Alpha Threat

by Ron Smoak

  Wayne put down the binoculars and shook his head, smiling. “That guy will never change.”

  “What would we do without Hugo?” Dane mused. “He’s ninety percent of the entertainment around here.”

  The Fourth of July weekend was big on Miami Beach. As the Beach Commander for all of Miami Beach, Dane had direct charge of over 150 lifeguards placed up and down the beach, each patrolling their specific areas. Dane and his staff at the Beach Patrol Headquarters were primarily the administrative headquarters but also were responsible for the oversight of each lifeguard on the beach. Sherrie and Wayne were two of Dane’s best supervisors, both with several years experience as beach lifeguards and beach supervisors. It was fairly rare a real emergency arose; mostly sunburn, man-o-war stings and cut feet. But every now and then someone would venture out too far and have to be rescued. That’s when the frantic calls would come in and Dane and his staff would dispatch emergency vehicles to the site. While the lifeguards handled the swimming and directed rescue chores, the City of Miami Beach wanted professional EMTs to handle the true emergency medical duties. For that reason Dane had nearly a dozen EMT units standing ready at all times. Those folks did the heavy lifting but it always resulted in more paperwork and reports from his group at patrol headquarters. The patrol did have a twenty-seven foot rescue vessel and several jet skis and other jet-propelled craft to rescue folks in emergencies. To Dane this was his small navy. Ultimately it all fell back on his shoulders.

  “So far we’ve had a nice, calm fourth,” said Wayne, scanning the beach again with the binoculars.

  “Oh, man, don’t jinx us by saying that!” cried Dane. “Now all hell will break loose.” He looked over at Wayne and laughed. “That’s what my dad used to always say. I had to say it.”

  Wayne grinned and put down the glasses. “Yeah, it seems that way sometimes. How is your family? I haven’t heard you mention them lately. Everybody doing okay?”

  “Actually, everyone’s doing great… Knock on wood. Mom and Dad are doing well and enjoying retirement and Dana’s down in the Amazon with Randall.”

  “The Amazon,” Wayne said surprised. “What in God’s name are they doing down there?”

  “Oh, what they usually do. Tromp around in the jungle looking for natives and artifacts. All I know is I couldn’t do it. Can you imagine the Amazon jungle in July? You think it’s hot and humid here…”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet. But those two like that, huh?”

  “I guess so,” answered Dane. “They got a nice grant to go so I guess it’s not too bad if you have someone else paying for it.”

  “Are they looking for anything in particular or are they on a general safari-like trip?”

  “Oh, hell, I have no idea,” laughed Dane. “I gave up on trying to figure out my sister years ago. Once she met Randall, they took off into the wilds together and seem to love it. Better them than me.”

  “I guess so, but running around in the Amazon jungle is dangerous. I mean, there are cannibals and wild animals and disease, just to name a few dangers of the wild.”

  “Yeah, but they like it. That’s their job. I know Mom and Dad aren’t too sure about them most of the time but, hey, they are adults so we leave them alone. I think most of it is Mom’s fear of snakes. She thinks the Amazon is full of all kinds of snakes ready to eat you.”

  “I guess I can’t disagree with her,” said Wayne. “Looks like we have another large group coming out on the beach,” he said, picking up the binoculars again and turning to the window overlooking the beach. “We may want to add another person on David’s tower.”

  “Go ahead and do that,” Dane said, getting up from his desk and moving over by Wayne at the large windows overlooking the beach. “Looks like another hotel bus just let off a load of folks.”

  “Yep, more fodder for the sun.”

  “Did we miss anything?” cried Hugo, bursting through the door, arms full of food.

  “Not a thing,” Wayne said, turning to see Sherrie walk in. “We did add another guard to Dave’s tower. There seems to be a large crowd down there.”

  “Okay,” Hugo answered as he sat down to eat with Dane and Sherrie. “I’ll take a run down there as soon as I eat and see how Dave’s doing. Maybe there will be some babes down there.”

  ”Hugo, you will never change,” smiled Sherrie, taking a bite of her sandwich. “You are always on the make.”

  “Hey, I’m one of the happiest men on earth,” laughed Hugo.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Saturday, July 2, 2011

  Deep in the Amazon Jungle – Western Brazil; 1:00 p.m.

  “Let’s get back to it. We have a lot of work to do before dark,” sighed Dana Finley. The others in her party began to stir from the lunch break. Dana looked upward but saw very little light filtering through the canopy of the jungle. She wiped her brow with her red bandana and returned it to her pocket. It was so hot and humid but what else would one have expected here in the Amazon?

  The jungle around her felt like a giant wet blanket. An early morning shower had drenched everything and the humidity had skyrocketed. She was used to dense forests back in her days in the state of Washington where she was a child. This jungle, however, was nothing like home. Everything seemed alive. It was never silent. Wildlife was everywhere, on the ground, filling the trees above and on every frond and bush they seemed to encounter. She had never seen so much life. Even with the vibrant canopy of trees overhead, the sun seemed to stick its fingers down through the treetops touching the ground all about her. Each point of light seemed to illuminate the thousands of crawling insects and bugs on the ground. Those creatures not on the ground were flying about her head. This made South Alabama and the gnats seem like child’s play. Some of these insects were as big as small birds. The ground seemed to move as thousands of ants and other crawling things traveled along their way, undaunted by their presence. One thing about the rainforest, it was bursting with life!

  Randall Finley stood near her intently reviewing a map in one hand and his GPS in the other. An already thin man of six feet, the past several weeks in the jungle had taken a few more pounds off of his gaunt frame. But with his chiseled looks, he looked like a thin Indiana Jones in his khaki trousers, khaki shirt and old brown brogan shoes. He took turns looking at his GPS and checking back with his map. Outwardly he seemed confused.

  “We aren’t lost, are we?” smirked Dana, knowing full well that Randall probably knew where they were within inches.

  “Yeah, we are lost,” he quipped, knowing they were exactly where they wanted to be. “I guess we will just have to hope Sheena of the Jungle will find us.”

  “Right; that’s what we need, a half-naked blonde woman out here driving you crazy,” she answered, smiling and shaking her head. “Let’s get going.”

  “I already have that,” said Randall, trying to hide his grin as he turned and led the group deeper into the jungle.

  “Aww, you just love me to death,” laughed Dana.

  The group followed Randall as he wielded his bolo and began another leg of their trek.

  Dana and Randall had been married for two years but had been roaming around the wilds of Brazil together for nearly three years before that. Both had graduated from Princeton where their studies in Amazon cultures had gotten them choice professorships that provided a good life. Their marriage was attended by all of the faculty as well as international benefactors who for whatever reason seemed totally enthralled with the Finleys and their work.

  They both loved the wilds of the jungle. They especially loved the Amazon. This was the last great largely uncharted area in the world. Hundreds had trekked the wilds of Africa but few had tried the Amazon River jungles, especially here in western Brazil.

  They were searching for ancient Amazon tribal artifacts. Buoyed by the small grant they received from an anonymous but well-funded benefactor, they had rushed down to the Amazon immediately after the spring term. They had been here since June 8th and were now heade
d into their sixth week. The lion’s share of their grant money had been spent to fly down and outfit the small team of eight researchers and ten locals. The Finleys wanted to get as much done as they could before returning to their teaching jobs at Princeton. Fall quarter was just around the corner.

  Their area of interest was in the southern Amazon near the headwaters of the Rio Juruena in west-central Brazil about 400 miles north-northwest of Caceres. The area was about as far away from nowhere as anyone could get. Far from any large town, there were very few foreigners that ventured into this area. This was the home of several indigenous tribes. The Finleys were there to study those that they could find or, to be more specific, those who found them.

  “According to my bearings, I suggest that we head north,” said Randall as calmly as if he were in his classroom back at Princeton. “If we can make eight miles before dark, we should be in the general area where we were told that new tribe should be. I believe they are a derivative of the Trumai tribe.”

  “They would be a great group to study if we could find them,” answered Dana.

  “You think we can make eight miles?”

  “Eight miles in this jungle will be hard but I think we can do it,” Dana said, knowing that Randall’s question was a thinly veiled challenge.

  Dana snapped her bandana at Randall’s butt.

  “I can. But sometimes I wonder about you!” she said smiling.

  Randall returned the smile and stepped back to the rest of the group and told Manolo, one of the local tribesmen, to take the lead.

  “Head to the north,” Randall said, pointing northward while waiting for a look of comprehension from Manolo.

  “Norte,” he blurted in Portuguese and smiled. He seemed to pick up the pace. Randall was pleased.

  Just a few more miles and we will find what we have been looking for, Randall thought to himself. His broad smile displayed his clear enjoyment. After all of these years studying these people, he was hoping to finally be able to see them face to face.

  Randall looked around at the small group marching through the jungle. It reminded him of the old Tarzan movies he had watched as a kid. It was those shows that got him interested in the jungle and its people. But in the back of his mind he always had the distinct fear that the people he might find may not want to be found. And they may not like those that found them.

  Their trek continued until they came upon a small open area, very odd for this tract of jungle. They had traveled about seven miles since their lunch stop. They were very close to their goal.

  “I think we should stop here and set up camp,” said Randall, gauging the size of the open ground and the size they needed for a camp. “I don’t think we will find a better place to camp, even if it’s a bit early. Let’s give everyone a break.”

  “Sounds like a winner to me,” retorted Dana. “I could use a nice restful early evening dinner and dancing.”

  “Right,” smiled Randall. “I’ll get the dinner reservations and set up the band.” Randall walked over to the carriers and began to tell them where to set camp.

  “Yes, Dr. Randall. I get everything set up,” the leader, Manolo, answered in broken English laced with the accent of his native Portuguese and native languages. Manolo was a Brazilian native. In his 32 years he had grown up in these jungles. His parents had not seen a white man until they were teenagers. Manolo had been fascinated by the white people who came into the jungle and had followed one group back to civilization. There he got a rudimentary education but always returned to his native jungles. Manolo was highly recommended to the Finleys by several colleagues who had employed him before. Randall had come to Brazil to find Manolo and hire him for this trek. Manolo had taken good care of the Finleys so far. His easy-going style and real interest in their work had yielded a great sense of pride in what he was doing.

  Manolo meticulously set up each area of the camp. First he arranged an area for the Finleys a bit away from the main area of camp. Then he created a cooking area and got the cook and his helper started on the night’s meal. Several of the other men cleared a sleeping area for Manolo and his men, all of this under the watchful eye of Manolo. They also set up a small perimeter security area and placed a few men at intervals watching out for trouble but fully not expecting any. This setup was mainly to warn away any nighttime hunting animals that may decide to get bold and enter camp. A large campfire was always present. The fire drew many flying bugs but in Manolo’s experience kept away the larger, more dangerous animals of the jungle.

  As the Finleys’ tent was being pitched, Randall unpacked the gear and began to set up a table for the radio and the telescoping fifty foot aerial. The radio rig gave them the ability to check in with the folks back at the base. This was one of the several safety procedures the Finleys had insisted upon; near constant communications back to a base camp at the trailhead a hundred miles back.

  Princeton had developed a safety protocol to ensure that their expeditions were relatively safe. Each expedition had to establish a base camp near the closest town or village with outside communications. This base camp was also required to communicate with the expedition at least daily or more to ensure there were no medical issues or emergency needs. Adding to this “link to home” the expedition was required to utilize sophisticated Global Positioning Systems (GPS) to first enable the creation of detailed maps and enable the base camp to always know the position of the trekking teams. These protocols were aimed at reducing the risk of expeditions getting lost or having problems with indigenous tribes or worse, disappearing altogether. Any indications of a major problem would be noticed at the base camp within one day and the necessary actions taken. The base camp could in turn contact Princeton for more input if needed.

  Randall actually liked the new “safety net” protocols. The last thing he wanted to happen to him and Dana was to disappear in this jungle. The Finleys had decided to contact the base camp each night and at their lunch break if it was feasible. Since they had missed the lunch check-in, Randall was eager to check in as soon as possible. He didn’t want to be responsible for a rescue mission being dispatched because he got a bit careless.

  Randall unpacked the battery pack and hand generator and placed them on the table. He opened a second case and retrieved a mobile ICOM VHF-HF radio unit and began connecting the radio to the antenna leads and the power supply.

  “Manolo, have one of the men deploy the aerial.”

  “Sim senhor. I get it done quick,” Manolo answered in broken Portuguese without missing a beat as he unpacked. He called out to the crew and quickly one of the men ran over, unpacked the collapsible aerial and began setting up about fifteen feet away from the radio table. He hacked away a few offending plant fronds and drove the anchors into the ground, connected the aerial and deployed it to its full length.

  “Here’s the antenna connection,” said Randall, handing the man one end of the antenna cable lying in a small coil beside the radio table. Randall checked to see that he had everything connected. While he had been trained well to set up and break down this radio gear, he was definitely not a super geek when it came to the radio. He could operate it and that was that. If they had a problem, well… he just hoped they did not have a problem.

  Randall switched on the power supply and radio and felt pleased with the static he heard. He checked the frequency settings and keyed the transmit key on the microphone. Each time he used the radio, he remembered his childhood and an old TV show he loved to watch, Car 54 Where Are You? He just couldn’t get that out of his mind with Francis Muldoon and Gunther Toody, two wacky NYPD policemen. He smiled to himself.

  “Finley Expedition calling Finley Base… Finley Expedition calling Finley Base… Over…”

  A moment passed. All they could hear was low static.

  “Finley Base here… We were sitting here with a drink waiting on you or Dana,” said the deep voice of Ben Jamison, the Finleys’ base camp contact. “How are things going out there? Over…”

&n
bsp; Randall answered, “Doing well, Ben. All is A-OK. We are near our objective search area. We should be there by noon tomorrow.”

  Dana heard the radio and walked over to Randall, who was sitting at the table. “Ask Ben if he has heard from Dr. Dukes at Princeton,” interjected Dana. Randall nodded.

  “Ben, Dana wants to know if you have heard from Dr. Dukes. Over….”

  “Ah, yeah, he’s sending a few folks down to help you guys out as soon as you need them. Over…”

  “Very good,” answered Randall as Dana smiled and nodded in approval. “We may be ready for them in two or three days. I hope they are all packed and ready to travel. Over…”

  “They better be,” huffed Ben. “We put them on alert a week ago. Over…”

  “Roger that, Ben, I hope they think to bring their bug repellent. Over...”

  “A big roger to that, Randall. If they are dumb enough to come to the Brazilian jungle without bug repellent, then God help ‘em. Over…”

  “Yeah, well, you know how we professors think… we may know a lot about our field of study, but our common sense sometimes suffers. Over…”

  Ben smiled, “Like you are telling me something I don’t know? Over…”

  Dana stifled a laugh and turned away. “Yeah, some of us more than others...”

  Randall turned and looked amused. He knew she was talking about him. She was always claiming he had no common sense.

  Ben had no great love for most intellectuals, especially those “Pinheads from Princeton” as he called them. Ben had served as base camp manager for the Finleys on several prior treks and had grown to respect the two. Ben always said that Dana and Randall didn’t act like those other snobs he dealt with from Princeton on other expeditions. Ben was known for making good decisions under pressure no doubt due to his previous military background in the Marines. He had a roughness when needed but treated Dana like his own baby sister. Randall considered Ben a good friend and a great person to have watching their backs from base camp. In Ben’s mind, the Finleys were good people.