If anything, the rain seemed to be intensifying. The jungle floor had been transformed into a muddy bog that slowed their forward progress considerably. The forest canopy kept the brunt of the rain’s force off of their heads, but there was still a constant trickle and the sound of water bombarding the leaves overhead was almost deafening.
Making matters worse, Maddock and Bones had to stick to the most concealed areas — dense brambles of underbrush, hopelessly entwined thickets of vines and branches — lest they come into view of a search party caught in the rain. They figured that Spinney’s team would be safe in their tents by now, but as SEALs they trained and prepared for the unexpected. Whenever possible, they would always opt for the safest route that would still get the job done, not the easiest.
The going was slow but they kept on, and in a couple of hours Maddock stiff-armed Bones’ back as he crouched behind the last thick tree before the jungle gave way to the flat, grassy area that led to the beach. The buried crate lay just up ahead.
“Let’s watch.” Maddock and Bones monitored the area for several minutes, the rain still sheeting down around them.
“Good thing we’re here to get this thing,” Bones whispered. “This rain’s going to wash away the dirt over the crate in no time, if it hasn’t already.”
Maddock agreed. The thin cover of sandy soil they’d hurriedly heaped on top of the box couldn’t possibly withstand this kind of deluge for long. He put his index and middle fingers together and pointed toward the cluster of flowering bushes where they’d buried the film crate.
He and Bones moved out from behind the tree cover and ran to the site of the buried strongbox. The gray sky and the rain coming down hard made them question at first if they were at the same landmark clump of vegetation, but they found the hole they dug on the side closest to the beach.
Unfortunately, that’s what it was: a hole.
“Dude! Someone stole our crate!” Bones stared into the empty pit, now filling with sandy mud. Maddock looked around in case someone was still nearby, but he saw no one. He walked slowly around the area, thoroughly checking the ground to see if any clues had been left behind, or if by chance the crate had simply been washed away to a nearby spot. There was nothing.
“It must be George Taylor.” Maddock kicked the tip of his shoe into the wet ground in frustration.
Bones nodded slowly, the reality hitting him hard. “When we split with the smallpox crate, Taylor probably figured we were trying to rip him off and so he went back and took this one in retaliation.” He pointed at the empty gap in the earth.
“And he probably thinks the crate we took off with is loaded with those cancelled stamps. If he only knew…” Maddock laughed hollowly.
“We’ve got to get that film back. It’s the other half of our objective.”
“Right. So the question is, did Taylor hide the film somewhere else for himself, or did he share that we buried it with the team, to label us as thieves and traitors?”
Bones shook his head slowly. “Not good. If he buried it somewhere else…”
“Hopefully he’s got it just sitting in his tent.” Maddock’s suggestion was a spark of hope, because sneaking into Taylor’s tent and taking the film back was something they could do. Unfortunately, so was kidnapping Taylor and torturing the location of the film out of him. They definitely did not want to do anything like that, but it was something that would be well within their duty as SEALs to do, should there be absolutely no other alternative. Poor Taylor thought that he was dealing with a couple of random commercial divers out to make a few extra bucks on a job. It was their job to be underestimated like that, though, and they didn’t hold it against him.
Bones held up a finger. “The other possibility, if he turned it over to Spinney, is that the whole team could now be guarding it along with the other artifacts.”
That would also present a serious problem. The two of them could easily deal with Taylor, but the whole team at once? Even SEALs had their limits. Neither Maddock nor Bones had a firearm with him, but they already knew that Taylor did. And they suspected Spinney probably did, too, although they didn’t know for certain.
“I know one thing,” Maddock said, standing and facing toward the beach path that led to camp. “Late tomorrow people will start arriving here to investigate Spinney’s Mizuhi accusations and sensational press releases. We need to be gone by then. I don’t think waiting until tonight to sneak into camp is a good idea.”
“They’ll probably be expecting us to do that, anyway, and have guards posted. Or if it’s only Taylor in on this, you know he’ll be sleeping with one eye open.”
“Daytime surprise attack?”
“It’s on like Donkey Kong. Jungle shortcut again?”
Maddock agreed and they retreated into the jungle.
“Let’s just hope,” Maddock says, “that the attack really does turn out to be a surprise.”