Free Cambodian Hellhole by Stephen Mertz Page B

they were, in fact, walking into some sort of sophisticated ambush.
    "Right." He turned to Loughlin, speaking fast before the Britisher could invite himself along as well. "Stay here and keep an eye on things. If we run into trouble, I want you in a position to get us out. Fast."
    Loughlin nodded, clearly hating to be left behind, but he had already spoken to Stone about the need to have someone watching Lon Ky, making sure that he did nothing—inadvertently or otherwise—to blow their mission. They had come too far to let a traitor in the ranks, real or suspected, double-cross them now.
    "I'll hold the fort," he told Stone grudgingly.
    "And don't fall asleep on us," Wiley jibed, grinning through his whiskers.
    "See you take your own advice," Loughlin told him gruffly, but he was also smiling.
    Stone moved out through the undergrowth, easing his way along without hacking at the vines and fronds that sought to hold him back. He had become a part of the landscape, another jungle predator coming down for water, and he would do nothing to arouse the suspicions of any invisible watchmen across the river.
    Behind him, Hog Wiley was moving with a silent grace amazing for a man of his size. Stone barely heard him trailing, confident that no one as far away as the compound would know that either one of them was closing on the water's edge.
    The jungle shadows were already lengthening toward dusk, and here along the riverbank it was half-light, the undergrowth sheltering them completely from prying eyes. Stone spent another moment studying the opposite bank, finally picking out the landmark that he needed, motioning to Hog and pointing out what he had found.
    "Right there. My ticket in."
    It was a piece of corrugated drainpipe, wide enough to let him pass with room to spare. The greater part of it was buried underground, but Stone knew it must surface somewhere on the inside of the compound. He would worry out the details when he got inside and reached the other terminus—before he showed himself to any prowling sentries that their first recon had overlooked.
    He carried an Uzi pistol, and the Ka-Bar knife would be his only other weapon. He could not afford to take the rifle with him, slowing him down and banging along inside the drainpipe; what he sacrificed in firepower for the soft probe, he was hoping to make up in speed and silence.
    And he had no intention whatsoever of starting a firefight inside the compound. Not yet.
    If he found signs of life, he would fade back and report, and they could lay their plans in safety, on the other side of the water.
    If the camp was as deserted as it seemed, he would watch out for clues as to where and when the prisoners had gone, although he knew that realistically there would be—could be—no second chance, this time out.
    They were extended to their limit as it was; they had no rations for extended ramblings through the jungles, and such actions would be tantamount to suicide in any case. A savvy warrior did not thrash around on unfamiliar turf, engaging the enemy blindly, without strategy or preparation.
    At least he did not do it more than once.
    Stone reached the water under cover of the overhanging vegetation, slipped into it, and was gone. He moved along, neck-deep, keeping his head above water and watching the opposite shore for any sign of movement that might betray a lookout or a waiting sniper.
    There was nothing, and he reached the shore and the drainpipe without incident. Pausing there, he turned back and gave Hog a simple thumbs-up prior to levering himself up and into the foul darkness of the pipe.
    It did not take a genius to figure out that they had been dumping garbage here, with an occasional load of sewage in the bargain. It was ripe and reeking, with mold and mildew thriving in the muck that soaked into his clothing and smeared his hands and face before he had progressed a dozen feet. Worms and water beetles squirmed beneath him, wriggling through the