by John Sneeden
The Oracle nodded at Brett. After a new image came up, he continued. “Meet Dr. Katiya Mills, professor of anthropology at NYU.”
Zane raised an eyebrow at the attractive woman smiling back at him from the photograph. She had long brown hair that fell to her shoulders, and her lips were colored with bright red lipstick. She was Caucasian, but something about her seemed exotic. Perhaps it was her eyes. He guessed she was late thirties.
“Good grief,” he said, as he took another sip of wine. “I love you, Ross.”
“Down, boy,” replied the Oracle. “As I said, she’s a professor of anthropology. And you know what that means, Watson? It means she’s familiar with primitive cultures and will be on to your caveman tactics pretty quickly.”
Brett chuckled.
“In all seriousness, why an anthropologist?” Zane asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? Remember what it is we’re looking for down there. I realize you’re probably skeptical, but we must be prepared for any eventuality, including first contact.”
Zane swiveled his chair toward the Oracle. “If we were going down there to penetrate an indigenous tribe, then I guess I’d understand the need for an anthropologist. But contact with aliens? Isn’t that a little bit outside of their purview?”
The Oracle twirled his snifter then set it on the table. “Apparently there are many different divisions of anthropology. As you probably know, its primary focus is the study of human culture, both past and present. What you might not know is that there are some lesser-known branches that deal with less traditional subjects… even alien culture.”
“So you’re telling me she’s an alien anthropologist?”
“I’m not sure that’s the precise nomenclature, but it’s close enough.”
The Oracle nodded at Brett, and seconds later the next slide appeared. This time it was another photograph and associated bio. The man pictured seemed to be approximately the same age as Katiya Mills. He had short dark hair and a face that seemed frozen into a permanent scowl. For some reason, Zane sensed this one was going to be trouble.
“And who is Mr. Sunshine?” Zane asked.
“This is Dr. Maxwell Cameron. He’s an associate of Dr. Mills at NYU.”
“Another anthropologist?” Zane asked.
The Oracle nodded. “His specialty is linguistics.”
“The guy seems to have all the charm of a castrated weasel.”
“So glad you’re keeping an open mind, Watson. He and Dr. Mills just happen to be two of the leading anthropologists in the country. One would think you’d be thrilled to have them as part of your team.”
“Dr. Mills, yes. This one? Not so sure.”
“I should also point out something else. You mentioned indigenous people earlier. There is a high likelihood that you’ll run across indigenous Brazilians. I understand there are at least three tribes known to live in and around the target area. And if contact is made, you’ll want Dr. Cameron there. He speaks approximately a dozen indigenous languages.”
While something about the man was unsettling, Zane had to admit it made sense to bring along someone with his skill set.
Seeming to sense the need to move on, Brett brought up a picture that Zane recognized immediately.
“And that brings us to Amanda Higgs,” the Oracle said. “In studying to be an archaeologist, she completed quite a bit of coursework in anthropology. Not to mention she seems to have an uncanny knack for solving riddles.” He looked at Zane, a gleam in his eye. “As you know, we’ve already asked her to be an archaeological consultant to Delphi, and I figured this trip might help me understand whether or not we should try to bring her on as a full-time employee.”
“Assuming she’s interested, I think she’d be a wonderful addition,” Zane said.
The Oracle nodded at Brett. “Our chief technology specialist has had a few conversations with her, and he told me that if offered, she’d accept. Long story short, she accepted.”
Zane had always believed that Amanda’s knowledge of history and ancient artifacts made her a natural fit at Delphi. She didn’t have the physical tools or weapons training to work in the field, but those were things she could be taught.
The Oracle cleared his throat as the next photograph appeared. It depicted a dark-skinned man standing on a dock. Zane guessed he was in his late fifties or early sixties, although his weathered skin might make him look older than his years.
“This is Jorge Salvador. Fifty-four years old. Brazilian. He’s going to take you down the river and through the jungle. He’s been on the agency payroll for the better part of two decades. He works on an as-needed basis. When not helping the agency, he operates a cruise boat that runs out of Manaus.”
“His own cruise boat? That’s convenient.”
“I think you’ll like the accommodations,” the Oracle said.
Brett brought up a photograph of the vessel. It was a two-story affair that sat low in the water. The hull was a brilliant white, and the name Izabel was printed along the side near the bow. Zane had visited the Amazon years ago, and the ship seemed typical of those that ferried tourists up and down the river.
“Nice. It looks like the Cadillac of cruise boats. I guess our friend has done well for himself.”
“I hear business is good,” the Oracle replied. “I’m sure he’d do quite well even if he weren’t working for us.”
“Exactly what sort of work did he do for the agency?”
“Much of his file was redacted, but from what I could tell, it seems he spent a lot of time facilitating the movement of CIA operatives in northern Brazil. He’s even done some work in Venezuela.”
Zane took another sip of Bordeaux then asked, “Does the agency really have a significant interest in that part of the world? It seems like the drug trade would be a bit outside their interests.”
“You’re right, they aren’t concerned with drug trafficking. Their concern is all of the bad guys from around the world who are trying to set up shop down there.”
“Terror groups?”
The Oracle nodded. “Yes, the usual suspects. Al Qaeda, ISIL… even Boko Haram has a small presence there.”
Zane looked back at the photograph. “I’m assuming he has a crew?”
“There are two additional crewmen. I don’t have photographs, but they’ve been working with the agency as well. Hathaway tells me that no one knows the backwaters of the Amazon better than these three men.”
“Speaking of our destination, how big is our target area?”
“As Brett alluded to earlier, the DRA has been working with the Brazilians to pinpoint the precise location of the audio transmission. I’m told they’ve narrowed it down to a five-square-mile area. Salvador has been working on it as well. You’ll get more information in your package.”
“How much of a journey are we talking?” Zane asked.
The Oracle looked at Brett. “I’ll let Brett take it from here.”
“I’ve been in touch with Jorge Salvador,” Brett said, “and we’ve worked out a tentative itinerary.” He paused and pulled up a map of Brazil, zooming in on Manaus. Their route was highlighted in red. “We’re going to depart Manaus this Sunday evening. We’ll travel west on the Amazon for two days before turning north on a tributary.”
“At some point the water will be too shallow to take the boat any farther,” the Oracle interjected. “That’s where most of you will get off.”
“Most of us?” Zane asked.
The Oracle nodded. “One of the Brazilians will take the boat back down the river to a small town. Apparently Salvador owns a small dock there. His man will wait there until it’s time to go back and pick you up.”
Brett used his cursor to drag the remainder of the route into view. “As you can see, we’ll traverse the remainder of the route on foot through the jungle. Although it’s impossible to know how long it’s going to take, we should expect a minimum of two days to reach the target area.”
Zane finished the last of his win
e and placed it on the table. “If my math is right, that’s four or five days to get there. That’s deep in the jungle.” He looked at the Oracle. “When do we leave?”
“You and Brett will board a charter tomorrow.”
CHAPTER NINE
People’s Liberation Army General Staff Headquarters
Beijing, China
COLONEL ZHENG LEE stood and looked out the glass window of his office. Night was falling over Beijing, and a seemingly endless river of red taillights flowed down the boulevard below him. The workday was mercifully coming to a close.
He glanced at his watch. In five minutes, his driver would pull up to the front of the building. After picking up his wife at their residence, they would be driven to the airport to catch an evening flight to Chengdu. Zheng smiled. This was the first vacation he’d had in almost a year. By this time tomorrow he’d be away from the smog and dirt of Beijing. Not to mention he’d be able to shut his wife up once and for all. She’d been nagging him for months about taking a trip, giving him a litany of other military wives who seemed to travel almost constantly.
Their destination was a mountain villa with his wife’s sister and her husband. The women would spend their days in Chengdu shopping. For his part, Zheng planned on taking hikes and spending lots of time on the porch with bottles of Tsingtao.
Zheng heard a buzzing behind him. Turning, he saw his mobile phone sitting on his desk, a light blinking to indicate he had a text.
Probably the driver telling me he’s early.
He grabbed the phone and stared at the screen.
It was General Kong’s secretary. Zheng was to report to the general immediately.
He frowned, unsure what to think. He didn’t report directly to Kong. The general was responsible for China’s Special Forces. So why was Zheng being asked to meet with him? Something didn’t make sense. Whatever the reason, he knew it couldn’t be good.
Zheng cursed under his breath. He’d almost made it out of this wretched place.
He glanced at his watch again. His car would be arriving any minute. He sent the driver a quick text indicating he’d been held up but would text him again when he was on his way down.
After grabbing his coat and turning out the lights, Zheng proceeded down a lengthy corridor to a row of elevators. When the car arrived, he stepped in and pressed 40, the floor of the high command.
As the car began to move, Zheng felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead. It was bad enough to have to go to the fortieth floor. It was even worse to go there for a meeting with Kong. The man was known for his prickly personality and volatile temper.
The elevator dinged loudly, and the doors swished apart. Zheng stepped out and was approached by two guards whose faces were etched with permanent scowls. He’d almost forgotten the protocol for those visiting the fortieth floor. Remembering the drill, Zheng lifted his arms as one of the soldiers waved a paddle over every inch of his body. There were no threatening beeps, so the soldier grunted that he was clear.
Zheng was wondering what to do next, when he heard the click of heels. An attractive woman in her thirties strode toward him. She was dressed in a gray business suit and was speaking into a headset.
So this is where all the good-looking ones work.
“Good evening, Colonel Zheng,” said the woman after ending her other conversation. She bowed slightly. “Follow me, please.”
As they walked, Zheng asked, “Do you know what the general wants?”
The girl turned and smiled but said nothing. He doubted she even knew but figured it was worth a try.
At the end of the hall, they turned right. A few seconds later, they arrived at Kong’s door on the left.
The woman turned her head away from him and spoke into the mic of her headset. A moment later, she turned and said, “The general will see you now.”
The woman turned the knob and opened the door, motioning him in. After he entered, she bowed and closed the door behind him.
Kong’s office was like his personality, simple and no nonsense. A desk, two bookcases, and two chairs that looked like they’d been purchased at a yard sale. It was exactly as Zheng had pictured it.
“Have a seat,” grunted the portly general from behind his desk.
As Zheng sat down, he noticed the incredible view out of the window behind Kong. If not for the gathering darkness, Zheng figured he could see Chengdu from here.
Kong beat the keys of his laptop a moment longer before finally pushing it to the side. The general then sat back and crossed his arms. “Zheng, thank you for coming. Can I get you something to drink?” Zheng opened his mouth to speak, but Kong continued without waiting for an answer. “You are here because of your experience in South America.”
Zheng frowned. What on earth could this be about? He had worked in Peru for three years in the 1990s, but they were three of the most uneventful years of his career.
“I was only there for—”
“The Americans have found something in Brazil, north of the Amazon.” He raised his eyebrows and said, “We don’t have all of the details, but we believe it may involve alien technology.”
Zheng’s eyes widened. “Aliens? As in extraterrestrials?”
“Is there another kind?” Kong asked pointedly.
“Surely we don’t believe it’s true,” Zheng asked. “The Americans are known to chase all sorts of silly things.”
Kong drew in a deep breath and said, “Whether it’s true or not doesn’t really matter. What matters is the Chairman of the Central Military Commission thinks it’s important, and if he thinks it’s important, then we think it’s important.”
Zheng stiffened at the mention of the chairman. “I understand. But how could there be alien technology in the middle of the jungle?”
Kong shrugged. “The chairman believes a craft may have crashed there, something like that. He believes we could find some sort of new metal, new propulsion system… who knows what.”
“Interesting.”
A phone vibrated on Kong’s desk. The general picked it up and stared at the screen. “That is the chairman. He probably wants to make sure everything has been communicated.” Kong rose from his seat. “You will now go to see Lieutenant General Huang, who will brief you on the details of your operation.”
Zheng stood, a frown forming on his face. “My operation?”
Kong fixed his gaze on the colonel. “You’re leading a team to Brazil, Zheng. You’re the highest ranking officer with experience in that part of the world.”
Zheng felt a rush of panic. He hadn’t been out in the field in years, which had suited him just fine. “Do we know the dates?” he asked. “I want to make sure I’m back from my vacation in time.”
Kong frowned. “Vacation?” He gave a brief chuckle. “There will be no vacation, Zheng. You can take it when you get back. Your mission begins in two days.”
“Two days. I—”
“That will be all, Zheng.” Kong nodded toward the door.
Zheng turned slowly, scarcely able to believe the strange turn of events. It would do no good to argue. If the chairman had appointed him as team lead, then there would be no way out. He grabbed the knob and turned it.
“Oh, and Zheng,” Kong said.
Zheng turned back toward the general.
“You should feel honored to lead this operation. You’re going to have a special guest.”
Zheng’s brow furrowed. “Someone I know?”
“You’ve probably heard of him.” He paused for dramatic effect then said, “Ho Chen.”
Ho Chen. Where had he heard that name before? Zheng searched the recesses of his mind but was unable to bring anything to the surface.
Seeing his confusion, Kong smiled. “You may know him better by his other name, Jùrén.”
Zheng’s pulse quickened. The Giant. So, all the whispers were true. He did exist. The man, if he could even be called that, was said to stand seven-and-a-half feet tall with arms the size of tree trunks. Some
believed he was an anomaly of nature, while others believed he was the product of genetic manipulation. Whatever his origin, he was said to be the most powerful man on earth. Those who believed he’d been cooked up in a lab said that he was likely a forerunner to soldiers of the future, massive men who could move as quickly as a leopard. One officer had even told Zheng that Ho could lift the end of a car as easily as others could lift a coffee table.
“I guess he wasn’t just a rumor after all,” Zheng finally said.
Kong smiled. “I can assure you that Jùrén is quite real, Zheng. In fact, you’re going to meet him tomorrow morning.”
CHAPTER TEN
Manaus, Brazil
AMANDA HIGGS LET out a long sigh as the cab driver used his nicotine-stained fingers to count out her change for the third time. Could this get any more frustrating? The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare, and the driver’s cigarette smoking and incessant chatter during the ride over had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
The two-stop journey from Austin to Manaus had been fraught with problems. The first round of trouble came in Houston, when the airline published the wrong terminal for her connecting flight. Then in Miami there was the unexplained hour-long wait on the tarmac. And if that weren’t enough, her five-hour flight to Brazil provided the clincher: she spent the entire flight next to a man whose snores could drown out a foghorn.
Then the hotel in Manaus proved to be only slightly better. It was clean and possessed a friendly staff, but a group of Dutch ecotourists in the suite next to hers had drunk and partied until the wee hours of the morning.
The driver gave a little grunt of satisfaction, drawing Amanda out of her thoughts. After counting for the third time, he’d finally been able to get the money right. He handed her the stack of bills with a meaty paw and said, “It has been pleasure. I always like to practice English! Thank you!”
“No, thank you,” Amanda said, handing a few of the bills back as a tip. She couldn’t help but like the man. Yes, his cab had been filled with smoke. And yes, he’d talked non-stop since she’d entered the car. But he seemed kind and had managed to get her where she was going.
