Ash and his men technically had no idea what was in the packs. All they had been told was that they were filled with medical supplies for the Matumaini Clinic. They had no reason to believe otherwise.
Harvath would explain that he and Decker planned to cache this load of supplies in the jungle, not far from the clinic. If the rebels were already there, the clinic staff could wait until the coast was clear and then go pick everything up. If the rebels weren’t there, they would empty their packs, come back to get the Brits, and then deliver the rest via the vehicles to the clinic’s front door.
He had no idea how well that would go down with Ash and his team, but as long as they did what he told them, that was all he cared about.
Two kilometers from the clinic, they left the road and drove several hundred meters into the bush. The jungle was alive, raucous with the calls of birds and all sorts of other animals.
Simon and Eddie set up camp, while Ash and Mick returned to the road to cover their tracks. It wasn’t perfect, but unless someone knew exactly where to look for them, nobody was going to find them.
Jambo worked on getting dinner started. Like the rebels from that morning, theirs would be a cold camp, no campfire. Cooking smells could draw unwanted human as well as animal visitors.
Jambo used Jetboil stoves to heat water. When it reached boiling, he poured it into bags of freeze-dried camping food and zipped them shut to steam.
Harvath had brought food for himself and Decker from the United States. He hated the precooked rations used by the military known as MREs. While the acronym stood for Meals Ready to Eat, service members normally referred to them as Meals Rejected by Everyone. This was his op and he intended to eat what he wanted to eat.
Because of the stress assignments often created, and as he was trying to bulk back up, he had focused on high calorie meals. One of his favorites was biscuits and gravy. He told Jambo to make sure to boil him enough water for two bags. There was no telling how long he and Decker would be gone. Whatever they faced, he planned to do it on a full stomach.
For Decker, he had thrown in a bunch of meals from a new company doing gourmet camping meals such as all-natural, gluten-free mushroom risotto, as well as wild salmon marinara with penne. Something had told him she was going to be a high maintenance pain in the ass, and in his experience, nothing dragged an op down quicker than someone who wasn’t eating properly. They not only didn’t get the necessary amount of calories to function well, but they also complained incessantly about being hungry.
While his meal steamed, he pulled the two packs he wanted from the back of LC2 and hefted them for weight. Both were heavy. Decker would have to suck it up. He couldn’t reveal what they contained and repack them here in front of everyone. She would have to wait. Once they were far enough away from the Brits, he’d work on lightening her load. Setting the packs off to the side, he covered each with a poncho. It felt like rain again.
Simon and Eddie strung jungle hammocks between a series of trees. Being up off the ground would protect the team from snakes and the tented tarps overhead would keep them dry.
Harvath threw a set of dry clothes into his hammock, along with his sleeping bag, and his CRKT Hook & Loop Tool. It had been beaten into him as a SEAL to clean his equipment immediately after an operation — that included his boots. The ingenious little Trip Felton tool had a pick that would be perfect for scraping off the pounds of mud he knew he’d be dragging back.
He gave the hammock lines a tug. The Brute Squad had done a good job. He looked forward to coming back, servicing his gear, and then climbing inside and going to sleep — the Matumaini reconnaissance far behind him.
Of course, that would assume that everything had gone well — something Harvath knew better than to expect, especially in Congo.
CHAPTER 13
The biggest impediment they faced in walking to the clinic, beyond the weight of their packs, was the amount of water they needed. It was imperative that they be well-hydrated before going in, but that was nothing compared to the amount of water they’d need on their way out.
Harvath had known this was going to be a problem, even before leaving the States, and had planned accordingly. They couldn’t depend on the clinic’s well. If it didn’t work, it could result in a death sentence. Harvath had seen enough wells fail to know better than to tie his survival to one in Congo.
Following the narrow river upstream to where it snaked behind the clinic would take them out of their way and increase the likelihood that they would bump into locals, but it would keep them off the road where they might bump into rebels, and it would solve their water issue. It made complete and total sense, except to Dr. Decker.
“You can’t do this,” she admonished him, once she had figured out what he was doing.
“Watch me.”
“You really are a selfish asshole. You know that?”
Harvath had to take a breath and remind himself again that a gentleman never strikes a lady.
“You’ve never had a well go bad before?” he asked as he finished rebalancing her pack and cinched its top down.
“That’s not what I am talking about. I’m talking about you being willing to wash God-knows-what-we’ll-find downriver. Do you know how many people you could end up killing?”
Harvath unzipped a compartment on his pack and unrolled four canvas buckets.
“If you want to set up shop farther away from the river, that’s fine by me,” he said, tossing two of the buckets to her. “But you’re going to carry your own water. Mine too, since we’re partners.”
Decker shot him a disparaging look and chided him. “Don’t you have any sense of moral obligation?”
“My moral obligation is simple. I figure out what happened at Matumaini and I make sure we get out of here alive. Anything beyond that is not my problem.”
“How about we try to leave this place better than we found it?”
“Put it on a bumper sticker,” he said, standing up and holding her pack out to her. “This should be more comfortable now.”
Decker took it and almost felt guilty over how much he had lightened it. He had removed a good forty pounds. His act of kindness notwithstanding, she was still angry at his lack of concern over the lives of the locals.
But before she could say anything else, or even swing her pack onto her back, he had picked up his now considerably heavier rucksack, and was moving upstream.
He had an answer for everything — even when his answer was silence. It was infuriating. The real salt in the wound, though, had been the lecture he had given her as they walked away from camp. After warning her about not wanting a repeat of what had happened that morning, he had threatened to tie her to a tree and leave her for the pygmies if she didn’t follow all of his instructions to the letter. He had said it with his boyish smile, but it failed to disarm her. She could see right through him.
Harvath obviously had a problem with women, especially smart, accomplished women. He was nothing more than a caveman — a handsome caveman — but a caveman nonetheless.
“Hey,” she said, trotting to catch up as he moved along the river. “Are you this much fun with your wife?”
“Not married,” he replied and kept moving.
“Imagine that,” Decker quipped.
Harvath ignored her.
They walked on in silence for twenty more minutes, until he stopped and checked his GPS. He took a long look around and then motioned for Decker to follow him up the riverbank and into the jungle.