Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10) (15 page)

“We have
to tell the others. We have to follow this now!”

Sandro
translated but Skip shook his head, pointing at the rapidly darkening sky. And
Acton knew he was right. They would have to wait until the morning, but at
least now there was real hope, and rapid progress should be made.

He
dialed the satphone to give Milton and Reading an update, but was surprised to
find it not answered. He left a message then tucked it back in his pocket and
began to set up his sleeping area, wondering what might be happening that they
would miss his call.

Barasana Village on the Rio Negro, Northern Amazon, Brazil

“The rope is too low!” yelled Reading from the shore. “They’ll never
see it!”

“If it’s
too high, they’ll never be able to grab it!” came the reply from Milton, still
on the boat that was now about thirty feet from shore, a rope dangling between
it and a nearby tree. Leather’s men were arriving any minute, and they were
arriving late. The sun had almost set, and by the time they got here, it will
have.

And they
had no way of making the rope visible.

Several
of the tribesmen had set up a large fire on the bank of the river and the boat
had all its lights on, so Reading hoped that the team would be able to at least
see the two ends of the rope, but that would be little comfort to them if they
missed the grab and continued down the fairly swift Rio Negro. Reading had
little doubt these men would survive, but they could be many miles downriver by
the time they made it ashore and could face hours or days of travel on foot
along the dense shoreline before they reached the village.

Reading
and Kinti had spent an unbelievable day together, one that would go down in his
own record books as being the most intense and most pleasurable he had ever
had. They had barely left his cabin, she bringing him all three meals, he only
leaving to use the bathroom and to check on Milton who said little, merely
grinning at him like he knew exactly what was going on.

Reading
had blushed the first couple of times, then accepted it, resisting the urge to
bump Milton’s raised fist. But when Fabricio had knocked on the door, the
pleasure was over and the recovery operation begun. Leather’s plan was crazy in
civilian terms, probably fairly routine in the Special Ops world. And there was
very little choice, there not exactly a landing strip nearby, and the clearing
for the village not so large when you went up to tree top level where the
branches still extended over much of the clearing.

The only
clear area easily targeted was the river.

“We need
to make this rope visible somehow!” Reading looked around. “Do we have any
lanterns or something that we could hang on it?”

“Nothing
electric according to Fabricio,” replied Milton. “They’re all gas. They’d just
be doused.”

Shit!

Reading
looked about and noticed Kinti had left his side, instead conferring with one
of the natives who spoke Portuguese. He pointed at the rope, saying something,
then Kinti disappeared into the forest. Reading had no time to wonder where she
was going as he heard the roar of a plane engine overhead. He looked up and saw
the lights above, the pilot having turned on his landing lights to make himself
visible, and to highlight the river below.

He’s
way too low!

As if in
answer to his question he heard the engine power up and the plane begin to
climb. He felt a tap on his shoulder. Kinti was there, looking up at him,
smiling. She pointed at a bowl she had, some sort of paste inside, the
firelight seeming to give it a dull glow.

“I’m not
hungry right now,” said Reading, smiling at the poor girl who had no concept of
what was going on. He felt a twinge of regret once again as he felt he had
taken advantage of her.

She
shook her head. “No eat.” She stuck her finger in the paste then wiped a streak
across her face, turning away from the firelight. It glowed. Brightly.

Reading’s
eyebrows narrowed as he attempted to piece together what the young girl was
trying to communicate to him when she simply took action herself. And when she
started, he immediately began to question who was the primitive. She took a
handful of the paste and grabbed the rope, rubbing the paste over the surface.
As she continued out into the water, hanging onto the rope with one armpit, the
bowl in that hand, the other free hand rubbing the paste on the rope,
everything began to glow.

Reading
stood, mouth agape, as he realized the genius of it, then suddenly noticed the
danger. “Kinti!” he shouted, waving for her to come back, but she waved him off,
continuing to cross the rope, coating it with the paste. Reading simply grabbed
the rope, trying to hold it steady, knowing if he tried to follow her he’d just
rock the rope and possibly knock her loose.

“Keep it
steady!” he shouted to Fabricio, who was watching what was happening too, the
entire boat in shock.

It only
took minutes, but it seemed an eternity, Reading’s heart pounding in his chest
the entire time, and it wasn’t until she scrambled aboard the boat at the other
side that he dropped to the ground, grabbing his head, suddenly realizing just
how much he cared for this woman he had just met.

You’ve
got it bad.

He
sighed.

And
that’s not good.

She
waved at him and he waved back, the glowing rope now obvious to him even with
the firelight. To the men above, he hoped it was a crystal clear beacon they
could home in on.

He saw
Milton raise the phone to his ear then cup his hand around his mouth. “They’re
coming!”

Reading
looked up and saw the plane, far higher than before, just north of their
position. He had no idea how high they were, he had never been Air Force, instead
enlisting as a grunt. But right now he didn’t think it mattered too much.

What
goes up, must come down.

You
just usually don’t want that to happen in a raging river in the middle of the
jungle at night.

Retired Lt. Colonel Cameron Leather stood at the open door of their
plane, all seven men, including him, crammed in the back, the pilot and copilot
up front. He could just make out the river below and the fire on shore with the
boat lights marking their target. To his surprise, they had watched the rope
slowly begin to glow, from one end to the other, and it now was clearly
visible. However they had done it, it could prove to be a tremendous help.

He just
had no idea how long it would last.

“Remember,
you’re the most important thing, then your gear. If you have to cut it loose,
cut it loose. Use your hooks to grab the rope, then slide to shore. If you
miss, try to get to the left bank, that’s the East bank, then walk north along
the shore until you reach the village. Understood?”

A chorus
of “Yes, sirs” responded.

“After
me on three’s!” He tossed the waterproof duffle bag containing his gear through
the door then stepped out of the plane, arching his back, his arms and legs to
his sides. He tossed the pilot chute he was gripping to his side, the small
chute yanking his larger one out, he preferring to have two backup options in
this case rather than one. He felt the tug of the chute opening above him then
the pull of his gear dangling below him as he quickly gained his bearings,
grabbing the toggles overhead, guiding himself toward the river and the lights
below.

He
looked behind him and could see the chutes of his men opening, all six with
good canopies overhead. Now they just needed to hit their target upriver of the
recovery point. The water was coming up fast, their jump at well under a
thousand feet, their chutes specially packed so they opened very quickly. He
pulled his telescoping “wand” as he like to call it from a long side pouch on
his leg. He hooked one end around his wrist, tightening it so he wouldn’t lose
it upon impact with the water, then extended it to its full six foot length.

The
water was close now and he was in the pipe near the left bank. He just hoped
the current would carry him straight toward the recovery point rather than take
some twist and send him on the wrong side of the boat.

No
time like the present!

He
yanked the cord, cutting him free of his parachute and he dropped. His
equipment hit the water first as he yanked another cord, inflating a life vest
instantly. He took a deep breath as he smacked hard against the water,
momentarily disorienting him. Kicking his legs and pushing with his arms, he
bounced back above the surface, his goggles keeping his vision clear. He
quickly took a breath and stabilized himself, his head now comfortably above
water as the river carried him along the shore, more swiftly than he had
anticipated, the water appearing so calm from above.

Fortunately
that meant there was less chance of rocks being near the surface that they
might slam into. He grasped for his wand, and found it, gripping it tightly in
his right hand. He could see the fire ahead, the boat to his right, the rope
glowing in the dark as he raced forward. There was no time to look behind him
to see how his men were, this was do or die time.

He
shoved the wand out of the water, high above him, the other end containing a
special hook that would allow the rope to pass through it, but not back out.

But it
only worked if you were able to get the rope to slide up the wand. If you hit
the wand against the rope too hard, you were liable to simply bounce off the
rope, the wand hitting the water behind you and missing the rope entirely.

I
love my job!

The rope
was less than fifty feet away. Forty. He gripped the wand high with both hands.
Thirty. He began to gauge how high the rope was from the surface. Twenty. He
angled the wand back slightly, lowering the hook to about four feet above the
water, his head tilting back to get a bead on it, then forward to see the rope.
Ten. Time to commit, no further calculated adjustments were possible.

It was
seat of the pants time.

He saw
the glowing rope whip over his head. His eyes followed, tracking it like a
target on a Heads Up Display, then at the last minute shoved the wand higher as
he realized he had just dipped too low. His heart leapt into his throat then he
felt the rope hit as he pushed forward on the wand as hard as he could. His
head dipped under the water as he felt the rope slide up the pole, then
suddenly there was a jerk, the rope hooked by the wand, and he felt himself
tugged hard against the current, slowly sliding toward the shore, the boat
placed as he had instructed slightly farther upstream so nature would bring
them to shore.

Hands
grabbed him and he let them do their work, he having taken a lungful of water.
Suddenly he felt ground beneath him, someone hauling him to his feet.

“You
okay?”

He
recognized the deep voice immediately. Special Agent Hugh Reading.

He
nodded. “Good. Forget about me.”

He
unclipped his harnesses, shrugging himself out of his gear, his equipment bag
already hauled out by Reading and a group of natives. Within a minute he was
ready to assist, but the situation seemed well in hand. Two of his men were already
hooked, one at the shoreline being pulled from the water, the other still
sliding toward them. He looked downriver and could see the other four, barely.
But one was too far to the right.

He’s
going to either go right of the boat, or hit the bloody thing.

There
was no point in yelling, no point in waving. He could see from here that the
man knew he was out of position. He was trying to swim to the left, but the
current was simply too swift. The smack was horrible, heard even from the shore
as he slammed into the opposite side of the hull  then dragged along it. He had
no idea who it was, and wouldn’t until the last man was out of the water.

He began
to ID his men when he heard Reading shout, “Kinti, no!”

Leather
followed Reading’s horrified expression and saw a young native girl plunge into
the water, disappearing below the surface then reemerging farther downriver,
swimming expertly toward his wayward man. Reading began to run downstream along
the shore, it clear that this girl meant something to him, which Leather found
a bit odd.

As the
last man who had successfully hooked the line was hauled ashore, he pointed at
his second-in-command, Warren Reese. “Equipment check then set up camp, I’m
going after Trent.”

Reese
nodded, directing the men to follow some of the natives who were ushering them
along the shoreline. The rope had been tossed free of the boat and it was
turning around, apparently in an effort to recover his man and the native
woman.

This
wasn’t the plan, but with the civilians screwing with it, he had to pursue. Trent
should simply make his way to shore, but with the impact he took, he might not
be in any shape to swim. And now with the native girl involved, he had a duty
to save her.