unlike the one Grimaldi had blasted to create the landslide on the other side of the mountain. Before them lay the north valley. Bolan quickly dropped to his stomach and motioned for Bahn to do the same.
“We’re like sitting ducks out on this ledge,” he whispered.
“I’ll take my chances,” Bahn said. “Beats the hell out of having to pick those damn thorns out of my hide all the—”
Bolan squeezed her arm, silencing her, then pointed downhill. Bahn shifted her gaze, just in time to see a young, bearded man frantically making his way down the slope to the valley floor, where the foliage was even denser than up on the hill. One second the man was in clear sight, scrambling through knee-high ferns and wild rhododendrons; the next he’d vanished into the greenery without a trace.
“So much for heading him off at the pass,” Bolan said.
“We might as well wait for the others.”
As they waited, Bolan looked over the jungle. The valley was easily thirty miles wide and half that distance across, and every square inch of the land seemed veiled by a canopy of trees. The only exception was the foothills on the far side of the valley, where flames could be seen raging through a section of the forest, giving off a thick, dark column of smoke. Beyond the next rise, Bolan could see other, similar columns, all adding to the hazy shroud that stretched over them, blotting the afternoon sun so that it seemed nothing more than a dim bulb. Bolan could smell the smoke. It was so strong his eyes began to burn again. Once more he found himself fighting back a cough.
“It’s worse than smog during rush hour in L.A.,” Bahn said, stifling a cough of her own.
They continued their vigil atop the promontory for another ten minutes, but there was no further sign of their enemy. Finally they heard a crackling in the brush behind them, followed by a radio call from Kissinger telling them to hold their fire.
“It’s just us.”
“Stay put,” Bolan told him. “We’ll come to you.”
They retreated from the ledge and backtracked into the brush until they met up with Kissinger, Latek and two of the KOPASSUS commandos. They’d all long since shed their HAZMAT masks, and Bolan looked quickly into each man’s eyes for signs of treachery. Each of the commandos returned his gaze unflinchingly, then Latek and one of the others moved past Bolan and headed toward the promontory.
“Flyboy made it back to Samarinda in one piece,” Kissinger reported, “but apparently there’s a nick in the chopper’s fuel line, so it’ll be awhile before he can get it airborne again.”
“How about another chopper?” Bolan asked.
“He’s trying to roust one from the military over in Balikpapan,” Kissinger said, “but that’ll take time, too.”
“How’s the major holding up?”
“He’s under the knife at the city hospital,” Kissinger said. “They say it’s going to be a long surgery, and they don’t like his chances. That prisoner we took in is in the OR too, but his prognosis isn’t much better. The others got by with quick patch-ups. They’ve probably already been released.”
Bolan took Kissinger aside and whispered, “If they haven’t been, I think we should have Jack and Rock try to keep an eye on them.”
“Why’s that?”
Before Bolan could pass along his theory about a spy having tipped off the Lashkar about the raid, Latek returned from the promontory and called out, “I see some smoke.”
“That’s not exactly ‘Stop the presses,’” Bahn told him. “There’s smoke everywhere you look.”
“Close by,” Latek said. “Just down the hill.”
Bolan told the others to stay put, then motioned for Kissinger to come with him. When they reached the escarpment, Bolan dropped once again to the ground and inched forward to a point from which he could see back down into the valley. Kissinger did the same.
A hundred yards away, a thin, serpentine finger of white smoke rose through the trees.
“Too small for a slash-and-burn,” Kissinger murmured.
“It’s in the direction the shooter was headed,” Bolan said. “I’m thinking campsite.”
“If that’s the case, we’re in business,” Kissinger said.
They crawled back into the brush. Bolan told Bahn and Latek, “If we’re going to try to hit them, this is the time, before they head any deeper into the forest.”
“I’m with you,” Bahn said.
Latek nodded. “What is the plan?”
Bolan thought it over, then laid out a basic strategy. When he was finished, Latek spoke briefly to the other commandos. As they steeled themselves for what lay ahead, one of the men clenched his assault rifle tightly and murmured something in Javanese.
“What’d he say?” Bolan asked Bahn as they prepared to enter the forest.
“Roughly translated,” she said, “It’s show time.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Who turned off the lights?” Kissinger whispered.
He’d taken less than a dozen steps into the rain forest, but it was as if he’d crossed time zones to a place where the sun had already set. Engulfed in a bleak twilight, he and the others found themselves surrounded by a preternatural world of looming, shifting shadows.
“Let’s take it slow till our eyes adjust,” Bolan advised.
“No argument there,” Cowboy replied.
The group had split up before entering the forest. Jayne Bahn had paired up with one of the commandos while, somewhere off to Bolan and Kissinger’s right, Sergeant Latek and the other commando had already forged ahead and disappeared from sight.
The ground beneath Bolan’s and Kissinger’s feet was a soft, peatlike layer of decomposed vegetation that padded each step they took. Not that anyone could have heard them above the cacophony. The noise surrounding the men was almost deafening. Up in the treetops, orangutans and smaller monkeys howled to one another, competing with the caterwaul of unseen birds and buzzing of insects, and the unsettling moan of the wind filtering through the upper branches.
And then there was the river, lapping and gurgling its way through the forest. Adding to the sensory overload was a cloying scent of exotic, overripe fruit. The smell was every bit as strong as that of the damp peat and, for the first time since stepping off the plane in Samarinda, Bolan realized he was unable to detect the smell of smoke. So much for sniffing their way to the enemy campfire, he thought to himself.
“Let’s stay close to the river,” he suggested. “Odds are they pitched camp near it.”
Kissinger followed Bolan. Their eyes continued to become accustomed to the darkness, and once they reached the river they were able to make out scores of boot prints along the banks. The tracks led
