He cocked his head slightly and examined her face carefully. “You saw it, did you? And what else did you see?” His lips twisted. “Do you see what will happen now?”

She hesitated. She only knew that it would be good for Shannon to come through the trees now. And she didn’t necessarily want him to save her, although that seemed reasonable enough, but she wanted him to be here. Shannon.

“I’m sure you want to kill,” she said.

He blinked. “And will I succeed?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you don’t know anything.”

“I know that you’re death.”

“Shut up!” he screamed. His voice echoed about the trees.

She looked past him to the tree line. Shannon, do you hear that, my love? Come quickly. Please, there isn’t much time.

My love?

“If you speak again, I’ll kill him,” Abdullah said, pointing the gun at Petrus.

She looked back at him. “You can’t kill him.”

Abdullah’s face quivered with anger.

“He would hear the gunshot. My Shannon would hear it,” Tanya said.

The Arab’s black eyes seemed to hollow with hate. Like two holes drilled through that skull of his.

“Lie down on your stomach.”

Petrus protested. “Please, I must—”

“Shut up!”

Tanya hesitated and then did as he asked. His knee dropped into her back and she waited for something to happen. The fear returned then, as she lay on her stomach. A panicking terror that ripped through her bones like white-hot lead. Nausea swept through her and she imagined his blade reaching forward and slicing through her neck.

Oh, God, please! Please save me! Her heart crashed in her chest and her muscles strung tight. Behind her Abdullah’s breathing thickened.

And then Abdullah simply stood and walked away.

TANYA LAY on her stomach for a long minute before moving. Petrus was still seated beside her, staring at the river. She followed his eyes. Abdullah squatted on the muddy bank, twenty meters off. He stared at them, rocking, gun limp in his right hand.

Tanya pushed herself up to her seat and faced Abdullah.

“Father Petrus?”

He answered without turning. “Yes, Tanya?”

“I’m . . . I’m very sorry, Father.”

He turned his head and raised a brow. “Sorry? Don’t be sorry for me, my dear. We are winning. Can’t you see that?”

“Winning? We’re sitting on a river a thousand miles from anywhere with a madman staring us down. I’m not sure I’m following.”

“And to be honest, I’m not necessarily following either. But I do know a few things. I know that your parents were drawn to this jungle twenty years ago so that you could be here today. I know that a young girl named Nadia died in my homeland of Bosnia forty years ago so that I could be here today.” He offered a smile. “This is far beyond us, my dear.”

“My parents were killed, Father.”