His wrists were clasped firmly by the other warrior, his face grim, but impressed. And as he announced his decision, Kinti translating for him, he felt another surge of ecstasy spread through his body.
“I and my warriors are honored to fight for the great Mother and Her children. And we are equally honored to fight alongside such a great warrior as stands before me know. Let any man who would ever doubt him, answer to me!”
The cheers were deafening as Tuk suddenly found himself embraced by the massive man, he returning it as strongly as he could. More greetings were exchanged with the new arrivals, and with the pleasantries, if one could call them that, over, Tuk gave the word to move on.
And by the time it spread, nearly a thousand warriors were behind him, all following the great Tuk.
Illegal Rare Earth Element Strip Mine, Northern Amazon, Venezuela
Jenny gasped as the gate to their cell opened and two men dragged the barely conscious body of Bob Turnbull inside. They dropped him on the floor, Mitchell and one of the others leaping forward to catch him before he fell. They carried him to the bed, laying him down, Jenny propping his head up with a pillow as he moaned in agony.
“Water!” ordered Jenny, one of the other environmentalists jumping at the sink to fulfill her orders. Water was quickly brought, repeatedly, there only one small tin cup, and a pillowcase was repurposed as a cloth to begin cleaning his body.
“They barely touched his face,” observed Mitchell. “It sounded like he took quite a beating over there, I’m surprised.”
Jenny unbuttoned Turnbull’s shirt and gasped as his chest and stomach were revealed to be pockmarked with angry bruises and welts, as if he had been beaten mercilessly, his skin pinched and twisted repeatedly with some sort of tool for the past several hours. The sight almost made Mitchell vomit as he realized now the cause of the poor man’s screams they had been subjected to from the next room, the only words his begging for his life, then eventually, begging for them to kill him.
Anything to end the pain.
All of the hell Turnbull had put them through was forgiven as Mitchell watched his wife try to clean up the man, to provide him some modicum of comfort, his pain still excruciating as he writhed on the cot. Jenny simply kept applying the cool cloth to his face and neck, careful not to touch any of his wounds, instead simply cooing softly to him, he eventually drifting into a restless sleep.
The metal gates of their cell suddenly slammed open, waking Turnbull who saw Steven Ling standing there again with a smile. He began to cry, curling into a ball, turning toward the wall, away from his torturer. But it wasn’t to matter.
Ling pointed at Mitchell.
“Come with me.”
Mitchell felt his vision narrow into a dark tunnel, his knees giving out as he collapsed to the floor. His world became blurs and echoes, nothing distinct, until his mind suddenly forced him back to reality, a warning being sent by his brain that if he didn’t come to, he would have no opportunity to defend himself against what was about to happen.
As he snapped back to reality he felt his arms being gripped tightly, his feet dragging on the ground, then his surroundings suddenly came into focus and he realized it was too late—he was already out of his cell, Jenny’s voice screaming for them to let him go, no one else saying anything.
They sat him in a chair, clamped his wrists to the arms, his ankles to the legs. His shirt was ripped open and he prepared himself for the first blow, his eyes wincing, his head turning away.
“I think we’ll try something different.”
He opened his eyes and gasped as Ling motioned toward a nearby table upon which sat among other things a car battery and jumper cables, along with some sort of crude device that looked like it came out of the fifties, knobs and dials on its surface.
What the hell are they going to do with that?
One of the men who had carried him in clamped the jumper cables to Mitchell’s nipples and he cried out in pain.
A waste of energy on his part.
For the true pain was only about to begin.
Dawson lay prone on his stomach, just within the tree line, Niner at his side. They had arrived about an hour ago and after scouting the area had determined they were facing about forty hostiles, half well-disciplined Chinese, the other half undisciplined Venezuelans. And they had confirmed it wasn’t a logging operation at all, but some sort of massive strip mine.
The mine’s perimeter appeared relatively unguarded, theft and safety not a concern. It was the central compound that was well guarded by the Chinese, with five machine gun nests at the edge of the cleared area, camouflage netting extending over the entire zone, hiding it from overhead.
It was incredible.
The mine was huge, at least compared to anything he had seen in person. It was deep, hundreds of feet, a long, winding road corkscrewing down into the pit. Within they could hear heavy vehicles and humans toiling away miserably, along with the shouts of the mostly Venezuelans working the slaves.
The airstrip was just north of them, it too covered, a hangar with a single plane the only structure. Leather’s men had cleared it then set up position surrounding the mine, their orders to protect the native prisoners should it become necessary.
The final confirmation came in over his comm, the last team of two in position, each machine gun nest covered. If they were going to succeed, surprise was the key. The sun was just starting to set, it low in the horizon, the trees casting long shadows, the netting obstructing the sun even more.
“Bravo Team, Bravo One. Execute in three, two, one, execute!”
His voice was barely a whisper, he too close to his targets to risk them hearing him give the orders that would mean their deaths. As he and Niner both rose to a knee, taking aim with their suppressed Glocks, their two targets, sitting comfortably in their dugout position stopped their idle chatter and jumped for the machinegun mounted behind the sandbags.
Dawson squeezed the trigger, as did Niner, both targets down in heaps, dead. “Team One clear, over,” he reported as he and Niner crawled on their bellies toward the position so they wouldn’t be seen.
“Team Four clear, over,” reported Spock, followed by reports from each of the other teams. Dawson and Niner poured themselves into their enemy’s foxhole, confirming the kills then moving the bodies out of the way.
Screams of agony erupted from the compound, someone begging for mercy as he wailed at the top of his lungs. Dawson surveyed the scene and was about to signal the next phase when trouble erupted from the trees, a patrol they hadn’t known about charging Red’s position from behind, Red and Mickey momentarily distracted by the sounds of torture.
He activated his comm.
“Red, check your six!”
Leather was positioned near the road leading into the mine, the compound about fifty yards away, the wails of the poor bastard being tortured sending shivers up and down his spine. For he recognized the voice.
Terrence Mitchell.
Suddenly four men charged out of the forest, Venezuelan uniforms barely visible, rushing one of the Delta positions. As they were about to open fire, they began to shout a warning to the camp.
Leather jumped to his feet and squeezed off four rounds from his MP5, taking down all four men, silencing their warning, but too late. His men advanced from their positions, covering the short distance to the pit of the mine, aiming their weapons into the depths, the MP5’s effective firing range of 200 meters more than enough to reach the bottom with accuracy should it become necessary.
As he hit the deck, taking aim into the pit, he saw the Delta Operators move in on the central compound just as the entire area was flooded with light.
So much for the element of surprise.
Dr. Chen hit the alarm, the shots heard outside clearly not from his men’s weapons, his own training while in the People’s Liberation Army enough to familiarize himself with the sound of an MP5. He entered a code into his computer that immediately began to wipe the
entire network, there no paperwork here that needed destroying. He stepped out of his office as several of his men rushed by, weapons ready, the blood curdling screams of one of their prisoners suddenly stopping.
He grabbed one of the Venezuelans as they rushed by. “Kill the prisoners.”
The man snapped a salute then exited the building, shouting for some of the other men to help him. Chen unlocked a door revealing a set of stairs descending into darkness. The lights automatically came on as he entered the stairwell, closing the door behind him. Without rushing, he calmly descended the stairs then began his escape through the secret passage that would open several hundred meters into the forest, where he’d be able to await the arrival of the reinforcements that would be here in less than 24 hours.
Any victory you achieve here today will be short lived.
Acton, Laura and Reading were at a safe distance down the road when the all clear on the machine gun nests had been announced and barely seconds later gunfire had erupted, then an alarm. Instinct had Acton on his feet, sprinting toward the battle, his Glock at the ready, spare body armor brought by Bravo Team protecting much of his body.
As he came around the bend, Laura and a cursing Reading a close distance behind him, he saw the compound to the right, the Bravo Team advancing rapidly, Leather’s team already in position around the pit. Acton noticed the rear of the breezeway connected buildings wasn’t covered yet and decided to take up position near the north side while the Bravo Team members swept around the south side toward the rear.
“Kill the prisoners!” somebody yelled in Spanish, running into the building next to him.
“Christ!” he exclaimed, sprinting toward the door closest him. “They’re going to kill the prisoners!”
Mitchell was almost deaf to his own screams, and when the electricity was shut off, his body, every muscle and fiber tensed, suddenly relaxed, the relief almost overwhelming, causing adrenaline to rush through his system that set off a panic attack. As his eyes focused he saw shapes moving around him, then suddenly a siren sounded. Footfalls faded into the distance and as his eyes focused, he found he was alone, still strapped to his chair.
With the jumper cables still attached to his nipples.
More footfalls and his heart sank as he realized his torture was about to resume. Several sets of the footfalls faded to the left, suggesting some of those running had stopped in front of Jenny’s cell, then suddenly one man appeared in front of him wearing a green army uniform, distinctly Hispanic features rather than Chinese.
The man raised his weapon to fire and Mitchell squeezed his eyes shut, yelling, “I love you, Jenny!”
“Terrence!”
Shots cracked in the hallway and he waited for the pain, but none came, instead all he could hear were the screams from the next cell. He opened his eyes, straining against the clasps holding him in place as he cried out for Jenny. “You bastards! I’ll kill you all! I’ll kill you all!” he cried, hope drained from him completely.
That was when he noticed the soldier who was about to shoot him was lying in a heap on the floor and Professor Acton was rushing by, his weapon raised, Special Agent Reading right behind him.
Then a sight almost as beautiful as his wife on their wedding day appeared in the door, crying his name.
“Terrence!”
Professor Laura Palmer rushed into his cell and dropped to her knees, surveying him without touching, her eyes filled with tears. “You poor dear,” she whispered over and over as she carefully removed the jumper cables, tossing them aside. As she unscrewed the clasps Jenny burst into the room, her arms extended in front of her the entire way as she raced toward him, grabbing him and hugging him as hard as she could, and with his first hand freed, he returned the hug, thanking God and the Professors for having saved his beloved wife.
The gunfire was sporadic and controlled, the vast majority of resistance eliminated during the initial attack on the machine gun nests. They were clearly shorthanded, the two squads Leather’s team had eliminated the night before critical to their overall security.
They probably never expected to actually have to defend against anybody but natives with spears.
As he cleared another room in the complex with Niner at his side, more all clears were announced over his comm, and within minutes the entire complex was secured.
“Bravo Team Two, Bravo One. Begin room by room search for intel. Team One, secure the exterior, over.”
Team Two Leader, Red, acknowledged the orders as Dawson exited the compound, sending two men to cover the road and the landing strip, two at the rear of the compound to take over machine gun emplacements, then he and Niner headed for the pit.
Leather’s men suddenly began to take fire, several rolling back from their positions, the others returning fire.
TikTik grabbed Mother and pulled her toward the massive rock wall, hiding behind a pile of stone as the others scattered in every direction, their guards, these co-conspirators of the Panther People, aiming their spears at the top of the pit they were in, the oddly shaped sticks making loud sounds unlike anything she had ever heard. She saw small puffs of smoke erupt from the rock face overhead then noticed there were men with their own odd spears, pointing them down into the pit.
The odd loud cracking or snapping sounds echoed through the pit, her fellow prisoners screaming in terror as some of the guards turned their strange spears and began pointing at those fleeing. One closest to her suddenly dropped to the ground, blood rushing from his chest as if hit by an invisible spear. She pushed Mother behind the rock farther, keeping both their heads down as more and more of their captors fell.
Within minutes the strange sounds stopped and the cries and wails of her people grew quiet. She slowly emerged from behind the rock and gasped. Almost all of the guards were dead, those that remained alive had their hands in the air, their spears tossed away on the ground.
She motioned to Mother. “Come out now, Mother. It’s safe.”
But as she and the others watched her heart sank as the figures running down the long path toward the bottom were black from head to toe. She began to cry, the others realizing as she did, everyone slowly backing away toward the walls, not sure what to do.
For approaching them with their strange spears were more Panther People.
Leather’s team along with four of the Bravo Team members quickly ran down the corkscrew road, it taking almost fifteen minutes to reach the bottom. Two Bravo Team snipers were on either side of the pit just in case any of the surrendering guards decided to change their minds but in reaching the bottom with no incident, it appeared the fight had been drummed out of them.
“Does anybody speak Portuguese?”
His man, Graham Norton, a former Captain under his command before he left the SAS, and an avid footballer, was fluent in both Spanish and Portuguese, and when no one responded to his first query, Norton repeated it in Spanish.
Several voices responded.
“We are here to help you,” said Norton, slinging his weapon and holding his empty hands out. “You are safe now. Those who can understand me, please tell your people.”
As Norton tried to calm the quickly gathering throng of natives, Leather and the others loaded the half dozen remaining Venezuelan guards and the more than two dozen workers onto an old yellow school bus. The Delta team took them up to the top, the entire imprisoned population cowering in fear at the sound of the engine.
These poor bastards have probably never seen a vehicle before.
He looked at the massive dozers and dump trucks, wondering what these primitive people must have thought of them.
Probably like we’d think of dinosaurs.
His heart went out to them as they continued to emerge from their hiding places. Leather walked over to Norton. “How many do you figure?”
Norton shook his head. “I’m guessing about two or three hundred at this point.”
“Okay, there’s some cages with facilities up top that it looks like t
hey were being kept in. I suggest we move them there, but explain that they are no longer prisoners and are free to leave if they want.”
“I’ll try, sir, but these people are terrified. They think we’re the Panther People.”
“What the hell is that?”
Norton shrugged. “No idea, but they’re scared of us. I think we should get them out of here, fed, and show them we’re human.”
“Human?”
“And not Panthers.”
“Good luck with that.” He turned as the bus returned, Norton turning back to the gathered natives, asking them to get on the bus. Many appeared reluctant, but with much coaxing from Norton, and smiles from the Delta team, the bus was eventually filled with the sun already getting low in the sky.
This is going to take all bloody night!
Leather’s comm squawked. “Charlie One, Charlie Four. Sir, we’ve got a problem, over.”
“Charlie Four, Charlie One. What kind of problem?”
“The natives, sir. As soon as they got off the bus they ran into the forest.”
Leather smiled, their problem suddenly solving itself. “I fail to see how that’s a problem, Lieutenant.”
“But I thought we were going to keep them in the cages?”
“Out of necessity, not choice. If they feel better off in the forest, then fantastic. Perhaps they know their way home and are simply returning to their villages. Either way, they’re no longer our problem. Charlie One, out.”
Maybe we’ll be out of here by morning!
“Everyone okay in here?”
Dawson strode down the hallway of the building the civilians had taken refuge in, pleased to see the two students safe, though Mitchell looked like he’d been put through the ringer. He looked into a cell and found one of the civilians lying on a bed, his shirt open, his body a mess.
Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10) Page 24
