Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart Of The Warrior

by Lindsay McKenna

  “Damn youngster,” Jaime muttered glumly to his attaché after his son was out of earshot. He scribbled his signature hurriedly on another set of orders. He hated the paperwork. He was a field officer, not a paper pusher. Oh, that kind of attitude had garnered him many enemies among the army ranks, that was for sure, but Jaime didn’t care. He loved the outdoors. He reveled in missions such as the upcoming one. The only fly in the ointment was that the jaguar goddess was going to lead the company. And what the hell was wrong with Julian wanting, of all things, to work side-by-side with her? Had his youngest son gone louco? Crazy?

  “I think he’s trying to behave as Rafael might have in this situation, sir,” the attaché ventured gently. “To do something heroic, to get your attention. My opinion, of course, sir.” Humberto steeled himself for an explosion from his superior.

  Grunting, Jaime looked up. He folded his hands restlessly. Looking out the side of the tent where the flap was thrown upward, he growled, “He’ll never be Rafael. I wish he’d quit trying. Ever since he was murdered, Julian has been trying to make up for it.” With a shake of his head, he muttered, “And he never will. Julian will never be what Rafael was.”

  “I think he knows that, sir,” Humberto said, some pity in his tone.

  “He’s soft. Look at his hands! No calluses. His face is soft and round. I doubt he’ll even be able to keep up with his men on this mission,” Jaime fumed in a whisper so no one else would overhear. “Rafael was tough—hard as a rock. He was an incredible athlete. Julian has trouble making the mandatory runs and hikes.” Snorting, Jaime looked up at the thirty-year-old career officer. Humberto Braga was a trusted individual who had come from the poverty of Rio de Janeiro and worked his way through college and eventually joined the army. Jaime admired anyone with that kind of courage and guts. Humberto was someone he could trust and confide in, too.

  “Yes, sir, he’s not Rafael in those respects,” Humberto said, “but his men like him. They listen to him.”

  Raising his thick, black brows, Jaime nodded. “Yes, thank goodness for that.”

  “Perhaps this mission will be good for the boy, sir. He needs to show you he’s capable.”

  Leaning back in the metal chair, Jaime pondered the younger man’s reflection. “Asking to work with Inca is like asking to work with a bushmaster snake.”

  Humberto chuckled indulgently. Bushmaster snakes were well known to be one of the most poisonous in the Amazon. Not only that, but when the snake was disturbed, it would literally chase an unfortunate person down, bite him and kill him. Not many snakes were aggressive like the bushmaster, and it was to be feared. It had earned its reputation by leaving bodies of people in its wake over the centuries. The legends about the snake had grown, and Humberto knew most of them were true. “I hear you, sir.”

  Looking at his watch, Jaime muttered, “Where the hell is Storm Walker? He said they’d meet us here this morning. It’s already noon.” Again Jaime snorted and went back to the necessary paperwork. “And Morgan Trayhern said he was punctual. Bah.”

  Humberto was about to speak when he saw a tall man, an Anglo dressed in cutoff pants, a burgundy polo shirt and sandals, approach the tent. He’d seen a picture of Roan Storm Walker, so he knew it was him. Surprised, he stammered, “Colonel, Senhor Storm Walker is here….”

  “Eh?” Jaime glanced up. Humberto was pointing toward the tent entrance. Jaime turned his head and met Roan’s narrowed eyes. Storm Walker had a two-day growth of beard on his hard face and it made him look even more dangerous.

  “It’s about time,” Jaime snapped. “Enter!”

  Roan moved into the tent. He glanced at the thirty-year-old captain, who curtly nodded a greeting in his direction. “Colonel, I’m a little late.”

  Jaime glared up at him. “More than a little. I’m not impressed, Storm Walker.”

  Roan stood more or less at ease in front of the colonel, whose face had flushed a dull red. He saw the anger banked in the officer’s eyes.

  “I think you know why, too.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  Roan studied him. The officer seemed genuinely surprised. “That unmarked helicopter that came out of nowhere and blasted the tug we were on to pieces? Does that ring a bell, Colonel?” Roan tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Who else but Marcellino knew of their plans to meet, as well as the place and the time? No one.

  Chagrined, Marcellino put down the pen and gave Roan a deadly look. “I haven’t the faintest of what you are talking about, Storm Walker. What helicopter? And what tug?”

  “We were attacked yesterday,” Roan said tightly, “first by thugs in two cars. We barely made it onto the tug before they started firing at us with military rifles. There were six of them. And an hour later we were attacked by a green, unmarked military helicopter. It rocketed the tug. We jumped off it and dove as deep as we could.” Roan decided not to tell of his wounding and of Inca’s healing. He wanted to stick to the point with the colonel. “We had to swim to shore. And if it weren’t for Inca knowing the lay of the land, I wouldn’t be here now. We were twenty miles northwest of your landing area when the attack happened.”

  Marcellino slowly rose. “I know nothing of this attack,” he protested strongly.

  “You were the only one who knew our itinerary,” Roan retorted, barely hanging on to his temper. He rarely got angry, but the colonel’s innocent look and remarks stung him. He’d had a restless night’s sleep, and hiking through the humid rain forest for fifteen miles this morning hadn’t helped his mood at all.

  “Are you accusing me of those attacks?” Marcellino struck his chest with a fist. Then he placed his hands flat on the table, leaned forward and glared up into the norteamericano’s livid features. “I had nothing to do with either attack!”

  “You hate Inca,” Roan declared. “You’d do anything to kill her because you mistakenly believe she killed Rafael, your eldest son.”

  Rearing back, Jaime put his hands on his hips in a defiant stance, despite the fact that he wasn’t anywhere near Roan’s height. “I gave my word to Senhor Trayhern that I would not lay a hand on her. And I have not!” His nostrils flared and quivered. “You are gravely mistaken, senhor.”

  “Inca’s angry. She has a right to be. She thinks you were behind the attack.”

  Jaime laughed explosively. “Oh, how I wish I were, Senhor Storm Walker.” He lost his smile and glared at him. “But if I had of been, believe me, you two would not be alive today. I’d have hung that helicopter over the water and put a hundred bullets through her body when she came up to get air.” He jabbed a finger toward Storm Walker. “Captain Braga!”

  Humberto snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!”

  “Take Senhor Storm Walker to our quartermaster. Get him a set of army fatigues, a decent pair of boots and other gear. And loan him a razor. He needs to shave.”

  Roan looked at the colonel. Was he lying? Was he telling the truth? Roan wasn’t sure. The colonel’s response seemed genuine; he’d looked surprised when he’d learned of the attacks. “As soon as I get cleaned up, I need a copy of the map you’re using. Inca will look at it with me and I’ll get back to you about the route we’ll take tomorrow morning at dawn.”

  “Fine.” Marcellino looked out of the tent. “Where is she?”

  “Nowhere that you or your men will ever find her,” Roan growled.

  Shrugging, Jaime said, “Make sure she stays out of my way. I have ordered my men not to fire at her, or to make any overture toward her that she may read as harm.”

  Turning on his heel, Roan ducked beneath the canvas of the tent and followed Captain Braga out into the main encampment. The hundred and eighty men of Macellino’s company were loosely strung out for half a mile along the shore of the Amazon. He could tell that the contingent wasn’t used to rain forest conditions. Tents were going up. Men were smoking cigarettes and talking as they dug in for the evening hours ahead. The odor of food cooking caught his attention.

&n
bsp; “Hungry?” Humberto asked with a slight smile.

  Roan looked over at the officer who accompanied him. Humberto Braga sported a thin, black mustache. His face was square and he was built like a bulldog. He wasn’t aristocratic in bearing or facial features; he had more of a peasant demeanor. Roan couldn’t dislike the soft-voiced officer. “Yeah, just a little.”

  “You hiked fifteen miles this morning?”

  Roan gave him a cutting smile. “Yeah.” Inca had taken the lead and moved effortlessly, hour after hour, through the rain forest. He’d known she was in superb shape, but her ability to move at a continued trot without rest had stunned him. She’d only rested when he needed to take a break. As she had pointed out to him, he was wearing sandals that one of the Indians had given him, and sandals were not best for that kind of march.

  Humberto pointed to the quartermaster’s large tent. “Here we are. I’ll help you with getting all the equipment you will need.” He eyed Roan again. “Fifteen miles in how many hours?”

  “Three.”

  Sighing, Humberto said with a grin, “And I wonder how fast we can push this company starting tomorrow morning.”

  Roan halted. “That’s a good question, Captain, and not one I can answer right off the top of my head.” He eyed the struggling company entrenching its position. A number of soldiers were heading out to predestined points several hundred yards ahead of the encampment, he saw. They would be forward observers—the eyes and ears of the company—to protect it from possible attack by drug runners.

  “I think we will need two or three days to get—how do you say—the hang of it?”

  Roan nodded. His mind and his heart were elsewhere—with Inca. She’d agreed to stay out of sight. Worried that the FOs might surprise her, he wanted to get done with the clothes exchange as soon as possible and get back to where she was hiding.

  Julian Marcellino took off his helmet and wiped his sweaty brow with the back of his arm. He’d stumbled over some exposed roots and nearly fallen. Looking back, he grinned a silly grin. As usual, he wasn’t watching where he was going. Rafael would never have tripped. He’d have seen the twisted roots sticking above the damp layer of leaves on the rain forest floor, and avoided them completely.

  Halting, Julian heard the noise of the encampment far behind him. He had chosen men from each platoon to serve as forward observers, had picked out stations for them and ordered them to begin digging their foxholes, where they would remain for a four-hour watch before another two men took over for them. Then he’d made an excuse and gone off on his own.

  He didn’t like the cacophony of noise that was ever-present at the camp. No, in his heart he longed for the pristine silence of nature. As he looked up admiringly at the towering trees, the brightly colored orchids hanging off the darkened limbs, the sunlight sifting through the canopy, he sighed softly in appreciation. Tucking his helmet beneath his left arm, he wandered on into the rain forest, glad to be relieved of his responsibilities for just a little while. The leaves were damp and there was a wonderful musty, sweet scent from their decay. The screech of monkeys in the distance made him turn in their direction. The floor of the forest wasn’t flat, but undulating. He climbed up and over a hill, and the noise from the company abated even more. That was good. He loved the silence.

  Wiping his sweaty brow again, he moved quickly down the hill. At one point, he slid because of the dampness. Here in this humid country the rains would come and go, keeping the ground beneath the fallen leaves slick and muddy. Landing on his butt, he slid down to the bottom of the hill, where there was a small, clean pool of water. Laughing out loud over his lack of athleticism, Julian was very glad his father hadn’t seen his awkward, unmanly descent. Or his men. Julian knew they tolerated him because his father was a colonel. He saw the amused and disdainful looks they traded when they thought he wasn’t looking.

  Remaining in a sitting position, Julian raised up enough to push his helmet beneath him. At least his butt would stay dry. Drawn to the beauty of the deep blue oval pool, of the orchids suspended above it on branches, he sighed again. Most of the noise of the company had faded in the distance. Here there was peace. A peace he craved. Placing his elbows on his thighs, he rested his jaw against his hands and simply drank in the beauty of the landscape. Being in Amazonia was turning out to be a wonderful, surprising gift to him.

  Inca watched the soldier. She sat very still against a tree, hidden by the extended roots that stretched out like flying buttresses. When he’d appeared at the top of the hill, she had focused in on the soldier instantly. She had been eating her lunch, her back against one of the sturdy roots, when her guardian had warned her of his approach.

  He was young looking. No threat to her. His face was babyish, his lips full. His eyes were wide with awe as he slowly absorbed the scene around him. The pistol he carried at his side indicated he was an officer, not an enlisted soldier. Snorting softly, she finished her mango and wiped her glistening lips with the back of her hand. Rolling over onto her hands and knees, she continued to watch the man. There was a bright red bromeliad on a dead log near where he sat. She watched as he reached out, his gesture graceful, the tips of his fingers barely grazing one of the many bright red bracts, which were really leaves and not petals. The way he touched the plant piqued Inca’s interest. Most men would not even pay attention to it, much less touch it with such respect and reverence.

  His hair was black, short and close cropped like Roan’s. His ears were large and stuck out from the sides of his head, which was probably why he looked more like a boy growing through an awkward stage than a man. Inca smiled mirthlessly. She felt no threat from this young whelp. He looked out of place in a uniform. The way he touched the bromeliad again and again, and raptly studied it, made her decide to reveal her presence.

  Julian heard a sound across the pool. It wasn’t loud, just enough to snag his attention. As he lifted his chin, he gasped reflexively. There on the other side of the pond was a woman in military gear. Her willow-green eyes ruthlessly captured and held his gaze. She stood with her head high, a challenging look on her face, her hands resting arrogantly on her hips. And then, just as quickly, he realized who she was.

  Inca laughed, the sound carrying around the pool. She felt the young man’s shock when he realized who she was.

  Lifting her hands, she said, “I am unarmed, Tenente. I come in peace. Do you?”

  He saw the laughter in her willow-green eyes. He heard the derision and challenge in her sultry tone. Her hair was unbound and flowed freely across her proud shoulders and the bandoliers of ammunition she wore crisscrossed on her chest. Swallowing hard, he leaped to his feet. The heel of his boot caught and he slipped hard to the ground once more. Julian felt a rush of shame and humiliation. He expected her to deride him for floundering around like a fish out of water.

  But she did not. Scrambling to his feet, he spread his boots far enough apart to give him some stability on the soft, damp leaves near the lip of the pond. Breathing hard, he stared across the hundred feet that separated them.

  “Y-you’re Inca…the jaguar goddess….” he croaked. “Aren’t you?”

  Julian had seen rough sketches of the woman on Wanted posters. She was supposed to have murdered his brother. He had never believed it. In person, she was shockingly beautiful. Just looking at her Indian features, the light shining in her eyes and the way she smiled at him, he rejected even more strongly the possibility that she had murdered Rafael. She had the face of an angel. Never had he seen anyone as beautiful as her! Even his fiancée, Elizabeth, who was truly lovely, could not match Inca’s wild, natural beauty.

  “I am,” Inca purred. She removed her hands from her hips. “So, you are from the company that I am to lead?”

  Gulping, his heart pounding, Julian stammered, “Er, y-yes…we are. I mean, I am….”

  Laughing, Inca watched as his face flushed crimson. “Do not worry. I will not harm you, Tenente.” She held up her hands. “I was finishing my lunch.
Would you care for a mango? I have one left.”

  Stunned by her pleasant demeanor, Julian found himself utterly tongue-tied. Maybe it was her beauty. Or maybe it was all the whispered legends about her filling his head in a jumble that made him cower before her obvious power and confident presence.

  Inca leaned over, picked up the mango. “Here,” she called, “catch!”

  Julian’s hands shot out. He caught the ripe mango.

  “Good catch.” Inca laughed. She watched the young officer roll the fruit nervously in his hands. “You are quick. That is good. We will need that kind of reaction where I am going to lead you.”

  “Th-thank you, Inca…or do you want to be called jaguar goddess?”

  Inca felt the shame and humiliation coming from him. Why? Her heart went out to this young man, who really didn’t belong in the army. He belonged in a garden tending his vegetables. Or perhaps in a greenhouse tending beautiful orchids. That would make him happy. Still, Inca respected him. “Call me Inca. And you are?”

  Holding the mango gently in his hands, he said, “Y-you may call me Julian.” He hooked a thumb across his shoulder. “I’m a lieutenant with this company. I have a platoon that I’m responsible for. I was really looking forward to being here. I’ve never been out in the rain forest and I’ve always wanted to come….”

  She smiled and said, “You are at home here.”

  Julian was dumbfounded. “Why, yes…yes, I am. But—how could you know?”

  “I read minds when I want to.”

  Gulping, Julian nodded. “I believe you. I really do.” His heart was pounding hard with the thrill of getting to see this legendary woman in person.

  “And the other men,” Inca called, “are they as friendly and unthreatening as you are toward me?” The corners of her mouth lifted in a barely disguised smile of sarcasm.

  “Oh, them…well, they are all right, Inca. I mean…most of them have heard the legends about you. They are all hoping to see you, to get a glimpse of you—”