Ecuador E-Book

RS Perry

• Herausgeber: RS Perry
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2020

Beschreibung

Ecuador, the long-awaited sequel to the O Trilogy – high stake battles, political intrigue, mystery, kidnapping, suspense, and romance as old friends and new, chase a lethal virus hatched in an insidious plot. From Rio to the Amazon, Quito to Bogotá, familiar characters, like old shoes, walk us through a kaleidoscope of adventure:  Nusmen, Old Man Shuskin, Sheilla and, of course, Jim, Brush, and Glenda. A team of some of the world’s best hackers and researchers from the secret laboratory in Washington State support multiple hair-raising missions. Colombian rebels with unexpected charm link up to aid Jim’s team. Throughout, Colonel Johnson battles himself and his past while attempting to blend his professional life with a normal homelife for his family. In Jim’s absence, Heather oversees their remote ranch with starlit skies, glass apples, and dangerous predators, while their young son Pedro attempts to fit into a white America. A shock ending lurks along the dark edges of the story and finally comes to light in its last pages.

Leseprobe

SELECTED COMMENTS FROM READERS FOR THE O TRILOGY

So Tense. I have just finished Off The Edge. What a story, I could hardly bear to read the final chapter. The book has really alive characters who you can imagine, and vivid descriptions so you can really visualize the landscape. I can’t wait to read the next. I remembered a lot about the land and wilderness, and I could just feel it as if I was there. So, so Good!Gayle Comeau

Really gripping. With many novels, you have to read a bit to get into them. With Off The Edge, the prologue kind of hits the reader...like a fish biting on a hook.... All the action really sustained my interest. I also liked how the subplots intertwined and came together. Very interesting characters. This has to be a series!Ginny McCuen

Wow! I really got into the complexities of plot and simply couldn’t put it down. Read well into the very early morning. It’s an edge of your seat suspense thriller with a complex plot that unfolds with seemingly unrelated events in multiple locations. It presents unique challenges for the cast of heroes to discover and solve in order to rescue and save innocent lives that are in mortal danger. The ending appeals to even the romantic female reader, which is unusual for most plots in the thriller genre.Jeanne Rex

This is one of the most exciting books I have ever read. I couldn’t put it down. I had to know what happened next as I got caught up in the search by Jim and his buddy Brush, first to find the Pasayten Killers and then to work out how to stop the spread of the virus. I liked the parts in the wilderness. I’m not a scientist but I found I was gripped by the science. Then when we got to a wild car chase through Seattle followed by a great gun battle and helicopter chase. The end left me wanting to know what happens next. Doug Dunlop

This bookhad me gripped from page one. I like the variety of characters & the ways they find of dealing with a whole host of difficulties & experiences. It's nice to meet some old friends from Off The Edge & see them change & develop but Over The Line stands on its own. As always with Randall Perry one of the most intriguing aspects of the novel is the way in which very different worlds are woven together in one exciting narrative. Jan Good

I really hate that Najma. Betty Rhodes

Havingenjoyed Perry’s first bookOver the Edgein his series about the secret missions of Jim Johnson, Assistant Head of the State Department’s Biological Warfare, I looked forward to reading his secondOver the Line,knowing it would be good entertainment during the 6 hour train ride ahead of me. I was not disappointed. In his inimitable style, Perry hooked me at once with his prologue (just as he had done with his prologue inOver the Edge) and I read the book in one sitting, unable to put it down. I was unprepared however for the attachment I would develop to his characters. There is depth and feeling in this second book as Perry carefully develops and crafts his characters further. Throughout this book, Perry allows us to live in the shoes of his characters, to involve us in his soul-searching study of good and bad and to discover what makes people do what they do.Catherine Fosnot

Cleverly written, and with a detail few could match, Perry provides a riveting read with his Jim Johnson series of action stories. The characters are developed logically and realistically, and the landscapes are brought to life with a clarity of one who knows them well. In addition, there is much educational value - not only do I now feel knowledgeable about the Pasayten Wilderness, its geology and how to survive there, (in spite of never having set foot in the remote mountain wilderness or even America), I also learned snippets of astronomy and microbiology. Additionally, my understanding of aircraft and how to fly them has increased tenfold. Perry seems to write about what he knows - which adds a worrying level of fear to the scenes of violence!Jenny Lyons

OMG!

Are you serious?? Just kidding

I just finished reading Out of Time today...That BITCH!...

Please let me know when your next book is out....Karen Hill

After reading Off the Edge, I was eager to see what Perry’s cast of characters would do in Over the Line. The action got intense right from the start, with more new and unique characters interacting with the familiar heroes and villains. Perry’s scientists behave like scientists (including following a science-inspired impulse to travel where normally cautious people wouldn’t go), and he describes military operations as if he has personal experience with weapons, hardware, and tactics. The end of each chapter was only an artificial division, with action flowing into the next chapter. Do not start reading this book unless you plan to read it all the way through in one sitting! Anita Gale

Ecuador is a spell-binding yarn. RS Perry has yet given us another Jim Johnson thriller replete with terror and adventure, illness and death, warm-hearted emotion and the sweaty intensity of a military esprit de corps. In the Amazon, an alarming outbreak of a virus threatens the lives of innocents. Meanwhile, Jim Johnson and his team combat sinister machinations in the Americas. Pestilence, intrigue, and romance, and fighters. The armed exploits, political adventures, and tender courtships provide the reader with enough conflict – and resolution – to satisfy even the most demanding bookworm. E. L. Beach

Loved the second book!!!Is the third completed..? You got me addicted and I need a fix…Albert Klychnak

ECUADOR

________________

RS PERRY

Copyright © RS Perry 2019

P1

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without written permission of the publisher or author.

All characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

ISBN 978-0-9880827-9-3

ECUADOR

Paper back, exclusive rights, CA.

Copyright © Jerome Sands Llc

Published by Penelope Ltd.

My heartfelt appreciation for the time and commitment spent editing to Jenny Lyons and Ethel Beach. And to Shelly Davis.

The author wishes to thank Rita for the poem in Chapter 60.

Thank you, Magdalene Pagratis, for cover preparation and formatting – custom-book-tique.com

Back cover: author’s photo taken in the Yukon, fall 2018.

Also by RS Perry

Off The Edge

Over The Line

Prologue

Centro Nacional daInfecção, Riode Janeiro, December 2000

MATEO AND LUIZ STOOD before an old wooden door with dingy, peeling paint. An iron bar with spots of yellow-orange rust crossed the door at waist height. One end of the bar disappeared into a metal slot like a giant deadbolt. An old-fashioned iron padlock secured the other end.

‘No one has entered here in a long time. It is a funny old lock,’ said Luiz.

‘I don’t like this place,’ said Mateo.

‘I wonder where the lock came from? Maybe from Portugal,’ said Luiz as he inserted the oversized key he’d been given into the lock.

Mateo lifted his upper left lip, arched his eyebrow, and looked toward Luiz, as if to say,You think this old lock will open?Then he thought,I hope not.Luiz turned the key. He twisted it, then twisted harder. The key reluctantly turned—grating—and the heavy lock fell open.

‘I don’t want to go down there,’ said Mateo with a shiver. ‘These ancient places make me nervous.’

‘Why, you believe in ghosts?

‘Never mind. Let’s see how long this is going to take.’

‘First, we see how many samples there are. Then we will know how long it will take.’

‘I have to go to my cousin’s wedding next week, so I hope to God this doesn’t take more than a few days.’

‘You have cousins here in Brazil, Mateo, or do you go home?’

‘Yes. No, I mean. No cousins here in Rio. I have to go home to Colombia.’

Luiz pulled the iron bar out of the slot and set it against the wall; it rang like a bell as the steel hit the concrete floor. The shrill ringing permeated Mateo’s mind, renewing his nervous shivers. Luiz reached into the darkness and around the corner to the wall, pushing his fingers through sticky cobwebs. Eventually, he found the light switch, illuminating gloomy walls.

They stepped through the stale air, down worn, stone stairs, batting clingy cobwebs out of their way to a windowless basement. The walls were covered with years of accumulated grime. Dust clung to gossamer webs. The upright freezers, once shiny white, showed spots of rust, erupting like miniature orange volcanos.

‘Hijo de puta,’ said Mateo as he counted. ‘Eight freezers. Many more than is good, but maybe they are not too full. Just so we’re finished before I have to fly home next Wednesday. We could work this weekend?’ he said hopefully to Luiz.

‘Uh-huh,’ said Luiz dismissively.

‘Don’t you think working this weekend would be a good idea? Get it over with, yes?’

‘Maybe you, Mateo, but not me. I have plans.’

Luiz started opening the freezer doors. ‘We’re in luck. Look at this one on the end. It’s almost empty. We can transfer the samples fast from the next one, so they don’t thaw. I was afraid we were going to have to bring down boxes and a lot of dry ice to keep them cold while we worked. We’ll inventory this one first. After that we can move the next freezer’s samples into it. Put on your gloves and move a table in front of the freezer.’ He pointed at a rickety table against the wall. ‘Clean the top off while I get the computer booted.’

‘Let’s look in the other freezers.’

‘They will be what they are. We have a job to do. Let’s get started.’

Mateo unloaded the first freezer’s contents, setting several small boxes and Styrofoam containers on the table.

‘Tell me what the first box says, then put it back in the freezer. Rápido, so they don’t thaw. Going fast should suit your time schedule, too.’

Mateo started reading labels. Some he read with difficulty. Luiz typed them into the computer spreadsheet. Containing only a few samples, the first freezer went quickly. They started on the next, which was packed full. Mateo took out a couple of stacks of small boxes and wire containers holding glass slants, set them on the table, and then closed the freezer door.

‘There’s hundreds in here. This could take forever. Do you suppose any of these are bad?’ asked Mateo.

‘I don’t think so. My boss said they are old. The big boss told him that many are probably not still alive. He thinks most are samples of plants, mushrooms, and soil bacteria. But he said to be careful as the crazy old professor that collected them could have stored anything. After they have our inventory and see what’s here, they will either destroy them or move them to the university microbiology department.’

‘P. Aeruginosa, 1966,’ said Mateo. ‘I don’t like it down here,’ as he scowled at the disintegrating walls. ‘There are no windows. I don’t feel so good.

‘You want to get sick or are you going to spell the next one for me.’

‘Ana…car…dium occi…dentale.’ Mateo struggled with both the spelling and pronunciation. ‘What’s that? It doesn’t sound like a plant.’

Luiz rolled his eyes. ‘Spell it, don’t say it. You’re wasting time. And I don’t know much more than you. Just be careful not to drop any.’

Chapter 1

FOR THE PAST THREE days, Jago’s band had moved along the edge of the expansive Río Napo, staying in front of their pursuers.

Jago gambled that the army pursuers would continue to chase his small band in the same way, and not jump ahead to ambush them. If the army leader was skilled, he would lull them into the complacency of the chase. If he was arrogant, he might assume his men could overtake them. Or maybe Jago was wrong, and an ambush was only minutes away. Jago knew, however, that sooner or later this would end. A mental guessing game between him and the army officer who was chasing him further and further south and away from his home country.

Chesswits, he said to himself. While his English was limited, he enjoyed playing word games with himself. He was alive because he was good at reasoning and liked playing games of wit. But how good is the army commander? Perhaps he is better, Jago mused, and he will play a better game than I will. He sensed he had prolonged the game as long as he could. Spotting two dugouts partially hidden at the bank’s side, he made a decision. They passed a narrow disused game track that he would later take after a little misdirection. They boarded the canoes and paddled downstream for a mile.

As they drifted with the murky current, Jago pointed to an overgrown area where the trail veered away from the river. After landing, they set the canoes adrift before ascending the muddy bank, picking their way through the dense growth, and crossing the trail into the jungle. Carlos scooped water from a puddle into his hat and washed away their muddy footprints. He was the last to cross the trail, brushing their tracks away with a handful of long grass.

As they slowly worked their way parallel to the path and back toward the game trail, San broke the silence, whispering to Chico, ‘Why not stay in the canoes and get far away?’

Chico made a cut sign across his throat.

San looked irritated and continued anyway. ‘I think it is better we stay in the canoes,’ he said.

Chico whispered, ‘We’re sitting ducks in the canoes. Ahora, silencio.’

After moving through the tangled growth, Jago found the little-used game trail near where they had taken the dugouts. Spider webs spanned the little track, glistening silver in thin shafts of the late afternoon light that filtered through the dense canopy.

The webs stretched innocently across the insect superhighway, apparently invisible to the fast-flying speedsters. To the insects’ eyes, there were few obstacles to skirt in the relatively uninhabited space above the trail. Whether it was their diminutive cognitive powers or reckless behavior, they raced over, around, and occasionally, into a sticky thread.

Jago reached down to a web and, with a long elegant finger, flicked a filament, sending a vibration along the shimmering thread to its patiently waiting weaver. Camouflaged by its stillness, a large black and red spider gingerly stepped across the web, moving quickly but hesitantly. Jago tickled the thread again, and the spider moved toward the source of the vibrations. Jago smiled, stood, and stepped over the web, continuing methodically ahead.

Jago’s pursuer’s commander assumed his prey was now lulled into a false sense of security as they progressed along the wide river. Soon, when the helicopter arrived, he would fly men ahead and snare his target in an ambush, just as Jago assumed he might do. A two-pronged ambush: men in front, men behind, and the helicopter with its gunner coming in from the riverside.

Jago wondered, however, why the forces behind them had not set up an ambush immediately. Perhaps the army commander had no transport. They had heard a few boats moving up and down the river, but they observed none with army troops. No helicopters had flown overhead, scouting for his band. This didn’t mean, though that the choppers had not flown around them out of hearing range, ferrying troops for an ambush.

In this game of cat and mouse, one would win and the other lose. Jago was not arrogant enough to assume that, while he had evaded his enemies for most of his life, he would always win.

Everyone followed carefully in his footsteps as he walked around, over, and sometimes under the dew-laden webs. The army would have expert trackers. He avoided soft soil and mud, leaving little sign that humans had passed this way. León followed the none-too-intelligent and less-experienced Carlos, making sure he left no sign for others to follow. Jago stopped to watch a slow-moving, eight-inch, brown-colored, hard-shelled turtle, admiring its prehistoric beauty.

Jago was tall at six feet four inches, and thin, with sinewy muscles that looked ropy through his taut caramel-colored skin. A black drooping mustache, together with a few gray hairs and sleepy-dog brown eyes, suggested an amiable character.

‘The depression to our left probably leads to a stream. Search and see if you can find a place for us to stay for a few days,’ he whispered. Chico was smart. He had been with Jago since he was old enough to carry a weapon. He could be relied on to choose a good overnight spot.

Chico, mature for his age, shared with Jago a caution that had kept them alive through the years and out of the clutches of the government troops. San did not share their caution. ‘Why don’t we keep going? I don’t think they will catch us,’ said the fifteen-year-old.

Jago held up his hand, silencing him before turning to his sometime lover. ‘Cherry, go back along the river and make sure our army friends don’t notice our little subterfuge when they pass.’ Cherry, wearing bandoleers crisscrossing a tan shirt and amplifying her breasts, turned to leave, giving the young San a look that suggested exactly what she thought of him.

Jago, ever the patient teacher, explained to San what he didn’t need to explain to the others. ‘They pursued us long enough to think we will keep running along the river in front of them. They will soon call additional troops in ahead of our route, or perhaps send men by boat or plane ahead of our path to set an ambush. Their commander possibly will try to catch up with us, push us into the ambush, and his trackers will see the place where we took the dugouts and assume we are on the river. It would be very lucky for them to find us camped here.’ Then he added, ‘as long as we are careful to leave no sign for their trackers and keep quiet.’

Jago assumed his role as leader naturally and with a dedication to instruct and pass on knowledge, both about war and peace.

‘I see,’ said San, ‘it is smart thing to do but still we must have luck.’

‘Our lives are decided by judgment and luck,’ responded Jago.

A bird-like whistle, blending with the jungle sounds, came from the direction of the river. Cherry was sending a note of caution, not danger. Jago motioned the others to fade into the jungle.

After ten minutes, another whistle twittered through the green understory, and the men reappeared. None were concerned, as it was the way they spent their days, cautiously moving in and out of the shadows.

‘Good place with water,’ said León as he, too, appeared from the dense jungle understory.

‘Show the others. Set up a guard. I’ll wait for Cherry, and we will be along just after dark.’

Jago whistled his unique birdcall. Several minutes later, Cherry silently and slowly walked off the trail to Jago, her white teeth showing in the fading early evening light. Except for a small scar below her right eye, her shoulder-length black hair and an unblemished light-coffee complexion suggested she was younger than her twenty-nine years.

She liked and respected Jago, just as he did her. They had known each other since she was thirteen years old. He had been her first lover one year later. They had never belonged to each other and had only made love infrequently over the years. Occasionally, they embraced each other. She could not say she loved him other than in a paternal way, but she would willingly give her life for him. He had been the only family she had after hers was killed, and she was abandoned in an army camp as a blossoming teenager.

They walked indirectly to the camp, approaching from the opposite direction that León had taken earlier. Jago whistled his evening birdcall, alerting them they were arriving. A return whistle indicated the exact direction to their night’s resting place.

A smile broke out on Jago’s face as he reached out, slapping Lobo on the shoulder. The big man had remained still as they approached, nearly invisible in the dark shadows cast by the last vestiges of twilight filtering through the jungle trees. Lobo was the same size as many of the tree trunks. Jago nearly missed him. As it was, he only sensed Lobo when he was close enough to reach out and touch him.

The three veterans of many battles moved carefully to their small campsite. The ten-foot-by-ten-foot clearing was faintly lit by early stars. They sat on the damp soil by the edge of the trickling water to eat their sparse rations. León, San, Chico, and Carlos were already in their net hammocks around the edge of the clearing, talking softly while they ate.

‘We search in the morning and make sure the soldiers have passed,’ said Jago as he stood.

Chapter 2

MATEO AND LUIZ WERE nearly finished with the second freezer. It had taken them the better part of four hours. Mateo knew that, at this rate, they would not finish in time for him to leave. He estimated it would take until the end of next week. He started to move at a faster pace, which did not accomplish much. Mateo became exasperated when Luiz typed too slowly, and he had to wait.

In Mateo’s haste, he dropped a sample. Luckily the Styrofoam container cushioned the fragile glass. Luiz scowled. ‘Calm down and pay attention. Most of these are probably harmless, but don’t be careless. Some might kill you.’

Mateo ignored the lecture. ‘I will have to continue this weekend to have any chance of my family leave. Could you please help me a little?’

‘Sorry, my friend, but not a chance. Maybe you can ask Anibal or Fausto? It has to be someone from the lab. You can’t bring just anyone down here. It’s lunchtime. Let’s go.’ And he started up the steps.

Mateo frowned and reluctantly followed him. His mind kept going over and over how to get this job done. He was not finding any solutions. He had been given a week off starting Wednesday, but with the condition that they finish the inventory first.

They were sitting outside on a bench eating the lunches they had brought with them. ‘I don’t see any way to get this done except to work this weekend. I’ll find someone to help me, but I need you to leave me with the computer.’

Luiz was getting tired of hearing about Mateo’s problem. ‘Okay, enough! You can use it this weekend, but it better be in perfect shape on Monday. And you can’t miss any samples. If Doctor Santos finds out that we missed any, we’ll be out of a job. And spell them correctly. If I say okay for you to work this weekend, don’t let me down?’

‘Gracias. Muchas gracias.’

‘When are you going to learn some Portuguese? Obrigado. Muito obrigado.’

‘Muito, muito obrigado.’

‘Let’s go back. I want to leave early,’ said Luiz.

Mateo rolled his eyes. That’s it, then. I’ll keep working tonight, too, he thought. I have to get ahead of this. I want to go home and to the wedding party.

Mateo worked until just after midnight and managed to get almost to the end of the third freezer. He was bored, his mind was taking flights of fancy, and he started thinking about just chucking some samples out. He couldn’t. Both his cultural indoctrination and upbringing to do the right thing mixed with the thought of doing something which, if he were caught, he would have to pay a penalty. I like my job. Mierda. I need it. If I can get to the fifth freezer this weekend, then we can finish by Tuesday.

The next morning, Mateo pulled himself out of bed and walked to work, stopping for a shot of espresso at the Jacaré Café on the way. It was the only place where he could get an espresso that compared to that of his home city of Bogotá. The proprietor knew what he liked and knew his distaste for the sweet cafezinho that Brazilians seemed to like.

Mateo walked along the tree lined Rua Vincente de Sousa as he neared the hospital, then turned right onto Rua Bambina. The beach was not far away. If only he could spend the day there, instead of in the basement dungeon. Just thinking about what ghosts might be lurking made him shudder.

By lunchtime, he had efficiently finished the third freezer and was partway through the fourth when he decided to take a break. He had only purchased a Guarana soda at the Jacaré Café. Now I wish I had bought a lunch, he mused. Earlier, he had thought missing lunch would help him finish earlier, and at the same time diminish his midsection. Now that he was hungry, he regretted it, even though his mind kept telling him to lose his belly for the wedding. The thought of the girls that would be there finally took his mind off his hunger.

The soda was cool and one of the few things he had learned to like in Brazil. The freezers were good for something—keeping his liquid lunch cold. He sat on the stone steps with the freezers spread before him. He felt he was making good progress, but this freezer was full, and many of the containers were small wire racks holding multiple glass tubes. It would take him many more hours.

He got up and walked to the fifth freezer to see whether it was packed with small or larger containers: all small, just like the one he was working on. Mierda.Not good at all, he thought. Still, if I keep working fast, we will be done on Tuesday.

He returned, removing several small boxes and racks and setting them on the table. The small containers and the individual vials were slowing him down, and he struggled with the long and unfamiliar names: Filoviridae unk, Marburg Marburgvirus (MARV), Staphylococcus aureus, Ebola bundibugyo, Variola major, Rotavirus A, Rotavirus B, Clostridium difficile. He was happy whenever an easy name came along such as India 1. He entered them on the laptop computer, over and over, out of the freezer, letter by letter adding the names into the computer, moving them back to the preceding freezer, getting new boxes and vials, adding them to the computer, and repeating the whole process, hour after hour.

Bored and impatient, he was having a hard time focusing. His thoughts elsewhere, Mateo grabbed an armful of containers and vials. Several fell from his arms to the floor, but only one broke. ‘Mierda. No, no, puta madre.’ No one would miss one vial, would they? They hadn’t been looked at for many years, he reasoned. ‘Mierda, mierda, mierda.’ Mateo took out his handkerchief to protect his fingers from the broken glass, and carefully picked up the pieces. He put them into an empty box, wiped up a tiny drop of goo, and shook the handkerchief. He inspected it and, not seeing any pieces of glass, he returned it to his pocket.

He would have to think about what to do with the broken pieces. One small vial out of hundreds couldn’t possibly be missed. He started to feel less guilty. The episode meant two things: there was one less stupid vial to write down, and he was jarred out of his malaise. He was ready to get to the job.

The day continued. He was starting the fifth freezer when his resolve let him down. ‘I can’t do this anymore,’ he mumbled to the freezers. He looked at the small box containing the broken vile and put it in his pocket. He walked up the stairs, replaced the steel bar and the old lock, and then headed toward his studio apartment, knowing tomorrow would be just as boring as today. But I am a lot closer to getting out of here in time for my flight home.

As he walked up the Rua Bambina, he saw a refuse container. He looked around and— no one was watching—lifted the lid and threw in the small container with the broken pieces of glass. He wondered if the sample had been valuable. I should be throwing many more out, he thought, but he knew he wouldn’t. He was not that kind of person. His mother and the church had raised him to follow rules.

Mateo continued walking down the Rua Bambina. He looked back as he turned the corner toward home. He didn’t see anyone. Perhaps Monday he and Luiz could finish, and he would be on his way.

Only seconds after he turned the corner, a man emerged from the shadowed alley and went to see what the passerby had thrown into the refuse barrel. He reached in and rummaged around, hoping to find some food. He pulled out a small container. It was too lightweight to hold much food. Maybe some cake crumbs. He opened it and put his fingers inside. He felt broken glass and then something gooey. He touched it to his tongue and then spit. His hope of finding an easy dinner dashed, he sighed and set out down the Rua.

Chapter 3

‘WHERE’S BARBARA?’ ASKED JIM.

‘Ah, um… Doctor Milton’s home sick. She asked me to fill in for her, ah with you,’ said Nusmen, looking decidedly uncomfortable.

The two men were close to the same height, with Jim’s defined muscles giving him the larger, wider presence compared to Nusmen’s beanpole body. Jim studied the man for a few seconds—looked at his crazy untamed hair and watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as Nusmen kept swallowing.

Then, Colonel Johnson considered the respectful way Nusmen had said Doctor Milton’s name and said, ‘The general has put a lot of faith in you. I didn’t have anything to do with you being appointed the co-director of BWC’s laboratory. What I do have is a long history with General Crystal, and I trust his judgment. And Heather always said you were not only exceptionally knowledgeable with botanical studies, but helpful with her field research. I value her opinion too, but I thought you to be…’

As Jim hesitated, Nusmen finished his sentence… ‘weird?’

Jim didn’t say anything. There were probably several psychological terms to describe Nusmen besides weird. He would bet that Katarina had a mile-long psych profile on him. He would ask her for it some time.

Nusmen continued, ‘Well, you were no doubt right and still are. It doesn’t mean that I don’t love this place, the chance to be here. I’ll never forget what the general has done for me. I have even made friends here…uh, maybe a friend, Brad, and I think Doctor Milton likes me, even though she says I am not very good with people, so maybe weird is, …ahh, right. I don’t know…I’ve never paid much attention to what people thought.’

‘Maybe one good friend is more important than many. Time to quit chatting and get on with it.’ Something Nusmen, the General, and Colonel Johnson had in common: none liked small talk, and while Jim was perhaps coming to a new understanding of Nusmen, he had had enough chitchat. The colonel just didn’t like to waste time chatting about unnecessary things that weren’t pertinent to the topic at hand. But for a different reason than Nusmenwho didn’t know how.

Jim interjected, ‘This is a big place, and I only have about an hour left today. It’s been a long time since I had a real feel for what goes on here, so stay with your main projects on this level. We won’t do the restricted levels today, but you can tell me how everything weaves together as we go along.’

Nusmen looked down at the floor and said, ‘Finding a cure for the Staphaureus, the one I turned loose. The one they call the Nusbug…’

Jim cut him off. ‘I don’t care about the past, only the present. Anything else?’

‘Well, with the resistant Staph, we are in the final tests, a different protocol than just a new antibiotic. We are combining antibiotics with phages. The phages poke a hole through the cell wall, and the antibiotics enter and wreak havoc on the bacteria,’ he said with a little regained pride at his new method.

‘Both Gram-positive and negative bacteria?’

‘I dunno yet. I have only been testing the Staph. They get right into the cell wall through the peptidoglycan. Of course, there is only a thin lipid layer in the gram positives. I hope we might be able to penetrate a thicker lipid layer on the gram negatives too.’

‘What else?’

‘This is peculiar. There are these groups of repeating DNA sequences.’

‘Why is that unexpected when a lot of DNA appears to serve no function?’

‘I dunno what it means, but I found the same thing a while back looking at archaea sequences.’

‘Go on.’

‘We’re sequencing the H5 N1 flu virus, the avian coronavirus that emerged in Hong Kong in 1997. I’m trying to work out how someone could re-engineer it.’

‘To what end?’ asked Jim.

‘To make it transmissible from human to human. The problem is still transmission. It’s a hundred times deadlier than the 1918 flu. The same thing for other coronaviruses, or dengue, or lassa. A variant could be deadly if it jumped species and was transmittable human to human.’

Jim had to smile, as Nusmen stated the reasons the Biological Warfare Center had been started. In order to prevent pandemics, they needed to create the very organisms that could cause them, understand them, and develop countermeasures to them. As a philosophical problem, Jim had endlessly wrestled with whether what they did was ethical or not. His practical side said that if they didn’t pursue this, someone else would. By the same token, his natural distrust of the people running governments caused him concern. What if the wrong people were able to gain control of the BWC? What if one of their creations escaped?

Nusmen, mirroring Jim’s thoughts, looked distracted as he mumbled, ‘And we have to understand it, so we can fix it before someone turns it into a bioweapon.’

‘Our exact purpose for being here. What else?’

‘I’m sorry. You already know all this. I’m wasting your time.’

‘I want to hear your take on things.’

Nusmen had not intended to mention this, but he couldn’t help himself. He became excited and blurted out, ‘This one is really cool! If rabies could be made transmissible, either by engineering it, or combining it with something like measles or a flu virus, then it would create Zombies. You know, like the movies. It gets into your brain and messes up your personality and makes you aggressive like dogs when they get it.’

‘Combining rabies with other viruses is unfeasible, right?’

Nusmen’s eyes twinkled. ‘Difficult maybe, but not impossible.’

‘Fictitious zombies become a reality. That’s pretty freaky, Nusmen.’

‘Yeah, like I said, really cool. Okay. On level four, we’re working on the current top ten viruses and bacterial resistant bugs: MRSA, Pseudomonas aeruginosa, resistant Neisseria gonorrhoeae, etc. Also, we have a re-engineered the1918 flu virus, the H5 N1 bird flu, and a Variola major species. The general said the Russians were once working on combining smallpox with another virus to shorten the incubation period. You probably know more about it than me.’

‘Doubt it. Too much time spent in admin or the field to keep up as well as I would like with the science. Time is short, so take me through the rest of the lab.’ While they walked, Jim said, ‘I reviewed your safety inspections. They’re first-rate.’

‘It’s not me. It’s Barbara. She is almost fanatical about level three and four protocols.’

They walked for another forty-five minutes, looking at the high throughput genetic analyses, beaker after beaker on shaker platforms, robotic arms moving multiple pipettes up and down, a wide array of mass spectrometers with dozens of tiny acrylic holders, clicking faintly as they stopped and started on conveyors. Machine after machine: High-Performance Liquid Chromatography; electron microscopes, both SEM and TEMs; and the newest addition, a combination Scanning Electron and Transmission Electron Microscope; even an MRI. Much of the lab was automated, seemingly run without human input: hundreds of small lights blinking on and off, leaving a faint blue glow, with only the occasional technician moving, inspecting, and adjusting equipment.

The tour brought Jim more respect for Nusmen. Had he misjudged him? He had only briefly interacted with him outside the laboratories and hadn’t been impressed with what he’d observed in the mountains last fall. When he eventually arrived at the assumption that Nusmen was most likely autistic, Jim’s opinion had softened. He would later find out from Katarina that she labeled Nusmen a super-high-functioning Asperger’s with typically little or no social skills. But she emphasized that he was not an extreme case and was able, more or less, to temper many emotional reactions. Nevertheless, he found it nearly impossible to mesh with most “normal” people.

What didn’t jibe was that Barbara, the BWC’s long-term lab manager, decided Nusmen had a heart. Time would tell, thought Jim again. I’ll have time to see who he really is. He would have that time while he replaced the general as the BWC acting director. Jim was determined to keep his new admin role as short-term as possible.

The tour showed him the exponential growth that the lab had gone through. He remembered the past all too well: buildings that housed mainframe computers with humming punch card readers, optical microscopes to observe bacteria, and then, in later years, tedious manual culturing, splicing, and analyzing. All ancient history now. The question he wondered most about was, Who else had this sort of ability? Who was creating and producing a dangerous, infectious virus or bacteria out there? It was only a matter of time before a terrorist obtained or engineered a deadly microorganism.

The main public biothreat so far had been anthrax. Despite its bad reputation, it was easily treated with antibiotics.

Tomorrow, Jim planned to take a look at the BWC’s security as well as one of his favorite areas, the weapons and equipment rooms. He hadn’t been there since Najma had killed his long-term friend Sergeant Mason at Jim’s and Heather’s Eastern Washington ranch. His death had left an empty spot. Another old friend that was no more, he thought. After tomorrow, he would fly back to the ranch. He had promised to take Pedro horseback riding along the bottom edge of Wolf Mountain if the snow wasn’t too deep.

Chapter 4

ANGÉLICA NOBOA PEREZ, HOVERED over a notebook, counting species of birds on the edge of a small, wet area almost completely covered with large lily pads. A silent Jago, looking bemused, walked up behind her and softly said, ‘Please do not make any sudden moves, señorita.’

Unafraid, the feisty Angélica turned and glared at the ruggedly handsome, dark-skinned man causally pointing an AK-47 at her, and said, ‘How dare you. Get away from me. Now!’

Jago, somewhat surprised by a fearless response from the short, but not unattractive dark-haired woman standing alone in the jungle, could not help but smile. He looked down at her petite hands, perched on healthy, wide hips. ‘Your name, señorita?’

‘Kiss my ass.’

‘A most generous suggestion; I haven’t kissed one for a long while. Is that your desire?’

She turned and started to run, but before she got more than a few feet, strong slender fingers gripped her arm, and the next thing she knew, she was lying on the ground.

‘Bastardo.’

Jago was amused. ‘A nice little chicken like you must have a family close by. You are not out here alone, I think?’

She was about to say who she was but caught herself just in time.

‘You would do yourself a service by answering. I see in your manner that you do not want to answer. Perhaps you have a rich family somewhere, no?’

‘What do you want?’ she said as she pushed herself up against a tree trunk.

Jago sat down beside her, ‘To live a good life and take money to my people, and, for the moment, to escape those who are pursuing us.’

‘Us. You are not alone?’

Jago whistled. Within seconds, Lobo, Chico, San, León, Carlos, and Cherry materialized from the jungle, each with a different thought. Jago, curious, wondered who this woman was. Besides drugs, the FARC kidnapped many people, earning high fees before giving captives their freedom. With her expensive hiking clothes, this woman would probably be from a family willing to pay for her freedom.

Cherry looked at the woman, wondering if Jago would sleep with her. Young San, inherently meaner than the rest of the men, and consequently the least liked in the band, leered with desire and fantasized about forcing her legs apart. Women had been too scarce away from their home territory to satiate his teenage hormones.

Lobo caught his intention and motioned for the fifteen-year-old to move towards the edge of the small pond to stand guard. Besides wanting to move him away, he did not think this woman would be out here alone. Although they had neither seen nor heard anyone, others might be close by. He motioned to Carlos, who was only two years older than San, to position in the opposite direction.

‘Lobo, you and Cherry see if you can find any soldiers, or where this pretty young thing’s home is.’ Angélica, thinking about soldiers nearby, almost let out a yell. But something stopped her, and she remained silent.

‘If soldiers are after you, perhaps you should run away from here.’

‘Being still is sometimes safer than moving. The mantis is invisible as long as he stays motionless.’

Angélica watched a bright yellow-green frog sitting on the side of a small branch ten feet away.

Jago followed her gaze.

‘If your sting is sufficient, you can move without such caution,’ she countered.

Jago shifted his body and turned his head toward Angélica while moving closer to her. He searched her eyes. She did not pull away and, instead of fear, felt lightheaded. He watched her pupils become larger, a slight movement as she turned toward him, her fingers opening and closing as they massaged her thigh.

He smiled. ‘Your name, señorita?... por favor.’

‘Angélica Perez,’ she answered. She could feel her heart beating faster and could not understand why. After a few seconds, again without understanding why, she whispered her family name, ‘Angélica Noboa Perez.’

Chapter 5

FROM HIS CHAIR, GENERAL Will Crystal contemplated his new oversized office inside the world’s most powerful spy agency. He wondered why he had agreed to be here; nevertheless, he had agreed, leaving him no choice but to follow the old military saying that he, Jim, and Brush often used, ‘Nothing for it but to do it.’

His intercom buzzed, breaking the silence. ‘They’re here.’ The door opened. The general’s inherited PA did not have to ask the general if she could enter. She had quickly learned that the new Director of Central Intelligence did not like to waste words. She remained quiet as Bertrand Gupta, the Director of Intelligence, and Eric Sands, the newly appointed Deputy CIA Director, entered Will Crystal’s office.

‘Morning, General,’ said Bertrand as he moved straight to one of two chairs across from his new boss’s desk, followed by Eric, who nodded. Bertrand felt at ease and content. The agency was in capable hands again. After the full story of the terrorist Najma’s Guantanamo escape and Sorenson’s cover-up had been exposed in the press, the White House had wasted no time in forcing the former politically appointed director, Senator Sorenson, to resign.

The deputy director had just returned from giving the morning briefing to the president. The general loathed giving the briefing and having decided that Eric Sands was the best choice to succeed his intended short tenure as DCI, passed this duty to his deputy. Sands also disliked the briefing task, but having General Crystal as their new director more than compensated for the extra duty. While it had never been mentioned, he knew the general’s intention was for him to eventually become the director. General Crystal’s true loyalty was not here. It would always be to a different Washington, 2,300 miles west-northwest from where they now sat.

‘Good morning, gentlemen. Let’s go over the high points,’ said the general. All three men had the same morning write-ups. They always met to discuss Eric’s presidential briefing after he gave it, not before. After they’d covered all the briefing points, General Crystal asked Eric if he had anything to add.

‘One request we are going to have to act on immediately. The VP asked us to research a disappearance in the Amazon,’ said Eric. ‘An old school chum of his, who as it happens is now the president of Ecuador, has just been informed that his daughter vanished from an ecolodge where she’d been working in the Amazon. We have several assets in northwest South America, especially in Colombia, but this happened in a remote area of the jungle in Ecuador. It is unlikely we will be able to gather much on-site information.’

‘If this is a priority, let’s bring the BWC in,’ said Will. Then he reiterated his position. One that everyone already knew. ‘I don’t think it is a good idea to start having my people at the BWC start to work with the CIA, even with me here. I want to keep them independent. So, let’s get the agency working on this, and I’ll ask BWC to see what they can find out on their own. Then, we’ll decide how to handle it.’

‘Is that a challenge?’ asked Eric.

The general thought about the young army hackers sitting at Fort Huachuca and the brilliant older academic IT experts, Misa and Vidya, that he had finally persuaded to move from Fort Huachuca to the BWC. He also knew something that Bertrand and Eric didn’t; Vidya had hacked into the CIA’s computers without the agency’s techs detecting them. I hope it stays that way. Then, a thought struck like a thunderbolt. What if the agency had, unbeknownst to him, Misa, or Vidya, hacked BWC’s computers?

His mind returned to Eric’s question. ‘Let’s just say it will be interesting to see what each comes up with.’

‘The VP was emphatic that he wanted this actioned as soon as possible. I’ll bring Eileen and Martin in and get them started on it,’ said Eric.

After Bertrand and Eric left, Will called Sheilla. They agreed she would set up a group to look into the woman’s disappearance from the ecolodge. Then, lounging back in his oversized director’s desk chair, he contemplated his situation as director of the Central Intelligence Agency.

He had agreed to be the new DCI but only until the re-elected president could find the right person to head the agency. The White House realized what a poor choice could mean to the nation, even the world, and this time they would carefully vet their new nomination. In truth, the man currently sitting behind the desk was, and would be, the White House’s first choice, just as he was Bertrand Gupta’s, but the general intended his replacement to be the thirty-year agency veteran, Eric Sands. The general needed to persuade the president that someone from within the agency was best equipped to run the company, not another outsider.

Many wanted Bertrand Gupta to be the director. But he didn’t want the job any more than the general did. Bertrand’s expertise was problem-solving and intelligence matters, not interfacing with politicians. And if General Crystal would not remain director, Gupta supported Eric for the permanent job of DCI.

Then his thoughts turned to Jim. The colonel had agreed to head the BWC only as long as he also remained its lead field agent. General Crystal understood, and not only because of their long friendship dating back to Vietnam; the general understood that Colonel James L. Johnson was not yet ready to trade in his Glock for a pencil.

In reality, all these director titles were only a mirage; nothing significant had changed with the BWC. The general remained its de facto director. Jim still ran field operations. The only thing that had really changed was that the general spent time on the East Coast at Langley, and Jim spent more of his downtime at the BWC and less at his ranch. Nevertheless, General Crystal could not help feeling removed from the beating heart of the laboratory he had conceived of and started many years ago. He intended to return as often as he could and would do so tonight.

Chapter 6

WILL CRYSTAL WAS GETTING used to his shuttle back and forth from one Washington to the other. He elected to take the Citation X as a late-night flight, sleeping on board. In a way, the plane had become his first home. He didn’t embrace his quarters at Langley. Nor did he feel his house at Fort Lewis was his home anymore. He had become a transient.

The plane deposited the general at the BWC hangar at zero-six hundred. He walked to his office and then to the conference room. Three men and two women were seated around a shiny mahogany table. Sheilla was conspicuously missing. Mark started to stand, an involuntary response to authority, and then caught himself, hoping the general had not noticed his movement. The general did not like wasting time on formalities.

While taking his seat at the head of the table, General Crystal began talking to the group in a voice that commanded their immediate attention, ‘Mark, summarize. I want to make sure we all start out on the same page. We have to get this operation up and running.’

‘To recap—the daughter of the Ecuadoran president is missing. Our Vice President Davis is an old friend of the president. With our latest information, she is presumed kidnapped. We have an authenticated ransom letter. A small squad of FARC rebels probably have her. Apparently, the president doesn’t trust his military to retrieve his daughter, so he called his old friend Davis. They met in their law school days, roomed together, and he has asked for our government’s help in rescuing her.’

There was a knock on the door. Kramer walked in. ‘Excuse me, General. The Director of Intelligence is on a secure line for you.’

The general pushed his chair back and walked out.

‘What intel makes him suspect the FARC?’ asked Bridget, Mark’s second in the chain of command.

‘We weren’t given much of anything else. Just that they believed a FARC rebel band did not head back to their home territory in Colombia. They were in the area where his daughter disappeared, and there is a ransom demand, which appears genuine.’

‘How do we know kidnapped? Why not killed?’ asked Katarina as she pulled her long blond hair behind her ear, leaving a few wild strands behind.

Mark shook his head. ‘I don’t know why they are saying kidnapped, other than the rebels are famous for kidnapping and ransom. She would be a prize. Maybe the CIA has some evidence they haven’t told us about. When the general returns, he’ll give us the latest.’

Mark pulled out several folders and handed them around. ‘Sheilla gave me a list of questions to answer before the meeting. Number one on her list was that very question. As you can see, I tried to collect everything I could, and it is listed for you along with several other items that might be useful. Read through it and talk to me later before our next meeting,’ said Mark.

The general walked back in. ‘Let’s continue. Katarina has worked up detailed profiles on the daughter and the president. We’ll integrate the profiles with what the agency postulates. The FARC sometimes cross over the Colombian border into Ecuador. If our information is correct, they did not go back north this time. Rather, they continued south, further toward the Ecuador-Peru border. If they have Angélica Noboa Perez, our best chance of finding her is finding them. If they are not holding her, we have to start over.’

Katarina said in a soft voice, ‘I was just wondering if perhaps the Ecuadorans or Colombians had someone on the inside with the FARC rebels?’

‘I was going to say not likely,’ said the general, ‘but on second thought, it’s worth looking into. Money trumps ideology; maybe they have a paid informant.’

The general looked at Fred, who was the quietest of the analysts, never adding much but by far his most computer-savvy person—at least until Misa and Vidya joined the BWC. ‘What progress have we made?’

‘Some, sir. Misa and Vidya had no trouble getting into the Ecuadoran government computers. So far, they’ve found nothing interesting.’ He looked

down at a printed page, ‘unless you count a government as interesting. I quote Misa, who says the Ecuadoran government seems to be screwing over their citizens at every turn, especially their indigenous tribes.’

‘Stay with it. Expand it to Columbia and the FARC. Make it a priority,’ said General Crystal.

Due to the unique skill set that Misa and Vidya possessed, the general allowed them to work rather than attend meetings, as was their preference. They both seemed to abhor meetings and felt most comfortable nestled in their computer rooms—ones built specifically for them and based on their design. The general knew their value and allowed Fred, his old head of computing, to be their liaison. The general had offered them carte blanche to entice them to the BWC from Fort Huachuca.

Misa and Vidya’s two close friends were young hackers that chose the army over jail, the only alternative the government had offered them. The group of four that made up what had become known as the Wolf Pack, and more recently the Wolf Warriors, had been together at Fort Huachuca and were now separated by hundreds of miles. Using a virtual reality program of their own design, however, Colonel Jake Montgomery and Sergeant First Class Jason Lyle worked just as closely with their old comrades as before. It was as if they were still a team in the underground Strategic Air Command facility at Fort Huachuca. The general was pleased that he had plugged a weakness in his computer group.

Fred was not jealous of the pair. He understood that they far surpassed any ability he would ever have. He was content just to be in their shadow and to represent them and their findings. In fact, he was more than content. Being part of their team made him feel special and, in a strange way, complete. He felt that a sliver of their brilliance passed through him.

Mark waited to make sure the general was finished and said, ‘It is going to be tough locating the FARC in endless miles of dense jungle.’

‘Let’s follow up on Katarina’s FARC idea,’ said the general. ‘Do any government agencies have anyone feeding them information from inside the FARC?’

‘Fred,’ continued Mark, ‘pick someone to check on FARC moles and then work on locating the kidnappers along with the Ecuadoran army. Use the intel maps from Bethesda. Formulate some likely routes. Do a time analysis—how would they travel and how far could they go? Look for computer intercepts about any incursions or unexplained firefights. Put it together and then go to satellite to see if you can find out where this group might be in those thousands of square miles of the upper Amazon. They could even be moving by boat. Explore all possibilities.’

‘Mark, keep Sheilla in the loop but with abbreviated summaries, said General Crystal. ‘She’s working on another project for the next few days with Bridget. Katarina will stand in for her as we work through this.’

‘General,’ said Mark, ‘I would like to add that Fred should try to locate any Colombian troops as well as the Ecuadoran army and their recent movements. We’ll need to start keeping track of them. The FARC won’t be any closer than they have to from the army, but you might get a sense whether the army is chasing after them again and whether they have crossed back into Colombia.’

General Crystal nodded and started to move his chair back. ‘Worth a consideration.’ Then he stopped and turned to the only non-operation person at the table, Sergeant Mason’s replacement, Sergeant First Class Williston. His skin reflected the light like mahogany shoe polish. He had close-cropped, curly hair, graying at the temples. The forearms of his green army dress uniform had a dense covering of several gold slashes, marking his years in service. A memory jumped into the general’s mind, a flashback to Vietnam with Mason, Jim, and Brush.

The general continued looking at Sergeant Williston. ‘Start setting up transport for Jim, Brush, and Glenda. Lay out the equipment you think they will want.’

‘Yes, sir. I’ve got a good idea of what that is, after reviewing Sergeant Mason’s records. He left detailed notes.’

‘Good,’ said General Crystal as he stood.

‘Do you plan on sending support with them?’ asked Williston.

The general turned. ‘SOCOM already moved Neilly’s Special Forces team to a training base in Peru.’

Williston nodded. Neilly’s team was as good as it gets, as had been explained to him by the BWC’s own special response team. They were legendary in their past support of the BWC. Even with Jim’s and Brush’s capabilities, the new Special Operations Forces sergeant knew that everyone needs good backup.

The general noticed a small hand raised. ‘SOCOM, general?’ asked Katarina. The BWC’s profiler never stopped being amazed at the jargon, which until recently was outside her realm.

‘Special Operations Command,’ replied the general. ‘Mark, I want you to have a meeting to assess where we are. Start at sixteen hundred. I won’t be here. Afterwards, brief me in my office. Not later than seventeen hundred.’ He scanned the group as they rose from the chairs, and seeing no one had any more questions, walked out the door.

Chapter 7

SHUSKIN PREVIOUSLY SPENT HIS winters in missions in Vancouver and sometimes Seattle. He had never wanted to stray far from his summer mountain home. Many others migrated south to warmer weather. Shuskin had been more than willing to trade the warmth of California for the damp winters of Seattle to be close to his favorite place on Earth, the Cascade Mountains of Washington State.

It was cold at Wolf Canyon Ranch. The same cold he had escaped when he went to the cities on the west side. But here he had a home. A warm place to stay. He felt safe; he wasn’t being abused as he’d been in the missions.