Catalyst (Breakthrough Book 3) (29 page)

62

Hugo eased to his left, shifting more weight onto his elbow as he scanned for a source of the chattering.  Dressed in full jungle camouflage and hat, he kept the brim low, covering most of his face.

Through the night scope, he checked slowly from one tree to the next, until spotting his target on a wide branch.  The dark outline of the capuchin was unmistakable, moving only slightly as it chattered back and forth.

Hugo remained trained on the silhouette for a long time, giving his colleagues time to lock in on any others.  Once the first shot was fired, they would all have to follow suit before the rest fled.

To make matters worse, some monkeys were surprisingly sharp, realizing something was wrong before the poachers had a chance to shoot.  They still hadn’t figured out what tipped off the brighter ones, which forced them to be even more cautious.

Hugo lowered his head and centered his scope on the target.  He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, smoothly pulling the trigger halfway through.

A loud thump exploded from the end of his rifle, followed by two more shots nearby.  The silhouette on the branch shrieked and fell from sight, hitting the ground with a thud.  High-pitched screams instantly filled the air overhead.  Dozens of capuchins scrambled away as Hugo and his men leaped to their feet, running for the trees.

He reached the base of the tree and grabbed the tiny figure curled on the ground.  But when he held it up, the white tip of the dart dangled from its loose skin, not from the body.  It wasn’t a direct hit.  The monkey wasn’t unconscious. 

Instead, it began flailing in his hands, screaming and clawing wildly.  The small creature desperately tried to free itself while Hugo struggled to hang on.  One of the monkey’s claws abruptly took a chunk of skin out of his soft cheek, causing a searing pain.

Hugo yelled and squeezed harder, trying to restrain the creature, but it only fought harder.  After another painful gash across his mouth, Hugo’s right hand withdrew his sap and brought it forward, smashing the hard metal against the monkey’s tiny head.

The animal was instantly silenced.  As it fell limp in the man’s hands, he brought it closer, studying it in the moonlight.

“Shit,” he growled. 
The damn thing was dead.

He stood up and removed the dart, angrily dropping the limp body onto the ground.   He looked around for the other men and spotted the outline of Vito moving toward him. 

“Yours sounded lively,” the shorter man called out.

Hugo felt his lip.  Even in the darkness, he could feel the blood on his fingertips.  “Damn thing attacked me.  I had to smash it.”

The other man laughed and held up his captive’s listless body.  “Got mine.”

Over the tops of their rifles, both Tiewater and Anderson watched the two men converge and continue talking.  A few minutes later, two more arrived, both empty-handed.

Tiewater eased his head up and brought his mike in closer.  “Tie here.”

“Go ahead,” replied Caesare.

“I think this is the place our gorilla is looking for.  And you probably want to hurry.”

Caesare’s eyes stopped when he heard Tiewater’s message.  They were moving the last of their gear under a small rock shelter, not far from where they’d been.  It wasn’t perfect, but it would provide at least some protection from the rain without compromising their position.

Caesare turned his head to Corso and had just began to speak when they all heard the sound they had been dreading.  The distant roar from dozens of engines as the first sets of headlights crested the top of the mountain. 

All four stood and watched over the trees as truck after truck appeared, steaming up the last of the incline, and approached over the dirt road.

63

Leading the procession, Salazar’s vehicle continued for another half mile before stopping in the middle of the road.  He promptly climbed out of his Humvee and moved off the road, watching with a smile the line of headlights as they appeared one by one.  Eventually the vehicles began braking to a stop behind him.

His lieutenant climbed out of the third vehicle, a large truck carrying over a dozen men, and approached Salazar.  Together, they watched the silhouettes against the long line of headlights as their men began pouring out and surrounding the trucks.

Salazar retrieved a cigarette from his shirt pocket and watched as Otero, emerged from his Range Rover with Russo close behind him.

He ignored both men and spoke directly to his lieutenant, Sosa.  “Get a base set up and find some fresh water.  I want a dozen men out searching for whoever or whatever was dropped off here. And tell them they’re authorized to shoot first.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me.  Shoot anything they see unless it’s a goddamn monkey.”

Sosa displayed a look of concern.  “Sir, if there’s someone else up here, we don’t know who they are.”

“I don’t care who they are.”

The lieutenant’s eyes flickered briefly to Otero and Russo before returning to his commanding officer.  “Sir, what if they are Brazilians?”

Salazar looked at Sosa hard.  “Then they have no business being up here.”

Sosa simply stared at Salazar.  The tense moment was interrupted by footsteps from the grass.  They all turned to see Becca’s smaller frame emerge from the darkness.

“Dr. Becca,” Salazar said.  “Your men will be ready within the hour.  I recommend you be as well.”

“An hour?” she said, surprised.  “I thought we were starting in the morning.”

“The plan has changed.  Someone else is already here.  And they’re likely searching for the same thing we are.”

Otero was watching, his features barely visible in the darkness.  “When was the drop?”

“This morning.”  Salazar turned back to his lieutenant.  “Get your men moving.”  Then he turned to Becca.  “Doctor.  One hour.”

With that, Salazar turned and walked back toward his vehicle.  Both his lieutenant and the doctor quickly disappeared into the darkness, leaving Otero and Russo alone.

“How did he find out about the drop?”  Otero muttered.

“He’s communicating with someone,” Russo mused.  “Someone with access to Aeronautics Command.  We don’t have any radar stations up here, which means the drop could only have been picked up by aircraft.  Probably one of the Orions.”

Otero didn’t answer.  Instead, he stood there thinking, still watching the lieutenant’s silhouette as he marched back to the trucks and began yelling orders.

For the first time, Otero felt a streak of nervousness run through him.  He had secured support at the highest level.  From the office of the President.  And he was told Salazar was nothing but a pawn, whose sole purpose would be to help him reach the Acarai Mountains. 

But something wasn’t right.  Such as why Salazar was notified of the air drop instead of him.  It made Otero wonder.  The economic collapse in Brazil had left the country teetering on the brink of civil war, with the current government in tatters.  A grim realization began to wash over him.  Perhaps those Otero had aligned himself with…were no longer in control.

Which would mean neither was he.

64

Where we go?

Dulce was struggling to keep up through the dense foliage, even as DeeAnn pulled her along.

“We have to hurry.”  DeeAnn’s breathing was labored, but she still managed to reply in a hushed tone.  She gripped Dulce’s furry hand tighter and tried to stay behind the figure of Steve Caesare, hacking his way through the heavy growth.

When her vest translated her words, she cringed at the speaker volume, which blared loudly.

“Jesus,” growled Corso behind them.  “Turn that thing down!  Everyone’s going to hear us.”

Caesare halted in front of them and spun around.  “He’s right.”

“Uh…” DeeAnn looked down at the blue light on her vest, searching.

“She can’t,” Juan answered, from behind her.

“What?”

“There’s no way to turn down the volume.”

“There’s no volume?”

Juan turned from Corso and looked at Caesare’s silhouette.  “No.  When we designed the vest, we didn’t think we needed one.  Besides, changes in amplitude complicate things with the translation.”

Corso looked over the top of Juan’s head to Caesare.  “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, well, communication doesn’t work very well if one person can’t hear the other.”

Caesare stared at them, then finally nodded.  He wasn’t happy about it, but he understood.

From the ground, Dulce looked back and forth between them. 
We stop.

DeeAnn placed a finger over her lips.  “Dulce, quiet.”

Dulce quiet.

DeeAnn cringed again as the translation seemed even louder now that they were standing still.

Caesare watched Dulce, but spoke to DeeAnn.  “Turn it off.”

“What?”

“Turn it off.”

“But…”

“We can’t take any chances.”

DeeAnn looked at Juan, hoping for another option, but he simply frowned. 

Reluctantly, she squatted down in front of Dulce so she could see her face.  She placed a hand gently on Dulce’s head and again put her fingers to her lips.

Dulce watched her curiously, unsure of why they had to be quiet.  No one else was talking.  With a troubled expression, she watched as DeeAnn made the blue light go off.

The screaming of the capuchin monkeys from their cages began even before an angry Hugo pushed his way through the thick brush.  He stormed into their small camp, followed by the other three, and dropped his gun on a fold-out table.  In frustration, he then turned and kicked dirt into the smoldering embers of their fire. 

Behind him, Vito approached the truck and pulled an empty cage up onto the flatbed.  He pushed the limp body of his prize into the cage and closed the wooden door, securing it with a clasp and cable.

He suddenly stopped.  One of the cages was empty.

“Merda.”

The others looked up, including Hugo, who was now searching for something to stem the bleeding from his cheek.  He grabbed a piece of cloth from his bag and pressed it in place before turning back to the truck.

Without moving his head, Vito’s eyes stared across the bed.  “Another one gone.”

“What?!”

“Another one is gone,” he repeated.

Hugo stormed over to the truck and glared at the crate in disbelief.  “How the hell…”  He moved around to the back, keeping the cloth pressed hard against his cheek.  “I told you to lock it right this time!” he bellowed.

“I did!”

“Then it’s broken.”  Hugo pushed him out of the way and studied the cage.  Primates, even capuchins, could be stronger than they looked.  Especially when locked in an enclosure and panicking.

He spun the cage around with one hand, examining it closely in the dim light of a nearby lantern.  He couldn’t see anything wrong.  The thick wood frame still felt strong.  He refastened the clasp and cable –– they locked securely.  Finding nothing broken, he yelled and threw the crate, sending it tumbling over the ground.

“I saw him check it,” one of the others said. 

Hugo shook his head, scowling.  “Then you’re both idiots!”  He glanced at the amount of blood on his cloth and threw it away.

“What the hell is happening?” he yelled.  The night had already been a waste, with only a single capture between them.  Now another was lost.

He didn’t know how the capuchins were escaping, but they were.  Somehow. 

“ETA?”

“About fifteen minutes,” Caesare replied.

Tiewater nodded from his hiding spot less than sixty feet from the poacher camp.  Their faces painted black, both he and Anderson watched the poacher’s outburst from a distance.

“What’s happening?”  Caesare called over the radio.

Tiewater spoke quietly.  “Our friends are home and one of them seems to have gotten his panties in a wad.”  He continued his reconnaissance, motionlessly. 

From the other side of the encampment, Anderson also lay watching, listening to Tiewater through his own headset.

“How many are there?”

“Four.  The big one is in charge.  Camp is probably a couple thousand square feet, with two vehicles.  One small and the other larger for cargo.  Observable weapons are sidearms and some tranquilizer rifles.  Doesn’t look like they’ve been here more than a few days.”

“Any defenses?”

“None.”

A few minutes later, Tiewater slid backward out of position and stood without a sound.  Remaining low, he moved back through the trees where he found Caesare and Corso waiting in the darkness. 

“What are they doing?”

Tiewater shrugged.  “Eating.  But it sounds like their poaching isn’t going too well.”

“What a shame,” Caesare remarked sarcastically.  “We’re out of time.  Otero is here.  We need to find the monkey in a hurry.”

“Well, I suspect these guys have a pretty good guess as to where.”  Tiewater motioned over his shoulder and turned back, followed by Caesare.  But as Corso took a step forward, he suddenly paused.  He felt something stuck in his collar and reached up to grab it.

It was soft, and only when he examined it closely could he make out the shape.  One of Dulce’s flowers.  He shook his head.  Then, glancing forward to make sure he wasn’t seen, Corso raised it up and sniffed it.

Hugo was still stewing from his seat on a fold-out chair.  He took another bite of dried meat and shook his head, keeping his eyes on the fire. 

The other men were also seated around the fire, eating silently.  They’d had a definite streak of bad luck.  One that was refusing to break, leaving the last few hunting trips as complete losses.

“We need to try something else,” Vito replied, after dropping his metal plate to the ground.  “They’re learning our ways.”

“They hear us coming,” Claudio, the third man, replied.

“Then what do you suggest?”

Vito turned around and faced the cages on the back of the truck.  “Maybe we can use the ones we have…to catch more.”

“You mean as bait?”

“Yes.  Maybe we tie one up in the forest to lure the others.”

“His screaming will warn the others before that.”

“Not if we sedate him.”

Hugo considered it.  More of the powerful tranquilizer in such a short amount of time would cause problems with the animal’s nervous system, but if it allowed them to catch more, the risk would be worth it.  If they caught enough monkeys, they could simply kill the bait.

Hugo raised his eyes and began to nod, then suddenly froze.  The rustling behind Vito had been subtle.  Not enough to be heard and barely enough to be seen in the dim light. At that exact moment, the other three poachers each witnessed the same dreaded sight –– figures dressed in black and hidden behind the barrels of their assault rifles.

From different directions, Caesare, Tiewater, Corso, and Anderson all stepped out in unison.  Each emerging from a position visible by one of the poachers, all of whom froze in stunned silence…except one.

Claudio, the youngest of Hugo’s group and an Argentinian…panicked.  At the sight of Tiewater, he was immediately on his feet before anyone could stop him and drawing his weapon.

Corso, moving slowly out of the brush behind him, saw the kid draw and bolted for him.  It took only a few steps at full speed for Corso to reach him and knock him out with the butt of his rifle, but not before a single shot exploded from the .45 caliber pistol.