She spoke honestly. “I don’t want to help you.”
“I can understand that,” he replied. “But I need your help. If you cooperate with me, I’ll give your friends food and water and a chance to live out the remainder of their lives. If you don’t, then I have no choice but to force you. They’ll go thirsty and hungry until you change your mind.”
She looked down at the table, reeling and dizzy from everything that she’d witnessed and strangely finding comfort in Kaufman’s reassuring voice. She was smart enough to realize that he wanted just that, but she couldn’t stop the feeling. She didn’t want to make him angry, didn’t want to hear any more gunfire or see any more blood.
“Ready to listen?” he asked.
She looked up at him and nodded reluctantly.
“Good,” he said. “There are some very important items on the grounds here somewhere, probably inside the temple. I want you to help us locate them.”
She nodded.
“You’ve been in the temple?”
“No.”
“Your friends, then, they’ve been in there?”
“Professor McCarter and Danielle.”
He nodded. “Did they remove any items from inside? Anything metallic?”
“Metallic?” she said. “No, nothing metallic.”
He paused for a moment, as if he wanted her to be sure of her answer. “I want you to go in there with us, show us around.”
Now she had a reason to protest. “I can’t go in there. I can’t breathe in there because of the fumes.”
“Yes, I know,” he said. “I’ve heard all about the fumes. A terrible smell, but I think we can remedy that for you.” He reached into a box beside them and produced a military-style gas mask. “Will this help?”
Susan stared blankly at the mask. What else could she say—of course it would help.
From his spot at the prison tree, McCarter tried desperately to keep an eye on Susan. “What do you think they want with her?”
“Her mind,” Verhoven said. “She knows what you know. But she’s smaller and weaker. That’s what they’re after. You saw them going through our things. They’re looking for something, and they want her help to find it.”
“I would have rather they take me,” McCarter said.
Verhoven agreed. “Well, if she’s smart enough to play dumb, maybe they’ll come back and ask for your help.”
“What about the police, the army?” Brazos asked. “They can’t do this here.”
“We’re so far out,” Danielle said, “I doubt anyone will ever know.”
“What about Hawker and Polaski?” McCarter said. “They know we’re here.”
“We can’t wait for them,” she insisted. “We have to do something ourselves.”
“But if they try to reach us,” McCarter began, “when Hawker comes back, he’ll realize something has gone wrong, then maybe he could—”
“He’s dead,” she said bluntly, feeling the pain of the words she hadn’t wanted to speak aloud. “According to that son of a bitch who took Susan, Hawker and Polaski were shot down long before they could make it to Manaus. That same goddamned helicopter that attacked us.”
As she spoke, Danielle felt the chill of her words hit the others, the realization that they were truly on their own. She noticed Verhoven grit his teeth, but otherwise he was nonresponsive. She guessed he had assumed that fact from the start.
As the others fell silent, Danielle tried to get ahold of her reeling mind. It was hard for her to fathom the depths of what had just happened, the speed and severity of the sudden reversal. Twenty-four hours ago she’d been on the verge of success, and now …
Now they’d been attacked and made prisoners by some kind of paramilitary group. Mercenaries of some kind watching them, while dead members of her team lay in the clearing covered by tarps. Somewhere in the jungle Hawker and Polaski lay in a mangled, blackened wreck. And Moore … his kind face flashed through her mind; a good man, an honest man, who’d been like a father to her. It seemed like some absurd nightmare from which she couldn’t wake. She began to seethe with anger, a silent fury building in her, and she vowed to find a way out of this madness, to make these men pay for what they’d done—or die trying.
She turned her attention back to the others.
“Verhoven’s right,” she said. “We have to use every advantage, no matter how small.” She realized that McCarter might be such an asset. “There’s a chance they might need you,” she said to him. “If they take you, grab anything that might help. Maybe one of your tools or something we could use to work on this chain. That would make our chances better.”
“Better?” McCarter said. “Better than what?”
“Better than they are now.”
McCarter breathed in heavily. “This is insane,” he said, shaking his head. He didn’t seem to be handling the situation well. Another reason they should have never brought along civilians.
She turned to Verhoven. “Did you see the soldier who held the keys?” She hadn’t thought to look. She’d still been groggy at the time. But as her wits came back to her, she knew that man would have to be a target.
“Yeah,” Verhoven said, slyly. “I got a good look as he unlocked the girl. He’s got a scar above his left eye, like someone cracked ’im once.”
Danielle turned to McCarter again. “You’re the only one they’re likely to use. If they give you any kind of freedom, you remember him and see what you can do.”
Verhoven chimed in. “And if you get a chance, you talk with Susan, tell her to be ready.”
“Ready for what?” McCarter asked.
“For anything,” Verhoven said. “And when you come back, you look me in the eyes. I’ll spit if it’s time to try something.”
Danielle nodded her agreement.
Beside her, McCarter looked sick. “Spit,” he whispered, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “Grab something … try something … this is insanity.”
He breathed heavily, looking hopelessly up at the sky, and Danielle prayed that he would hold it together.
CHAPTER 27
It took three tries, but Susan Briggs finally found a mask that fit her face. Kaufman then introduced her to Norman Lang, his chief scientist, explaining that she was to help him in whatever way he asked.
Lang seemed nervous. Only a few inches taller than her and probably no more than 140 pounds soaking wet, he certainly wasn’t cut from the same cloth as the mercenaries, but there was an edge to him that made her uncomfortable. He was constantly licking his lips and flexing the muscles in his jaw, as if he were clenching and unclenching his teeth. He must have cleaned the lenses on his black-plastic-framed glasses five times in the ten minutes they stood together waiting for Kaufman.
The three of them entered the temple together, along with two of Kaufman’s hired guns, all of them breathing heavily through the charcoal-filter masks.
They descended the steps carefully, with Lang videotaping the journey on a digital camcorder. The walls were tinted in places, painted long ago in some reddish hue, but they were also scarred and discolored, with bright yellow stains and splotches. Where the stone was bare it glistened in the light, dripping with condensation.
Lang zoomed in for a close-up on what appeared to be some yellowish form of rust. “Sulfur,” he said. “Eating away at the granite.”
They walked into the first chamber. Susan stared at the piles of skulls. Professor McCarter’s description had not done the sight justice.
