Rio Negro, Northern Amazon, Brazil
Reading wanted to slam the radio receiver into the table repeatedly, but realized that would only make him feel better for a few seconds. He turned to Milton who had just hung up the phone.
“I hope you had more luck than I did,” said Reading, returning to the rear deck.
Milton shook his head. “I left a message for Rita, my secretary, but it’s three in the morning there. We won’t get action from her end until at least eight.”
“Terrence?”
“Voicemail, but at least he’s five hours ahead, so hopefully he can get some action.”
Reading sighed. “Just what kind of action are we expecting? It’s up to the Brazilians to send a search team, and one is already on the way. Three bloody days away!”
“With a jungle like this, we need dozens if not hundreds of people.” Milton shook his head. “She’s a needle in a haystack.” He noticed a light blinking on the satellite phone and dialed the voicemail. He jotted down some numbers then punched them into the GPS on the iPad. “Jim’s heard her again.” He handed Reading the tablet computer.
Reading looked at the three marked positions, the first their campsite, the second when Acton had first heard Laura, the third this latest report. This latest report was significant though, since it provided them with a general direction the abductor was heading. “He’s heading east-north-east by the looks of it.”
This would help narrow down the search area, but only if they could search now, not in three days when any trail would be long cold. He zoomed in on the Google Earth app and found nothing but a thick canopy that no search plane would be able to pierce.
And with the jungle filled with tribes and wildlife, he doubted any type of infrared would help either. They needed boots on the ground. With Laura’s money they could bring in people with ease, the problem was getting them here in the middle of nowhere and quickly.
And they needed an experienced tracker. He definitely wasn’t it, Milton was a bookworm, and none of the crew seemed to be willing to leave their boat now that the campsite had been compromised.
He didn’t blame them, though he doubted there was any more danger. Fabricio had said there was a tribe less than an hour north of here that they might be able to ask for help, but they were very primitive, very scared of white people. They weren’t one of the uncontacted tribes that Acton had been telling them about on their voyage up the river, but their contact was minimal. They preferred to keep to themselves, but show them enough respect and they might just help.
Milton was flipping through the numbers stored on the phone when he paused.
“Why would they have a number for Kraft Dinner in here?”
Reading looked up from the iPad. “Huh?” Milton held up the phone, showing the display, too far away for Reading’s old eyes to make out. “What are you talking about?”
“It says Kraft Dinner.”
“Kraft Dinner? What the hell is that?”
“Pasta and cheese with a chemically induced orange glow?”
Reading grunted. “We call that Kraft Cheesey Pasta. Ours doesn’t glow.”
“Really? What color is it then?”
“I think we’re getting off topic.”
Milton flushed slightly. “Sorry, you’re right. So back to my original question, why would they have Kraft Dinner in their phone?”
“It has to be some sort of code.”
“Initials perhaps?”
“KD?” Reading repeated it several times, unable to think of anyone with a first name starting with the letter K. His eyebrows popped. “Is it Kraft Dinner, or Dinner comma Kraft?”
“The latter, actually.”
“So it’s DK, not KD.” Reading smacked his hands on his knees. “Dylan Kane!”
“You mean—”
Reading held up his finger, cutting Milton off. Dylan Kane was actually CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane, a former student of Acton’s who had dropped out of university and joined the army after 9/11. He had excelled, joined the Delta Force, actually training and serving with some of the Bravo Team members they had come to know before being recruited by the CIA. He was secretive, but reliable, having helped his former professor out on occasion, including on their recent trip to Israel.
He might just be the one they needed.
“Are you going to dial it or am I?” he asked.
Milton eyed the phone then shook his head. “You better, you’ve at least dealt with him. I’ve only heard about him.”
Reading nodded as he rose then took the phone from Milton. He pressed the button, dialing the number, then punched in their number when it picked up, it merely a paging service.
A pager unlike any available to the general public, he was sure.
And waited.
Hai Phong, Vietnam
CIA Special Agent Dylan Kane was in pure ecstasy as Trinh, a stunning Vietnamese masseuse, squeezed and released his tense muscles like only she could. She was the best he had found the world over, and with Trinh, there was never a happy ending.
She was strictly legit.
And worth every damned penny.
And my God, what he’d give for a role in the hammock with her. She was five foot nothing of perfection, her accented English the sexiest he had ever heard. He wondered if her level of attractiveness in his eyes was influenced by the fact she wouldn’t sleep with him.
Not for a lack of trying when he had first met her.
“No hanky panky!” she had cried when he had given her the eye that changed most women he met into putty, ready to be manhandled and carnally pleasured.
But not Trinh.
“I married!”
He backed off immediately, never one to interfere in a marriage—unless it was part of the job. As a necessity he had bedded married women, usually to get information from them, or access through them to their husbands. At least one half of the marriage didn’t consist of a good person. In the rare case it was the woman, his morals remained intact. In the more common case it was the man, the woman he romanced usually abused or neglected, and he gave them a night or more of escape from their misery, again leaving his morals intact.
What I do for my country!
He moaned as Trinh’s elbow dug into his deep tissue.
God I love this woman!
Whenever he was in south-east Asia he made it a point to try and see her at least once. She could go for hours, never taking a break, and when done, he felt like a new man, ready to tackle the world’s problems singlehandedly. Which was usually how he had to face them.
“Your husband is a lucky man,” he murmured.
“You tell him that!” cried Trinh. “He get jealous I give massage. He say you all expect sex. He say I must be giving!”
Kane realized he might have just opened a can of worms, never knowing Trinh to ever mention her personal life. Or even talk much during a massage. Their relationship, at least five years old, consisted of perhaps a dozen massages a year that lasted two or three hours with few words spoken.
Should I say something?
“It’s only because he loves you.”
“If he love me, he trust me!” She dug deeper with her elbow and he yelped.
Maybe I should stay out of this.
His phone vibrated on the table beside him. He reached over and saw the priority contact, his eyebrows climbing slightly.
Professor Acton?
“I’m going to have to take this, Trinh,” he said, lifting himself off the table, thankful for an excuse to end the massage that felt like it was turning violent against all men.
“Okay, you like I come back tomorrow?” she asked, stepping back and holding up a towel for him.
He took the towel and wrapped it around his waist. “If I’m still here, absolutely. Call the hotel tomorrow around three.”
She smiled and looked at the money sitting on the table nearby. He nodded. “Go ahead, you earned it.”
“But I not finish.”
Ka
ne smiled at her refreshing honesty. “My fault, not yours.”
“I do you extra good tomorrow! Extra long!” she smiled, picking up the money, oblivious to how horny her statements made him, or how jealous her husband would be should he hear them out of context.
“Have a good day, Trinh,” said Kane as he dialed the number, his call relayed through a private encrypted network he had established for himself years ago. It didn’t go through Langley or any other entity. It was his own hardware set up in his own secret location that allowed him to communicate securely and privately with anyone he needed to.
Few had the number.
“Hello?” He didn’t recognize the voice. It was a man’s, deep, English.
“You called?”
“Oh, hi, Kraft Dinner I presume?”
Kane laughed. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry, it’s the name in the phone. A code.”
Kane shook his head, smiling. “Just call me Dylan. This line is secure. May I presume this is Special Agent Reading?”
“Yes. Hugh.”
“How can I help you?”
“Laura Palmer—you remember her?”
“Of course. Professor Acton’s wife.”
“Oh, you heard?”
“I hear everything.”
“Umm, yeah.” There was an awkward pause. “Well, she’s been abducted.”
“Abducted!” Now Reading finally had Kane’s attention. “Details.”
He was quickly given the rundown of the abduction by a native in the Amazon rainforest, and how Acton had gone out in pursuit. They weren’t able to reach anybody for help beyond the locals who were three days away.
“And now Jim’s missed his hourly check-in. I think something might have happened to him as well. Is there anything you can do to help?”
“I’ll call you back in an hour.”
“Thank you.”
He ended the call and began dialing another number through his secure network.
“Mr. White.”
“Is that any way to answer a phone?” he asked, a smile on his face as he heard the voice of his old Delta Force buddy, Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson.
“Dylan?”
“You got me. How are you, BD?”
“A little busy right now, I’ve got about two minutes.”
“That’s all I need. Listen, I understand you’re in Colombia.”
“How the hell do you know that?”
“I know everything.”
And he began to relay the details as he knew them to the one person he knew was close enough to possibly help his old archeology professor, he on the other side of the world and about to begin a mission of his own that couldn’t be interrupted for anything.
“You have the number?” he asked when done.
“Got it. I’ll get in touch as soon as I have a chance. I’m in the thick of something right now so we might not be able to do anything right away.”
“Whatever you can do is probably better than what they’ve got now.”
“True. Listen, gotta go.”
“Okay, good luck, BD. See you when you least expect it.”
He laughed and ended the call, heading for the showers to cool himself off, Trinh having done one hell of a number on his libido, but as he showered in the cool water, his thoughts turned to his old mentor and his new wife, wishing there was more he could do to help them.
Somewhere North-East of Rio Negro, Northern Amazon, Brazil
Laura tried to control the adrenaline rushing through her system, it only making the situation worse, panic having set in almost from the moment she had awoken. Her captor had an iron grip on her arm, not to mention a menacing looking spear and set of sharpened teeth. There was no hope of escape at this point, it still nearly pitch black, the only light from the stars and a half moon overhead, little of which made it through the thick canopy of tree branches above them. Should she manage to break away, she knew he’d simply recapture her within moments.
But for some reason he hadn’t seemed too perturbed by her shouting out, three times now. Each time she had called for help, her captor had glared at her, hissing slightly, frightening her back into silence. And the last time, when she had heard James’ voice so close, she had a flood of hope, but then there was a flurry of shouting in the distance and a smile from her captor.
Then silence.
And she knew something had happened to her beloved husband.
But for now she had to survive, and to that end she did the only thing she could think of to do.
Leave a trail.
With every step of her right foot, her captor on her left, she put as much weight as she could on her heel, digging it into the ground so it would leave a mark, rather than drag her foot which was more likely to be noticed by her captor. If someone could just pick up her trail, they might be able to follow it to wherever they were going.
The fact she was alive for now had her hopeful that he intended to keep her that way. Then again, cattle were walked to the slaughter house, not carried. Her cooperating might simply be making things easier for her later demise. Cannibalism had been reported in the Amazon, but it was rare, and not in this particular area. Usually it was a war ritual—eat the enemy, gain his strength, not to mention scare the shit out of his friends the next time you might encounter them.
She had a funny feeling this was more of a counting coup situation, where the young man performed an act of bravery against the enemy to prove himself to his tribe. Perhaps by abducting her he was passing some sort of test. From what she could see of him he seemed rather slight, even for a native of the Amazon, typically known for being short and very fit.
The runt of the litter?
He had no obvious deformities which might have merited him a quick death at birth, instead he seemed to have simply been cursed with a short stature and slight features. She might have actually felt a touch sorry for him if he weren’t in the process of abducting her.
Suddenly they stopped and he pointed at her feet several times, then slapped his chest, then pointed at the tree branches above them, all the while speaking a language she had absolutely no possibility of understanding.
“You want me to stay here while you climb the tree?”
He repeated the gestures, then shook his spear, which she took to imply he’d kill her if she didn’t stay put.
She nodded.
This seemed to satisfy him and he sprang up the tree so fast, he could have been mistaken for a primate. Suddenly a hand dangled in front of her face, motioning at her.
I guess he wants me to climb.
She reached up to grab the lowest branch but instead he grabbed her arm by the wrist and hauled her up to the large branch he was on. She yelped in surprise at his strength and grabbed onto the massive branch, his hand steadying her until she found her balance. The branch was large, easily the width of a twin bed with a large concave in the trunk of the tree at the branch’s root. Her captor quickly cleared out this area of accumulated debris then lined it with large leaves, motioning for her to lie down inside the protected alcove.
She nodded then obeyed the order, lying with her back to the tree trunk, her spine curving with the trunk, it oddly comfortable, and, more importantly, signaling he had no intention of killing her before morning, and should they stay put overnight, it might give James and the others time to find her trail.
James!
What were those shouts? It wasn’t his voice she had heard but those of at least several others speaking a language that might be the same as her captor’s. All she knew was it wasn’t English, Spanish or Portuguese. But she also hadn’t heard him cry out, which she hoped meant they hadn’t killed him.
But why would her captor not join his friends?
She knew enough about the Amazon Rainforest to know that there were hundreds of tribes that minimized contact with the outside world, and dozens that had had no contact whatsoever. She wondered who her captor was, whether he knew of whi
te people, or whether he thought she was some sort of demon or otherworldly creature.
If he thinks that, then he is either extremely brave or incredibly stupid.
Counting coup with an otherworldly creature had to take the cake for bravery. Which might make sense. His slight stature and features would probably have him marginalized among the men of the tribe, and undesirable to the women.
Oh!
The thought had her heart leap into her throat. Was she to be his mate? Was she about to be raped? She pushed herself back a little deeper into the alcove. She calmed herself, all the while keeping an eye on her captor as he continued to prepare their shelter, expertly weaving what was shaping into a wall around them, the large leaves providing an effective cover. Within ten minutes they were enclosed enough so no one from the ground would be able to see them.
A small, shallow clay plate was produced from what she would characterize as a satchel that hung around his neck. The bag appeared to be pieced together from different animal skins, and had gone unnoticed up to this point in her panic. A hand drill for producing fire was removed from the bag and within minutes they had a small fire sitting on the clay plate. He placed it close to her and she held her hands out, warming them, as she suddenly realized how cool it was as her body chilled, no longer kept warm by their constant running.
She shivered.
Her captor’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if concerned. He pushed the plate closer, then stood, removing more leaves from a higher branch. Placing them over her body, he layered her with the greenery. She almost immediately began to feel the thermal effect as her body heat began to be trapped.
“Thank you.”
The words startled him and he jumped back slightly. She realized from her training that if she were to survive this, unscathed and unmolested, she needed to establish a rapport with her abductor. She sat up, repositioning the leaves to cover as much of her as possible, then pointed at her chest.
Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10) Page 5
