His teammates and the Indian were forced to their knees.
Nate lowered himself further into hiding. Without a doubt, the man out there was the leader of these mercenaries, a Frenchman judging from his accent. The man glanced at his watch, then back up to the treetop, tapping a toe impatiently. He clearly thought Nate was still in the upper bowers, relying on the last bit of intelligence from his dead spy.
Nate wavered. Show himself or flee? Should he take his chances in the woods? Perhaps try to get around behind the soldiers? Nate mentally shook his head. He was no guerrilla warrior.
"Thirty seconds, Nathan!" the man roared through the bullhorn.
A tiny voice echoed down from above. "Nate's not up here! He left!"
It was Kelly!
The Frenchman lowered his bullhorn. "Lies," he muttered under his breath.
Kouwe spoke up from where he knelt. "Dr. Favre...a word with you, please."
Nate found his fingers tightening on his shotgun, instantly recognizing the name. He had heard tales from his father about the atrocities attributed to Louis Favre. He was the bogeyman of the Amazon, a devil whispered about among the tribes, a monster banished from the region by his own father. But now here again.
"What is it, Professor?" Favre asked with irritation.
"That was Kelly O'Brien. She's with her injured brother. If she says Nate's not up there, then he's not."
Favre frowned and checked his watch. "We'll see." He raised his bullhorn. "Ten seconds!" He then held out a palm, and a wicked weapon was handed to him: a curved machete as long as a scythe. Even in the smoky sunshine, it shone brightly--freshly sharpened.
Favre leaned and placed the curve of the blade under Anna Fong's neck, then lifted the bullhorn. "Time is running out, Nathan! I've been generous giving you an initial two minutes. From here on out, every minute will cost a friend's life. Come out now, and all will be spared! This I swear as a gentleman and a Frenchman." Favre counted the last seconds. "Five...four..."
Nathan struggled for some plan...anything. He knew Louis Favre's sworn word was worthless.
"Three...two..."
He had seconds to come up with an alternative to submission.
"One..."
He found none.
"Zero!"
Nathan rose out of his hiding place. He stepped out with his shotgun over his head. "You win!" he called back.
Favre straightened from his crouch over Anna, one eyebrow raised. "Oh, mon petit homme, how you startled me! What were you doing down here all along?"
Tears flowed down Anna's stricken face.
Nate threw his shotgun away. "You win," he said again. Soldiers trotted around to circle him.
Favre smiled. "So I always do." His lips turned from amused to feral.
Before anyone could react, Favre twisted from the hip and swung the machete with all the force of his arm and back.
Blood flumed upward.
His victim's head was shorn clean off at the neck.
"Manny!" Nate cried out, falling to his knees, then his hands.
His friend's body collapsed backward.
Anna screamed, swooning into Kouwe's side.
With his back to Nate, Favre faced the shock and dismay of the other prisoners. "Please, did any of you truly think I'd let Monsieur Azevedo strike my love without recourse? Mon Dieu! Where's your chivalry?"
Beyond the kneeling line, Nate saw the Indian woman touch a gash on her cheek.
Favre then turned back around to face Nate. His white outfit was now decorated with a crimson sash of Manny's blood. The monster tapped his wristwatch and waggled a finger at him. "And, Nathan, the count did reach zero. You were late. Fair is fair."
Nathan hung his head, sagging toward the ground. "Manny..."
Somewhere in the distance, a feline howl pierced the morning, echoing over the valley.
Seventeen
Cure
AUGUST 17, 4:16 P.M.
AMAZON JUNGLE
Louis surveyed the final preparations in the valley. He carried his soiled field jacket over one arm, his shirt-sleeves rolled up. The afternoon turned out to be a scorcher--but it would get hotter here, much hotter. He smiled grimly, satisfied, as he stared over the ruins of the village.
A Colombian soldier named Mask snapped to attention at his approach. The fellow, standing well over six feet, was as lethal as he was tall. A former bodyguard for the captain of a drug cartel, the swarthy man had taken a face full of acid protecting his boss. His skin was a boiled mass of scar tissue on one side. He had been fired afterward by his ungrateful ward, too ugly and too awful a reminder of how close death had come. Louis, on the other hand, respected the man's show of stalwart loyalty. He made an excellent replacement for Brail.
"Mask," Louis said, acknowledging the man, "how much longer until all the charges are set in the valley?"
"Half an hour," his new lieutenant answered sharply.
Louis nodded and glanced at his watch. Time was critical, but everything was on schedule. If that Russian hadn't gotten that damned GPS working and a signal transmitted, Louis would have had more time to enjoy his victory here.
Sighing, Louis surveyed the field before him. There were eighteen prisoners in all, on their knees, hog-tied with their hands behind their backs and secured to their crossed ankles behind them. A loop of rope ran from the bindings and encircled their necks. A strangler's wrap. Struggle against your knots and the noose tightened around your neck.
He watched a few of the prisoners already gasping as the ropes dug deep. The others sat sweating and bleeding under the hot sun.
Louis noticed Mask still standing at his side. "And the village has been scoured?" he asked. "There are no more of the Ban-ali?"
"None living, sir."
The village had numbered over a hundred. Now they were just one more lost tribe.
"How about the valley? Has it been thoroughly scouted?"
"Yes, sir. The only way onto or off this plateau is the chasm."
"Very good," Louis said. He had already known this from torturing the Ban-ali scout last night, but he had wanted to be sure. "Do one last sweep through all stations. I want to be out of here no later than five o'clock."
Mask nodded and turned smartly away. He strode swiftly toward the giant central tree.
Louis followed him with his eyes. At the tree, two small steel drums were being rolled out of the trunk's tunnel. After the valley had been secured, men with axes and awls had hiked up inside the tree, set deep taps into the trunk, and drained large quantities of the priceless sap. As the men pushed the drums into the field, Louis studied another team laboring around the base of the giant Yagga tree. His eyes narrowed.
Everything was running with a clockwork precision. Louis would have it no other way.
Satisfied, he strode over to the line of segregated prisoners, the survivors of the Ranger team, baking and burning under the sun. They sat slightly apart from the remaining members of the Ban-ali tribe.
Louis stared at his catch, slightly disappointed that they hadn't offered more of a challenge. The two Rangers glared back at him murderously. The small Asian anthropologist had calmed significantly, eyes closed, lips moving in prayer, resigned. Kouwe sat stoically. Louis stopped in front of the last prisoner in the lineup.
Nathan Rand's gaze was as hard as the Rangers', but there was a glint of something more. A vein of icy determination.
Louis had a hard time maintaining eye contact with the man, but he refused to look away. In Nathan's face, he saw a shadow of the man's father: the sandy hair, the planes of the cheek, the shape of his nose. But this was not Carl Rand. And to Louis's surprise, this disappointed him. The satisfaction he had expected to feel at having Carl's son kneeling at his feet was hollow.
In fact, he found himself somewhat respecting the young man. Throughout the journey here, Nathan had demonstrated both ingenuity and a stout heart, even dispatching Louis's spy. And finally, here at the end, he had proven his loyalty, with a wi
llingness to sacrifice his own life for his team. Admirable qualities, even if they were directed at cross purposes to Louis's own.
But finally, it was those eyes, as hard as polished stone. He had clearly known inconsolable grief and somehow survived. Louis remembered his elderly friend from the bar back at his hotel in French Guiana, the survivor of the Devil's Island penal system. Louis pictured the old man sipping his neat bourbons. The chap had the same eyes. These were not Carl Rand's eyes, his father's eyes. Here was a different man.
"What are you going to do with us?" Nate said. It was not a plea, but a simple question.
Louis removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. "I swore as a gentleman that I wouldn't kill you or your friends. And I will honor my word."
Nate's eyes narrowed.
"I'll leave your deaths to the U.S. military," he said sadly, the emotion surprisingly unfeigned.
"What do you mean?" Nate asked suspiciously.
Louis shook his head and took two steps to reach Sergeant Kostos. "I think that question should be answered by your companion here."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Kostos said with a glower.
Louis bent down at the waist and stared into the sergeant's face. "Really...are you saying Captain Waxman didn't confide in his staff sergeant?"
Kostos glanced away.
"What is he talking about?" Nate asked, directing the question to the sergeant. "We're well past secrets now, Kostos. If you know something..."
The sergeant finally spoke, awkward with shame. "The napalm minibombs. We were under orders to find the source of the miraculous compound. Once a sample was secured, we were to destroy the source. Total annihilation."
Louis straightened, enjoying the shocked expressions on the others' faces. Even the female Ranger looked surprised. It seemed the military liked to keep its secrets to only a select few.
Raising an arm, Louis pointed back to the small group of men gathered around the giant tree. They were his own demolitions team. Against the white bark of the trunk, the Rangers' remaining nine minibombs appeared like flat black eyes peering toward them. "Thanks to the U.S. government, there's enough firepower here to wipe out even a giant monster of a tree like this one."
Kostos hung his head, as well he should.
"So you see," Louis said, "our two missions are not so different. Only who benefits--the U.S. military complex or a French pharmaceutical company. Which in turn raises the question, who would do the greater good with the knowledge?" He shrugged. "Who can say? But conversely, we might ask--who would do the greater harm?" Louis eyed the sergeant. "And I think we can all answer that one."
A distinct quiet settled over the group.
Nate finally spoke. "What about Kelly and Frank?"
Ah, the missing members of the group...Louis was not surprised it was Nate who brought up the question. "Don't worry about their health. They'll be coming with my party," Louis explained. "I've been in contact with my financiers. Monsieur O'Brien will prove an ideal guinea pig to investigate this regenerative process. The scientists at St. Savin are itching to get their hands and instruments on him."
"And Kelly?"
"Mademoiselle O'Brien will be coming along to make sure her brother cooperates."
Nathan paled.
During the discourse, Louis had noticed Nate's gaze flick toward the tree. He waved an arm back to the giant. "The timers are set for three hours from now. Eight o'clock, to be precise," Louis said. He knew everyone here had seen the force of a single napalm bomb. Multiplied by nine, he watched the hopelessness settle into their faces.
Louis continued, "We've also seeded other incendiary bombs throughout the canyon, including the chasm leading up here, which we'll explode as soon as we vacate the area. We couldn't risk the possibility that we missed an Indian hidden up here who might free you. And I'm afraid, tied up or not, there's no escape. This entire isolated valley will become one mighty firestorm--destroying all remnants of the miracle sap and acting as a bonfire in the night to attract any helicopters winging this way. A fiery diversion to cover our flight."
The utter defeat in their eyes shone dully.
Louis smiled. "As you can see, it's all well planned."
Behind him, Louis's lieutenant approached briskly and stopped at his shoulder. The Colombian ignored the prisoners as if they were mere sheep.
"Yes, Mask?"
"All is in order. We can evacuate at your word."
"You have it." Louis glanced again at the line of men and women. "I'm afraid duty calls. I must bid you all a fond adieu."
Turning away, Louis felt a twinge of satisfaction, knowing that it was ultimately the young man's father, Carl Rand, who had truly brought his proud son to his doom. Following in his father's footsteps...
He hoped the old man was watching from hell.
4:55 P.M.
Nate knelt with the others, beaten and crushed by the news. He watched dully as the camp organized for their departure.
Kouwe spoke at his shoulder. "Favre has placed all this faith in the Yagga's sap."
Nate turned his head, careful of the noose around his neck. "What does it matter now?"
"He expects it to cure the contagion, like it does physical wounds, but we've no proof it can."
Nate shrugged. "What do you want us to do?"
"Tell him," Kouwe said.
"And help him? Why?"
"It's not him I'm trying to help. It's all those out in the world dying of the disease. The cure to the contagion lies here. I feel it. And he's going to destroy it, wiping out any chance to stop the curse of the Ban-ali. We must try to warn him."
Nate frowned. In his mind, he saw Manny's murder...his friend's body falling to the dirt. He understood in his mind what Kouwe was suggesting, but he just couldn't get his heart to go along with it.
"He won't listen anyway," Nate said, seeking some compromise between heart and mind, some justification for remaining silent. "Favre's operating under a strict timetable. He has another six to eight hours at the most before a military response is mustered. All he can do is plunder what he can and run."
"We must make him listen," Kouwe insisted.
Raised voices echoed to them from the Yagga. Both men glanced toward the tunnel in the trunk. A pair of mercenaries strode out with a stretcher between them. Nate recognized their own makeshift travois and Frank tied on top. He was bound like a trussed pig, ready for the spit.
Next came Kelly, walking on her own, her hands tied behind her back. She shuffled beside Favre and his naked Indian mistress. They were all trailed by additional gunmen.
"You don't know what you're doing!" Kelly argued loudly. "We don't know if the sap can cure anything!"
Nate heard their own argument from a moment ago.
Louis shrugged. "St. Savin will have paid me long before it's ever discovered if you're right or not. They'll look at your brother's legs--or what's left of them--and shovel the contracted millions into my account."
"What about all those dying? The children, the elderly."
"What do I care? My grandparents are already dead. And I have no children."
Kelly blustered hotly, then her eyes fell on the group of her friends. Her face crinkled in confusion. She glanced ahead to the trail of thirty or so men marching out of the valley, then back at the group of prisoners.
"What's going on?" she asked.
"Oh, your friends...they'll be staying here."
Kelly stared at the ring of explosives set around the tree, then over to them, her eyes settling on Nate. "You...You can't just leave them here."
"I can," Louis said. "I certainly can."
She stumbled to a stop, her voice soft with tears. "At least, let me say good-bye."
Louis sighed with dramatic exasperation. "Fine. But make it quick." He took Kelly by the upper arm and guided her out of line, accompanied by his mistress and four armed guards.
Louis shoved her in front of them.
Nate's heart
ached at seeing her. It would've been better if she had simply continued past them.
Tears rolled down her face. Kelly shuffled before each of them and said how sorry she was--as if all this were her fault. Nate barely listened, drinking up the sight of her with his eyes, knowing this would be the last time he ever saw her. She bent and placed her cheek against Professor Kouwe's, then moved to Nate at the end of the line.
She stared down at him, then dropped to her knees. "Nate..."