Page 44 of Murder Island

The rest of his team were down in the pit with the workers.

The day after Hemple’s body had been found, two more men were crushed by a deadfall on their way back from the latrine. The next morning, another man was found at the bottom of a pit not far from the compound, impaled on a wooden stake.

Word about the killings had spread to the mine workers, and most of them were terrified, especially the children. They called the killershetani. Swahili for devil.

Now Gurney was out of patience. The gossip in the pit was starting to affect production, which affected profit.And he was tired of losing men in the middle of the night. It had been a small unit to start with. Now he was actually shorthanded. And he wasn’t about to risk losing more men in jungle searches.

Gurney put the bullhorn to his mouth and pressed the Talk button.

“You all know about the devil in the jungle.” He spoke in his crisp British accent, knowing that the assorted English speakers among the workers would translate for the others. His men circulated through the workers, rifles ready. “We’re tired of letting him run loose,” Gurney continued. “Tired of seeing fine men die at his hands.” He paused for a moment to let the translators catch up. “So I’ve decided that he will be caught, and killed—byyou.”

As the word spread through the pit, the soldiers worked their way through the crowd, pulling out the hardiest-looking males. A few of the men pushed back, but after a few pokes with a rifle barrel, they stopped resisting. Soon ten of them were being marched up the ramp toward the rim of the mine.

Gurney held up the bullhorn again as the rest of the workers stared up at him. Some of the wives and children were wailing. “Tonight, these men will hunt the killer—theshetani. If they fail, tomorrow, ten more will go. Then ten more. Until the devil is dead at my feet.”

The ten men had reached the top of the mine, rifles at their backs. They were doing their best not to look terrified in front of their families.

“Are we giving them guns, boss?” asked one of the soldiers.

“Just knives and spears,” said Gurney. “What they’re used to.”

He walked up and down the row of ten men, as if he were reviewing the troops. “First squad goes out tonight. And if we lose a few, no worries.” He clapped the tallest worker on the shoulder. “Plenty more where they came from.”

CHAPTER 53

ALL SIX OF us—the five giants and me—were inching through the forest in a staggered line. We were in head-to-toe camo. When we moved, we looked like blowing leaves. When we stood still, we were simply invisible.

Our exercises so far had been arduous, but basic. Long hikes with full packs. Hand-to-hand combat. Night recon.

For some reason, today felt different.

I was on the right wing of the formation. My only weapon was a hunting bow—a compound carbon model with string silencers. Apart from a toy I had as a kid, it was the first bow I’d ever held. For some reason, archery wasn’t in Kira’s curriculum. She was more about guns and knives. But I watched my teammates and picked up the basics in about two minutes. I realized that I nowpossessed an intuitive grasp of killing tools. My first practice shot was a bull’s-eye.

Every time we were out in the field by ourselves, I had no doubt that Leo was watching us from somewhere. I assumed he had the whole forest wired. Or maybe he was somewhere nearby in camouflage himself.

I took three or four small steps at a time, with the outer edge of my feet touching first. Low impact, minimal sound. The five guys to my left probably weighed at least 280 pounds apiece, but they moved as softly as foxes through the leaves. Well-trained stalkers, all of them.

We held our bows ready, arrows notched, prepared to shoot at any moment. But we had no idea what was out here. It was a seek-and-destroy exercise, with no designated target.

I scanned the trees ahead, looking for movement or unnatural patterns. I listened for cracking twigs or shuffling brush.

Then something made me stop in my tracks.

I looked up and saw two startled sparrows fly off a sycamore branch.

Suddenly the air cracked with gunfire. The bark of the tree at my elbow was blasted into splinters. Live ammo! I saw the others hit the ground. Another volley kicked up leaves and black dirt right in front of them.

I jumped behind the bulk of a fallen tree as bullets zinged overhead. I crawled to the uprooted end andpeeked around. Another blast blew the moss off the bark two inches from my face.

These weren’t warning shots. Somebody was trying to kill us.

I rolled back to the cover of the log and took a breath. I’d seen all I needed to see. Smoke from a rifle barrel, about forty yards ahead and twenty feet up. The shooter was hidden in a tree stand.

I glanced to my left. My training partners had all taken cover in depressions or behind stumps. They blended in with the forest floor.

Another blast swept our position. A large branch dropped behind me, sliced off by automatic rounds.

Enough.