The Portal (A Delphi Group Thriller Book 2) (23 page)

Suddenly, he detected the odor of tobacco. “How is the head?”

Jorge.

Zane opened one eye. The Brazilian sat a few feet away, smoking a cigar.

“Not good.” Zane groaned and adjusted his position in the hammock. “When did you put me in a hammock?”

“Before going to sleep you complained of nausea. Dr. Mills was scared that if you were on the ground you might roll onto your stomach, vomit in your sleep, and choke. My job is to make sure you stay on your side.”

“So I guess you drew the short straw.”

Jorge looked at him. “Short straw?”

“It’s an expression,” Zane said as he adjusted the rolled-up shirt someone had placed under his head. “It means you got picked to sit here until I woke up.”

Jorge laughed. “I don’t mind watching you.” He looked back at the fire. “This is perfect, actually. It’s given me time to think.”

“Glad your mind is functioning. Not even sure I know my own name.”

Realizing sleep was no longer an option, Zane tossed aside the mosquito netting then turned and put his feet on the ground. After easing out of the hammock, he took a few ginger steps and sat down near the fire.

“Easy, amigo,” the Brazilian said, watching him with a wary eye.

“I’m fine.” Zane eased back against a tree.

“I’ll get you some water.” The Brazilian stood, walked over to a tent, and ducked inside.

While he was gone, Zane looked around. They had made camp in a natural clearing in the forest. Along the perimeter of the clearing were some of the largest trees he’d ever seen. They reminded him of the redwoods in the Sierra Nevada, only these might be even larger.
The whole scene looks prehistoric,
he thought.

Something moved on the far side of camp. Turning, Zane saw Bennett walking patrol along the perimeter. The soldier gripped his rifle tightly as he stared out into the maze of giant trunks.

Closer in, Zane saw Katiya, Amanda, and Max sitting on a log, discussing something in low whispers. A second fire burned there.

“Here you are,” the Brazilian said, offering him a canteen.

Zane took it and unscrewed the cap. “Thank you.” He took a swig then said, “I guess we were wrong.”

Jorge frowned and pulled the cigar out of his mouth. “Wrong? Wrong about what?”

“You and I both thought there were two groups out there.” He took another swig of water. “The Chinese and the one or two men who’ve been following us through the jungle. I think it’s obvious now that they’re one and the same.”

Jorge’s brow furrowed. “Why do you assume that?”

“It’s pretty simple, actually. Just before we arrived at the crater rim, I heard someone slipping around through the woods, probably the same person or persons you saw. Then an hour later, we’re hit with gunfire from the ridge.” Zane looked at Jorge, trying to see if there was understanding in the Brazilian’s eyes. “Don’t you see? Those were scouts sent out to gather information. They reported that we were in a vulnerable position, and an attack was organized.”

“If you say so,” Jorge said, taking another draw on his cigar.

Zane frowned. “You don’t think that’s what happened?”

“No, I don’t. First of all, the one following us was a man of the jungle, someone who knows this place as well or better than I do. I’ve been tracking animals and people for many years, and this man was as good as I’ve ever seen, assuming there is only one. He was a shadow in the trees, always able to stay just beyond my senses.” He looked at Zane. “No offense, but if this were some Chinese soldier slipping around in the woods, even your Green Berets would’ve known it.”

Zane shrugged. “And yet, you and I both knew he was there.”

“You’re right, he got a little sloppy.” Jorge stroked his mustache with two fingers. “At first he watched us from a distance, and I doubt it took him very long to realize that most in our group had no clue what was going on around them. So he came closer and watched some more. At that point, he made a costly mistake. Instead of remaining cautious, he assumed that we were all new to the jungle. He didn’t realize that some of us could detect him if he wasn’t careful.”

“You and me,” Zane said.

“And the boy, Osak.”

Zane frowned. “But what about this afternoon? I heard him clearly. That doesn’t sound like a jungle genius.”

“As I said, he became sloppy, arrogant even. He could probably see you’d become separated from the others. My guess is he thought it strange you were talking into something and wanted a closer look.” He shrugged. “Even the best make mistakes if they underestimate their prey.”

“Then how did the Chinese get called in so fast?”

“They weren’t called in. Their source—this mole—probably told them we were headed toward the crater rim, and they simply set up in the woods there. They probably figured they’d wait until we were at the bottom then take us all out at one time.”

Zane rubbed the tender place on his head as he sorted through everything he’d just heard. Finally, he asked, “So who was the man in the woods? Surely you have some idea.”

There was a long moment of silence. Jorge stared at the fire and took a couple of draws on his cigar before speaking. “I’ve been trying to push the thought away for some time, but I can’t anymore. I believe whoever is following us belongs to a hostile tribe.”

Zane sat up straight. “What a minute. You assured us that all of the resident tribes were harmless. That’s what I’ve communicated to our team from day one.”

Jorge looked at Zane. “Everything I told you and your people was true. The tribes in this region generally don’t pose any threat to outsiders.” Jorge stared intensely at the fire, a look of deep concern spreading across his face. It was the first time Zane had seen him display anything approaching fear. Finally, the Brazilian continued. “There is a legend… I’ve only heard it a few times… that speaks of a band of male Indians. They’re almost never seen, but those who have seen them speak of their frightening appearance. Their bodies are said to be painted entirely black, except for white rings around their eyes. Some say that their teeth are carved to points like vampiros.”

“Vampires,” Zane said with a frown.

“These men are said to sneak into villages like phantoms. They’re able to move past sentries and into the tents of women. They have their way with them then slip out again.”

“Why don’t the women raise the alarm?”

“When they wake up, there is a knife against their throat. Not only that, but when they look into those eyes and see the teeth, they are frozen with fear.” The Brazilian picked up a stick and held it into the flames, lighting its tip. “It is said that if the bastard child is a male, the hostile tribe will return later to take him as one of their own.”

“And what are these hostiles called?”

“The Dawanis.” The Brazilian’s gaze moved around the camp as if even the mention of the word might cause one of them to appear.

“Never heard of them.”

“If the stories are to be believed, they are also known for randomly killing many of the indigenous people. It doesn’t happen often, but it does happen. They are said to have the ability to mimic voices, luring them out into the jungle.”

“Sirens,” Zane said. “So why random killings?”

“To project fear. They’re wanderers, so my guess is it helps them maintain control over the people throughout their range. Sometimes they even place the heads of their victims just outside the village.”

Zane’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve always wondered if the stories of headhunters were true.”

“While not common, I can assure you they’re very much real.” Jorge tossed the remainder of his cigar in the fire.

After a long pause, Zane asked, “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”

“Because there are many legends associated with the jungle. Some are just that—legends. But many of the stories are true. And if I told you everything I know, you’d have nightmares of shrunken heads and evil spirits.” Jorge gave a little laugh.

He had a point. Zane had heard many jungle legends, and it would have been foolish to try to warn the team of every potential threat. Now that he thought about it, tourist groups traveled safely through this region all the time, and the only threats they faced were from nature—venomous snakes, poisonous frogs, jaguars, electric eels, piranha.

“So you believe we’re being followed by one or more men from this tribe?” Zane asked.

“Either the Dawanis or another tribe with hostile intentions, yes. I think the Dawanis are the most likely culprit because they wander across a large territory. One of the secrets of their success is their ability to stay on the move. There are stories of the Dawanis showing up in Peru and Columbia to the west, and in the hilly north near the border with Venezuela. They even raided an indigenous village mere miles from Manaus. It’s part of what makes them so frightening. They could show up anywhere, at any time. In fact, they’re so unpredictable that many Indians believe they’re spirits and not human.”

“And I take it they’ve been seen in this area?”

Jorge nodded. “There have only been a few reports, but they have been seen here on rare occasions. It wouldn’t surprise me if our friend Osak has heard of them, although he’s still young.”

“Maybe we should bring him in… mention your suspicions.” Zane leaned back against the tree. “Who knows, he might be able to help us keep an eye on things.”

“No,” Jorge said firmly. “I don’t want to tell anyone until I have more information, not even Osak. At this point, everyone understands that there is danger lurking out in the jungle. For now, that is good enough.”

Zane’s brow furrowed as he looked around the clearing. “Speaking of Osak, where is he?”

“He left about an hour ago.” Jorge nodded toward the other side of camp. “You know, he’s seemed different since we arrived in the crater.”

“How so?”

“He’s a child of the jungle, and yet he doesn’t seem comfortable here. He almost looks nervous, which is not like him.”

“Do you think he’ll be okay on his own?”

“I hope so.”

It wasn’t the answer Zane had expected. “Should we go look for him?”

“No, he’ll be fine. I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t think he’ll go far. I think he’s trying to get a feel for the jungle down here, learn its ways.”

Zane hoped he was right. Because if Osak wasn’t safe, then neither were they.

AFTER USING THE latrine, Corporal Dez Wilson stepped over to a nearby tree and retrieved his rifle. Despite all of the usual irritants, something about nighttime in the jungle was refreshing. It reminded him of moonlit fishing trips as a kid in the lowland swamps of his native South Carolina.

Gun in hand, he paused to enjoy the moment. It was then that he noticed something odd: the jungle had suddenly grown quiet. Just moments before, the forest had resonated with the noisy din of thousands of insects and the bark of dozens of frogs. Now, the silence was deafening.

“Strange,” he muttered.

Had some big cat approached? It was possible, but even if something was lurking out there, he’d be back inside the perimeter within a couple of minutes.

Suddenly a noise broke the silence. Wilson stiffened and turned in the direction it seemed to have come from. He couldn’t be sure, but it sounded like the soft pad of footsteps.

“Dez!” someone called.

Wilson flinched and lifted his rifle. The voice sounded odd, but they had clearly called his name.

Maybe it was Corporal Tocchet. He was the only other one on patrol right now. And yet the voice had come from farther out in the jungle. The whole thing didn’t make sense. Slowly, he reached into his pocket. He moved his hand around, searching for his radio, then cursed when he remembered he’d left it sitting against the tree just inside the motion-sensor system.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. “Landon, is that you?”

Hearing no response, Wilson flipped his night vision visor over his eyes. He scanned the area, looking for any signs of life. About a hundred yards away, high in the trees, he saw several heat signatures. A family of monkeys was hunkered down on a large limb.
Strange,
he thought.
They seem to be frozen in place.

“Dez, over here!”

Wilson frowned.
Now that sounded like Tocchet.
But there was still something strange about the voice.

“Stay where you are,” he barked.

Growling in frustration, he followed an animal trail that led generally in the direction of the voice. The undergrowth was thicker here, making it more difficult to see anything off the path. He gripped his M4 tightly as he brushed past limbs and vines. The hot professor had told them that jaguars were most active at night, and if true, he wanted to be prepared to fire if necessary.

As he continued forward, Wilson tried to reconcile something in his mind. If it really was his partner, then what the heck was he doing out here? Their routine was to circle the perimeter of the camp in a way that put them on opposite sides at all times. It just didn’t make any sense.

A few minutes later, Wilson found himself in a clearing. He scanned in each direction, but there were no other ways out. The surrounding foliage was too thick. The trail seemed to have come to an end. What now?

He cupped his hands again. “Landon!”

Silence. The presence of a big cat or snake seemed the only plausible reason for the silence that gripped the forest. He remembered from a biology class in college that animals would instinctively freeze when a predator was close by.

Maybe that’s why Landon needs me. He’s in some kind of trouble.

“Hey, man, where are you?”

He heard the snap of a twig to his right and swung his rifle in that direction. A tiny limb jiggled, but other than that, he saw nothing move. As he continued to stare in that direction, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. Some of it pooled and streamed into his eyes, forcing him to reach up and wipe under his visor.

Something just didn’t feel right. His sense of direction was good, and Tocchet should have been right in this very spot. In fact, if he’d been using the same trail, then he couldn’t have gone any farther without making a ruckus.