Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10) (32 page)

Terrence Mitchell sat on a cot holding Jenny. Their cell was a
decent size for two inmates, bunk beds against one wall, a small sink and
toilet at the rear wall, the opposing wall had a barred window to the outside
with an awning that let no direct sunlight in, and the front wall was merely
bars providing no privacy.

It was,
though, a good size for two.

But not
for the seven it now contained. Besides them and Turnbull, it also contained
the other four environmentalists who had been captured the previous week. They
had told of a pretty much solitary existence since then. They were fed
regularly, allowed to bathe in a communal shower, and given fresh clothes and
bed linens twice a week. They slept in shifts of two, which now included two
more shifts due to the new arrivals.

No one
dared complain.

It was
the Mitchells’ turn on the beds, but neither could sleep, both too frightened.
Mitchell was still trembling, still not believing what was going on. “What do
you think they’ll do to us?”

John
Tinmouth, the leader of the PAN expedition shrugged. “I don’t know, but the
fact they haven’t put us to work in the mines like they have the natives means
they have some other purpose in mind.”

“What
kind of mine is it?” asked Jenny. “Gold? Silver? It would have to be pretty
valuable to go to all this trouble.”

Tinmouth
laughed. “If it were just gold or silver, nobody would bother. No, this is
definitely a rare earth element mine of some type. The rarer it is, the more
its worth. Why do you think rappers wear platinum now? It’s worth more than
gold per ounce. And that’s barely classified as one of the rare elements. And
it’s not just the price, it’s the
rare
part. Most rare earth elements
were deposited here by asteroid and meteor impacts over billions of years. Once
we run out, we’re out. We’ll need to find alternatives or go to outer space to
find it. Right now it’s much cheaper to find it here, environmental laws be
damned.” His head drooped between his knees as he pulled at his hair in
frustration. “This is one of the worst I’ve ever seen though. And it makes me
wonder how many more are out there.”

As the
morning light began to get brighter, the sounds of activity outside could be
heard as the mine began operations for the day, the cries and wails of the
terrified natives heartbreaking, tears rolling down many of the cheeks in the
room.

“We have
to stop this.”

Heads
bobbed in agreement to Mitchell’s statement. “But how?” asked Tinmouth. “We’re
locked up in here, and the only times were allowed out they have guns trained
on us.”

Mitchell
nodded toward the other side of the gate. “They don’t seem to be watching us.”

“There’s
a camera on the wall aimed directly at us.”

Mitchell
leaned forward and frowned as the camera came into view. “Didn’t see that.” He
looked about. “Let’s assume the camera wasn’t there. What would—what could—we
do to get ourselves out?”

“Pick
the lock?” suggested Jenny.

“Dig our
way out?” suggested another man named Lincoln.

Jenny
pointed to the window. “File away the bars?”

Somebody
chuckled from the other side of the cell door, the sound of slowly clapping
hands as they approached reverberating through their cell. Mitchell felt Jenny
grip his arm tighter as his own heart began to race.

“Very
amusing,” said a voice before the man it belonged to came into view. He was
Chinese, very white, and as tall as any of the men in the room. His Asian
features seemed muted somehow, and he had no trace of an accent.

Could
he be half-Caucasian?

“My name
is Steven Ling. For those of you wondering, yes, I am half-American—on my
mother’s side. But when the country of my grandparents needed my help, I was
happy to oblige. You see, my old home, the United States, frowned upon my
particular talent. But my new home, China, the home of my ancestors, does not
let little things like international law and the Geneva Convention get in the
way of what is best for the people.”

Mitchell
gulped.
He must be some sort of torturer!
He resisted the urge to look
at Jenny, not wanting to give any indication of a bond between them that could
be used against him. Then again, the circulation-killing grip she had on his
left arm was probably giving away their connection.

And they
seemed to know exactly who they were, regardless.

Probably
courtesy of the Chinese CIA, whatever they’re called.

“And
today, what’s best for the people of China is to make this little mess you’ve
created, go away. I will not suggest you cooperate. I actually encourage you
not to, otherwise my job is too easy, and I love my job, but only when it’s
difficult.

“Please
don’t cooperate, please resist. You will make my day.” Half a smile crept on
his face. He pointed to Turnbull. “Mr. Robert Turnbull. Please step forward.
You will be first.”

Turnbull
didn’t budge, his skin so pale he appeared as if he might faint. Ling motioned
to the camera and the cell unlocked.

That
settles the question of whether or not it works.

Ling
stepped inside, no apparent concerns over the fact he was outnumbered seven to
one. He stopped in front of Turnbull, Ling’s boots so shiny they reflected the
pale grayness of the terrified prisoner.

“You
will rise.”

The
voice wasn’t any louder than normal, but it was firm. It wasn’t a request, nor
a barked order. It was merely a statement of fact. Turnbull shifted slightly,
then rose, his knees a little wobbly. Jenny reached up and steadied him with a
hand on his back. It startled the poor bastard as he trembled more noticeably.

“Very
good. Follow me without delay.”

Ling
exited the cell then turned right. Turnbull followed as if in a trance, not
looking at anyone until he turned and made eye contact with Mitchell. Mitchell
felt himself waver, never having seen true fear before in his life. It was
unlike anything he had ever pictured, Hollywood never having done it justice
before.

“Have a
seat.”

“Oh no!”
whispered Jenny as she buried her head in Mitchell’s chest. Mitchell turned
away from the cell door as it closed, its open iron bars doing nothing to block
the sounds from the very next cell. And Mitchell knew they would be forced to
listen to whatever was done to their poor companion.

“We
shall now begin.”

A blood
curdling scream erupted from around the corner. Without being able to see what
was causing Turnbull so much pain, Mitchell’s imagination went wild, conjuring
the most horrifying images the movies had ever suggested to him one human may
be capable of doing to another.

But he
knew it must be far worse, as he had never heard such a scream of terror or
pain from any living creature before.

And he
started to cry, as they all did, realizing one of them would be next.

TikTik held Tuk’s Mother tight as they all looked up at the strange
lodges where their captors seemed to dwell. A scream of horror and pain, so
intense it was released unashamedly, had them all scared, those in the belly of
the beast with her looking at each other, wondering, she knew, if that might be
their fate too some day. She looked at Mother but there was nothing there, no
fear, no life. Just resignation that her life was over. TikTik placed a gentle
kiss on Mother’s cheek, patting the other, then held her even tighter, trying
to provide some sense of humanity in the horrifying reality they now found
themselves in.

Their
night had been thankfully uneventful, though there had been little joy. They
were kept behind a strange wall made of incredibly strong spider webbing. They
had been shown how to get water from a magical hollowed out log where you
turned a round knot on it and water came out. Turn the knot the other way, the
water stopped. There were several of them at one end of where they were being
held. Food had been waiting for them, strange looking food she had never
experienced before, but it was warm and filling, and she was grateful. They each
had what to her felt like the most comfortable bed she had ever slept on,
though their quarters were more cramped than the lodge, and cover from the elements
was provided by a strange large, shiny thin blanket that covered the entire
area overtop the spider webbing.

Once
inside, they had been left alone and were free to move around. The latrine
facilities were extremely odd, some sort of raised hole that you sat on. One of
the other women, who didn’t even speak a language she understood, had
demonstrated for her. It had been odd but not having to burry your waste
afterward quite nice.

She had
taken care of Mother, getting her food and water, then shown her too how to use
the latrine, then those of Tuk’s tribe were shown an area of beds that the
others indicated were for them.

The most
wondrous part of the experience however had been the next morning when they
were shown to an area with a hard floor and a long log that stretched from one
end to the other that could produce rain. Everyone was given this strange white
ball and as she watched, she was amazed to see it produced a cleaning product
like she was able to make with some effort from some of the plants from the
forest, but nothing like this.

It
smelled incredible.

She
found it the first pleasurable experience since she had arrived, bathing
herself like she never had before, but as she did, her tribe’s colors washed
away, leaving her skin completely bare, her face devoid of the markings
identifying her family.

It had
devastated her when it appeared there would be no way for her to reapply the
mud mixture used to give her the reddish tint she was so used to seeing. And
seeing all the others, their naked bodies truly naked, was something she hadn’t
experienced since she was a child playing in the river, before the colorings
were applied after the Womanhood Ceremony.

The
final humiliation, as she now thought of it, was to be given coverings like
their captors wore. Strange skins that covered them from their necks to their
ankles, then a pair of skins with hard bottoms for their feet. After her short
stint in the rocks yesterday without these coverings, she realized it might
just be a good thing, the rocks sharp, many of her people already complaining
of cut feet.

But
why today, and not yesterday? Why let us injure ourselves then?

Perhaps
it was to show them why they needed these coverings.

An
act of kindness?

That she
doubted. She could tell by the way they were treated that their captors had no
respect for them though intended to keep them strong and healthy if possible.
They obviously wanted them to work for them, to slave away among their rocks.

For a
very
long time.

Her
chest tightened and she placed her head on Mother’s shoulder and began to cry
quietly, tears rolling down her bare cheeks. She felt Mother’s hand touch her
face, her thumb gently wiping away the tears.

“Don’t
worry, little one. My son will save us.”

Oh,
if only that were true!

Barasana Village on the Rio Negro, Northern Amazon, Brazil

“You take care of yourself now,” Acton said, shaking Milton’s hand.
He knew his friend was in pain when he didn’t get out of his chair for their
customary thumping hug. “Take it easy and get that back looked at. Laura has
arranged for her plane to take you home as soon as you arrive.”

Milton
shook his head. “No, that’s a waste of money. I can wait for the rest of you.”

Acton
pointed his finger at him. “Don’t be stupid. You know you’ve overextended
yourself. Get your ass on that plane, get home, and rest up. We’ll see you as
soon as we’re done here. Understood?”

Milton
shook his head, a slight smile breaking out. “Yes, mom.”

“Good.
Now hug Daddy Laura then get your ass home.”

Laura
bent down and gave Milton a hug and a kiss, then while still bent over, said,
“Take the plane right away. It barely costs me any more whether it’s in the air
or on the runway waiting. You need to take care of yourself so you can come to
the next World Cup.”

Milton
nodded and with a wry grin, said, “Not exactly the incentive to get better I
was looking for, but I’ll take it.”

They
laughed and disembarked as the boat’s mooring lines were freed. It had been
decided that it was safe now for the boat to travel back to Manaus now that
they knew their enemy was based in the opposite direction. More help was on the
way, and had been since yesterday when contact was lost with Colombo’s boat, so
it was hoped they might meet-up by tomorrow morning. Acton was just happy to
get Milton heading back toward civilization where he could tend to his back and
not have to be worried about him being helplessly shot during an attack.