Amazonia

The sergeant finally spoke, awkward with shame. “The napalm minibombs. We were under orders to find the source of the miraculous compound. Once a sample was secured, we were to destroy the source. Total annihilation.”

Louis straightened, enjoying the shocked expressions on the others’ faces. Even the female Ranger looked surprised. It seemed the military liked to keep its secrets to only a select few.

Raising an arm, Louis pointed back to the small group of men gathered around the giant tree. They were his own demolitions team. Against the white bark of the trunk, the Rangers’ remaining nine minibombs appeared like flat black eyes peering toward them. “Thanks to the U.S. government, there’s enough firepower here to wipe out even a giant monster of a tree like this one.”

Kostos hung his head, as well he should.

“So you see,” Louis said, “our two missions are not so different. Only who benefits—the U.S. military complex or a French pharmaceutical company. Which in turn raises the question, who would do the greater good with the knowledge?” He shrugged. “Who can say? But conversely, we might ask—who would do the greater harm?” Louis eyed the sergeant. “And I think we can all answer that one.”

A distinct quiet settled over the group.

Nate finally spoke. “What about Kelly and Frank?”

Ah, the missing members of the group…Louis was not surprised it was Nate who brought up the question. “Don’t worry about their health. They’ll be coming with my party,” Louis explained. “I’ve been in contact with my financiers. Monsieur O’Brien will prove an ideal guinea pig to investigate this regenerative process. The scientists at St. Savin are itching to get their hands and instruments on him.”

“And Kelly?”

“Mademoiselle O’Brien will be coming along to make sure her brother cooperates.”

Nathan paled.

During the discourse, Louis had noticed Nate’s gaze flick toward the tree. He waved an arm back to the giant. “The timers are set for three hours from now. Eight o’clock, to be precise,” Louis said. He knew everyone here had seen the force of a single napalm bomb. Multiplied by nine, he watched the hopelessness settle into their faces.

Louis continued, “We’ve also seeded other incendiary bombs throughout the canyon, including the chasm leading up here, which we’ll explode as soon as we vacate the area. We couldn’t risk the possibility that we missed an Indian hidden up here who might free you. And I’m afraid, tied up or not, there’s no escape. This entire isolated valley will become one mighty firestorm—destroying all remnants of the miracle sap and acting as a bonfire in the night to attract any helicopters winging this way. A fiery diversion to cover our flight.”

The utter defeat in their eyes shone dully.

Louis smiled. “As you can see, it’s all well planned.”

Behind him, Louis’s lieutenant approached briskly and stopped at his shoulder. The Colombian ignored the prisoners as if they were mere sheep.

“Yes, Mask?”

“All is in order. We can evacuate at your word.”

“You have it.” Louis glanced again at the line of men and women. “I’m afraid duty calls. I must bid you all a fond adieu.”

Turning away, Louis felt a twinge of satisfaction, knowing that it was ultimately the young man’s father, Carl Rand, who had truly brought his proud son to his doom. Following in his father’s footsteps…

He hoped the old man was watching from hell.

4:55 P.M.

Nate knelt with the others, beaten and crushed by the news. He watched dully as the camp organized for their departure.

Kouwe spoke at his shoulder. “Favre has placed all this faith in the Yagga’s sap.”

Nate turned his head, careful of the noose around his neck. “What does it matter now?”

“He expects it to cure the contagion, like it does physical wounds, but we’ve no proof it can.”

Nate shrugged. “What do you want us to do?”

“Tell him,” Kouwe said.

“And help him? Why?”

“It’s not him I’m trying to help. It’s all those out in the world dying of the disease. The cure to the contagion lies here. I feel it. And he’s going to destroy it, wiping out any chance to stop the curse of the Ban-ali. We must try to warn him.”

Nate frowned. In his mind, he saw Manny’s murder…his friend’s body falling to the dirt. He understood in his mind what Kouwe was suggesting, but he just couldn’t get his heart to go along with it.

“He won’t listen anyway,” Nate said, seeking some compromise between heart and mind, some justification for remaining silent. “Favre’s operating under a strict timetable. He has another six to eight hours at the most before a military response is mustered. All he can do is plunder what he can and run.”

“We must make him listen,” Kouwe insisted.

Raised voices echoed to them from the Yagga. Both men glanced toward the tunnel in the trunk. A pair of mercenaries strode out with a stretcher between them. Nate recognized their own makeshift travois and Frank tied on top. He was bound like a trussed pig, ready for the spit.

Next came Kelly, walking on her own, her hands tied behind her back. She shuffled beside Favre and his naked Indian mistress. They were all trailed by additional gunmen.

“You don’t know what you’re doing!” Kelly argued loudly. “We don’t know if the sap can cure anything!”

Nate heard their own argument from a moment ago.

Louis shrugged. “St. Savin will have paid me long before it’s ever discovered if you’re right or not. They’ll look at your brother’s legs—or what’s left of them—and shovel the contracted millions into my account.”

“What about all those dying? The children, the elderly.”

“What do I care? My grandparents are already dead. And I have no children.”

Kelly blustered hotly, then her eyes fell on the group of her friends. Her face crinkled in confusion. She glanced ahead to the trail of thirty or so men marching out of the valley, then back at the group of prisoners.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“Oh, your friends…they’ll be staying here.”

Kelly stared at the ring of explosives set around the tree, then over to them, her eyes settling on Nate. “You…You can’t just leave them here.”

“I can,” Louis said. “I certainly can.”