Page 43 of Silent Target

I peer through the windshield. “I don’t see anything.”

“Exactly.”

“What am I missing?”

“The birds.”

I listen.

Nothing.

No chirping.

No insects.

Not even the whisper of something moving through the undergrowth.

The forest has gone silent.

“They’re here,” Caleb says.

He pulls the SUV behind a wall of overgrown brush and turns off the engine.

“We walk from here.”

“There isn’t another vehicle for miles.”

“I know.”

“You expected this.”

“I hoped I was wrong.”

I check my pistol, shoulder my backpack, and climb out beside him.

The air smells of pine and wet earth.

Almost peaceful.

If I ignore the armed men hunting us.

We haven’t gone fifty yards when Caleb raises one fist.

I stop.

He crouches beside a patch of soft mud and touches the edge of a boot print.

“Fresh.”

I kneel beside him. “Military tread?”

“At least six men. Possibly more.”

The impressions lead uphill in a perfect line.

“They didn’t try to hide their tracks.”

“No.”