Starring:
On the Phone:
Date: May 21, 2010
Summary:
Uh oh…
"Meanwhile… At The Crash Site"
Brazilian Rainforest
Silence has filled the location of the demolished plane since the troupe of crash survivors left to find some unknown place. Tracks around the wreckage attest to the jungle already working to claim it as it's own. Before long, creatures will seek shelter and build nests, plants and vines will eventually cover it making it just another part of the scenery.
A rustle of leaves is the first hint that something is coming. Small animal scurry to hide fearing predators. But it isn't a predator.
With a squawk of fear a chicken sprints out of the forest, wings held out, occasionally flapping as ancestral instincts want it to take to the air. Shortly after the frantic poultry, figures seem to suddenly slip out of the jungle greenery. Their camouflaged uniforms making them harder to pick out unless your really looking.
Static crackles in the ears of each man as one of them reports, «Wreckage Found, sir»
«Start searching for the target.» Comes the order shortly after.
«Rodger.»
A group of six men slip out of the forest and split apart with practiced ease, rifles at ready as if expecting something bad to happen. Once they are shifting through the wreckage, another man follows out more casually then the rest, rifle barrel pointed at the ground, dark eyes survey the wreckage.
«Found something, sir.»
«Is it what we are looking for?» The man who obviously leads this team of camouflaged men, turns his head in the direction of the ownder of the familiar voice.
«Don't know.» A dark skin man hold a hand up, before motioning at something just beyond him, hidden by wreckage. « I think you should have a look, though.»
The leader moves further into the wreckage moving towards the darker man. As he rounds the crumpled wing of the plane, eyes fall on a pair of graves, the dark earth churned up not too long ago. Names of the unfortunate occupants written in black marker on bits of twisted metal from the wreckage.
None of the names written are their target. With a frown pulling down the edges of his mouth, The leader turns from the graves, a hand dropping to one of his thigh pockets. A satellite phone is retrieved and his fingers play over the buttons dialing. While it rings in his ear, he walks slowly away from everyone.
Click “Hello?”
“Mr. Lane.” The man says firmly, “I am calling into report we found the plane wreckage.” A foot lifts to rest on a thick root lifted from the ground.
On the other end comes the rough voice of Marcus Lane II, “Good. Tell me Ruiz… is my sons body there?”
Glancing back over his shoulder the man called Ruiz, looks back at the graves, eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “No, sir. No sign of your son or Baker. There were only two bodies.” His gaze moves over the deep green foliage of the jungle. “So there are survivors.”
“That is not the news I wanted to hear.” There is a brief pause on the other end before Marcus Lane II's cold voice says, “Find him. Deal with it.”
It bothers the team leader how a father can be so cold about his own offspring, however, he's not being paid to think about those things and Mr. Lane was paying very well.
«Sir! Ruiz. We found tracks.»
Turning round to find one of his men waving a hand and point, Ruiz gives an acknowledging nod to the man, before saying into the phone, “Shouldn't be a problem, Mr. Lane.”
“Good. Call me when you make progress.”
“Yes, sir.” Hanging up, Ruiz motions to the others with a swirling motion above his head and starts in the direction indicated by the tracker. “Lets get moving, men.”
And with that the group of armed men melts into the jungle leaving only a rather confused chicken behind.