by Jack Challis
‘South, ten kilometres away,’ Captain de Silva answers.
‘Did you see any warriors?’ the grinning José asks.
‘No,’ answers de Silva, ‘only young women – why are you so interested?’
‘No reason, Capitano,’ answers Lobo… ‘Adios, may the Holy Virgin protect you.’ Captain de Silva and his men move out.
‘Patron!’ Jose exclaims. ‘Do you know what tribe those captured women belong to?’
‘Yes, you fool! They are the women of the Cat-people – when their warriors return, they will follow the soldiers’ tracks right back to my campo and kill us all. Get the men ready to move while I count this money – vamoose!’
José rushes around organising the breaking of camp; he then returns to Lobo who has just finished counting the money.
‘That cock-sucking, Columbian mother-fucker – I am five thousand short,’ Lobo rages. ‘He has cheated me!’
‘Yes, Patron, but you also cheated him, by 12 kilos,’ José grins.
‘Yes, yes,’ remembers Lobo and smiles, ‘and when the Cat-men catch him up it will no longer matter!’
The three SAS troopers hiding in the jungle fringe watch the drug-runners suddenly breaking camp, for no apparent reason. They are puzzled at the drug–runners’ urgency to leave. However, to pull out would be dangerous, so they watch and wait, a skill in which the regiment has no equal.
Lacy is lying by the base of a tree. In the dim flicker of the drug–runners’ fires, Lacy looks up. To his horror, he sees a large, Brazilian, wandering spider crawling down towards him. (This spider is the most aggressive and venomous of all arachnids and, until anti-venom was recently developed, killed over a thousand people a year in Brazil alone. It has the unnerving habit of jumping onto and biting anyone who approaches too closely.)
Lacy moves involuntarily – the spider jumps at him – he jerks his head away – a stick snaps!
The noise carries to a wild Matte indian on the edge of the camp. The indian locates the direction of the noise and moves closer, to establish its source. The SAS troopers freeze. The indian comes nearer but still does not see the three SAS troopers. The indian then sniffs the air and catches their smell. The wild Matte warrior then runs to José and whispers.
José shouts: ‘Patron! White men hiding in the jungle!’ Lobo hurriedly stuffs the money back into the bag, spilling much of it.
Lobo’s men open fire indiscriminately into the jungle in the direction of the SAS troopers – the SAS men return fire – confusion breaks out and, during the commotion, Chevez appears behind the captive native girl and cuts her loose. They both disappear into the jungle night.
Several of Lobo’s men fall to the SAS troopers’ fire, including José. The remaining drug-runners and El Lobo retreat into the jungle with their mules.
The SAS men wait and listen. ‘I don’t think they’ll be back – something spooked them,’ whispers Kane. Kane and Dublin then stare daggers at Lacy. ‘Jim and me,’ threatens Dublin, ‘should kick the fuck out of you!’
‘Sorry, boys,’ pleads Lacy. ‘It was a wandering spider – the one you warned us about, Sarge. I could see its poxy eyes looking at me.’ Then suddenly Lacy panics… ‘Where is the little fucker?’
‘Here,’ says Dublin, holding up the spider transfixed on his knife.
‘The lad was right, Frank,’ says Sergeant Kane. ‘It’s a Brazilian wandering spider, alright. We carry no anti-venom for its bite!’
‘What do you reckon, Jim?’ Dublin asks. ‘Something scared the shite out of them – before we were spotted.’
‘They probably feared treachery from the soldiers,’ replies Kane. ‘There’s no honour in the drug trade.’
‘I am bloody starving, Sarge,’ moans Jack Lacy. ‘We haven’t eaten all day.’
‘What do you think, Frank?’ Kane asks.
‘Shame to let a good fire go to waste,’ answers Dublin, his eyes wandering over all the US currency scattered on the ground.
The three SAS troopers cautiously approach the deserted drug-runners’ camp. Four of Lobo’s men lay prone on the ground. Kane checks one of them. Dublin is busy stuffing his pockets with scattered money.
‘Leave it, Frank,’ orders Kane, ‘and cover us.’ Dublin reluctantly obeys, swearing under his breath.
A fallen man by Lacy’s feet groans – Lacy jumps out of his skin!
‘Sarge! This one is still alive.’
‘Search him for weapons – he could give us useful information.’
‘Err… he’s pissed himself, Sarge!’ complains Lacy, getting his hands wet. The wounded man is José Lopez.
‘Get out the bloody way, you fairy. I’ll search him – you cover me.’
Lacy now takes his opportunity to stuff his pockets with money, watched malevolently by Dublin. Kane throws José’s shotgun into the jungle then takes a large packet of cocaine from José’s pocket.
Later that night, the three troopers and the still unconscious José are around the fire. Dublin begins to count the money he found.
‘There’s nearly six thousand US dollars here, Jim,’ he declares. ‘Split three ways that’s….’
‘Hand it over, Frank,’ demands Kane. ‘That’s army money.’
‘Jesus, Mary, and Joseph – you want to hand it back,’ exclaims the astonished Dublin.
‘I will hand it over to my CO, Major Barnaby – it can go to the widow’s fund.’
‘Bollocks!’ replies Dublin.
‘Hand it over, Frank,’ Kane repeats.
Dublin hands the money over begrudgingly. ‘One day, Jim, you will get a medal from the poxy Queen for the man who stuck his head furthest up the army’s arse.’
‘I joined the Queen’s army to see active service, not to line my pockets,’ replies Kane. ‘The Queen,’ answers Dublin, ‘has enough brown-noses up her royal German arse already. She never dips her royal mitt into her pocket. All you will get is a few syrupy words and a limp handshake.’
‘I’m going to ignore that insult, Frank,’ says the Sergeant, ‘because we go back a long way, and because you are an Irishman.’
‘Ok, Jim,’ replies Dublin. ‘What about the money Lacy stuffed into his pocket?’
‘He can buy us a Joe Blake and pay for a piss-up. There is enough there to get us all Oliver Twist – even you, Frank,’ answers Kane, to placate the volatile Dublin.
‘He’ll be straight down the knocking shop,’ Dublin responds.
‘Give the money to me, lad,’ orders the Sergeant. Lacy hands the money over.
‘You, lad, are going to end up pissing through a colander if you keep that lark up. Now, down to business,’ continues Kane, spreading out a large map. ‘This is the third trap Chevez has led us into. The first was to look us over – the other two traps were deadly! If we keep following him, there will be more deadly traps – and less of us!’
‘I agree,’ replies Dublin. ‘We have to try and anticipate his next move. Chevez and the Kier Verde went to the hut to trade for supplies – if undisturbed, they would have returned north, over the Japari River but, because we are following them, he is leading us east into the malarial swamps of Boa Santos. But if he thinks he’s lost us, he’ll head north again – straight home. What we don’t know is how he will get to the Japari River.’
‘What do you think, Lacy?’ Sergeant Kane asks, encouraging the rookie, Lacy, to join in the Chinese parliament.
‘I don’t fancy wading through a swamp with all those leeches. I saw the African Queen once,’ Lacy replies. ‘And I don’t fancy killing Chevez much either!’
‘What are you talking about?’ Dublin responds angrily.
‘He could have killed me at the river, Frank,’ answers Lacy, ‘but he didn’t.’
‘Then count yourself lucky – never be grateful to the enemy,’ Dublin replies.
The wounded José stirs. ‘Let me stick a knife in his ribs after we have interrogated him, Jim,’ suggests Dublin. ‘He will be a liability to us.’
CHAPTER
EIGHT
THE NOCTURNAL CAT-MEN
Only half a mile away, sitting around another fire are Chevez, the three Kier Verde indians and the captive native girl, freed earlier by Chevez.
‘Did you see how quickly Lobo struck camp?’ Rondo says smiling.
‘Lobo is no fool,’ replies Yuma. ‘He will travel all night and only sleep when the sun rises in the land of the Matte.’ The four men watch the native girl wolf down her food while they smoke.
‘I think she has a tapeworm the size of a small Anaconda,’ observes Apari. ‘What tribe are you from?’ Chevez asks the girl. The famished girl answers between mouthfuls, ‘The Toa Xaxua people – we are river-dwellers.’
‘I know your tribe,’ replies Yuma. ‘They are fish and turtle-eaters, on the Santos Xaxua River. How did Lobo capture you?’
‘José caught me. I was washing in the river,’ answers the girl. ‘He is bad man, always pulling my tits. They were going to give me to the Matte tribe.’
‘Ah, those Matte cowards like tender young girls to eat!’ Rondo replies.
The Toa Xaxua girl gets up and enters the jungle.
‘I think she’s going for a crap,’ remarks Apari, craning his neck, ‘to make more room for food.’
‘Not bad tits for a fish-eater,’ says Yuma. ‘Nice and small, just a good handful. What do you think, Chevez?’
‘My wife, Maria, has better,’ Chevez answers, deep in thought.
‘That’s because we, the Invisible People,’ adds Rondo, ‘make our women work hard. It makes their tits firm, with nipples that stand proud.’
‘I must tell Maria that,’ Chevez answers.
‘No,’ protests Rondo. ‘She has a temper!’
The Toa Xaxua girl returns and sits by the fire and continues eating.
‘Are we leading the white soldiers into the Boa Santos swamps again, Chevez?’ Apari asks. ‘My balls still itch from those leech and mosquito bites.’
‘No,’ replies Chevez. ‘These white soldiers will not keep following us – they are too clever and have learned their lesson. They will try something else soon.’
‘Maybe Lobo killed the soldiers – there was much shooting,’ Yuma suggests.
‘Maybe,’ replies Chevez, ‘but today we all saw signs of the Cat-people heading north. If they find the secret crossing over the Japari River, our women will not be safe.’
‘The Cat-men have come north looking for man-meat!’ Yuma declares.
‘The three of you should return tonight,’ suggests Chevez. ‘Take the girl with you – her village is on the way. Give these supplies and medicine to my wife, Maria – she is sick. Tapia, her sister, is still looking after her – tell her I will be back soon.’ Chevez hands over his shoulder bag.
‘What will you do, Chevez?’ Rondo asks.
‘I will try to kill one more white soldier – the Japari river crossing will kill another – the jungle will kill the last one!’
Back at Lobo’s abandoned camp, the three SAS troopers are unaware of the impending danger from the Cat-people and sit around an abandoned fire. José is recovering from his flesh wound.
‘Let me slit his throat now, Jim,’ asks Dublin. ‘I don’t like the look of him.’
‘No, Frank, he may have useful information.’
‘What’s your name?’ asks Kane, while helping José up into a sitting position and giving him a drink.
‘José Pedro Jesús López, Señor.’
‘Do you work for Lobo?’
‘He is my patron, Señor. If I don’t work for him, he kill me.’
‘Is Lobo the biggest patron here?’
‘Oh no, Señor – the Columbian patrons are. They come across the border, make cocaine and mine gold in illegal mines.’
‘Who were the soldiers?’
‘Columbian army, Señor. They buy cocaine and gold and capture women for their brothels.’
‘Do you know Chevez?’ demands Dublin, toying with his knife.
José nods nervously; his cocaine rush is now wearing off. He looks longingly at the packet of powder in Kane’s top pocket.
‘Was Chevez here tonight?’ Dublin demands.
José nods and looks around tentatively into the jungle blackness.
‘He’s scared of something, Sarge!’ Lacy says.
‘What are you afraid of?’ Kane asks.
‘Nothing, Señor,’ answers José. ‘Let me return to my wife and seven hungry children, Señor. I am a poor man.’
‘Tell us what we want to know and you can have cocaine,’ offers Kane. ‘Which way did Chevez go?’
‘Chevez went east, Señor, towards the Boas Santos,’ José answers.
‘Do you know where Chevez lives?’
‘No Señor – only that he lives north – over the Japari River somewhere.’
‘Is the river easy to cross?’ Dublin asks.
‘Japari is dangerous to cross – only one, secret crossing,’ José replies.
Kane brings out a map. ‘Show us the crossing,’ Dublin demands.
José seems reluctant to divulge this information. Dublin grabs José by the hair and puts a knife to his throat. ‘We want the truth now,’ says the Irishman. ‘We will take you with us in case you lie.’
José points to the crossing, ‘Here, somewhere.’
‘Where?’ Dublin demands.
‘I do not know – that is why it is called the secret crossing. Only the Invisible People and Chevez know.’
‘How can Chevez get there?’ Kane asks.
‘Only two tracks go there, Señor,’ replies José; ‘here and here.’
Kane smiles. ‘There is our answer boys – both those trails meet at this junction, somewhere near the Japari river crossing. We stop chasing Chevez and beat him to this junction – wait and ambush him on his way to the river!’
‘Right, Jim,’ says Dublin. ‘We got our information – let’s waste our informant. You saw him torturing the captive girl.’
‘Get some more wood for the fire, Frank,’ orders the Sergeant, ignoring the Irishman’s request.
‘Get that lazy, noisy, useless bastard, Lacy, to fetch the wood,’ snaps Dublin.
‘I am asking you,’ answers Kane.
Dublin leaves, mumbling under his breath. José is looking very nervous, constantly peering into the darkness it is obvious he needs more cocaine.
‘Ok,’ says Kane, handing the packet of cocaine to José. José quickly sprinkles two lines on the back of his hand and snorts the powder; shaking his head from the rush. He grins; the fear in his eyes is replaced by a crazed look.
Kane takes the cocaine back. ‘Frank’s in killing mood. He’s very handy with a blade – he’ll do it quickly and argue about it later.’
‘Let the poor sod do a runner, Sarge,’ suggests Lacy. ‘He’s done a good Solomon with the information, besides, the poor cowson looks well tom and dick.’
‘I agree,’ Kane answers. Dublin quickly returns with only a few sticks of firewood.
‘Gordon Bennett!’ says Lacy, never one to keep his big Cockney mouth shut. ‘That won’t keep the Jeremiah going five minutes.’
‘Shut your big gob,’ Dublin hisses.
‘What’s up, Frank?’ Kane asks, sensing something is very amiss.
‘Seen a ghost, Frank?’ Lacy quips.
Dublin casually places a few sticks onto the fire.
‘More than one ghost. We are surrounded, Jim…. by a good codgel of some of the queerest-looking indians I have ever seen. Their bows are drawn and aiming straight at our backs – they have us by the short and curlies!’
‘What do we do, Sarge?’ Lacy asks, becoming agitated and looking as if he were getting ready to bolt.
‘Stay calm, lad – don’t move a muscle – don’t show fear,’ replies the Sergeant. ‘We have no quarrel with the indians.’
‘They are getting horrible close, Sarge!’ Lacy panics.
‘Stay still, lad,’ whispers Kane. ‘Just in case,’ he instructs, ‘I have a grenade in my right ha
nd, on their blind side. Just pull the pin with your left hand on the QT.’ Lacy complies.
‘Frank, build up the Jeremiah,’ orders Kane.’
Dublin builds up the fire adding more light to the scene. The strange indians slowly close the circle, their six-foot bows drawn taught, their barbed arrows pointing straight at the SAS troopers’ chests. ‘Sarge,’ whispers Lacy, ‘I think I am going to shit myself!’
‘You do, lad, and I will bloody kill you myself!’ Kane hisses.
The circle of warriors now closes to within a yard of the troopers. José Lopez grins crazily at the indians without fear.
The firelight clearly shows up the cat-like appearance of the indians. Long whiskers protrude from their upper lips, sharp canines hang from snarling mouths. The masks of jaguars half cover the tops of the indians’ heads, their bloodshot eyes stare through the cats’ empty sockets. Many of the warriors growl angrily. ‘Well fuck me gently!’ Kane swears. ‘It is the Cat-people. If I had known, we could have made a fight of it – they are bad news – I didn’t realise they came this far north.’
‘We can still make a fight of it, Jim, ‘Dublin whispers.
‘Ok,’ replies the sergeant, ‘I’ll throw the grenade – we grab our weapons and roll – their arrows should hit the fire.’
However, it is too late! One of the Cat-men seems to have understood every word said. Bending down, the Cat-man prises the hand-grenade from the sergeant’s hand; he is careful to keep the lever depressed. He then he takes the pin from Lacy’s hand and replaces it in the grenade!
‘Fuck my old boots!’ swears Kane. ‘How did he know that?’
Straightening up, the same Cat-man pulls his bowstring taught, right by Lacy’s ear, and then fires. José Lopez, cocaine addict par-excellence, falls backwards transfixed. José first grimaces, grins, then gives up the ghost!
‘Jesus Christ!’ exclaims Dublin. ‘It’s Indian Joe with whiskers. So that’s where the bastard disappeared to.’
‘Shut it,’ orders Kane. ‘Appear friendly, humour the cowson – they have us by the bollocks.’
‘José Lopez… bad man,’ announces Indian Joe.
