Into The Jungle: An Action Thriller (A Jumper Novel Book 1)

by TR Kohler

  “You heard?” she asks, arching an eyebrow his way. A look he pretends not to notice as they circle out around the back of the hut. A walk that appears to be nothing more than a stroll, though the path has been picked deliberately.

  A chance for them to step away from the staring and listening clearly going on behind them.

  A few moments with nothing more than the small cluster of goats nearby for company.

  “I heard,” Kidman repeats. “When I arrived yesterday.”

  There being much more he could add to the statement, Kidman instead pulls up short. A conscious decision not to divulge too much just yet, he instead asks, “What you did last night, the healing-”

  “Ahh,” Anika replies. A single word bearing a caustic lilt, underscored by a smile forming on her face. “So that’s what this is about?”

  Stopping abruptly, she folds her arms across her chest. An emphatic pose as she stares at him, making it quite clear that their walk will go no farther.

  Taking a couple of steps onward, Kidman lets the gap between them grow. A space through which a pair of goats pass, oblivious to the presence of him or Anika.

  His gaze flicking from the animals and back, Kidman asks, “What’s that?”

  “And here I thought you were actually a friend of Wembo’s.”

  Already, it is clear the direction the conversation is going. The defensive lilt in the girl’s voice. The accusatory stare on her features.

  Hints that this will end ugly for Kidman even long before he has a chance to get out his reason for being present.

  An admission that will only make things worse.

  “Wembo and I got off on the wrong foot for sure,” he replies, choosing each word carefully. “But he and I reached an understanding. Hell, I carried him through the rainforest to get to you.”

  “A move that I’m guessing served your interests just as much as his?”

  “A move that was suggested by Sanga after I helped him fight off a couple of truckloads of Hazik’s men.”

  “Which you no doubt led there,” Anika fires back.

  A sharp retort rising to the fore, Kidman just manages to bite it back. A concerted effort not to let himself get into a pissing match with someone still very much a child, despite what she might be able to do.

  “According to Sanga, the raids by Hazik and his men started long before yesterday,” Kidman replies, hoping to put the onus of the girl’s angst where it belongs. The real source of the unrest in the region.

  The driver behind scenes like the one in Bukari the day before.

  Even the incident he arrived to find the previous afternoon, an expanse of time that doesn’t even seem possible.

  “Yeah,” Anika replies, “because nobody ever comes to the rainforest unless they want something. Hazik wants power, you and your soldiers want-”

  “Don’t lump me in with them,” Kidman inserts, feeling his own agitation beginning to climb.

  Replacing the confusion that has been permeating him since first stepping into the hut this morning. The equally present desire not to stand out or make a scene in any way.

  An approach like his entry into Bukari, which promptly earned him a shot to the base of his skull.

  “Why not?” Anika fires back. “Whether you came together or not, you’re clearly from the same place. Sent by the same people, stirring up the same problems.”

  Taking a step back, she puts more space between them. An obvious move in the direction they just came. A clear indicator that the conversation – if it can even be dubbed such a thing – is over.

  “Let me make this easy for you,” she adds. “We don’t need your problems, and we don’t need saving. Not these people, and damned sure not me.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Kidman can feel his pulse thrumming through his temples. Each and every beat of his heart rushing through his veins as he sits and stares out over the rainforest canopy.

  Sweat drips from the tip of his nose. The briny taste of salt rests on his lips.

  Minor annoyances that he barely notices as he sits pulling loud breaths of air through his nose, replaying the previous interaction in his mind. A talk that probably could have gone at least a little worse, though not by much.

  Definitely, a far cry from how he imagined it.

  Much like everything else since his departure from the underground bunker at The Ranch. A state of affairs that has him wondering if he made the right decision in accepting the offer that Kari Ma made to him a few days before.

  Back pressed against the base of the trunk, the only differences between now and sixteen hours earlier are the shirt he wears and the position of his legs beneath him. Otherwise, it is a mirrored pose as he rests with his head tilted back, the crown of it flush against the base of the tree.

  Enjoying the smallest of breaks from the sauna a hundred feet below him, he sits with the rising sun at his back, hidden in the shadow of the tree itself.

  The closest thing he can manage as a way to tamp down the heightening body temperature brought on by the frustration within him. Annoyance at himself, and Anika, and Ma, and even the incoming president.

  A mix of things that swirl about, each fighting for top position. There and gone in a moment, pushed away by the next thing seeking out the top spot at the front of his mind.

  Popping up most frequently is the reaction of Anika. The open hostility and wariness she had, so much so it bordered on contempt. A self-righteousness that permeated every word, convincing her that she had everything figured out even before his arrival this morning.

  A steadfast belief through which he likely didn’t stand a chance of penetrating.

  What he had confused as a peace offering to get him out of the hut was actually an ambush.

  When he and Wembo arrived the night before, the young girl was the one to come to his aid. The person that had silenced the host of objectors around the group, instead focusing on the man in Kidman’s arms.

  Concern that welcomed them both into her hut. Even started a conversation seeking out details about what transpired in Bukari earlier in the day. Included the offer to stay while she helped Wembo, allowing him to witness her profound talent and the weakened state it left her in.

  A whole host of considerations that were readily cast aside overnight, the cause of which he can only guess at.

  Rocking his head away from the tree, Kidman stares down at the satellite phone in hand. Ma’s number already pulled up on screen, so badly he wants to call and tell her it is a wash. That the girl refuses to come along or even listen to why he is there.

  Running a close second is the option of merely pulling up the image of the storeroom at The Ranch he departed from. With the phone in hand, he could jump right back down to the forest floor. Enter the girl’s hut, snatch her up, and whisk her to the other side of the world before she even has a chance to object.

  A forced evacuation that might be extremely indelicate, though it would fulfill what he promised to Ma.

  Who could, in turn, fulfill what was promised to the president-elect.

  A move that would basically be kidnapping, confirming everything she just hurled at him, though it would at least complete what he was asked to do.

  From there, however it plays out would be on someone else. He could return back to Molokai with Ali’i, returning to the same life he’s been living for the last five years. Mornings with Uncle Kamaki and Auntie Napua. Afternoons on the water.

  Quiet evenings by the fire, fending off his dog for the biggest hunk of fresh catch.

  Rinse and repeat until time to move on.

  A close variation of what he’s been doing every day for the last twenty years.

  Raising a hand to his brow, Kidman wipes away the sweat beaded along his brows. Brushing it against the leg of his pants, he rocks his head forward, peering over the side of the branch to the foliage below.

  On toward the small settlement he knows to be tucked away beneath it. The site of the battle he just wa
lked into a few minutes earlier.

  The place where another like the one in Bukari the day before is likely to hit soon.

  Shoving out a loud breath through his nose, Kidman rocks his weight forward. Placing both hands around the branch he rests on, he peers out into the distance, surveying the massive expanse of the rainforest. A dense mat of various shades of green stretching as far as he can see into the distance.

  What the man known as Hazik wants with it, he can’t pretend to know. How it represents the power Anika mentioned, he can only guess at.

  Motivations that he doesn’t need to fully grasp to know that what he witnessed yesterday isn’t likely to simply end.

  And if there is any chance he is going to make an ally of Anika, get her to leave under her own power, he is going to have to help eliminate.

  Sliding the backpack down off his shoulders, Kidman lifts the satellite phone from his lap. Staring down at Ma’s number still splashed across the screen, he considers it a moment before clearing it away. Powering the device off and stowing it away.

  Looping a hand through one of the straps, he takes one more glance out to the forest stretched before him. The green top now mixed with the golden hue of the sun sitting well above the horizon.

  “Dammit,” he mutters before dropping his focus straight down, jumping right back to where he was just a few minutes earlier.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  The man fits with every preconceived notion Hazik has about what an American Special Forces soldier should look like. Mental images fueled largely by television depictions proven to be quite accurate.

  Somewhere in his late twenties to early thirties, the man is Caucasian with short hair. What little of his original clothing remains is all black in color, his exposed physique well-muscled.

  A far cry from the man he encountered on the road from Makoua the day before. A pretty generic image that Fumu had prepped him for on the ride over.

  The part he had severely undersold being the man’s commitment to mission.

  And the amount of pain he is willing to withstand as a result.

  Hidden away in a small structure that is essentially a concrete bunker, the man’s hands are cuffed high above his head. Looped around a pipe more than three inches in diameter that runs the length of the room, there is absolutely no way for the man to free himself.

  An effort it appears he has attempted more than once in the last day, as evidenced by the gouges in his wrists and the streaks of blood painting his forearms.

  Also apparent is the fact that the man has traveled the breadth of the room untold times. Paint flakes dot the floor beneath him. Footprints streak the spots of blood that have made it down to the concrete.

  Attempts that Hazik guesses were made long before, the limp figure standing before him not appearing to have the strength remaining for such things. Legs completely weakened by the additional abuse of the last hour, his entire body lists to the side. The full amount of his weight held upright only by the handcuffs he wears, his arms are folded inward so his shoulders press tight to his ears on either side.

  Head lolling to the side, rivulets of blood seep down from either nostril. Dark, viscous liquid that mixes with saliva, seeping out over his lips and down his chin.

  “Again I ask, what the hell are you doing here?” Hazik says.

  For a moment, there is no response. No indication that the words even resonate with the man.

  Nothing except for the continued listless stare, his eyes barely slits.

  A state that ends several seconds later with a small shift. A flicker of movement as the man attempts to put his focus on Hazik.

  An effort that doesn’t appear to reach its goal, his features remaining inscrutable as he mutters, “Chuch.”

  When the interrogation started an hour ago, the man had been insistent that he and his cohorts were there on behalf of an international Christian organization. Scouts out searching for places where the word and services of God could be used.

  A long-winded explanation that got winnowed down to “missionaries” as the abuse the man incurred made speaking more difficult. A transition that eventually shifted to “church,” it now apparent that he is unable to even fully enunciate that word.

  An indicator that his faculties are failing.

  As is any bit of patience Hazik has remaining for such a display.

  Leaving the man where he hangs, Hazik turns on a heel. Marching directly out of the bunker, he passes from the deep shadows into the bright light of the morning.

  A scene exactly like the one he left when entering an hour earlier, a concrete walkway extended before him. More than twenty yards in length before reaching a makeshift parking lot now dotted with Jeeps.

  Transportation for Hazik and Fumu. The handful of soldiers accompanying them.

  And the even larger handful of Bukari villagers now lined along the north side of the walkway. People in states of half dress, marred by mud and soot. A mix of older people and young children, their eyes screwed up tight against the bright glare of the sun.

  A luminosity many have probably never seen, tucked away on the rainforest floor.

  Passing between the pair of guards standing watch, AK-47s in hand, Hazik strides to the midpoint of the line of villagers. Resting his hands on his hips, he makes a quick scan of the motley crew assembled before him.

  An assessment sweep that ends with his gaze landing on a woman that looks to be well on in years. Much older than most of the others even, her hair is void of color.

  Someone not making as concerted effort to avoid his gaze, instead seeming oblivious to where she even is.

  The perfect person for what he has in mind next.

  “Her,” he says, extending a finger. “Get her inside.”

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Of the four people inside the hut, Wembo is the only one that doesn’t seem surprised by the sudden appearance of Kidman. Fully awake and now upright on the cot, he leans against the outer wall of the hut, a cup of some sort clasped between his hands.

  “I already told you-” Anika begins, thrusting the words out the instant the shock of Kidman’s arrival passes.

  Words that trail away as quickly as they start, cut short by Kidman jumping from the doorway to her side. An instantaneous hop that ends with him tapping her lightly on the shoulder.

  A small brush that is just enough to get her attention, register some confusion on her features, before he jumps again. This time to the opposite side of the room, he appears behind the two older women. Filling the gap between them, he raises his hands, lightly touching them both on their outside shoulder.

  A move that gets them to part down the middle, looking in opposite directions, before he makes a final move.

  One last jump that ends with him standing beside Wembo, the man continuing to work on his beverage, the only person present not thoroughly shocked by the display. If anything, he appears to even be a bit amused, his eyebrows rising as he watches Anika, waiting for a response.

  One that takes a full moment before arriving, her face going through several contortions. Raised eyebrows and exaggerated blinks. Mouth opening wide. Even a raised finger before her.

  A sequence that culminates with her eventually managing, “Okay, what the hell?”

  “Exactly,” Kidman replies. “I get that you think you’ve got it all figured out and can step outside and eviscerate me, but you don’t know the first damn thing about me or why I’m here.

  “Case in point, if I just wanted to take you back, I could jump over there, grab you, and we’d be across the globe before you even knew what happened.”

  Having sat in silence through much of Anika’s little outburst, the words now spill from Kidman. Everything he was thinking standing out behind the hut.

  Everything added to it while sitting atop the tree, debating calling Kari Ma and putting an end to it.

  An option he decided against only because he promised her that he would deliver what was requested.
<
br />   And he knows she made a promise to others before that, the very future of The Ranch and the twenty years she spent trying to get it off the ground at stake.

  The surprise of his display fading from Anika’s face, incredulity floods back in. The same mix of indignation and self-righteousness that had been on display out behind the hut a few moments earlier.

  In tandem, she raises her hands before her, all ten fingers splayed wide.

  “And you realize the ability to manipulate anatomy doesn’t just mean healing, right?” she replies. “I could snap every bone in your arm-”

  “Save it,” Kidman says, cutting her off with a shake of his hand. “I’m not here to get into a pissing match and I didn’t show you what I can do to threaten you.

  “I came to show you why I’m really here. To prove you aren’t the only one out there with special abilities, and not everyone in this world is trying to exploit you for them.”

  Hands lowered slowly to her side, the wariness the girl exudes remains. One eye narrowed, her chin drifts slightly to the side as she asks, “Why are you here?”

  Given his preferences, this is not a conversation Kidman would like to have with an audience. Just as he’s fairly certain that there are a number of people that would favor him not fully disclosing the various projects at play.

  People that are not here now, their concerns no longer of worry to him.

  As Doc always used to point out, no plan ever survives a fight.

  “The next president is in need of your help,” Kidman says. “Not a full-time gig. Not some sort of pet project. A singular event to help his father, who has cancer so advanced the family has become desperate.

  “Desperate enough to send four men into the Congo to try and locate you and ask you to help him.”

  The other people in the room fading to the periphery, Kidman keeps his focus on the girl. He watches as her eyes narrow further, a host of responses playing across her features.

  “The president of what?” she begins.