"I take it this Gilbert is the Marine Captain we're hunting," said Daniels, turning to Conboy. "Just how well do you know this man?"
"Very well," said Conboy, "We have worked with him over the last two years."
* * *
They were up before dawn the next day. Carlos appeared accompanied by a Navy Seal Team Sergeant in full jungle gear. Conboy had briefed them.
"The Captain's metabolism has radically changed," Conboy explained. "His body temperature is a constant 101.8, a high fever in a human, normal for him. A defense satellite is assigned to this area on twenty-four hour monitoring. It scans with our latest top-secret heat-sensing detection devices. It's been programmed to locate and pinpoint anything man-size with an exact temperature of 101.8 and sends it to this laptop in real time. The computer displays a local map and identifies the quarry as a blinking circle. Our location is a steady X. The computer tracks and displays both. When we reach him, we have these," he said, displaying a pair of Sig-Sauer long nosed automatic pistols sporting thick circular revolving barrels.
"Those babies will fire a cloud of Flechettes, darts tipped with a nerve agent that should bring on paralysis for about a twelve hour period."
Daniels felt a sudden wave of pity for this Captain Gilbert. Service to his country had apparently turned him into some sort of freak. Something had gone wrong in his mind. He would be hunted down with inexorable technology and tranquilized with darts like a wild animal.
"What kind of a team did you send in?"
"Three Army Special Forces jungle warfare experts. The best we have. We lost contact within two days. We don't know what happened. We're assuming the worst," said Conboy.
Daniels was glad he had not brought Bobby-Ray into the fray at this point. He had called him last night, told him he would be involved in something that might or might not require his help at some point.
"Hey a tactical move right?" Bobby-Ray had said. "I'm your reserve, is that it?"
"Something like that," Daniels had replied.
"Okay, I'll be around and ready if you need another gun slinger, meanwhile I took your advice. I had the amulet I took off the dead guy X-rayed. It turned out to be hollow. I cut it open and there was a CD ROM inside, the new small kind. I looked at it on my PC and it's filled with coded data, simple binary code. I should be able to break it with my programs in a day or two."
* * *
They'd glided in cottony silence. Inflatable camouflaged commando boats moving in a watery whisper along the natural channel connected to Daniel's base into an area of saw grass and deeper channels. The plastic paddles entered the water causing just the barest of swirls from their experienced hands. Between the channels stood islands of dwarf cypress and occasional oaks. They passed by some trashing alligators, tearing at unrecognizable prey as two otters flashed among them, too fast for the slower predators.
Conboy operated the laptop while the unseen satellite scanned the steaming grounds of the great swamp for its quarry. They moved the boats in great slow expanding circles through the languid hot greenhouse that was the Everglades. The temperature rose and rose as if it would compete with the bowels of hell. It had been a record year for heat and it surely wasn't getting better this day as the sun climbed to the noon position. The men sweated in rivulets that slid down the brown and green camo painted on their faces. They drained cases of plastic water bottles and sprayed insect repellent. Great bubbles of swamp gas rose from the depths below and burst at the surface in deep plopping noises and a stench that left a noxious film in their nasal passages. The sun baked down on them like incandescent hardscrabble. Conboy had changed the laptop batteries twice and still no blinking circle to indicate their target, just the steady X representing their location.
They'd traveled at least a dozen miles and into the middle of the afternoon when Conboy yelled out:
"There it is, there's the son of a bitch," as he pointed at a blinking red circle on the shielded laptop screen. He passed the laptop to Daniels who lined it up with the small SATNAV fixed to the front of the boat and started tracking.
Daniels followed the blinking circle representing the moving objective. The circle would disappear for stretches varying from seconds to several minutes as the satellite and computer lost and regained the signals. The blinking circle moved much slower than its hunters as they steadily closed the gap through the remainder of the day.
The sun was low on the horizon when Daniels led the boats into a deep narrow channel. Overhead the buttonwoods and black mangrove formed a canopy choked with vines that created its own depth of darkness. The five men wore earphones with wire thin microphones fixed at chin level on jungle fatigues. Daniels' eyes were fixed on the digital computer screen where the X was now almost touching the blinking circle.
"Heads up," he whispered, his voice clear and soft in each man's earphone. "He's close, should see him any minute."
They scanned the sides of the channel, so close to them, choked by the white roots of the buttonwoods. The boats swooshed by quietly, every movement of the paddles raising a little silent swirl of water, as the grips tightened nervously on the Sig-Sauers. The atmosphere was thick and oppressive with tons of humidity. It was that time, just at dusk, where the day creatures burrow in and the night hunters are not yet out. Not a scrap of breeze to stir anything or cause the slightest noise. They felt the silence, husky and intense, a presence that surrounded each man with an ominous aura.
Daniels stopped the boats as the X and the blinking circles converged on the dimmed computer screen. Close as it was, the other boat was barely visible. Daniels was about to give the order to put on the night vision goggles when it happened.
It was like a sudden detonation had overtaken the bow of the leading boat as the nightmare exploded out of the depth. Daniels' impression was of impossible height for a man jumping out of the water. But then it really wasn't a man anymore. The features were blurred in the gloom of twilight but the skin had a glow that was more than could be caused by the sheen of the mucky water. The arm came up quick as a scorpion's stinger. It was too long for any human, the forearm stretched at least twice normal and not round like a human forearm but with the leading edge tapering to a hard razor-like edge. The Sergeant in the front of the boat raised the Sig-Sauer but before he could pull the trigger, the distorted, terrible forearm whistled down with implacable speed.
Both the Sergeant's arms were severed in an exploding cloud of blood and bone, the left arm at the shoulder, the right above the elbow. He cried out, just for a split second as the forearm swung back in a numbingly fast return stroke that severed windpipe, jugular and most of the bones of the neck. The Sergeant's mutilated corpse fell back out of the boat, the head lolling, hanging by a thin strip of flesh.
Daniels fired a burst from the rocking platform of the inflatable and missed. The flechettes whistled above the creature's head as it slashed down, tearing the tough fabric of the inflatable. Carlos tried to fire but the gun was knocked from his hand as the creature swung again. This time a slash appeared across his chest as Carlos fell back in the stern of the now sinking boat, knocking Coronado down under him.
Daniels tried desperately to line up another shot. Before he could pull the trigger, the staccato hammering of a heavy automatic weapon came from behind him as Conboy stitched a half dozen rounds into the front of the boat.
It was too late. The creature had vanished back into the water. Daniels threw four concussion grenades around them in rapid successions. He paddled his boat until it was touching the other. He pulled Carlos aboard, blood pouring in a pulsing red stream from his chest. Conboy pulled Coronado in just moments before the destroyed boat sank, pulled down by the gear.
Maroon satin pulsed and spread from the slash in the center of Carlos' chest as Daniels pressed bandages into the wound. The blood slowed to a trickle and slowly turned black as it coagulated.
Daniels knew the only hope Carlos had was to reach Spirit Wolf. Spirit Wolf had told him that the Evergla
des held as many things that could heal as could kill. You just had to be sure which was which. Spirit Wolf always knew.
They had no idea if they'd caused any damage to the monstrosity that had attacked them with such devastating efficiency. The computer and satellite uplink went to the bottom of the channel during the brief fight. They had no way of knowing where the creature was at this moment.
Chapter 25
It was closing in on ten when Daniels and the others reached the island where Spirit Wolf lived. It was just a large piece of hardscrabble rocks dotted with Caribbean pines, scrub oaks and white mangrove on its edges. A Coleman lantern cast a white light on the rough logs that made up the dock. Shadows danced everywhere like preternatural nocturnal spirits. The house was framed natural logs and planks, all rough angles and large splinters. Spirit Wolf stood in the doorway casting a shadow from the second Coleman that lit the interior. They lashed the boat to the logs and carried Carlos on the dock.
A long sleek body came out of the surrounding darkness like a black deadly wraith, the eyes glowing red embers. A deep warning growl passed over the four inch white fangs. Daniels held his hand out. The panther's tongue delicately touched his fingers in recognition. She retreated back in the darkness, the eyes like pinpoints in the surrounding darkness.
"What the hell is that?" said Conboy.
Daniels ignored him as he carried his friend toward the house. Carlos opened his eyes, his breath ragged and his voice coarse whispers.
"Hey, Pandejo," said Carlos, "I ain't got no Blue Cross you know."
"Don't worry, you won't need it. Spirit Wolf takes American Express."
Daniels didn't like Carlos' appearance in the light of the Coleman. The Mexican's usual nut-brown face was pale with listless eyes. Daniel thought he might be going into shock after the blood loss.
"Hey Pandejo," said Carlos, his voice ragged, "If I die, it ain't nobody's fault, but I gotta ask you, don't let me be buried here in this Puta of a swamp. Take me back to Guadalajara, you know that little cemetery on the West hill, that's where I gotta be, Can you handle it Pandejo?"
"Bullshit. You're going nowhere. Couple days from now you'll be getting your ass kicked from some Guapa again."
They carried him to Spirit Wolf's door with Daniels squeezing the blood soaked rag on the wound. Spirit Wolf stepped aside and pointed to a covered pallet.
"You are expected," he said.
As he laid the Mexican down on the pallet, Daniels saw the mixtures of crushed powders and variety of leaves and substances laid out on the table. A fire crackled in a cast iron hearth and a pot overhanging the fire gave out a bubbling pungent aroma. On either side of the hearth stood two shelves holding glass jars filled with clear fluids and the bodies of several snakes and lizards.
Daniels thought better then to ask how Spirit Wolf knew he would be tending a wounded Carlos. There were things about Spirit Wolf and his world that lay way beyond normal white-man comprehension.
Daniels and Conboy watched as the Indian took some of the bubbling fluid from the pot and rapidly mixed it in a bowl with some plants and powder. He worked with all the dexterity and purpose of a modern heart surgeon. His fingers flew over the wound, feeling the life beneath, pinching and squeezing as he administered the mixture into the red slash.
Soon the bleeding stopped. He held Carlos' head in powerful, leathered hands as he fed him a hot brew from a carved wooden bowl. He lit a mixture of dried herbs in a red earthen cup. A deep aroma, strong, pungent, and filled with life, spread throughout the small cabin as Carlos fell into a deep sleep.
Spirit Wolf ushered them out of the cabin. They stood just outside the door as the cicadas and palmettos buzzed around the Coleman.
Daniels thought about his friend Carlos. He was sick with worry for the Mexican who'd been his companion for a decade. He thought about Carlos' mother, a jolly caring woman they had set up in a condo in Key West, his beautiful sister Rosa attending University of Florida, all flashed in his mind.
"Get me back to your base and I'll have him Medivaced," said Conboy.
"No," Spirit Wolf replied, "It is not his time to die."
Daniels was deeply troubled by the sudden savage death of the young sergeant. He, Daniels, was no stranger to violent combat deaths, having inflicted many himself. But this felt so wrong, so alien and unclean. In the middle of US territory, with little purpose or sense, a young soldier had died. Why? Daniels thought, was there no other way? He felt trapped in a cycle of violent death and betrayal he somehow could not break.
Daniels also felt something on the edge of his consciousness, something that danced in his mind, elusive as a June bug. He sensed all was not as it seemed, but what? What was it exactly his subconscious had picked out from the events of the past days. The answers eluded him. Hell he thought, I can't even figure out the questions, let alone the answers.
Conboy and Coronado led the way back to the dock. Spirit Wolf held Daniels back and spoke quietly.
"There are things that you do not know, Richard, certain things that you must learn. Can you be ready tomorrow at sunrise? I will come for you at your camp." Daniels nodded without asking anything. He knew better then to seek information before Spirit Wolf was ready.
Chapter 26
A cloud of Sandpipers and Sanderlings exploded from the water meadows just outside Daniels' camp, disturbed by the noise of the approaching airboat. The craft was nothing more than a flat bottom rowboat with an elevated motor powering a propeller. Tricky as they were to handle, Spirit Wolf slid the boat expertly to the bank where Daniels waited, almost exactly at sunrise.
Wordlessly, Daniels stood next to Spirit Wolf as the craft flew over the surface of a vast sea of yellow and white waterweeds, interspersed with expanses of sawgrass. The run lasted almost an hour and the sun came up from the horizon, a giant yellow-orange burst, filled with the guaranty of another blast-furnace day. They came on a string of small islands overgrown with live oaks and cabbage palms, crowded and screened with bushes. Spirit Wolf guided the boat as it drifted among patches of water hyacinths under the baleful eye of a single heron.
The Indian ran the boat up a tiny sand bar, like a small beach in the riotous vegetation. Daniels followed him up a trodden footpath until they came to a clearing dotted with a tiny house that was not much more than a hut. As they approached the open door, Spirit Wolf placed a restraining hand on Daniels' arm and pointed gently down.
It was at least eight feet long, the body as big around as a man's ankle. It stopped and coiled its lower half, all sinuous muscles, fast and deadly. The Diamondback Rattler's head reared up waist high, the mouth open, the tongue flickering over the wicked curved fangs.
Both men stood very still as Spirit Wolf spoke, his voice soft and low as the breeze rustling the palm grass.
"It is Ulwati. He has been sent by Elohino, our Mother Earth, to be Taloona's guardian."
Richard Daniels had encountered many things, strange and inexplicable things. But now, right here in this time and place, in the tapestry of the savage wilderness of the Everglades, he felt a mystical connection. He sensed his spirit moving in the timeless stream of the universe. In that stream, he became aware of the spiritual entities that flowed all around him, their shapes and natures changing in the constant, moving evolution. He knew that he'd just encountered an entity, a timeless spirit that was more then it seemed.
The Diamondback lowered its head and body. Daniels could never have explained the feeling, the sensibility that washed over him. He felt as if the huge reptile had accepted his presence as it slithered inches from their feet and disappeared beneath the tiny cabin.
It was a religious mystical experience transcending anything he had ever known. Standing at the edge of that hut in the clearing, watching the Diamondback vanish under the footings of Taloona's cabin, he felt the undercurrent of powerful forces. Spirit Wolf's hand grasped his arm, the fingers like stones wrapped in leather. The Indian's voice floated like rumblings from the earth in th
e still air.
"Come my friend. It is time to meet Taloona."
They stepped through the threshold into the cabin; just three small rooms dotted with windows. No electricity, lamps or artificial illumination. Sunlight stabbed into the rooms from the windows, the beams filled with colors and dancing dust motes. It reminded Daniels of a cathedral he had once visited in Munich with the gloomy interior pierced by golden beams like they were sent directly from heaven.
But it was more than the atmosphere that Daniels felt. There was a presence in that room, a calm and spiritual essence. It washed over him like an invisible soothing stream.
She stood at the edge of the room and it was a few seconds before Daniels even noticed her. He'd felt her presence, her aura, before his eyes picked her from the gloom. She walked toward them and stopped just three feet in front of Daniels. He sensed the moment like a signpost, fixed in time, in his psyche, and he knew it would remain with him to his last day.
She was young and beautiful yet there was a timeless quality about the woman. Her hair hung long, straight and black as a starless night. Her skin a golden hue the features a mixture of classic Greek and American Indian. She wore a floor length gown of some kind of leather with no jewels or adornments—but her eyes, oh her eyes. They burned into his soul, into his very being in a way he could never, ever fathom. Her eyes were a sea of white, immaculate, unblinking, luminescent orbs without pupils.
Taloona was blind.
Daniels stood entranced as Taloona raised her arm. Her fingers touched his face, traced his cheeks and forehead for long moments. He felt an undercurrent, a living energy from her fingers, a gentle touch, caressing, probing, curious and discovering. He heard her voice, soft and delicate like a lover's caress.
"You are the one Deeno speaks of. You are Richard."
The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) Page 12
