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Sacrifice

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2019
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“Forget it. It’s just the exfiltration is always the toughest part of any assignment. And—no offense—having you along has just complicated things tremendously.”

“I’ll hold my own, Vic. Just set the pace and let’s get hustling.”

Vic looked at her for another moment and then nodded. “All right. Any last-minute trips to the toilet before we go?”

Annja checked herself. Her stomach seemed to have clenched up. Vic must have noticed because he started chuckling again.

“What’s so funny?” she asked.

“That look.”

“What look?”

Vic pointed at her stomach. “The MRE look. The rations we carry are so dense that they almost block you up, if you get my drift.”

“You mean—?”

He nodded. “Yeah, you’ll be constipated for a few days, I’d expect.”

“Great.”

“It’s no biggie. Happens to everyone who eats those things. Best cure is some fresh food. Maybe a chocolate bar and a cup of coffee. That’ll clear you out once you get back to civilization.”

“This is some amazing lifestyle you’ve got for yourself here, Vic.”

“Ain’t it, though?”

Annja frowned again. “I was being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t,” he said with a grin.

“You really like it?”

Vic nodded. “Yep. I’m my own boss out here. As long as I complete my assignments, no one hassles me. I’m working in nature, having a ball and loving life. Not too many other people can say the same.”

“You’re killing people.”

Vic shook his head. “I’m killing monsters who kill innocent people. Far as I’m concerned, it’s justifiable. Even necessary.”

Annja shifted the pistol on her belt. “I guess it would be futile to argue with you.”

Vic leveled a finger at her. “Are you telling me you’ve never killed anyone before? I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?” Annja asked, shocked by the question.

“Because you’ve got the look,” he said.

“There’s a look?”

Vic shrugged. “I think so. People who have been close to death or even dealt some of their own have a certain expression that creeps over their face from time to time.”

“And you see it on my face?” she asked.

Vic smirked. “Well, not right now.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re filthy from all that mud you caked on yourself.”

Annja sighed. “You’re no prize yourself.”

Vic nodded. “Yeah, but I clean up real well.”

“I’ll bet.”

Vic pointed out to the jungle. “Let’s get moving.”

“Okay.”

“One more thing.”

Annja stopped. “What is it?”

“We go out in the bush, we don’t say a word. Sound travels out here, even with the thick canopy all around us. The last thing we want to do is make it easy for them to find us.”

“Understood.”

Vic looked at her for a final moment and then turned. Slowly, they began making their way back into the jungle.

9

Eduardo Archibald Gomez could not believe his luck.

Their great leader Agamemnon had radioed him and informed him that he was being tasked with the search for the mysterious sniper who had killed Luis in the night.

“I am placing great faith in your abilities, Eduardo,” Agamemnon had said.

Eduardo could barely contain his excitement. To be given this great a responsibility after only a year in the service of Abu Sayyaf was truly an incredible event. And it was one Eduardo took extremely seriously.

He had bowed toward the radio a moment before keying the microphone. “I swear to bring him back. Or I will not return.”

Then he had assembled the best men he knew in the camp. All of them wanted a piece of the action. Luis had been a kind and remarkable leader for their group. He had personally taken Eduardo under his wing and taught him the finer points of ambushes, shirtsleeve explosive formulas, improvised munitions and much more. To see him cut down with a single shot to the head last night had scared and infuriated Eduardo.

He looked toward the jungle. Somewhere out there was the man who had killed Luis. And he would prove a very competent quarry. Eduardo would need to be careful; otherwise the sniper would sense them coming and kill them all.

Eduardo had no intention of letting that happen.

He called forth a withered old man with a long, wispy, white beard. The old man was clothed only in the scantiest of rags, but apparently cared little about his state of dress.
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