Page 40 of The 9th Man

They drove for another ten minutes through the trees, but with each foot forward the foliage grew more tightly packed until he decided this was the end of the line. “We’re on foot from here. Let’s grab the rifle. The rest stays here. You okay with that?”

“I’m not in a sentimental mood.”

They retrieved the rifle case.

“It won’t take them long to track us to here,” he said, sliding the remaining 9mm tight at his waist. “We left a fairly easy trail to follow, and they can still track this car. So we need to get lost.”

And they headed off into the woods.

16

A QUICK CHECK ON THE MAPS APP OF HIS PHONE TOLD LUKE THATthey were hiking through what was known as the Oesling, the Luxembourgish name for this section of the Ardennes mountain range which stretched through Belgium and Luxembourg then into Germany and France. Plenty of wild, old-growth forest with undulating, ankle-snapping terrain consisting of decomposed foliage and layer upon layer of fallen trees. In places, it was less forest and more a warren of grottos and vegetation tunnels. At best, he and Jillian could cover a mile or so every hour. Come nightfall they’d be lucky to do a quarter of that distance.

It would be worse, though, for whoever Persik sent in. While they’d probably have little trouble picking up the trail, their subsequent movements would have to be coordinated and meticulous, lest they walk right past a hiding spot or stumble into an ambush. He considered sending Jillian ahead, then lying in wait and picking off their pursuers one by one. It appealed to the Ranger in him. Fight on the terrain of your choosing. At a time of your choosing. Take every advantage and make the enemy pay for it. Beyond the question of whether he could pull it off alone, armed only with four rounds from Jillian’s pistol, there was something more important at stake. First, getting her to safety. Then, second, finding out what deadly secret Benjamin Stein had been keeping.

For an hour they picked their way deeper and higher into the forest, he in the lead, Jillian following with the rifle case in one hand.

In the distance came a warbling sound.

He froze and lowered into a crouch. Jillian followed suit.

That was no bird, and he saw she agreed.

They waited.

Thirty seconds passed.

Then the squelch of a radio and a tinny voice back from the direction they’d come. That suddenly cut off. As though silenced by a mute button?

“How far away do you think?” Jillian whispered.

“A few hundred yards. Let’s keep moving. They’re catching up faster than I thought.”

He realized that in a forest this thick twilight would come well before sunset, but he was still surprised when darkness began to fall like a curtain. The surrealness was compounded by slivers of bright sky that peeked in through the tall boughs. He stopped walking and together they crouched behind a tree. No sign or sound of Persik’s men for the past thirty minutes.

Had they lost them?

They kept going until he saw an anomaly for the wilderness. A shrine. Erected in a small clearing encircled by trees. A building about eight feet square, formed from rough lumber that was badly in need of paint. The door was intact on its rusted hinges and creaked open. Inside was plain. Just a crucifix, a small altar, and room for a few to kneel together before it. Whitewashed stucco walls had seasoned to a creamy gray, the wood for the altar and floor bleached out with age. Only a faded painting of Christ and bits of colored glass in the small side windows relieved the monochromatic look.

“Nobody has been here for a while,” Jillian said.

They needed to shed the rifle and case. If they were caught, it might be their only bargaining chip. He looked around. No hiding places here, except for the altar. He knelt down and examined the cabinet-like structure. Maybe four feet wide, that much and a little more high, and about a foot thick. Made from planks nailed together. One side was solid, but the other not so much. Two of the boards were loose. He managed to free them both on their nails and saw that the altar was hollow inside. A tight fit, but enough room. Jillian handed him the case, which he slipped inside. He replaced the boards and pounded them into place with a closed fist. He felt better with that secreted away.

The rifle should be safe.

“We need to keep going.”

Twenty minutes later he heard a new sound. Faint at first, but growing in volume. He peered upward through the trees, squinting at the bright sky, and listened to the basso overlapping chop of rotors. A sound he’d heard many times overseas.

A helicopter.

The volume increased until the helo closed the distance and passed directly overhead, then faded, heading west.

“He’s low,” he said. “And flying dark.”

“You don’t think—”

As if in answer to her question, the chopper swung around and returned, hovering nearly above them. Through the canopy Luke saw what looked like a boom silhouetted against the sky.

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