Amazonia

  Kelly's head was released. Free, Kelly twisted around, kicking, trying to get as far away as possible from the witch. Her feet sent the line of cruel instruments scattering in the dirt.

  Favre stood outside the door. "I see Tshui has been entertaining you, Mademoiselle O'Brien."

  He entered the lean-to. "I've been trying to gather some information on the CIA from your brother. Information to assist us in escaping now and planning future missions. A valuable commodity that I don't think St. Savin will mind me gleaning from their patient. But I can't have Frank coming to harm. That my benefactors wouldn't appreciate. They're paying well for the delivery of a healthy little guinea pig."

  Favre knelt next to her. "But you, my dear, are a different story. I'm afraid I'm going to have to give your brother a little demonstration of Tshui's handiwork. And don't be shy. Let Frank hear your screams--please don't hold back. When Tshui comes over afterward and hands him your ear, I'm sure he'll be more cooperative with his answers." He stood. "But you'll have to excuse me. I don't care to watch myself."

  Favre made a half bow and departed into the rainy night.

  Kelly's blood iced with terror. She didn't have much time. In her fingers, Kelly clutched a tiny knife. She had grabbed it a moment ago from among the tools she had scattered. Kelly now worked to cut through the ropes behind her back.

  Nearby, Tshui picked through her pack and gathered bandage material--to wrap the stump of Kelly's amputated ear. Without a doubt, they would torture her until they had drained every bit of information from her brother. Afterward, she would be tossed aside as unnecessary baggage.

  Kelly would not let that happen. A quick death would be better than a tortured one. And if she could believe Favre, no harm would come to Frank--at least not until after he was delivered safely to the scientists at St. Savin.

  Kelly sliced savagely at her bonds, covering her motions with jerky thrashings and moans that were only half faked.

  Tshui turned back to her, a hooked knife in hand.

  The ropes still held Kelly.

  The witch leaned over her and grabbed her hair again, yanking her head back. She lifted her knife.

  Kelly struggled with her own blade, tears flowing.

  A chilling wail split the night, high and feline, full of fury.

  Tshui froze with the knife poised at Kelly's ear. The witch cocked her head and glanced to the dark forest.

  Kelly could not pass up this opportunity. She bunched her shoulders and ripped free the last fibers of the rope that bound her.

  As Tshui turned back to her, Kelly swung around with her knife and planted it into the witch woman's shoulder. Tshui screamed and fell back in surprise.

  Adrenaline racing, Kelly burst to her feet and leaped toward the forest. She ran with all the speed in her legs but slammed into a figure who stepped around a tree.

  Arms grabbed her. She stared up into the leering and twisted face of Mask. She had forgotten in her panic about the guard. She struggled but had no weapon. He yanked her around, lifting her off her feet, an arm around her throat. She was carried, kicking, back into the open.

  Tshui knelt in the dirt, wrapping her wounded shoulder with the bandages meant for Kelly's ear. The glower the woman shot at Kelly burned with intensity.

  Kelly stopped kicking.

  Then the oddest thing happened--Mask jerked and let her go. Kelly dropped to her knees in the dirt at the sudden release. She turned as the muscled guard fell face forward to the ground.

  Something glittered at the back of his skull, embedded deep into it.

  A shiny silver disk.

  Kelly instantly recognized it. She stared off into the woods as screams began to erupt from all around the camp. She saw men drop where they stood or tumble where they sat. Feathered arrows protruded from necks and chests. Several of the bodies convulsed. Poisoned.

  Kelly stared again at the limp form of Favre's former lieutenant...and the silver disk.

  Hope surged.

  Dear God, the others must still be alive!

  Kelly turned and found Tshui gone, likely fleeing toward the center of camp, toward Favre, toward where her brother was still held prisoner. By now, the camp was in chaos. Shots began to ring out, orders were yelled, but so far not a single attacker appeared.

  It was as if they were being attacked by ghosts.

  Men continued to drop.

  Kelly grabbed the pistol from Mask's dead body. She could not gamble that the others would reach her brother in time. She darted toward the roiling center of camp.

  Nate saw Kelly lunge with a gun in hand. Going after her brother, he knew with certainty. They could wait no longer. He signaled to Private Carrera. A sharp whistle blew and an ululating wail arose from the score of Indian throats all around the camp. It was a chilling sound.

  Nate was already on his feet.

  They had painted themselves all in black.

  As a group, they lunged into the jungle camp, armed only with arrows, blowguns, and bone knives. Those who knew how to use modern weapons confiscated them from the dead.

  Kostos opened fire with an AK-47 on the left. Off to the right, Carrera switched her Bailey to automatic fire and laid down a swath of death. She emptied her weapon, tossed it aside, then grabbed up a discarded M-16, probably one originally taken from the Rangers.

  Nate grabbed up a pistol from dead fingers and ran headlong into the main camp. The mercenaries were still in disarray, only now beginning to fall back into a defensive line. Nate raced through the wet shadows, meaning to get behind their lines before they tightened.

  As Nate ran, he was spotted by one frightened man, hiding under a bush, clearly unarmed. The man dropped to his knees at the sight of Nate's gun, hands on his head, in a clearly submissive posture.

  Nate ran right past him. He had only one goal in mind: to find Kelly and her brother before they came to harm.

  On the other side of camp, Kouwe ran with Dakii, flanked by other Indians. He paused to collect a machete from a dead body and toss it to the tribesman. Kouwe confiscated the rifle for himself.

  They hurried forward. The line of fighting had fallen toward the camp's center.

  But Kouwe suddenly slowed, an instinctual warning tingling through him. He twisted around and spotted an Indian woman slinking from behind a bush. Her skin was dabbed in black like theirs.

  Kouwe, having been raised among the tribes of the Amazon, was not so easily fooled. Though she might paint herself to look like them, her Shuar features were distinctive to the educated eye.

  He lifted his rifle and pointed it at the woman. "Don't move, witch!" Favre's woman had been trying to slip past their lines and escape into the woods. Kouwe would not let that happen. He remembered the fate of Corporal DeMartini.

  The woman froze, turning slowly in his direction. Dakii held back, but Kouwe waved him forward. There was fighting still to be done.

  Dakii took off with his men.

  Kouwe was now alone with the woman, surrounded by the dead. He stepped toward her with caution. He knew he should shoot her where she stood--the witch was surely as deadly as she was beautiful. But Kouwe balked.

  "On your knees," he ordered in Spanish instead. "Hands high!"

  She obeyed, lowering herself with subtle grace, slow and fluid like a snake. She stared up at him from under heavily lidded eyes. Smoldering, seductive...

  When she attacked, Kouwe was a moment too slow in reacting. He pulled the trigger, but the gun just clicked. The magazine was empty.

  The woman leaped at him, knives in both hands, poisoned for sure.

  Kelly stared at the two mini-Uzis held by Favre. One was pointed at her brother's head, one at her chest. "Drop the pistol, mademoiselle. Or you both die now!"

  Frank mouthed to her. "Run, Kelly."

  Favre crouched under the lean-to, using her brother's body as a shield.

  She had no choice. She would not leave her brother with the madman. She lowered her pistol and tossed it aside.

 
Favre quickly crossed to her. He dropped one of the Uzis and pressed the other against Kelly's back. "We're going to get out of here," he hissed at her. He snatched up a pack. "I've got a backup supply of tree sap, prepared for just such an emergency."

  He shouldered the pack, then grabbed Kelly by the back of her shirt.

  A shout barked behind them. "Let her go!"

  They both turned. Favre twisted around behind her.

  Nate stood, bare-chested, in his boxers, painted all in black.

  "Gone native, have we, Monsieur Rand?"

  Nate pointed a pistol at them. "You can't escape. Drop your weapon and you'll live."

  Kelly stared at Nate. His eyes were hard.

  Gunfire sounded all around them. Shouts and screams echoed.

  "You'll let me live?" Favre scoffed. "What? In prison? I don't like that proposition. I like freedom better."

  The single gunshot, at close range, startled her--more the crack than the pain. She saw Nate fly backward, hit in the hip, his weapon spinning away. Then she felt herself fall to the ground, to her knees, pain registering more as shock. She stared at her stomach. Blood soaked her shirt, welling through the smoking hole.

  Favre had shot her through her belly, striking Nate.

  The pure brutality of the act horrified her more than being shot, more than the blood.

  Kelly looked at Nate. Their eyes met for a brief instant. Neither had the strength to speak. Then she was falling--slumping toward the ground as darkness stole the world away.

  Kouwe butted the first knife away with his rifle, but the witch was fast. He fell backward under her weight as she leaped on him.

  He hit the ground hard, slamming his head, but managing to catch her other wrist. The second knife jabbed at his face. He tried to throw her off, but she clung to him, legs wrapped around him like a passionate lover.

  Her free hand scratched gouges in his cheek, going for his eyes. He twisted his face to the side. The knife lowered toward his throat as she leaned her shoulder into its plunge. She was strong, young.

  But Kouwe knew the Shuar. He knew about their secret arsenal of weapons: braided in the hair, hidden in loincloths, worn as decoration. He also knew women warriors of the tribe carried an extra sheath as a defense against rape--a common attack between the Shuar tribes during their wars.

  Kouwe used his free hand to snatch between her legs as she straddled him. His fingers reached and found the tiny knobbed hilt hidden there, warm from her body heat. He pulled the blade free of its secret leather scabbard.

  A scream rose from her lips as she realized this most private theft. Teeth were bared.

  She tried to roll away, but Kouwe still had her wrist in his grasp. As she spun, he followed, holding her tight and using her strength to pull himself to his feet.

  They crouched at arms' length, Kouwe keeping an iron grip on her wrist.

  She met his eyes. He saw the fear. "Mercy," she whispered. "Please."

  Kouwe imagined the number of victims who had pleaded with her--but he was no monster. "I'll grant you mercy."

  She relaxed ever so slightly.

  Using this moment, he yanked her to him and plunged the knife to its hilt between her breasts.

  She gasped in pain and surprise.

  "The mercy of a quick death," he hissed at her.

  The poison struck her immediately. She shuddered and stiffened as if an electric shock had passed through her from head to toe. He pushed her away as a strangled scream flowed from her lips. She was dead before she hit the ground.

  Kouwe turned away, tossing aside the poisoned blade. "And that's more than you deserve."

  The gunfire had already died around the camp to sporadic shots, and Louis needed to be gone with his treasure before his defenses completely fell.

  Gathering up the second Uzi from the ground, he watched Nate struggle to his elbows, a fierce grimace on his face.

  Louis saluted him and swung around--then froze in midstep.

  Standing a few yards away was a sight that made no sense. A pale, frail figure leaned against a tree. "Louis..."

  He stumbled back in fright. A ghost...

  "Dad, get back!" Nate called in a pained voice.

  Louis collected himself with a shudder of surprise. Of course it wasn't a ghost. Carl Rand! Alive! What miracle was this? And what luck?

  He pointed an Uzi at the wraith.

  The weak figure lifted an arm and pointed to the left.

  Louis's gaze flicked to the side.

  Hiding under a bush, a jaguar crouched, spotted and golden, muscles bunched. It leaped at him.

  He swung his weapon up, firing, chewing up dirt and leaves as he slashed toward the flying cat.

  Then he was struck from the other side, blindsided, sacked, carried several yards, and slammed into the ground, facefirst. With the wind knocked out of him, he snorted and choked dirt. A large weight pinned him.

  Who...what...? He twisted his neck around.

  A black feline face snarled down at him. Claws dug into his back, spears of agony.

  Oh, God!

  The first jaguar stepped into view, padding with menace. Louis struggled to bring his Uzi around, lifting his arm. Before he could fire, his limb exploded with agony. Teeth clamped to bone and ripped backward, tearing off his arm at the shoulder with a crunch of bone.

  Louis screamed.

  "Bon appetit," Nate mumbled to the two cats.

  He ignored the rest of the attack. He had once watched a documentary of killer whales playing with a seal pup before eating it: tossing it through the air, catching it, ripping it, and tossing it again. Savage and heartless. Pure nature. The same happened here. The two cats showed a pure feline pleasure in killing Louis Favre, not just feeding, but enacting revenge upon the man.

  Nate turned his attention to more pressing concerns. He dragged himself toward Kelly, crawling with his hands, pushing with his one good leg. His hip flared with agony. His vision blurred. But he had to reach her.

  Kelly lay crumpled on the ground, blood pooling.

  At last, he fell beside her. "Kelly..."

  She shifted at the sound of his voice.

  He moved closer, cradling against her.

  "We did it...right?" Her voice was a whisper. "The cure?"

  "We'll get it to the world...to Jessie."

  His father stumbled over to them and knelt beside the pair. "Help's coming. Hang on...both of you."

  Nate was surprised to see Private Carrera standing behind his father. "Sergeant Kostos found the mercenary camp's radio," she said. "The helicopters are a half hour out."

  Nate nodded, holding Kelly to him. Her eyes had closed. His own vision darkened as he held her. Somewhere in the distance, he heard Frank call. "Kelly! Is Kelly all right?"

  Twenty

  Eight Months Later

  4:45 P.M.

  LANGLEY, VIRGINIA

  Nate knocked on the door to the O'Brien residence. Frank was due back from the hospital today. Nate carried a present under his arm. A new Boston Red Sox cap, signed by the entire team. He waited on the stoop, staring across the manicured lawn.

  Dark clouds stacked the southern skies, promising a storm to come.

  Nate knocked again. He had visited Frank last week at the Instar Institute. His new legs were pale and weak, but he had been up on crutches, managing pretty well. "Physical therapy's a bitch," Frank had complained. "Plus I'm a goddamn pincushion to these white-smocked vampires."

  Nate had smiled. Over the past months, the researchers and doctors had been carefully monitoring the regeneration. Frank's mother, Lauren, had said that so far the exact mechanism for her son's prion-induced regeneration remained a mystery. What was known was that while the prions triggered a fatal hemorrhagic fever in children and the elderly--those individuals with immature or compromised immune systems--the opposite was seen in healthy adults. Here, the prions seemed capable of temporarily altering the human immune system, allowing for the proliferative growth necessary for rege
neration and rapid healing.

  This miraculous effect was observed in Frank, but not without danger to the man. He had to be maintained on a diluted mix of nut milk to keep the process from running rampant and triggering the devastating cancers that had struck Agent Clark. And now that the regeneration was complete, Frank was under a more concentrated treatment with the milk to rid his body of the prions and return his immune system to normal. Still, despite Frank's status as guinea pig, much about the prions and their method of action remained a mystery.