RACE AMAZON: False Dawn (James Pace novels Book 1) (16 page)

Due to the arduous pace she was determined to set, at every rest break the scout would be changed and allow weary concentration rather than weary legs the respite of a tandem.  It seemed a sensible way of being able to maintain a safe speed.

The break pattern was down to the camera operator; him, to monitor and Pace raised it.  What were they going to do about it?  Pace would need to know so he could prepare the necessary paperwork for the judges prior to the starting of the race.  There was a brief debate.  Speed versus safety?  Speed versus fatigue?  Fatigue versus safety?

‘My own feeling,’ ventured Ruby, ‘is the fewer stops we make the better.  I know a bit about how to survive in a jungle climate, believe me.’  Nobody doubted her.  ‘Too many stops and legs have time to seize up.  If that happens, then the pain will really drain our resolve.  We have six hours to rest out of every twenty-four.  To me, that says two breaks of three hours a piece.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ argued Attia, in the least argumentative manner possible. His soft accent was steeped with intelligence.  ‘As far as I’m aware, and please correct me if I’m wrong, we can alter the breaks throughout the time period, so long as we only stop for six hours a day.’  He cast a glance in Pace’s direction, who nodded.

‘That’s right,’ Pace said.  ‘Whatever we do must conform to a pre-planned approach for every section of the race.  For example, we can take one break of two hours and eight thirty minute stops as well if we want but we have to stick to the plan once it is agreed.  Only an emergency can alter the breaks and any change will be subject to inquiry once the race is over.’  He’d only learned this much from reading Hammond’s race information on the flight down from Rio.  ‘My own feeling,’ Pace said hesitantly ‘is that a four hour break to enable actual sleep might be best, with four half-hourly stops whenever we want them during the rest of the day.’  When nobody moved to contradict him, he went on.  ‘The riding, especially in poor conditions, will require clear thinking.  For that we all need to sleep for a few hours every day, just to recharge our batteries.’ 

Still, no comment. 

Hammond, seated to his left, nodded his agreement.  ‘Sleep will be important if we’re to avoid accidents.’  He nodded again.  ‘I think it’s a good suggestion.  I’m all for it.’  

Others voiced their approval, including Ruby, who added that it was good to see the team thinking of the problems ahead.  His suggestion was adopted and the next issue tackled.  

And so it went on, for hours, raising, debating and agreeing a plan of action for dozens of issues.  These ranged from food conservation, heat management and water intake through to the possibility of saddle-sore backsides.  The day passed in a blur of activity and information but Pace soon began to feel as if he had known his team mates for a lifetime.  The most important thing for him was that they seemed to see him as an equally valuable member of the team.

‘I may know about medicine and the human body,’ quipped Attia, just after they had broken for a late dinner of fresh fish and lightly dressed salad, ‘but when it comes to working one of those infernal cameras, I’m totally lost. I have trouble with an idiot-proof camcorder mind, not one of those professional things of yours.’

‘They’re not difficult to master,’ Pace protested but everybody was quick to agree that he would be responsible for all things technical, not just the filming.  

‘Anything electrical is down to you then,’ said Cosmos.

Pace knew that anyway.  The job description also gave him the task of operating the team transmitter.  He spent the next morning being given a run-down on the set.  He would carry the main transmitter box in a specially designed, water-proof case.  It wasn’t particularly heavy, given the range, and would nestle in the bottom half of his backpack, allowing provisions and belongings to sit in the top.  

Each team member would be wearing a wire-frame, telephonist-style headset.  Lightweight and durable, each competitor could send and receive a signal between the group members, up to a maximum distance of three miles.  When switched to external mode a signal from a headset could be boosted by the transmitter in his backpack, via satellite, literally anywhere in the world. 

Although they would be in a jungle, fighting both time and the elements, they would never be truly alone out there.  The race organisers had outlawed the use of personal satellite phones – they needed to monitor any communication with the outside world to ensure that competitors didn’t try to secretly leak information to the press.

Sarah was conspicuous only by her absence that third day; from early afternoon onwards.  She disappeared after stopping to whisper in his ear that she had some errands to run for her father. 

Pace didn’t have the time to give it any thought.  His attention was required by a calmly impatient Cosmos, interrupted mid-flow by their brief exchange.

By the time they all made it out of the room after dinner that evening, Pace felt drained from the intensity of it all.  His stateroom was dark and empty.

A quick trip down the hall revealed her own room to be unlocked, with no knife-blade of light showing beneath the door.  He knocked anyway, calling her name a couple of times before heading inside.  As he approached her bed, something caught his eye. 

Moving closer to the dresser, he noticed a letter, with his name on it, sitting within a pool of soft yellow light cast by a table lamp.

Tentatively, suddenly feeling a sense of doom grip his innards, he picked it up, tore open the envelope and quickly scanned the contents.  Each word felt like a kick in the teeth.

James,

I don’t know how to say this, so I will just be honest.  I can’t bear being around you at the moment.  I am very confused by my feelings because part of me wants to be with you, but another part of me wants to try and save my marriage.  I thought it was over until I got down here and saw Tom again.  There is still something between us, though I’m not sure what it is.  I need time to decide.  I feel dreadful, but I cannot stay.  By the time you read this I will be on my way back to England.  I feel I am deserting you, and I am so sorry.  Please forgive me.

Sarah x

Returning to his stateroom, head spinning, he forced himself to keep it together.  He was here to do a job, nothing more.  Damn her!  As the evening aged, Pace turned in and tried to get some sleep.  He kept glancing at the telephone, willing it to ring.  The phone, in defiant mood, stayed silent until just after four in the morning, when it suddenly decided to wake him.  

Pace snatched up the receiver, dropping it to the floor in his haste.  Sliding down onto the carpet beside the bed, he scrabbled it up to his ear.  He wanted so much to hear Sarah’s voice, albeit from thousands of miles away.  

A strange voice on the other end of the line had a sombre tone and was very sorry to inform him that his sister, Amanda, had been found dead at her home, murdered during what appeared to be a botched burglary.  The homicide detective on the other end of the line explained that an investigation was underway.  They would keep him informed of any progress and, once again, they were very sorry for his tragic loss. 

Not hearing anything more, he allowed the receiver to slip from numb fingers before bolting to the bathroom to vomit.

He hadn’t seen his sister for years and now there would never be a chance to do so again.  He screamed into a mirror he couldn’t see in the darkness, then pounded it into a million exploding shards with his fists.  As the strength faded from his legs, he sank to his knees in despair, choking and gasping for air. 

Totally devastated, his only other sensation was a rising tide of pure, unbridled and indignant rage.

13

Cezar Cathera prided himself on never leaving anything to chance.  He liked to tackle any problem from as many angles as possible, to ensure that he always ended up coming out on top. 

Today was no exception.  His plans this time, he knew, were so important that he had to pay extra attention to detail.  He did not trust anybody, and his frequent need to call upon the services of professional assassins, crooked lawyers and devious politicians translated into a lonely existence.  Sure enough, he had women when he wanted, he ate in the finest restaurants and was very wealthy, but he would never marry for love, or have a family.

Not that he was bothered.  Shallow, vicious and totally ruthless, his was a personality tipping into the realms of the madman.  He lived for power, and his newest plan would leave him as one of the most influential figures on the planet, if it succeeded.

Locked away in his office in the regional civic building, close to the centre of the bustling capital of Brasilia, he had plotted many treacherous acts.  The room was fairly sparsely decorated but the plain walls and cheap, government-issue furniture hid the truth.  Cathera had spent a small fortune having the room sound-proofed and electronically shielded from any known form of listening technology. 

His office computer was completely safe, protected by multiple firewalls, privacy shields and other, cutting-edge covert protection systems and he always used a coded satellite phone when making dubious calls.  He was able to operate without fear of being caught out.

So when the phone rang in his pocket, he felt quite happy to pull it out and talk freely.

‘Is it done?’ he asked the caller.  He knew it was his hired assassin.  The best in the business had been needed to ensure his plan came off.  The money he was paying was huge by any standard, but a drop in the ocean to him and well worth it to get the job done properly.

‘She is dead.  I told you before.  I never fail to complete a contract.’

‘Good news, Wolf,’ Cathera sighed, relieved.  ‘Let’s hope that the news will send her brother running back to England, a broken man.’

‘The intelligence on her doesn’t read well.  They weren’t close.  In fact, they’ve had no contact for a long time.  It might not work.’

‘Did you make it look upsetting enough?’

‘Don’t worry.  I managed to get an incriminating sample from a local prostitute.  When they test the body, it will look like she’s been raped before being murdered.’

‘When he hears the details, he will leave the race.  I cannot have him staying down here.  The media contingent has trebled just because of his presence here, and the army has brought in extra troops to beef up security.’

‘Will that cause you any problems?’

Cathera had only let Wolf know as much as was necessary.  The killer had no idea how big the scheme was that he was involved in.  ‘If he stays here, the increased security will be a headache,’ he admitted.

‘Let’s hope it works then.’

‘If it doesn’t, he will just have to be removed the old fashioned way.’

‘For an extra fee,’ Wolf stated firmly.

‘Naturally.  But I hope the fire at his apartment, and the murder of his sister might just be enough to put him off.  When he backs out of
Race Amazon
, a lot of the media will pack up and go with him, and the army should pull back.’  Cathera hung up and found a satisfied grin spreading across his sweaty face.  Even with the air conditioning at full blast, the extra insulation of the sound-proofing made his office seem like a sauna most days.

This was the second good piece of news he had received today too.  Not an hour earlier, a call from deep inside the Amazon basin had come through.  The mine had been bought for very little money, and it provided the perfect launch site for his planned attacks.  The call had been from the captain of the riverboat, letting him know the material had been successfully smuggled to the mine.  The scientist who had been so stupid as to accept a job offer would also, he was informed, no longer be in a position to collect her payment. 

She’d done her job brilliantly.  The plutonium; stolen from under the nose of the McEntire Corporation, had been readied for air dispersal and was now sitting snugly inside the specially designed delivery units.  As an added sting to any clean-up operation, she’d also found a way to incorporate a lethal dose of anthrax powder into the weapon.  Devious, scheming and fairly unscrupulous, he was almost sorry that she was gone.

It was nearly lunchtime.  The day had been good and he was about to make it better still.  He had a special guest coming for lunch, who duly appeared half an hour later.  Despite his military rank, the man arrived dressed casually, in jeans, shirt and trainers.  Designer shades helped to hide his features.  Greeting him warmly, Cathera motioned him to sit in a small lounge area in the corner of his office.  Once settled, a spread of smoked salmon, salad, bread and wine was ignored by the two men.  Cathera got right to the point.

‘Colonel Orsha, thank you for coming.’

‘It was my duty to come when summoned by such a powerful politician, so close to our beloved President.’

‘Of course, of course,’ agreed Cathera, smiling.  ‘I see you dressed as requested.  Very wise.’

‘I am a serving officer with the army, sir.  I would have been proud to come here in my uniform.’

‘Proud, yes.  But not prudent, I fear.’

Orsha was not a stupid man.  He had risen quickly up through the ranks by understanding how to play the game, until he was now second only to General Bragga in Brasilia’s main regiment. 

He knew all about Cathera’s reputation as being a power broker with few scruples.  He also knew that the man had been working behind the scenes for a while to unseat the President and seize the top job.  The President knew it too, but had the backing of the army, so his position was secure.  Even in Brazil’s democracy, the army’s support determined who ruled the country.

‘I have been asked here for a purpose,’ Orsha suggested, ‘that might not go down well with others?’

‘You are a wise man, colonel.  And that wisdom can be rewarded.’  Cathera had done his homework and chosen his victim carefully.  General Bragga was a staunch supporter of the President but his subordinate was hungry for power and promotion.  It was a weakness that Cathera meant to exploit.

‘Well, Mr Cathera.  I am here.  I am ready to listen.  What is it that we can do for each other?’

‘I will not insult your intelligence with lies, colonel.  I am sure you know that I see myself as presidential material, one day.’  Not giving Orsha time to reply, he went on.  ‘I believe that this great country of ours is being failed by the President, and his supporters.’

‘Are you not one of them?’ asked Orsha slowly.

‘I sit on the government and do my best to protect my people by blocking the worst of the decisions that are made.’

‘That sounds very patriotic.’

‘It is, I assure you, colonel.  Anyway, it is very simple.  I am going to need your help and the military support that you can muster.  I am willing to pay you a great deal of money, and I will make you a general if you are successful.  It is within my power.’

Orsha didn’t doubt it.  ‘And what do you need me to do, for such a generous offer?’

Cathera sucked in a thoughtful breath and locked his gaze firmly with the soldier opposite.  He read uncertainty in the man’s eyes, as well as excitement and greed.

‘Your regiment is providing the security for
Race Amazon
, in Manaus.  I need you to choose men who are loyal to you, and to money.  They will need to follow my orders, and those orders will involve starting a coup, or at least looking like they are.  Murder and mayhem aimed at the government.  Some of them will die.  But,’ he added firmly, ‘at the end of it, I will make sure the survivors are well rewarded.’

‘You speak of treason.  I should report this matter,’ said Orsha quietly.  There was a brief pause, as both men considered each other.  Cathera was sure he’d picked the right man and Orsha didn’t disappoint him.  ‘But I like the idea of becoming General Orsha.  And the money would be useful for the future.’

‘I knew my faith in you was not misplaced,’ soothed Cathera.  ‘I may need some of your men to go into the jungle and make an example out of the foreign athletes.  It depends on how things develop over the next few days.  Would they have a problem with that?’

‘The men I choose will be loyal,’ he chuckled, ‘and if the money is right, they will do whatever I command.  Killing civilians will be easy for them.’

‘Good.  Now, let’s get down to business.’

For the next hour, Cathera laid out his plans to Orsha and found the colonel to be an enthusiastic partner.  The enormity of what lay ahead was not lost on the ambitious soldier but he would go along with it to get what he wanted.  Anyway, he reasoned as he finally left Cathera’s office and headed out into the bright, warm afternoon sunshine, if it went wrong he could always blow the whistle on his new boss and worm his way out of any blame.

Humming to himself tunelessly, the colonel headed across to a nearby taxi rank, jumped in the first car, and gave instructions to be taken to the nearest gentleman’s club.  He was on leave for a couple of days anyway and felt in need of a few drinks to celebrate his coming promotion. Maybe he’d even pay one of the strippers for a sexual favour or two.  Excitedly he watched the world go by and became lost in a daydream.

Back in his office, Cathera couldn’t have been happier.  It had worked like a charm.  He’d picked the right man for the job and his plans for disrupting the race and starting his own revolution were back on track.

He laughed when he thought about the mighty McEntire Corporation; Britain’s corporate front in the world of international espionage and counter terrorism.  McEntire had only chosen to run the race in the Amazon because that’s where he’d lost his precious plane, with its secret cargo of weapon grade plutonium. 

The fool had no idea that Cathera has his own spies in the Russian Federation, who had bribed the mafia into divulging the location of one of the ‘humanitarian’ purchases that Britain’s most secret, unaccountable intelligence operation favoured so much.

Trying to rid the world of nuclear and biological material was a ridiculous idea to him.  These weapons had been manufactured for a purpose.  They gave power to whoever held them and he needed that power, craving it like a drug.  Just to save face on the world stage; to prove they did not negotiate with terrorists, the western governments openly refused to talk to any terrorist group.  Secretly, using front companies, they all did.  Britain had spent billions of pounds already buying up dangerous material and then destroying it. 

This time, however, he had managed to get there first.  The plane and pilot were disposed of with some well placed explosives and now McEntire was staging the race as a cover to get in and try to find it.  It was pathetic but had not been a problem at first. 

Since James Pace’s heroic actions in fighting off robbers, and getting shot in the process, things had become complicated.  His addition to the racing teams had drawn huge media interest to the race and something that had been quite small and inconsequential was now to become a world-wide, televised event.

The last thing Cathera needed was a media circus down there.  He’d originally planned to overthrow the government with a mixture of military strength and well placed political bribes. 

Having little success at getting Pace to pull out, killing the man’s sister would hopefully finally get rid of him.  Otherwise, Cathera knew he would have to put his back-up plan into operation.  Not one to leave things to chance, the outcome would still land him the top job, but it would be very bloody.

Like every tyrant who’d ever drawn breath, he accepted the inevitability of what he was doing and felt no remorse.  Still smiling, he settled back down to enjoy a smoked salmon sandwich and a glass of fine wine.