Piranha Assignment (27 page)

Herrera wandered among the trucks, helping with some of the heavier supplies. He stopped in mid-lift when a Jeep skidded to a halt at the motor pool gate. A lone worker jumped out and scrambled in, running to Bastidas. He babbled hysterically. Bastidas jumped down from the truck and backhanded him. Herrera sprang to his boss' side. Bastidas spoke without preamble.

“The Yankees have escaped. Take some men. Take all the men. Comb the woods. Find them. Now!”

“Captain, please.” Herrera looked down like a schoolboy contradicting a teacher. “You are a genius, but I know this jungle. And I know these people.”

“What are you saying?” Bastidas asked, closing his eyes and fighting for control.

“Captain, forgive me but you have underestimated these people. The hunt through the city taught me to respect the girl. We sent Varilla to take care of Stark. He didn't come
back. Now they have escaped from straight jackets. If we send men into these deep woods after them they will die, one by one.”

“Are you saying we should let them go?”

“No, Captain, but we must be smart. Let the men finish their work. Give me ten men as beaters. We can find them in the copter, direct the beaters and let my guards, the beasts, do the dirty work.”

“Can we spare the fuel?” Bastidas asked in a lowered voice. “That copter is our only way off The Piranha. We must be able to reach the shore or we'll die with the crew.”

“I've figured the fuel very carefully, with a good safety margin,” Herrera said, smiling under the long mustache. “There is no danger. And this way you can watch the end.”

A vine snatched at Morgan's arm and he yanked free. Yesterday's water splashed on his head and down his neck. In the three tiered jungle, rainwater hung on the broad leaves forever it seemed. Morgan moved at a steady pace, using his seven inch Randall fighting knife as a machete to help clear the way. He was no longer approaching the motor pool. Now he was driving toward Felicity, following her psychic homing beacon.

He found himself at the base of a jungle giant, a massive tree that held off its neighbors. A single shaft of light broke through and he stood in it, chest heaving, to get his bearings. His clothes clung like leeches to his skin. It was quiet, his passing having scared the jungle life away. As he regained his breath he could hear the birds returning, the small animals going about their business of survival. These were the sounds, the smells, the feelings of his past.

Home.

“Come on down, Red.”

Felicity dropped out of the tree onto her hands and feet. When she briefly hugged him, he saw bits of leaf and bark in her hair.

“Glad you made it,” she said. “Don't know what I would have done if you didn't. Now, what's the next step? I don't have a weapon or anything.”

“I don't expect you to fight,” Morgan said. “A frontal assault isn't one of our options. The best I can come up with is getting over to the range and picking up the little rifle we left in the shed there. Maybe we can cause some trouble for them between the motor pool and the sub.”

“Do you have time for breakfast?” Before Morgan could answer, Felicity walked around the big tree. When she reappeared, her arms were filled with fat, ripe mangos she had gathered on her rush through the woods. Morgan laughed out loud and pulled out a boot knife. A blood sugar boost was just what he needed.

The clearing around the motor pool was barely two meters wide. No trees grew there, but the grass was nearly four feet tall. Morgan and Felicity lay prone at its edge, watching two roving guards with slung AK-47's.

“I could sure use one of them,” Morgan said. “Why don't you back off a ways, Red. You don't want to see this.” She slid backward as he reached for his knife, carefully shielding its blade from the sun. As the guards passed, he drew his feet up beneath himself.

The unmistakable whup-whup of rotor blades startled them all. Morgan crouched back and watched the helicopter lift off from the other side of the fence. It was a small two-seater that Morgan knew as the Robinson R-22.

The guards looked up at the copter passing overhead. The downdraft staggered them, and flattened the tall grass nearby. An armadillo scrambled past Morgan, frightened out of the grass. Staring backward, Morgan saw the grass parted like ocean waves, and Felicity's fiery hair standing out amid the waving green seas.

One of the guards carried a walkie-talkie that suddenly shouted, “They're right beside you.”

The guards pulled the weapons off their shoulders. Morgan's gun was faster. He blasted them both against the fence, but he knew that if the copter passengers had guns he would die trying for one of the rifles. Instead he retreated into the cover of the jungle. He dropped the empty
magazine on the run and slammed the full one into place.

In a moment he caught and passed Felicity. They settled into a steady pace and forged on into the deeper woods. When the helicopter sound faded they stopped for a rest, squatting against a vine covered tree.

“Can we get to that rifle?” Felicity asked, panting and slapping at some nameless bug.

“We can if we head this way,” Morgan pointed. “We'll have to swing pretty wide to the right to avoid the gate guards. We can catch our breath for a minute, then…” Morgan stopped because a new sound had been added to the jungle background noise.

“What is that?” Felicity asked, wiping the back of her neck.

“Drums!” Morgan leaped to his feet, grabbed Felicity's hand and started off into the woods again.

For the next twenty minutes the pair charged through damp vegetation, searching for a loophole. During a short break, Morgan tried to describe what was happening.

“This is how they use beaters Africa,” he said. “A ring of men marches through the jungle, beating drums, driving all the animals ahead of them. As the circle contracts, well placed hunters can pick off their quarry with ease.”

“So we're being herded.”

“That's how I see it,” Morgan replied. “Eventually we'll run into a gun or a pack of frightened, enraged animals.”

“Yeah. Herrera did mention animal sentries, didn't he?”

They ran faster, with little regard for noise, as the drums came to dominate the forest sound. They steered into deeper and denser jungle in search of an escape. The longer they ran, the darker it seemed to get, until they came to a ditch surrounded by three fallen trees. It was a natural defense pit, so Morgan chose to stop here.

“How you holding up?” he asked Felicity.

“My throat's raw from panting,” she said, dropping to her knees on what turned out to be a pile of rotting leaves. “I've got a dozen cuts or scratches all over my body and I've been bitten in places I can't salve. I got to say, you're a real fun date, Stark.” With that she stood, brushed off her knees and crept down the ravine at a low crouch. Ten yards out she broke into a gap in the trees. An engine's roar came from above. Morgan saw her look skyward, then stand upright and turn to walk back to his safe spot.

“Can't you do something about that damned copter?”

“It's just an annoyance,” Morgan said. “They can't track us well. The danger's the drums.”

“I think you're wrong,” Felicity said, squatting beside him. “I think they're directing the drummers by radio. It's Bastidas and Herrera up there.”

Morgan's face went from impassive to startled to calculating and finally to accepting. He clenched his lips and nodded as if agreeing with someone. When he stood, resolution shone in his light brown eyes.

“When you gamble,” he said, “The amount of risk you call acceptable depends on the potential gain, right?”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, nodding.

“Well right now I'm willing to risk it all for a shot at bringing those two down.”

Two minutes later Felicity was watching Morgan scale a tall palm near the clearing's edge. She stood underneath, listening for the drums, the helicopter and approaching animals. She was perfectly calm when Morgan was with her, but as he climbed the fear crept back into her. She wondered what jungle animal waited out there to supplement its diet with Irish blood.

A small stone fell in front of her. That was Morgan's signal and she knew what she had to do. She ran into the open area, moving with a panther's grace. Once out in the clearing, she looked behind at an imaginary pursuer, and tripped over a vine. She fell spread-eagled on the mossy forest floor and lay still. She could imagine Bastidas pointing, Herrera pulling on a stick and pressing a foot pedal. She could hear the whirlybird banking low over her. They had guessed right. Their watchers were trying to see how badly she was hurt. Silently she urged them closer.

Bam!

Bam!

Morgan straddled a high limb, his back braced against the tree trunk. The big pistol's blast made palm fronds rattle like canned applause.

Bam!

Bam!

The fierce recoil and stunning vibrations nearly jarred Morgan from his perch. The helicopter banked deep, skittered across the sky like a wounded bird.

Bam!

Bam!

Bam!

Like a crow with its tail feathers plucked, the helicopter seemed to lean back and then began to shrink. Morgan's entire face clenched tight and he lowered his gun to the branch. He banged his fist five times into the tree under him.

The copter didn't fall, and now it was too high and slipping out of range. He had rolled the dice and thrown craps.

“We must go back now,” Herrera said, fighting the stick.

“No! I want to see them die.” Bastidas could barely see their quarry below, being harassed by a circle of beaters. They reminded him of the ants in his yard when he was a child. He would leave sugar for them to fight over. When he tired of watching them he would squash them. Though blurred by vibration, it was a very satisfying view.

“Captain, he hit the fuel tank. It is just luck that there was no explosion. We haven't fuel to waste.”

“I will leave when death is assured,” Bastidas said. “Look now. It is soon.”

Morgan dropped to the ground and joined Felicity in the clearing. It was perhaps eighty meters across, roughly circular. Morgan's nostrils flared and the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His eyes met Felicity's and he knew she felt it too. That peculiar warning buzz they both sensed when some danger approached.

“It's not that copter,” Morgan said. “It smells… I don't know… animal.”

“Your play,” Felicity said quietly. They had arranged in past deadly situations to choose a leader quickly. From here on in they would not look at each other again and verbal communication would drop to a minimum. Experience told them this would help confuse an enemy. They would depend on their unique psychic link to guide each other.