James Rollins: Amazonia

Closer at hand, the mercenary band celebrated its victory. Flasks of alcohol passed from hand to hand. Toasts were made, and boasts declared amid jovial whispers of how their money would be spent-much of it involving whores. Favre circulated through the group, allowing his men this celebration but making sure it didn't get out of hand. They were still miles from the rendezvous point where the motorboats were waiting.

So for the moment, Kelly had a bit of relative privacy. Frank was under another makeshift lean-to in the middle of the camp. Her only company here was the single guard: Favre's disfigured lieutenant, the man named Mask. He stood talking with another mercenary, sharing a flask.

A figure approached through the drizzle. It was Favre's Indian woman, Tshui. She seemed oblivious of the rain, still naked, but at least she no longer wore the head of Corporal DeMartini around her neck.

Probably didn't want to get the foul thing wet, Kelly thought sourly.

Mask's companion slid away at the approach of the woman. She had that effect on most of the mercenaries. They were clearly frightened of her. Even Mask took a few steps from the lean-to and sheltered under a neighboring palm.

The Indian woman bent out of the rain and knelt beside Kelly. She carried a rucksack in one hand. She settled it to the dirt and began to rummage silently through it, finally pulling out a tiny clay pot and freeing the lid.

Filling the container was a thick waxy unguent. The witch-woman scooped a dab on a finger, then reached to Kelly.

She flinched away.

The Indian woman grabbed her ankle. Her grip was iron. She slathered the material on Kelly's abraded knees. Instantly the sting and burn faded. Kelly stopped fighting and allowed the woman to treat her.

"Thank you," Kelly said, though she was not sure the treatment was solely for her comfort as much as to make sure she could continue to march. Either way, it felt good.

The Indian woman reached again to her pack and removed a rolled length of woven linen. She carefully spread it open on the soggy ground. Meticulously lined in tiny pouches of cloth were stainless steel tools and others made of yellowed bone. Tshui removed a long sickle-shaped knife, one of a set of five similar tools. She leaned toward Kelly with the knife.

Kelly again flinched, but the woman grabbed the hair at the nape of her neck and held her still, pulling her head back. The Indian was damn strong.

"What are you doing?"

Tshui never spoke. She brought the knife's curved edge to Kelly's forehead, at the edge of her scalp. Then returned the tool to its place and took another of the curved knives and positioned it at the crown of her scalp.

With horror, the realization hit Kelly. She's measuring me! Tshui was determining which tools would be best to scrape the skin off her skull. The Indian woman continued her measuring, fingering different sharp instruments and testing them against chin, cheek, and nose.

She began to line up the proper instruments on the ground beside her knee. The row of tools grew: long knives, sharp picks, corkscrewing pieces of bone.

A noise, a throat being cleared, drew both women's attention outside the lean-to.

Kelly's head was released. Free, Kelly twisted around, kicking, trying to get as far away as possible from the witch. Her feet sent the line of cruel instruments scattering in the dirt.

Favre stood outside the door. "I see Tshui has been entertaining you, Mademoiselle O'Brien."

He entered the lean-to. "I've been trying to gather some information on the CIA from your brother. Information to assist us in escaping now and planning future missions. A valuable commodity that I don't think St. Savin will mind me gleaning from their patient. But I can't have Frank coming to harm. That my benefactors wouldn't appreciate. They're paying well for the delivery of a healthy little guinea pig:"

Favre knelt next to her. "But you, my dear, are a different story. I'm afraid I'm going to have to give your brother a little demonstration of Tshui's handiwork. And don't be shy. Let Frank hear your screams-please don't hold back. When Tshui comes over afterward and hands him your ear, I'm sure he'll be more cooperative with his answers:' He stood. "But you'll have to excuse me. I don't care to watch myself."

Favre made a half bow and departed into the rainy night.

Kelly's blood iced with terror. She didn't have much time. In her fingers, Kelly clutched a tiny knife. She had grabbed it a moment ago from among the tools she had scattered. Kelly now worked to cut through the ropes behind her back.

Nearby, Tshui picked through her pack and gathered bandage material-to wrap the stump of Kelly's amputated ear. Without a doubt, they would torture her until they had drained every bit of information from her brother. Afterward, she would be tossed aside as unnecessary baggage.

Kelly would not let that happen. A quick death would be better than a tortured one. And if she could believe Favre, no harm would come to Frank-at least not until after he was delivered safely to the scientists at St. Savin.

Kelly sliced savagely at her bonds, covering her motions with jerky thrashings and moans that were only half faked.

Tshui turned back to her, a hooked knife in hand.

The ropes still held Kelly.

The witch leaned over her and grabbed her hair again, yanking her head back. She lifted her knife.

Kelly struggled with her own blade, tears flowing.

A chilling wail split the night, high and feline, full of fury.

Tshui froze with the knife poised at Kelly's ear. The witch cocked her head and glanced to the dark forest.

Kelly could not pass up this opportunity. She bunched her shoulders and ripped free the last fibers of the rope that bound her.

As Tshui turned back to her, Kelly swung around with her knife and planted it into the witch woman's shoulder. Tshui screamed and fell back in surprise.

Adrenaline racing, Kelly burst to her feet and leaped toward the forest. She ran with all the speed in her legs but slammed into a figure who stepped around a tree.

Arms grabbed her. She stared up into the leering and twisted face of Mask. She had forgotten in her panic about the guard. She struggled but had no weapon. He yanked her around, lifting her off her feet, an arm around her throat. She was carried, kicking, back into the open.

Tshui knelt in the dirt, wrapping her wounded shoulder with the bandages meant for Kelly's ear. The glower the woman shot at Kelly burned with intensity.

Kelly stopped kicking.

Then the oddest thing happened-Mask jerked and let her go. Kelly dropped to her knees in the dirt at the sudden release. She turned as the muscled guard fell face forward to the ground.

Something glittered at the back of his skull, embedded deep into it.

A shiny silver disk.

Kelly instantly recognized it. She stared off into the woods as screams began to erupt from all around the camp. She saw men drop where they stood or tumble where they sat. Feathered arrows protruded from necks and chests. Several of the bodies convulsed. Poisoned.

Kelly stared again at the limp form of Favre's former lieutenant . . . and the silver disk.

Hope surged.

Dear God, the others must still be alive!

Kelly turned and found Tshui gone, likely fleeing toward the center of camp, toward Favre, toward where her brother was still held prisoner. By now, the camp was in chaos. Shots began to ring out, orders were yelled, but so far not a single attacker appeared.

It was as if they were being attacked by ghosts.

Men continued to drop.

Kelly grabbed the pistol from Mask's dead body. She could not gamble that the others would reach her brother in time. She darted toward the roiling center of camp.

Nate saw Kelly lunge with a gun in hand. Going after her brother, he knew with certainty. They could wait no longer. He signaled to Private Camera. A sharp whistle blew and an ululating wail arose from the score of Indian throats all around the camp. It was a chilling sound.