Carrera got to her knees. "What about--?"
Now it was Nate's turn to tug her down.
The second explosion sounded like a lightning strike: splintering wood accompanied by a low boom. The nearby jungle was shredded apart, followed by a rain of flaming copal resin.
"Damn it!" Carrera swore. Her sleeve was on fire. She patted it out in the loam.
Nate stood, relieved to see that the plan had worked. The tree, their target, was now just a blasted wreck, bluish flames dancing atop the stump. As Nate expected, the sap, rich in hydrocarbons, had acted as fuel, causing the makeshift Molotov cocktail to turn the tree into a natural bomb, and torch the entire riverbank as well.
"C'mon!" Nate called, bounding up with Carrera.
Together, they ran along the flaming and shredded section of the forest, paralleling the stream until they overtook the poison trailing through the water. Bodies of the creatures and other fish filled the channel.
"This way!" Nate ran into the river, half swimming, half clawing his way across. Carrera followed.
In no time, they were scrambling up the far bank.
"We did it!" the Ranger said with a laugh.
Nate sighed. Off in the distance, he spotted the shine of the others' flashlights. The team had made it across, too. "Let's go see if everyone else is okay."
They helped each other up and stumbled away from the stream, aiming for the other camp.
When they marched out of the forest, a cheer went up. "Way to go, Carrera," Kostos said, a true smile on his lips.
Nate's greeting was no less earnest. As soon as he arrived, Kelly threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "You made it," she mumbled in his ear. "You did it."
"And not a minute too soon," Nate said with a nod.
Frank patted him on the back.
"Well done, Dr. Rand," Captain Waxman said stoically, and turned to organize his troops. No one wanted to remain this close to the stream, poisoned or not.
Kelly dropped her arms, but not before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. "Thanks...thanks for saving us. And thanks for returning safely."
She swung away, leaving Nate somewhat bewildered.
Carrera nudged him with an elbow and rolled her eyes. "Looks like someone made a friend."
10:02 A.M.
AMAZON JUNGLE
Louis stood in the center of the blasted region near the river's edge. He could still smell the acrid tang of napalm in the air. Behind him, his team was off loading the canoes and loading up backpacks. From here, the journey would be on foot.
With the dawn, clouds had rolled in, and a steady drizzle fell from the sky, dousing the few fires that still smoldered. A smoky mist clung to the dead pocket of jungle, ghostly white and thick.
Off to the side, his mistress wandered around the site, a wounded expression on her face, as if the damage to the forest were a personal injury. She slowly circled a pole planted in the ground with a speared creature impaled on it. It was one of the strange beasts that had attacked the other group. Louis had never seen anything of its ilk before. And from Tshui's expression, neither had she. Tshui eyed the beast, cocking her head like a bird studying a worm.
Jacques stepped up behind Louis. "You have a radio call...on your coded frequency."
"Finally," he sighed.
Earlier, just before dawn, one of his two scouts had returned, badly frightened and wild-eyed. He had reported that his partner, a squat Colombian who went by the name of Toady, had been attacked by one of these beasts and died horribly. Malachim had barely made it back alive. Unfortunately, the man's report of the other team's whereabouts was thready at best. It seemed the Rangers' group, chased across a tributary stream, had fled these same beasts, and was now heading in a southwesterly direction. But toward where?
Louis had a way of finding out. He accepted the radio from Jacques. It was a direct link to a tiny scrambled transmitter held by a member of the opposing team, a little mole planted under the Rangers' noses at significant expense.
"Thank you, Jacques." Radio in hand, Louis stepped a few yards away. He had already had one previous call this morning, from his financiers, St. Savin Pharmaceuticals in France. It seemed some disease was spreading across the Amazon and the United States, something associated with the dead man's body. Stakes were now higher. Louis had argued to raise his own fee, on the grounds that his work was now more hazardous. St. Savin had accepted, as he knew they would. A cure to this disease would be worth billions to his employer. What were a few more francs tossed his way?
Louis lifted the radio. "Favre here."
"Dr. Favre." The relief was clear in the other's voice. "Thank God, I reached you."
"I've been awaiting your call." A bit of menace entered Louis's tone. "I lost a good man last night because someone did not have the foresight to inform us of these venomous little toads."
There was a long pause. "I...I'm sorry. In all the commotion, I could hardly sneak off and place a call. In fact, this is the first chance I've had to slip away to the latrine alone."
"Fine. So tell me about this commotion last night."
"It was horrible." His spy blathered in his ear for the next three minutes, giving Louis an overview of what happened. "If it wasn't for Rand's use of some powdered fish toxin, we would all have surely died."
Louis's fingers gripped the radio tighter at the mention of Rand's name. The family name alone bristled the small hairs on his neck. "And where are you all now?"
"We're still heading in a southwesterly direction, searching for Gerald Clark's next marker."
"Very good."
"But--"
"What is it?"
"I...I want out."
"Pardon, mon ami?"
"Last night I was almost killed. I was hoping that you could...I don't know...pick me up if I wandered off. I would be willing to pay for my safe delivery back to civilization."
Louis closed his eyes. It seemed his mole was getting cold feet. He would have to warm the little mouse up. "Well, if you vacate your post, I will certainly find you."
"Th...thank you. I would--"
He interrupted. "And I'd be sure, when I found you, that your death would be long, painful, and humiliating. If you're familiar with my dossier, I'm sure you know how creative I can be."
There was silence on the other end. Louis could imagine his little spy blanching and quivering with fear.
"I understand."
"Excellent. I'm glad we've settled this matter. Now on to more important matters. It seems our mutual benefactor in France has placed a request upon our services. Something, I'm afraid, you'll have to accomplish."
"Wh...what?"
"For security purposes and to ensure their proprietary rights to what lies ahead, they wish to choke off the team's communication to the outside world, preferably as soon as possible without raising suspicion."
"How am I supposed to do that? You know I was supplied the computer virus to degrade the team's satellite uplink, but the Rangers have their own communication equipment. I wouldn't be able to get near it."
"No probleme. You get that virus planted and leave the Rangers to me."
"But--"
"Have faith. You are never alone."
The line was silent again. Louis smiled. His words had not reassured his agent.
"Update me again tonight," Louis said.
A pause. "I'll try."
"Don't try...do."
"Yes, Doctor." The line went dead.
Louis lowered the radio and strode to Jacques. "We should be under way. The other team has a good start on us."
"Yes, sir." Jacques retreated to gather and organize his men.
Louis noticed that Tshui still stood by the impaled creature. If he wasn't mistaken, there was a trace of fear in the woman's eyes. But Louis wasn't sure. How could he be? He had never seen such an emotion displayed by the Indian witch. He crossed to her and pulled her into his arms.
She trembled ever so slightly under his hand.
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"Hush, ma cherie. There is nothing to fear."
Tshui leaned against him, but her eyes flicked to the stake. She pulled tighter to him, a slight moan escaping her lips.
Louis frowned. Maybe he should heed his lover's unspoken warning. From here, they should proceed with more caution, more stealth. The other team had almost been destroyed by these aquatic predators, something never seen before. A clear sign they were probably on the right path. But what if there are more hidden dangers out there?
As he pondered this risk, he realized his team possessed a certain inherent advantage. Last night, it had taken all his opponents' cunning and ingenuity to survive the assault--a battle which inadvertently had opened a safer path for Louis's group to follow. So why not again? Why not let the other team flush out any other threats?
Louis mumbled, "Then we'll waltz in over their dead bodies and collect the prize." Pleased once again, he leaned and kissed the top of Tshui's head. "Fear not, my love. We cannot lose."
10:09 A.M.
HOSPITAL WARD OF THE INSTAR INSTITUTE
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Lauren O'Brien sat beside the bed, a book forgotten in her lap. Dr. Seuss's Green Eggs and Ham, Jessie's favorite. Her grandchild was asleep, curled on her side. Her fever had broken with the rising of the sun. The cocktail of antiinflammatories and antipyretics had done the job, slowly dropping the child's temperature from 102 back to 98.6. No one was sure if Jessie had contracted the jungle contagion--childhood fevers were common and plentiful--but no one was taking any chances.
The ward in which her granddaughter now slept was a closed system, sealed and vented against the spread of any potential germ. Lauren herself wore a one-piece disposable quarantine suit, outfitted with a self-breathing mask. She had refused at first, fearing the garb would further alarm Jessie. But policy dictated that all hospital staff and visitors wear proper isolation gear.
When Lauren had first entered the room, all suited up, Jessie had indeed appeared frightened, but the clear face-plate of the mask and a few reassuring words calmed her. Lauren had remained bedside all morning as Jessie was examined, blood samples collected, and drugs administered. With the resilience of the young, she now slept soundly.
A slight whoosh announced a newcomer to the room. Lauren awkwardly turned in her suit. She saw a familiar face behind another mask. She placed the book on a table and stood. "Marshall."
Her husband crossed to her and enveloped her in his plastic-clad arms. "I read her chart before coming in," he said, his voice sounding slightly tinny and distant. "Fever's down."
"Yes, it broke a couple of hours ago."
"Any word yet on the lab work?" Lauren heard the fear in his voice.
"No...it's too soon to tell if this is the plague." Without knowing the causative agent, there was no quick test. Diagnosis was made on a trio of clinical signs: oral ulcerations, tiny submucosal hemorrhages, and a dramatic drop in total white blood cell counts. But these symptoms typically would not manifest until thirty-six hours after the initial fever. It would be a long wait. Unless...
Lauren tried to change the subject. "How did your conference call go with the CDC and the folks in the Cabinet?"
Marshall shook his head. "A waste of time. It'll be days until all the politicking settles and a true course of action can be administered. The only good news is that Blaine at the CDC supported my idea to close Florida's border. That surprised me."
"It shouldn't," Lauren said. "I've been sending him case data all week, including what's happening in Brazil. The implications are pretty damn frightening."
"Well, you must have shaken him up." He squeezed her hand. "Thanks."
Lauren let out a long rattling sigh as she stared at the bed.
"Why don't you take a break? I can watch over Jessie for a while. You should try to catch a nap. You've been up all night."
"I'll never be able to sleep."
Marshall put his arm around her waist. "Then at least get some coffee and a little breakfast. We have the midday call with Kelly and Frank scheduled in a couple hours."
Lauren leaned against him. "What are we going to tell Kelly?"
"The truth. Jessie has a fever, but it's nothing to panic about. We still don't know for sure if it's the disease or not."
Lauren nodded. They remained silent for a bit, then Marshall guided her gently to the door. "Go."
Lauren passed through the air-locked doors and crossed down the hall to the locker room, where she stripped out of the suit and changed into scrubs. As she left the locker room, she stopped by the nurses' station. "Did any of the labs come back yet?"
A small Asian nurse flipped a plastic case file to her. "These were faxed just a minute ago."
Lauren flipped the file open and thumbed to the page of blood chemistries and hematology results. Her finger ran down the long list. The chemistries were all normal, as expected. But her nail stopped at the line for the total white blood cell count:
TWBC: 2130 (L) 6,000-15,000
It was low, significantly low, one of the trio of signs expected with the plague.
With her finger trembling, she ran down the report to the section that detailed the different white blood cell levels. There was one piece of news that the team's epidemiologist, Dr. Alvisio, had mentioned to her late last night, a possible pattern in the lab data that his computer model for the disease had noted: an unusual spike of a specific line of white blood cells, basophils, that occurred early in the disease as the total white blood cell levels were dropping. Though it was too soon to say for certain, it seemed to be consistent in all cases of the disease. It was perhaps a way to accelerate early detection.
Lauren read the last line.
BASOPHIL COUNT: 12 (H) 0-4
"Oh, God." She lowered the chart to the nurses' station. Jessie's basophil levels were spiked above normal, well above normal.
Lauren closed her eyes.
"Are you okay, Dr. O'Brien?"
Lauren didn't hear the nurse. Her mind was too full of a horrifying realization: Jessie had the plague.
11:48 A.M.
AMAZON JUNGLE
Kelly followed the line of the others, bone tired but determined to keep moving. They had been walking all night with frequent rest breaks. After the attack, they had marched for a solid two hours, then made a temporary camp at dawn while the Rangers contacted the field base in Wauwai. They had decided to push on until at least midday, when they would use the satellite link to contact the States. Afterward, the team would rest the remainder of the day, regroup, and decide how to proceed.
Kelly glanced at her watch. Noon approached. Thank God. Already she heard Waxman grumbling about choosing a site for the day's camp. "Well away from any waterways," she heard him warn.
All day long, the team had been wary of streams and pools, skirting them or crossing in a mad rush. But there were no further attacks.
Manny had offered a reason. "Perhaps the creatures were local to just that small territory. Maybe that's why the buggers were never seen before."
"If so, good riddance," Frank had voiced sourly.
They had trudged onward, the morning drizzle drying slowly to a thick humid mist. The moisture weighed everything down: clothes, packs, boots. But no one complained about the march. All were glad to put distance between them and the horror of the previous night.
From up ahead, a Ranger scout called back. "A clearing!" It was Corporal Warczak. As the unit's tracker, his scouting served double duty. He was also watching for any physical evidence of Gerald Clark's passage. "The spot looks perfect for a campsite!"
Kelly sighed. "About time."
"Check it out!" Waxman said. "Make sure there are no close streams."
"Yes, sir! Kostos is already reconnoitering the area."
Nate, just a couple steps ahead of her, called forward, "Be careful! There could be--"
A pained shout rose from ahead.
Everyone froze, except Nate who rushed forward. "Damn it, doesn't anyone li
sten to what I tell them?" he muttered as he ran. He glanced back to Kelly and Kouwe and waved an arm. "We'll need your help! Both of you."
Kelly moved to follow. "What is it?" she asked Kouwe. The Indian professor was already slinging his pack forward and working the straps loose. "Supay chacra, I'd imagine. The devil's garden. C'mon."
Devil's garden? Kelly did not like the sound of that.
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