His man let out an understandably frustrated breath. “There are only eight of us. Are you thinking you want to split up and try to cover some of them?”

Grant shook his head. “No way to find them. The directions were written in a way that only David Chism will be able to understand.”

He turned off the flashlight and grabbed his satphone, dialing from memory. Despite being 6 a.m. in Washington, the call was picked up on the second ring.

“Go ahead,” said the now familiar voice.

“We’ve got at least ten choppers overflying the area, using megaphones to try to communicate with David Chism. Do you know anything about it?”

There was a long pause. Grant pictured the man standing in the kitchen of his McMansion, foaming milk for his coffee. “It’s a mercenary operation. Not military.”

“Well, whoever they are, they’re a hell of a lot better equipped than we are and they seem to have a hell of a lot better plan. Auma’s men are still watching us and the guide you set us up with just disappeared. There’s nothing more we can do here. Request permission to pull out.”

Another long pause before the man spoke again. “Stand by for further instructions.”

The line went dead.

“Problems?” his man said.

Grant didn’t answer, contemplating his options. After a few seconds he concluded that there was only one. He wasn’t leading his men to their deaths while a bunch of mercs watched from the clouds. And if that meant a court-martial, then he’d deal with it. But he doubted it’d come to that. For him to be court-martialed, someone would have to figure out who these bullshit orders were coming from. And Mr. Pumpkin Spice Latte didn’t sound like the type who handed out business cards.

“We’ve been told to pull out,” he lied. As long as his men thought they were following orders, they’d be safe from any repercussions. “Now let’s move.”

Chism froze as voices became audible, followed by the swish of people coming toward him through the trees. The language was recognizable, but indecipherable. Despite his time in Uganda, he learned only a few local words.

This couldn’t be where his luck finally ran out. He was too close. Maybe as little as an hour from saving his friends and landing safely at Nick Ward’s compound. Crouching silently, he tried to ignore the sensation of his heart trying to escape his chest.

The two men passed within a few feet but despite the sun having been up for a couple of hours they never suspected anything. It was the upside to the sea of plant life they were all trapped in. The downside was that it made finding what he was looking for damn near impossible.