Amazonia Page 42

  At last, Kouwe spotted sunlight ahead. The central glade! His team had been circling around from the south, keeping within the jungle cover. According to the sergeant, the Rangers were angling down from the north side.

  Dakii slowed and pointed from a half crouch.

  Anna and Kouwe moved up with him. Through a break in the foliage, Kouwe spotted the small log cabin in the clearing. He was able to orient himself. He followed the tribesman's arm. The nightcap oak, their destination, lay only fifty yards ahead. But that was not what Dakii was pointing out. Beyond the giant oak, Kouwe spotted Tor-tor. The jaguar raced along the clearing's edge. Drawn by the motion, Kouwe was able to see figures moving through the deeper shadows.

  The Ranger team and Manny! They had made it back!

  Dakii led them onward, speeding deftly through the glade's fringe.

  In a few minutes, the two parties reunited at the base of the tree. Sergeant Kostos clapped Kouwe on the shoulder. Anna and Manny hugged.

  "Any word from Nate?" Kouwe asked.

  The sergeant shook his head, then waved to the dwelling. "I've ordered Olin to pack up his GPS and join us."

  "Why? I thought the plan was to rendezvous at the tree."

  "This is close enough. As near as I can tell, we're boxed in. The tree is no protection."

  Kouwe frowned but understood. The marauders were systematically destroying every dwelling. They'd be trapped up there. "What then?"

  "We bug out of here. Find a way through their line as silently as possible. Once past them, we'll seek shelter, somewhere where they can't find us."

  Manny edged closer to them, glancing at his watch. "The sergeant set one of his napalm bombs back in the woods, timed to explode in another fifteen minutes."

  "A distraction," Sergeant Kostos said. He hiked his pack on his shoulder. "And we have more if we need them."

  "It's why we can't wait for Nate," Manny said, reading his friend's eyes.

  Kouwe gazed at the Yagga. The sound of gunfire was trickling away...as was their time. If they were going to have any chance, they would have to take it now. Kouwe reluctantly nodded, conceding.

  Overhead, the vine ladder shuddered. He glanced up. Olin was climbing down, his radio pack in place.

  Kostos waved his M-16. "Let's get ready to--"

  The blast rocked them all to their knees. Kouwe swung around and watched the roof of the cabin sail high into the air. Bits of debris blew outward with tremendous force. A section of log shot by overhead, a flying battering ram, slicing into the jungle and crashing into its depths. Smoke billowed outward.

  That was no grenade blast.

  Through the smoke, a cadre of soldiers appeared, weapons raised and ready.

  Kouwe noticed two things simultaneously. First, walking in the lead was a naked woman, hand in hand with a tall gentleman dressed all in white.

  But the second thing Kouwe noted was of more immediate menace, something carried by one of the soldiers. The man dropped to a knee and lifted a long black tube on his shoulder.

  Kouwe had seen enough Hollywood movies to recognize the weapon.

  "Rocket launcher!" Carrera screamed behind him. "Everyone down!"

  10:03 A.M.

  The first blast had frozen both Nate and Zane in place. Nate kept focused on his adversary's weapon. From only a few yards away, the pistol was pointing square at his chest. He dared not move. He held his breath.

  What was going on out there?

  As the second blast sounded, Zane's eyes twitched in the direction of the explosion. Nate knew he wouldn't have another chance. He was dead unless he did something...even something stupid.

  Nate lunged through the air, not toward Zane, but toward the dangling shotgun. His movement did not go unnoticed. Nate heard the sharp report of Zane's pistol and felt something sting his upper thigh, but he didn't stop.

  His body struck the root, his arms scrambling for the shotgun. He didn't have time to unhook the strap. From where it hung, he just blindly swung the barrel in Zane's general direction and yanked the trigger. Recoil tore the weapon from his hand.

  Nate ducked and swung around.

  He saw Zane flying backward, his belly bloody, arms flung out. Zane landed in the small pond at the end of the blocked trail. He sputtered to the surface--the water was surprisingly deep, even near shore--and cried in alarm and pain.

  Zane was now learning the lesson he had taught the unarmed Ban-ali shaman: a belly shot was one of the most agonizing.

  Nate pushed up and unhooked his shotgun. He pointed it at the floundering man. He had not seen where the pistol had gone and was taking no chances this time.

  Zane, his face a mask of torment, struggled toward the shore. Then his body suddenly jerked, his eyes widened in shock. His moaning turned to fresh screams. "Nate! Help me!"

  Responding instinctively, Nate took a step forward.

  Zane reached toward him, face pleading, terrified--then all around his body, the waters erupted in a fierce churning.

  Nate caught several flashes of silver bodies. Piranhas. He backed away, realizing where he was: the birthing pool, the hatchery that Manny had described finding.

  Zane thrashed, jerking and twitching, screeching. He began to sink into the froth. His eyes rolled with panic as he fought to keep his mouth above water. He failed. His head sank away. Only one arm remained above the pool--then even this disappeared under the roiling waters.

  Nate turned from the pool and crossed down the path, feeling no pity for the man. He briefly checked the stinging burn in his thigh. He found a bullet hole in his pants and a trickle of blood. Just a graze, nothing more. He had been damned lucky.

  He clenched the shotgun in his grip and marched down the trail, praying his luck would hold.

  10:12 A.M.

  Manny shifted under a pile of debris, shoving with his shoulders. Smoke choked him. The explosion of the rocket in the treetop still rang in his head. It hurt to move his jaw. He crawled free amid shouts and yells. All commands.

  "Throw down your weapons!"

  "Show us your hands!"

  "Move now, or I'll shoot you dead where you lie!"

  That was incentive enough. Manny groaned and spat out blood. He glanced up into chaos. He saw Anna Fong on her knees, hands on her head. She looked all but unscathed. Professor Kouwe knelt at her side, bearing a scalp gash that dripped blood down his cheek. Dakii was also there, wearing an expression of stunned disbelief.

  Turning, Manny saw Tor-tor's spotted face peering out from under a bush. He motioned the jaguar to stay put. Near the same bush, he watched Private Carrera furtively shove her Bailey under a section of the roof thatch from one of the abodes above.

  "You!" someone barked. "On your feet!"

  Manny didn't know who the man was talking to until he felt the hot barrel of a gun on his temple. He froze.

  "On your feet!" the man repeated. His words were heavily accented, German perhaps.

  Manny clambered to his knees, then to his feet. He wobbled, but this seemed to satisfy the mercenary.

  "Your weapon!" he barked.

  Manny glanced around him as if searching for a missing shoe or sock. He saw his pistol lying there and nudged it with a toe. "There."

  A second soldier appeared out of nowhere and confiscated it.

  "Join the anderen!" the man said with a shove toward the others.

  As he stumbled toward his kneeling friends, Manny saw Carrera and Kostos escorted by other guards. Their holsters were empty, packs gone. They were all forced to their knees, hands on their heads. The sergeant's left eye was swollen, his nose crooked and bloodied, broken. Kostos had clearly put up more fight than Manny.

  Suddenly a distant section of deeper forest blew up into a ball of fire. The soft explosion echoed out to them, along with the smell of napalm.

  So much for Kostos's planned "distraction." Too little, too late.

  "Herr Brail, this one's not moving!" one of the mercenaries shouted behind them in a mix of German and Sp
anish.

  Manny glanced back to the base of the nightcap oak. It was Olin. He lay in a crumpled heap. A spear of wood had pierced through his shoulder and blood flowed brightly across his light khaki shirt. Manny saw he was still breathing.

  The one named Brail tore his gaze from the burning forest and wandered over to check on the Russian. "Hundefleisch," the German said. Dog meat. He lifted his pistol and shot Olin in the back of the head.

  Anna jumped at the noise, a sob escaping her.

  From near the ruins of the log cabin, the two leaders of the attack force casually wandered toward them. The small Indian woman, though naked, moved casually, as if through a garden party, all curves and smooth legs. She wore a talisman resting between her breasts. Manny had first thought it was a leather satchel, but as she neared, he recognized it as a shrunken head. The hair atop the disgusting trinket was shaved.

  The slender man at her side, dressed in white khakis and a rakish Panama hat, noticed his attention. He lifted the necklace for the others' view.

  Manny spotted the dog tags.

  "May I reintroduce you to Corporal DeMartini." He laughed lightly, as if he had made a joke, a party amusement, and dropped the defiled head of their former teammate back to the woman's chest.

  Sergeant Kostos grumbled a threat, but the AK-47 pointed at the nape of his neck kept him on his knees.

  Louis smiled at the line of kneeling prisoners. "It's good to see you all together again."

  Manny recognized a distinctly French accent. Who was this man?

  Professor Kouwe answered his silent question. "Louis Favre," the professor mumbled under his breath, his expression sickened.

  The Frenchman's gaze swung to Kouwe. "That's Doctor Favre, Professor Kouwe. Please let's keep this courteous, and we can be done with this unpleasant matter as quickly as possible."

  Kouwe simply glowered.

  Manny knew the man's name. He was a biologist banned from Brazil for black-market profiteering and for crimes against the indigenous people. The professor, along with Nate's father, had shared an infamous past with this man.

  "Now, we've counted heads here and seem to have come up a few short," Favre said. "Where are the last members of your little troupe?"

  No one spoke.

  "Come now. Let's keep this friendly, shall we? It's such a pleasant day." Favre marched up and down the row of prisoners. "You don't want this to turn ugly now, do you? It's a simple question."

  Still no one moved. Everyone stared blankly forward.

  Favre shook his head sadly. "Then ugly it is." He turned to the woman. "Tshui, ma cherie, take your pick." He brushed his hands primly as if done with the matter.

  The naked woman stalked before them, and hesitated before Private Carrera, cocking her head, then suddenly sprang two places over to kneel before Anna. Her nose was only an inch from the anthropologist's.

  Anna recoiled, but the gun behind her held her in place.

  "My darling has an eye for beauty."

  Moving as quickly as a striking snake, the Indian woman drew a long, slender bone knife from a sheath hidden in her long tresses. Manny had seen knife sheaths like this braided into the hair of warriors in only one Amerindian tribe: the Shuar, the headhunters of Equador.

  The bleached-white knife pointed into the tender flesh under Anna's chin. The Asian woman trembled. Red blood dribbled down the white blade. Anna gasped.

  Enough, Manny thought, reacting reflexively. His right hand dropped to his waist, settling atop the handle of the short bullwhip. He could also move quickly when he wanted, reflexes developed from years of taming a wild cat. With skilled fingers, he snapped out with the whip.

  The tip of the leather struck the bone knife, sending it flying, and nicked a cut under the Shuar woman's eye.

  Like a cat, she hissed and rolled away, wounded. A second knife appeared in her hand as if by magic. It seemed this cat had many claws.

  "Leave Anna be!" Manny yelled. "I'll tell you where the others are!" Before he could say anything else, Manny was clubbed from behind, knocked to his face in the dirt and leaves. A foot kicked his whip away, then stomped on the offending hand, snapping a finger.

  "Drag him up!" Favre barked, all traces of his genteel mannerisms falling away.

  Manny was hauled up by his hair. He cradled his injured hand to his chest.

  Favre stood by the Indian woman and wiped the blood from her cheek. Favre turned to Manny and licked the blood from his fingertip.

  "Now was that necessary?" he asked, and reached a hand behind him. One of the gunmen placed a snub-nosed rifle in his palm. Some type of miniature Uzi, from the looks of it.

  The fist in Manny's hair twisted hard.

  "Release him, Brail," Favre said.

  The hand let go of him. Unsupported, Manny almost sagged to his face again.

  "Where are they?" Louis asked.

  Manny bit past the pain. "In the tree...the last time we saw them...they've not responded to our radios."

  Favre nodded. "So I heard." He reached his free hand and pulled out a matching radio. "Corporal DeMartini was gracious enough to lend me his Saber and supply me with the proper radio frequencies."

  Manny frowned. "If you knew...why...?" He glanced over to Anna.

  A long sigh followed, exasperated and bored. "Just making sure no one was attempting some deceptive tactic. It seems I've lost contact with my own agent in your party. And that always arouses my suspicious nature."

  "Agent?" Manny asked.

  "Spy," Kouwe said from the end of the row of prisoners. "Richard Zane."

  "Indeed." Favre turned toward the tree and raised the radio to this mouth. "Nate, if you can hear me, stay put. We'll be coming over to join you."

  There was no answer.

  Manny hoped somehow Nate had fled with Kelly. But in his heart, he knew Kelly would never leave her brother's side. All of them must still be hiding in the ancient tree.

  As the Frenchman stared at the white-barked giant, his eyes narrowed. After a moment, he swung back and focused on Manny again. "That leaves me only to address the insult upon my lady here."

  The stubby Uzi again was raised in his direction.

  "Not very gentlemanly of you, Monsieur Azevedo."

  Favre pulled the trigger. Shots rattled and sprayed out.

  Manny winced, but not a bullet struck him.

  A grunt sounded behind him. The guard at his back collapsed into view, his upper body riddled. He lay on the ground, gasping like a beached fish. Blood poured out from his mouth and nose.

  Favre lowered his weapon. Manny stared up at the Frenchman. Favre cocked one eyebrow. "It's not you I blame. Brail should have minded you better. He should never have left that damn whip at your side. Sloppy, sloppy work." Louis shook his head. "Two lieutenants gone in the same number of days."

  He turned away and waved his weapon. "Bring the prisoners." He strode toward the Yagga. "I'm done chasing after Carl's boy. Let's see if we can coax the shy fellow to come out and join us."

  11:09 A.M.

  Nate hid in the shadow of the Yagga's buttress root. Smoke clouded the glade. He heard intermittent gunfire and muffled shouts from the direction of the nightcap oak. What was going on?

  The only object within sight inside the glade was the cratered husk of his father's log cabin. A mingled sense of dread and despair settled over his body like a shroud. Then, like ghosts from a grave, figures appeared out of the smoke, shadowy and vague.

  He slipped deeper into the root's shadow, leveling his shotgun in their direction. Slowly, with each step, the apparitions took form and substance. He recognized Manny and Kouwe in the lead, guarding Anna between them. Kostos and Carrera flanked them, a step behind. Even the tribesman, Dakii, marched with them.

  Blood stained all of them and they walked with their hands behind their backs, stumbling, prodded from behind by shadowy figures. As they approached, the others grew clearer: men in a mix of military and jungle fatigues. They had weapons of every ilk point
ed at his friends.

  Nate aimed down the barrel of his shotgun. A useless weapon against these odds, these numbers. He needed another plan. But for now, he only had stealth and shadows.

  His teammates were drawn to a stop by their guards.

  A man dressed all in white lifted a small bullhorn to his lips. "Nathan Rand!" he bellowed, aiming for the Yagga's treetop. "Show yourself! Come out freely or your friends will pay for your absence. I will give you two minutes!"