Caleb felt something slither by his ankle. Probably a snake.

Keep moving.

He traveled over a mile without seeing Bohdan’s men, but then he heard voices on the other side of a low ridge. Caleb dropped low and crawled toward the ridge’s rim on his stomach. He reached for his binoculars but quickly realized there was no need. An entire unit of seventy to eighty men was less than a hundred yards away, spread evenly in a line search formation. They were surprisingly well trained, he thought, and equipped with the latest weaponry and uniforms. Bohdan had obviously invested heavily in his army.

Bad luck.

He needed to punch a hole in that search line, but how?

He turned and looked back. The hillside behind jutted out in three places that would cause the line to part at least momentarily. Maybe he could exploit that…

Caleb scrambled down the hillside and leaped into a clump of large cane plants. He peered through the thick stems at the approaching troops. Their automatic weapons were drawn, and they jabbed their gun barrels into every clump of vegetation they passed.

As predicted, the line parted as it neared him. A hawk-faced older soldier jabbed his automatic rifle through the large leaves.

Caleb ducked. A near-miss.

Another jab. Caleb spun around to avoid the gun barrel as it landed inches from his chest. Before the soldier could draw the gun back, Caleb lunged forward, gripped the man’s right forearm, and pulled him into the clump of plants. The soldier opened his mouth to scream, but Caleb drew his knife and slashed the man’s throat.

He clasped his hand over the soldier’s mouth. It was over in under a minute.

Caleb looked through the cane plants to see that the line had re-formed at the bottom of the ridge. So far, no one missed their fallen comrade.

But it was still a long way to the border.

*  *  *

Helicopter pilot Gaius Diehl dropped below the tree line as he flew across a clearing. His gunner, Glen Bowers, had sworn he saw something at the bottom of the hill.

Bowers pointed. “There!”

Diehl slowed and banked around for a better look. There was a blood-soaked soldier sprawled in the clearing.

“He’s one of ours,” Bowers said. “Looks like he’s dead.”

“I’ll radio it in.”

While Diehl radioed for instructions, Bowers squinted at the wounded man. “Wait. He’s alive!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. He just moved.”

Diehl updated Central Command and looked back toward his partner. Since coming home from Iraq and accepting their jobs with Bohdan’s army, their assignments had mostly been about escorting drug shipments through the jungle. They’d never been tasked to track someone before.

Bohdan himself came on the radio with the order: “Bring him in. But watch the jungle. The bastard might be trying for an ambush.”

“Roger.”