“All for a goddamn smoke,” Captain Waxman grumbled, then waved an arm. “Dismissed, corporal.”
“Yes, sir.”
After taking a deep breath, Captain Waxman crossed to them, fire still in his eyes. “I need your expertise on this,” he said, his gaze sweeping over Nate, Kouwe, and Manny. Turning, he swung his light toward an area of trampled jungle grasses. “We found DeMartini’s weapon abandoned here, and this stubbed cigarette, but no sign of what happened to his body. Corporal Warczak has searched for any prints leading from here. There aren’t any. Just this trampled and shredded area of grasses that leads back to the river.”
Kelly saw that the disturbed area did indeed lead all the way to the water’s edge. The tall green reeds lining the bank were parted and crushed.
“I’d like to examine this more closely,” Professor Kouwe said.
Captain Waxman nodded, passing Kouwe his flashlight.
Nate and Kouwe moved forward. Manny followed, but his pet jaguar stopped at the edge of the area, growling deep in the back of his throat as it sniffed at the grasses.
Hand on his whip, Manny tried to coax the cat to follow. “C’mon, Tor-tor.” The jaguar refused, even retreated a step.
Kouwe glanced back to them. The professor had stopped to crouch at a spot, examining something near the reeds. He sniffed at his fingers.
“What is it?” Nate asked.
“Caiman feces.” He wiped his hand clean on some grasses, then nodded to the growling jaguar. “I think Tor-tor agrees.”
“What do you mean?” Kelly asked.
Manny answered, “Wild cats have the ability to sense the size of an animal from just the smell of its excrement or urine. In fact, elephant urine is sold throughout the western United States as a repellent against bobcats and cougars. They won’t go near a site marked with elephant urine, freaked by the smell of such a huge animal.”
Kouwe clambered through the reeds to the river’s edge. He was careful to pluck aside a few broken stalks, then waved Captain Waxman over. Kelly followed.
Kouwe shone his light on a spot of muddy bank. Clawed prints were clear in the riverbank mud. “Caiman.”
Kelly heard an odd note of relief in Kouwe’s voice. Again Nate and the professor shared a secretive glance.
Straightening, Kouwe explained, “Caimans will often hunt the riverbanks, snatching tapir and wild pigs as they come to drink. Your corporal must have come too close to the river and was grabbed.”
“Could it be the same one that attacked Corporal Graves?” Waxman asked.
Kouwe shrugged. “Black caimans are fairly intelligent. After learning that our boats are a source of food, it might have followed the rumble of our motors, then lay in wait until nightfall.”
“Goddamn that motherfucker!” Waxman spat, a fist clenched. “Two men in one day.”
Staff Sergeant Kostos stepped forward. The tall swarthy Ranger wore a tight expression. “Sir, I can call for reinforcements. The Hueys could be here by morning with two more men.”
“Do it,” he snapped. “And from here on out, I want two patrols every shift. Two men in each patrol! I don’t want anyone—civilian or soldier—walking this jungle alone. Ever! And I want the river side of every camp set up with motion sensors, not just the jungle.”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Waxman turned to them. There was no warmth in his words, only dismissal. “Thank you for your assistance.”
The group wound back through the forest. As they marched, Kelly felt numb. Another man gone…so suddenly. She hiked past the nest of fire liana vines and eyed them warily. It wasn’t only chemical warfare going on out here, but a savage feeding frenzy, where the strong consumed the weak.
Kelly was glad to reach the campsite with its roaring fires—the warmth, the light. In a small way, the flames were reassuring, temporarily driving back the dark heart of the forest.
She found the eyes of the other teammates upon them. Anna Fong stood with Richard Zane. Frank’s fellow operative, Olin Pasternak, stood near the fires, warming his hands.
Manny quickly explained what they had found. As he talked, Anna covered her mouth with her hand and turned away. Richard shook his head. And as usual, Olin remained his stoic self, staring into the flames.
Kelly barely noticed their reactions. Standing by the campfire, her attention remained focused on Nate and Kouwe. The pair had moved to the side, near Nate’s hammock. From the corner of her eye, she watched them. No words were exchanged between the two men, but she caught the inquiring look on Kouwe’s face. An unspoken question.
Nate answered with a small shake of his head.
With some secret settled between them, Kouwe reached to his pipe and moved a few steps away, clearly needing a moment alone.
Kelly turned, giving the older man his privacy, and found Nate staring at her.
She glanced back to the fires. She felt foolish and oddly frightened. She swallowed and bit her lower lip, remembering the man’s strong arms catching her, saving her. She sensed Nate still staring at her, his gaze like the sun’s heat on her skin. Warm, deep, and tingling.
Slowly the feeling faded.
What was he hiding?
Seven
Data Collection
AUGUST 12, 6:20 A.M.
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Lauren O’Brien was going to be late for work. “Jessie!” she called as she nestled an orange beside a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich in a lunch box. “Hon, I need you down here…now.” The day-care center was a twenty-minute drive out of her way, followed by the usual fight through morning traffic into Langley.
She checked her watch and rolled her eyes. “Marshall!”
“We’re coming,” a stern voice answered.
Lauren leaned around the corner. Her husband was leading their granddaughter down the stairs. Jessie was dressed, though her socks didn’t match. Close enough, she thought to herself. She had forgotten what it was like to have a child in the house again. Patterns and schedules had to be altered.
“I can take her to day care,” Marshall said, reaching the bottom stairs. “I don’t have a meeting until nine o’clock.”
“No, I can do it.”
“Lauren…” He crossed and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Let me help you.”
She returned to the kitchen and snapped shut the lunch box. “You should get into the office as soon as possible.” She tried to keep the tension out of her voice.
But Marshall heard it anyway. “Jessie, why don’t you get your sweater?”