Renee shook her head, looked him squarely in the eye.
'No,' she said. 'I don't think it was adrenalin.'
Then she kissed him nicely pressing her lips firmly against his. When at last she pulled away, smiling, she said, 'Come on, hero. It's time to go home.'
Race and Renee left the upper village to the cheers of the natives.
As they disappeared down into the crater and headed back to Vilcafor, a muffled scream could be heard from somewhere within the village far behind them.
It came from the bamboo cage that was tied to the four post-like trees.
In the cage, lying on the ground, rolling around in agony from the wounds to his stomach and with both of his hands hacked off, lay the wretched and gagged—figure of Frank Nash.
The natives hadn't killed him on the main street of Vilcafor earlier. Rather, they had cut off his thieving hands and brought him up here for more appropriate treatment.
An hour later, the last Indian procession to go to Solon's temple began. Bodies were carried aloft on ceremonial litters as the procession made its way across the rope bridge and over to the temple.
Nash lay writhing in agony on one of the litters, while a series of other corpses—Van Lewen, Marty, Lauren, Romano, and the corpses of the entire Navy-DARPA team-occupied other litters. Dead or alive, any kind of human flesh would appease the cat gods that dwelled inside the temple.
The whole village gathered around the rear of the temple chanting in unison—as two strong warriors lifted the cylindrical stone from its slot in the path, revealing the sacrificial chute.
The dead bodies were cast into the hole first—Van Lewen, then Marty, then Lauren, Copeland and the Navy people.
Frank Nash was brought over to the sacrificial well last of all. He had seen what had been done with the other bodies and his eyes widened as he realized what was going to hap pen to him.
He screamed through his gag as the sacrificial priests bound his feet together. He writhed about maniacally as two Indian warriors brought him over to the chute.
They put him in feet-first and as he saw the sky for the last time, Frank Nash went bug-eyed with horror.
The two warriors dropped him into the chute.
Nash screamed all the way down.
The cylindrical stone was placed back into its slot and the natives left the tower top for the last time, never to return.
Once they arrived back at their village, they began preparations for a long journey, a journey that would take them to a place deep within the rainforest, a place where they would never be found.
The Goose soared over the Andes, heading for Lima, heading for home.
Doogie sat up front in the cockpit, bandaged but alive.
Race, Renee, Gaby and Uli sat in the back.
After about an hour or so of flying, Gaby Lopez joined Doogie in the cockpit.
'Hey,' she said.
'Hey,' Doogie replied when he saw who it was. He swallowed, nervous. He still thought Gaby was seriously pretty and seriously out of his league. She'd done a great job bandaging his wounds, treating them with gentle hands. He'd stared at her the whole time.
'Thanks for helping me with that caiman back in the moat,” she said.
'Oh,' he blushed. “It was nothing.'
'Well, thanks anyway.'
“No problem.'
There was an awkward silence.
'So I was wondering,' Gaby said nervously. 'If you weren't—you know—seeing anybody back home, maybe you'd like to come over to my place and I could cook you dinner.'
Doogie's heart almost skipped a beat. He smiled a broad, beaming smile.
'That'd be great,' he said.
Ten feet behind them, in the passenger section of the plane, Renee lay nestled up against Race's shoulder, fast asleep.
For his part, Race was speaking to John-Paul Demonaco on Earl Bittiker's cellular phone are of the redial button.
He brought Demonaco up to speed on everything that had happened at Vilcafor. From the BKA to the Nazis, to the Navy and the Army, and then finally, the Texans.
“So, wait a minute,' Demonaco said. “Have you had any military experience?'
'None at all,' Race said.
“Jesus. What are you, some kind of anonymous hero?”
'Something like that.'
