Alpha Threat (16 page)

“They would be a great group to study if we could find them,” answered Dana.
 

“You think we can make eight miles?”

“Eight miles in this jungle will be hard but I think we can do it,” Dana said, knowing that Randall’s question was a thinly veiled challenge.

Dana snapped her bandana at Randall’s butt.
 

“I can.
 
But sometimes I wonder about you!” she said smiling.
 

Randall returned the smile and stepped back to the rest of the group and told Manolo, one of the local tribesmen, to take the lead.
 

“Head to the north,” Randall said, pointing northward while waiting for a look of comprehension from Manolo.
 

“
Norte
,” he blurted in Portuguese and smiled.
 
He seemed to pick up the pace.
 
Randall was pleased.
 

Just a few more miles and we will find what we have been looking for, Randall thought to himself.
 
His broad smile displayed his clear enjoyment.
 
After all of these years studying these people, he was hoping to finally be able to see them face to face.
 

Randall looked around at the small group marching through the jungle.
 
It reminded him of the old Tarzan movies he had watched as a kid.
 
It was those shows that got him interested in the jungle and its people.
 
But in the back of his mind he always had the distinct fear that the people he might find may not want to be found.
 
And they may not like those that found them.
 

Their trek continued until they came upon a small open area, very odd for this tract of jungle.
 
They had traveled about seven miles since their lunch stop.
 
They were very close to their goal.
 

“I think we should stop here and set up camp,” said Randall, gauging the size of the open ground and the size they needed for a camp.
 
“I don’t think we will find a better place to camp, even if it’s a bit early.
 
Let’s give everyone a break.”

“Sounds like a winner to me,” retorted Dana.
 
“I could use a nice restful early evening dinner and dancing.”
 

“Right,” smiled Randall.
 
“I’ll get the dinner reservations and set up the band.”
 
Randall walked over to the carriers and began to tell them where to set camp.
 

“Yes, Dr. Randall. I get everything set up,” the leader, Manolo, answered in broken English laced with the accent of his native Portuguese and native languages.
  
Manolo was a Brazilian native.
 
In his 32 years he had grown up in these jungles.
 
His parents had not seen a white man until they were teenagers.
 
Manolo had been fascinated by the white people who came into the jungle and had followed one group back to civilization.
 
There he got a rudimentary education but always returned to his native jungles.
 
Manolo was highly recommended to the Finleys by several colleagues who had employed him before.
 
Randall had come to Brazil to find Manolo and hire him for this trek.
  
Manolo had taken good care of the Finleys so far.
 
His easy-going style and real interest in their work had yielded a great sense of pride in what he was doing.
 

Manolo meticulously set up each area of the camp.
 
First he arranged an area for the Finleys a bit away from the main area of camp.
 
Then he created a cooking area and got the cook and his helper started on the night’s meal.
 
Several of the other men cleared a sleeping area for Manolo and his men, all of this under the watchful eye of Manolo.
 
They also set up a small perimeter security area and placed a few men at intervals watching out for trouble but fully not expecting any.
 
This setup was mainly to warn away any nighttime hunting animals that may decide to get bold and enter camp.
 
A large campfire was always present.
 
The fire drew many flying bugs but in Manolo’s experience kept away the larger, more dangerous animals of the jungle.
 

As the Finleys’ tent was being pitched, Randall unpacked the gear and began to set up a table for the radio and the telescoping fifty foot aerial.
 
The radio rig gave them the ability to check in with the folks back at the base.
 
This was one of the several safety procedures the Finleys had insisted upon; near constant communications back to a base camp at the trailhead a hundred miles back.
 

Princeton had developed a safety protocol to ensure that their expeditions were relatively safe.
 
Each expedition had to establish a base camp near the closest town or village with outside communications.
 
This base camp was also required to communicate with the expedition at least daily or more to ensure there were no medical issues or emergency needs.
 
Adding to this “link to home” the expedition was required to utilize sophisticated Global Positioning Systems (GPS) to first enable the creation of detailed maps and enable the base camp to always know the position of the trekking teams.
 
These protocols were aimed at reducing the risk of expeditions getting lost or having problems with indigenous tribes or worse, disappearing altogether.
 
Any indications of a major problem would be noticed at the base camp within one day and the necessary actions taken.
 
The base camp could in turn contact Princeton for more input if needed.
 

Randall actually liked the new “safety net” protocols.
 
The last thing he wanted to happen to him and Dana was to disappear in this jungle.
 
The Finleys had decided to contact the base camp each night and at their lunch break if it was feasible.
 
Since they had missed the lunch check-in, Randall was eager to check in as soon as possible.
 
He didn’t want to be responsible for a rescue mission being dispatched because he got a bit careless.
 

Randall unpacked the battery pack and hand generator and placed them on the table.
 
He opened a second case and retrieved a mobile ICOM VHF-HF radio unit and began connecting the radio to the antenna leads and the power supply.
 

“Manolo, have one of the men deploy the aerial.”
 

“
Sim senhor
.
 
I get it done quick,” Manolo answered in broken Portuguese without missing a beat as he unpacked.
 
He called out to the crew and quickly one of the men ran over, unpacked the collapsible aerial and began setting up about fifteen feet away from the radio table.
 
He hacked away a few offending plant fronds and drove the anchors into the ground, connected the aerial and deployed it to its full length.
 

“Here’s the antenna connection,” said Randall, handing the man one end of the antenna cable lying in a small coil beside the radio table.
 
Randall checked to see that he had everything connected.
 
While he had been trained well to set up and break down this radio gear, he was definitely not a super geek when it came to the radio.
 
He could operate it and that was that.
 
If they had a problem, well… he just hoped they did not have a problem.
 

Randall switched on the power supply and radio and felt pleased with the static he heard.
 
He checked the frequency settings and keyed the transmit key on the microphone.
 
Each time he used the radio, he remembered his childhood and an old TV show he loved to watch,
Car 54 Where Are You?
 
He just couldn’t get that out of his mind with Francis Muldoon and Gunther Toody, two wacky NYPD policemen.
 
He smiled to himself.
 

“Finley Expedition calling Finley Base… Finley Expedition calling Finley Base… Over…”

A moment passed.
 
All they could hear was low static.
 

“Finley Base here… We were sitting here with a drink waiting on you or Dana,” said the deep voice of Ben Jamison, the Finleys’ base camp contact.
 
“How are things going out there?
 
Over…”

Randall answered, “Doing well, Ben.
 
All is A-OK.
 
We are near our objective search area.
 
We should be there by noon tomorrow.”

Dana heard the radio and walked over to Randall, who was sitting at the table.
 
“Ask Ben if he has heard from Dr. Dukes at Princeton,” interjected Dana.
 
Randall nodded.
 

“Ben, Dana wants to know if you have heard from Dr. Dukes.
 
Over….”

“Ah, yeah, he’s sending a few folks down to help you guys out as soon as you need them.
 
Over…”

“Very good,” answered Randall as Dana smiled and nodded in approval.
 
“We may be ready for them in two or three days.
 
I hope they are all packed and ready to travel.
 
Over…”

“They better be,” huffed Ben.
 
“We put them on alert a week ago.
 
Over…”

“Roger that, Ben, I hope they think to bring their bug repellent.
 
Over...”

“A big roger to that, Randall.
 
If they are dumb enough to come to the Brazilian jungle without bug repellent, then God help ‘em.
 
Over…”

“Yeah, well, you know how we professors think… we may know a lot about our field of study, but our common sense sometimes suffers.
 
Over…”

Ben smiled, “Like you are telling me something I don’t know?
 
Over…”

Dana stifled a laugh and turned away.
 
“Yeah, some of us more than others...”

Randall turned and looked amused.
 
He knew she was talking about him.
 
She was always claiming he had no common sense.
 

Ben had no great love for most intellectuals, especially those “Pinheads from Princeton” as he called them.
 
Ben had served as base camp manager for the Finleys on several prior treks and had grown to respect the two.
 
Ben always said that Dana and Randall didn’t act like those other snobs he dealt with from Princeton on other expeditions.
 
Ben was known for making good decisions under pressure no doubt due to his previous military background in the Marines.
 
He had a roughness when needed but treated Dana like his own baby sister.
 
Randall considered Ben a good friend and a great person to have watching their backs from base camp.
 
In Ben’s mind, the Finleys were good people.
 

Ben established the expedition’s base camp at the Finleys’ Rio Juruena jumping-off point, Cotriguacu, deep in the Brazilian State of Mato Grosso.
 
It was a tiny river port consisting of a few buildings but did have electricity and communications back to Caceres, the closest major town.
 
Cotriguacu met one of Ben’s requirements for a base camp, a bar.
 
He set up the base camp in several large tents at the edge of the jungle near the main road.
 
That way he had a relatively quiet existence close enough to the bar and port but far enough away to keep most people away.
 
It was to Ben a wonderful vacation in the Amazon.
 
He enjoyed all the creature comforts of home, even air conditioning.
 
Or what passed as air conditioning here in the Amazon.
 
Still it was much better than the nightly camps the Finleys were experiencing.
 
Food and supplies were plentiful, as long as he did not have visitors from the United States.
 

“Okay.
 
We are signing off for the night.
 
We will recontact you tomorrow sometime in the early afternoon.
 
Please confirm recontact time.
 
Over…” said Randall.

“Recontact tomorrow early afternoon… Roger, Finley Base Camp.
 
Over…” Ben replied.
   

“Roger, Finley Base Camp.
 
Finley Expedition out.”
  
Randall switched off the mobile radio and leaned back in the chair.
 
Dana stood over him.
 

“Feel better now?” asked Dana, poking her husband in the right shoulder.

“Yeah, you know I do when I can talk to Ben.
 
He seems to calm me down when I most need it.
 
Like Dad used to do.”
 

“You two are a mess,” Dana replied as she turned to check on dinner.
 
“I’m surprised Ben didn’t stow away a bottle for you.”