Free Burial Ground by Michael McBride Page B

thing as
situational integrity. One bad choice invariably led to another,
and the next thing one knew, he was sighting an innocent down the
barrel of an assault rifle. Damn the consequences. He was never
going down that road again.
    "Are you suggesting that I stole something
from a dead man? I'm not the criminal here. I wasn't the one
looting the ruins, the very heritage of these people. I may be a
lot of things, but I am not a thief."
    Gearhardt flashed a disarming smile that
might have had the desired effect under other circumstances, but
Merritt already had his quills up. Maybe his character and loyalty
were often suspect, but never his integrity. Never.
    "That isn't what I meant to imply at all,
Mr. Merritt. I was simply pointing out that had any other man on
the planet found that bag, he would have taken the headdress, if
not all of the contents, for himself. You're an uncommon man. And I
just wanted to personally thank you for it."
    Merritt softened subtly, but he could sense
the other shoe hovering overhead, and he had run out of patience
waiting for it to drop.
    "Let's get this over with. What do you
really want?"
    "I want you to show me where you found my
son's body. I need to see it." There was a barely noticeable shift
in the man's posture, a sagging of his shoulders. "Please."
    Merritt saw just a glimpse of the man's true
pain before the stoic, businesslike demeanor returned. His anger
softened in the face of such anguish. He knew the soul-deep sorrow
of losing friends and family, but he could only imagine the sheer
torment of having to bury a child.
    "My son was my world, Mr. Merritt. I'll pay
you whatever you want. Money is of no consequence right now. I just
need to find out what happened to my boy."
    "Of course," Merritt said. "I'll help in any
way that I can."
    "Name your price, Mr. Merritt."
    Merritt smiled. "I wouldn't mind another cup
of guava juice."
    Gearhardt looked quizzically at him for a
moment, and then laughed. He clapped Merritt on the shoulder and
gently turned him toward the shore.
    "I suppose you should put on your shoes
while I track down some guava juice . From what I understand,
we have a bit of a hike ahead of us."

V

    11:10 a.m.

    Leo's heartbeat accelerated at the sound of
the river ahead, an almost mocking chuckle. Until this very moment,
he had felt as though he were walking through a dream, his
movements sluggish, his mind shrouded in fog, disconnected. There
had been no sensation in his legs, and yet they had somehow
propelled him down the muddy path through the jungle. Passing from
the dirt roads, through the meadows, and into the suffocating
prehistoric forest had been like journeying back through time. He
felt small and insignificant, while the mounting burden he bore
grew larger with each step. Somewhere through the oppressive jungle
of broad, vine-draped ceiba and Brazil nut trees with their
buttressed roots and impregnable canopies was where his son's
remains had been discovered, facedown in the mud, rotting even as
the piranhas feasted on his viscera.
    He wanted to cry, to release the anguish
from inside if only for a time, but the tears refused to flow.
Perhaps it was the years of repressing his feelings in order to
build his empire, or maybe it was the rage burning in his chest
that prevented the display of emotion. Either way, someone had
killed his Hunter, and even now the murderer was still out there,
possibly in this very forest. And unlike his son, the killer was
still alive.
    But his days were now numbered. This Leo
vowed. Even if it cost him his life, whoever had slain his son
would know true suffering.
    Poison dart frogs chirruped out of sight and
invisible creatures scampered through the branches. Mosquitoes
swarmed around him, drawing blood as quickly as he could swat them,
their frenetic humming punctuated by the occasional chirp or squawk
of a bird and the clap of wings.
    Merritt pushed through a screen of branches,
and abruptly, stepped out onto the lip of a