Aimee searched her memory. ‘Only that we must have pierced the K-T layer to enter the gas cavern — there was a lot of iridium in the sample matrix.’
Outside the cabin, Casey Franks turned to Aimee and said, ‘What’s up, Doc?’
Aimee caught the joke, but ignored it because she was so tired and pissed. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘A senior CDC scientist who’s worked with micro agents all her life and has some radioactive material with her — why
‘Maybe she’s just being a bitch, or … she actually knows what’s she’s doing,’ said Franks.
Aimee’s fists were balled as she responded. ‘Yeah, maybe — to all or none of the above.’
Back in the cabin, Maria pondered the last piece of information Aimee Weir had given her — the presence of iridium in the original sample. Iridium — the footprint of the cosmos. She shivered even though the temperature was still well over a hundred degrees.
TWENTY-TWO
Alex and Captain Garmadia returned from their check of the perimeter just as Aimee and Franks were coming down the steps of the makeshift laboratory. Both men watched the women, and Garmadia turned to study Alex’s face for a moment.
‘She is your friend. The reason why you came personally, I think.’
Alex continued to look at Aimee as he spoke. ‘She’s not the reason I came.’ It wasn’t strictly true, but he wanted to remind the Paraguayan captain of the legitimacy of their mission. ‘A team of our Green Berets Special Forces personnel sent down to provide perimeter security for the mining camp disappeared without trace. We believe an unknown assailant, or assailants, attacked them. We also believe this camp is still very much under threat, and not just by bandits or the disease outbreak. We’re here to determine that threat, whatever it is, and counterbalance it, so the people working here can get on with their jobs.’
‘I’m sure my own men could have dealt with the problem, Captain Hunter. It may have saved you a trip down here. I think you’ll find that we are not all cane cutters and coffee growers waiting for the
Captain Garmadia pushed through the last stand of ferns, leaving Alex by himself behind the dark green curtain of the jungle.
Alex needed Garmadia; the last thing he wanted was to get offside with the man who had all the contacts on the ground. Plus, if he wanted to, he could make life hell for the hundreds of American men and women at the base in Mariscal Estigarribia.
His foot alighted next to a patch of black in the mud that sparkled faintly, as though oil and powdered glass had been mixed together, spread on the ground and allowed to bake into the red surface. He was about to take another step when his senses screamed at him; he halted with his foot suspended over the mass. He kneeled and examined the dark shimmering matter, then used a twig to scrape at it. The black substance was a fingernail’s depth on the surface of the dried mud. He brought the twig to his nose and sniffed; it was slightly organic, a bit like gasoline and bad fish. It looked harmless, but his senses tingled as if in the presence of danger. He stood slowly and flicked the twig away into the undergrowth.
Alex could see Tomas and his men had nearly covered the entire campsite with broad leaves and branches. He had originally requested the work primarily to keep the men busy, although it would be useful not to have to wade through mud whenever it rained, but now he had another reason to be glad he had made the call. Something about the black matter was unsettling.
He was about to continue on after Garmadia when he saw Sam and Mak waving to him from the other end of the camp. He changed course towards his two HAWCs, and saw Chaco and Saqueo fall in behind him, the younger boy keeping a safe distance.
‘What’ve you got, Sam?’
‘We’ve managed to get the generator working at about twenty-five per cent capacity. Means we’ll have some perimeter lights for restricted times; also, water purification and refrigeration units are online. But the communication uplinks are dead — we need new parts. We’re pretty happy considering the extent of the damage and what we had to work with.’
Sam stopped speaking but Alex could tell he hadn’t finished with his briefing. He and Sam had been on some hair-raising missions before, but he hadn’t seen his large friend looked this concerned for a while.
‘What did they use — axes?’ Alex asked.
Mak jumped in before Sam could respond. ‘I don’t think these guys, whoever they were, used axes, or even needed them.’
Alex frowned. ‘Tell me.’
‘Picture’s worth a thousand words,’ Sam said. ‘Best if you take a look — it’s a little weird.’
The three men walked quickly towards the electronics and generator shed. Alex noticed that Mak continued to look left and right at the surrounding jungle, and Sam rested his hand close to his firearm. Sam held the door and Alex entered the room. A couple of fluorescent bulbs shone with a cool hospital whiteness that was incongruous in the sticky heat of the jungle. He could see the damage immediately: heavy generator units had been upturned and the metal casing peeled back. There were dents in everything. The floor was littered with hundreds of feet of cable of varying lengths. In the midst of it, he could see his men’s work — some of the generator units had been rewired, and pieces that obviously weren’t part of the original design had been jerry-rigged to complete circuits or connections that had been torn free in the attack. Not a bad job given the maelstrom that had obviously been unleashed in the small space.
He looked from Sam to Mak and raised his eyebrows.
Sam nodded to Mak, who bent down and retrieved a large sheet of heavy-gauge steel that had obviously been part of the main generator’s external shielding. He grunted with the effort of holding up the heavy plate and turned it around for Alex to examine. At first all Alex noticed were several large, deep dents in the quarter-inch thick steel. Then Mak turned it slightly and Alex realised what had unnerved Sam and the large Iraqi: the central dent, penetrating to a depth of about half an inch, was unmistakable. Alex raised his hand and curled his fingers into a fist — it fitted perfectly into the imprint. Someone had punched the steel with more force than a pile-driver. Alex knew that, other than himself, no human could have made that indentation. They might have tried if they were totally hyped on speed or ice, but they’d be left with a hand that was little more than a bag of shattered bones and still wouldn’t have achieved that depth.
He looked around the room again and, with fresh insight, saw the damage to the equipment in another light. Now he could see the fist strikes, the finger-grip marks, and imagined the steel being torn apart like cardboard by something, or someone, with enormous strength.
Alex looked at Sam; his face was etched with concern. Sam had also heard the recording of the attack on the Green Berets and Alex figured his cool-acting second-in-command was thinking the same thing he was: was this what had taken out Captain Michaels and his Special Forces fireteam? He needed to speak to Aimee about the GBs; they were the prime place to start an investigation.
‘Things just got real interesting,’ Alex said, looking at his watch. ‘We’ve got another few hours before sundown. I’m going to talk to Aimee, find out a little more about what’s been going on, and then we’ll meet at 1600 for a briefing on our nighttime defences. Tell Franks, and stay alert. And good work on the generator.’
Sam and Mak nodded, and Alex pushed open the door and left the building.
When Alex knocked on Aimee’s door, Casey Franks pulled it open.
‘Boss.’ She nodded but didn’t salute her superior officer — in the field, rank was never visibly acknowledged.
‘Go and get something to eat,’ Alex told her. ‘Sam will update you on some new information and then we’ll be
