The longer we wait, the worse our odds will become.”

“And they certainly won’t be expecting us to walk into that town,” Frank added.

Tucker nodded. “It’s the only place where we can hope to reach the outside world. The town must have a communication nest, some radio tuned to a coded frequency that could breach the jamming. And right now, with the enemy focused out here—”

Monk nodded. “It offers us the best chance of reaching that radio.”

“Us being Frank and me,” Tucker added.

Monk looked sharply at the pair. “Hang on . . .”

“No offense, but you’re down one hand.” Tucker nodded to Charlotte who sat with Jameson. The pair struggled to use a branch to splint the man’s broken arm. “Somebody’s gotta stay and guard the others.”

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