Jack shook his head. “No. You…don’t…understand.”
Drake leaned in closer. “What don’t I understand?”
“I…he wasn’t…supposed to get…hurt…” Another cough, this one accompanied with blood and wheezing through the chest wound. “Something went…wrong.”
“What do you mean, he wasn’t supposed to get hurt? By who?”
“I’m…sorry. The…Russians. They…promi—”
Drake had never heard a death rattle before. It wasn’t so much a rattle as a long, gurgling moan. Jack stared heavenward, his final regret dying on his lips, gazing into eternity as droplets of warm rain fell into his open eyes.
“We need to get out of here. Grab his gun and his backpack. Hurry,” Spencer whispered, breaking the spell. Drake picked up Jack’s rifle and slipped his backpack off, his movements wooden, his mind reeling from Jack’s revelation. The bastard had sold his father out. No doubt for a handsome figure — enough so he’d never had to work again. But something had gone wrong. Dad hadn’t cooperated and things had turned ugly, robbing Drake of his father.
They plodded down the side of the river until Spencer stopped and turned.
“The goggles. Give them to me. Quick.”
Drake handed them over. Shots rang out behind them, and slugs smacked into the wet dirt. Spencer scrambled up the bank and growled at Drake and Allie. “Follow me.”
Allie crawled to Spencer and he pulled her to her feet. Drake was right behind her, his boots slipping in the slick mud as he fought for a foothold. Then they were moving along a trail, branches tearing at his skin as he pushed through them, Jack’s confession burning in his ears as they plunged deeper into the jungle’s embrace.
Chapter Thirty-Four
“It’s still pretty swollen,” Drake said as he inspected Allie’s ankle in the hazy morning light.
They’d made it to the outpost and tried to rest, adrenaline from the nocturnal escape still coursing through their systems. Jack’s words and the reality of his death had made it impossible to sleep. Allie had been quiet, and Drake left her alone with her thoughts.
Drake’s mind was racing now that he knew his father’s best friend had betrayed him. For all of Jack’s remorse, wasn’t it equally possible that he’d betrayed Drake as well, only this time to the CIA? No wonder he’d been so adamant about Drake taking the offer. He wondered what Jack had been offered to encourage him to jump at it? Ten million? Twenty? Had he still been planning to betray them later on?
The rain had ended at some point during the night, and once dawn had broken he’d gone to check on Allie, who looked puffy and red-eyed, her ankle still swollen.
“It hurts, but not as much as when I first sprained it.” She hesitated. “Thank you for risking your life to rescue me.”
Drake felt color rush to his face and looked away. “You would have done the same for me.”
“Easy to say after the fact. But I want to tell you that I appreciate everything you did. I wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t put it all on the line for me.”
Drake’s voice softened. “I’m a sucker for a damsel in distress.”
“I’ll have to remember that.”
Drake hesitated. “I’m sorry about Jack.”
She closed her eyes and nodded. “And I’m sorry about your father. I couldn’t believe my ears.”
“That was a long time ago. And it sounds like he was surprised they killed him.” Drake shook his head. Excusing Jack’s treachery didn’t come easily, even if it was to make Allie feel better.
Spencer approached from where he’d been standing at the edge of the clearing, his AK at the ready.
“We should probably give your ankle another day to heal before we try to move,” Spencer said. “Keep it elevated. That’ll reduce the inflammation.”
“What are the odds they can find us?” she asked in a small voice.
Spencer shook his head. “Pretty low. With the rain, they wouldn’t be able to track us easily, and since we’re not on any trails, it would be almost impossible. Having said that, we still need to be careful and quiet. No point in making their job any easier. And remember that they’re not the only bad guys in this jungle.” He stared at the remnants of the Inca outpost. “By tomorrow afternoon, we’ll be miles away. I like our chances.”
“We can get going today. My ankle really does feel better than yesterday.”
“Don’t sweat it. Give it time to mend,” Drake echoed, which seemed to settle it.
In the late afternoon Drake and Spencer tried their hand at hunting with the crossbows, as there were no nearby rivers. Spencer showed Drake how to cock the bowstring, and they practiced firing at a tree for an hour. Drake found that he was pretty accurate with the weapon — surprisingly so at up to thirty yards — more than with a pistol.
When they finished practicing, they screwed hunting tips onto the carbon shafts and headed into the brush.
“What are we looking for?” Drake whispered.
“Anything we can eat. Python, deer, monkey…”
“I thought you were kidding about monkey.”
“Do I strike you as a kidder?”
“What about—”
“Shhh.” Spencer stopped and cocked his head to the side, listening. He stood frozen, then leaned into Drake as a light breeze dented the canopy above them. “Get ready. I think we got lucky.”
“What?”
Instead of answering, Spencer opened his mouth and slapped one cheek, making a hollow ponk sound. He repeated the odd performance several times before raising his crossbow and pointing it into the brush. Drake narrowed his eyes, trying futilely to make anything out. He was just about to say something when he heard grunting and snorting from ahead. He froze, waiting. Spencer was tracking something with his crossbow, and Drake was just raising his when Spencer fired. His bowstring snapped, and Spencer whispered to Drake.
“Give me your bow. Quick.”
Drake did as instructed and Spencer fired again. Drake heard movement racing through the brush, as if a herd of deer were tearing away. When it had grown quiet again, Spencer pushed branches aside and led Drake to their prize: what appeared to be a small boar, with a quarrel embedded in its side and another in its skull.
“What is that?” Drake asked as Spencer knelt beside the dead animal.
“White-lipped peccary. This is a juvenile. Maybe thirty pounds. Adults can get up to more than double that. They’re good eating. What we heard crashing through the brush was the rest of the herd. They travel together in large groups — up to a hundred or more.” Spencer eyed Drake’s knife. “Give me that shiv of yours and I’ll dress it right here. No point in hauling the carcass back to camp.”
Drake handed it to Spencer, who expertly carved steaks and slipped them into a plastic garbage bag he’d brought. He cleaned the blade with some of his canteen water and wiped it on the peccary’s bristly coat. The whole procedure took no more than five minutes, and they were soon returning with ten pounds of meat for dinner.
“We can cook it tonight and it should keep for breakfast. Unfortunately in this heat it won’t last longer.”
“How do you cook it?”
“Very carefully.”
Allie was sitting under a tree when they arrived, her Kalashnikov beside her for companionship, a look of relief on her face when she saw them.
“Did you get anything?”
Drake told her about the peccary, and she made a face. “Tell me it didn’t look like Bambi.”
“I can swear it looked absolutely nothing like Bambi. Honest,” he said, hand on his chest.
The steaks smelled mouthwatering when Spencer cooked them, and they tasted like butter after days of eating nothing but fish and dry food. He slipped the leftovers into another bag and wrapped it carefully, then sealed it in yet another bag.