Twin nods answered his question. “All right.” Bolan slung his M-4 on his shoulder. “Calley, Mike, safe your weapons and sling them like mine. If we step out and the natives are hostile, stay together and move back into the brush. I’ll cover your retreat, then we all hightail it into the jungle. Everyone got that?”
“Oh, God, not more running.” Tatrow bent over and massaged her calves. “My feet are bloody hamburger as it is.”
“Hopefully it won’t come to that, Susanna, but let’s be prepared, just in case. I just need to do one more thing, so everyone hold on a minute.” Removing his night-vision goggles, Bolan inserted his earpiece and hit a speed-dial number on his cell phone. Turning away from the students, he gave the proper key word and was connected to HQ. “Stony Man, this is Striker, I need a translator program for the Huaorani language in the Amazon jungle, Ecuador.”
The distant voice of Akira Tokaido thousands of miles away replied in an instant. “One moment, Striker. Jeez, you sure like to throw me a challenge, don’t you?”
“Do you have one or not?”
“All right, all right, I have a program ready for you—it might be a bit rough, though. Just subvocalize the words you want to say, and you’ll hear the appropriate translation, which you can then repeat. Good luck, Striker.”
“Thanks. The program also translates overheard conversation, right?”
“To the best of its ability. It helps if the speaker is clear and not too far away—our supercomputers are good, but even they have limits, you know.”
“Right, it’ll have to do. Striker out.” Bolan made sure his earpiece was secure, then turned to the others. “Everyone ready? Here we go.”
Keeping his hands low and away from his sides, Bolan stepped out from behind the tree and walked into the clearing. At first, no one seemed to notice him, then one of the villagers on the outskirts let out a surprised shout and pointed as he slowly came closer.
As one, the main group of men and women turned and looked at him. No one spoke, and even the crying children quieted down, as if they were also curious as to what had attracted everyone’s attention.
Bolan kept walking slowly into the clearing, hearing the footsteps of the students behind him. Careful not to make any sudden moves, he raised his right hand.
No one answered or waved in reply, they all just kept staring at him. Bolan kept moving, the villagers parting for him as he walked closer to the center of the group. Several women, all of them sobbing, were clustered around prostrate, motionless forms. When one of the women spotted Bolan, all of them straightened and regarded him with the same unblinking stare.
“Okay, what now?” Saderson whispered.
“I don’t suppose any of you happen to speak the native dialect?”
“Sure, the kids taught me the local curse words yesterday,” Carter replied. “What about you?”
“I speak French and passable Portuguese, but nothing even close to what I’d need to talk to them right now, unfortunately. Okay, here goes nothing.” Bolan cleared his throat and addressed the group, saying the words under his breath so the sophisticated translator program could “hear” them and give him the translated phrases—maybe they’d think he was just fumbling for the words. “Hello…we need to check the rest of…the village and…see if anyone…is still alive.”
For a moment, complete silence reigned. Then, like a dam bursting, all of the villagers spoke at once, some of them jabbering angrily and gesturing at him, others arguing among themselves, still others waving at the village or the motionless figure lying on a cot. Bolan waited for the program to come back with whatever the villagers were saying, but all he heard was an electronic tone and a computerized voice. “Unable to translate phrases. Do you wish to try again?”
He had no idea what to do next.
“Hey, isn’t that Etienne?” Saderson said.
Bolan followed Saderson’s pointing finger and saw a limp form on the cot. “Yes!” Shouldering his way through the crowd, Bolan knelt by the man’s side. The villagers’ conversations took on an ominous tone as they crowded around Bolan.
“Guys, help me out here.” He subvocalized again, then spoke the unfamiliar dialect loudly. “People, listen to me…I can awaken this man… Just a moment…” With what he thought was a suitable flourish, Bolan produced a small white pill and placed it under Etienne’s tongue. The medicine was another specialty from the Department of Defense’s research labs, a powerful universal stimulant that would counteract any tranquilizer in the subject’s system.
Just as he inserted the pill, Bolan felt hands grab his shoulders and wrists and pull him away from the prostrate man. “No, wait…I can help him…”
The villagers grew angrier, holding Bolan firmly as they pushed him away from Etienne. They were so close and so many that he couldn’t free himself. Bolan looked to the volunteers for help, but found them hemmed in on all sides by more villagers, one of whom was reaching for Saderson’s slung assault rifle.
“No! Stop!” Bolan twisted out of the hold of one of the natives and grabbed his own rifle, intending to use it as a club if he had to, before a groggy voice made everyone pause.
“What in the hell is going on here?”
All heads turned to see a sleepy-eyed Etienne sit up, rubbing his face with one hand. He addressed the crowd in what sounded like a suitably admonishing tone, then waved at some of the younger men to help him to his feet. Men and women clustered around him, each clamoring for his attention. Finally, Etienne held up his hands and quieted everyone.
“I asked them what they were doing to our honored guests. So far I’ve heard something about soldiers taking over the village, Nancy being taken somewhere and guns—lots of guns…” His voice trailed off as he noticed the weapons Bolan and Saderson carried. “Perhaps I should be asking you two what the hell is going on.”
“Uh, well, things have gotten way out of hand in the last hour or so.” Bolan filled him in on what had happened, including the tranquilizers, adding that he’d thought they would help Nancy and he rest better after what they’d seen at the other village. “Now Nancy’s been taken by the Colombian Army, which seems to be heading deeper into the jungle instead of back to a town with a jail, and there are dead and wounded people here that need help right away.”
Etienne listened to the story, a frown darkening his face as other villagers spoke to him at the same time, gesturing angrily at the group of volunteers and particularly at Bolan. “They’re saying that the major asked Nancy, you and the other man to surrender. Nancy did, but you two did not. Why?”
“I—we—couldn’t. I couldn’t take the chance of all of us being killed or held for ransom. Look, the other villagers may not have long to live. You can ask me all of the questions you want, but minutes we can’t spare are ticking away for them right now.”
Etienne regarded him for a long moment, then nodded. “You and I will speak later.” He turned to the villagers and rattled off commands, sending groups scurrying to different parts of the village. When most of them had been dispersed, he turned back to the volunteers. “Do any of you have medical training?”
Bolan and Tatrow raised their hands, with Bolan speaking first. “I’ve cared for wounded people before. Susanna?”
“I’d almost finished my paramedic course in Oxford before coming here.” The stocky Britisher tried to hold everyone’s surprised stares. “What, I just felt it wasn’t for me, that’s all.”
“All right, Susanna, you’re on triage. Bolan, you assist. Calley and Mike, you help with whatever needs doing. Where’s Tom and Paul?”
Saderson’s voice almost cracked, but he cleared his throat and continued. “They…they didn’t make it.”
Etienne walked over and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m sorry to hear that. We will grieve for both of them later, but rig
ht now the living need us more. Let’s get to work!”
* * *
THE NEXT THREE HOURS were spent diagnosing the various wounded, thirteen in all, and cannibalizing every medical kit they could find, including some of the veterinary medicine. As Bolan told Tatrow, “Penicillin is penicillin, no matter if it’s supposed to be for a dog or a human.”
As much as Bolan wanted to go after Kelleson and Morgan, he also knew he couldn’t just leave these innocents in the lurch. If they’d wanted her dead, they would have killed her already, he realized. I have to make this right before I leave—I owe them that much.
The final count was eight dead and fourteen wounded. Unfortunately they couldn’t save everyone, losing two in the treatment process, including one of the women Bolan had helped make breakfast with the day before. She’d bled out through what Bolan and Tatrow had thought was a relatively minor wound, but which had turned bad in a heartbeat. She had quietly passed away while they’d struggled to tie off her ruptured artery, ending up with their hands and forearms covered in blood and Carter quietly throwing up outside. Susanna sat back on her haunches in Kelleson’s hut, which they’d transformed into a makeshift infirmary, tears streaming down her face.
Bolan knew exactly how she felt, but he washed his hands in hot water and motioned for her to do the same. “You did everything you could, and we’ve got more people that need our help. Now come on.”
She had glared at him with such a venomous look Bolan thought he was about to get slapped, but without a word she brushed by him and scrubbed up for the next person.
At last, all of the injured had been stabilized enough until medical professionals could see them, but the tally had been costly. Bolan figured at least four or five would end up with crippling injuries, and he knew there would be children here who would grow up minus a limb long after he was gone. The rest of the villagers seemed to accept this more stoically, and as he worked, Bolan noticed more than one native who was missing a couple of fingers here, half a foot there, others even their entire lower limb. They compensated with ease, however, so much so that he hadn’t really noticed it until then.
After the last victim had been taken care of, Tatrow and Bolan supervised the cleaning of the hut, then she had staggered off to bed. Bolan, on the other hand, figured on being up for a good long time yet.
He went to find Etienne, who was overseeing the burial detail. The men and woman had prepared graves for their kinsmen, and the entire village had gathered to pray over the bodies, each wrapped in white cloth, all the village could afford. Etienne stood at the head of the row of graves, head bowed, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Bolan stood off to the side, having no desire to interrupt the solemn ceremony. He had already intruded enough on the victims by snapping surreptitious pictures of each one as evidence of what had happened to them. Unfortunately, he presently had plenty of time to reflect on what had happened here and his part in it. If it hadn’t been for Morgan and me, these people would probably still be alive, he thought. Bolan knew thoughts like these were supposed to be avoided, since they distracted him from his mission, but he couldn’t help considering it as he waited.
The brief service was over quickly, and villagers began shoveling dirt into the graves. Etienne consoled family members who had lost relatives or children, staying at the gravesites until theirs were filled in. Bolan knew they would have to be guarded for the next few days, to keep animals from digging up the remains.
At last Etienne had finished ministering to the villagers and approached Bolan. “I appreciate all you’ve done here today.”
“What choice did I have?” Bolan looked around at the village, the huts ripped apart by bullet holes, the earth torn up by the wheels of the APC and dark spots on the ground where people had been shot and bled to death. “I had to try to fix what I helped cause. Where are Tom’s and Paul’s bodies?”
“They have been wrapped and placed in suitable containers. The elders have contacted the Red Cross station at Nueva Loja, and they are on their way here to assist us. They should arrive sometime in the next day or so and will arrange for the bodies to be shipped home.” Etienne wiped his eyes and fixed Bolan with a steady stare. “What do you plan to do now?”
“I know where the major’s taken Nancy—and I think they might have captured Elliot, too. I’m going after them. I thought you might want to come along.”
“Yes, I do wish to come along. I’ll prepare the Rover.” Etienne started to walk away, but was stopped by Bolan.
“You need to know that I’m not going there to negotiate or ransom her back. I will do what’s necessary to get her back.”
“Are you planning to go up against the Colombian Army?”
“Hopefully not, but I will if I have to. With any luck they’ll have stopped somewhere, and I can do my own kind of negotiating with them—it starts with a bullet and goes up from there.”
“I’d better grab that rifle from Mike, then, shouldn’t I?”
Bolan nodded. “Yeah, it just might come in handy. We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
22
Bolan drove as fast as he dared down the rutted dirt road, the Range Rover scraping bottom every few yards as they jounced along the narrow lane. He kept an eye on the display on his cell phone, which showed the decreasing distance to the small bug he’d planted on the Urutu.
In the passenger seat, Etienne braced himself against the window frame, swaying back and forth with the erratic vehicle with the ease of years of practice. He hadn’t said a word since they’d headed out, instead divided his gaze between the road and Bolan’s face.
They had just finished packing when Saderson ran up to Bolan, asking to go with the men. Bolan had said no, and left no room for argument, telling the college student that his place was at the village, not with them. Ever since then, he’d felt Etienne’s gaze on him, not accusing or condemning, but more as if he was evaluating him. Bolan didn’t mind—he’d been under more intense scrutiny before.
“Better slow down, the road doglegs right here, and it can send you into the bush if you’re not careful.”
“Thanks, I probably should have had you drive in the first place.” For the tenth time, his eyes flicked to the back, where their meager arsenal of weapons lay—the two Colt Commandos, two Galil assault rifles that had been left at the village. Bolan’s pistol was holstered on his hip. The other sniper’s weapon had been rendered inoperable by the hail of machine gun fire that had killed its owner.
Bolan had given the pistol from the soldier he’d killed in the tent to Tatrow, advising her to keep it hidden unless the situation turned critical, and left a Galil ACE with Saderson with similar instructions. He had been torn about taking the rest of the weapons, but leaving them might have caused the Colombian Army to crack down harder on the villagers. Besides, Bolan and Etienne would no doubt need to use them, as well, since both Colts used 5.56 mm ammunition, which could be a life-saving feature.
As they came around the bend, Bolan hit the brakes. A large jaguar crouched in the road, sniffing at a patch of dirt. Bolan brought the Rover to a stop and drew his pistol.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to see what it’s smelling.” Bolan rolled down his window just enough to stick the pistol out. Keeping an eye on the big jungle cat, he fired a round, making the predator start and bound into the underbrush. “Let’s go.”
Etienne picked up the Colt Commando and made sure there was a round in the chamber. He hit the release on the sunroof, waiting for it to retract before standing. “Go look, I’ll cover you from here. I should warn you, however, that if that jaguar comes back, he can probably leap from a tree on either side of us and break your neck before I could fire.”
“Guess I’ll have to take that chance.” Watching the nearby jungle in case anything came charging at
him, Bolan opened the SUV’s door just wide enough to slip out, leading with his pistol. Keeping his back against the fender of the Range Rover, he walked to the front of the vehicle, then out to the dark spot the jaguar had been sniffing and knelt beside it. Running his hand over the packed dirt, he sniffed his fingers. He examined the tracks in the bottom of the rut, too, then rose to his feet and ran back to the SUV. Jumping in, he slammed the door and got the Rover moving again as Etienne sat down and closed the sunroof.
“Blood, pretty fresh, maybe a couple of hours old. The tracks in the ruts look recent, as well. We’re definitely heading in the right direction.”
“Good.” Etienne flipped the safety switch on the assault rifle and returned it to the back, then watched Bolan for the next few miles. Finally, he spoke. “Why didn’t you surrender when the major requested it?”
It was Bolan’s turn to regard Etienne for several long seconds. “As you’ve probably guessed by now, I’m not one of the usual volunteers and I’m not a journalist, either. I work for a nongovernmental organization, as well, but it’s the complete opposite of SARE.”
“What do you do for this organization?”
“I’m sent to troubleshoot situations around the world. They placed me here to make sure nothing funny was going on before the oil companies came in, and set me up in your village. No one here was aware of my real mission, not even Nancy. I think she can help, however, which is why I’m going after her. I couldn’t surrender to Medina because he probably would have hauled all of us off to jail, leaving the rest of you defenseless against whatever’s going on out here. It was never my intention to have innocent people caught in the cross fire, but that second group of mystery men started shooting while I was trying to get the volunteers out, and everything just went to hell from there. Anything else you’d like to know?”
“No, you answered the rest of my questions already, and I appreciate your honesty. Do you think the Colombian Army is behind all of this?”
Jungle Hunt Page 16