Sacrifice

“So you did the opposite.”

Vic shrugged. “I’ve got liners that I’ve used in the past and they’ve kept me pretty comfortable. I never recommend sleeping on the jungle floor, though.”

Annja watched as another wave of ants seemed to crest and then fall all over the contents of the hole. Vic leaned in and hefted one of the bags. Ants by the dozens fell off it.

“Hungry?” he asked.

Annja looked at the ants and then at the bag. “Starving,” she said. Vic nodded and reached inside. Annja heard a zipper being drawn down and a second later, Vic handed her a small cardboard box.

“Spaghetti okay?”

Annja tore into the box and then into the plastic bag filled with noodles, sauce and small meatballs. She didn’t care that it wasn’t served hot. The food tasted amazing.

Vic helped himself to another box and leaned against a tree as he ate. “Make sure you don’t leave any bits of that box on the floor. They’ll have trackers with them. Any sign and they’ll find it.”

Annja swallowed and nodded. “How long have you been working in the jungle?” she asked.

Vic shrugged. “My whole life it feels like. I was born in Panama. I grew up around stuff like this. I guess it feels like home to me. I never did enjoy doing stuff in the snow.”

“You were in the snow, too?”

He frowned. “Yeah. Winter training. I hated it. I’m a natural in the jungle, but the snow? Forget it. I freeze in that stuff. Doesn’t matter how much gear I’ve got with me.”

“How long have you been here?”

“The jungle, a week. I’ve been in country for about two months. Getting ready for this assignment.”

“It’s a big one?” she asked.

Vic nodded. “The biggest, I guess you could say.”

“Are Abu Sayyaf really so bad that they warrant an American sniper stalking them through the jungle?”

Vic swallowed a gulp of his dinner and washed it down with a swig of water from his canteen. He set his spoon down and looked at Annja. “I don’t ask a lot of questions. My job is pretty simple. It suits me. I could never handle a complicated lifestyle, you know? That’s just who I am,” he said.

“No shame in it,” Annja replied.

“Of course not. How many people you know go through their lives trying to be something they’re not? Christ, society puts all these labels on everyone, you know? If you’re not married with kids by the time you’re thirty, you’re some kind of failure. My question is, according to who? Do I really give a rat’s ass about what the people are doing next door in their four bedroom two-and-a-half-bath Colonial on a half-acre parcel with the minivan and sedan in the garage?”

“Do you?” Annja asked.

“Not one freaking bit.” Vic looked up. “This is my home. This is my life. Things get easier once you’re honest with yourself about what makes you tick. It’s just a matter of being able to look into a mirror and not be terrified at what’s staring you back in the face.”

Annja sucked another strand of spaghetti into her mouth. “A lot of people, they wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Sure. They can’t.”

“But you can.”

“I don’t ask questions above my pay grade. I’ve found that if I just do my job, everyone’s happier. Most of all me.”

“So you don’t know what Abu Sayyaf have planned?”

Vic frowned. “You don’t give up very easily, do you?”

“I’ve been told I’m a bit stubborn,” she said.

“That’s a fair assessment.” Vic ate another bite of his dinner. “So, who are you anyway? There’s something about you that seems familiar. But I can’t quite place it.”

Annja smirked. “I look like Sasquatch right now and you think I’m familiar to you somehow?”

Vic shook his head. “It’s not the look. It’s the mannerisms.”

“I’m a journalist of sorts. I work for a show called Chasing History’s Monsters. ”

“Yeah, okay. I remember that now.” He frowned.

Annja held up her hand. “No, I’m not that host.”

Vic nodded. “You don’t look the type who would lose her top on a televised show.”

“I’m not.”

“Good. At least that means I’m not being saddled with an idiot,” he said.

Annja laughed. “I’ll remember that.”

Vic finished his dinner and Annja watched him wrap everything up, stuff it back into the cardboard box and then put that into his pack.

Annja did the same and then handed it to Vic. In exchange, he handed her a quart-sized plastic storage bag.

Annja held it up. “What’s this for?”

“Number two.”

“Excuse me?”

Vic stood up. “Look, I know this isn’t exactly going to be your idea of a dream date, but there’s a simple rule I live and survive by—leave no sign.”

“You mentioned that already,” Annja said, realizing where the conversation was going.

Vic nodded. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t just apply to dinner. It applies to everything. You have to crap, you do it in that bag I just handed you. Then you tie a knot in it and bring it back to me.”

“I never figured you for a collector,” Annja said.

Vic sighed. “It goes in the bag along with everything else. We can’t leave anything behind. If you take a dump out here, the animals will know about it and the bugs will swarm all over it. A tracker will see and hear all that activity and know he’s on the right trail.”

“What about if I have to pee?”