by A P Bateman
Stone eased his way out of the hide and stepped backwards into the jungle, he had the spear and the knife, but had to leave the bark wraps and the remainder of the leather rope. He kept his eyes on the man as he walked. The man was tanned and weathered, his hair almost white. It wasn’t grey, just so blonde it looked bleached.
From deep within the trees, Stone studied the man. He moved with minimal effort, a comfortable grace. He was now twenty-feet from the first tell, and heading towards Stone’s shelter. Stone backed up again, his eyes not leaving the man or the clearing in front of him. He froze as the man shouldered the rifle and scanned the treeline with the riflescope. He could feel the crosshairs travel across him, but still he did not move. The man tracked the rifle well past. Stone realised that he was by now, both tanned and dirty and had somehow blended into the foliage. Movement was critical and a key factor in concealment. Taking the opportunity with the man aiming his weapon further along the treeline, Stone slowly and carefully lowered himself to the ground and kept his profile as flat as he could. The man sighted back along the treeline, then lowered the rifle and studied the ground once more.
Stone’s breathing was calm, but his heart was beating so loudly that he would swear he could hear it, and that the man would too. His head ached, already he was dehydrated. The man was too, and he unfastened a canteen and drank thirstily. He had another on his belt. They both looked big, at least a litre and a half in each. Stone found himself craving a coke or lemonade, a cold beer or iced tea. He wondered if the man had sweet orange in the canteen. He tried to concentrate. He knew he should be thinking more about the rifle, and the man’s intentions.
Stone shuffled backwards on his belly. He needed to get further away, but he did not want to go so far as to take his eyes off the man and lose him in the jungle. The man was concentrating on tracks where Stone had cut branches for his shelter. The footprints were jumbled and the man needed to find another tell.
Stone watched. He ignored the spiders and scorpions, the thought of snakes coiled and ready to strike at his feet as he continued to ease himself backwards into the thicker undergrowth. They did not matter, they would move out of his way, or they would strike. What mattered was the man, the hunter. He had found the direction of Stone’s next point of travel and was striding confidently towards the shelter. The hunter had seen it and there would be little distance between them soon enough.
Stone was in a quandary. This was wild and remote terrain. Dangerous crocodiles, snakes, spiders, scorpions – who knew what else? Maybe this man was trying to save Stone. He had a rifle, but that could be for protection. The machete was merely a tool that was needed in a place like this. Maybe this man was trying to find the warrior, or the person who killed the warrior. He could be a local law enforcement officer or a park ranger, for all Stone knew. If Stone remained hidden, then he may never get out of this place. If he attacked the man, then he could be in worse trouble.
He was about to stand and call out, but noticed another man on the far side of the clearing. He was dressed in US Navy SEAL pattern camouflage. He carried a machete in his right hand and had a small rifle held loosely in his left. He was following a trail, by the look of it, and stopped to stare at the water. He looked around the clearing and froze when he saw the other man, just yards from Stone’s position. He sheathed the machete and shouldered the rifle. He seemed to hesitate, then dropped to one knee and took careful aim.
Stone pushed himself up. “Get down! There’s a man with a gun behind you!” he shouted.
For all his menace and tracking ability, the hunter jumped out of his skin, shocked at the sight of Stone. He hesitated, then turned around. There was a hail of bullets and the trees and branches were peppered with rounds as the other man some hundred metres or so distant, fired a burst that went wide as the hunter turned. Stone ducked his head as the bullets pinged and zipped and some ricocheted off the hard wood of some of the larger banyan trees. The hunter glanced back at Stone, turned his rifle and fired. Stone rolled and crashed his way through the undergrowth as the heavy 7.62mm rounds sliced through everything in their path. He kept moving and got to his feet and ran, several large trees now between him and the hunter.
The hunter had his weapon up and was more composed as he turned around and fired at the man across the water. He fired single shots, each one aimed carefully. He rose to his feet and advanced towards the other armed man, who looked to have taken a round and was on his knees. The hunter stopped firing and made his way carefully, tentatively out of cover and across the open ground. He skirted the pond and the fly-infested carcass of the crocodile and Stone watched him as he advanced on the small slope towards the other man. For a moment he was out of sight, in the low ground and then that’s when it went noisy again. The man in the SEAL fatigues was up and charging down the slope, firing bursts of two or three rounds at a time and by the time the hunter got his weapon aimed, he had taken rounds in the chest and fell backwards. The SEAL kept moving, his machete unsheathed and scything downwards as he was on top of him. There was an audible wet-thwack of a noise and Stone saw the SEAL bend down and come back up with the hunter’s head held high on the tip of the machete.
And then it got a whole lot worse. Because the SEAL looked directly at Stone from across the water and pointed at him with the machete and the hunter’s head impaled on the tip and started to laugh.
17
Stone hadn’t leaned in and closed the gap between himself and Kathy. She hadn’t said much as she had driven them both to his apartment and he showed her to his bedroom, where he had then taken the couch. After a few hours’ sleep, he had showered and put on some clean clothes and set the coffee machine to do its thing. Kathy had showered and was wearing black pants and a white satin shirt. She looked as gorgeous as he remembered from the night before, remembered from his dreams. She dropped her overnight bag on the polished wooden floor next to the coffee table.
“Coffee?” Stone asked.
“Please.” She smiled sweetly, Stone guessed she was over him not reciprocating her blatant advance.
“Here,” he said, passing her a cup. “Cappuccino. It’s better than you’ll have at headquarters today. He glanced at her bag. “We’ll get you checked into a secure motel later.”
A meeting had been set with the leader of the Secret Service Domestic Security Rapid Reaction Unit and with Max Power, who would have pulled an all-nighter in the computer suite. Whatever he had, Stone would send him away for a few hours to freshen up and grab a bite to eat, then get him back on it.
“What do you mean, headquarters?” she asked tentatively.
“To look into what has been discovered so far.”
“But I have to go to work,” she said, somewhat irritably.
“Not until we have carried out a threat assessment and assigned you some protection,” Stone said. “You can’t go home either.”
“What?”
“Kathy, a man tried to kill us in your own home last night. Your place is undoubtedly bugged and has been under surveillance for some time. Your house is compromised. From this moment on, you are at risk and we can’t assume you will be safe to simply carry on with your daily routines.”
“And the Secret Service will provide all that?”
“No. But the FBI do. I’ll look at this for as long as I can, but the feds will have to take this over. It’s their skillset.”
“But I don’t want them involved!” she snapped. “I wanted you to look into this discreetly, keep the newspaper angle for me to write the piece or the book that Edwards deemed it to deserve!”
“Kathy, I’ve tried to help…”
“You blundered in and shot two guys to pieces! Now the whole Secret Service are involved!”
“So?”
“So? So it will be black-bagged. There’ll be secrecy all over it, press orders and non-disclosure. I won’t get my story! I need my fucking story!”
Stone glared at her. “You came to me, Kathy. I killed those two men becaus
e of what you, or at least what Edwards found out. You may well have been killed by the man impersonating a cop if it weren’t for me and your stupid dogs.”
“I know!” she snapped, then softened. “I know. Ok, I’m sorry. You were just helping, and it’s not like you had to. I don’t even know why you’d want to. I just…”
“Need to get it back.”
“What?”
“Your career,” Stone said. “I’ve seen the photos, seen the awards. Your career has stagnated and you’re running out of time.”
Her eyes flashed, and for a second were even more beautiful with anger behind them, but they softened and she nodded. “I’m on my last chance. Contracts might not get renewed unless my rating in the paper goes up. I’m on my ass with the mortgage and loan repayments and my résumé is dated in real terms so my employment options are limited.” She sipped the coffee and put it back down on the counter. She wrapped her slender arms around herself and looked vulnerable, childlike.
Stone wanted to comfort her, but his inner voice, the one that always held him back, told him not to. It was the voice that had told him to stare straight ahead when a senator’s wife had flirted recklessly with him. The inner voice that had refused a bribe when he had heard too much. The inner voice that had told him to step aside so that the love of his life could restart her marriage and give her child his father back. The inner voice that had kept him regimented and just, sanctimonious even.
And unhappy.
Stone reached out and hugged her close. She resisted for no more than a second and hugged him so tightly, so desperately he hoped it would never end.
18
Stone’s heart was pounding, his lungs heaving. He crashed through the jungle desperate to put distance between himself and the man in the SEAL combats. His mind raced as he ran, but struggled to process what he had just witnessed. What he did know though, was that whatever the intentions of the hunter, the SEAL’s were definitely murderous. The kill had been premeditated. No challenge given, no quarter relinquished. That man had killed the hunter and had taunted Stone with his prize. Was he the man who had taken the warrior’s head? Stone was now sure of it.
Stone realised that during his escape he had dropped the spear. He had also left the leather cord and the water traps at the shelter. Only the knife remained, clenched in his hand, his knuckles white from gripping it like a lifeline. He knew he was heading west, because that was towards the end of the pond and he had run parallel to it. Only now, after fleeing and crashing through the undergrowth, ducking broken limbs from trees and dodging vast clumps of thorny bushes, he could not swear to his direction but did not dare to stop and ascertain his whereabouts. He simply had to flee.
There was a thunderclap of gunfire and the branches of a clump of saplings in front of him fragmented and splintered. Stone hit the ground and scrambled to his right. The vegetation was thorny and he winced as three-inch thorns stuck into him, the tips barbed, the stinging an indication that they were toxic. He pulled at them as he got to his feet and veered off to his left, deeper into the jungle. More gunfire, more plants and branches splintered. Stone knew the man was close, either firing at the direction of the noise he was making, or he had in fact seen him and was toying with him, shepherding him into a killing zone.
Stone reached a large tree, its trunk wide enough for him to stand behind unseen. He stood still, breathing hard. He listened, but the jungle was silent. Not even the animals made a sound, their world erupted by sound and chaos.
The first gunshot rang out. Then another. Stone both heard and felt the impact in the tree trunk. He had no fear of the 5.56mm round going through the tree, but the man would circle soon, and that would be it.
“Come on out!” The voice was southern. Deep south. Maybe as far as the Bayeux. “Don’t mess with me, boy!”
Stone eased out slowly. The man was near, just a few paces. He had gotten in close. Stone hadn’t heard him approach. He was worried. Scared even. He knew the emotion was uncommon to him. He held the knife loosely. The man smiled, nodded to it, then smiled as Stone dropped it on the ground.
“Just tell me what’s going on,” Stone said earnestly.
“You’ll find out soon enough,” the man drawled. “Now, get back the way you came, boy.”
Stone turned and walked slowly back through the jungle. He was aware of the man behind him, but did not turn to look at him. He was making plans in his head, formulating order and possibilities. So far, he had nothing.
“Where are we going?” Stone asked. He slowed, but felt a sharp dig in his kidney. He buckled to his knees, turned, but the man had sprung back two paces already and had the compact M4 rifle aimed at him.
“You’ll see,” the man said slowly and spat just past Stone’s ear. “Just get your ass up and keep walking. And work your way left a bit. You sure ran yellow, boy! Like a scared little girl! No clue where you were going, hell, you don’t even know where you’ve been! Taking off through the jungle like Tarzan! Shit, I’d have loved to see you swinging on a damn vine!”
Stone grit his teeth. Partly because his bruised kidney was on fire, partly because he wanted to beat this guy to death with his bare hands and he realised he may never get the chance. The jungle thinned out once more and Stone could see the pond ahead of him. He gave the guy his dues, he knew how to navigate through the dense terrain.
“Where now?”
“Are you going to do the Tarzan yell for me, boy?” The man laughed. “I’d like to hear that!”
Stone turned around slowly and looked at him. “I’m not yelling like Tarzan,” he said. “And I’m sure as hell not squealing like a pig for you either, you fucking redneck.” Stone didn’t take his eyes off him, and the man seemed to lose their staring contest. “I said, where now?”
“Get over there by the lake.”
Stone turned and walked near to the bank. The water was green, but reasonably clear for the first few feet below the surface. He was suddenly thirsty. He looked behind him and saw the man looking at the trees above. He was turning, looking for something he’d either seen or wanted to see. He looked back at Stone and pointed with the rifle.
“Get on your knees.”
Stone shook his head. “No, I’ll stand, thanks.”
“Trust me,” the man said. “What I’m going to do, you’ll want to kneel down and relax. Stretch your head out a little, even.” He drew the machete, the edge glinted in the sun. “Don’t be proud, take what it is. It’s over. Turn around, do what I say and you won’t feel a thing.”
Stone turned around and looked at the water. It was still clear, inviting. He was so thirsty. He could see his own reflection. He could see something else too. Ripples on the surface. They shimmied his reflection slightly. His legs were shaking from exertion and adrenalin. He eased himself down onto his knees. The man approached cautiously. He stood to Stone’s right, the machete in his right hand. He raised it above his head and held it there for a moment, then suddenly lifted higher, then brought it down hard.
Stone was already moving left and low. He pivoted and came up at the man’s knees. He hooked his arm around the man’s knee and pulled hard. The man’s leg gave, his foot caught against Stone’s leg and he was pivoted forwards and towards the water. The machete struck the ground, and Stone heaved with all his strength and stood up, driving through powerful thighs, engaging his core for maximum strength. It was a classic judo throw and worked on the push-pull principle. Physics did the rest. The man sprawled into the water and made a tremendous splash.
Stone stood and watched. He had seen the caiman; seen the ripples it had made on the surface as it glided gracefully and slowly towards him. Ten-foot plus in length and two-hundred pounds of muscle, teeth, bone and scales. He had taken his chance, played along, but the man had not known what Stone had seen. He hadn’t known what else Stone had seen all those years ago and miles away in Afghanistan. He had witnessed men taking heads, had witnessed their arms poised above their victim’s heads, then ra
ised higher for extra momentum, that moment before they struck. Stone knew this, and had seen it in the reflection on the water.
The caiman was thrashing wildly, round and round, taking the man into a death-roll. Already, the man’s limbs were like that of a rag doll in a washing machine. They had long since broken as the body had been spun at an incredible speed, and the man would be drowning by now. Stone was still transfixed. And almost as immediately as the attack had happened, the caiman disappeared with its meal and the water went still and tranquil once more.
19
Matters were going to get complicated. The hug had become a kiss and the kiss had become a frenzy of need and want that had succumbed upon the kitchen countertop in a writhing, thrusting few minutes of complete animalistic, uninhibited passion. It was the kiss which had done it. Kathy’s lipstick was sweet and reminded Stone of summer punch, of deliciously ripe berries. Her lips were as soft as sliced strawberries. The best kiss he’d ever had. He soaked her up, her taste and smell, and it fuelled his desire further. Her scent was of jasmine and her neck had been soft and warm to his lips. They had moved to the bedroom, where the pace had been less frantic, though mutually pleasurable for both of them.
Kathy rested her head against Stone’s muscular chest and slowly traced her fingertips over his torso, taking her time as she fingered his scars, like she was reading the pain of his past through brail. Each scar silently told a story. She was wrapped around him still, soft and moist. Her skin flushed red, her breathing still rapid.
Stone was relaxed. He had been out of the dating game for a while. He was relieved, and yet surprised it had happened in such a way. It hadn’t seemed real, like watching a film where the scenario seemed unlikely. A simple hug, turned to so much more within seconds. He’d always thought such events to be implausible. He was glad to have been proved wrong.
