Clive Cussler - Serpent

The ground exploded in a blur of black triangles.

Alerted by the heavy footfall, the snake was in striking position when the man reached for the machete. It sank its long fangs into his neck then struck swiftly again, emptying the rest of its venom sac into his arm.

The gun barrel came around, and the stricken man shot the snake several times, turning it into a bloody red-and-green mass. Then he touched the twin puncture wounds next to his carotid artery. His face turned bone-white; his eyes widened in horror, and his mouth opened in a silent scream. Be stated, terrified, at Chi and Gamay, then staggered into the bushes.

Chi stepped forward, careful to avoid the fangs that mere biting at the air in the snake's death throes, and followed the chicleros trail. Moments later Gamay heard another shot. When Chi reappeared, the gun in his hand was smoking. He saw the expression of revulsion on her face. Tucking the pistol into his pants, he came over and took Gamay's hand. The stony cast to his features had disappeared, and his eyes had that kind, grandfatherly expression.

"The chiclero killed himself," he explained patiently. "He knew death from the barba's bite is very painful. The venom destroys the red blood cells and breaks down vessels. There is bleeding from the mouth and throat, painful swelling, vomiting, and spasms as the body goes into shock. Even with the neck bite, it could have been an hour or two. Remember, before you feel too sorry for him, he wanted us to die in the cave and later in the river."

Gamay shook her head numbly. Chi was right. The chiclero's death was unfortunate but of his own doing. What an extraordinary man the professor was! How the Spaniards ever conquered the Maya was a mystery to her. Her survival reflexes kicked into gear. "We should move," she said, glancing around. "There may be others who heard the shots."

Chi picked up his machete and the dead man's pack. "The river is our only chance. Even if we knew where we were, it would be risky to try a trek over land." He glanced at the bloodied body of the snake. As you saw, there are creatures in the forest far more deadly than chicleros."

"You lead, I'll follow," Gamay agreed with no argument. They set off through the thick forest, Chi maneuvering with his internal compass until they came to a path about a yard wide that was so beaten down that the white limestone was exposed.

"This is the portage trail I told you about."

"Won't we risk running into someone if we use it?"

"I'm not so sure. Remember what the big man said about avenging his men? I'll play scout. Stay back, and if I signal, get off the trail as quickly as you can."

They set off through the forest, the trail running roughly parallel to the river which sparkled through the trees. Gamay walked behind the professor. Their progress was uneventful. The only sign of life other than the raucous calls of the birds was a tree sloth that looked down with lazy eyes from an overhanging bough.

Chi stopped, signaled her with a wave to come forward, then disappeared around a curve in the trail. When she caught up the professor was standing on a small sandy beach. Three prams identical to the one they had lost were drawn up under a sapling and palm leaf structure that would have kept them hidden from anyone on the river or in the air. In contrast to her last view of the river at its angriest, the surface was back to its calm brownish-green self.

"It looks as if they kept boats on both sides of the rapids," Chi observed. "They could carry the goods along the path around the rough water."

Gamay was only half listening. She had walked back from the river. to examine the cold coals of a campfire and noticed a platform built up on stilts. A flat-roofed structure like a child's tree house had been constructed on the platform. She opened the door, which was latched but not locked, and peered inside: She saw several gasoline tanks and a large metal cooler. She pushed back the lid.

"Professor Chi," she called out. "I've found something important."

Chi came trotting over, and when he saw the blue can she was holding, the widest grin she had ever seen crossed his face.

"Spam," he whispered reverently.

There was more than Spam in the cooler chest. There were canned vegetables and juices, bottled water, and tortillas sealed in plastic boxes. Sardines and canned corned beef for variety. The primitive shed had flashlights and tools. The waterproof matches were a real treat, as was a portable camp stove. Soap, too. Each taking a different section of riverside, they washed their bodies and clothes, which dried quickly in the hot sun.

After their bath and a refreshing meal of improvised hash and eggs, Chi explored the area while Gamay consolidated their food and supplies. It was eerily quiet, but they decided not to stay long. They loaded the boat and sabotaged the others, sinking them under rocks then hiding the outboards in the woods after testing to see which motor ran best. Then they got in the boat and pushed out into the river, keeping the motor at low speed, above a quiet idle, using just enough power to stay ahead of the current. .

They had gone only less than a mile when the river made a sharp dogleg to the right. Caught in a pocket where the riverbed curved, along with weeds and driftwood, were two overturned aluminum prams whose hulls were dented and ripped open. Scattered among them were the stinking bodies of men, bloating in the broiling sun.

Chi muttered a prayer in Spanish.

"My guess is, that this is where we would be if we'd gone through the rapids," Gamay said, putting her hand over her nose.

"They were nowhere near the rapids when we last saw them."

"That's what I thought," she said with a shake of her head. "Something must have happened while we were dealing with an overturned pram."

Conrad's Heart of Darkness came to her, the scene where Kurtz, the civilized man turned savage, whispers on his deathbed, "The horror . . . the horror. . ."

With Kurtz's words echoing in her head, Gamay pointed the pram down river and hiked up the throttle. Gamay wanted to put miles between them and this place of death before night fell, even though she had no idea whether new horrors lay ahead.

Washington DC

28 WHEN PERLMUTTER CALLED AND asked if they could get together for brunch instead of dinner, Austin was pleased on two counts. The portly archivist's willingness to settle for a mere lunch at Kinkead's, a popular Washington dining spot on Pennsylvania Avenue, meant Perlmutter's research had hit pay dirt. And a lunch bill would take a smaller bite out of Austin's wallet than a six-course dinner. Or so Austin thought until Perlmutter selected a 1982 Bordeaux and began picking items off the menu as if he were ordering dim sum in a Chinese restaurant.

"I wouldn't want you to think you're taking advantage of me by only having to buy lunch rather than dinner," Perlmutter said, explaining his extravagance.

"Of course not," Austin replied, wondering how he would sneak the bill for Perlmutter's binge past the keen-eyed NUMA expense account auditors. He breathed an inward sigh of relief when Perlmutter put the menu aside.

"Very good. Well, after we chatted on the phone I called my friend Juan Ortega in Seville. Don Ortega is one of the leading experts on Columbus, and. since you seemed in something of a hung I thought he might provide a shortcut through the mass of information available."

"I appreciate that, Julien. I've read Ortega's books and found them insightful. Was he of help?"

"Yes and no," Perlmutter said. "He answered some questions and raised others." Perlmutter handed Austin the documents Ortega had faxed from Spain. "Read these at your leisure. In the interests of time I'll recap my conversation with Don Ortega and summarize what you'll find herein."