Amazonia

Nate glanced to Kouwe, frowning.

“Wishwa is their word for shaman. Your father, with his modern wonders, must have been considered a shaman.”

“What happened to him?”

Kouwe again spoke rapidly in the mix of pidgin English and a mishmash of Yanomamo. Nate was even beginning to unravel the linguistic knot.

“Kerl…?” Dakii bobbed his head, grinning proudly. “Me brother teshari-rin bring Kerl back to shadow of Yagga. It good.”

“Brought back?” Nate asked.

Kouwe continued to drag the story from the man. Dakii spoke rapidly. Nate didn’t understand. But at last, Kouwe turned back to Nate. The professor’s face was grim.

“What did he say?”

“As near as I can translate, your father was indeed brought back here—dead or alive, I couldn’t say. But then, because of both his crime and his wishwa status, he was granted a rare honor among the tribe.”

“What?”

“He was taken to the Yagga, his body fed to the root.”

“Fed to the root?”

“I think he means like fertilizer.”

Nate stumbled back a step. Though he knew his father was dead, the reality was too horrible to fathom. His father had attempted to stop the corruption of the Ban-ali by the prehistoric tree, risking his own life to do so, but in the end, he had been fed to the damn thing instead, nourishing it.

Past Kouwe’s shoulder, Dakii continued to bob his head, grinning like a fool. “It good. Kerl with Yagga. Nashi nar!”

Nate was too numb to ask what the last word meant, but Kouwe translated anyway.

“Nashi nar. Forever.”

8:08 P.M.

In the jungle darkness, Louis lay in wait, infrared goggles fixed to his head. The sun had just set and true night was quickly consuming the valley. He and his men had been in position for hours.

Not much longer.

But he would have to be patient. Make haste slowly, he had been taught. One last key was needed before the attack could commence. So he lay on his belly, covered by the fronds of a fern, face smeared in streaks of black.

It had been a long and busy day. This morning, an hour after sunrise, he had been contacted by his mole. His spy was still alive! What good fortune! The agent had informed him that the Ban-ali village did indeed lie in a secluded valley, only approachable through the side canyon in the cliffs ahead. What could be more perfect? All his targets trapped in one place.

The only obstacle had been the valley’s damned jaguar pack.

But his darling Tshui had managed to handle that nasty problem. Covered by the early morning gloom, she had led a handpicked team of trackers, including the German commando, Brail, into the valley’s heart and planted poisoned meat, freshly killed and dripping with blood. Tshui had tainted each piece with a terrible poison, both odorless and tasteless, that killed with only the slightest lick. The pack, its blood lust already up from the attack upon the Rangers, found these treats too hard to resist.

Throughout the early morning, the great beasts dropped into blissful slumbers from which they would never wake. A few of the cats had remained suspicious and had not eaten. But hunting with the infrared goggles, Tshui and the others had finished off these last stubborn cats, using air guns equipped with poisoned darts.

It had been a quiet kill. With the way clear, Louis had moved his men into a guard position near the mouth of the side chasm.

Only one last item was needed, but he would have to be patient.

Make haste slowly.

At last, he spotted movement in the chasm. Through his infrared goggles, the two figures appeared as a pair of blazing torches. They slipped down the crude steps, alone. This morning, Louis had posted guards at the chasm mouth, ready to silence any tribesman who came down to scout for them. But none of the Ban-ali had shown their heads. Most likely the tribe’s attention had remained focused on the strangers in their village, confident that the jaguar pack would keep them protected or alert them of any further intruders.

Not this day, mes amis. Something more predatory than your little pack has come to your valley.

The figures continued to thread down the chasm. Louis lowered his infrared goggles for a moment. Though he knew the figures were there, the black camouflage was so perfect that Louis could not spot them with his unaided eye. He slipped the goggles back in place and smiled thinly. The figures again blazed forth.

Ah, the wonders of modern science…

In a matter of moments, the two figures reached the bottom of the chasm. They seemed to hesitate. Did they sense something was amiss? Were they wary of the jaguars? Louis held his breath. Slowly the pair set out down the escarpment, ready for the night’s patrol.

At last.

A new blazing figure stepped forth from the jungle, into their path. A slender torch that burned brighter than the other two. Louis lowered his goggles. It was Tshui. Naked. Ebony hair flowed in a silky waterfall to her shapely bu**ocks. She sidled toward the pair of scouts, a jungle goddess awoken from a slumber.

The pair of painted tribesmen froze in surprise.

A cough sounded from the bushes nearby. One of the Indians slapped his neck, then slipped to the ground. There was enough poison in each dart to drop a half-ton jaguar. The man was dead before his head hit the rocky ground.

The remaining scout stared for a moment, then fled as quickly as a snake toward the chasm. But Louis’s mistress was even faster, her blood hyped on stimulants, her reflexes sharper. Effortlessly, she danced back into his path, blocking him. He opened his mouth to scream a warning, but again Tshui was quicker. She shot out her arm and tossed a handful of powder into his face, into his eyes, into his open mouth.

Reflexively choking, his call was gargled, more a strangled wheeze. He fell to his knees as the drug hit his system.

Tshui remained expressionless. She knelt beside her prey as the man toppled to the ground. She then stared over his body toward Louis’s hiding place, a ghost of a smile on her lips.

Louis stood. They now had the final piece of the puzzle, someone to inform them about the tribe’s defenses. Everything was now in place for the assault tomorrow.

9:23 P.M.

Kelly sat cross-legged beside her brother’s low hammock.

Wrapped in a thick blanket, Frank sipped weakly through a reed straw poking from a cantaloupe-sized hollow nut.

Kelly recognized it as one of the fruits that grew in clusters along the branches of the Yagga. The nut’s content was similar to coconut milk. She had tasted it first when one of the tribesmen in the healing ward had brought it over to her brother. It was sweet and creamy with sugars and fats, an energy boost her brother needed.