The Portal (A Delphi Group Thriller Book 2) (11 page)

“It’s different in our field. There’s very little physical evidence.”

“Okay, but
very little
physical evidence? That implies there is
some
.”

Katiya held her thumb and index finger slightly apart. “A tiny little bit, yes. And that’s what really gets me excited.”

“Well, let’s hear it.”

Katiya paused for a moment. It seemed like she was sorting through what she could share. Finally, she looked up at Amanda and said, “Okay, here’s one. Two years ago we interviewed a man from a small town in Vermont. Great reputation in his community. Owns a chain of highly successful hardware stores in the eastern part of the state. He has a lot to lose if people think he’s turned into some sort of flake, and yet he still spoke out.

“Anyway, he claims he was abducted on three separate occasions. Each time, he was placed in sort of a hypnotic state before being levitated and carted out of the house. His story was so compelling that we decided to conduct a second interview with him under hypnosis. It’s something we often do with convincing cases. It was during that second interview that we picked up a piece of information that hadn’t come out before. During the final abduction, which had taken place only a week before, one of the beings did something unusual. It placed a hand on one of the sliding glass doors at the back of the man’s home.”

Amanda’s brow furrowed. “He remembered that? It seems like an awfully small detail for someone to recall.”

“That’s the benefit of placing the subject under hypnosis. Recall is amazing in that state. You wouldn’t believe the detail we get. On top of that, we ask questions about everything, and I mean everything. Sometimes I think we’re more thorough than the police.”

“How did the hand on the sliding glass door come up?”

“When I asked him to describe being taken out to the ship, he spoke of the sliding glass door being opened wider to allow him to pass through. I asked if the door opened on its own or whether they touched it. He said they touched it.”

Amanda sat up straighter in her chair.

“Immediately after bringing him out of hypnosis, we sent a forensics team out to dust the door. And he was right. There was a print exactly where we thought it would be, about two-and-a-half feet off the ground.”

“What did the print look like?”

Katiya exhaled slowly. “I can’t lie. It was bizarre. Our forensics expert tells us the ridge design is unlike anything he’s ever seen.”

“Oh my. I’m surprised I haven’t read about this—”

“We haven’t told anyone, nor have I included it in any of my research papers… not yet anyway. There are still some things we’re looking into that I can’t even share with you tonight.”

“You haven’t told the government?”

Katiya laughed. “The government? Why should we tell them anything? They hide everything they have then ridicule those who produce their own information.” After a pause, she said, “But things are changing. I think you’re going to hear them admit to a few things soon… very soon.”

Amanda was about to say something but stopped when she heard the soft pad of footsteps outside the room. Seconds later she heard a door open and close.

Katiya took a swig of her bottled water. After setting it back on the nightstand, she said, “We’ve also obtained other evidence, mostly of a sexual nature. A number of abductees, primarily women, complained of having their bodies probed, sexually. They don’t remember the details because they eventually lost consciousness.”

“They were drugged?”

“That’s the likeliest answer, although it’s also possible they were placed in a hypnotic state using some advanced form of telepathy. The bottom line is that none of them remember anything of substance after leaving their homes.

“Some of the victims had physical marks that bore witness to the fact that they had been abused, but as you can imagine, those could have come from a number of different sources, even from contact with someone in their family. So we continue to document the details and hope that at some point we’ll have our breakthrough, something we can bring to the world.” She smiled. “And that’s why I’m here.”

“That makes sense,” Amanda said. After a long silence, she looked at Katiya and smiled. “You know I have to ask this… do you think we’re going to find anything?”

“That’s a good question. The honest answer is that I don’t know.” She gestured toward her laptop and the piles of paper. “I didn’t share this at the meeting, but I’ve discovered some pretty interesting things about our target zone. So much that it makes me suspicious that there is something going on out there.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “So what did you find?”

Katiya smiled. “Give me another day or two, then we can talk. I’m still trying to put a couple of pieces together.”

“You tease.”

Katiya smiled. “I promise you’ll be the first to know.” She glanced at her watch. “Besides, it’s getting late. I think we can both use some shut-eye.”

Amanda stood. “Can’t blame a girl for trying though.”

Katiya slid off the bed and stuck her hand out. “I’m so glad you’ve joined the team, Amanda. I feel like we’re kindred spirits.”

“It’s funny, but I feel the same way.”

Katiya stepped across the room and opened the door. “Sleep well.”

“You too.”

Amanda stepped out into the hall, closing the door behind her. As she started toward her cabin, she heard a thump behind her. She turned, but no one was there. She figured the noise must have come from the door at the end of the hall, which led to the stern. Who would be out there at this hour?

Probably just a stick or a limb hitting the boat,
she thought.

Hearing nothing else, she turned and walked toward her cabin.

THERE WAS A brief flash of light as the door at the back of the
Izabel
opened. A man draped in a raincoat stepped outside, closing the door behind him. He crossed to the rail, doing his best to ignore the storm that continued to rage along the river.

Thunder grumbled overhead, and a gust of wind sent sheets of rain whipping across the stern. The man cursed under his breath. If the cabin walls weren’t so thin, he never would’ve ventured out into the tempest.

He turned and looked back at the door. It was still shut.
Quit worrying.
No one would come out in this weather. And even if they did, he’d already concocted a story that would explain why he was there.

Confident he wasn’t being watched, the man pulled a phone from his pocket, leaning over to shelter it from the rain. He used a thumb to scroll through the contacts list until he found the name he was looking for. A quick tap initiated the call. After two rings, someone picked up but didn’t speak. As the wind whipped his coat, the man hunkered down and passed along his first report. He gave them the precise location of the
Izabel
as well as a few pertinent details he’d picked up during the presentation earlier in the evening. His contact seemed pleased but reminded him that all the guidelines were to be followed. If they weren’t, then he knew what to expect.

After telling his contact he understood, the man ended the call and placed the phone back in his pocket.

He lingered for a few minutes, thinking about all that had transpired that day. He’d been able to gather a lot of information already, and no one seemed to have noticed anything was amiss. Even the team lead, supposedly a sharp man, didn’t seem to suspect a thing.

Suddenly a bolt of lightning flashed less than a mile away. The man realized he’d been outside long enough. Turning, he crossed over to the door, and like a hooded phantom, he slipped back inside.

Amazon Rainforest, Brazil

ZANE SHIELDED HIS eyes from the midafternoon sun as he strode down the boat’s ramp and onto the sheltered beach. It was the first time he’d set foot on Brazilian soil in almost two days, and it felt good. This was where the real journey would begin.

As others began to stream out onto the small strip of red sand, he looked up. The rain and clouds had finally retreated, and the rainforest was bathed in a soft golden glow. The foliage was teeming with creatures, large and small, searching for food in the wake of the rain. Primates screamed from distant treetops while insects buzzed around a myriad of flowering vines.

Suddenly, he caught a flash of color out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw a large bird flapping across the river, nesting material dangling from its bill. Seconds later, it disappeared into a large tree on the opposite bank.

The jungle was returning to life.

In a way, the poor weather of the last couple of days had provided a valuable service. Everyone had been forced to stay inside and recharge their batteries after long flights. Zane had spent most of his time going over the route with Jorge. They had discussed areas of potential trouble, including the possibility of flooding. The rains seemed to have fallen over a wide area, but they wouldn’t know its effects until they began traversing the jungle on foot.

Zane unscrewed the top of his thermos and took a sip of coffee. He watched the others spread out across the beach, their necks craned as they soaked in the beauty around them. Katiya and Max moved toward a row of flowering vines where insects of various kinds were buzzing with activity. As expected, the linguist had been prickly throughout the trip. He seemed to survive on bottled energy drinks, and Zane wondered how much more obnoxious he would become now that he’d be forced to drink water.

Zane’s eyes moved to Katiya. As he watched her crouch to examine a flower, he felt a little surge of warmth. He tried to push it away, but it lingered stubbornly. He would normally attribute such a feeling to physical attraction, but this seemed different. It was a development he’d have to monitor. Maintaining personal discipline while working was something he prided himself on. And while Dr. Katiya Mills was certainly someone who would warrant any man’s attention, this was not the time or place. At least, he hoped not.

“I agree one hundred percent,” said a male voice from behind him.

Zane turned to find Brett standing at his shoulder. “I’m sorry?”

Brett set his backpack on the ground and nodded toward Katiya. “Uber hot.”

Zane shook his head. “Was it that obvious?”

“Don’t feel bad. If you hadn’t noticed, I might have asked for your man card.”

Zane’s eyes returned to the group. “How is everyone doing?”

“For the most part, good,” Brett said as he took a swig of bottled water. “I think everyone has cabin fever and is just ready to get going.”

“I am too.” Zane reached up and wiped away the beads of sweat that had already gathered on his forehead. The breeze generated by the boat, as well as the storms, had given them a false sense of cool comfort. After stepping off the boat, that changed immediately. They weren’t even under the canopy yet, and the humidity was already suffocating. “My big concern is preparedness.”

“How so?”

Zane took another sip of coffee and screwed the cap back on his thermos. “I’ve had to survive out in the jungle before, and nothing really prepares you for the wave of discomfort that hits you out here. The heat, the clouds of insects, the sudden rains that soak through clothing in seconds. Not to mention all the deadly critters that lie in wait for the uninitiated.” He nodded toward the others. “Unfortunately, some are going to have trouble adjusting, and we need to make sure we get them—”

Brett pointed across the clearing. “I think Jorge wants us.”

Zane looked up and saw the Brazilian standing at the edge of the forest, motioning them over.

As they approached, Jorge pulled back a few leafy fronds and hacked them off with his machete. “We’re in luck. The trail is still here, although the entrance was grown over a bit. That probably means no one has used it in the last few months.”

Zane stepped forward and peered into the opening. A path wound through the maze of trunks beyond. “Wow, that’s tight.”

The Brazilian shrugged. “At times it will be tight, and at other points it will open up a bit.”

“No, that’s fine.” Zane’s eyes narrowed as he focused on something a couple of feet away on the trail. He squatted and carefully picked up a leaf, exposing an impression in the soil. “But I’m not so sure no one has been here recently.”

Brett squatted next to him. “What is it?”

Zane looked up at Jorge. “Did you step in here?”

The Brazilian shook his head. “No. I was walking along the edge, pulling limbs back and looking for the trail. When I found it, I called you over. Why?”

Zane picked up a stick and pointed at the impression. “Because that’s a footprint.”

“Maybe it’s one of the local tribesmen,” Brett said.

“An indigenous tribesman wearing boots?” Zane asked. He used the stick to point out a few faint horizontal marks made by the sole.

Brett nodded then stood and looked back at the beach. “Then why wasn’t the sand covered with tracks? I was one of the first down the ramp and didn’t see a thing.”

“The storm would’ve washed away any exposed prints,” Jorge said.

“He’s right,” Zane said. He turned and pointed at the vegetation overhanging the trail. “This print was protected by the jungle.”

Brett looked farther down the trail. “Is that the only one?”

“I believe so,” Zane said, standing. “From this point forward, it looks like the path becomes a mat of compressed vegetation. A professional tracker could probably find more prints. Unfortunately, I’m not that good.”

Brett turned to Jorge. “Well, you did say that tour groups occasionally use this route.”

The Brazilian’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the ground. “Occasionally, but not very often. Generally they enter the jungle earlier.”

“The one thing we do know is that the print is relatively fresh,” Zane said. “I seriously doubt anyone would’ve come through here last night during the storm. And we haven’t passed any tour boats since leaving Manaus.”

“At this point, I don’t think there’s reason to get too concerned.”

Zane put his hands on his hips and looked at the impression once again. Could that be the boot print of a soldier? He thought so, but then again it could also be the boot print of an ornithologist or a herpetologist. Delphi had a database of prints, but this impression was too light and too faint to show up on a photograph. Besides, as Brett said, there was no need to ascribe any sort of ominous origin to the discovery.