Delani pointed up the other road. The ground sloped into a hill then twisted through dense forest. Delani ordered Kipwe to take them down that road and to "kick up a lot of dirt."

The driver floored the gas. The tires tore away at the dirty road, lifting a cloud of dust in the air and leaving deep grooves. They lurched forward, bouncing over a series of jutting stones and taking them toward the hill. As Ike glanced behind them, he saw the first of the pursuing vehicles coming up the road. They were moving fast.

The Jeep shuddered and rattled as they picked up speed. Kipwe had to struggle with the steering wheel to keep them from swerving into a tree. Around them the sun danced in white shafts through the canopy.

Ike kept his eyes fixed on the first Jeep and watched as the second and third pulled in close behind. The drivers picked up speed, shooting right past the tiny side road the others had gone down. Delani's ploy had worked. All three vehicles were on their tail.

As they closed, Ike counted the pursuers. Two of the vehicles had three rebels and the last one had four. To make matters worse, Ike saw something jutting up from the last Jeep.

A .50 caliber barrel, easily five feet long, extended from a mounting platform on the back. The heavy machine gun was probably British-made and sold to either Uganda or Rwanda through a middle supplier. Such a gun could fire rounds much faster and farther than the submachine guns most militias carried. The bullets would easily tear through metal and light armor.

In case Delani hadn't seen it, Ike leaned in and told him, "They outnumber us three-to-one. And besides that, they have a toy."

As the South African turned his head, Ike jerked his thumb back at the pursuing vehicles. Delani grinned with unusual levity. "I count each of us five times."

Ike nodded. "Right. In that case, we have them covered."

He gripped the padded seats as Kipwe took the Jeep around a hard turn. Dirt flew into the air as the vehicle fishtailed on the loose surface. They barely slowed and were speeding off in the new direction; the trunks of the great trees allowed only scattered views of their enemies.

"You know," Ike replied thoughtfully. They hit another b.u.mp, their bodies bouncing fiercely. "That explains a lot."

The banter did wonders to cut through the tension. Ike knew that Delani had no intention of going into a fight with such horrible odds. He hoped to lose them long before any shots were fired. The Australian mercenary reached under the seat and lifted the black MP5K. If the rebels opened fire, he might be able to use it as a deterrent.

The road climbed the hill in a zigzag pattern with long straight-aways and sharp U-turns. As they slowly climbed the steep hill, the first of the militia Jeeps rounded the corner. Here the canopy dropped lower on one side, exposing them to the hot sun. Blue sky stretched to their right. The road was too open.

Ike watched as the man in the pa.s.senger seat of the lead Jeep got up. He perched himself against the windshield arms extended. His shirt flapped around his shoulders and in his hands a thick round barrel rested. Ike recognized the weapon immediately and all hope of escape seemed fleeting.

The weapon fired-a hollow retort. At the same time the lead Jeep hit a deep pothole, throwing the shooter off his balance; the launcher dipped.

An explosion blasted up shards of rock and dirt between the two vehicles. The blast echoed through the Ituri forest. A cloud of dust rose in the air as the pursuing Jeep bounced through the crater left in the road.

The man holding the grenade launcher choked and wheezed. He wiped at the dust in his face and tried to keep his balance.

Ike leaned against the backseat, angling the MP5K behind them, the short black barrel extended. Normally Ike kept it fitted with a suppressor, but today he wanted his enemy to see the flash and hear the noise. He lined his eye up along the length of the barrel, eyeing just above the man's sternum. But the distance and unstable surface proved too great for such a careful shot.

The gun rattled in his arms, Ike's shoulder absorbing the recoil. The windshield stopped two of the bullets and the third flew off into the jungle. The rebel holding the launcher dropped back behind the gla.s.s, no longer quite so anxious to make himself a target.

"Hang on!" Kipwe yelled. Ike grabbed the seat as the Jeep swung around tight. The vehicle spun one hundred and eighty degrees, dirt flying. The maneuver stopped the Jeep completely; and when Kipwe floored the gas, the tires took forever to catch.

Luckily the spin put jungle between themselves and the militia. They moved up the next straight-away running parallel to the old one, the militia Jeeps pa.s.sing on their left. As the three vehicles flew by, Ike heard the sound of automatic fire slicing through the trees that separated them. The majority of the bullets. .h.i.t the trees or went too wide, but a small round hole caught in the driver's side door, just below Kipwe's shoulder.

The mercenary didn't seem to notice, and Ike saw no reason to tell the man how close he had come to catching a bullet with his face.

"You need to drive faster," Delani yelled.

"If I go too fast I will not make the turn," Kipwe argued.

It was beginning to look like they could not outrun the militia. Ike focused down his MP5K, locking his eyes on the curve in the road as the Jeeps flew around it. All three spun in the dust and the second looked like it might lose its grip on the road for a moment, but soon they were all following in hot pursuit.

Ike clicked a switch on the side of his submachine gun, taking it off the three round burst setting favored by so many special ops soldiers. As their pursuers closed, he did his best to keep the gun steady and pressed the trigger. The crackling of his gun stung his ears and the weapon pounded his shoulder. The front of the lead Jeep lit up in a shower of sparks. Bullets peppered the windshield and shattered one of its headlights.

Despite the damage dealt, it pressed forward, closing the gap as Kipwe slowed to take the next turn.

By the time Ike climbed back onto the seat, the lead Jeep came back into view, closer than before. The same man in the pa.s.senger seat, his face covered in dirt, stood up, readying the launcher. Behind him, one of his compatriots lifted a Kalashnikov.

Delani jumped into the seat next to Ike. He had his Glock in one hand and in the other a small green ball. First he emptied the Glock, the machine pistol nearly shattering Ike's eardrums with automatic fire. Bullets pounded the lead Jeep resulting in a lot of sparks and not enough real damage. But it forced the two men to duck behind the windshield.

Delani dropped the empty clip into the backseat, and dropped the gun beside it. He pa.s.sed the small grenade into his right hand, tugging the pin free with a metallic pop. He nearly stood up as he swung his hand back and threw.

The driver of the first Jeep saw the small object coming and reacted on instinct. He swerved right on the small road but the damage was done. He crashed into a tree. The two standing men were thrown over the shattered windshield, flailing their arms and legs and landing in the undergrowth. The grenade launcher flew free and disappeared in the vegetation.

The grenade exploded in front of the second Jeep, throwing up dirt and shrapnel as the second driver plowed right through the dust and smoke.

Ike nodded in appreciation at Delani, gritting his teeth through each bounce and jerk of the vehicle. "Y' evened things up a bit, I'd say," Ike said.

Kipwe swung around the next corner. He seemed to be getting a handle on the twisting road because he only slowed for a moment before peeling off again. As Ike and Delani waited for the two remaining vehicles to round the corner, Delani searched his belt, pulling free a spare clip for his Glock. He lifted the gun and clicked the new cartridge into place.

The two remaining Jeeps pulled back, keeping their distance. The small mercenary company had apparently earned their respect.

The leading Jeep pulled over, letting the last one take the lead. This vehicle still kept a steady distance-out of range of hand grenades-but Ike watched in horror as one of the men climbed into the back next to the heavy machine gun.

Delani saw it too. He turned to Kipwe and yelled, "Faster!"

Kipwe glanced in his rearview mirror then stepped on the pedal hard, apparently unmindful of the deadly turn just at the end of the straight-away.

The standing rebel behind them gripped the swivel-mounted weapon with both hands.

The mercenaries. .h.i.t another b.u.mp, even such a tiny lump in the road sending them high in the air. The shocks groaned as the vehicle crashed back down. Ike slipped, falling to the floor between the seats. Delani reached down to help him.

Kipwe suddenly slammed on the brakes, but the wheels would not catch in the loose dirt. The whole vehicle slid right through the U-turn at the end of the road, leaving thick trenches in the ground.

Delani, Kipwe, and Ike flew into the dense canopy, the sky darkening. Sunlight turned from hot yellow to light blue shards. The ground dropped off sharply and they fell forward, trees and leaves whipping past them. For many seconds the sound of the Jeep's engine silenced, replaced with the hush of rushing air. The front tires caught on the root of a ma.s.sive tree and the back end flipped into the air.

The world spun. The floor of the Jeep, the back of the front seats, the backseat, and Delani's hulking body formed a protective coc.o.o.n from the thrashing foliage. It landed upside-down, the front windshield shattering. Ike and Delani slammed into the cool mud of the jungle floor.

Ike hit his head with a loud crack. For several seconds his vision blurred, and he couldn't feel the pain in the rest of his body. As his senses cleared, he heard the tires spinning freely in the air overhead. Beside him, Delani stirred, crawling in the mud. They were pinned in the backseat, light peeking in from the sides.

Ike groaned as his right side throbbed. The pain would have been much worse, he reckoned, if Delani had not broken his fall.

Delani crawled to the side of the Jeep and squeezed out of the small s.p.a.ce between the door and the ground. The South African didn't seem to care if he skinned his back or his elbows in the tight squeeze, and he lifted the Jeep slightly with his movements. The moment he was outside, he reached in and gestured for Ike to follow.

Ike crawled toward him. Mud oozed around his fingers and covered his shirt and fatigues. When he neared Delani, the man grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him through the small opening. The top of the door tore at Ike's back, ripping his shirt, but he was out.

He looked at the dense canopy overhead and the scant light that kept the forest as dark as dusk.

Delani called out to Kipwe. The front half of the vehicle was crushed into the jungle floor. Seconds ticked by; their partner didn't answer.

Delani repeated the cry, his tone growing more desperate. As the South African's voice filled with grief and anger, bile rose in Ike's throat. He wished for the strength to lift the Jeep and tug Kipwe to safety.

Ike spotted movement through the trees. He could see up the slope to the curve in the road where they had flown off. Two vehicles were parked; the one in front had the mounted gun. One of the militia soldiers was lining up the long barrel in their direction.

Ike fumed at the rebels who moved through the forest in a swath of destruction. Their bloodl.u.s.t had taken the life of Kipwe. Ike pulled his Desert Eagle from the holster and angled the pistol at the trees, then he paused; they were too far off. The action would be futile. And meanwhile, the man standing at the other end of the .50 caliber machine gun took aim.

"We need to get going," Ike said.

Delani stood up, vengeance in his eyes. "I need my gun-"

A line of bullets tore through the Jeep. Metal and gla.s.s flew in a stream of death cutting toward Delani and Ike.

"Not enough time," Ike yelled.

He grabbed Delani's arm, dragging him through the jungle, bullets ripping through branches and pounding up mud behind them.

3.

Sam stopped and looked over her shoulder. Behind her, the leaves swayed in a dance of light and shadow. White sunlight cut through the trees, more playing with her vision than providing light to see. Animal calls sounded all around and every bush seemed to conceal a lurking predator.

Something was out there. She was sure of it now. They were being followed. She felt its eyes on her as she stepped carefully through the twisting vines and bushes.

She spun again, scanning the dense foliage. Was it above her? Was it hunting her? Perhaps it was some predatory animal, or perhaps the rebels had found them and were waiting for the opportunity to strike. She looked up at the canopy, noting the play of light. There was something else. The leaves should not block the light quite so much. There was something palpable and thick in the air. A dark cloud hung over everything, lurking like some otherworldly presence.

They were not alone.

"Sam?" Brandon called from up ahead.

All around them the jungle loomed. The wild calls of unknown animals echoed. Occasionally she heard sickening screams or a growl. It felt strange and unnatural.

Everything was wrong.

"Sam, we have to keep moving," he insisted as he walked back to her, stepping carefully between a ma.s.s of shrubs.

Following the river proved to be more difficult than it sounded. The plants grew thickest right along the water, preventing the couple from staying too close, and when they moved away it was difficult to see the river clearly.

"I think we're being followed," Sam told him, as she scanned the foliage. "This is a bad idea," she said. "We never should have left the plane. What if night comes and we're still out here?"

"We'll make a fire to keep the animals away," he offered hopefully. "We'll stay inside the tent."

The thought did little to comfort her. A lit fire would throw off their night vision and inside the tent they'd have no chance of seeing their stalker approach. Still, she accepted his plan and they began walking again, this time side-by-side. They moved cautiously, watching where they placed each foot, having heard stories about dangerous plants and insects.

As hours pa.s.sed, they hurried their pace, letting the undergrowth rip at their ankles. They spoke only when necessary, not wanting to attract attention. They drank bottled water and snacked on energy bars. Sweat trickled under their clothes. Sam's shirt clung to her skin. Her shorts kept her legs cool but did nothing to protect her from the thrashing plants and biting insects.

"I have a headache," she said.

"I do too. It has to be the humidity and the heat," Brandon reasoned. "Or we could be getting dehydrated. Do you want to take a quick break?"

She agreed and they found an old log. She sat down, taking off her pack. The air felt good on her back and helped relieve the strain in her shoulders. Instantly she felt better.

"We're going to be okay," Brandon said, taking a seat next to her. He offered her a sip from his water bottle.

"It's just another hike through a forest," he went on. He shuffled closer and wrapped a hot arm over her shoulders.

"I know. I'm not worried," she a.s.sured him with a smile. She wrapped her arm around his back that was wet with sweat.

They sat, talking in quiet voices. Brandon explained his plan to find a village and hire someone to help them get the plane out. Even if the engine was ruined, the body of the plane was still intact which meant the whole thing could be salvageable. Or, if they were lucky, the engine might still be repairable, but that would mean they'd need to find an aircraft mechanic. Chances of that were slim.

She was beginning to feel comfortable with their resting spot when a blood-curdling scream cut through the forest. She and Brandon both froze. For several seconds, she tried to hear past her own heart beating. She couldn't tell if the noise had been animal or human.

"Maybe we should get moving," she said nervously.

Brandon got up and retrieved his pack, when Sam stopped him by placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hang on. I have to pee."

She glanced around the forest near the log, wondering where the best spot was. The forest looked back at her with eyes of its own.

He sensed her trepidation. "Just go right here," he said.

She considered that. The idea of going too far out of sight unnerved her, but that meant she had given in to her fear.

"I'll be fine," she said and hopped off into the forest. She found a patch of empty dirt where the undergrowth wouldn't brush against her. She pulled her shorts down and crouched, listening to the sounds of the forest as her bladder found relief. Once finished, she reached for a nearby frond to wipe with.

She paused, her hand inches away from the green leaf. Crawling insects swarmed across the plant. Disgusted, she pulled her hand back and began searching for an alternative. She couldn't identify any of the plants near her and she had no idea what any of their properties were. She imagined every form of poison or allergic reaction imaginable, spreading about in her most sensitive region.

She recoiled at the thought. With her pack out of reach around the corner, she searched her pocket and found a rolled up dollar bill. After a brief debate with herself about what was worse, the foreign leaf or the possible germs on the paper money, she finally settled on the latter.

After putting herself back together, Sam turned to head back, but a movement to her right made her pause.

A creature hopped between a pair of bushes. At first it looked almost canine, with its jutting snout, long tail, and four-legged movement. A black fur coat covered it from head to toe and its yellow eyes were tiny and round, set close together on its face.

The creature, a baboon of some kind, didn't even reach her waist in height, but it opened its jaws and displayed a row of sharp canines to her, undeterred. The animal let out a hiss and took a few threatening bounds. Sam backpedaled instinctively, pressing her back against the bark of a knotted tree.

A second baboon crawled forth from the undergrowth, joined a moment later by two more. The small animals surrounded her, hunched as if ready to spring. Two moved directly in front of her and the other two crept around to either side, clearly meaning to trap her against the tree.

The tiny dog-like primates didn't seem the least bit afraid of her. Sam stepped up onto the roots of the tree, her palms pressed against the trunk. Four sets of yellow eyes looked at her. Their mouths opened, showing sharp teeth. Sam wondered if she should scream. Maybe the noise would frighten them.

Or maybe it would provoke them to attack.

The first baboon, and the one that seemed to be the leader, glared at Sam with hateful yellow eyes. His snout curled in a snarl as he let loose with a sudden bark. The noise was like a gunshot to her nerves, and she raised both hands in front of her protectively. At the same time, the baboons at either side of her began to move.

They closed quickly, hopping across the roots of the tree. Sam raised her left arm up as one leapt, bouncing off the bark of the tree and reaching out with his forelimbs. He gave a vicious snarl, his tiny hands closing around the fabric of her shirt at her arm and collar. The weight of the animal almost tugged her down to the ground. She pushed hard at him with her forearm.

He clung to her. The claws of his hind legs dug into her abdomen, his tail whipping back and forth. She felt something tugging on her shorts as the second primate grabbed on, his little claws pinching her thigh. The weight of the two animals pulled her back against the tree.