The two cops grabbed Bluey by the arms.
'Oh, now wait just a fucking minute…' Bluey said.
'Sorry, Bluey.'
'All right listen, man, listen! I had nothing to do with no murders, okay. I'm just the go-between, all right. I deal on Bittiker's behalf. Like a lawyer. Which I might say hasn't been so easy lately since he's been going off the fucking deep end.'
'He's been going off the deep end?' Demonaco waved the two policemen away.
'Like yeah. Where you been, man? First he lets a whole group of fucking chinks join the Texans. Japs, man. Fuckin' Japs. You should see these little fuckers. Fucking kamikazes, man. They're from some messed-up cult in Japan. Wanna destroy the world and all that shit. But Earl, he decides he likes what they got to say and he lets 'em in the movement.
But then—fuck—then he goes and does the strangest thing of all. He goes and merges with the fucking Freedom Fighters.'
'What?'
'To get their technical know-how, like. You ask me, man, those Freedom Fighters are a bunch of cocksuckers, but they do know their technology. I mean, shit, messages to the world on V-CD. You think I went out and bought this player?'
'The Texans merged with the Freedom Fighters…'
Demonaco said. 'Holy shit.'
Bluey was still yapping. 'It's all the Japs, you see. Ever since they got here, those slopeheads've been telling Earl that if he wants to fuck up the world, he's gonna need some serious hardware. Not guns and shit, but bombs and shit.
Nukes. And then when they found out about that Super nova thing, well…'
But Demonaco wasn't listening anymore.
He turned to Mitchell. 'The Texans absorbed the Freedom Fighters. That's why your boss Aaronson didn't find any body at the Freedom Fighter locations. They don't exist anymore. God, no wonder they used tungsten bullets. They bought themselves time by framing a terrorist group that no longer exists. The Texans and the Freedom Fighters weren't fighting a turf war. They were merging…”
'what are you saying?' Mitchell asked.
'I'm saying that we have just witnessed the union of three of the most dangerous terrorist organisations in the world.
One is a brilliantly organised fighting unit, the second is perhaps the most technologically advanced paramilitary group in America, and the third is a doomsday cult from Japan.
'You add all that up,' Demonaco said, 'and you got your self one hell of a problem, because those are the guys who stole your Supernova, and judging from that video we just saw, they're out there now trying to get themselves some thyrium.'
In the soft predawn light of the foothills, a banquet was being prepared.
After he had defeated the caiman, Race had politely begged off the adulation of the Indians and asked to rest. A sound sleep had followed—God, he needed it, it had been nearly thirty-six hours since he'd last slept—and he awoke just before the dawn.
The platter that was laid down before him was fit for a king. It was an assortment of raw jungle food set out on wide green leaves. Grubs, berries, corn. Even some raw caiman meat. It was raining lightly but no-one seemed to care.
Race and the Army people sat in a wide circle on the section of open ground that lay in front of the upper village's shrine, eating underneath the watchful gaze of the real idol as it sat proudly in its ornate wooden alcove.
Although the natives had returned their weapons to them, there was still a slight aura of suspicion in the air. A dozen or so Indian warriors stood ominously outside the cir cle of people, armed with bows and arrows, watching Nash and his people carefully—as they had been doing all night.
Race sat with the tribe's chieftain and the anthropologist, Miguel Moros Marquez.
'Chieftain Roa would like to express his utmost gratitude to you for coming to us,' Marquez said, translating the words of the old chieftain.
Race smiled. 'We've gone from thieves in the night to honoured guests.'
'More than you know,' Marquez said. 'More than you know. If you hadn't survived your encounter with the caiman, your friends would have been sacrificed to the rapas.
Now your friends bask in your glory.“
'They're not really my friends,' Race said.
Gaby Lopez sat on the other side of the little anthropologist, her excitement at being in the presence of a legend obvious. After all, as she had said to Race -on their first day in Peru, nine years ago Marquez had entered the jungles to study primitive Amazonian tribes—and had never returned.
'Doctor Marquez,' she said, 'please, tell us about this tribe.
Your experiences here must have been fascinating.'
Marquez smiled. 'They have been. These Indians are a truly remarkable people, one of the last remaining untouched tribes in the whole of South America. Although they tell me that they have lived in this village for centuries, like most of the other tribes in this region they are nomadic. Often the whole village will just up and move to another location—in search of food or a warmer clime—for six months or even a year at a time. But they always
