'Please kill me,' the man begged, hoarse, blood dribbling from his lips.
'Soon enough, mon ami . . . but first a few questions:' Louis leaned back as Tshui walked around the corporal, waving her smoking bundle of dried leaves through the air. He noticed the broken soldier flinch from the woman, his terrified eyes following her every move.
Louis found this extremely arousing, but he kept himself focused. 'Let's first go over a few numbers:' Over the next few minutes, he extracted all the codes and time schedules of the army unit. He did not have to write any of it down, setting all the frequencies and numbers to memory. The information would greatly facilitate eavesdropping on the other team's communications. Next, he collected the details on the Ranger force's strength: number and types of weapons, skill levels, weaknesses, means of air support.
The man proved most talkative. He babbled on and on, giving out more information than requested. '. . . Staff Sergeant Kostos has a secret stash of whiskey in his rucksack . . . two bottles . . . and in Captain Wax-man's boat, there's a crate that holds a cradle of napalm minibombs . . . and Corporal Conger has a Penthouse mag-'
Louis sat up. 'Hold on, monsieur. Let's back up. Napalm bombs?'
'Minibombs . . . an even dozen . . :'
'Why?'
The corporal looked confused.
'James,' he said sternly.
'I . . . I don't know. I suppose if we need to clear a section of jungle. Something that blocks our way:'
'How large a region would one of those bombs clear?'
'I . . :' The man choked back a sob. 'I'm not sure . . . maybe an acre . . . I don't know.'
Louis leaned his elbows on his knees. 'Are you telling me the truth, James?' He wiggled a finger for Tshui, who had grown bored with the conversation and sat cross-legged, busy laying out a new set of tools.
On his signal, she rose from her work and crawled like some jungle cat toward the naked soldier.
'No,' the corporal cried, mewling, 'no, I don't know anything more:'
Louis shifted back in his seat. 'Do I believe you?'
'Please. . :'
'I think I will believe you:' Standing, he turned to his mistress. 'We're done here, ma cherie. He's all yours:'
She slid smoothly to her feet, offering a cheek to be kissed as he passed.
'No,' the man on the ground moaned, pleading.
'Don't dawdle,' he said to Tshui. 'The sun is almost up, and we'll need to be under way shortly.'
She smiled, smoky and full of hidden lusts. As he stepped to the tent's threshold, he saw her bend down and collect her bone needle and thread from the spread of tools. Lately, Tshui had been trying a new approach in preparing her specimens for head-shrinking. She now liked to sew her victims' eyelids closed while they were yet alive. To better capture their essence, he supposed. The Shuar shamans placed special significance in the eyes, a path to the spirit.
A sharp scream arose behind him.
'Tshui, don't forget the man's gag,' Louis scolded. He made the mistake of glancing over his shoulder.
Tshui squatted above the face of Corporal James, her thighs on either side of his head, holding the squirming man in place as she busied herself with her needle and thread. He lifted an eyebrow in surprise. It seemed Tshui was trying something new.
'Pardon, ma cherie,' he said, bowing out of the tent. Apparently he had scolded her too soon. The gag truly wasn't necessary.
Tshui was already sewing the corporal's lips shut.
ACT THREE - Survival of theFittest
BRAZIL NUT
FAMILY: Lecythidaceae
GENUS: Bertholletia
SPECIES: Excelsa
COMMON NAMES: Brazil Nut, Castanheiro do Para, Para-Nut, Creamnut,
Castana-de-Para, Castana-de-Brazil
PARTS USED: Nut, Seed Oil
PROPERTIES/ACTIONS: Emollient, Nutritive, Antioxidant, Insecticide
CHAPTER EIGHT
Village
AUGUST 13, NOON
AMAZON JUNGLE
Frowning, Nate caught the line and secured it to a mangrove tree. 'Careful,' he warned his boat mates. 'It's swampy here. Watch your footing:' He helped Kelly climb over the pontoon and onto the firmest section of the bank. He himself was muddy up to his knees and soaked everywhere else.
He lifted his face to the drizzle of rain from the cloudy skies. A storm had blown in overnight, starting with a fierce downpour, then fading into a steady misty drizzle within the last hour. The day's journey so far had been dreary. They had taken turns with a hand pump to bilge the water out of the boat all morning. Nate was glad when Captain Waxman had called a halt for lunch.
After helping everyone off their boats, Nate climbed the muddy bank onto higher ground. The jungle wept all around him, dripping, sluicing, and trickling from the leafy canopy overhead.
Professor Kouwe seemed unperturbed. With a pack hastily constructed of palm leaves, he was already heading out into the forest to forage for edibles, accompanied by a sodden Corporal Jorgensen. From the sour expression on the soldier's face, the tall Swede seemed little interested in a jungle trek. But Captain Waxman insisted that no one, not even the experienced Kouwe, walk the jungles alone.
Around the camp, the mood of the entire group remained sullen. Word of a possible contagion associated with Gerald Clark's body had reached them yesterday. Quarantines had been set up in Miami and around the institute where the body was being examined. Additionally, the Brazilian government had been informed and quarantine centers were being established throughout the Amazon. So far only children, the elderly, and those with compromised immune systems were at risk. Healthy adults seemed resistant. But much was still unknown: the causative agent, modes of transmission, treatment protocols. Back in the States, a Level Four containment had been set up at the Instar Institute to research these questions.
Nate glanced over to Frank and Kelly. Frank had his arm around his sister. She was still pale. Their entire family, including Kelly's daughter and the families of other scientists and workers at Instar, had been put into quarantine at the institute. No one was showing any symptoms, but the worry etched in Kelly's face was clear.
Nate turned away, giving them their privacy, and continued on.
The only bright spot in the last forty-eight hours was that no additional members of their party had fallen prey to the jungle. After losing Corporal DeMartini two days ago, everyone had kept alert, minding Nate's and Kouwe's warnings about jungle hazards, respecting their native lore. Now, before disembarking from a boat or bathing, everyone checked the shallows for buried stingrays in the mud or hidden electric eels. Kouwe gave lessons on how to avoid scorpions and snakes. No one put on a boot in the morning without first thoroughly shaking it out.
Nate checked the camp, walking the periphery, searching for any other hazards: fire liana, ant nests, hidden snakes. It was the new routine.
He spotted the two new members of the team, replacements for those lost. They were gathering wood. Both were ranked private first class, newly commissioned Rangers: a battle tank of a man with a thick Bronx accent, Eddie Jones, and, surprisingly, a woman, one of the first female Rangers, Maria Carrera. Special Forces had only started accepting women applicants six months before, after an amendment to Title 10 restrictions had passed Congress. But these new female recruits were still limited from front-line combat, assigned to missions like this one.
The morning after the nighttime attack, the two soldiers had been flown in from the field base at Wauwai, sliding down ropes from a hovering Huey. Afterward, small tanks of fuel and additional supplies were lowered.
It was a critical shipment, their last one. From that morning on, the team would be motoring beyond the range of the Hueys, beyond the range of air support. In fact, as of today, they had traveled close to four hundred miles. The only craft with enough range to reach them now was the black Comanche. But the sleek attack
