The Romanov Ransom

70

Sam and Remi peered through a tree fern at the faded swastika painted on the ruins. “Any chance,” Remi said quietly, “that we’re looking at graffiti instead of some Nazi hideaway?”

“Anything’s possible,” he said. “But the stonework looks more European than South American.” At least what was left of it, he thought, eyeing the heavy philodendron vines creeping over the crumbling stones of the remaining roofline. Had it not been for the thickness of the walls, no less than three feet, the jungle would have destroyed the structure long ago. “Whatever this place was, it was built for defense.”

“Like a bunker?”

“One way to find out.”

Unable to see into the ruins, he drew his gun and motioned for Remi to stay where she was. He took a closer look, watching for any booby traps or trip wires. As far as he could tell, the drug runner’s trail veered around the ruins. All that was left of the stairs leading up to the doorway were loose stones, roots, and fist-sized vines.

After a quick check of the inside, the remnants of three partial walls, he waved to Remi and she joined him, picking her way up the root-bound stairs. She stood there for several moments, looking around at the lush, green vines that had grown up along the inside of the walls, spilling over the top to the outside. Off to the right, the late-afternoon sun filtered through the lace-like hollowed trunk of a strangler fig, the host tree it had killed having rotted out long ago. “It’s really quite beautiful,” she said.

“Especially now that it’s empty of any Nazis.” Staying close to the wall, Sam moved to the edge, looking in the direction of the trail. Satisfied that they wouldn’t be seen, he returned to Remi’s side. “As good a place as any to spend the night.”

“You think this really was a World War Two Wolf Guard holdout?”

“Or a hideout for Nazi officers being hunted,” he said, removing his pack and leaning it against the stone wall.

Remi did the same. “I suppose a fire is out of the question?”

“So is chilled pinot grigio and fresh fish for dinner,” he said, taking off his hat and setting it on his pack.

After protein bars, they sat side by side against their respective packs. Remi leaned her head back, looking up. “The stars are out,” she said. “Too bad the moon is full or we’d have a better view.”

Sam followed her gaze, seeing only a couple of stars through the canopy of leaves. “I’ll take the first watch,” he told her, getting up, moving out to the edge of the wall again. He looked out into the jungle, listening. The constant sound of birds and insects, prevalent during the day, had been replaced with a different chorus of insects and night creatures moving around. From the northeast, another sound — faint singing. He was almost able to make out the words being sung…

If he could hear their music, they were much closer than he’d thought.

He backed toward the ruins, returning to Remi’s side, gently shaking her shoulder. “Remi…”

She opened her eyes. “It can’t be my turn already.”

“I hear music.”

“Music?”

“Let’s go have a look.”

“What about trip wires?”

“We’ll carefully have a look.”

The good news was, the trail was wider, and the full moon shining down made it easy to navigate. The bad news was, the trail was wider, and the full moon lit up everything in its path. That meant they had to move low and slow, with the hope that no one was standing guard.

The singing Sam heard grew louder, covering any noise they were making as they neared even if someone could hear them over the constant buzz of insects and crickets. Soon, they heard talking and laughing, noise loud enough to give the impression that this group wasn’t worried about anyone stumbling on their location.

Probably because they were the type to shoot first, ask questions later.

“Over here,” Sam said, crouching behind the long, sword-shaped leaves of a bromeliad. When Remi joined him, he pointed toward the clearing. “Look due east. See it?”

“I see a lot of trees.”

“Just beyond that. You can see the glow of a fire. Let’s try to get closer.”

They hadn’t gone more than a few feet when Sam saw the signature pattern of rocks hidden beneath a large fern. He pointed, Remi nodded, and the two stepped over the wire, working their way farther east. They found a patch of bromeliads — pineapples, by the looks of the softball- and larger-sized crowns growing from the plants. Hoping the fruit would help camouflage their heads, he and Remi crouched down, looking through the bromeliads’ leaves. The six men who’d kidnapped Nando sat in a clearing around a fire, while Nando, feet tied, hands bound behind him, sat against the trunk of a tree.

“One thing in our favor,” Sam said quietly. “Their compound has to be at least a day’s walk from here or they wouldn’t be camping for the night. Assuming that’s where they’re headed.”

He scanned the area, his gaze returning to the gunmen, who sat in a circle around the fire. As highly trained as they seemed on the trail, he was surprised by their relaxed attitude, not only in leaving their hostage positioned behind them but in not posting a guard to watch the perimeter. Of course, any area frequented by drug runners armed with fully automatic weapons tended to be a good deterrent to intruders. And they were relying on the trip wires to serve as warning.

Two of the men started singing again while another passed around a bottle. Sam looked at Nando, eyeing the tree he was seated against, the thick jungle behind him, and then the unripe pineapples growing everywhere. “I have an idea…”