Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10)

by J. Robert Kennedy

  She shook her head. “No, I’m okay. They yelled at me a lot then threw me in a cell for a while. Bob got me out!”

  “Bob?” He turned to the smiling Turnbull and decked him, dropping the asshole to the floor in a heap. He was about to pounce on him and finish him off when he was grabbed by several policemen. “Let me at him! He left me here to die!”

  Henderson helped Turnbull up off the floor, the latter nursing a bleeding lip. He waved off the police. “Let him go. I deserved that.” The grips on him eased and Mitchell resisted the urge to jump back into the fray. “I’m sorry, Terrence, but I was angry. As soon as I walked out that door I knew I was on the wrong side of this and that you were right. I had Rick immediately go to work. Just a couple of phone calls and everything was cleared up. I’ll still face charges unless you guys drop them, but I’m willing to face the music after what I’ve done.”

  Henderson stepped in front of Mitchell. “You and your wife are free to go, no charges. Mr. Turnbull has confessed to attacking you and causing the disturbance at the hotel. He will return at a later date for his trial unless those charges are dropped here and now.”

  Mitchell said nothing, continuing to glare at everyone around him, adrenalin fueled anger still his commander.

  “Terrence.” It was a whisper accompanied by a tug on his arm. He looked down at Jenny who was imploring him to respond.

  A burst of air he hadn’t known he was holding erupted from him and his shoulders slumped, his entire body releasing the taught, clenched muscles as he finally realized everything was over, and revenge a selfish treat he didn’t need.

  “I don’t want to press charges,” he mumbled. He looked up at Henderson then at Turnbull. “It’s over. Let’s go back to the hotel so I can clean up.”

  “It is not over, senhor,” said an older police officer, stepping forward. “We have a dead man and two seriously injured prisoners here. They say you do this to them.”

  Mitchell’s heart leapt into his throat for a moment, but after everything he had been through, there was no way this situation could scare him. Instead, he laughed. He pointed at the dead man then the dickless wonder. “He tore this guy’s bollocks off, then the other guy jumped in to try and stop him. The dead guy shoved his thumb through the guy’s eye but he hung on and killed him in self-defense.” He pointed at the Cyclops. “He deserves a medal for stopping the guy.”

  The old cop smiled. “Then why do you have so much blood on you, senhor?”

  Mitchell held up his hands. “I have first aid training. I tried to help but there was little I could do.”

  The smile spread as the man pointed to the wall behind him. Mitchell’s heart sank as he saw a camera pointed directly at the cell. “Fortunately for you, senhor, the camera is broken. But I like your story, it cleans things up very nicely.” He jerked his thumb toward the door at the far end of the hallway. “But I don’t ever want to see your faces again.”

  Mitchell’s head bobbed up and down rapidly as Jenny’s grip tightened noticeably on his arm.

  “Let’s go,” said Henderson, his tone revealing a needed sense of urgency. Jenny pulled the still stunned Mitchell toward the door, Turnbull and Henderson leading the way. Mitchell was given a set of clothes, his old ones stolen or covered in blood, a chance to clean up, then after a flurry of signatures on Henderson approved paperwork, everyone was soon on the street. The four of them climbed into a waiting car, Turnbull wisely in the front, Mitchell in the opposite rear seat, Henderson apparently not willing to trust their fight was over.

  As the car put some distance between them and the police station, Mitchell finally began to relax, the adrenaline rush over, his body slumping in exhaustion. Turnbull looked at Mitchell as if he wanted to say something.

  Mitchell frowned. “What?”

  “I just have one question for you, then I’ll leave you alone.”

  “What?”

  “Did you really rip that dude’s balls off?!”

  All eyes were now on Mitchell. He paled.

  “Oh my God! I guess I did!”

  “Dude!” Turnbull offered him a fist bump which Mitchell automatically returned, not even registering the contact, shock beginning to set in.

  “Did you kill that man?” asked Jenny gently, still holding his arm tightly.

  He nodded. “I broke his neck, just like we were taught.”

  “Taught by who?” asked Henderson.

  “Our boss’ head of security. We’ve been trained in all sorts of self-defense techniques.”

  Henderson nodded, his hand reaching into his suit. Mitchell gasped and Jenny yelped as a gun was produced, pointed directly at them.

  “Did he teach you how to dodge a bullet?”

  Barasana Village on the Rio Negro, Northern Amazon, Brazil

  Reading looked up to see where the hail had come from. A boat was pulling into the inlet they were moored at and several aboard were waving. Fabricio returned the wave, coming out onto the back deck.

  “The rescue boat is here, senhors!”

  “Just after the nick of time,” muttered Reading as Kinti, who had been sitting at his feet humming as she weaved a basket, rose, helping pull him to his feet. He put his arm around her as ropes were thrown to lash the new arrival to the Juliana. A uniformed man stepped across a plank and onto the boat, Fabricio stepping forward to greet him in Portuguese. Words were exchanged rapidly, the new arrival pursing his lips as his head slowly bobbed. Finally he turned to Reading and Milton who was now at his side.

  “I am Lieutenant Colombo. I understand your friends have been rescued.”

  Milton snorted then spun, apologizing as he did so. Reading glanced after him then turned back to Colombo. “They should be arriving any time now.”

  “This is good news. They are very lucky.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “We will wait until their arrival, then depending upon the time, leave either this evening or in the morning.”

  “There’s a new problem,” said Reading, stepping back and motioning toward Steve Parker, the Protect Amazonia Now environmentalist who until now had waited patiently behind them. “Mr. Parker here says he and his team were ambushed by Special Forces types several days ago.”

  The man’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. “Special Forces?”

  Parker nodded emphatically. “Yes. They were head to toe in black body armor, face masks, machine guns. Definitely not run-of-the-mill security guards.”

  Colombo frowned, apparently not convinced. “Where did this happen?”

  “Upriver a bit, then inland about three days north-east.”

  Colombo’s eyebrows rose. “That’s Venezuelan territory.”

  Parker nodded nervously. “It might be. Does that mean you won’t help us?”

  “It means you need to deal with the Venezuelans.”

  “Can you help?” Parker sounded desperate. “We’re just environmentalists looking into illegal logging. The rest of my team doesn’t deserve to die.”

  Colombo looked at Reading then back at Parker. “How many?”

  “There were six of us. I escaped, and apparently so did my friend Bob Turnbull. He’s in Manaus with their people,” replied Parker, nodding toward Reading.

  “This is true,” said Reading. “He apparently stole a canoe and paddled down to Manaus where he asked to borrow a satellite phone from two of our people coordinating things there.”

  “So your people may already be sending help.”

  Parker shook his head. “That’s days away. They don’t have days.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “They shot me!” Parker shoved his shoulder forward, wincing. “They’re obviously going to kill them.”

  “Why would they do that? Did you see anything?”

  Parker shook his head. “No, we didn’t see anything. But I think we were close.”

  “Why?”

  “There was a smell in the air. Something different. I can’t really describe it because we were just catching w
afts of it. Bob thought it was diesel, but I couldn’t be sure. Whatever it was it wasn’t natural and it was being carried on the winds.”

  “It could have been a boat.”

  Parker’s jaw dropped. “Are you intentionally being difficult?”

  Reading almost chuckled but caught himself, though there was no preventing the smile before it spread across his face. He caught the twinkle in Colombo’s eye. He knew the man was simply doing his job, drawing out information from Parker by playing part stupid and part Devil’s advocate. He’d done the same routine many times in his career, and it was remarkable how much you could pull out of someone, especially when they got frustrated. They began to try to convince you of their story by revealing items they wanted to hold back, tidbits that might incriminate them in something, but should their need for you to believe them overcome their mouth-brain barrier, a font of information could be revealed with one slip.

  He had no doubt this Colombo honored his fictional namesake.

  I wonder if he’s even heard of him?

  He was certain if he had he had been teased about it when joining the force.

  “I am not being difficult, senhor, I am merely asking questions. You are asking me, a Brazilian police officer, to help a group of people who have crossed the border into Venezuela—” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “You had permits for this incursion, yes?”

  Parker blanched. “Well, ah, no, you see when we left, we didn’t know it was going to be in Venezuela, we just sort of ended up there.”

  “I see.” Colombo rubbed his chin, pursing his lips as if deep in thought. “This could be a problem. So what you are saying is you illegally crossed the border, were caught, then were shot trying to escape, and now you need our help to free your friends from the Venezuelan authorities.”

  Parker’s eyes were wide open in shock. Everything the Lieutenant had said was true, except for the assumption it was Venezuelan authorities that had captured the group. Reading still wasn’t convinced. Why would they not have markings on their uniforms, and why would they be dressed the way they were if merely border security. He decided he needed to step in.

  “Lieutenant, is it customary for the Venezuelans, or for that matter, your government, to patrol the border in that area? Isn’t it environmentally protected?”

  Colombo turned his attention to Reading. “No, it is not common. In fact, unless the Venezuelan government has decided to violate the treaty, they shouldn’t be there at all. They have a border outpost at the Rio Negro and several facilities along the river, but this area of the Amazon is supposed to be protected from all activity more than one mile from the shoreline.”

  “So whoever is there is violating the treaty.”

  Colombo nodded then held up a finger. “Or is not party to the treaty.”

  Reading’s left cheek broke out into a smile. “Like a private security force guarding an illegal logging operation?”

  He sensed Parker about to say something when he reached back with his arm and squeezed Parker’s arm tightly and out of sight of Colombo.

  Shut up if you know what’s good for you!

  Colombo smiled from ear to ear. “You are a police officer, no?”

  Reading laughed. “Scotland Yard, over twenty years. Now I’m INTERPOL.”

  “Ahh!” Colombo’s eyes widened with respect and awe. “I have read many detective books. Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Agatha Christie. I love Sherlock Holmes and Hercule Poirot. I try to think like them when I have a crime to solve. And what was it that Holmes once said? ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth’? And if we assume the Venezuelans haven’t broken the treaty—though that is an assumption, not a confirmed fact—then it must be some private organization.” He sucked in a deep breath, his chest swelling. “Mr. Parker, is it?”

  Parker nodded.

  “Sir, I believe your story. It would take a madman to shoot himself, and as you have a second witness in Manaus, it has been my experience that madmen don’t often travel together, but when they do, once separated, it is every man for himself. But both of your stories apparently corroborate. Since we are no longer needed here, you will come with us and we will head north to the border and enlist the help of the authorities there. I will radio Manaus to have your friend picked up for questioning so we can confirm the story and get corroboration on a possible location for the ambush.”

  Parker seemed relieved, his shoulders slumping and some color returning to his cheeks. “Thank you, Lieutenant, thank you so much!”

  “Daylight is running out. We have an hour to the border station if we hurry so we must go now.”

  Parker shook Reading and Milton’s hand along with Fabricio’s. “Thank you all for helping me. It’s appreciated. If you’re ever in Washington look me up, I owe you.”

  He climbed across to the police boat as the lines were untied and the new arrival pushed back from the Juliana. Moments later its engine was guiding them out of the inlet and onto the river where it banked right and was soon out of sight, its engine a mere memory a minute later.

  Reading sat down, Kinti resuming her weaving as Milton stretched his back. “I’m going back down below,” he said, wincing. “Wake me if any more excitement occurs.”

  “Why bother?”

  Milton’s eyes narrowed questioningly then followed where Reading was pointing. At the far end of the village a group of natives appeared followed by Leather and his team who were surrounding two exhausted looking professors.

  Milton grabbed Reading with one arm over his shoulders and squeezed him. “They’re back!”

  Reading nodded as he looked down at Kinti, whose face was plastered with the sadness his heart was encased in.

  They would be leaving within minutes.

  And their whirlwind romance would be over.

  Forever.

  Acton waved to Reading and Milton on the boat, his arm now tightly around Laura’s waist. The entire village was gathering around, smiles everywhere as a chant of celebration broke out. Leather’s team herded them toward the boat and Acton was content to let them for now, but proper, formal goodbyes would be necessary for those who had done so much to save a stranger, asking nothing in return.

  “Is that Hugh’s girlfriend?”

  Acton grinned as he saw the young girl, easily eighteen inches shorter than Reading, clinging to him. He felt a twinge in his heart as he saw the tears rolling down her face, and the mixed emotions on his friend’s.

  “Yes it is. Her name’s Kinti. She seems to be a very sweet girl with a voracious sexual appetite.”

  “James!” Laura swatted his arm.

  “Hey, I had to listen to it all night!”

  “That’s terrible! Let the poor man have his privacy!”

  “Then he shouldn’t have shagged her rotten in a communal hut!”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t like that.”

  “You’re right, it wasn’t. She shagged him rotten. I think he mostly laid back and enjoyed the ride.”

  He was slapped again, but this time at least there was a giggle accompanying it. “Stop, he’ll hear you!”

  Reading strode down the ramp to shore, Kinti holding his left hand as he one arm hugged Laura, lifting her off the ground. “Thank God you’re alive!”

  “None the worse for wear, but eager to get home.” Laura stepped back as a thumping exchange occurred between Reading and Acton. “And who’s this?” Laura smiled at Kinti, putting out her hand. “Hello, I’m Laura,” she said, patting her chest.

  Kinti shook Laura’s hand, smiling politely. “Kinti.”

  “Such a pretty name.” Laura smiled at Reading. “Does she speak any English?”

  Reading blushed crimson. “Just a few that I’ve taught her.”

  “Portuguese?”

  Head shake.

  “Spanish?”

  Head shake.

  “So, how do you communicate.”

  “Body language,” coughed Milton as h
e descended the ramp, finally tired apparently of waiting for them. He gave them both hugs and Acton could immediately see his friend was in pain.

  “I think we better say our goodbyes and get underway,” suggested Acton. He pointed to Fabricio who had joined them. “Please tell the Chief that we are thankful for his people’s help, and are in their debt.”

  Fabricio translated and the Chief bowed deeply. He translated for his people who seemed very pleased, many whooping in pleasure. The Chief spoke and motioned to them all. Fabricio looked to Acton. “He say that you are all friends and you are all welcome to return at any time.”

  Acton bowed along with Laura and the others. “We are honored.”

  The formalities over, hands were shaken, hugs were exchanged, and Reading and Kinti left the crowd as they walked toward the trees. Acton kept the smile forced on his face, but his chest tightened for his friend. It was obvious he was hurting. He knew from experience what love at first sight felt like. The intensity, the emotions, the overwhelming sense of desire and need, were almost too much to handle. It compressed a lifetime of love into a short flurry of red hot passion that was so pure, it felt as if the world would end when it came to its sometimes inevitable conclusion.

  And this was one of those times.

  It was an impossible situation.

  And Acton knew the way Reading was.

  He would keep his pain bottled up inside, making it worse.

  Reading was sick to his stomach. The hollowed out feeling he had was beyond compare in his memory though he was certain he had experienced it before, but not since a young man. At that age you were supposed to feel this type of pain, it was all part of growing up, of becoming a man. But today he felt like that boy, desperately in love, who had just been told the love of his life was moving away forever, never to be seen again.

  His chest was tight, his throat almost sore as he resisted the urge to join Kinti in her sobs. The poor girl’s shoulders heaved against his chest as she curled into a ball, allowing herself to be enveloped in his arms. He gently patted her head, stroking his fingers through her hair, his face buried in it as he enjoyed her scent one last time.