Agamemnon watched his men work their way through the jungle. He could hear them struggle to breathe. They were tired and even the frequent stops he ordered did little to assuage the growing fatigue that was evident on their sweaty, grime-covered faces.

His two trackers were still out in front of the rest of the group, picking their way through the vines and over tree trunks. Even they were beginning to show signs of exhaustion. And still the trail seemed to move them ever forward through the steamy undergrowth.

Agamemnon spotted one of the trackers coming back toward him. Agamemnon held up his hand, and his men seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief when he did so.

The tracker came up to him. “Sir.” His breathing was labored and Agamemnon was at least glad that he was also tired.

“What’s the matter? Why have we stopped?” he asked.

“We’ve picked up another trail, sir. More men. And they were following the people we seek.”

Agamemnon frowned. “Can you tell how many?”

“Five in boots. One in bare feet.”

“Bare feet?”

The tracker nodded. “He seems to be out in front of the others. It’s curious but we think it was the search team’s tracker.”

Agamemnon pulled out the map of the jungle and traced his finger along the path they had taken. He then looked at the location of his second camp and drew an intersecting line. Yes, it was entirely possible that Eduardo had intercepted the trail and set off after the American woman and the sniper. He smiled. Good for Eduardo.

But where were they?

He glanced back at the tracker. “You can follow them easily enough?”

“Yes, sir. They have made no effort to conceal their path. And it helps us, actually, since they were tracking the people we seek. And those tracks are older now, tougher to distinguish amid the litter on the jungle floor.”

Agamemnon helped himself to some more water, drinking deeply before nodding. “Very well, you can proceed.”

The tracker turned and hurried back down the trail. Agamemnon watched him go and then looked at his men. Each of them seemed lost in his own thoughts. Agamemnon had seen the look before on men going into battle. A hard struggle had its own way of tunneling minds. It was almost as if each man had to find his own way to handle the never-ending physical punishment of trekking through the jungle.

Ordinarily, Agamemnon would have chosen a much more leisurely pace. Jungle travel exerted a tremendous amount of strain on people. And traveling more than a mile or so per day could easily kill a squad of men.

But time wasn’t a luxury they had. Not with the American woman and the dreaded sniper somewhere out in the jungle. If they got to safety, then all of his plans would be for nothing.

Plus, he wanted revenge.

He grinned. He knew he could never admit that. But he did want it, because of what the woman had done to him. She’d embarrassed him. And then the sniper had killed his best man.

Both of them would perish for their misdeed. And Agamemnon would enjoy watching them die.

He pushed himself off the trunk of the tree he leaned against and urged his men up. “Time to move, men. Come on, now.”

None of them groaned. That would have been too obvious a sign of their growing frustration. But Agamemnon could sense that they wanted nothing more than to quit and hunker down for the night.

Night was a long way off yet. And so was the idea of stopping.

A burst of motion up in front of him caused Agamemnon to pull his rifle up into his shoulder. But then he saw that it was only the tracker coming back to him again.

Agamemnon frowned. Now what?

As the tracker came closer, Agamemnon could see the expression on the man’s face. It didn’t look as if he was happy.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Blood.”

“Excuse me?”

“Farther up the trail. There is evidence of…something.”

“Something?”

The tracker shrugged. “We’re not sure. But it looks like several men were killed in the clearing.”

Agamemnon felt his gut tighten. “Show me.”

The tracker led him down the trail. As he passed his men, Agamemnon fanned his hand. “Take up defensive positions. Just in case.”

His men spread out to form a defensive arc around their area. Each one faced out into the jungle, his gun ready to fire.

“The blood is old,” the tracker said. “And the insects have had their share of it already.”

“But you’re sure it is blood?” Agamemnon asked.

“Yes, sir. Very sure.”

Agamemnon crawled over a downed log and felt his legs slip on something. He glanced down expecting to find a body, but it was only a carpet of moist moss. He took a calming breath and continued on.

Ahead, he could see the first tracker, who knelt in the tall grass of a clearing. As they approached the man looked up and nodded at Agamemnon. “Sir.”

“Show me.”

The first tracker parted the grass and Agamemnon could see the slick darkness standing in contrast to the brilliant green. Ants swarmed over the site and there was a buzzing of flies, as well.

But there was no body.

“Is this it?”

The tracker shook his head and pointed. “Isolated patches there, there and there, as well. It looks like four men were killed here.”

Four men. Agamemnon’s thoughts raced. That was most of Eduardo’s team. And there was no telling if Eduardo had been among the men who had apparently been killed.

“But no bodies?” he asked.

Both trackers shook their heads. “We’ve looked. But the corpses, which we presume there were due to the volume of blood spilled, seem to have just disappeared into the jungle.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And they left no trail?”

“None we could follow for more than a few yards. The bodies appear to have been dragged somewhat and then they vanished.”

“You realize that sounds impossible, right?”

The first tracker nodded. “We’ve checked the trees, sir. We couldn’t find a single body or evidence they were even taken up.”

Agamemnon sighed. This wasn’t good news. If Eduardo’s team had been killed somehow by the sniper and the American woman, there would be evidence of some fashion aside from spurts of blood on the ground. There was no way two people would have been able to hide four bodies and not leave some evidence behind.

That left the possibility of something else. And it was something Agamemnon wasn’t at all pleased to admit to himself.

“It’s possible there are others out here, then?” he asked.

Both trackers nodded. “We were thinking the same thing, sir.”

“They would have to be good,” Agamemnon said. “To be able to ambush a group of trained soldiers like Eduardo and his men. To do that means they are not amateurs.”

“And to not leave a trail,” the second tracker said, “means they are adept at moving through the jungle. Possibly in ways that even we are not.”

Agamemnon chewed his lip. How much worse could his current situation get? He sighed and brushed at the flies that had begun investigating him. “We’ll need to move on very carefully. If there’s a chance that some other group is operating out here, I don’t want us falling victim to them the way Eduardo’s team apparently did.”

“There’s still the question of what happened to the other two members of Eduardo’s team, sir.”

Agamemnon nodded. “Two would seem to be still alive, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then we need to find them. And save them if they are in trouble.”

The trackers stood. One of them slid out his knife. Agamemnon could tell that it was a handmade balisong with a dangerous blade on it.

“You sure you wouldn’t rather use a gun?” he asked.

The tracker shook his head. “I don’t think a gun will do any good against people who have the skill to do what they did here, sir.”

Agamemnon frowned. “Do you know something you’re not telling me?”

The trackers eyed each other and then the second one cleared his throat. “Just legends, sir. Nothing more.”

“But given the situation,” the first said, “we just don’t know anymore.”

“Tell me,” Agamemnon ordered.

The second tracker leaned against the tree behind him. “This jungle is supposed to be haunted by the spirits of a once powerful tribe of Moros warriors who controlled this area.”

“Moros? The tribe who used to fight off armed conquerors with knives?”

“Yes, sir. But they were all nearly hunted to extinction, it is said. Except for the ones who live in these jungles. Somehow, they managed to survive and eke out a living here. For years, this jungle was avoided by all the local people who live on the coast of the island. Tourists who used to venture in here were never heard from again. The locals refused to step foot in here.”

“But now,” the first tracker continued, “people have forgotten about the old legends. Everyone wants more from the islands, and a lot of them are being eaten away by developers.”

“Or people like me,” Agamemnon said.

The first tracker nodded. “Obviously, this is the perfect place to use as a base for your operations. The army has a hard time tracking in this type of environment. But the legends are still whispered about.”

Agamemnon wrinkled his nose as a bug attempted to fly into his nostril. He exhaled sharply and blew it out. “You think we are being hunted?”

Both trackers shook their heads.

“But,” the second tracker said, “someone most definitely tracked the first team and apparently killed some of their men.”

“And you’ve got no trail to follow now.”

“That’s correct.”

Agamemnon shook his head. “Trails just don’t disappear. There’s simply no way to erase a presence from the jungle. There’s got to be something we’re not seeing yet.”

“We’ve searched up ahead about ten yards.”

Agamemnon took a deep breath. “Expand your search. I want to know exactly what happened here beyond the four deaths. I want to know how these trails can simply disappear.”

“Very well, sir.”

Agamemnon started back to his men and then stopped. He turned around and looked at the trackers. “These legends, did they say what happened to the people who disappeared?”

The first tracker shook his head. “No, sir. But no one who disappeared was ever heard from again. The logical assumption was they died here in the jungle.”

“No remains were ever found?”

“No, sir. It was like the jungle just swallowed them up. Bones and all.”

Agamemnon nodded. “Keep looking. I want answers.”

He turned and headed back down the path. Already he could hear the murmurings among his men. Four dead. Spirits. Legends. Trapped in the jungle. They were tired, scared and whispering among themselves.

“Get up!” Agamemnon moved faster, urging the men to roust themselves. “Forget the legends. We’re armed and skilled and whatever is out there is no match for us.”

He glanced back down the trail and prayed he was right.