Kelly saw realization dawn in Manny's eyes.
"The piranha creatures, the locusts..." the biologist mumbled.
"Mutations all of them. Maybe even Gerald Clark's arm!" Kelly said. "A mutation triggered by prions."
"But what does this have to do with the disease?" Nate asked.
Kelly frowned. "I don't know. This discovery is a good start, but we're a long way from a complete answer."
Manny pointed to the screen. "But what about here in the article where it hypothesizes..."
Kelly nodded. The two began to discuss the article, speaking rapidly, sharing ideas.
Beside them, Nate had stopped listening. He had scrolled back to the spinning model of the prion protein.
After a time, he interrupted. "Does anyone else see the similarity?"
"What do you mean?" Kelly asked.
Nate pointed to the screen. "See those two spiraling loops at either end?"
"The double alpha helixes?" Kelly said.
"Right...and here the corkscrewing middle section," Nate said, tracing the screen with his finger.
"So?" Kelly asked.
Nate turned and reached to the ground beside him. He picked up a stick and drew in the dirt, speaking as he worked. "The middle corkscrew...spreading out in double loops at either end." When he was done, he glanced up.
Stunned, Kelly stared at what Nate had drawn in the dirt.
Manny gasped, "The Ban-ali symbol!"
Kelly stared between the two pictures: one, a high-tech computer map; the other, a crude scrawl in the soft dirt. But there was no disputing the similarity. The corkscrew, the double helixes...It seemed beyond coincidence, even down to the clockwise spin of the molecular spiral.
Kelly turned to Nate and Manny. "Jesus Christ."
The Ban-ali symbol was a stylized model of the same prion.
11:32 P.M.
Jacques still had an unnerving terror of dark waters, born from the piranha attack that had left him disfigured when he was only a boy. Despite these deep fears, he glided through the swamp with nothing but a wet suit between him and the toothy predators of this marsh. He had no choice. He had to obey the doctor. The price of disobedience was worse than any terrors that might lurk in these waters.
Jacques clung to his motorized attack board as the silent fans dragged his body toward the far shore of the swamp. He was outfitted in an LAR V Draeger UBA, gear used by Navy SEALs for clandestine shallow-water operations. The closed-circuit system, strapped to his chest, rather than his back, produced no telltale bubble signature, making his approach undetectable. The final piece of his gear was a night-vision mask, giving him adequate visibility in the murky waters.
Still, the dark waters remained tight around him. His visibility was only about ten yards. He would periodically use a small mirrored device to peek above the water's surface and maintain his bearing.
His two teammates on this mission trailed behind him, also gliding with tiny motorized sleds held at arms'length.
Jacques checked one last time with his tiny periscope. The two bamboo rafts that the Rangers had used to cross the swamp were directly ahead. Thirty yards away.
In the woods, he spotted the camp's fire, blazing bright. Shadowy figures, even at this late hour, moved around the site. Satisfied, he motioned to his two men to continue on ahead, one to each raft. Jacques would drift behind them, on guard with his scope.
The trio moved slowly forward. The rafts were tethered to the shore and floating in waters less than four feet deep. They would all have to be even more careful from here.
With determined caution, the group converged on the rafts. Jacques watched above and below the surface. His men waited in position, hovering in the shadows of their respective rafts. He studied the woods. He suspected that hidden in the dark jungle were guards, Rangers on patrol. He watched for a full five minutes, then signaled his men.
From under the rafts, the men produced small squeeze bottles full of kerosene. They sprayed the underside of the bamboo planks. Once each bottle emptied, the men gave Jacques a thumbs-up signal.
As his men worked, Jacques continued to watch the woods. So far, there was no sign that anyone had noticed their handiwork. He waited a full minute more, then gave the final signal, a slashing motion across his neck.
Each man lifted a hand above the water and ignited a butane lighter. They lifted the tiny flames to the kerosene-soaked bamboo. Flames immediately leaped and spread over the rafts.
Without waiting, the two men grabbed up their sleds and sped toward Jacques. He turned and thumbed his own motor to high and led his men off in a swooping curve out into the swamp, then back around, aiming for a spot on the shore a half-kilometer from the enemy's camp.
Jacques watched behind him. Men appeared out of the wood, outlined by the burning rafts, weapons pointing. Even underwater, he heard muffled shouts and sounds of alarm.
It had all gone perfectly. The doctor knew the other camp, after the locust attack, would be spooked by fires in the night. They would not likely remain near such a burning pyre.
Still, they were to take no unnecessary chances. Jacques led his men back toward the shallows, and the group slowly rose from the lake, spitting out regulator mouthpieces and kicking off fins. The second part of his mission was to ensure the others did indeed flee.
Slogging out of the water, he breathed a sigh of relief, glad to leave the dark swamp behind. He fingered the un-mangled half of his nose, as if making sure it was still there.
Jacques slipped out a pair of night-vision binoculars. He fitted them in place and stared back toward the camp. Behind him, his men whispered, energized from the adventure and the successful completion of their task. Jacques ignored them.
Outlined in the monochrome green of his night scope, a pair of men--Rangers, to judge by the way they carried their weapons--slipped away from the fiery rafts and called back into the forest. The group was pulling back. In the woods, new lights blinked on. Flashlights. Activity bustled around the campfire. Slowly, the lights began to shift away from the fire, like a line of fireflies. The parade marched toward the deeper ravine, up the chasm between the flat-topped highlands.
Jacques smiled. The doctor's plan had worked.
Still spying through his scope, he reached for his radio. He pushed the transmitter and brought the radio to his lips. "Mission successful. Rabbits are running."
"Roger that." It was the doctor. "Canoes heading out now. Rendezvous at their old camp in two hours. Over and out."
Jacques replaced the radio.
Once again, the hunt was on.
He turned to his other men to report the good news--but there was no one behind him. He instantly crouched and hissed their names. "Manuel! Roberto!"
No answer.
The night remained dark around him, the woods even darker. He slipped his night-vision diving mask back over his face. The woods shone brighter, but the dense vegetation made visibility poor. He backed away, his bare feet striking water.
Jacques stopped, frozen between the terrors of what lay behind him and in front of him.
Through his night-vision mask, he spotted movement. For the barest flicker of a heartbeat, it looked like the shadows had formed the figure of a man, staring back at him, no more than ten yards away. Jacques blinked, and the figure was gone. But now all the jungle shadows flowed and slid like living things toward him.
He stumbled backward into the waters, one hand scrambling to shove in his regulator mouthpiece.
One of the shadows broke out of the jungle fringe, outlined against the muddy bank. Huge, monstrous...
Jacques screamed, but his regulator was in the way. Nothing more than a wet gurgle sounded. More of the dark shadows flowed out of the woods toward him. An old Maroon tribal prayer rose to his lips. He scrambled backward.
Behind his fear of dark waters and piranhas was a more basic terror: of being eaten alive.
He dove backward, twisting around to get away.
But th
e shadows were faster.
11:51 P.M.
With a flashlight duct-taped to his shotgun, Nate followed near the rear of the group. The only ones behind him were Private Carrera and Sergeant Kostos. Everyone had lights, spearing the darkness in all directions. Despite the night, they moved quickly, trying to put as much distance as possible between them and whoever had set the rafts on fire.
The plan, according to Captain Waxman, was to seek a more defensible position. With the swamp on one side of them, the jungle on the other, it was not a secure spot to wait for whatever attack the fires would draw down upon them. And none of their group was delusional enough to think another attack wouldn't come.
Always planning one step ahead, the Rangers had a fallback position already picked out. Corporal Warczak had reported spotting caves in the cliffs a short way up the chasm. That was their goal.
Shelter and a defensible position.
Nate followed the others. Carrera marched at his side. In her arms was a strange shovel-nosed weapon. It looked like a Dustbuster vacuum attached to a rifle stock. She held it out toward the black jungle.
"What is that?" he asked.
She kept her attention on the jungle. "With all we lost in the swamp, we're short on M-16s." She hefted the strange weapon. "It's called a Bailey. Prototype weapon for jungle warfare." She thumbed a switch and a targeting laser pierced the darkness. She glanced over her shoulder to her superior. "Demonstration?"
Staff Sergeant Kostos, armed with his own M-16, grunted. "Testing weapon fire!" he barked forward to alert the others.
Carrera lifted her weapon, pivoting it for a target. She centered the red laser on the bole of a sapling about twenty yards away. "Shine your flashlight here."
Nate nodded and swung his flashlight up. Other eyes turned their way.
Carrera steadied her weapon and squeezed the trigger. There was no blast, only a high-pitched whistle. Nate caught a flash of silver, followed by a ringing crack. The sapling toppled backward, its trunk sliced cleanly through. Beyond it, a thick-boled silk cotton tree shook with the impact of something slamming into its trunk. Nate's flashlight focused on the distant tree. A bit of silver was embedded deep in the trunk.
Carrera nodded toward her target. "Three-inch razor disks, like Japanese throwing stars. Perfect for jungle combat. Set to automatic fire, it can mow down all the loose vegetation around you."
"And anything else in its path," Kostos added, waving the group onward.
Nate eyed the weapon with respect.
The group continued up the jungle-choked ravine, led by Corporal Warczak and Captain Waxman. They were roughly paralleling the small stream that drained down the chasm, but they kept a respectable distance from the water, just in case. After a half hour of trekking, Warczak led them off to the south, heading for the red cliffs.
So far, there appeared to be no evidence of pursuit, but Nate's ears remained alert for any warning, his eyes raking the shadowy jungle. At last the canopy began to thin enough to see stars and the bright glow of the moon. Ahead the world ended at a wall of red rock, aproned by loose shale and crumbled boulders.
At the top of the sloped escarpment, the cliff face was pocked with multiple caves and shadowed cracks.
"Hang back," Captain Waxman hissed, keeping them all hidden in the thicker underbrush that fringed the lower cliffs. He signaled for Warczak to forge ahead.
The corporal flicked off his flashlight, slipped on a pair of night-vision goggles, and ducked into the shadows with his weapon, vanishing almost instantly.
Nate crouched. Flanking him, the two Rangers took firm stances, watching their rear. Nate kept his shotgun ready. Most of the others were also armed. Olin, Zane, Frank, even Kelly had pistols, while Manny bore a Beretta in one hand and his whip in the other. Tor-tor had his own built-in weapons: claws and fangs. Only Professor Kouwe and Anna Fong remained unarmed.
The professor crept backward to Nate's side. "I don't like this," Kouwe said.
"The caves?"
"No...the situation."
"What do you mean?"
Kouwe glanced back down toward the swamp. Distantly the two rafts still burned brightly. "I smelled kerosene from those flames."
"So? It could be copal oil. That stuff smells like kerosene and that's abundant around here."
Kouwe rubbed his chin. "I don't know. The fire that drew the locusts was artfully crafted into the Ban-ali symbol. This was sloppy."
"But we were on guard. The Indians had to move fast. It was probably the best they could manage."
Kouwe glanced to Nate. "It wasn't Indians."
"Then who else?"
"Whoever's been tracking us all along." Kouwe leaned in and whispered in an urgent hiss. "Whoever set the flaming locust symbol crept up on our camp in broad daylight. They left no trace of their passage into or out of the area. Not a single broken twig. They were damned skilled. I doubt I could've done it."
Nate began to get the gist of Kouwe's concerns. "And the ones who have been dogging our trail were sloppy."
Kouwe nodded toward the swamp. "Like those fires."
Nate remembered the reflected flash high in the treetops as they hiked through the forest yesterday afternoon. "What are you suggesting?"
Kouwe spoke between clenched teeth. "We have more than one threat here. Whatever lies ahead--a new regenerative compound, a cure for this plague--it would be worth billions. Others would pay dearly for the knowledge hidden here."
Nate frowned. "And you think this other party set those fires? Why?"
"To drive us forward in a panic, like it did. They didn't want to risk us being reinforced with additional soldiers. They're probably using us as a human shield against the natural predatory traps set by the Ban-ali. We're just so much cannon fodder. They'll waste our lives until we are either spent on this trail or reach the Ban-ali. Then they'll sweep in and steal the prize."
Nate eyed the professor. "Why not mention this before we set off?"
Kouwe stared hard at Nate, and the answer to his question dawned in his own mind. "A traitor," Nate whispered. "Someone working with the trackers."
"I find it much too convenient that our satellite feed went on the fritz just as we drew close to these Ban-ali lands. Plus it then sends off a false GPS signal."
Nate nodded. "Sending our own backup on a wild-goose chase."
"Exactly."
"Who could it be?" Nate eyed the others crouched in the underbrush.
Kouwe shrugged. "Anyone. Highest on the list would be the Russian. It's his system. It would be easy for him to feign a breakdown. But then again both Zane and Ms. Fong have been hovering around the array whenever Olin has stepped away. And the O'Briens have a background tied to the CIA, who have been known to play many sides against one another to achieve their ends. Then, finally, we can't rule out any of the Rangers."
"You're kidding."
"Enough money can sway almost anyone, Nate. And Army Rangers are trained extensively in communications."
Nate swung back around. "That leaves only Manny as someone we can trust."
"Does it?" Kouwe's expression was pained.
"You can't be serious? Manny? He's a friend to both of us."
"He also works for the Brazilian government. And don't doubt that the Brazilian government would want this discovery solely for itself. Such a medical discovery would be an economic boon."
Nate felt a sick sense of dread. Could the professor be right? Was there no one they could trust?
Before he could question Kouwe's assessment further, a scream split the night. Something huge came flying through the air. People scattered out of the way. Nate backpedaled with Kouwe in tow.
The large object landed in the middle of the crouched group. Flashlights swung toward the crumpled figure in their midst.
Anna cried out.
Transfixed in the spears of light, Corporal Warczak lay on his back, covered in blood and gore. One arm scrabbled up as if he were drowning in the spreading pool of hi
s own blood. He tried to scream again, but all that came out was a croaking noise.
Nate stared, frozen. He could not tear his eyes from the sight of the ruined corporal.
From the waist down, Warczak's body was gone. He had been bitten in half.
"Weapons ready!" Waxman shouted, breaking through the horrified trance.
Nate dropped to a knee, swinging his shotgun out to the darkness. Kelly and Kouwe dove to aid the downed corporal, but Nate knew it was a futile gesture. The man was already dead.
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