This Green Hell - [Alex Hunter 03]

by Greig Beck

* * * *

  Despite Sam’s difficulty in drawing meaning from the ornate script that filled the heavy fibrous pages of the journal, he was enjoying its beauty. The cursive style was a relic of a time when penmanship had been lifted to an art form; each letter was perfect in its slope and precision. The outside leaves of the book were damp, but the inside leaves were surprisingly dry, indicating it had been only recently been dropped to the moist jungle floor. Each page was dated, and the year was 1617 - in the year of the Holy Father, Pope Paul V, as the chronicler, a young Jesuit by the name of Father Juan de Castillo, put it.

  Sam moved quickly through the early section, which was concerned with the voyage to the Southern American continent, then through its primitive towns and on into the deep jungle. From here, the almost clinical descriptions leapt to colourful life, with accompanying illustrations. Sam smiled as he felt the priest’s excitement and good humour. Pictures crowded nearly every page now: the local Indians cooking, clearing ground, children playing; another Jesuit drawn from behind, holding an outdoor mass, his arms held wide.

  Sam turned another page and frowned. Here, the text described the new church’s bell tower, and a drawing of a smiling man polishing a large bell covered half the page. Sam recognised the broad shoulders, the square beard with the grey at the jaw-line. It was the priest, their priest: Father Alonso González.

  He looked again at the date at the top of the page: 1617 — nearly 400 years ago. Impossible.

  But so was a non-military trained man taking out two HAWCs and nearly doing the same to Alex Hunter.

  Sam snapped the book shut and looked at his wristwatch: 0530. No sleep after all. He headed for the door.

  * * * *

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  A

  lex prowled the camp, stopping from time to time at the edge of the jungle to reach out with his senses, trying to get an impression of anything lurking and watching from behind the dark green curtain. His head throbbed with a dull pain as he pushed his awareness out as far as he could. He could feel something there, but, strangely, it was all around him rather than in one specific location. And it felt like González, but... He focused harder and got the sense of some kind of living essence, big and getting bigger, like a massive life form stirring or waking. He shook his head as the pain threatened to overwhelm him. There was too much life out there in the jungle to pull out individual details easily.

  In less than an hour, he, Sam, Captain Garmadia and Aimee would track down the priest, and this time they wouldn’t underestimate him. Alex ached to get within reach of the killer of his HAWC. He had lost too many good men and women in battles above and below ground to let one be taken so cheaply.

  He noticed that Maria’s laboratory light was still on, and drifted over to peer in the window. The CDC woman sat at her desk unmoving. Laid out before her were two syringes. Maybe she developed a vaccine after all, he thought. He looked again and thought, Perhaps not. Misery filled the room like a dark cloud.

  He backed away from the window and saw a light come on in Aimee’s cabin. Before he got to the door, it was pulled open and a fully kitted Casey Franks stepped out. She had been sharing Aimee’s quarters so Aimee could change her bandages.

  Boss, she managed to breathe.

  The bandage at her throat was still a little discoloured, and purple bruising stretched from the base of one ear to the other. She looked as fit as ever though, her arms bulging with power, and her eyes carried a restless energy.

  Alex nodded to her. ‘We’re going after the priest and the missing men. You’ll cover base camp until we return. Need anything?’

  ‘Sir, I’m fit for duty. I can . ..’ Her words were barely audible, and Alex knew they must have hurt.

  ‘Negative soldier. You will cover the camp as ordered.’ Alex held her gaze.

  After a moment she nodded slowly and breathed out more words: ‘Just bring me his head.’

  She lifted her clenched fist, her eyes burning with anger. Alex brought his own fist against hers; the armoured plating of their gloves clacked together.

  Aimee’s hand alighted on Franks’s shoulder and the HAWC turned sideways to let her past.

  ‘Drink plenty of water in small sips,’ Aimee said, ‘and apply the antibiotic powder and change the bandage every four hours. You’re lucky, you heal quickly.’ She looked at Alex and raised her eyebrow. ’Seems to be a HAWC trait.’

  Casey rolled her eyes and mouthed, Yes, Mommy. Then, as Aimee stepped past her, she raised one hand flat against Aimee’s chest and looked her in the eye. Her face became very serious as she said, ‘Be careful.’

  Aimee half-turned to show the gun butt sticking out of her back pocket. Franks dropped her hand, nodded and turned to Alex. You don’t deserve her, her look said.

  I know. She’s a heartbreaker, thought Alex.

  He caught a glimpse of Chaco and Saqueo huddled in the corner of Aimee’s cabin. Both were awake. Chaco rubbed his eyes while Saqueo gave Alex a thumbs-up.

  Alex held up his hand to them. ‘You boys stay here, okay?’

  They looked at him blankly.

  ‘Here, let me. Umm, quédense aqui, si?’ Aimee pointed at the ground for emphasis.

  The boys looked at each other briefly and then nodded.

  ‘See, I told you I’d come in handy,’ she said with a grin.

  ‘You sure did tell me, many times.’ Alex checked his watch — fifteen minutes to go.

  * * * *

  Alex studied the sketch of the priest in the journal. After a while he grunted. ’Same name, same face — could be our man. But based on these dates, he should have been dead nearly 400 years ago.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘If it was just the face and name, I’d say it was a coincidence. But his strength and speed, the way his head lay on his shoulder after you hit him ... I’ve seen men with broken necks before, boss. He shoulda gone down — a normal man would have gone down.’

  Alex remembered the unnervingly calm expression on the priest’s face while they’d fought. And then there was the thing in his mouth...

  ‘So what’s keeping him propped up?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s the multimillion-dollar question,’ Sam said with a shrug. ‘And what’s he doing with the men he’s taking?’

  He snapped the book shut as Aimee approached.

  Alex put his hand on the big man’s shoulder. ‘See if there’s anything else in there we can use. And let’s not share this info just yet.’ He indicated Aimee with a flick of his eyes.

  Sam nodded and slid the journal over his shoulder into his harness backpack.

  * * * *

  Captain Garmadia lit a cigar and exhaled blue smoke into the dawn air. Sunrise — if that’s what it could be called in a dense jungle — had provided them with a misty light for the last few minutes, but it would be several hours before the sun made its way above the canopy to give them any real daylight.

  The rain had eased during the night, but the vegetation matting Tomás and his co-workers had laid down squelched under his feet. It was starting to feel more like a raft than a ground covering. For now it continued to do its job of keeping them above the mud, but in a day or so it would be overwhelmed.

  Garmadia squinted at the photograph in his hand: a plump woman with a wide smile and large brown eyes. He kissed it and tucked it back in his pocket. He had decided in the night that, given the circumstances, his job had been completed. The disease seemed to have been contained, but the number of desertions meant there weren’t enough men to restart the rig. His recommendation to Colonel Lugo would be to relocate the campsite, send in another drilling team, and put Captain Hunter and his team on a plane home.

  He would like to leave now, but it would take another day or so to assist in sewing up the last loose end — apprehending the man who called himself González. Garmadia didn’t believe for a second that the man was an actual priest; more likely he was directing the rebel activity in the area. After all, how does a man of the cloth learn to fight with such
strength and speed, he wondered as he remembered the skirmish with the HAWC leader. These North American Special Forces soldiers obviously weren’t as good as they believed.

  The Paraguayan officer watched the two big HAWCs and the North American woman discussing the map the woman held. He shook his head, his mouth turning down in disdain. Why did the North Americans always want to have a woman with them, even when they were heading into potential danger? Maybe the gringos couldn’t perform without an audience. He looked at Aimee from behind. Too skinny for his taste.

  The small group seemed to have come to a decision. He sauntered over, and Alex Hunter nodded a greeting and made a space for him.

  ‘We’re going to head to the drill site then make a sweep back towards the camp,’ Hunter said. ‘Dr Weir believes the trouble with the priest might have originated in that area.’

  Garmadia shrugged and drew the cigar from his mouth, blowing smoke towards the group. ‘Captain Hunter, I will accompany you on your search, but after today I will be heading back to my base. I think you will agree, there are not enough men here now to operate the machinery. I have spoken to Dr Vargis and she has told me there are no new outbreaks of the infection, and she believes there will be a solution to the disease within a day. There is nothing more for me to do but make a final report and depart.’

  The two HAWCs and the woman stared at him for a moment, then Hunter turned away and spoke to Aimee.

  ‘He’s right — there’s not much more we can do here. We’ll stay on another couple days to find the priest, but getting you home would be the best thing right now.’

  Aimee looked as though she was about to object, then changed her mind.

  Garmadia grunted and turned away. Make the right decision, señors and señorita, because when I will leave I will be taking the truck with me. It will be a very long walk home without it.

  * * * *

  The boys watched the small team head off into the jungle, the dark vegetation closing around them almost immediately. The woman HAWC with the bandage around her neck stood like stone in the centre of the camp watching them go. After a while, she reached up to feel her neck then headed towards the cabin where the other lady doctor always worked.

  Chaco pulled on his grimy T-shirt. ‘I’m not staying here. That old woman doctor scares me even more than the Hawkmano. I’m going to follow them.’

  Saqueo pointed a threatening finger at his little brother’s chest. ’No, you will stay here... Chaco, I warn you, do not open that door . . . Chaco, do not dare go outside ... Chaco, wait for me!’

  Saqueo pulled on his own shirt and followed his brother out into the warm dawn air.

  * * * *

  TWENTY-NINE

  A

  imee pushed yet another frond out of the way as she squelched along the track. It had narrowed even in the few days since she had last traversed it. The jungle swallows everything, she thought.

  She walked a few paces behind Alex, who led them out, watching his broad shoulders roll as he stepped smoothly through the green. She had seen more scars on his body, and there was more pain in his eyes, but he was still the man she remembered. She felt good being near him, but found it hard to look into his eyes. Every time she did, she felt the old attraction — and she saw it reflected in his gaze as well. She tried to analyse whether it was the situation that was making her want him again. If she were safe at home, clean, not tired or scared half to death, would she feel the need to have her Black Knight standing guard? Perhaps she was misleading him ... or misleading herself.

  She looked up at his back again just as a broad leaf flapped back behind him and whacked her in the face.

  Yep, thanks, I needed that! Wake up, girl. Are you thinking you’re just going to walk back into his life?

  She smiled. You bet, she thought.

  * * * *

  Alex looked again at Aimee’s map — less than an hour to the mining site. It felt good to get out of the camp, away from the pervasive feeling of illness, and whatever else it was that made his skin crawl and clouded his senses.

  Despite his relief, he was distracted. He could feel Aimee’s eyes on him, as if she were constantly tapping him on the shoulder. He needed to concentrate; the jungle was growing quiet again — he could sense something closing in on them.

  They were being watched.

  * * * *

  At last Aimee led them to the small clearing where she, Francisco and Alfraedo had discovered the soldiers’ remains several days before. Little of the bloody mess was left, and the ground was churned up as though it had been worked over by a pickaxe.

  ‘Insectos de la came,’ Garmadia said, looking first at the churned soil, then higher into the trees.

  Sam translated, ’Meat insects.’

  Garmadia toed a piece of white-looking shell; when he lifted it free they could see it had once been the top of a skull. ‘The pigs take most of it,’ he said. ’What they leave, the insects consume.’ He looked around, his face pale. ‘By the size of the kill zone, I would say a lot of blood was spilt here. This is not good.’

  ‘It was horrible,’ Aimee said. ’A massacre. Francisco wanted to know if the Green Berets themselves had done it. I told him no human being could be savage enough to do what we saw here.’

  Sam leaned into the bushes and withdrew a mangled piece of black steel. He turned it over in his hands before handing it to Alex. ‘Special Forces SCAR rifle; or was.’

  Alex sniffed the muzzle; it had been fired, and the smell of gun oil was still strong. He looked at the metal barrel curled back on itself — took a lot of strength to bend high-grade steel. He remembered the fist marks in the heavy metal plate in the communications cabin back at the camp, and the great strength of the man they tracked. Just who, or what, the hell are you? he thought.

  The feeling of being watched was overwhelming...his senses tingled.

  He swung around quickly. Garmadia crouched as if he were about to be struck a physical blow.

  The presence was right here. Alex lunged into the jungle ...

  Garmadia swore in Spanish as Alex dragged a squirming Chaco and Saqueo into the clearing. Sam laughed and cradled his weapon.

  ‘This is not what I would call following instructions,’ Alex said with a sigh.

  Chaco sniggered, and Saqueo rapped him on the head with his knuckles. He spoke rapidly to Alex, who shrugged and looked to Sam for help.

  ‘I’ll tell them they must go back to the camp,’ Garmadia cut in. ‘They will slow us down.’ He started to speak rapidly to the boys in a tone that immediately quietened them.

  Alex shook his head with resignation. ‘No, too late now. It’s too dangerous to send them back alone. Captain, notice anything?’ Garmadia stopped talking and half-turned to Alex. ‘Listen — no sounds — I think we’re close. They’ll just have to keep up.’ Alex nodded to Aimee.

  Aimee spoke in her mangled Spanish to the boys. They leaned around Garmadia and Chaco clapped his hands and Saqueo nodded. In turn, Garmadia shook his head, and stooped to speak into Saqueo’s face with even more venom. He talked quickly, but managed to keep the cigar wedged between his teeth. Chaco had fully retreated behind his older brother, and glanced briefly at the jungle behind him, possibly contemplating a dash for cover. The smaller boy’s bottom lip trembled.

  ‘Hey! Lighten up Castro. I’ll take care of them.’ Aimee walked between Garmadia and the boys, and said a few words more in mangled Spanish to them. It was enough to have both boys nodding warily and smiling . . . and only briefly looking over their shoulder at the Paraguayan soldier.

  Garmadia threw his hands in the air and turned away. ’Mierda! Mujeres y niños. Gringos estúpidos.’

  Alex grinned. He didn’t need to understand Spanish to know that Garmadia was giving his opinion on the wisdom of bringing women and children along on their search.

  * * * *

  THIRTY

  P

  ower’s dying,’ Casey Franks said. ’The lights draw the least juice, but I
reckon in an hour or so they’re going to drop out as well. Be dark in another hour — have you got enough lanterns in here?’

  She rubbed her throat; it was moist and she knew the bandage needed changing again. She winced — still felt like she’d swallowed a fork, but at least she could talk above a whisper now. She had just completed a quick walk-through of the camp. The place was eerily quiet. Most of the men seemed to prefer the inside of their tents, and the ones that ventured out darted away from her in the gloom.

  ‘Dr Vargis? Did you hear me? I said ...’ She winced and swallowed the pain.

  Maria Vargis was hunched over a small electronic box on her table. ‘Yes, yes,’ she said without turning. ‘Please leave me alone.’