David ed. - Face Off (2014) Anthology

Why he did stuff like this he’d never know.

He stumbled into view, limping, holding a bloody hand to his fouled face.

“Help me,” he called out in a plaintive tone, as he wove a path deeper into the room—only to be accosted by one of the gunmen holding the passengers at bay.

Orders in Portuguese were barked at him.

He feigned surprise and confusion though he understood every word—a benefit of the eidetic memory that made languages easy for him. He allowed the man to drive him toward the clutch of passengers. He was shoved into the crowd, bouncing off a matronly woman who was held close by her husband. He shifted deeper into the mass, bobbling his way through until he reached Trask’s side. Once there, he slipped the pistol out and jabbed it into the botanist’s side.

“Stay nice and still,” he whispered. “I’m here to save your sorry ass.”

Trask flinched and it looked like he was about to speak.

“Don’t talk,” he breathed. “I’m your only hope of getting out of here alive. So don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

Trask stood still and asked, his lips not moving, “What do you want me to do?”

“Where’s the biotoxin?”

“Get me out of here, and I’ll bloody well make it worth your while.”

Typical opportunist, quickly adapting.

“I’m not telling you a thing,” Trask said, “until you have me somewhere safe.”

Clearly the guy sensed a momentary advantage.

“I could just identify you to these gentlemen,” Malone made clear.

“I have the vials on me. If even a single one breaks, it’ll kill anything and everything within a hundred yards. Trust me, there’s no stopping it, short of incineration.” Trask threw him a glorious smile of victory. “So I suggest you hurry.”

He took stock of the four gunmen. The two searchers had about completed their path through the corpses. To better the odds of success he needed them all grouped together. As he waited for that to happen, he decided to press his own advantage.

“Where did you find the orchid?”

The doctor gently shook his head.

“You’ll tell me that much, or I’ll shoot my way out of here and leave you to them—making sure I’m a hundred yards away fast.”

Trask clenched his jaw and seemed to get the point.

They both continued to stare out at the macabre scene.

“Six months into the jungle I heard a rumor of a plant called Huesos del Diablo, ” Trask said, keeping his lips still.

Malone silently translated.

The devil’s bones.

“It took another year to find a tribe that knew about it. I embedded myself in their village, apprenticed myself to the shaman. Eventually he took me to a set of ruins buried in the upper Amazon basin, revealing a vast complex of temple foundations that stretched for miles. The shaman told me that tens of thousands of people had once lived there. A vast unrecorded civilization.”

Malone had heard of similar ruins, identified via satellite imaging, found deep in the hinterlands of the Amazon, where people thought no one lived. Each discovery defied the conventional wisdom that deemed the rain forest incapable of supporting civilization. Estimates put the number living there at over sixty thousand. The fate of those people remained unknown, though it was theorized starvation and disease were the main culprits of their demise.

But maybe there was another explanation.

The searchers across the dining hall checked the last of the bodies. The two armed men closest to them alternated their attention from their colleagues to their captives.

“Among the ruins I found piles of bones, many of them burned. Other bodies looked like they died where they dropped. The shaman told me the story of a great plague that killed in seconds and wilted flesh from bones. He showed me an unusual dark orchid growing nearby. I didn’t know then if the orchid was the source of the plague, but the shaman claimed the plant was death itself. Even to touch it could kill. The shaman taught me how to gather it safely and how to wring the poison from its petals.”

“And once you learned how to gather this toxin?”

Trask finally glanced at him. “I had to test it, of course. First on the shaman. Then, on his village.”

Malone’s blood went cold at the matter-of-fact admission of mass murder.

Trask turned back. “Afterward, to ensure I had the only source, I burned all pockets of the orchids I could find. So you see, my rescuer, I hold the key to it all.”

He’d heard enough.

“Stick to my side,” he mouthed.

He eased toward the edge of the crowd, towing Trask in his wake. Once there, he knew he had to incapacitate the four armed men as quickly as possible. There’d only be a few seconds of indecision. The men were finally gathered in a group. Seven rounds remained in his gun’s magazine. Not much room for error. He eyed an overturned table with a marble top that should offer decent cover. But he needed to be away from the civilians before the shooting started.

He gripped Trask by the elbow and motioned to the table. “Come with me. On my mark.”

He did a fast three count, then sprinted toward the table, swinging his gun into view—only to have the floor beneath his feet jolt, throwing him high. He flew past the table, crashing hard, losing his grip on the gun, which skittered across the floor out of reach. He rolled to see the front of the dining hall tear away, glass exploding, the walls splintering open.

Dark jungle burst inside.

Then he realized.

The boat had hit shore and run aground.

Everybody had been knocked off their feet, even the gunmen. He searched for Trask, but the botanist had been tossed into the assault team. Trask straightened up and even the blood gushing from a broken nose failed to hide his features. Surprised voices erupted from the four gunmen. Rifles were pointed and Trask lifted his arms in surrender.

Malone searched for the pistol, but it was gone.

Trask glanced in his direction, the fear and plea plain on his face. The man’s thoughts clear. Help me. Or else. Malone shook his head and brought a finger to his lips, signaling silence, the hope being that the doctor would realize selling him out was not a good idea.

One of them had to be free to act.

Trask hesitated, was jerked to his feet, but said nothing.

A parrot screamed across the ruins of the dining hall, cawing, seemingly voicing Malone’s frustration.

And he could only stare as Trask and his captors vanished into the dark bower of the jungle.

PIERCE STARED ACROSS THE RUINS of the dining hall, studying what lay beyond a gash in the walls. “So you lost him.”

“Not much I could do,” Malone said, on his knees, searching among a tumble of chairs and tossed tables. “Especially after the boat ran aground.”

Trask’s cabin had come up empty. But Pierce now knew that the doctor had the sample hidden on him. He’d also listened as Malone reported everything else Trask had said.

Malone reached under a tablecloth and came up with the pistol he’d lost earlier. “Lot of good it does me now. What’s our next move?”

“You don’t have to stay on this. You’re retired. Go back to your lady in Buenos Aires.”

“I wish I could. But Stephanie Nelle would have my ass. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me. I’ll try, though, not to get in the way.”

He caught the sarcasm.

So far, this brief partnership between Justice and Defense had proved fruitless. But with Trask on the run and captured by a guerrilla force, as much as he hated to admit it Pierce could use the help.

Malone picked his way across the dining hall to the demolished wall of the ship. Pierce watched as the former agent bent down and examined something. All of the other passengers were gone, being offloaded to other boats.