Catalyst (Breakthrough Book 3) (28 page)

58

That was exactly what Clay and Li Na were doing.  Together they weaved in and around the dark tree trunks, stopping frequently to remain hidden.  The bright curtains of light pierced the canopies overhead and bathed the ground, passing ominously back and forth.

After another pass, Clay dropped his bag and pulled out a dark thermal blanket.  He wrapped it around Li Na to cover her lighter clothing.  It would make it easier to blend with the ground beneath them, as long as they were not moving when spotted.  It wasn’t foolproof, but it was better than nothing.

If Qin had any experience, or brains, he already had men on the ground following them.  Having to stop when the light approached meant they had to move even faster in the darkness.  The men on the ground would be gaining.  Their shrinking lead and the house ahead of them were now all that was separating them from Qin.

The sound of the helicopter’s thundering blades passed over once more and had just begun to fade when they darted out together again, running for all they were worth.

It felt a hell of a lot longer than a mile and a half. 

When Clay found the small house, he was expecting something more…recognizable.  Instead, what Borger had spotted from the air was little more than an old shack.  More than that, it looked as though it was barely standing, positioned in a small clearing and surrounded by tall tallow trees, their canopies fighting for the open sky overhead.

On the ground, near the structure, were tools and a wooden cart, its wheels appearing ready to fall off.  On the ground was a pile of something Clay couldn’t quite make out.  But what caught his eye was the soft glow of light visible through a very old, but surprisingly clear window.

He stepped forward and looked through it.  There was little to see.  The view was blocked by a cloth curtain.

Without the slightest hesitation, he moved to what looked like a front door and tried the rusted knob.

Locked.

He stepped back and stared at it.  All at once he raised his leg, and with a powerful kick, focused his boot against the door, just inches from the knob.  In an earsplitting crack, the door exploded inward and slammed against an interior wall.

Inside, in a small room, sat a Chinese family.  Ragged and sitting around a wooden table with fear in their eyes.  The shock of having their front door kicked in had left them motionless, holding food to their mouths in mid bite. 

The small family was composed of two school-age boys and a younger sister sitting next to their parents, with a stove fire burning behind them. On the table, flames from several homemade candles danced in the sudden burst of outside air.

The family’s faces didn’t change.  They remained fixed at the table, unmoving.  After an awkward silence, the father’s eyes blinked past them, out through the door at one of the searchlights as it passed overhead.

Still heaving in the doorway, Clay turned to Li Na.

“Tell them we need help.”

59

The man at the table listened to Li Na and looked up again as the second helicopter roared past.

His eyes moved to the tall man standing in the doorway, with one hand firmly grasping a rifle.  He was clearly an American soldier, breathing heavily and with a face like stone.

The father carefully put down his wooden bowl, not taking his eyes off either one of them.  Eventually, he motioned to the boy on his right –– the taller of the two –– and spoke softly.  Nearest to the stove, the mother remained completely still.

Struggling to remain patient, Clay turned and peered back through the door.  “We don’t have a lot of time.”

“Wait,” Li Na whispered back.

The boy, not more than thirteen, rose nervously from the table.  He stepped away and moved to the door where he turned, staring directly at his father.

His father nodded firmly.  Even to Clay, the message was clear:
move!

They followed the boy as he ran, zigzagging through the forest as though he had every tree memorized, and every step.

Clay was surprised to see the teenager instinctively stop when the light returned, waiting for it to pass before resuming.

They reached a worn path, barely as wide as a single footprint, and followed the boy up a steep incline, winding their way around a small, heavily covered hill.  When they reached the far side, they stopped in front of a rock face protruding from the underbrush.  Carved into the rock was a large dark hole, almost as tall as Clay and just as wide.

The boy spoke in a hushed tone to Li Na, who translated to Clay.

“It’s a mine.  An old one.  He says there’s another entrance at the other end, about a kilometer and a half.”

She paused, listening to the boy again.

“From there, an old road leads out through a small valley where it meets the railroad tracks.”

Clay stared at the opening in the rock.  “Tell us about the mine.”

In Chinese, she repeated what Clay had said and the boy explained.

“He says it was abandoned a long time ago.  No one knows about it anymore.  There are several tunnels.  We need to keep to our left.”

Clay didn’t respond.  Instead he stepped forward, examining the opening with a grim expression.  Most caverns and mines were not the adventure, nor salvation, most people considered them to be.  Long and winding underground tunnels were very dangerous, especially mines with multiple adits.  More people lost their way, and their lives, than the public knew.   And it was always in the same order.  They lost their light, then their way, and finally fresh air.

This was not a good option.

Overhead, a searchlight approached. Somehow they had deduced Clay’s direction, and unfortunately, the trees were not dense enough to hide them forever.  The mine, even as a bad option, was better than none.

He shook his head and slid the bag off his back.  He’d have to carry it in by hand.  In its place, he slung the rifle.  Clay placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and thanked him using one of the few Chinese words he knew.

“Xie xie.”

The boy responded with something he didn’t understand.  Nevertheless, the look in his eyes reinforced John Clay’s long-held belief.  A belief that ultimately, no matter where they lived, regular people were all the same.  More than anything else, they wanted to grow old.  To raise healthy children and to help one another.  In the end, most people simply wanted to leave the world a better place.  Distant enemies, he was convinced, were simply the product of political brainwashing.

Clay smiled at him before nodding to Li Na.  He then bent over, ducking his head low, and stepped into pitch blackness.

Once inside, Clay estimated a distance of thirty feet before lowering his bag and fishing out a small compact military style flashlight.  He turned it on, instantly washing the narrow walls in bright light.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Li Na nodded.  She stepped forward carefully, using the ambient glow from Clay’s light in front of her.  The ground was littered with chunks of rock and large pieces of stone, some of which had fallen from the low ceiling, leaving pocks overhead.

The walls, less than a foot away on either side, bore deep scrapes in the rock and were largely covered in a dark film.

“Did the kid mention what kind of mine this was?”

Li Na paused for a moment. “Uh...coal?”

Clay fingered some of the material off a nearby wall and smelled it.  “Iron ore.”

“Iron ore.  Yes.  What is it for?”

“It’s used in steel.”  Clay picked up his bag, holding it out in front of him as he moved forward. 
Things just kept getting worse.

60

Things
were
getting worse.  Caesare studied the distant sky, which was continuing to change.  The setting sun had already disappeared behind the dark horizon, cutting their light short and causing the team to turn back early.  Their storm had resumed its easterly direction.

Tiewater stepped up behind Caesare, who was standing on a rocky outcropping.  “That doesn’t look good.”

“No.  It doesn’t.”

“How long?”

Caesare shook his head.  “I’m not sure.  Maybe tomorrow morning.”

Tiewater scratched at the base of his lightly colored hair.  He was graying prematurely, giving a distinguished contrast against his darker eyebrows.  “We’re going to need to find some cover.  That could be a hell of a downpour.”

“Agreed,” Caesare nodded. 
This was all they needed.

They both turned as Anderson came rushing out from a wall of palms below and scaled the small incline.   He reached them only slightly out of breath.

“I may have some good news.”

“Good, we could use some.”

“I found some tracks headed northwest.  Tire tracks.  We have company up here and it’s not Otero.”

Caesare and Tiewater looked at each other.  “Who?”

“Poachers, most likely.”

“Poachers?”  Tiewater frowned.  “Why is that good news?”

A wry grin appeared on Caesare’s face, matching Anderson’s.  “Because the poachers may be looking for the same thing we are.”

“And not even realize it,” Anderson added.

Caesare motioned to Tiewater.  “You two check it out.  Corso and I will stay here and find some shelter.  If nothing else, maybe these poachers can save us some time.”  He checked his watch.  “Find out where they are, fast.”

“Yes, sir.”  Together, both men promptly scrambled back downhill and disappeared.

Caesare stepped down and followed a small path of matted grass back to the area where the rest were seated.

Corso approached him and spoke in a low voice.  “What’s up?”

“Anderson may have found us a shortcut.  In the meantime, we need to find some shelter.  The storm isn’t finished with us.”

“Yeah, I saw that.  I’ll see what I can find.”  He raised a small wire microphone and earplug, then wrapped it around his left ear.

Caesare turned to DeeAnn and Juan, resting on a pair of nearby rocks.  They looked exhausted.

“Where’s Dulce?”

DeeAnn looked up above Caesare’s head.  He followed her eyes up just in time to catch the small gorilla, hanging from the tree and trying to place a small white flower on his head.

“Someone seems to be enjoying herself.”

Juan finished replacing the batteries and handed the vest back to DeeAnn.  “Where’d the other guys go?”

“They’re checking some things out.  The storm is headed our way again.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish I were.  Things may be about to get very wet.”  He scanned the ground around them.  “And very muddy.”

“What do we do?”

“Corso’s searching for shelter.  If we can find a decent place, we’ll need to relocate.”

“Where are the other two?”

“Looking for a shortcut.”

Juan and DeeAnn both looked at each other.  “What does that mean?”

He grinned at DeeAnn.  “It means that even poachers may still have one redeeming quality.”

61

“Poacher” was such an ugly word.  Hugo preferred almost any other term.  And frankly, he never understood why the practice was even illegal.

The Brazilian took another drag off his cigarette and scratched his stubbled chin absently. 

As far as he was concerned, the black market was the way the world should be, pure opportunity without all the government leeching.

Poaching, like most lines of work, was simply the filling of a need for those who wanted something.  To him, there was little difference between cats and dogs and the more exotic pets that some people wanted.  Pets were pets.  And in this case, a capuchin was simply harder to find and capture.

But more than that, it was a matter of survival.  For him.  The truth was that it was getting damn hard to make a living in Brazil, honest or not.  He hadn’t always been a poacher, but when the economy collapsed he had to find a way to feed his family.  When it came to them versus an empty table, who gave a crap about a bunch of monkeys?  As long as people continued to pay, he would continue to satisfy the demand.

Hugo finished his cigarette and dropped it into the moist soil, rubbing it out with his boot.  He remained still, listening as the first moments of darkness enveloped the area.  The evening mist rolling over and down the mountain felt cool against his sweaty neck and arms.

Not far away he could see the flicker of light from another cigarette.  His partner, Vito.  There were four of them in all, each fanning out in the darkness, waiting.

The monkeys were easier to hear at night.

They waited almost forty-five minutes before hearing the first whistle.  It was quickly followed by another, and then another.  Hugo’s ears zeroed in on a direction.  Roughly eleven o’clock from his position.  He could see Vito’s cigarette suddenly disappear.

Hugo withdrew his JM Special dart gun and checked it.  The dart was chambered and ready.  The tranquilizer was stronger than necessary, but given the capuchin’s habit of running or climbing after being shot, a weaker dose too often made for difficult retrievals.  Hugo and his partners had learned that risking the effects of a more powerful drug was an easy trade over trying to track the damn things down.

He stalked briskly into the dense forest, rolling his feet carefully from heel to toe in an effort to remain silent.  The soft, damp ground helped reduce the noise as he moved delicately over the leaves. 

All four were now moving in on the increasing chatter, and what was beginning to sound like a big score.

With his face painted black, Tiewater edged forward through a group of ground ferns, letting the tip of his rifle float out first before sweeping past the objects in front of him –– large tents, an oversized fire pit, and stand-up tables with a propane stove and cooking utensils. 

Further away were two trucks, both old and covered in mud, sitting silently.  The first truck was a Ford Explorer and the other a long flatbed with dozens of wooden cages stacked on the back.  Inside the cages sat several monkeys who had stopped screaming and were now curiously watching Tiewater emerge from the bushes.  The abrupt silence of the capuchins made the area feel eerie, leaving only the sound of his footsteps as Tiewater eased himself out fully into the open.  He was covered by Anderson, perched above him and following steadily through the sights of his HK416.

Tiewater approached one of the tents and stopped outside, listening.  Hearing nothing, he pushed the tip of his barrel through the nylon flap and moved it aside, peering in.

Nothing.

One by one, he checked the others before looking up to Anderson and shaking his head.

“No one here,” he whispered into his microphone.  “But it’s definitely not abandoned.”  Tiewater moved to the larger of the trucks, where the monkeys were still watching him.  He looked into the front cab.

“Judging from their supplies, I’d say four or five, tops.”  He moved back to the smoldering fire pit and studied it.  “They’ve been here a few days.”

“They sure are tidy.”

Tiewater nodded.  “Makes for a quick departure, and with minimal evidence.”

“Smart.”

“Or paranoid.”  Tiewater stopped, noticing something on the ground.  Kneeling down, he retrieved his flashlight and held it close to the soil, covering it with his hand.  The beam was small and focused and revealed several footprints.

He turned it off and put the light away.

“Tracks?” Anderson asked.

“Yep.”