Reading frowned. “Powerful weapon.”
Leather continued patching up Tuk’s arm. “I doubt any of the locals are carrying something that packs that much punch.”
Acton rubbed his chin, puzzled. “Most of the locals have nothing more than spears. Some might have been traded guns in the past, not knowing they needed ammunition, but I saw nothing at the village that would suggest they even knew what a gun was.”
Reading grunted. “Agreed. Perhaps we can ask them when we arrive. We’re almost there.” He nodded toward the inlet, lit by the lights from the boat. “Hope they don’t mind late visitors.”
“I know one person who won’t mind,” grinned Acton.
Leather looked up at Reading, the man trying to keep a professional visage but even he had to smile as he battled to hide his delight. Leather returned his attention to Tuk. He finished the final stitch and cut the string then saved his fellow Brit. “But you know who does use that type of ammo.”
Laura seemed almost afraid to ask. “Who?”
“Military. Special Forces. Including Chinese Special Forces. Their Type 79’s are 7.62mm and are their preferred submachine gun.”
“Which fits in nicely with our environmentalist’s account.”
“It does,” agreed Leather as he wrapped the wound. “But that type of ammo is used by pretty much every military in the world, so I wouldn’t read too much into it. Let’s just say though that I doubt he was shot by one of the locals.”
As they approached the dock, the village erupted in cheers as those around the large campfire jumped to their feet and rushed to the shore to greet their returning guests.
And in the front, standing right at the dock, was the sparkling young woman Leather had determined owned the crusty old cop’s heart.
Lucky bastard.
Manaus, Brazil
“What in the bloody hell is going on here?”
Terrence Mitchell’s question was one that would go unanswered for the rest of the drive. He had tried the doors, despite the gun being aimed at him, to no avail. They were locked and controlled from the front and the deeply tinted windows kept the activities inside private. All he had discovered during their ordeal was that Bob Turnbull seemed as equally bewildered, he too ordered to raise his hands and shut-up.
Their benefactor, Rick Henderson, simply told them to relax and enjoy the ride.
Jenny was pushed hard against Mitchell, her feet shoving against the center console the entire time, and it was beginning to make him claustrophobic, he unable to take a full breath the entire ride.
“We’re here,” announced the driver, obviously an accomplice. The man was Asian, beyond that he had no idea of his nationality except that the two words he had spoken sounded perfectly American.
“Where are we?” asked Jenny, her voice quivering with fear.
“We’re going to take a little flight.”
Mitchell didn’t like the sound of that. “Where?”
“That, you don’t need to know.” Henderson’s smile was uncomfortably genuine looking. “I will tell you this. Helping Mr. Turnbull here turned out to be a very bad mistake on your part.”
Dylan Kane lay prone outside the Kunlun Mountain complex, China’s equivalent to Area 51. And it too didn’t exist. With information so tightly under control in China however, it was much easier to keep its existence from the Chinese people. And without the local population asking about it, the world didn’t ask about it.
But hiding it from spy satellites was a different matter. The United States had known about it pretty much from the moment construction began, and the Chinese simply acknowledged that fact by not bothering to try and hide what was happening. They let the mountain overhead do that for them. It was a massive undertaking, built on the backs of tens of thousands of peasants looking for work. A massive complex had been built inside the Kunlun Mountains, and once hollowed out, no amount of spy satellites would be able to determine what occurred inside.
It had a massive runway, capable of handling the largest of aircraft, and it was used to test their newest designs, including the latest rip-offs of American, Russian and European aircraft. This was the fundamental advantage China had over every other developed nation on earth—a complete lack of immigration. Western nations had immigration, and China was one of the preferred sources, the population usually better educated, spoke English, were known for working hard, and usually didn’t bring any religious baggage.
But what the politically correct West couldn’t admit publicly, was that there was no way to know how many of these immigrants were legitimate, and how many were actually working for the Chinese government. Time and time again Chinese immigrants were being arrested for selling or giving secrets to their former homeland, yet there were just too many to know who else was involved.
And Kane had spied on enough senior Chinese officials to know that there were elements within the Party that were already developing a Fifth Column throughout the world should the day arise when they needed an enemy crippled. This was why the US government was secretly scrambling to figure out a way to make their telecommunications and power infrastructures redundant without alarming the public.
When all your tech is made in China…
His satellite phone vibrated a priority flash pattern in a pocket in his ghillie suit, one designed by him to fit this particular terrain perfectly. He would be nearly invisible to anyone and with the scopes he was using, he was so far away, he doubted anyone would think to look this far.
He slowly, carefully, curled his body away from the complex and fished his phone out, the display in dark-mode meaning the backlight had been disabled and instead the e-ink display showed him what he needed to know.
Leroux?
Chris Leroux was a buddy of his from high school, and one of his few friends. He was also a top analyst at the CIA headquarters in Langley and Kane had tasked him—on the side—to monitor any communications from the Professors’ area.
He must have found something.
Kane took the call, and cursed after he heard what Leroux had found.
Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson kicked the corpse, just to make sure it was a corpse. It was. The operation had gone smoothly with the hostages rescued and the hostage takers eliminated. His team had merely provided support, taking out the guards with several sniper teams, allowing the Colombian Anti-Narcotics Brigade to enter the drug lord’s compound swiftly and undetected—that is, until it was too late.
The entire op had taken a week of planning and ten minutes of execution.
“He overreached this time, eh, senor?” The Colombian commander, Colonel Rodriguez, kicked the same body. “He never should have kidnapped the American Ambassador’s son.”
Dawson, his face behind a ski-mask, as were all of their faces, nodded. “They think they’re untouchable sometimes.” Which was when guys like him liked to reach out and touch. The more arrogant, the more satisfying the takedown. How I wish I had been there to take down Osama! He had spoken to some of the SEALs involved and though they like he didn’t glorify killing, they privately admitted it was one of their more satisfying ops.
Today was merely saving one idiot kid who had snuck away from the secure compound he lived on to see his Colombian girlfriend. She was the other hostage they had saved today. Lucky for the kid he was connected, which meant Delta had been sent in and US resources used to track him. He had been quickly found, an op put together, and now a couple of dozen body bags were filled, that many fewer vermin breathing the same air as he was, and the American Ambassador’s son having hopefully learned to think with the right head.
His phone vibrated. “Excuse me,” he said to Colonel Rodriguez, stepping away as he answered the call. “Speak.”
“Hey BD, I’ve got some more info for you before you move on.”
Dawson smiled as he climbed into an armor plated SUV that had just pulled up, Sergeant Carl “Niner” Sung behind the wheel, his Korean-American features hidde
n behind his still in-place ski mask. He settled in the passenger seat then motioned for them to roll. “How do you know I haven’t rescued the professor already?”
“Considering you just finished your op, I’d say that would be a neat trick.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I know everything. Now listen, BD. This situation just got a whole lot more serious, and a whole lot more dangerous.”
As Kane dropped the bombshell on him, his head began to shake back and forth.
Even in the middle of the goddamned jungle those professors manage to find trouble.
“I’ve arranged for transport for you and your team. The details have been sent to your phone. Try to get there ASAP. It might already be too late.”
“Keep the intel coming. We’ll get there.” He paused. “Has this been sanctioned?”
He could almost hear Kane smile. “Well, I’ve got no objections if that helps.”
“It doesn’t.”
Dawson killed the call and read the file that had been sent to his phone. He activated his comm. “No rest boys, we’re heading into the heart of darkness.”
Barasana Village on the Rio Negro, Northern Amazon, Brazil
Tuk had been carried off the boat and placed in one of the communal huts on the suggestion of Laura. “He might feel more comfortable on dry land when he wakes up.” It had made sense to Reading and his reunion with Kinti was delayed again, it initially little more than a hug and peck before explanations were given to the elders as to why, once again, they were disturbing their village.
And once again they had proven more than accommodating, inviting everyone ashore, food and drink offered as the young Tuk was carried by Reading and Acton to the lodge. By the time he was in a bed, covered, he was moaning, about to come to. Laura sat beside him, holding his hand, something Reading wasn’t sure was wise.
The tosser kidnapped you just three days ago.
He of course knew exactly what Stockholm Syndrome was, and he also knew Laura well enough to know she wasn’t the type to succumb. In this case he knew she was simply being herself—a caring, kindhearted woman who wanted to help people, even if they had somehow wronged her. As long as it was a wrong she could forgive. He had no doubt should someone hurt her husband or one of her students there’d be no controlling her vengeance.
She’s the strongest woman I know.
He felt Kinti’s hand squeeze his and he smiled at her. Tuk moaned and those gathered all leaned in. “Let’s give the poor lad some space, shall we?” Reading’s voice boomed, startling those who didn’t know him. Fabricio translated and the crowd backed off as Reading decided he wasn’t needed. He began to walk toward the other end of the communal home when Tuk began to babble. Kinti spun around, nearly breaking her grip with Reading. Her jaw dropped and she looked up at Reading, her eyes wide with excitement. She pointed at her mouth then in the direction of Tuk.
Reading’s eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out what she meant, but Kinti saved him.
“I speak!”
She pointed again then rushed back to the bedside of the ailing young man, Reading following as he realized his “girlfriend” might be the solution to their problem. Their hope had been they might find someone who spoke his language, many of the tribes speaking those of neighboring tribes, it apparently common to send the girls to other tribes to meet prospective mates.
How Kinti hadn’t found a mate, I’ll never know.
It suddenly occurred to him that perhaps she wasn’t considered attractive among her people. He had to admit most of the women he had seen did nothing for him, but a few were quite beautiful, like Kinti. Perhaps what he as a Westerner found attractive, her people didn’t.
Their loss, my gain.
A twinge of regret suddenly haunted him, though. He knew this relationship would be over the moment they left, and no matter how he felt about her, he wanted her to be happy. And he knew that meant her finding a husband, marrying—or whatever it is they do—and having children. But he estimated her to be easily in her early twenties, which he assumed was quite old to not have yet married.
Maybe she is the town tramp? Bad reputation, not worthy of a mate.
He chastised himself silently, anger seething through him at the thought of imaginary people saying anything negative about her. He knew nothing about her tribe, about her ways, about her for that matter. He simply knew she was a loving, caring, kind girl who had given herself fully to him, knowing nothing of him as well. Perhaps like he, she too merely needed comfort. Perhaps she had lost her husband years before and spent the time since alone, like he had after leaving his wife.
But now this young woman, who he cared for so deeply, so quickly, was talking rapidly back and forth with Tuk, whose eyes were lit with an excitement he hadn’t yet seen at being able to communicate with someone.
And once again Kinti amazed him.
These people aren’t at all what I thought. They aren’t savages, they’re just like us without the technology.
Reading moved closer as Kinti turned to the elder and translated. The elder’s eyes opened wide, then he spoke to Fabricio, who finally translated Tuk’s words to English.
“He say the Panther People have attacked his village.”
Reading and Acton looked at each other. “Panther People?” asked Acton. “Is that a tribe?”
Fabricio asked the elder, who shook his head as he responded. “The Barasana haven’t heard of them,” translated Fabricio as the elder asked Kinti something. The conversation was slow and almost painful at times, but it eventually came out that the Panther People were a legend about a tribe of natives who had betrayed the Mother—the deity these people seemed to worship—prizing the skins of panthers, leaving the rest of the carcass to waste. The Mother exacted her revenge by sending a pack of panthers into the village, wiping them out, then rewarding them with the power of man to punish any others who might defy the laws of the Mother.
“Sounds like a children’s story,” observed Reading. “Scare the kids straight, sort of thing.”
“That’s exactly what it is,” agreed Acton. “But he saw something that has him terrified and stories don’t shoot guns.”
Reading grunted. “Panthers are black, right?” he said, not waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question. “Special Ops sometimes wear black, and that Parker guy said his attackers were dressed in black head to toe, so…” Reading left the suggestion dangling, incomplete, waiting to see if someone would pick up on his thread.
Acton was quick to. “That makes perfect sense. Somebody in full body armor, helmet, goggles—Tuk wouldn’t know what to make of him. He’d fall back to the stories he had heard growing up and these Panther People would fit.” He paused a moment as the conversation continued between Kinti and Tuk. “If they attacked his village then that means they’re almost definitely in Venezuela.”
“Which means the Brazilians can’t really help beyond going to the UN.”
“Which is useless. They’ll just blame it on Israel.” Acton gasped as he looked behind Reading. Reading spun, not sure what to expect, but when he saw Milton in his wheelchair, holding out the satellite phone, he was ambivalent. He knew Fabricio and Milton had expressed concerns about appearing weak by not having sacrificed Milton to the great unknown, but he was certain they were far beyond that in their relationship with these people.
And the fact a smiling native was pushing him seemed to confirm it.
“Phone, Jim. It’s important.”
“Who?” asked Acton as he and Reading quickly exited the communal lodge.
“Kraft Dinner.”
Acton’s eyes narrowed for a moment then he laughed. “Dylan?” Milton nodded. “I told him to call back in five, I didn’t want the natives seeing the phone working.”
“Good thinking, though the guides definitely saw us talking on them. I’ll head back to the boat with you. Hugh, you stay with Laura. I’ll brief you as soon as I’m done.”
Rea
ding nodded and returned to the long communal sleeping chambers, joining the group still talking to Tuk. Kinti gave him a quick glance as he approached, beaming a smile that could freeze time.
And he wondered how much more of this his poor heart could take.
Acton, with the help of a couple of their new native friends, managed to push Milton to the ramp and up onto the boat before Kane called back. The entire time they struggled across the uneven ground, much of it sand, his thoughts were of how bad his friend’s back must be.
Two weeks ago he would have walked over with the phone.
His pocket vibrated just as Milton positioned himself on the deck, thanking the natives with a polite smile and slight seated bow. They rushed off the boat as if afraid of it, as Acton sat down, putting the call on speaker.
“Hello?”
“Kraft Dinner here.”
Acton smiled. “Hey, are we secure?”
“Yup. I understand everyone is safe?”
“Yes, we managed to find Laura and arrived back here at the village about an hour or two ago.”
“I understand you have another problem.”
Acton looked at Milton who whispered, “I gave him a quick update.”
Acton nodded. “Yes, like Greg said, the native who kidnapped Laura came asking for help. He had been shot and we just learned he thinks the ‘Panther People’ attacked his village. According to our translator, they are a tribe of Panthers with human powers. Panthers being all black, we think he may have seen a special ops team attack his village.”
“Makes sense and jives with some bad news I have for you.”
Acton felt his chest tighten. “What bad news?”
“Your wife has two students in Manaus, a Terrence and Jennifer Mitchell?”
“Yes. Why, has something happened to them?”
“I’ve had a friend monitoring comm traffic in the area since your wife disappeared. Looks like her students got arrested last night along with a Bob Turnbull—”
Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10) Page 18