Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10) (27 page)

Two
weeks ago he would have walked over with the phone.

His
pocket vibrated just as Milton positioned himself on the deck, thanking the
natives with a polite smile and slight seated bow. They rushed off the boat as
if afraid of it, as Acton sat down, putting the call on speaker.

“Hello?”

“Kraft
Dinner here.”

Acton
smiled. “Hey, are we secure?”

“Yup. I
understand everyone is safe?”

“Yes, we
managed to find Laura and arrived back here at the village about an hour or two
ago.”

“I
understand you have another problem.”

Acton
looked at Milton who whispered, “I gave him a quick update.”

Acton
nodded. “Yes, like Greg said, the native who kidnapped Laura came asking for
help. He had been shot and we just learned he thinks the ‘Panther People’
attacked his village. According to our translator, they are a tribe of Panthers
with human powers. Panthers being all black, we think he may have seen a
special ops team attack his village.”

“Makes
sense and jives with some bad news I have for you.”

Acton
felt his chest tighten. “What bad news?”

“Your
wife has two students in Manaus, a Terrence and Jennifer Mitchell?”

“Yes.
Why, has something happened to them?”

“I’ve
had a friend monitoring comm traffic in the area since your wife disappeared.
Looks like her students got arrested last night along with a Bob Turnbull—”

“That’s
the environmentalist! He and his friend Steve Parker claimed to have been
attacked by Special Ops soldiers. Parker just left a few hours ago with the
Brazilian rescue team to talk to the Venezuelans upriver.”

“Well,
the Mitchells and Turnbull were released earlier today with all charges
dropped, but never arrived at their hotel. In fact, an intercept suggests they
left on a private plane heading for Venezuela a couple of hours ago.”

Acton
and Milton stared at each other, dumbfounded. “I can’t see them doing that
voluntarily,” said Milton. “It makes no sense.”

“No it
doesn’t,” agreed Kane. “My contacts gave me a set of coordinates just inside
the Venezuelan border where the plane disappeared from radar, presumably
landing on an unknown runway. I’m sending those to your phone now.”

The
phone vibrated with a message and Acton quickly looked to confirm receipt.
“Okay, we’ve got them. But what the hell can we do? We’ve got seven security
guys with us, one who’s wounded, and a bunch of natives who we shouldn’t get
involved. This is really a thing governments need to get involved with.”

“I don’t
think we’ve got that kind of time.”

Kane’s
statement sounded ominous, and Acton gripped the arms of his chair tight. “What
do you mean?”

“I mean
you’ve got a Special Forces team, possibly from China, in the area, killing
witnesses. They are tapped into communications well enough to have known about
Turnbull in Manaus. Now he made a phone call with Mitchell’s satellite phone,
which was obviously monitored. That means all calls on that phone would have
been checked.”

“You
mean the calls made to here.” Acton’s voice was almost a whisper as he realized
the implications.

“Exactly.
They know about Parker, and they know he told you about what they saw. If
they’re willing to kidnap Turnbull and your students in broad daylight, then
they’re coming for you. I guarantee it.”

“Then we
have to get out of here now!” exclaimed Milton, turning in his chair as he
surveyed their surroundings.

Acton
shared his friend’s feelings, but also knew that panicking had never proven
useful in the past. “What do you recommend?” he asked the expert.

“I’ve
got help on the way, off the books. They should be there before morning. I
suggest you brief Leather. He’s ex-SAS, he’ll know exactly what to do. Now,
I’ve got to go. I’m in the middle of an op but when this intel flashed my way I
had to pass it on. Good luck, Professor.”

“Okay,
Dylan. Thanks for this. I’ll keep you posted.”

“Good
bye.”

The call
ended and Acton quickly input the coordinates into the Google Maps app on the
iPad. “It’s the middle of nowhere. Nothing but trees!”

Milton
nodded. “But somewhere in there, somehow, a plane landed.”

“And
there’s something there worth killing for.”

Steve Parker sat anxiously awaiting news, any news, on whether or
not the Venezuelans were going to help. It had only taken an hour to reach the
border, guarded merely by signs indicating the fact it was a border, and that
all vessels crossing should report to customs upriver at the next town.
Fortunately they’d been able to avoid that, a random boat patrol having just
arrived when they did. The two boats were lashed to a dock that had been set up
he assumed by both countries at some point, the Venezuelans on the northern
side of the old wood structure, the Brazilians on the south.

Several
radio calls had been made and apparently word was working its way up the chain
of command, which in a near-communist state like Venezuela meant it needed to
go almost to the top, decision making power rarely delegated to the first
several layers of bureaucracy.

Parker
looked at his watch.

Two
hours!

It was
ridiculous how long things were taking, but he had to be patient. He had to not
look annoyed otherwise he might piss off the Venezuelans who were his only hope
of saving his friends.

If
they’re alive.

He
pushed the thought aside. They had to be alive. He couldn’t give up hope now,
now that he was so close to finally getting them help. Surely the Venezuelans
would help, especially now that they knew the Brazilians were involved. He was
relieved that Lt. Colombo had agreed to talk to the Venezuelans despite the
fact he hadn’t been able to reach Turnbull. He wasn’t too worried about not
having reached him, he just thanked God Turnbull was safe and working from the
outside to get help. The phone belonged to the Professors’ people so there
could be any number of reasons why they hadn’t answered.

He stood
up, unable to take the waiting any more, and stretched. Lt. Colombo sat on the
dock with a couple of his men and two of the Venezuelans, chatting in Spanish
and smoking exchanged cigars, a flask of something being passed around as they
passed the time on friendly terms. He got the distinct impression they all knew
each other, and it might very well be possible—he couldn’t see there being too
many people available to patrol this area.

Heads
turned north, into Venezuela, as a boat motor made its presence known. Everyone
rose, watching as a boat raced around a bend, making directly for them. He knew
enough Spanish to know the Venezuelans had no idea who the new arrivals were,
and he also knew enough to know that if help were that close, there wouldn’t
have been as much doubt expressed earlier about what they could do.

Colombo
took a pair of binoculars from one of his men and peered into them. His jaw
dropped, the cigar he had been enjoying falling from his mouth, onto the dock.
He tossed the binoculars back and started barking orders, the Venezuelans
confused for a moment, then following suit. Ropes lashed a moment ago to the
dock were untied, motors fired up, and the Brazilian boat was pushed away,
already turning down river, its motor in full gear.

“What’s
going on?” he asked, terrified to hear the answer. The binoculars were tossed
to him and he looked through them to see the Venezuelan boat pulling into the
middle of the river, several men lying on the prow, machineguns laid out in
front of them. He heard something being announced over a speaker from the
Venezuelan boat but he couldn’t make it out, their own engine too loud, the
distance between them growing rapidly.

He
changed his angle slightly and suddenly the new arrival appeared. And he nearly
shit his pants. Aboard the all black vessel were at least a dozen heavily armed
men, all dressed head to toe in black.

“That’s
who attacked us!” he cried, pointing. “That’s them!”

“We
know, senhor!” cried Colombo, screaming into his radio. He slammed it on the
side of the boat several times and tried again. “It’s not working!”

“They
must be jamming communications!” Parker had watched enough spy movies to know
it was a possibility if you had the right hardware. Which meant that these guys
were not only well-armed, but well-equipped with state-of-the-art equipment.

Could
they be American?

The ones
that had attacked his team were speaking some Chinese sounding language,
definitely not English. And from what he had seen through the binoculars, these
new arrivals were wearing the same gear as the team that attacked—hardly
something he’d expect if they were from different countries.

Gunfire
erupted from the arriving boat, tearing huge holes in the Venezuelan craft. The
men on the prow returned fire, their bullets seemingly ineffective.

“We’ve
gotta go faster!” yelled Parker, Colombo apparently shouting the same thing,
the officer at the controls already giving the boat all she had.

And it
wouldn’t be enough.

A streak
of smoke raced over the water drawing a line of death from the attacking boat
toward the Venezuelans. When the rocket impacted the entire front of the boat
erupted in flames sending the men on the prow spiraling through the air,
screaming. The remaining Venezuelans jumped overboard as the fuel line ignited,
the boat erupting into a large fireball as the wood it was constructed of
splintered and flew in every direction. The men flailed in the water,
surrounded by burning fuel and oil, desperately waving toward the Brazilians
for help, but Colombo appeared to have no intentions of providing it.

And
Parker was okay with that.

They
turned a bend, losing sight of the chaos, the only evidence of it the distant
pleas from the survivors, and a ball of dark black smoke smeared across the
sky, slowly rising and dissipating as all evidence of the event was slowly
wiped out by Mother Nature. Small arms fire suddenly was heard over the engine
and within moments the cries of the survivors in the water were silenced.

Then the
engine of the attacker’s boat roared back to life.

“We’re
dead if we stay here!”

“Where
would you have us go, senhor?”

It was a
reasonable question, and the choices were limited. All Parker knew was that the
choice of staying with the boat was the wrong one. He rushed across the deck
toward the port side and jumped into the water, swimming as hard and as fast as
he could, his heavy boots dragging him down, but he knew he’d need those if he
were to survive. As he struggled toward the river’s edge he glanced over his
shoulder, taking a deep breath, and saw Colombo gripping the railing, shouting
after him as the boat continued swiftly down the river, the high-pitched whine
of their pursuers growing closer.

He
reached the shore and looked to his left. He could hear the engine of the
attacking boat nearing and suddenly it burst around the corner, banking sharply
toward the Brazilians, Colombo’s men opening fire. Parker sucked in a deep
breath then dropped below the waterline, praying he hadn’t been noticed in the
split second he had been in view. The boat raced by him. He could hear the
muffled sounds of weapons fire and what he thought was a splashing sound. His
mind raced as to what that could be, and terror suddenly seized him as he
realized it could be a crocodile coming for him.

He waved
his arms and kicked his feet, pushing himself closer to the shore then finally
came up for air looking downriver to see the boat he had just been on in
flames, the men fighting a losing battle as the superior firepower of their
foes overwhelmed them.

Parker
reached for some roots and pulled himself out of the river, his waterlogged
clothes slowing him down, and just as he was about to collapse onto dry ground,
he heard something erupt from the water behind him then felt an incredibly
sharp pain in his back. He screamed out in agony as he felt something heavy
land on him, pinning him in place. Turning his head to see what had attacked
him, he saw a man in a wetsuit, goggles covering most of his face, as the knife
buried in his back was withdrawn then used to slice his throat open.

And as
he slowly bled out, his attacker pulled his body deeper from shore and out of
sight of anyone who might pass by, leaving him to be reclaimed by the forest,
and the creatures that inhabited it.

Barasana Village on the Rio Negro, Northern Amazon, Brazil

“Colonel!”

Leather
turned toward Acton as he rushed down the dock to the shore. He said something
quietly to the two members of his team that were with him, then approached
Acton. “Yes, Professor?”

“We’ve
got trouble.” Acton quickly summarized Kane’s phone call and could see the
concern growing on Leather’s face the more he spoke.