It was slow going. He used a machete he had borrowed from Jambo to help cut a path.
Several minutes later, he stopped and turned to look at her.
“Far enough from the river?” he asked.
Decker nodded, not knowing whether to be pleased with herself or not. The bottom line was that he had taken what she had said to heart.
“Good,” he replied, taking off his pack. “I’m going to clear the rest of this brush. You start getting the water.”
She dropped her pack near his and disappeared back down the path, the red LEDs of her headlamp lighting her way.
While she went to get the water, Harvath screwed the PVC poles together and hung the plastic sheeting. Next, he filled the canisters with the powder and set their lids next to them.
In the tens of thousands of hours that had gone into establishing the protocols, he was positive that no one had ever envisioned something this primitive.
The ground was soft and he used the machete to trench a berm. It would help prevent the runoff from going all the way downhill and into the river. It was an additional peace offering. Decker had been right. They needed to take all reasonable precautions. They needed to keep it out of the river.
If she bitched about it ending up in the groundwater, there was obviously no pleasing her and he would tie her to a tree and make good on his threat to leave her for the pygmies.
By the time Decker came back, he had finished clearing their staging area, had unrolled the enormous bladder, and had positioned it inside its multi-point sling.
He walked her through everything and, after helping her fill the first canister with water, told her what he wanted her to do if he wasn’t back in an hour. She wasn’t happy about being left alone.
Handing her the machete, Harvath made her repeat what he had told her. To the letter, she repeated his instructions.
She had expected him to leave her with a final admonition over what had happened that morning, but to his credit, he didn’t. Instead, he smiled and told her everything would be okay. Then, flipping his night vision goggles back down, he walked into the jungle and was gone.
Based on his GPS reading at the river, and a review of the satellite imagery saved to his phone, Harvath had a good idea where the clinic was, along with the best way to approach. It took him less than ten minutes to find it.
When he did, he remained in the jungle. He didn’t dare enter the clearing. In his mind, there was a bright red circle painted around the building. He wasn’t going to cross that line without having taken every single precaution possible.
He low-crawled to the edge of the clearing, parted the vegetation, and peered through his goggles. There was no movement to be seen, but even more unusual was the fact that there wasn’t a sound coming from anywhere. It was as if even the animals were avoiding this place. The quiet was unsettling. Harvath tried to shake it off.
Retreating into the jungle, he worked his way around the perimeter. There were no trucks, or vehicles of any sort. No light came from inside the clinic. It looked completely abandoned.
Arriving at the northwest corner of the clearing, he looked at his watch. He wanted to check out the burn pit too, but he’d be pushing it time-wise. He wasn’t sure if Decker would honor his instructions or not, but if he wasn’t back in an hour he had to expect that she’d be gone. And if she was gone, he would have to abandon the operation. While he hadn’t liked the idea of bringing Decker along, he couldn’t escape the fact that it was a two-person job. He wouldn’t have been able to suit up without her. The reconnaissance, though, would be incomplete without checking the pit, so he decided to push it.
He could smell the pit long before he could see it. More appropriately, he could smell the accelerant that had been used. Jet fuel had a unique odor. But the nearest airport was hundreds of kilometers away. How the hell had jet fuel ended up in the middle of the jungle?
For the moment, that question would have to remain unanswered. Nearing the pit, he stopped and listened. When he didn’t hear anything, he crept forward to take a look.
There was no sign of anyone, but someone had been there. And they had come through with heavy vehicles, one of which was on treads.
A bulldozer, Harvath thought to himself. Not a good sign. The only reason you brought in something that big was if you had something very large to unearth or to cover up. Though he had never held out much hope for the staff and patients of the Matumaini Clinic, he had held out some. The revelation that a bulldozer had likely been involved in the pit now dashed that hope.
It also raised his concern as to who had staged the alleged attack on the clinic. Hazmat suits, jet fuel, and earth-moving equipment spoke to a very high level of sophistication.
He wanted to examine more of the pit. There was still that question poking at the back of his mind from when he had seen the original satellite footage of it. Something hadn’t made sense. Was it the shape of the pit? The part where the heat was concentrated?
Unfortunately, he was out of time. He needed to get back before Decker took off.
Retracing his steps, he moved as quickly and as quietly as he could.
CHAPTER 14
By the time he got back to Decker, she had completely filled the canisters and was almost done filling the bladder.
“What did you see?” she asked. “Is anyone at the clinic?”
He shook his head. “Everything’s quiet.” Pointing at her empty buckets, he added, “Want me to finish the bladder?”
“Thanks,” she replied.
Taking Jambo’s machete, he chopped off a tree branch about the diameter of a closet rod, notched it in two places at both ends and then, picking up his buckets, as well as Decker’s, headed down to the river.
When he returned with the pole across his shoulders and two buckets on each side, Decker was drinking from one of the large, plastic water bottles they had brought in with them.
“You want some?” she asked, holding the bottle out to him.
“No, you finish it,” he answered as he set the buckets of water down. “You’re going to need it.”
“So are you.”
She was right. Now was as good as any time to get started. He pulled a bottle from his pack, twisted off the top, and guzzled over half of it. Then he turned his attention to the canvas sling that held the bladder.
A gallon of water weighed almost eight and a half pounds. While he figured they would only need ten to fifteen gallons apiece, he had spec’d a forty-gallon bladder, just in case. Not counting the powdered-chemicals he had added, the weight of which was negligible, the bladder clocked in at over three hundred pounds.
Once they were a “safe” distance away from the river, he had begun looking for a level piece of ground with a strong enough tree. That’s how he had chosen where to stop.
Into each of the sling’s heavy-duty grommets, he attached a carabiner, which itself was attached to a cable leading to a hoist ring. He removed a ratchet lever hoist, suspended it from the tree limb, and went to work lifting the bladder.
When he had it at the level he wanted, he moved the PVC frame underneath it, extended the hose and tried the nozzle. The water was cold, but it smelled clean and the pressure was excellent. He positioned the supplies they would need and then returned to the bottle of water sitting next to his pack.
As he was drinking, Decker tossed him a pair of surgical scrubs.
“Time to get dressed,” she said.
He half expected her to either retreat down the path, or behind the opaque sheeting affixed to the makeshift PVC shower stall, but she didn’t bother.
Instead, standing next to her own pack, Decker began to slowly get undressed. Apparently modesty wasn’t one of her strong suits. Neither was subtlety.