Rogue Angel 46: Treasure of Lima (12 page)

To someone like that, Supay was not only an excellent choice, but an inside joke, as well.

Annja wasn’t yet ready to share her conclusions with the others, but by the time she called it a night and slipped into her tent to get some sleep, she was feeling confident that she had most of the bigger picture all worked out.

Tomorrow she could put her theory to the test.

19

Annja awoke to a woman’s scream.

She threw on her clothes, jammed her feet into her hiking boots and rushed out of the tent to find Hugo trying to console a rather hysterical Claire. The two of them separated as Annja ran over, giving her a chance to see what was behind them, and the sight brought her up short.

The early-morning sun illuminated the symbol that had been painted across the front of Claire’s tent with a red substance that looked to be blood. The image was rough, the blood or paint or whatever it was having dripped downward after it had been applied, but it didn’t take too much effort to recognize it as a crude drawing of a leering face.

A face with a wide mouth and sharply pointed teeth and horns.

The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and she understood why Claire was so distraught. Whoever had put the symbol there had been less than two feet from where Claire had been sleeping blissfully unaware that danger lurked so close. The realization that the group had quite literally been at their mercy imparted an even greater malevolence to the image.

Some instinct, some long-buried sixth sense, caused Annja to turn and look at the front of her own tent.

A similar image stared evilly back at her.

“It’s on mine, as well,” Hugo said, and a glance in that direction showed Annja that he was correct.

The implications were staggering.

Turning back to face Hugo, Annja asked, “Is she hurt?”

Hugo opened his mouth to reply but to Annja’s surprise it was Claire who answered.

“I’m all right,” she said. “Just a bit of a shock.”

From her tone Annja could tell that Claire was irritated with her own loss of control, and that was a good sign. She’d be steadier the next time they encountered something unexpected.

And there would be a next time, Annja knew. It was becoming increasingly obvious that someone didn’t want them here, and whoever they were, they weren’t afraid to show it.

“Where’s Marcos?”

The implication of Hugo’s question was realized when Annja felt the cold hand of dread squeeze her spine. Marcos’s tent stood next to hers, and as she spun around to face it, she saw that the flaps were closed and free of any markings.

The absence of the image that marred all their other tents only deepened her concern.

She stepped over to the entrance to his tent and saw that the flaps were unzipped. She pulled the right one aside and stuck her head inside to take a look.

The tent was empty.

Annja supposed he might have gotten up early and gone for a walk, maybe try to hunt down something fresh for breakfast, but then she spied that his boots still stood next to each other at the end of his sleeping bag, ready to be pulled on when he awakened that morning.

Who goes for a walk in the jungle in bare feet?

She turned to find the others had joined her and were now looking inside, as well.

Upon seeing the empty tent, Hugo cursed vehemently.

“I knew it!” he said.

“Do you think they have him?”

Annja could only shrug; she didn’t even know who “they” were and she said as much.

She stepped away from the tent, into the center of the camp, and turned in a slow circle, surveying the jungle surrounding them. She was looking for some hint, some clue, as to what they were dealing with.

She couldn’t imagine one man overpowering Marcos, never mind doing it so quietly that none of them had been disturbed from their sleep. There had to have been at least two, maybe more. With that many people involved, chances were good that they’d left some evidence of their passing behind them, especially if they were dragging an unconscious Marcos between them, but there was nothing. No marks in the dirt. No broken or even bent branches or foliage.

It was just like the afternoon before.

Whoever these people were, they moved like ghosts.

Annja shook off the thought and addressed the others. “Marcos is pretty heavy, so maybe they didn’t take him far. He might still be right here somewhere, just out of sight of the camp. Why don’t the two of you search in that direction,” she said, pointing upstream past the waterfall, “and I’ll head this way. If you don’t find any sign of him within fifteen minutes, turn back and regroup here.”

“We’d better find him,” Hugo said, “or somebody’s going to pay.”

He grabbed the rifle from his tent, and he and Claire headed toward the waterfall and the pool at its base, calling Marcos’s name as they went.

Annja waited until they were out of sight and then called her sword to hand and headed off in the other direction. Splitting up at a time like this was a calculated risk; if there was someone out there, still watching them, Annja had just made herself a convenient target. On the other hand, they could cover much more territory if they split up and she, at least, was used to dealing with confrontations with those who had less than her best interests at heart. Putting Hugo and Claire together was a natural combination and created the best set of circumstances that they could hope for in a time like this.

She could hear Hugo’s voice carrying on the light breeze, calling for Marcos, but Annja didn’t do the same. For one, she didn’t want Claire or Hugo to confuse her cries for those of Marcos looking for help, and two, she didn’t want to give whoever might be out there any notice that she was on her way.

Whoever they were, they’d messed with her and those under her charge one too many times. Now it was time for payback.

In the end, it was Annja who found him.

She was moving through the trees, looking for signs that someone had come through this way before her, when she heard the snarl of a large cat.

Jaguar,
she thought.

She was about to head in the other direction, intentionally avoiding a confrontation with the local wildlife, when the thought reared up in the forefront of her brain.

Jaguar!

The cat’s hunting cry came again and she took off at a run in the direction she thought it had come from, leading with her sword arm as she went.

Seconds later she came upon a small grove of ceiba trees, each one easily eight to twelve feet in diameter, with large, coiling roots that rose in hoops and swirls like the back of a sea serpent.

Annja’s gaze was drawn to the base of one tree in particular, where, pacing back and forth in front of the trunk and looking upward, was one of the largest jaguars she’d ever seen.

The cat hadn’t seen her yet, so she followed the direction of its gaze with her own, curious what it found so interesting. She gasped when she saw what it was looking at.

Marcos had been strung up against the trunk of the tree several feet in the air, his arms and legs spread-eagled and he was lashed to the tree with ropes made from vines. His head lolled against his chin, unmoving, his eyes were closed and his entire form was so covered in blood that Annja thought he’d been skinned alive when she first laid eyes upon him. She wondered why he hadn’t cried out until she saw the gag that had been stuffed in his mouth and tied around at the back of his head to keep it in place.

To Annja, Marcos looked dead.

To the cat, however, he probably looked like an easy dinner, especially with all that blood, and the beast was none too happy about Annja’s sudden appearance. It snarled a warning, a keening scream that sent the jungle around them into silence as the other creatures recognized the cry of the predator on the hunt.

Annja was tempted to scream right back at it, but she settled for bringing her sword around in the ready stance and grinning at the feisty feline.

In response, the cat lowered its front half to the ground, its face mere inches above the earth, its eyes locked on hers as its tail twitched back and forth.

“Here, kitty, kitty,” Annja taunted, and the fire of battle rose in her heart as the cat charged at the sound of her voice.

20

The jaguar was a beautiful specimen, about one hundred and fifty kilograms of rippling golden-brown muscle covered with a pattern of black rosettes that undulated as it ran. It had yellow eyes and a dark tail that lashed back and forth in anger.

She hated to kill such a glorious creature but she didn’t see how she was going to be able to chase it off. It saw her as the interloper in its meal; perhaps even the meal itself now, and it was going to fight to protect the same.

The cat bounded toward her on large padded feet that allowed it to move almost soundlessly, and Annja knew that if she caught a swipe of one of those massive paws across just about anywhere, she was in a host of trouble.

So don’t let it connect,
her inner voice told her.

Right. Easier said than done.

Then the cat was upon her and she didn’t have any time for thought, just action.

The jaguar rushed in, closing to within three feet of Annja before skidding to a stop and rearing up on its hind legs, lashing out with its right paw while roaring at her from close range.

Something in the back of Annja’s mind cataloged the cry—the jaguar was the only cat in the western hemisphere that actually roared like a tiger or lion—but the rest of her was entirely focused on the battle unfurling mere inches away.

As one of the cat’s big paws came lashing in, Annja struck out with her sword in turn, cutting a narrow slash across the outside of the cat’s paw.

Sorry, kitty, but it’s not going to be as easy as all that.

As if it heard her, the jaguar snarled, a harsh, rippling cry, and then lashed out again, once, twice, driving Annja backward, forcing her to keep her sword swinging frantically as she sought to keep those paws off her. The cat was trying to corner her against another tree, where it could kill her and then eat her at its leisure.

Annja twisted and turned, striking out with her sword every opportunity that she had, and before long both of them were bleeding from half a dozen minor wounds but neither side giving any inclination of giving up.

Then it happened.

The cat lashed out with its paw again, but this time the blow connected with the flat of Annja’s weapon, ripping it free of her hands and sending it twisting and turning away somewhere into the thick foliage behind her.

If the cat had been capable of smiling, there was no doubt in Annja’s mind that it would have in that moment.

Its yellow eyes gleamed wickedly as it let loose a final roar and charged.

Annja turned and ran directly at the tree behind her, praying she’d be fast enough. The cat closed half the distance in a single bound.

Annja used the first of the ceiba roots that she came to as a springboard, pushing off with her left foot and bouncing to the next on her right, then jumping off with that one to bring her into contact with the trunk of the tree itself.

No sooner had her feet landed against the trunk of the ceiba tree than Annja threw herself backward in a Hail Mary move, flipping end over end as she sailed between the jaguar’s paws even as it reared up, trying to catch her. She felt a claw tear down the outside of her calf, but she dismissed it, concentrating on her landing, knowing she was only going to get one chance.

She arced over the jaguar’s head, hit the ground on her outstretched hands and tucked into a roll to bring her back around facing the cat. As she rolled upright she called her sword, opening her hand and feeling it slap into her palm with reassuring heft.

The cat had already shifted about, following her dive, and it leaped toward her with a stunning force.

Annja knelt there, sword thrust forward, and watched the big cat plunge toward its death, praying it wouldn’t maul her too much in the process.

But the jaguar wasn’t ready to die quite yet.

It had been wounded by the sword once already and recognized it as a threat, so as it dropped toward her the big cat twisted in midleap, pulling the majority of its body out of the path of the blade.

Instead of impaling the cat through the center of its chest, as Annja had planned, the sword took it through the shoulder instead. The cat’s downward momentum forced its body down the length of the blade and it screamed in pain even as Annja went over backward with it atop her, using her feet to buck the beast up and over her head. She heaved it away from her, releasing her sword back into the otherwhere at the same time to avoid amputating the cat’s leg in the process.

Annja rolled over and scrambled to her feet, snatching her sword back from the otherwhere in order to defend herself as the cat hit the ground and landed on its feet.

It turned to face her and for a moment Annja thought it was going to charge a second time, but at the flash of the sword in her hand, the cat apparently decided that discretion was the better part of valor.

It roared one last time and then slunk away into the trees, favoring its injured shoulder.

Annja paused, sword in hand, making sure it wasn’t going to change its mind and come charging back. When it didn’t, she climbed wearily to her feet and returned to Marcos.

Only to find him thrashing in his bonds, his arms and legs kicking weakly while odd choking noises came out of his mouth from behind the gag.

The sound galvanized Annja into action.

She rushed forward to the base of the tree, staring up at Marcos hanging there several feet above her head. It only took a few seconds for her to realize that the ropes holding him to the tree had been cleverly tied to become their own sort of prison and punishment rolled into one. If Marcos struggled, the ropes tied around his neck tightened, making it more difficult to breathe. The more difficult it became to breathe, the more Marcos struggled. It was devious and cruel but extremely effective, and Annja was amazed that the man had managed to hold out this long.

“Hang on, Marcos!” she called up to him. Standing on the highest root, she could only come up to eye level with his boots, but it did put her into striking range of the ropes if she used her sword.

She reared back and was about to call the sword to slash through the bindings nearest to her when something stopped her. She followed the ropes with her eyes, letting her gaze travel over the various lines and knots. That was when she recognized the problem.

If she cut the lower ropes, all of Marcos’s weight would sag against the ropes tied about his neck, finishing the job they’d already started and strangling him to death. She’d have to climb higher and cut the upper ropes first, freeing his neck and eliminating the threat. At that point she could cut through the rest of the ropes once they had figured out how to support Marcos’s big frame.

At this point the sword was just going to be a hindrance, so she sent it away with a thought. She was leaving herself vulnerable if their enemies were still around, but that was a chance she was going to have to take. She couldn’t make it up the tree while holding the sword; she needed both hands for the climb.

She checked to be sure her knife was in its proper place on the sheath on her belt—she was going to need it in just a few minutes to cut Marcos loose—and then grabbed the trunk in front of her and started to climb.

It was slow going; the bark was slick with humidity and there weren’t that many hand-or footholds to make it easy. Only her rock-climbing experience, particularly the skill of finding and sticking to minute holds, kept her from slipping right back down the trunk to where she started. Hand over hand, step after step, she worked her way upward.

She was almost into position to the side of Marcos when she heard Hugo calling her name from nearby.

“Over here!” she cried, and a few moments later Claire and Hugo rushed into the clearing.

“Quick! Support his legs!” Annja directed them. “We need to get the pressure off the ropes before they choke him to death!”

They jumped to do so, clambering up onto the roots just as Annja had before them in order to get high enough to reach Marcos’s legs. While Claire steadied him, Hugo put his back to the tree trunk and tried to guide Marcos’s feet onto his shoulders.

While the other two were getting into position, Annja was in the tree next to Marcos, thinking of a method to get him back down to the ground alive.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t succeeding.

Without any other options available to her, Annja did the only thing she could.

She used her knife to slash through the ropes and watched Marcos tumble forward, landing on the ground in a heap in front of Hugo.