small breasts.
He shoved back these thoughts, ground out his smoke, and stood straighter. In the dark, the only light came from the flashlight taped on the underside of his rifle. He kept it pointed forward, toward the nearby river.
Deeper in the woods, past the laser motion sensors, small lights winked and flitted. Fireflies. He had been raised in southern California, where there were no such insects. So the blinking of the bugs kept him further on edge. The flashes kept drawing his eye, while around him the jungle sighed with the rustle of leaves. Larger branches creaked like old men's joints. It was as if the jungle were a living creature and he was swallowed inside it.
DeMartini swung his light all around. He firmly believed in the buddy system-and even more so right now in this cursed black jungle. There was an old adage among the Rangers: The buddy system is essential to survival-it gives the enemy somebody else to shoot at.
Slightly spooked for his buddy's company, he called back to the latrine. 'C'mon, Jorgensen!'
'Give me half a break,' his partner snapped irritably from a few yards away.
As DeMartini turned back around, something stung his cheek. He slapped at the insect, squashing it under his palm. An even fiercer sting struck his neck, just under the line of his jaw. Grimacing, he reached to brush the fly or mosquito away, and his fingers touched something still clinging to his neck. Startled, he batted it away in horror.
'What the fuck!' he hissed, stepping back. 'Goddamn bloodsuckers!'
Jorgensen laughed from nearby. 'At least you aren't bare-assed!'
Staring around the jungle with distaste, he pulled the collar of his jacket higher, offering less of a target to the bloodthirsty insects. As he turned, the splash of his flashlight revealed something bright in the mud at his feet. He bent to pick it up. It was a tied bunch of feathers around a pointed dart. The tip was wet with blood, his own blood.
Shit!
He dropped into a crouch and opened his mouth to shout a warning, but all that came out was a silent gurgle. He tried to take a deep breath but realized he couldn't seem to get his chest to move. His limbs grew leaden. Suddenly weak, he fell onto his side.
Poisoned . . . paralysed, he realized with panic.
His hand still had enough motor control to scrabble like a spider over the stock of his rifle, struggling to reach the trigger. If he could fire his M-16 . . . warn Jorgensen . . .
Then he sensed someone standing over him, watching him from the dark jungle. He couldn't turn his head to see, but the prickle of some primal instinct sent warnings through his body.
Further panicked, he strained for the M-16's trigger, praying, wordlessly begging. His finger finally reaching the trigger guard. If he could have gasped, he would have done so in relief. As darkness blackened the edges of his sight, he fed all his remaining energy into his single finger-and pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened.
In despair, he realized the rifle's safety was still on. A single tear of defeat rolled down his cheek as he lay in the mud. Paralysed, he could not even close his eyelids.
The lurker finally stepped over his prone body. In the glow of his weapon's light, he saw a sight that made no sense.
It was a woman . . . a naked woman, a sleek creature of wondrous beauty, with long smooth legs, gentle curves leading to full hips, firm and rounded breasts. But it was her large, dark eyes-full of mystery, full of hunger- that held his attention as he slowly suffocated. She leaned over him, a cascading fall of black hair over his slack face.
For a moment, it felt as if she were breathing into him. He felt some-thing course through him, something warm and smoky.
Then he was gone, darkness swallowing him away.
Kelly startled awake. Voices shouted all around her. She sat up too quickly and tumbled out of her hammock, crashing to her knees. 'Damn it!' She glanced up.
More branches had been tossed on the two campfires. Flames climbed higher, spreading smoke and a fiery light all around. In the distance, flash-lights bobbled through the forests, clearly searching. Shouts and orders echoed out of the jungle.
Gaining her feet, Kelly struggled to find her way through the tangled mosquito netting. She spotted Nate and Manny nearby. Both men were barefooted, dressed in boxers and T-shirts. The large jaguar sat between them. 'What's going on?' she called, finally freeing herself of the netting.
The other civilians were now all beginning to gather in various states of undress and confusion. Kelly quickly noticed that all the green canvas hammocks of the Rangers were empty. A single corporal stood between the two fires. His rifle was held at ready.
Nate answered her question, bending down to tug on his boots. 'One of the soldiers on patrol has gone missing. We're to stay here until the others secure the area:'
'Missing? Who? How?'
'Corporal DeMartini:'
Kelly remembered the man: slick black hair, wide nose, eyes that constantly squinted with suspicion. 'What happened?'
Nate shook his head. 'No one knows yet. He simply vanished:'
A sharp shout arose from near the river. Most of the bobbling flash-lights converged toward the site.
Professor Kouwe joined them. Kelly noticed an odd look pass between the two men. Something unspoken, something they shared.
Frank suddenly appeared on the far side of the camp. Flashlight in hand, he rushed toward them. He arrived out of breath, the freckles on his cheeks standing out against his ashen face. 'We've found the missing man's weapon.' His eyes flicked between Nate, Manny, and Kouwe. 'You all know more about the jungle than anyone. There's something we could use your opinion about. Captain Waxman has asked for you to come take a look:'
The whole group of civilians stepped toward Frank, intending to follow.
He held up a hand. 'Just these three:'
Kelly pushed forward. 'If the man was injured, I may be of help, too:'
Frank hesitated, then nodded.
Richard Zane moved to follow, his mouth open to protest, but Frank shook his head. 'We don't want the site trampled any more than necessary.'
With the matter settled, the group hurried past the fires toward the river. The jaguar kept to its master's side, padding silently with them. They crossed into the dense growth that fringed the tributary. Here was the true mythic jungle: a tangle of vines, bushes, and trees. Single file, the group trekked into the thick growth, approaching the glow of many flashlights ahead.
Kelly followed behind Nate. For the first time, she noticed the spread of his shoulders-and how well he moved through the woods. For such a tall man, he slipped under liana vines and around bushes with a casual ease. She trod in his steps and tried to mimic his moves, but she kept stumbling in the dark.
Her heel slid on something slippery. Her feet went out from under her. She fell sideways, hands out to break her fall.
Then Nate's arms were around her, catching her. 'Careful:'
'Th . . . thanks:' Blushing, she reached toward a vine to pull herself up, but before she could grip it, Nate yanked her away. Only her fingers brushed the vine.
'What are you-ow!' Her fingertips began to burn. She rubbed them on her untucked blouse, but the sting grew even worse. It felt as if her fingers were on fire.
'Hold still,' Professor Kouwe said. 'Rubbing will spread it:' He snatched a handful of thick leaves from a slender tree. Crushing them in his hands, he grabbed Kelly's wrist and smeared the oily moisture over her fingers and hand.
Instantly the sting faded. Kelly stared in wonder at the crushed leaves.
'Ku-run-yeh,' Nate said behind her. 'Of the violet family. A potent analgesic:'
Kouwe continued to rub her fingers until the pain was gone.
In the glow of her brother's flashlight, she saw that a couple of blisters had formed on the tips of her
