Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10) (22 page)

Which
meant the Spirit People had rescued her.

They
are indeed powerful!

He
examined the relatively fresh tracks and noticed they led out of the clearing and
back toward the river. He set out after her, determined to retrieve what was willfully
given to him.

And to
convince her to help his village.

For
without her, he feared all were doomed.

Amazonas Detachment, Delegacias de Polícia Federal
40 Av. Domingos Jorge Velho, Manaus, Brazil

The phrase ‘arrest everyone and sort it out at the station’ may not
have seemed like a bad idea to Terrence Mitchell yesterday when he was safely
within the borders of the British Empire, but today he was not, and the
practice was not sitting well with him. In fact he was terrified, his cramped
cell filled to the brim with drunks and general malcontents, including Bob
Turnbull, the man who had attacked him.

And
worst of all he had no clue where Jenny was.

When the
police had burst into their hotel room part of him had felt relieved. Turnbull
would be arrested and the decision on whether or not to trust him taken away.
But that’s not what had happened. Instead, after a large amount of screaming
and yelling, they were all handcuffed and taken away, not a word of English
spoken by the police.

Jenny
had been separated from them, kicking and screaming, when they arrived, and he
had already vomited once, much to the annoyance of his cellmates, thinking of
what might be happening to her. Having grown up on a steady feed of the
bullshit 24-hour news cycle, he had heard horror stories of gang rapes by
police officers in the third world, Mexico specifically coming to mind.

How
different would it be down here in the middle of the jungle?

He clung
to the bars of the cell, determined to not be dragged out of sight of the cop
sitting at a desk just down the hall. He had lost track of Turnbull and at this
point, frankly, didn’t give a damn what happened to him. His only thoughts were
of self-preservation so he could find Jenny. He had begged the guards for a
phone call, for someone to call the British Embassy. All it had earned him was
a rap on the knuckles and several games of grab ass from some of the inmates
interested in sampling “Carne Britânica”—what that meant he was terrified to
know—until some shouts from the guard settled them down.

He now
sat on the floor, his right arm hooked through the bars, his left hand loosely
locking it in place, his head resting against the cool steel, his feet curled
up under him in a pile of his own vomit. He couldn’t believe how quickly he had
degenerated to vermin. His clothes had been torn apart during the arrest, his
valuables including watch, wallet, phone and wedding band stripped from him
when he arrived, then his shoes and belt, along with his pants, were stolen
within seconds of being shoved into the cell.

The welcome
beating hadn’t helped, and he was sure the ribs bruised by the police batons
were now at least cracked, it hurting with every breath taken. His sobs had at
least subsided, he realizing it only brought more misery in the form of taunts
or the occasional kick.

Now he
was silent, broken and ashamed.

He
prayed for rescue, but deep down he just wanted to die, the prospect of anyone
he knew seeing him like this too humiliating.

“Bob
Turnbull?”

The
voice was American, questioning, and directly in front of him. He looked up,
the man looking down at him. “Help me.”

“That’s
why I’m here,” replied the man, smiling as he knelt down. “My name is Rick
Henderson; I was sent by PAN from Rio. Sorry it took so long but arranging a
flight out here isn’t the easiest of things. First we have to get you out of
here though. I’ve posted bail and they assure me it will only be a few
minutes.”

“Did you
say ‘Bob Turnbull’?”

Mitchell
didn’t bother looking over his shoulder to see who had asked the question, he
recognized the voice.

“Yes.
And you are?” Henderson rose.

“Bob
Turnbull.”

Henderson
looked down at Mitchell. “I thought
you
were Bob Mitchell.”

“No, I
am.”

Mitchell
looked up. “Please, help me. My wife. At least help my wife.”

A guard
shouted something and everyone moved back, Henderson stepping aside. Keys were
produced and the cell unlocked, the gate swinging aside. Turnbull walked out
and the gate was slammed shut and locked. He and Henderson followed the guard.

“What
kind of human being are you?” cried Mitchell. “I’m in here because of you! My
wife is in here because of you!” He pulled himself to his feet, his hands still
gripping the bars as he shoved his face through as far as he could, not making
it quite to the ears. Looking sideway down the hall, he continued shouting. “
You
attacked
me
!
You
tried to kill
me
! Tell him that! You have
to help us! You can’t leave us here!”

Henderson
looked back, pausing, saying something to Turnbull, a quick conversation in
whispers occurring before they resumed.

Mitchell’s
chest tightened and he felt his world begin to close in around him as a panic
attack began, the only glimmer of hope he had seen since arriving about to
disappear through the door now held open for the two Americans. “We’re the only
ones who can help you!” he cried as he collapsed to the floor, sobbing
uncontrollably, not caring what happened to him anymore as the taunting already
began.

“You
should have helped me last night when I begged you!”

Mitchell
yanked himself to his knees, pushing his head through again. “So this is
revenge? Revenge because we said we’d help you, but couldn’t send our rescue
team across the goddamned border? You call yourself an environmentalist but
you’re not. You hate humanity. You’re probably one of those nutters who belongs
to the Voluntary Human Extinction Movement. What were you really doing in the
forest? Were you spying on illegal loggers like you claim or were you actually
there to sabotage their equipment and spike the trees so people would get hurt
or killed? Are you one of those barmy bastards that think the life of a tree is
worth more than the life of a human? If you leave us here, especially Jenny,
then you’re no better than the scum you say captured your team and tried to
kill you!”

It took
a few minutes for Mitchell to realize he was screaming at an empty hall,
Turnbull and Henderson having left. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged
it off, but it grabbed him again, this time hard, and yanked him away from the
bars. Suddenly he found himself in the midst of a crowd of men, pawing at him,
grabbing at him, and as he tried to protect himself, lowering his head and
covering it with his hands, they continued to tug at him.

He was
shoved to his knees and a man positioned himself in front of him, dropping his
pants.

And
Mitchell made a decision.

He would
die with dignity.

His hand
darted forward and grabbed the man’s testicles. Squeezing as hard as he could,
he yanked back quickly as the man screamed. He didn’t have time to look at the
end result as he tossed whatever was in his hand aside, turning his attention
to the next nearest attacker. He drove his fist up hard into the man’s groin,
then grabbed the first wrist he could see, bending it forward rapidly while
applying intense pressure to the top of the hand, causing the man to drop to
his knees in agony. Mitchell’s left thumb plunged into the man’s eye, shoving
hard until he felt the eyeball collapse.

Today
everyone dies.

The
horror he had caused had most of the men backing off. Mitchell jumped to his
feet, grabbing the nearest one by the arm and yanking him toward him, spinning
him so the man’s back was facing him. He wrapped his elbow around the man’s
neck and locked it in place with his other arm, then squeezed, pushing his
would-be rapist’s knees out from under him. With one push on the back of the
man’s neck, it snapped. He tossed the body aside, his breathing heavy, his
chest heaving as he gasped for air, his eyes surveying the circle of men around
him, none within reach at the moment.

He
lunged toward one man and the entire crowd scurried back several feet, nobody
daring approach the crazed Brit. One was dead, another partially blinded, and
still another writhing on the floor, gripping himself where his scrotum used to
be.

He was
now the alpha male.

He stood
up straight, taller than most in the room, and pointed a finger, it slowly
singling each out.

“Touch
me again, say a word to me again, and I’ll kill you. Is that understood?”

The
entire room that a moment ago didn’t speak English, nodded in terror. He
pointed at the men in front of the bars and motioned for them to get out of the
way. They scurried to the sides like cockroaches revealed by a light, and he
returned to the bars, draping his hands through the metal and resting.

Someone
came up from behind him.

He spun
around in a defensive stance drilled into him by Leather and his men to find an
old man carrying a stool.

“For
you, senhor.”

Mitchell
nodded and allowed the man to place the stool near the bars for him, then sat
down, relaxing for the first time since he had arrived. As his thoughts began
to clear, he glanced over at his handiwork and couldn’t believe what he had
done. Leather’s training had paid off, and the words of one of his men echoed
through his head.

When
it’s life or death, there are no rules. You do whatever it takes to survive.

“Terrence!”

He spun,
jumping to his feet and knocking the stool over as he saw Jenny running down
the hall, the American lawyer Henderson behind her with a smiling Turnbull. As
soon as she came within sight of the inmates a few whistles erupted. Mitchell
spun around, glaring at the men who quickly dropped their heads, all suddenly
quiet and looking for their missing contact lenses.

“Terrence,
love, are you okay?”

He
lunged through the bars, grabbing her, not sure if she was real, not sure if
any of this were real. As his heart pounded in his chest, the rush of blood
roaring through his ears, he barely heard the sound of the gate being unlocked
and the bars swinging open. He collapsed into Jenny’s arms, sobbing as a group
of policemen advanced into the cell, batons at the ready as they removed the
dead and injured.

“Is it
over?” he finally asked, looking Jenny in the face, her cheeks smeared with
dirt and grime, her own ordeal apparently not easy. “Did they hurt you?”

She
shook her head. “No, I’m okay. They yelled at me a lot then threw me in a cell
for a while. Bob got me out!”

“Bob?”
He turned to the smiling Turnbull and decked him, dropping the asshole to the
floor in a heap. He was about to pounce on him and finish him off when he was
grabbed by several policemen. “Let me at him! He left me here to die!”

Henderson
helped Turnbull up off the floor, the latter nursing a bleeding lip. He waved
off the police. “Let him go. I deserved that.” The grips on him eased and
Mitchell resisted the urge to jump back into the fray. “I’m sorry, Terrence,
but I was angry. As soon as I walked out that door I knew I was on the wrong
side of this and that you were right. I had Rick immediately go to work. Just a
couple of phone calls and everything was cleared up. I’ll still face charges
unless you guys drop them, but I’m willing to face the music after what I’ve
done.”

Henderson
stepped in front of Mitchell. “You and your wife are free to go, no charges.
Mr. Turnbull has confessed to attacking you and causing the disturbance at the
hotel. He will return at a later date for his trial unless those charges are
dropped here and now.”

Mitchell
said nothing, continuing to glare at everyone around him, adrenalin fueled
anger still his commander.

“Terrence.”
It was a whisper accompanied by a tug on his arm. He looked down at Jenny who
was imploring him to respond.

A burst
of air he hadn’t known he was holding erupted from him and his shoulders
slumped, his entire body releasing the taught, clenched muscles as he finally
realized everything was over, and revenge a selfish treat he didn’t need.

“I don’t
want to press charges,” he mumbled. He looked up at Henderson then at Turnbull.
“It’s over. Let’s go back to the hotel so I can clean up.”

“It is
not over, senhor,” said an older police officer, stepping forward. “We have a
dead man and two seriously injured prisoners here. They say you do this to
them.”

Mitchell’s
heart leapt into his throat for a moment, but after everything he had been
through, there was no way this situation could scare him. Instead, he laughed.
He pointed at the dead man then the dickless wonder. “He tore this guy’s bollocks
off, then the other guy jumped in to try and stop him. The dead guy shoved his
thumb through the guy’s eye but he hung on and killed him in self-defense.” He
pointed at the Cyclops. “He deserves a medal for stopping the guy.”