When she reached for it, he pulled it back. “Dr. Girard, are you certain you want to continue from here? It might be better if you remain hidden in the forest.”
“Better for whom?” She snatched the weapon, snapped open the slide, and inspected the weapon with a ready familiarity. She then resecured the pistol. Her eyes narrowed on him. “We already had this discussion on the other side of the river. I’ve not changed my mind after the swim.”
By now, Frank had finished cleaning and drying their two FN FAL battle rifles. The weapons hadn’t fit into his go-bag. He pushed one into Tucker’s arms. “I think the lady has made up her mind.”
Tucker frowned.
I had to try one last time.
While trekking to the island, the team had discussed skipping past it and heading straight to Ndaye and the helicopter. But as exhausted as they all were, it would take them the rest of the morning, maybe until the afternoon, to reach that site. That’s if they could even find it, especially without GPS to guide them. By then, De Coster would have burned the island to the ground and been long gone, ready to deny any involvement or culpability. And what could their team do afterward? It would be their word against his billions of dollars.
Tucker knew how that would end.
But beyond holding the man accountable, they had to consider the innocents trapped on the island, who would surely be slaughtered if left behind. None of their group could stomach turning their backs on those patients.
Plus, Frank also intended to secure the data that De Coster’s research team had gathered before it was whisked away, likely to vanish forever. To replicate that work would take weeks, if not longer.
It was time the world did not have.
With matters settled, Tucker got them all moving toward the colonial outpost. He led the way, while Kane trotted ahead, extending Tucker’s eyes and ears. They moved quietly but swiftly. They encountered no patrols, neither human nor robotic. De Coster must have drawn his forces in tighter as he readied for a final evacuation.
As they continued through the forest, the morning grew steadily brighter, much too quickly. The fickle wind had changed direction yet again. The smoke was rapidly clearing away from the island.
We’re running out of time.
Shouts and the roaring of engines confirmed this. From the frantic nature of it all, it sounded as if De Coster’s forces were rushing to leave.
Tucker led the others to the fringe of forest and called a halt. Kane rejoined him. Past the trees, glimpses of the outpost confirmed the worst. Armed men bustled about. Small electric ATVs sped throughout the compound. Two helicopters idled in the square, rotors spinning, keeping the engines warm. The larger of the two was Draper’s gunship.
But that was not what stopped Tucker’s breath.
The second helicopter was equally familiar. It was Ndaye’s small Gazelle. Tucker zoomed his goggles for a closer inspection. Men loaded crates into the Gazelle’s cargo hold.
Tucker clenched a fist.
Had Ndaye betrayed us? Had he been a mole all along?
Searching around the chopper, he spotted the eco-guard. He was down on his knees, his hands secured behind his back, his face beaten, swollen and bloody.
Tucker cringed at the sight, ashamed of his momentary suspicion. He remembered Ndaye hanging upside down and plucking him out of the raging river.
Of course, the man’s not a traitor.
Seeing Ndaye here, Tucker was relieved that his team hadn’t set off directly for the Gazelle after all. They would have been stranded in the jungle, if not eventually captured.
De Coster’s forces must have discovered the FARDC helicopter in the forest after they had all escaped. Tucker felt a twinge of guilt, guessing what had happened. Nolan must have extended a search parameter around the island, suspecting Tucker had come from somewhere in the jungle. Once captured, Ndaye had clearly been brutally interrogated. That beating explained why the eco-guard still lived. De Coster must’ve wanted to learn what the man knew and who had sent him.
Still, Ndaye’s reprieve would not last for long.
Tucker turned to the others. He quickly adjusted their plan to accommodate this new variable. “Frank and I’ll go for Ndaye, then Draper. Afterward, we’ll deal with that gunship.”
Tucker recalled De Coster’s earlier threat, to destroy the outpost using Hellfire missiles. Six rockets—three to a side—graced the stubby wings of the helicopter’s launch airframe. Draper must have restocked his gunship. It was enough firepower to turn the island into a smoking cinder.
He faced Monk and Charlotte. “You two take Kane as planned. Secure the medical ward. If necessary, move the patients into the forest. Get them as far from the compound as possible if the bombing starts.”
Monk shifted closer. He pointed to an outbuilding between the church and guesthouse. “That’s the armory.”
Tucker nodded. It was another goal. Before swimming here, Monk had sketched a rough map of the place in the mud. While a prisoner, Monk had identified the island’s weapons depot. For the assault to come, their team would need more than two rifles, a trio of pistols, and a handful of flash-bangs and grenades still secured to Kane’s bandolier. Unfortunately, there was no way of telling if the armory been cleared out or not.
Setting that concern aside, Tucker studied their ultimate target.
On the far side of the square from the guesthouse stood a squat cement-block building. Its roof sprouted with antennas and satellite dishes, marking the outpost’s communication shack. Still, commandeering the radio would do no good. He pictured the small thumb drive in Draper’s possession. It held the code to break through the jamming across this region.
We need that first.
Tucker shifted a few steps forward and swept his gaze around the square, searching closely with his goggles’ binoculars. He failed to spot Draper. Tucker’s survey ended at the guesthouse.
If he’s anywhere, he’s in there.
Tucker sidled back to the others. He firmed his lips, asking a silent question. We ready? He got nods all around. He then leaned down to Kane, touching noses with his partner in a tradition that went back years.
“Who’s the best boy,” he whispered.
Kane licked his chin.
That’s right.
Tucker pointed to Monk and Charlotte. “CLOSE GUARD,” he ordered.
Ever the soldier, Kane shifted over to them, but his eyes glowed back at Tucker. Tucker felt a stab of misgiving, an uneasy premonition. Maybe it was the strange cast to the light, maybe it was simply the PTSD that haunted them both. Still, in that moment, a shiver passed through him.
Kane took a step toward him, then back again.
As if he felt it, too.
With time ticking down, Tucker shook it off. They both had a mission to do. He motioned to the right, and Monk and Charlotte headed off. The pair would circle through the woods to reach the back of the medical ward’s Quonset hut.
Kane lingered a moment longer, his eyes bright—then he turned and vanished.
“C’mon,” Frank said, drawing his attention, and set off in the opposite direction.
Tucker followed. They would circle to the left and try to reach the armory first. Still, he glanced back toward where the others had vanished. At the corner of this goggles, the jostling view from Kane’s camera feed stuttered, blacking out for several long seconds before continuing again.
Another twinge of dread rankled through Tucker.
Be careful, buddy.
8:32 A.M.
Charlotte kept close to Monk as they headed through the forest. She clutched her pistol in an iron grip. She searched every shadow and shift of leaf. The air reeked and stung her eyes. Her head pounded.
She swallowed down a threatening surge of bile—or tried to. She rubbed her throat. The back of her tongue was numb. Her fingers felt cold. It was why she held so tight to her weapon. She struggled with a truth that had been building throughout the night.