Cryptid Quest: A Supernatural Thriller (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 8)

by Anthony M. Strong

  22

  The helicopter took to the air and banked left, circling once around the pad before flying northeast toward the green expanse of jungle on the horizon. Below them, standing next to his taxi, Decker saw Paulo watching with one hand above his eyes to shield them from the sun. He raised the other and waved. Then the helicopter’s steep turn blocked him from view.

  Once they were flying high, and on their way, the pilot spoke. Her voice was audible over the thrum of the helicopter’s engine thanks to the headsets they all wore. “We haven’t been properly introduced yet. I’m Cathy.”

  “John Decker. My colleague is Rory McCormick.”

  Rory raised a hand. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine.” Cathy glanced back toward them. “I don’t want to know what trouble you guys have gotten yourselves into. Not my business, even though your story about rival archaeologists is clearly bunkum. Just answer me one question, is it going to put me in danger, too?”

  “Probably not,” Decker said.

  “Well, that’s comforting. You could try to be a little more definitive.”

  “Just being truthful.” Decker looked down at the landscape below them. The city had slipped away and now they were flying over a sea of green. To their right, he could see the weaving line of the Amazon River. “You’re not from around these parts. How did an American end up flying tourists around down here in Brazil?”

  “Sometimes I ask myself the same question,” Cathy said. “I did two tours of duty with the United States Air Force. That’s where I learned to fly these birds. Spent four years in Afghanistan. Wasn’t much fun. After I left the Air Force, I bought this helicopter tour business and came down here on a whim. Thought it would be an adventure. Turns out that it was, but not in the way I imagined.”

  “The Red Militia?” Decker asked.

  “Yup. They started as a street gang and turned into a drug cartel. They tried to strong-arm me into flying for them, ferrying drugs back and forth. It got pretty hairy for a while.”

  “And Paulo helped you get rid of them?” Decker suspected the taxi driver was savvier than he first appeared, but his intervention between an American helicopter pilot and a Brazilian drug cartel indicated a deep connection to the criminal underworld. Decker wondered what lay concealed in the man’s past.

  “If it hadn’t been for him, I probably wouldn’t have lasted a year down here. The previous owner of this business had a nice little side hustle that he didn’t tell me about. When the cartel came calling, I was completely clueless. Saying I wouldn’t run drugs didn’t exactly endear me to them either. If Paulo hadn’t intervened, I would have probably ended up with a bullet in the back of my head.”

  Decker and Rory exchanged looks. Paulo was more than he seemed.

  “How did he get them off your back?” Asked Decker.

  “Beats me. He said to lie low for a couple of days, that he would handle it. After that, they never bothered me again. Paulo’s been one of my best friends down here ever since. I can’t say for certain, and he doesn’t speak about it, but I get the impression he was involved in some bad stuff during his youth. He grew up in the slums. People there either fight their way out or they sink. Often, the way they choose to escape their poverty is not entirely legal.”

  “They never came back?” Decker asked. “The Red Militia?”

  “Not since Paulo intervened. Now he feeds me a steady supply of tourists. I take them up, show them the jungle, or fly down the Amazon River for a few miles. It’s not going to make me rich, but it pays the bills. I tried to pay him a cut of the proceeds, a kickback for bringing me so much business, but he won’t take it. I think he views me as his responsibility since he saved my hide.”

  “Yeah. That sounds like our taxi driver,” Decker said. “He could have bailed when he realized we were trouble, but instead he went out of his way to help. He even took us to his sister’s house and let us stay there overnight.”

  “He’s a good guy,” Cathy said. “He makes Manaus a better place, that’s for sure.”

  Decker nodded in agreement. “Have you ever thought of returning to the States?”

  “Sure. On and off. But I have a life here now. It’s not perfect, but nowhere is. And I like it.”

  “Which is why I hope you’ll listen to what I say next,” Decker replied.

  “That sounds ominous.” Cathy glanced back toward him. “Is this where you admit that the archaeologist story is a bunch of phooey? That you’re really on the run from Interpol, or you just assassinated some world leader?”

  “Nothing so dramatic. But if the men who are chasing us find you, it could be trouble. You were right about one thing. The story we gave you is not totally accurate, although there is a grain of truth. My colleague here really is an archaeologist.”

  “Dammit. I thought as much.” Cathy grimaced.

  “Do you have somewhere to go for a few days, some place safe until this blows over?”

  “You mean do I have a place to hide.”

  “Pretty much.” Decker nodded. “I know it’s a huge imposition, but you’re a part of this now, even though I hated getting you involved. Your life could be in danger.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. I can handle myself.”

  “Not against these people. I’m serious. You need to drop off the grid.”

  “Fine,” Cathy said in a resigned voice. “I know where to go. I have a friend in Itacoatiara. Lives on the edge of the jungle. About as off the map as one can get. I’ll fly directly there and land at the local airport. There should be enough fuel left after I drop you off.”

  “How far is it from Manaus?” Decker asked.

  “About a hundred and ten miles as the crow flies but given our heading it’s actually closer to fly there from your destination. I’ll hang out with my friend and keep my head down.”

  “Good.” Decker felt relieved.

  “You owe me though. Big time. If I’m in hiding I won’t be making money.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that.”

  “I expect nothing less.” Decker lapsed into silence. Beside him, Rory was peering out the window, studying the jungle as it slipped by below.

  Decker sensed every passing mile, grateful for the distance they were putting between themselves and the gunmen. The attempts on their lives had left him shaken and concerned. It proved there was more to this assignment than just rescuing a reality TV production crew who’d gone in over their heads. Someone had gone to great lengths to stop Rory and himself. He wondered what their attacker’s end goal was, and how much danger he and Rory were still in. He also worried about the team at base camp. The gunmen might know its location if there was a mole within CUSP. Had something bad already gone down there? If so, what new danger were they flying toward? Having disabled the cell phones, he and Rory had been unreachable since the previous evening. A lot could have happened since. Decker felt his gut tighten. They had escaped a bad situation back in Manaus, but a worse one could be waiting at their destination.

  23

  They arrived at base camp a little over an hour and a half after departing Manaus. Their pilot, Cathy, circled twice, looking for the best place to set the helicopter down. It relieved Decker to see that everything looked fine. A row of small tents was set up on one side of a large clearing. There were also a couple of larger tents and a staging area stacked with crates. A fire pit occupied the central plateau between the tents. Decker could see a couple of people moving around. They did not look like a threat, but he wouldn’t be sure until they landed. The gunmen at the FBO hanger in Manaus had disguised themselves using coveralls, one of which was no doubt taken from the slain pilot. They had been lucky to avoid being ambushed there. Decker could not be sure this wasn’t a similar trap, although his gut told him they were safe.

  That intuition proved correct when the helicopter touched down and they climbed out. Several people emerged from one of the larg
e tents to watch the helicopter’s approach, and one of them, a burly man wearing head to toe camo with a rifle slung over his shoulder, now broke off and hurried across the clearing to meet them.

  “You guys must be John Decker and Rory McCormick,” he said as he drew near them. “My name is commander Joel Ward. I’m in charge of security around here.”

  “That’s us.” Decker shook the man’s hand, then looked past him toward the assembled group near the tents. He counted four more men in military garb among the bystanders, all armed with rifles. Each one also carried a Glock 19 sidearm in a holster at their hip. These must be the Ghost Team operatives CUSP had sent to protect them. After their experiences of the last twenty-four hours, it was a welcome change to encounter armed men who weren’t shooting at them.

  “Everyone good here?” Cathy asked from the helicopter’s open door. “If I’m not needed anymore, I’ll be on my way.”

  Decker looked at Ward. “Everyone good?”

  Ward shook his head. “We are all tiptop.”

  Decker turned to the helicopter pilot. “Looks like your job is done.”

  “Roger that.” Cathy glanced around the clearing. “Have to say, I’m glad you guys are camping out here, and not me.”

  Ward observed her with steely eyes. “I’ve bedded down in worse places. Spent some time in Bagram. That was a dusty hellhole.”

  “You were in Afghanistan?” Cathy asked. “What branch?”

  “Marine Corps. You?”

  “Air Force. Spent six months in Bagram.”

  “Nine for me,” Ward said. “Then another six in Delaram. That was worse.”

  “I bet it was.” Cathy glanced back toward the cockpit. “I’d better get this bird back in the air. It’s a long flight back.”

  “Take care,” Ward said, saluting her.

  “Back at you, Commander.” Cathy returned the salute. “Try not to get eaten by anything out there in the jungle.”

  “That’s the plan.” Ward shifted stance and hitched the rifle higher on his shoulder.

  Cathy looked at Decker. “Pleasure meeting you guys. I hope the trouble that found you in Manaus doesn’t follow you here.”

  “Me too,” Decker said. He and Rory moved back, as far out of the copter’s wash as possible.

  Cathy stepped back into the helicopter and pulled the door closed. A moment later, the rotors started spinning faster, kicking up a small cloud of dust. The aircraft took to the sky and banked, passing over the clearing and turning as it gained altitude.

  Ward looked at Decker. “What did she mean by trouble following you?”

  “It’s a long story,” Decker said. “I’ll fill you in once we get settled, but suffice to say, we aren’t the only ones with an interest in whatever those TV people found in the jungle. Someone knew we were coming, and they tried to kill us. We were lucky to get out of the city alive.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that,” Ward said as they walked back toward the waiting group. “I’ll expect a full briefing as soon as you’re ready. Don’t want to be caught off guard.”

  “You’ve got it.” Decker looked around the group. Apart from the soldiers, he counted three other people, none of whom he recognized. “I think it’s time for some introductions.”

  “In that case, let me be the first to welcome you to our little home away from home.” A large red-faced man with a shock of unruly ginger hair stepped forward. He wore a khaki shirt ringed with sweat. “My name’s Tristan Cook. You’ve probably heard of me. I’m kind of famous.”

  Decker glanced at Rory, who shrugged. “Sorry. The name doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Really? I had my own show on Discovery a few years back. Almost won an Emmy. Bigfoot Babies-The Hunt for Offspring. I have a crypto podcast right now. Has sixty thousand subscribers. I’m also a regular contributor on the Travel Network show Places People Forgot.”

  “Crypto?” Decker asked. “Like in the digital currency?”

  “No. Cryptozoology. Finding elusive animals that aren’t supposed to exist.”

  “You ever found any?” Rory asked.

  “Came close a few times.” Cook grinned. “You must have seen my show. Everyone has. Almost won an Emmy.”

  “You said that already.”

  “Did I?”

  “Yes. And I don’t watch a lot of TV,” Decker said. “What exactly are you doing here?”

  “Network asked me to come along,” Cook replied. “Thought I might be of help. I’ve been on my fair share of expeditions to the Amazon.”

  “If you work for the Travel Network,” Decker said, “you must know Darren Yates. The presenter of Cryptid Quest.”

  “Yeah. I know him. Can’t say I like the man. Bit of a poser. Publicity hound. Shouldn’t have been running around the Amazon jungle if he didn’t know what he was doing. It’s no wonder he got lost.”

  “He didn’t exactly get lost.” Decker glanced at Rory. “How much do these guys know?”

  “Beats me,” Rory said, shrugging.

  “If you’re asking if I know about the Cyclops, then yeah. Doesn’t mean I think it’s real. Probably just Yates trying to drum up publicity for his little show. I bet he has a nice camp set up somewhere out in the jungle and he’s just waiting it out until there’s enough media attention, then he’ll reappear and hog the limelight. I mean, come on. A freaking Cyclops? He could have tried a little harder. Loser.”

  “Hey, Tristan, you’re the one hogging the limelight right now.” A man of slight build with a thin face and hooked nose stepped forward. He looked at Decker. “I’m Hugh Henriksen. I’m a senior producer on Cryptid Quest. I know everything about the show, and the special we were filming here.” He turned his attention back to Cook. “And for the record, Tristan, no one is faking anything. We might have fatalities out there. I’d ask you to show some decorum.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” Cook waved a hand toward the producer, then turned and walked back toward the tents.

  Decker watched him go. “He’s going to be fun to work with.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much,” Henriksen said. “He likes to spout off, and he can be a pain in the rear, but he’s a professional, deep down.”

  “I’m surprised you’re defending the guy,” Decker said. “Didn’t sound like you liked him much.”

  “I don’t. Can’t stand the man.” Henriksen chuckled. “But that doesn’t mean he’s not good at his job. Besides, the network sent him, so I’m stuck with it.”

  “Why exactly do your employers want that guy here?” Decker asked. “My superiors agreed to your presence in an advisory capacity, because you know the show and what the crew were doing here, but I don’t see a role for him.”

  “To host the special, of course.”

  “I thought Darren Yates, your missing talent, was hosting that.”

  “No.” Henriksen shook his head. “Not that special. The new special. The one on this expedition. It’s going to be a single camera observational documentary. Most of the shots will be taken hand-held by Tristan himself, almost like found footage. We’re calling it, Life or Death-Rescuing Darren.”

  “No, you’re not.” Decker shook his head. “No filming. If I see one peek of a camera there will be hell to pay. Understood?”

  “Now hang on—”

  “I’m serious.” Decker cut the producer off. “None of my team gave consent to be on camera. The agency we work for has strict protocols regarding protecting our identities. You so much as take one unauthorized photo and you’ll be pondering your mistake from a prison cell.”

  “You can’t do that.”

  “Try me.” Decker gave the man a stone-cold stare. “And make sure you relay the message to your colleague, too.”

  “This isn’t over.” Henriksen spun on his heel and marched off.

  Apart from Decker and Rory, only the four soldiers were left. They looked uncomfortable.

  “That was a bit harsh,” Rory said.

  “You want to be on TV?”

&n
bsp; “No.” Rory shook his head. “Still threatening to toss him in prison?”

  “Maybe it was a bit heavy-handed,” Decker admitted. “But I want to nip this in the bud. Last thing we need is our faces all over some half-baked reality show.”

  “You do realize we have no authority to sling people in the slammer, right?”

  “Yup.” Decker nodded. “But he doesn’t.”

  “Fair enough.” Rory smirked.

  “Now. Let’s continue the introductions.” Decker glanced around. “Someone is missing. Where’s your Egyptologist?”

  “I’m right here,” a female voice said from behind the soldiers.

  Decker turned toward the newcomer and saw a slim woman dressed in jeans and a white cotton shirt. She had long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and intense blue eyes that sparkled in the sunlight. She was walking toward them from one of the large tents.

  Rory grinned and stepped up beside Decker. “John, this is—”

  “Don’t bother,” Decker said, interrupting Rory as the woman drew close. “Her name is Emma Wilson.”

  “You know her already?” Rory looked between them, confused.

  “Yeah.” Decker felt like the clearing had gotten suddenly small and claustrophobic. “We’ve met.”

  “Really, John?” Emma smiled and cocked her head coyly. “We’ve met… That’s how you’d describe our relationship?”

  “That’s exactly how I’d describe it,” Decker said in a low voice. Then, with his travel bag in hand, he turned his back on her and headed toward the nearest tent. He didn’t look back.

  24

  “How quickly can you be ready to move out?” Decker was standing in one of the two larger tents, which served as both a mess hall with plastic tables pushed together for dining, a kitchen, and a small operations area for the Ghost Squad team. Right now, the only other person in the tent was Commander Joel Ward. “The longer we stay here, the greater danger we are in.”