Alex Archer - Sacrifice

The soldier turned and exited the hut. Agamemnon walked to the red plaid recliner he’d had brought into the camp some months ago. The cloth fabric was already beginning to deteriorate in the intense humidity of the jungle air, but Agamemnon loved it anyway. The Americans made the most comfortable furniture.

He kicked his feet up and felt the footstool come up under them.

Today had not gone well.

And certainly, tomorrow was now compromised.

He took a deep breath and calmed himself. He could feel his heart slow as he inhaled and exhaled in slow, steady time.

A slight breeze washed over him and he cracked his eyes. Marta, his personal assistant, stood before him.

“Sir?”

“What is it?”

“You’ve missed dinner. Would you like me to bring you a plate of something?”

“Is there any adobo left?”

She smiled. Even at her advanced age, Marta could cook circles around most of the chefs in Manila. “I think I might have saved some for you. Just in case.”

Agamemnon closed his eyes. “You’re too good to me, Marta. And I sometimes wonder why you choose to stay here. You could live a luxurious life anywhere you wanted with your kitchen skills.”

“You are a great man. And I have chosen my place well,” she said.

“Very well, then. I would love some of your adobo.”

“Yes, sir.”

But she didn’t leave. Agamemnon opened his eyes again. “Is there something else?”

She smiled. “It’s just I thought you might like something after dinner, as well.”

“After dinner?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you have in mind?”

Marta turned and with her withered hands, clapped twice. The curtains parted again as two young girls entered the hut.

Agamemnon could see them trembling. They didn’t look much older than sixteen, and their light skin marked them as coming from the north. Perhaps from the cities. He could see a few light bruises from where they’d been roughed up by their handlers.

“Where are they from?”

“Bagiuo.”

Agamemnon smiled. “They’re a long way from home.”

“They are the daughters of a spoiled landowner.”

Agamemnon grinned. “Careful, Marta. You betray your past with statements like that.”

She bowed her head. “Forgive me, sir.”

Agamemnon waved the girls over. They walked tentatively toward him. “They’ve been trained well,” Agamemnon said.

Marta nodded. “They know their place.”

“And what is expected of them?”

Marta nodded. “Without question.”

Agamemnon smiled and waved Marta out of the hut. “Perhaps I’ll have my dessert first tonight.”

Annja had trouble following Vic through the jungle. He seemed to move like a ghost, intuitively knowing where the biggest tangles of vines were and how to get past them without disturbing anything. And while he carried a fair amount of equipment, he made almost no noise as he moved. In contrast, the night jungle was full of all sorts of animal noises. Annja found herself constantly swatting away the squadrons of mosquitoes that could apparently sense her mud shield was wearing away.

Only after they’d traveled a mile or so from Annja’s hiding spot in the tree did Vic signal for a water break. He handed his canteen to Annja, who eagerly gulped down the foul-tasting water.

Vic noticed the look on her face and smiled. “The sterilization tablets still don’t do a thing for the taste, but I can’t be picky about it. As long as it keeps me hydrated and all.”

Annja tried to grin. “I’ve heard there are better devices on the market now.”

“Sure, but you have to take time to use them. I don’t have time. So I fill up, drop two tabs into the water, and then my movement alone mixes them up and by the time I stop, I can just go ahead and drink.”

“I suppose,” Annja said.

He took the canteen and helped himself to a long swig. “In my line of work, the less time spent on the smaller stuff is more time spent on completing my mission.”

“What was your mission?” Annja asked.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and shook his head. “That’s classified.”

“You obviously killed someone,” she said.

He looked at her. “You think?”

Now it was Annja’s turn to grin. “You’re a lone sniper in the jungles of the Philippines. And knowing what I now know about this godforsaken area, this is a hotbed of Abu Sayyaf activity.”

“I could be out on a training assignment.”

“Right,” Annja said. “And you accidentally shot someone.”

Vic looked off into the jungle. “We should keep moving. It’ll be light in another hour or so. I want us bedded down and concealed prior to dawn. That’s when they’ll come looking for us.”

“You really think so?”

He nodded. “They can’t find anything right now. Night in the jungle isn’t the best time to be out in the bush. No, they’re back sleeping now. Resting. Tomorrow, in the full heat of the day, they’ll be out. And they’ll be hunting us with a gusto.”

“Because of who you killed?” she asked.

Vic nodded. “Yes.”

He turned and slipped off into the jungle. Annja followed him.

They traveled another mile before Vic slowed and started making frequent stops. He seemed to be checking his bearings quite a bit more than he had earlier. Annja guessed they must be close to his hiding spot.

At last, he cleared away a dense outcropping of twisted vines and dead tree trunks. Annja heard a rustling that sounded like a thousand tiny jaws eating through wood.

“Ugh.”

“What?” she asked.

Vic pointed. “The ants have found my hole.”

He brought out a small flashlight outfitted with a red lens and flashed it down into what appeared to be a six-foot wide hole. Annja watched as waves of ants scampered over bags of equipment.

“Great,” Annja said.

Vic looked at her. “Cardinal rule in the jungle is don’t sleep on the floor. The bugs will get you. Plus, the scorpions and snakes. But sometimes, you’ve got no choice. And the people hunting you will presume you’re off the ground. So they spend a lot of time looking in trees.”

“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?”