Devil Moon

by Dana Taylor

  Even from thirty feet above, Jack glimpsed the glint of long, carnivorous fangs in the cat’s mouth.

  “I’m up here, darlin’. What’s the matter, afraid of heights?”

  The cat howled again, as if in reply to his taunt, and stretched her long body, claws digging into the coarse trunk. Her hind legs added a powerful climbing force the man hadn’t possessed.

  Jack lingered on his resting spot a moment, admiring the sheer grace of his pursuer as she conquered the climb with instinctive precision. Her yellow eyes targeted him with a killer’s intent.

  “All right, Jack,” he muttered. “Best be moving on.”

  He scampered higher into the dense canopy of intermingled trees. A coiled green snake, camouflaged in the greenery lifted its head. Its tongue flicked to sense the identity of the intruder.

  “Sorry, mate, I need a diversion.” Jack grabbed the hefty snake and aimed for the rising black feline. Splat, the snake’s body hit the cat in the face. The surprise assault caused her to momentarily lose her grip and slide a couple of feet, catching her rump on a branch. She lost sight of Jack long enough for him to grab hold of a sturdy vine and swing Tarzan-style to a neighboring kapok. Hugging the trunk, he used his legs to hold and release the tree in the efficient manner he’d learned from his native friends. Ms. Furious Feline continued her upward motion, not realizing her quarry now traveled in a downward mode on another trunk.

  Jack glimpsed welcome terra-firma and jumped the last few feet to the ground. He leaned a broad hand against the truck and saluted his wayward pursuer with his other hand. “It’s been fun, sweetheart.”

  High above, the cat screeched her frustration again. “Rrooww!”

  She sprawled on a strong limb, panting, much of her fight lost in the chase.

  The camera crew materialized out of the jungle.“Cut! That’s a wrap, Jack.”

  Mulligan, the tall, balding cameraman, checked his equipment. “I think I got a lot of good shots. Taking off the shirt was a great move. That ought to push your ratings up a couple points.”

  Catching his breath, Jack grinned. “Always happy to oblige.”

  A white cockatoo circled in for landing on Jack's shoulder and cooed bird love talk.

  Jack patted the silken feathers. “Lorelei, my own sweet girl.”

  Mulligan shook his head. “You had me worried for a moment back there when you froze. I was afraid you were going to turn it into a wrestling match. You cut it close, pal.”

  A cloud of apprehension passed through Jack. What the devil had happened in that moment? The world had blurred, reality distorted. A bad dream escaping from his subconscious. Lorelei rubbed against his cheek. Better not to think about it.

  Auntie Edith handed Jack a clean shirt. “The cat really wanted to rip your heart out. I almost gave the signal to hit her with the tranquilizer gun. If she’d have come one foot closer to your back, I’d have done it. You have no idea how angry she was.”

  Jack shrugged his wide shoulders into the shirt. “Oh, I have a pretty fair idea. I may not be able to read their minds like you do, but I saw into her eyes. Bloody scary.”

  Edith pursed her pixie lips. “You loved every minute of it and you know it.”

  Jack reached out and mussed his aunt’s short-cropped cap of gray hair. “By God, you’re right. Did you see the way she put her head back and yowled? Gorgeous sight. Hey Mulligan, did you get that shot of her howling?”

  “Got it,” he said as he removed Jack’s body mike.

  Jack gazed up. The jag still roosted in the tree, posing now with queenly disdain. “What’s she thinking?”

  Edith focused her mental beam on the cat. “She’s thinking, ‘next time, next time.’ You better keep your guard up. This one is more intelligent than most. She’d love nothing more than to stripe her claws across your naked back.”

  Jack reared his head and laughed. “I seem to have that effect on so many females.”

  Edith continued her mental exchange with the jag. “I’ve told her to stay put or we’ll have to shoot her. She’s really annoyed. I also told her not to worry about her cubs. You hadn’t meant them any harm.”

  Jack walked to the base of the jag’s tree. “So long, darlin’! You don’t know it, but I’ve just made you a television star.”

  The cat’s tail snapped in irritation.

  Jack wrapped his arm around Edith as they began to walk away. “That bit of excitement really worked up my appetite. Let’s get back to camp and you can grill me a deer steak.”

  “Of course, luv. Then promise me we can leave this godforsaken island.”

  Jack halted a moment and listened to the wild noises—birds, monkeys, insects. He stood trying to hear…something. What was it that drew him back to this place again and again, even when he had no desire to return? He shivered slightly. Ghosts walking over his grave or some such nonsense. He shook off the foreboding.

  “You got it, Auntie. Hey, Mulligan, is there any beer left?”

  Jack and his crew took a leisurely stroll back to their jungle camp.

  Another working day in the life of Jaguar Jack Campbell, star of television and movies, international celebrity, daredevil extraordinaire.

  And unbeknownst to him, soon to be undercover agent for the United States of America.

  * * *

  Across the island, massive paws pounded the jungle floor and charged up the volcanic mountain. The true ruler of Paradisio reached the apex of his domain, above the tree line, balanced on the lip over churning lava in the bowels of the earth. Lightning struck the ground around him. He rose on hind feet, higher and higher, monstrous bear claws attached to a huge lion body.

  His strength was increasing; he could feel it. Through the air, he sent his roaring message. Invisible thought waves rippled from the vortex of his island prison to weak minds across the continents.

  Hear me. Come to me. Destroy the unbelievers. Great will be your reward.

  His time was coming. He would break free and roam the earth once more.

  Chapter One

  Desert Flats Marine Base, California

  Major Maggie Savannah whipped her shiny, black Mercedes into an available parking place, efficiently turned the vehicle off and gathered her purse and briefcase. Her gaze roved the sterile military buildings, set off by occasional palm trees. A high desert wind blew, filling the air with particles of sand and stinging debris. She opened her door and prepared for the blast of dry heat. Seven years she’d been coming back to this hellhole for assignments. Turn left at Barstow and drive until you hit total desolation. She’d never liked it—for the miserable landscape, the lack of entertainment during her brief furloughs and, well, other reasons, too.

  She slammed the door and marched into the fray toward the yawning doors of the front entrance.

  Click, click, click. Her smart pumps tattooed a beat as she nodded to acquaintances rushing down the busy hallways in the military maze. Tense faces passed her, each chest adorned with a security badge. Since September 11, the casual air of complacency had been replaced by wary urgency. Each day brought unknown demands, challenges, changes in plans.

  “Hey, Maggie, wait up!”

  Maggie pivoted toward the owner of the familiar voice. She recognized Derby Crane, five-foot four computer nerd for whom she held grudging respect. Derby sidled up to her and tilted his head back to gaze into her face through his thick, black-rimmed glasses.

  “Beware, little man, you’re still on my list.” She sent him a cutting glance.

  Derby chuckled. “Hey, I didn’t tell you to call the new supply officer a ‘pompous, pinheaded prick.’ But I admired your alliteration.”

  “You egged me on because you were afraid of him and you knew I wouldn’t keep my mouth shut.”

  “They don’t call you Maggie-the-Mouth for nothing. I loved watching his face turn beet red. I swear smoke floated out of his ears.”

  “Yeah, well the next time you want somebody dressed down, find another mouthpiece. Maggie-
the-Mouth is out of business.” She resumed her steady stride.

  “That’ll be the day,” Derby muttered.

  He dashed to catch up. “I heard the General was pulling you in on this one. You kicked ass in that Yemen hostage situation.”

  Maggie’s jaw tightened. “It could have gone better.”

  Her team had gotten the oil company employees out, but her contact and friend, Jordanian born Al-Jabbar, had been shot and killed. And Ahmed Saeed had gotten away. Being raised military, Maggie knew the inevitability of casualties, yet it didn’t make death any easier. A month in the Bahamas had given her a great tan, but she still felt like shit about Al. He was one of the good guys. He’d given up any semblance of a normal life to infiltrate terrorist cells. Now, he had no life at all.

  She shook off her blues and asked Derby, “So, what’s up?”

  “I don’t want to spoil the General’s fun,” Derby said as he reached for the door knob to the head man’s office. “Ladies first.”

  Maggie sailed into the reception area and spoke to the grandmotherly secretary. “Is he ready for me, Lois?”

  “Is anyone ever ready for you, Maggie?”

  “I love you, too, Lois.”

  Maggie didn’t wait to be announced into the General’s office. Derby followed in her wake and came to attention beside her. The General talked on the phone behind his mammoth mahogany desk. He gestured his visitors at ease and to take a seat.

  Maggie sank into a fine leather chair, crossed her long legs comfortably, as she surveyed the familiar room. The rich paneled walls were covered with photographs and citations; flags stood at attention in the corner. Her gaze traveled to the family photos on the desk. The tall General had his arm around his diminutive wife, all snuggly and happy. She looked so dainty and perky.

  Next, Maggie took in the General’s daughter. Strong chin, wide hazel eyes framed by Brooke Shields eyebrows. Full, fluffy red hair framed her face in the picture. Straightforward expression, no coy shrinking violet, she.

  The General hung up the phone and addressed his guests. “Major Savannah, you're looking well, all things considered.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Care for a piece of Mississippi Pie? Dotty sent it over this morning.”

  Mississippi pie. Cripes, her weak spot. “Sure. Dish some up, Derby, while we listen to what the General has cooked up for us.”

  Derby eagerly scurried to the sidebar and cut three pieces of gooey pie, found fresh milk in the mini-fridge and poured three glasses as the General began to fill them in on the assignment.

  “Three months ago a missionary Bible translator was taken hostage on the Pacific island of Paradisio by the Sons of Allah under the leadership of a Bangkok prostitute’s son named Moktar. As islands go, Paradisio is big—about the size of Texas, inhabited by scattered tribes of unfriendly natives. Paradisio has never developed much civilization, due to its lack of a decent harbor and its tendency to get hit by killer typhoons on a regular basis. Still, it appears be a haven for terrorists and pirates who can disappear in the mandrake groves and then into the tropical forest hidden from the satellite surveillance that photographs the island.”

  Maggie dipped her fork into the corner wedge of the decadent chocolate confection. “So, Bible translators are a big military priority nowadays?”

  “They are when the translator is the only child of the head of the Ways and Means Committee of the United States Senate.”

  “Ah, the plot thickens. Is this a male or female child?”

  The General pulled out an 8 by 10 photo of a fresh faced, all-American girl. “This is Hannah Smith. Twenty-eight years old, committed to translating the Bible to natives in their native language. The young lady received ‘the call’ to Paradisio and overcame every obstacle thrown in her path to get there. She’s been working in a remote village for three years without gaining much attention. But, a professional kidnapper known as Moktar, made the connection to the Senator and grabbed her.”

  “What are their demands?” Lord, how that marshmallow danced on her tongue.

  “Two million dollars.”

  “In their dreams.”

  “We can’t find them from the air. They are camouflaged too well. We’ve sent in two teams on the ground who’ve come back riddled with nasty venom-tipped darts courtesy of the locals. Neither team got close to the kidnapper’s camp. We can’t go in and blast away the villages on our way to the camp. Besides, according to the national government there, Americans can only train local troupes, not carry out military operations. We’ve come up with a covert operation that should work if the right person heads up the team. Maggie, I think you’re that person.”

  “Interesting. So how do I get past the natives with the darts? Offer them a few beads? Free trips to Disney World?”

  “No, you’re going to put them on TV.”

  Maggie cocked an eyebrow. Now she’d heard everything.

  The General explained that there was one white man who had regular access to the island. He’d made great friends of native headmen and had even cleared a landing strip for his private plane. The guy shot segments of his popular television show there.

  “Surely you’ve heard of him, Maggie—Jaguar Jack Campbell?”

  Maggie shrugged her shoulders. She wasn’t much for TV. Real life concerned her.

  “You’ve never heard of Jaguar Jack?” Derby’s voice squeaked in amazement.

  “Excuse me for living, no.”

  “He’s on the cover of all the tabloids. His reality TV show, The Adventures of Jaguar Jack, turned the Adventure Channel into a major cable player. McDonald’s has Jaguar Jack action figures in all its Happy Meals this month,” Derby explained.

  Maggie stood up and leaned across the wide desk toward the General. “Are you trying to tell me that you want to include a civilian in this operation? No way! It was inept, scared shitless civilians that got Al-Jabbar killed in Yemen. In Panama a civilian attaché from the Embassy got those hostages all shot to hell. Every operation that has included civilians has been nothing but trouble.”

  The General’s face hardened. “Major Savannah when I issue an order, you will follow it.”

  Maggie and the General engaged in a silent staring match until she sighed, ran her fingers through her wavy hair and settled back in the chair. “Cripes. I want another piece of pie.” Derby hopped up to oblige.

  The General’s expression softened. “I know you had a rough time of it in Yemen. Al-Jabbar was a good man. The information he acquired in his undercover work saved a lot of lives. There must have been a breach of security. I read the report. There wasn’t anything you could have done to prevent it.”

  “Yeah, I know. Shit happens.” Maggie slouched in her seat.

  The General’s leather chair creaked as he leaned back. “This Jaguar Jack character will be your cover to getting into the jungle. You’ll pretend to be part of his crew. An expert brought in on special assignment. You’ll have electronic equipment to signal to the satellite when you find the camp and send the coordinates to Derby. Then we can send in a commando force by air. You will be able to give us the lay of the land. We’ll maintain voice contact with you with some of the new equipment he’s come up with.”

  Derby grinned with excitement. “I can hardly wait to see how well it works. There’s some atmospheric interference in rain forests that makes transmission difficult. But I think I’ve got it licked.”

  Maggie eyed him suspiciously. “Let’s hope it works out better than the pantyhose body mike. I got a very strange buzzing sensation from those.”

  The General stood and walked around his desk. “I’ve got a meeting at 1400 hours. We can discuss this further at dinner tonight, Maggie.” His calloused hands reached out to meet hers and pulled her up into a bear hug. “It’s good to have you with us, even for a few days.”

  Maggie rested her forehead on her father’s shoulder. She whiffed in the familiar scent of his aftershave and felt five years old again. She lea
ned back and gazed into hazel eyes that matched hers, only his had years of crinkles around the edges.

  “I suppose Mom has lined up dinners with eligible bachelors?”

  “Some things can’t be avoided, Sugar.”

  “Cripes.”

  General Savannah kissed her cheek and headed for the door. “I’ll see you later. Clean up the dishes, Derby.”

  “Yes sir,” Derby said, as he started KP duty.

  Maggie paced the room. “So, is Jaguar Jack excited about being part of a military operation? Is he planning on filming it for sweeps week or something?”

  “Actually, so far his communications with us have been somewhat negative. We’ve been trying to set up a meeting with him. I believe his last reply to us was ‘Stick it in your ear.’”