Amazonia

“You!” someone barked. “On your feet!”

Manny didn’t know who the man was talking to until he felt the hot barrel of a gun on his temple. He froze.

“On your feet!” the man repeated. His words were heavily accented, German perhaps.

Manny clambered to his knees, then to his feet. He wobbled, but this seemed to satisfy the mercenary.

“Your weapon!” he barked.

Manny glanced around him as if searching for a missing shoe or sock. He saw his pistol lying there and nudged it with a toe. “There.”

A second soldier appeared out of nowhere and confiscated it.

“Join the anderen!” the man said with a shove toward the others.

As he stumbled toward his kneeling friends, Manny saw Carrera and Kostos escorted by other guards. Their holsters were empty, packs gone. They were all forced to their knees, hands on their heads. The sergeant’s left eye was swollen, his nose crooked and bloodied, broken. Kostos had clearly put up more fight than Manny.

Suddenly a distant section of deeper forest blew up into a ball of fire. The soft explosion echoed out to them, along with the smell of napalm.

So much for Kostos’s planned “distraction.” Too little, too late.

“Herr Brail, this one’s not moving!” one of the mercenaries shouted behind them in a mix of German and Spanish.

Manny glanced back to the base of the nightcap oak. It was Olin. He lay in a crumpled heap. A spear of wood had pierced through his shoulder and blood flowed brightly across his light khaki shirt. Manny saw he was still breathing.

The one named Brail tore his gaze from the burning forest and wandered over to check on the Russian. “Hundefleisch,” the German said. Dog meat. He lifted his pistol and shot Olin in the back of the head.

Anna jumped at the noise, a sob escaping her.

From near the ruins of the log cabin, the two leaders of the attack force casually wandered toward them. The small Indian woman, though naked, moved casually, as if through a garden party, all curves and smooth legs. She wore a talisman resting between her br**sts. Manny had first thought it was a leather satchel, but as she neared, he recognized it as a shrunken head. The hair atop the disgusting trinket was shaved.

The slender man at her side, dressed in white khakis and a rakish Panama hat, noticed his attention. He lifted the necklace for the others’ view.

Manny spotted the dog tags.

“May I reintroduce you to Corporal DeMartini.” He laughed lightly, as if he had made a joke, a party amusement, and dropped the defiled head of their former teammate back to the woman’s chest.

Sergeant Kostos grumbled a threat, but the AK-47 pointed at the nape of his neck kept him on his knees.

Louis smiled at the line of kneeling prisoners. “It’s good to see you all together again.”

Manny recognized a distinctly French accent. Who was this man?

Professor Kouwe answered his silent question. “Louis Favre,” the professor mumbled under his breath, his expression sickened.

The Frenchman’s gaze swung to Kouwe. “That’s Doctor Favre, Professor Kouwe. Please let’s keep this courteous, and we can be done with this unpleasant matter as quickly as possible.”

Kouwe simply glowered.

Manny knew the man’s name. He was a biologist banned from Brazil for black-market profiteering and for crimes against the indigenous people. The professor, along with Nate’s father, had shared an infamous past with this man.

“Now, we’ve counted heads here and seem to have come up a few short,” Favre said. “Where are the last members of your little troupe?”

No one spoke.

“Come now. Let’s keep this friendly, shall we? It’s such a pleasant day.” Favre marched up and down the row of prisoners. “You don’t want this to turn ugly now, do you? It’s a simple question.”

Still no one moved. Everyone stared blankly forward.

Favre shook his head sadly. “Then ugly it is.” He turned to the woman. “Tshui, ma chérie, take your pick.” He brushed his hands primly as if done with the matter.

The naked woman stalked before them, and hesitated before Private Carrera, cocking her head, then suddenly sprang two places over to kneel before Anna. Her nose was only an inch from the anthropologist’s.

Anna recoiled, but the gun behind her held her in place.

“My darling has an eye for beauty.”

Moving as quickly as a striking snake, the Indian woman drew a long, slender bone knife from a sheath hidden in her long tresses. Manny had seen knife sheaths like this braided into the hair of warriors in only one Amerindian tribe: the Shuar, the headhunters of Equador.

The bleached-white knife pointed into the tender flesh under Anna’s chin. The Asian woman trembled. Red blood dribbled down the white blade. Anna gasped.

Enough, Manny thought, reacting reflexively. His right hand dropped to his waist, settling atop the handle of the short bullwhip. He could also move quickly when he wanted, reflexes developed from years of taming a wild cat. With skilled fingers, he snapped out with the whip.

The tip of the leather struck the bone knife, sending it flying, and nicked a cut under the Shuar woman’s eye.

Like a cat, she hissed and rolled away, wounded. A second knife appeared in her hand as if by magic. It seemed this cat had many claws.

“Leave Anna be!” Manny yelled. “I’ll tell you where the others are!” Before he could say anything else, Manny was clubbed from behind, knocked to his face in the dirt and leaves. A foot kicked his whip away, then stomped on the offending hand, snapping a finger.

“Drag him up!” Favre barked, all traces of his genteel mannerisms falling away.

Manny was hauled up by his hair. He cradled his injured hand to his chest.

Favre stood by the Indian woman and wiped the blood from her cheek. Favre turned to Manny and licked the blood from his fingertip.

“Now was that necessary?” he asked, and reached a hand behind him. One of the gunmen placed a snub-nosed rifle in his palm. Some type of miniature Uzi, from the looks of it.

The fist in Manny’s hair twisted hard.

“Release him, Brail,” Favre said.

The hand let go of him. Unsupported, Manny almost sagged to his face again.

“Where are they?” Louis asked.

Manny bit past the pain. “In the tree…the last time we saw them…they’ve not responded to our radios.”

Favre nodded. “So I heard.” He reached his free hand and pulled out a matching radio. “Corporal DeMartini was gracious enough to lend me his Saber and supply me with the proper radio frequencies.”