Agamemnon dropped into the hole. Six feet down, he stopped. The opening was barely large enough to accommodate him. He squinted in the dark, trying his best to make out whatever he could possibly see, which wasn’t a whole lot.

He turned and squatted, feeling with his hands. There was another opening in front of him. He moved forward slowly, not wanting to suddenly plunge down some unseen hole to his death.

He shook his head. Who would have ever imagined that a secret tunnel would be carved right into a series of tree trunks? Certainly not him. And yet, here he was, already neck deep in it.

Literally.

He moved ahead and the tunnel seemed to slope down at a gradual angle. Agamemnon reached up overhead, but still found the opening not quite large enough to stand up in.

Strange.

He frowned. If his other men had been taken by force, how had their captors managed to get them into this tunnel? He had a hard enough time navigating it himself. Trying to get people in here under duress would have proved very difficult.

Unless there were other openings scattered throughout this section of jungle. It was possible, he supposed. After all, he’d found this one.

He kept crawling forward, the AK-47 dragging along the ground, causing an occasional scraping sound. Agamemnon picked it up and got off his knees. He could sense better airflow coming at him and surmised that the ceiling was growing in height the deeper he went.

He stood and didn’t bang his head on the ceiling, although he felt long tendrils reaching down for him. He almost cried out. He brushed them away and realized they were roots from the jungle floor that was now above him.

He was headed deeper underground and marveled at how elaborate the structure would have to be to not cause cave-ins where the tunnels ran underground. In any other structure, they would need some system of joists or supports to keep the ceiling intact. But by running his hands overhead, he could feel the thick underside of old roots woven into a patchwork of supports.

Incredible.

Agamemnon wondered how long something like this could have been in existence, but then remembered hearing stories of the Moros being able to vanish in the blink of an eye.

Now he knew why they could. With hideouts like these throughout the jungle, they could disappear and reappear at will. No wonder their reputation as deadly and cunning foes was so well established.

The root ceiling gave way to solid stone and the air cooled considerably. Agamemnon felt his sweaty uniform starting to dry. He stopped and took a drink from his canteen before continuing on his way.

Twenty yards farther on, the slope seemed to level off. All around him was solid stone. The floor had also gone to stone instead of dirt. There was still some dust on it, but the tunnels now seemed carved right from bedrock.

He brought the muzzle of the AK-47 out in front of him now, however, suddenly realizing that he was very much in unknown territory. No sense letting himself get surprised and taken if he could help it.

He came to a fork with one tunnel leading left and one to the right. Agamemnon paused and strained to hear or see anything down either side. He was amazed at how much he’d been able to make out in almost total darkness.

It seemed that instead of seeing, he was more sensing things with regards to dimensions. He was also using his hands quite a bit more, trying to get an image of where he was.

He found himself amazed at how extensive things were. He’d read about the tunnels used by the Vietcong in the Vietnam War, but he doubted if they were anything even remotely as sophisticated as this system appeared to be.

He’d seen a documentary about how cramped the VC tunnels were. But these felt spacious and cool. Surely the people who had constructed them were engineering geniuses.

But which way to go now?

He paused and considered his options. At some point he was going to have to find his way back out to the jungle. He had to make sure he remembered exactly how he had come. He glanced back instinctively before realizing he wouldn’t be able to see much.

He could have marked the wall perhaps, but what good would it really do?

Right or left?

He paused, took a breath and broke off to the left tunnel. It stayed on a level footing and continued for about twenty yards.

Which was when Agamemnon suddenly heard something. He froze. His ears strained to pick up the distant sounds. He could hear vague voices somewhere off in front of him.

Scrapes and shuffles flew at him now, as well. Whatever or whoever was farther down there, seemed headed straight for him.

Agamemnon raised the AK-47 to his shoulder and glanced around before realizing he wouldn’t necessarily see a good spot for cover.

He moved to the side of the tunnel and squatted, running his hands over the rough rock. A small depression seemed adequate to at least provide him some measure of surprise for when they reached him.

He could make out two different voices. But they were still too distant to determine who they might be.

It could be Joey and Michael, he thought. He smirked. He might even forgive Joey for running off like this. After all, this tunnel complex was a great discovery.

Agamemnon could bring his men down here and kill whoever lived here. Then they could take them over and use the tunnel network for their base of operations in case things went south.

There was no way the enemy would ever find them. They’d be successfully hidden and safe from snipers and annoying American women.

Agamemnon nodded. Yes, he had much to thank Joey for.

The noises grew louder now. They were getting closer.

Agamemnon raised his rifle and leaned closer to it, trying to sight down the barrel. The voices grew louder. It sounded like an argument.

That seemed strange to him. And yet…

The voices were arguing. And speaking English.

He strained to listen and caught snippets of words.

“…go back…”

“…get out of here…”

“…should have known…”

“…forget her…”

And then the voices were suddenly much closer. Agamemnon stood, feeling confident he had the superior position on whoever was coming toward him.

“Stop!” he ordered.

The voices halted immediately.

Agamemnon took a breath. “Come toward me. Slowly.”

He heard shuffling as their feet walked closer. Agamemnon wished he’d remembered to bring a flashlight with him from camp. But then again, he hadn’t imagined he’d be underground in a tunnel. And he hadn’t planned on using a flashlight in the jungle, either. He would have made himself into a target by doing so.

But now it would have come in handy.

“Who’s there?” a familiar voice said. The voice had an accent. A Filipino accent.

“Eduardo?”

“Agamemnon?”

Agamemnon laughed. “My God, it is you!”

“Yes, sir. I was kidnapped by some type of tribe of crazy warriors who kept us imprisoned down here.”

“Us?”

“Yes, sir. I’m not alone.”

Agamemnon frowned. “Who else is with you?”

“An American.”

“American? The woman?”

“No, sir. We left her behind.”

“Where?”

“Back there. She told us to escape.”

“So who is with you?”

“The sniper.”

“What?” Agamemnon couldn’t believe his ears. “The man who killed Luis?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I should shoot you.” He raised the rifle and tried to visualize where Eduardo would be standing. But then he heard another voice.

“We called a truce until we could escape. Otherwise, we’d all be dead by now. And what good would that do?”

“Eduardo, you should never have made a pact with this man. You were supposed to be hunting him,” Agamemnon said.

“I did hunt him. And while I was, we were being hunted, as well.”

“By this tribe you speak of?”

“The guide we used. He betrayed us.”

Agamemnon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The sniper was so close, he could touch him. He raised the rifle and fired.

The explosion tore into the relative silence of the tunnel and echoed repeatedly as it traveled throughout the network.

Agamemnon dropped the rifle back on its sling as he grabbed at his ears, momentarily deafened by the gunshot.

“Oh, that was smart.” The American’s voice was laced with sarcasm.

Agamemnon wanted to kill him so badly he could feel his heart thundering in his chest.

“Thanks for telling those clowns exactly where we are.” There was a pause. “This is the guy you follow orders from?”

“He’s my leader,” Eduardo said.

“You’re all idiots.”

“We’ve got to get out of here, sir.”

Agamemnon realized that his impetuous action had just alerted the tunnel dwellers. “Yes, yes, we have to get out of here.”

“It’s that dawning realization that makes this such a special moment for me,” the American said.

Agamemnon turned back. “I will kill you. Know that. As soon as we get out of this place, I will kill you very, very slowly.”

“Yeah, yeah, promises, promises. Let’s just get the hell out of here before we find ourselves with a welcome party on our asses.”

Agamemnon turned. “I came from this direction. Follow me.”

He led them back up the tunnel toward the fork. If he could just remember which option it would be when they got there, they’d be back at the tree trunks in no time. From there, it would just be a matter of getting out of the hole and then back to the camp, where they’d be safe.

They reached the fork in the tunnel.

“Which way?” the American asked.

Agamemnon turned right. “This was the direction I came from.”

He heard something then. It sounded no louder than a slight breeze. But in rapid succession, he suddenly heard three soft thunks. One of them much closer than the other two.

He brushed a hand up to his neck, thinking a mosquito had landed on him. Instead, he felt something soft. Like feathers.

Feathers?

He slumped to the cave floor.