'The usual way, Michael,' the chief answered. 'One piece at a time.'
By nightfall, the team of former SEALs was standing in a concrete lined excavation that led into the basement of the collapsed building near the church. A large and solid looking metal door barred the way in. Pavel produced a key for the massive lock on the door and opened it. Inside was a single metal shipping container. The priest also had a key for the lock on that.
When the double corrugated doors were opened, Antoniewicz was the first to speak. 'Holy shit!' he said.
'I not know vhat inside,' Father Pavel said. 'Not vant know, eit'er. I go. You load truck. I drive to boat once you load. T'en you unload, t'en you go.'
The chief answered, 'Thanks, Father.' Then, turning to Antoniewicz, he said, 'Eeyore, you keep inventory. And the rest of us, let's get to work.'
D-110, Paldiski, Estonia
The sun was just illuminating the sea to the north and west. The boat was still in the shadows, though distancing itself from the cliffs.
'I still can't believe this shit,' Eeyore said, over the thrum of the engines. 'How the fuck did he know exactly what we'd need?'
'He didn't,' Biggus said. 'There's all kinds of shit we don't need. And if you think I'm going to trust my life to ex-Soviet scuba gear, you're insane. Your life, maybe. Mine? Never.
'No,' the chief continued, 'Victor didn't know. He just put in everything that might be useful to a naval op, that he could get and stuff into a twenty foot container. Still, we have what we need. Set course for Londonderry. Three quarters speed.'
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
'A brave heart and a courteous tongue,' said he.
'They shall carry thee far through the jungle, manling.'
-Kipling, 'The Jungle Book'
D-110, Assembly Area Alpha-Base Camp,
Amazonia, Brazil
Monkeys? Check; they could be heard in the distance. Rotting vegetation? Check; it assailed the nostrils. Flowing water? Check; moving in a fine horizontal fashion. Mosquitoes?
'Son of a bitch!' exclaimed Stauer as he slapped one of the little demons into the netherworld, the blood from the bug spurting over Stauer's neck and the collar of the expeditionary dress he, like the rest of the thirty odd men in the party, shared.
'Fortunately, we've all had our shots,' said the expedition's doctor, Scott Joseph, a recruit who had taken a long overdue sabbatical in order to go on the operation. The doctor looked for all the world like a cross between Egon, of the Ghostbusters movie, and Noah Levinstein, from American Pie. 'That said, there's no shot for malaria. I trust I don't have to explain to anyone that mild diarrhea from the anti-malarial pills is infinitely to be preferred over the twitching awfuls. For that matter, a good portion of the malaria risk down here is Falciparum, which is pretty damned deadly.'
'We know,' said Stauer. He turned to look over his shoulders. 'Sergeant Major Joshua?'
'Sir!'
'This-assuming you don't disagree-is home.'
The tall, Virgin Islands black looked around at the jungle floor. The best that could be said of it was that it was high enough not to flood, flat enough for tents, and covered enough by forest growth not to be visible from the air or space without using technical means. He sneered but indicated no more than a general disapproval thereby. 'It will do, sir.'
Stauer nodded. Between two people who had worked as long together, and knew each other as well, as had he and the sergeant major, a nod was all that was necessary. Set up the camp, primus pilus, as think you best.
The sergeant major turned on his heels and began taking long strides in the direction of the leased landing craft that had brought the party, along with minimum mission essential equipment, up from Manaus. Stauer smiled with anticipation of the immediate sense of order and discipline that was about to be inflicted on the score or so of troops waiting at the river's edge.
'You sure about the Malarone, Doc?' Stauer asked. Malarone was a multi-drug particularly useful against Falciparum.
Joseph shrugged one shoulder. 'Best we can do. Now if you could have found someplace more than nine hundred meters above sea level…'
'Nobody's mapped this area since the 17th century,' Stauer said. 'We may find such a height, still close enough to the river, in which case we move camp. Remember, though, that with our limited surface transport and needing most of that for construction, ‘close enough to the river' is, in fact, pretty damned close. Doubt we'll find anything.'
'Fair enough. In the interim, I'll be spraying everything with Malathion.'
'Why did you opt for that, rather than good old DDT?' Stauer asked.
Joseph gave off a small snort and began rubbing his hands together. 'Brazil has the misfortune to be almost First World. They're just wealthy enough, and just well organized enough, to have almost eradicated malaria. Unfortunately, they weren't quite wealthy enough, or quite well organized enough, to quite eradicate it. The local mosquitoes now have a considerable degree of DDT resistance. Besides, the Malathion is almost as good, and almost as cheap. Some would say better and cheaper.'
The doctor looked puzzled for a moment. 'Say,' he asked, 'do you think I should go and make sure they set up the camp for proper field hygiene?'
Stauer laughed. 'Scott, let me tell you something about the sergeant major. It is mere surmise on my part, to be sure, but I am pretty certain that a hundred generations ago one of Joshua's ancestors wandered in from the desert, after trekking up the Nile, and enlisted in the first Roman legionary recruiting office he came to, rising thereafter quickly to the highest offices to which such a man might aspire. I am also certain, and no one can prove
