by Rogers, Matt
‘Frisson says you are a traitor. He says you have malicious intent. He says you’re here to prevent him from giving us the truths we need to hear. Many of us want you dead for trying to keep those truths from us.’
‘Can I ask what truths Frisson carries?’ Rollins said.
Worth a shot, he thought.
Anthony paused before responding. ‘Are you going to try and convince us otherwise?’
‘No. I just want to hear what he knows.’
‘Bradley Frisson is a shaman. It has already been confirmed by our people. He has a grasp on the chaos that seeps through our world. He is a master of it. He is a Westerner, but the maninkari have chosen him to be our messenger. He will provide us with the tools we need to contact the gods. He has substances that can do this.’
‘What kind of substances?’
‘That is none of your business.’
‘What are the maninkari, exactly?’
‘In English it means, “those who are hidden.” They are spirits that live in all of us, and around us, and in the rainforest. They are everywhere.’
‘And Frisson says he can contact them?’
Anthony scowled. ‘Not says. Frisson can contact them. He has proven it.’
Rollins was about to ask, How?
But he realised the confrontational undertones of that particular question and bit his tongue.
The last thing he wanted was for Anthony to grow irate and force the toxic liquid down his throat. Challenging his beliefs in Bradley Frisson was a fast-track to a painful death. Instead, Rollins realised he simply had to prove his own innocence.
‘Frisson is powerful,’ Rollins said. ‘He knows things he shouldn’t, and he has almost certainly been blessed by the gods.’
Anthony hadn’t been expecting that. The man hunched over and said nothing, waiting for Rollins to elaborate.
‘But,’ Rollins said, ‘he was wrong about me. I’m not here to interfere with you or your plans. That’s why I came back. I have no bad intentions. If Frisson truly believes I am evil, then let him see me. But I have no problem with you or your people. I stumbled across you weeks ago and I want to help. I want to be around you — if I didn’t, I wouldn’t have come back. That’s all I wanted to say.’
‘You’ve made a powerful enemy in Bradley Frisson.’
‘I know. But I want to live in harmony with the Asháninca people. That’s the only reason I stayed with you in the first place.’
‘Then why does Frisson think you are our enemy?’
‘I don’t know. But my problem lies with him. It doesn’t lie with any of you.’
There was silence, and Rollins paused momentarily, wondering if he should dare feel relief. Did the quiet mean that Anthony was rolling over his words, dissecting them and searching them for intention?
Or did it mean something more sinister?
Hands still fastened behind his back, Rollins panicked as Anthony launched to his feet and yanked the cork off the glass bottle. He moved the open vial in a wide arc toward Rollins’ mouth.
Rollins lurched away from the vial and found himself on his back, writhing like a caterpillar, helpless to resist as Anthony knelt down alongside him and gently lowered the vial to his lips.
The glass rim came within inches of Rollins’ mouth.
He let out a yell, releasing adrenalin. He couldn’t help himself. The sheer fright of the experience elevated his heart rate to heights he hadn’t considered possible. It thrummed against his chest, threatening to burst. He closed his eyes and turned his head away from the vial. Beyond its murky brown contents, Anthony’s eyes bored into him, searching him for any sign of weakness.
‘I am not your enemy,’ Rollins hissed, even though the vial was inches from his face. A single tilt would send droplets flying into his mouth, and then it was game over.
But that didn’t happen.
Anthony lowered the vial. ‘Okay. I believe you.’
13
For a brief few seconds, nothing happened.
To Rollins it was an eternity.
He lay on his back on the wooden slats, staring up at the sky, sweating from seemingly all his pores at once. Anthony utilised his massive frame and levered Rollins upright, until he was back in a seated position. A few beads of perspiration leaked out of his eyebrows, splashing against the wood between his crossed legs.
He breathed in, then out, trying his best to compose himself.
He couldn’t quite comprehend how close he’d come to the most agonising death imaginable.
‘I could see it in your eyes,’ Anthony said, choosing his words carefully. ‘You are a good man. You are not here to hurt us.’
‘I know.’
‘But you are here to hurt Bradley Frisson.’
‘I—’
‘Don’t try and deny it. I see it inside you. It’s filling you with energy. That is why you came back. You don’t believe that Frisson is a shaman, and you wish to make him pay for what you think he’s doing.’
‘No,’ Rollins said, sticking to his guns. ‘That’s not what I’m here for.’
‘Keep lying to me and I might change my mind about you.’
‘Okay. I don’t like Frisson.’
‘Good. I was half a second away from pouring this down your neck.’
‘But I won’t interfere with him,’ Rollins said. ‘Or your beliefs. I don’t want to be a burden on your quest to meet the maninkari. All I ask is that you take me out of these restraints so I can talk to Frisson face to face.’
‘Does he know you’re here?’
‘Yes.’
Anthony nodded and stared out at the rainforest, which caught Rollins off guard. It was the first time the translator had believed one of Rollins’ lies.
He remembered the way he’d conveyed the lie, and elected to try his luck with the rest of the conversation.
‘What happened?’ Anthony said. ‘After he took you away.’
‘He imprisoned me. But he released me today and sent me back here, because he thought you would tear me apart. And you almost did.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘He wants you to kill me.’
‘We will not kill you. You wish no harm on us.’
‘Thank you.’
‘But you will have to answer to him. He’ll be here any moment.’
Rollins went pale — at least, paler than he already was. It would take some time for the colour to return to his face. ‘He’s coming?’
‘Him and his men. They are bringing us the golden ticket.’
‘The what?’
‘The device that will allow us to contact the maninkari.’
Rollins stole a glance in Anthony’s direction and noticed the man staring at the surrounding rainforest canopy with a certain sense of wonderment in his eyes. He was truly deep in the web of lies that Frisson had concocted. Rollins hadn’t seen Frisson use his manipulative abilities in person, but the man must be a damn good liar.
The Asháninca people had bought his spiel hook, line, and sinker.
This is how cults start, Rollins thought.
‘Have you seen the device?’ Rollins said.
Anthony cast him a dark look. ‘You want to steal it.’
‘No. I just want to know what it is.’
‘It’s a capsule.’
‘What kind of capsule?’
‘Made of metal. Frisson retrieved it from a nearby river. The maninkari deposited it there for him.’
‘Oh,’ Rollins said, at a loss for words. He was racing through possibilities in his mind, assessing the likelihood of certain scenarios. ‘What are you to do with it?’
‘We will take it to Huancayo. There are the most spirits there, because it is the most populated area. We will release the key through the capsule, and we will speak directly to the maninkari. This is what we were put on this earth to do.’
Rollins gulped.
He didn’t know how to suggest the likelihood that the capsule was a dirty bomb, but sud
denly much of what Bradley Frisson was doing made a great deal of sense. The man needed martyrs if he was interested in setting off a device in Huancayo, and what better sacrifices than a native tribe who believed they were contacting invisible spirits when they hit the detonator?
Fuck, Rollins thought.
But he said nothing.
14
One step at a time.
That constant reminder seared through his head as he planned out his next move. His main priority was neutralising Bradley Frisson, but to do that he needed to be able to confront the man unimpeded. He could hold his own in a fight, but if his wrists remained fastened together with reed he would be helpless to prevent his own swift execution.
He took a deep breath before continuing. Once again, he reminded himself that the only thing that mattered in the present moment was getting the hell out of these restraints.
‘I am one of you,’ he said. ‘Don’t let Frisson sway you. He is all powerful, but he can’t judge me. I simply want to observe the proceedings.’
‘You said Frisson sent you back here,’ Anthony said.
‘I did.’
‘Did he say what would happen if we decided not to kill you?’
‘He said you were to determine my guilt yourselves.’
‘It sounds like he was having doubts about your guilt himself.’
‘I believe he was.’
‘I trust you,’ Anthony said. ‘I don’t know about the others. As long as your intentions are pure…’
‘I have no interest in interfering with your plan to contact the maninkari. I don’t pose that threat. I’ve come here with humble intentions. I just want to co-exist with you and your people, which was what I was doing for weeks before Frisson labelled me an enemy.’
‘You don’t want to come to Huancayo?’
‘No. That experience will be yours and yours alone.’
Damn good work, soldier, Rollins thought to himself.
Anthony seemed to agree. The giant native man nodded, still admiring the view. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’
‘It sure is,’ Rollins said, and there were no lies to cover up this time.
It truly was a magnificent sight. The rainforest dipped into low valleys and soared high across undulating mountains. Everything was coated in a layer of green, and the silence permeating the region could only come from a village that lay miles from any kind of civilisation.
‘It will be a powerful few days to follow,’ Anthony said. ‘Our people have been waiting for this moment for quite some time. We never expected it to come in the form of a Westerner. But the man is enlightened. And although you have your doubts, we are ready to experience all the maninkari have to offer. We can talk directly to them. And we do it in Huancayo. This is a beautiful time.’
‘I understand,’ Rollins said, because he didn’t know what else to say.
Take these fucking reeds off my hands, he thought.
‘I don’t expect you to,’ Anthony said.
Something crackled in the air, and it took Rollins a second to realise what it was. This far off the beaten track, any sounds of man-made objects stood out amongst the wildlife. There was nothing but the village and dozens of miles of surrounding, uninhabited jungle. But now something rose over that — the distant purring of engines.
King? Rollins thought.
But he threw a glance in Anthony’s direction and noted the excitement on the translator’s face.
No, not King.
Bradley Frisson.
A knot formed in Rollins’ stomach as he grappled with what was to come. The reed still cut tight into his wrists, inherently present, making it clear how helpless Rollins would be if Anthony and the other villagers decided to leave him in his restraints.
Although hopefully…
Anthony got to his feet in one swift motion and fetched a hand-crafted machete off the far wall of the communal building. He strode toward Rollins, moving fast, and before Rollins even had time to utter a word of protest he slashed down with the sharpened blade.
Rollins squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable.
A distinct thwack echoed through the building and Rollins thought for sure that his windpipe had been severed. But no pain followed, and all of a sudden he felt the bite of the reed around his wrists fall away.
He opened his eyes, brought his hands around from behind his back, and rubbed the raw skin as Anthony returned the machete to its holster on the wall.
‘Did you think I was going to kill you?’ the man said with a hearty chuckle.
‘I wasn’t sure,’ Rollins said, trying to bring his breathing under control.
‘I always knew you were telling the truth.’
‘You did?’
‘Yes. We heard the sound of the engine as Frisson dropped you back here. There couldn’t be any other vehicles out this far. It had to be him. So we trust you.’
Rollins tried not to reveal the sheer unbridled relief running through him. He kept his face deadpan, inwardly grateful. If they thought King’s buggy was Frisson, then they wouldn’t kick up a fuss if Rollins decided to wait to intercept the approaching convoy.
They would suspect nothing.
‘Frisson is on his way?’ Rollins said, getting tentatively to his feet.
Part of him wanted to sprint into the jungle at the first available opportunity, never allowing himself to be at risk of a hallucinogenic death spiral again. But the rational part of his brain knew he needed to stay.
Anthony nodded. ‘Him and his men. They are due to deliver us the golden ticket today. That is what they are calling it.’
‘It’s some kind of hallucinogen?’
‘Yes. A plant we have never found before. The maninkari led Frisson to the plant, and he used his ancient knowledge to place it inside the capsule they gifted him. He will give it to us. We will take it to Huancayo, where the maninkari are strongest. Then we will contact them.’
‘Sounds good,’ Rollins muttered, even though the reality of the situation couldn’t have been more obvious.
Anthony led him unimpeded down the hillside, uttering Awarakan commands to any of the tribespeople they passed by, probably informing them of Rollins’ supposed innocence. Rollins kept to himself, still refusing to make eye contact.
Because when Frisson arrived, he knew what he needed to do.
And the tribespeople weren’t going to like it one bit.
15
He couldn’t remember being this nervous throughout his entire military career.
He was unarmed. The main priority involved ensuring Bradley Frisson couldn’t use the Asháninca people to set off a dirty bomb, and Rollins had come to realise that the only way to achieve that would be to put himself in the line of fire. He would have one opportunity to finish this, but anything past that was up in the air.
He had to pray that he could convince Anthony and the rest of the villagers of his pure intentions before they slaughtered him.
Until then, he simply had to shut up and play along.
He followed Anthony down the slope, making sure to keep his expression meek and placid.
‘How long until Frisson gets here?’ he muttered.
‘He’s only a few minutes away. We’re all set to greet him at the mouth of the trail. This is an important day for us all. I recommend that you keep your mouth shut and don’t interfere. These people will be judging you for quite some time.’
‘I don’t blame them,’ Rollins said, as if he understood.
The pair converged with the rest of the tribe at the base of the hillside — the couple of dozen villagers were still milling around silently, some of them exchanging terse whispers of conversation and others simply staring through the same opening that Rollins had burst from only half an hour earlier.
Rollins took up position behind Anthony and another tribe member, folding his arms over his chest and bowing his head to minimise his target area. He sensed eyes boring into the back of his head — the tribespeople ev
idently wanted nothing to do with him, but they weren’t ready to argue against Anthony’s better judgment.
The villagers formed a tight semi-circle around the mouth of the trail, and Rollins realised they’d been waiting for Frisson’s arrival when he had showed up.
‘When he arrives,’ Anthony muttered, ‘do you need to tell him about what we decided?’
‘Yes,’ Rollins said. ‘Frisson wants your approval before he lets me carry on with my endeavours, though. You will need to come up with me and inform him of your judgment.’
‘I’d be happy to.’
Rollins found himself warming to the translator, which sent discomfort searing through him when he thought of the danger he was about to put Anthony in. But the brutal truth was that he needed some kind of shield, someone to get him close enough to Frisson to make a lunge.
A six-foot-five native Peruvian would serve that role excellently.
Besides, no-one else was going to volunteer.
Then it became a waiting game. The tribe stewed restlessly as the sound of approaching vehicles intensified, until it seemed like an entire convoy of trucks was set to bear down on them. Rollins quashed his fears, recognising the amplified noise as a byproduct of being so far from civilisation. There weren’t really a hundred vehicles heading their way.
Frisson could only employ so many men.
And he would have to spread them out if his plan was in its final stages.
The first truck broke through the ferns in a hurry, smashing through them like a charging bull. It was a military-style open topped jeep with one man behind the wheel and another guy in the passenger seat. Another pair of identical trucks swiftly followed, both empty except for the drivers.
Four men.
Rollins recognised Bradley Frisson immediately.
He was the passenger in the first vehicle, dressed in a thin tank top and baggy cargo pants tucked into thick black boots. Rollins remembered all his features as if recalling a nightmare, from his mottled skin that alternated between pale white and bright red, to his small beady eyes and fat upturned nose. He had thinning brown hair that did nothing to protect his scalp from the scorching sun, and he sported the build of a powerlifter, with at least thirty percent body fat hanging over a sturdy frame. He was a great hulking slab of confidence, and an ugly bastard to boot. That hadn’t prevented him from winning over the entire tribe, something that still baffled Rollins when he stopped to consider it.
