Legend

11

After almost seven full years of continuous warfare, the USS John C. Stennis had been mysteriously ordered from her home port of San Diego, California, with only half of her complement of warplanes. And those that weren't actually on the roster for flights were stored belowdecks in their hangars. The ship's crew of nearly five thousand-plus were curious as to the strange craft that lay in eleven distinct pieces of ten-foot sections on her flight deck. They knew they would find out soon enough, as another warship had joined them early that morning. The USS Iwo Jima, a navy assault ship, was brimming with U.S. Marine Corps helicopters, and the scuttlebutt said those choppers would be removing the strange package from the Stennis's flight deck.

Off in the distance, the Department of the Navy wasn't taking any chances, as another carrier battle group was two hundred miles east of the Stennis's position, to assist in an emergency, since they were shorthanded on attack planes. The USS Nimitz was riding shotgun, making the crewmen on-board the giant ship feel somewhat better about their hurried sailing orders.

The Styrofoam-packaged sections were flown from Louisiana to Los Angeles, where they were transferred onto army UH-60 Blackhawks and then flown out to the Stennis just 160 miles from South America. This would negate the need for flying over foreign territorial land and sea, as well as the need for asking permission from governments that become overly curious and suspicious. The plan was devised by Niles Compton, using the authority of the president. The mission was classified as a field test by a private company. That company just happened to be the Event Group.

Master Chief Jenks and the support team from the Group were still working on the engines and the electronics suite for Teacher. The task was made far more difficult because of the rush out of New Orleans to California and then having to install everything with the boat lying in eleven sections. The master chief had already threatened the lives of almost everyone on his team and some of those of the Stennis. Jack had actually and absentmindedly reached for a sidearm he wasn't wearing when Jenks had confronted him about something Jack had no control over. Actually, Jenks was mortified when he found out that Jack Collins was serving as head of the expedition and was essentially the man that saved his boat from the scrap heap. So Carl had seen him do something the master chief had never done before: he apologized to the major.

Carl joined Danielle on the signalman's platform overlooking the flight deck and was grateful for the sea air.

"This is what I miss about sea duty," he said as he stood by her side, "the air, can't find it in the desert."

She smiled and went back to watching the activity below with Teacher.

"Hi there," Sarah said as she joined them.

"Well, if it isn't Wild Bill McIntire," Carl teased her.

"Funny," she said as she lightly punched him on the arm.

"Seriously, Jack said you handled yourself at the Little Bighorn like a pro."

"So, Ms. Serrate, has Jack assigned you any duties yet?" Sarah asked as her attention swung to the Frenchwoman.

"Yes, it seems I will be assisting Professor Ellenshaw's Crypto group, all three of us," she answered. "And please call me Danielle. We're going to be shipmates, after all." She smiled but her eyes bore into Sarah's.

Sarah didn't respond. In her mind, something wasn't quite adding up with this woman, and she couldn't put her finger on it. Of course it just might be the fact that the attraction between Carl and Danielle was evident to anyone with eyes. Sarah wondered if she was jealous for her best friend who had died over a year ago. The friend and woman Carl had loved was killed on a mission not unlike the one they were currently undertaking. Now, here, the ex-wife of Colonel Henri Farbeaux, an enemy anyone in the Group would give five years' pay to bag, just conveniently showed up with her offer of help? Sarah wasn't buying what this interloper was selling, even though her director and even Jack seemed to be.

"I understand you'll be heading your own science team," Danielle said.

Sarah nodded, leaning back so she could see around Carl. "Yes, a two-man geology team, but we'll be a part of Virginia's overall sciences attachment."

Danielle was about to comment when the steel hatch opened.

"The major says we're needed in the ward room. Professor Ellenshaw wants to speak to the Group," Mendenhall said as he popped his head out of the hatch. His forehead was still half-covered by a bandage from the stone chips that struck him in the gunfight two days before.

Carl was about to say something, but Sarah held her hand up and stopped him. "We already heard about your little nickname for Ellenshaw's Crypto Department, so don't say it," she said as she anticipated his small joke.

"What, that we're about to be briefed by the 'Creepy-zoologist'?"

Sarah just rolled her eyes.

Professor Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III gave a briefing on the skeletal hand. But the facts just weren't there to support any conclusions as to the animal's origins or design. He had a lot of speculation and had prepared well for any contingency, but still had no real information to give other than the fact he would consider it a crime to harm such a species if it truly did exist. Jack cut him short as he started to preach about animal rights and how special and unique this creature would have to be to be alive at all in the modern world.

Sarah's briefing was more to the point and actually had a purpose. Gold, if any, would not be touched. The mine, if it existed, would be placed off limits because of the fact that the president had ordered it so. The geology team would follow its orders to the letter. With the assistance of Major Collins and his security team, if the mine did contain any gold deposits as the legend said, it would be treated as property of Brazil.

"Major," Mendenhall said as he entered the ward room. "The Iwo's helicopters are starting to line up and almost ready to start taking on Teacher."

The helicopters would airlift the sections of the boat to the small village of Rio Feliz, on the Amazon a hundred miles west of the Peruvian border. That was where the Event Group would start its expedition, saving valuable time by flying through a gap in the Andes and going straight to the source, the confluence of the Rio Negro (the Black Tributary) that fed off the main Amazon River. The route was exactly as Captain Padilla had laid down on the map and also what he had supposedly described in the diary.

The president had supplemented information to both the Peruvian and Brazilian governments on the pretext that they were experimenting with new mapping procedures and software, and that the two governments would be the beneficiary of those experimental new devices and the more accurate underwater maps — a pretext that the team would be doing as routine procedure in any case.

It was an amazing sight to see the Seahawk helicopters, the navy's version of the Blackhawk, lined up in the air off the stern of the John C. Stennis. One by one they would approach and hover as Jenks supervised the hookup of the sections of Teacher. Eleven Seahawks in all would ferry the sections to the village where the parts would become a whole, and everyone prayed the thing would float. The discovery team was on deck as the last section, the bow, covered in form-fitting plastic, was lifted into the air. Then the last hovering craft came in and, in amazement, they watched as the U.S. Marine Corp's MV-22 Osprey, the stubby-winged, tilt-rotor assault craft, slowly landed on the Stennis's flight deck, its two massive propellers making a humming sound from their perch atop the tip of the short wings. Before they realized it, a second Osprey landed in back of the first.

"I hate these things," Carl yelled into Danielle's ear.

"Why, because it's a radical design?" she asked, holding her bush hat in place through the wind the Ospreys created.

"No, it's because a marine pilot is driving that radical design!"

As they loaded their bags and personal items, Jack turned and looked at the flying bridge. There, the captain of the Stennis waved and saluted. Jack returned the gesture. The Stennis would stand off while the mission was in progress, in case they ran into trouble.

And so the third expedition was on its way to Hernando Padilla's valley, where a beautiful lagoon was ready to spill her secrets. What this group didn't know was the fact that another faction was already closing in on the legendary dark water.

12

The helicopter had rendezvoused with Mendez, Farbeaux, and the crew of the charter boat Rio Madonna. Her captain had maneuvered the large tencabin river tug with precision, to receive the chopper's passengers. The first had been Captain Juan Rosolo, a man that Henri Farbeaux despised as an ambush killer of the lowest order, and the men that followed him onto the deck were probably no better. This development was most unsettling, but it was also one that Farbeaux had made allowances for.

Rosolo reported immediately to Mendez and the two had conversed in loud tones, enough so that Farbeaux knew Rosolo had failed his master in some capacity or other. Mendez, with all the delicateness of a wrecking ball, had spewed forth a list of his favorite profanities. Farbeaux was content to stay at the bow of the boat and keep out of it. He still heard the approach of Rosolo as the captain came forward after his browbeating by Mendez.

"What is it, watchdog?" Farbeaux said without turning to face the man.

"Do not call me that name, senor. My employer would like to see you at the stern," Rosolo said with a sneer.

Farbeaux watched the deep waters of the flowing Amazon for a moment longer before he turned and brushed past Rosolo.

The river pilot, Captain Ernesto Santos, gave a quick two-fingered salute to the Frenchman as he walked past the bridge. This captain seemed to know his business. His reputation and self-proclamation of knowing every inch of the Amazon were known to all onboard. He said he and his family had plied the river for generations.

But when their destination was finally revealed to him after they had set off, the scraggly bearded captain had grown quiet and sullen. He had protested in vain that the Rio Negro had no such inlet at that point of the river, that the only way in was several hundred kilometers to the east, and even that was only navigatable during the wet season. The argument didn't last long when he was presented with his overly large charter fee in cash.

Farbeaux maneuvered to the small fantail, where Mendez was waiting. Rosolo came up from behind and lightly brushed by him, obviously returning the gesture for Henri's brushing him a moment before. Farbeaux ignored Rosolo and sat at the small table where Mendez was examining some photographs.

"Ah, Henri, our friend here has brought with him from the States some rather disturbing news. As you know, we had Professor Zachary's office monitored. And we had some fish wander into our net." He slid a picture of Danielle toward Farbeaux. The Frenchman merely glanced at the picture, and then he looked at Mendez, who slid another eight-by-ten glossy toward him. "She was accompanied by this man," he said, watching him for a reaction. He wasn't disappointed; Farbeaux reached immediately for the second photo.

"The man in the tunnels," he said under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Mendez said, leaning forward.

Farbeaux stared at the picture for a moment longer and then let it fall to the table. "Last year I ran into this gentleman in an unusual situation in the American desert; I believe his name is Everett."

"Lieutenant Commander Carl Everett, of the U.S. Navy, to be more precise," Rosolo insisted. "I was unable to uncover his current duties or station, but it is a matter of closed naval records that he was once a SEAL, and a highly decorated one," he said, watching the tall Frenchman closely.

"I believe he is on detached service from the military. He works for what is best described as a think tank. The military is where the organization gets all of its security people, and they only surround themselves with the best." He turned his eyes toward Rosolo. "And you, watchdog, if you truly knew anything about the special operations units of the American navy, you would know that a man is never a former SEAL, he is a SEAL."

"Regardless of semantics, this is upsetting at the very least, is it not, Henri?" Mendez asked as he brought out more pictures and shoved them toward Farbeaux.

"These were taken at a national park in Montana. Do you recognize any of these people?" Rosolo probed.

Farbeaux looked the four photos over. They were grainy and taken from a distance with a telephoto lens through the glass windows of a vehicle.

"I have never seen these two before," he said. His eyes lingered on the close-up of Mendenhall. "But this one here," he slid a photo of the black sergeant back toward Mendez, "may work with the SEAL, Everett."

"Then the puzzle fits together. Our friend Senor Rosolo overheard a conversation Everett had with a second party on a secured and scrambled phone, that these people would be in Montana searching for the map of Padilla. To make a long story short, Rosolo attempted to stop them from recovering something that would lead them here and, I am sorry to say, he failed miserably, only managing to kill two federal park employees. And he was still unable to recover or destroy the map." Mendez's eyes looked directly at his assassin.

"They found the map?"

"We must assume they have, and they will undoubtedly act upon it," Mendez said, slapping his hand on the tabletop angrily.

"The organization in question is rather tenacious when it comes to getting at the heart of any matter. I have learned through experience that their resources are astounding and their pockets very deep, even deeper than yours."

"Well, they seem to be everything you admire about them. I came very close to ordering a hit on your ex-wife and their big man in New Orleans. But what sense would there be in closing the gate after your dog has already run away?"

Farbeaux closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. He slowly pulled out a chair from the table and sat down.

"I will state this very clearly to both of you. No one is to ever lay a hand on Danielle. Do I make myself clearly understood?" His blue eyes never flinched. His gaze froze Rosolo, after the killer had quickly rose from his seat to stare at Farbeaux after his not-so-veiled threat to his boss.

"Is that so?" Mendez asked.

Farbeaux leaned back in his chair. "It is I who will end her life, not you, and most certainly not him," he said, nodding toward Rosolo.

"Let us hope it is after this excursion, so you may be allowed to take your time with this troublesome woman, which is a husband's right, yes?" Mendez said, trying to break the tension he had created.

"If I know these people, they may already be on their way here. Of course, your security chief here would know that, if he would have stayed and done the job you pay him for, instead of showing up here in the one place on this planet where he is clearly not needed."

"It will take those people weeks to gather the means to follow us here. They will not be coming anytime soon!" Rosolo argued. "And I go where I am told to go, and I was told to come here."

Farbeaux lightly shook his head. Then he felt the gentle vibration under his feet first, as it traveled all the way up to his arms long before the sound reached his ears. He saw the concerned looks on the faces of the two Colombians. It would have been comical if he himself didn't have so much riding on the line.

"You'd better tell the captain to throttle this boat into a faster speed and get this expedition to our destination, because we are about to have company. A lot of company," Farbeaux said, standing. "And if I were you," he added, looking at Mendez, "I would fire this fool for incompetence, because the people he pronounced so proudly weren't coming anytime soon have just arrived." The Frenchman looked skyward and then easily backed under the bridge decking and out of sight.

Captain Santos, to his credit (or the instincts needed by a smuggler and gunrunner), quickly maneuvered the large boat under the overhanging canopy and expertly sliced the bow into the mud, effectively bringing the boat to a harsh stop and hiding her at the same time from any eyes that could spy them from above.

The quiet river was rocked by the sound of helicopters as they flew high overhead. Through the thick trees that crowded the riverbank, Farbeaux could see cargo of some kind hanging from cables attached to the gray-colored choppers. As he watched, he could see the words united states marine corps stenciled in darker gray paint on their rotor booms. The eleven helicopters were followed by two strange-looking craft that screeched over the flowing Amazon. The MV-22 Ospreys shook the jungle as they roared past with their famed tilt rotors in the three-quarter position that supplied them with speed greater than that of any helicopter in the world. The Frenchman noticed the fact that they were traveling low to the ground, possibly meaning they had to stay below radar. Indicating the intruders might not have official clearance to be in Brazil.

But nonetheless, the Event Group was indeed here, and Henri Farbeaux helplessly watched their arrival from the shadows.

Niles and Alice had just received notice of the Group's arrival near the Black River Tributary. The director was talking with the president while Alice listened and took notes. Niles's other assistants were busy in the communications center, monitoring radio traffic for as long as they could before the expedition went in to radio-dark territory. Director Compton was in the process, along with Pete Golding and the computer center and Jet Propulsion Lab in Pasadena, California, to retask Boris and Natasha, and once that was done the satellite would have been moved farther south by a thousand miles to a place directly over the lagoon and valley. After it had been found, they not only hoped for satellite communication with the Amazon team, but also they thought it possible to get a video feed from Jack.

"Niles," the president said, "the intelligence chiefs of the three branches are gathering what information they can find. But no one has a clue as to why Kennedy and his men would have been on that boat. The consensus is that they were working outside the command of the navy and air force, possibly freelance. I made inquiries with the FBI. They say they have verified there was gunfire at the cemetery and that there was damage sustained to some of the monuments, but there were no bodies."

"With your permission, sir, I would like to start working on this and the Kennedy connection myself, if you concur, of course."

"Granted. Someone somewhere thinks they can do as they please around here. Find out who it is. Now, tell me about the progress of the rescue team."

"We now have competent people in the field and moving upriver, Mr. President. I believe we will know more this time tomorrow. Major Collins knows what the priorities are in this situation. I briefed him about your daughter." Niles paused. "Jack will get those kids home. And maybe it will work out for the best that her expedition was tagged by those SEALs, for whatever reason they were there. I can't see them allowing harm to come to innocents."

"Agreed," the president said. "You keep me informed on what's happening out there when you can." He hesitated. "Something far more precious than gold or prehistoric animals is at stake for me here." He cleared his throat. "I have the coordinates where Proteus will be passing by the site. Damn, they have to be inside Brazilian airspace for a long time. I hope they're not tracked as something other than a commercial airline."

"That's a chance we have to take. Proteus is Jack's only backup in case the school bully shows up."

"I just don't think we can protect her over the target area."

"If they run into trouble, Proteus has her fighter escort. They may be able to drive any hostiles off her until she gets out of Brazilian airspace."

The president did not respond for a moment. Then he told Niles, "If I allow a fighter escort inside Brazilian airspace right now, and if they either intentionally or accidentally fire on any attacker, it would be construed as an act of war. The president of Brazil is already giving me one hell of a hard time through the secretary of state."

Niles deflated. Now Proteus was going to be flying into hostile airspace without her needed fighter protection. The mission backup was nothing of the sort. The odds of it working were astronomical, and the odds that they could even get over the right area of jungle even greater.

"We'll talk soon, Niles. Let me know as soon as you hear anything from Major Collins, please."

Niles faced Alice. "Jack has to find Helen and those kids alive."

"You know, Niles?" She looked him straight in the eyes. "I think you should unburden yourself and tell me what has you and the president so frightened."

"How did the senator ever keep anything from you?"

"I'm waiting."

"Helen's graduate students, well, one student in particular…" Niles shook his head. "She slipped her Secret Service protection and got on that boat with Helen and the others. She's the president's eldest daughter, Kelly."

The stern section was the last one to be lowered into place with the assistance of navy divers sent by the repair ship USS Cayuga, of the Stennis's battle group. They detached the cable and the U.S. Marine Corps Seahawk peeled away over the thick canopy of trees and circled, awaiting the order to pick up the ten navy divers.

In the water, Master Chief Jenks, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, placed the last of the joining bolts through the flanges that attached each section to the thick expandable rubber gaskets that gave Teacher the flexibility she would need to navigate the tributary. The rubber was so thick, a man alone couldn't bend it, but with Teacher's powerful water jet thrusters, the gaskets between the sections stretched as easily as pulling on a rubber band.

The technicians from the Group's Logistics department, who had been chosen for the first phase of the mission, were busy pumping out brackish water that had accumulated in Teacher's bilges during her assembly. Jenks was assisted by three men from the Engineering department for the initial firing of the two huge diesel engines. The rest of the crew was busy pulling double duty in readying Teacher for her journey. Two Seahawks had scouted as far down the Black Water Tributary as they could before they had lost sight of the river as it fell under the thick canopy of trees. One of the pilots had thought he had spied something under the canopy, but upon closer inspection nothing was visible when they passed again over the Rio Madonna ten miles back. The marine choppers pushed as far forward as fifty miles before their fuel state dictated that they needed to return to the rendezvous.

Sarah and Jack unstrapped equipment in the research labs while Carl and Danielle assisted Professors Ellenshaw and Nathan as they filled the immense tank that would hopefully hold live specimens. Mendenhall was with the rest of the security team, consisting of Corporal Henry Sanchez, Lance Corporal Shaw, Spec 5 Jackson, army specialist Walter Lebowitz, and army sergeant Larry Ito. They were carefully charging the batteries of the small two-man submersible and filling the Teacher's fuel bunkers with diesel from two five-hundred-gallon rubber bladders a third MV-22 Osprey had settled easily upon the riverbank. The rest of the crew was made up of fifteen lab assistants whose department heads were Virginia Pollock, Dr. Heidi Rodriguez, Dr. Allison Waltrip, head surgeon of the Event Group, and Professor Keating of the Anthropology team. The assistants loaded the supplies of food, water, and other essentials for their journey.

Jenks placed the last expandable bolt and torque-wrenched it down. Then he tossed the tool to the frogman who was standing atop the gracefully rounded stern, just above the boat's emblem that was painted on both sides of the fantail. The beautiful woman's eye, set in green against the white hull, stood out starkly on the green-tinted river. With everything but the firing of the engines complete, the frogman called in the last of the Seahawks to pick up the remaining men that would return to the Stennis battle group. A few villagers from Rio Feliz gathered and were quite excited to see helicopters hovering and flying about, a rare sight for many of them. But by far the item to draw the largest group of onlookers was Teacher herself. She sat anchored to the shore of the Amazon, her gleaming white hull shining in the bright sun, the tinted widows of her forward pilothouse sparkling. The villagers had never before seen a craft whose upper bow was glass enclosed as Teacher's was. They could see figures moving inside and were amazed by the amount of people that would occupy the boat. Jack had ordered gifts of candy bars and a few medical supplies to be handed out to the village elders as a goodwill gesture for the disturbance the Americans were causing to the small outpost of families.

Jenks watched as the last of the frogmen were lifted away. A single Sea-hawk would patrol in a circular pattern until Teacher was well underway. The master chief climbed a ladder in section five, amidships of the 120-foot craft, and observed a three-man team from the Computer Center hook up the last of the communications gear. He had been impressed by the breadth and quality of everything Toad Everett had brought in. He didn't know who exactly these people were, but you only had to explain to them one time how to do something and after that it was assholes and elbows. He was satisfied amidships as he looked up and saw that the radar array had started its sweeps atop the forty-foot three-span main masts that swept back at a streamlined and aerodynamic angle toward the stern.

"Hell of a design you have here, Chief," said Tommy Stiles, one of Pete Golding's wunderkinds of the Computer Center who had joined the Group two years before, after having been a tech aboard the Aegis missile cruiser USS Yorktown. Stiles would be serving as Teacher's radar and communications technician. Another man, Charles Ray Jackson, would serve as her sonar and underwater detection tech. He came to the Event Group via the "Silent Service," having served his last year aboard USS Seawolf. He nodded his agreement that it was a great boat, at least in appearance.

"Yeah? Well, it just tweaks my fucking ass and gives me goose bumps all over that I could please you two candy asses," Jenks said as he opened the upper aluminum hatch and started down the steps. "Goddamned surface navy and pigboat swabs, what in the hell do you know about anything?" he mumbled with the cigar clamped in his teeth.

Stiles looked over at Jackson, who was winding the excess coaxial cable into a roll for storage. Jackson shrugged. "Just like old times," he said.

"Do all master chiefs have to take a course on how to be the biggest prick in the navy?"

"Nah, they're born that way," Jackson answered.

Jenks stood by the pilot's chair and stared at his lighted and totally digital control console. The joystick on the chair's left arm was a total departure as a way of maneuvering the boat. She was operated by input signal to the main computer, which interpreted what the pilot was ordering and fired the appropriate electrical motors that operated the water jets at the stern of the boat, thus eliminating the need for cables and hydraulics. The system was known worldwide as "Fly by Wire." Jenks glanced at Jack. They were both sweating profusely; the enclosed areas of Teacher were sweltering due to the lack of air-conditioning while the main power was offline.

"Well, I guess we'd better see if this fuckin' thing will even start," said Jenks. "Or we'll begin this little trip treating everyone for heatstroke, huh, Major?"

"Would be nice to know if she works, Chief," Jack said blandly.

"Of course she'll work, goddammit! What would an army major know about it, anyway? What the fuck was I thinking even asking a ground pounder?" Jenks slipped into the pilot's seat. "Are you ready back there?" he asked as soon as he had his headphones in place.

"All set," Mendenhall answered nervously. He had been tagged as the mechanical assistant on this little safari; he and the other members of the security team were doubling as motormen, much to the master chief's chagrin. An engine start-up warning tone sounded over the boat's intercom system from the engineering section in the last compartment of the boat.

"Toad, are you there?" Jenks asked.

"Here," Carl answered through his com system.

"Good. If those engines don't start, bash that big black sergeant in the head with that fire extinguisher; he's the one that hooked up the starter."

"Bash head, got it, Chief," Everett said, grinning at a scowling Mendenhall.

"Okay." Jenks reached over and uncapped a clear plastic cover over a red button that had a computer-generated glowing word: start. "Here we go," he said as he pushed the button and clamped down even harder on his cigar.

Suddenly there was a deep rumble throughout Teacher as the twin diesels fired up. The digital gauges and controls were illuminated blue and green, and the tachometer read that the engines were idling at an even one thousand rpms. Red gauges showed the critical areas of the boat's function, such as engine status, fuel, temperature in each section of the boat with hatch status, and ballast. The blue and green noncritical areas, such as battery state, amperage, speed indication, water depth, and river width, flared to life, the main computer generating their ever-changing numbers and gauges. A large display in the center console allowed the pilot to see a virtual computer-generated display of the area directly to the front of the boat; with a flip of the switch, it could change to a split-screen version that showed all sides including the stern, even underwater. Sensors and a sonar device automatically and constantly relayed signals that the computer interpreted, to generate an ever adjusting image of Teacher's surroundings.

"I'll be damned," the master chief said as he slapped the major on the ass. "How 'bout that, the bitch is breathing!" His laughter was infectious; Jack could hear the cheers of dozens of men and women throughout the boat as they all heard and felt the powerful engines come to life.

"See, they love her, too," Jenks exclaimed as he removed his cigar and smiled widely.

Jack winked. "Either that or they're just happy the air-conditioning's on," he said as he pulled the semitransparent sliding door aside and left the cockpit.

Jenks, his smile fading, watched as Jack left. "Eh, what does he know," he mumbled as he flipped a toggle switch on the thick right arm of his command chair. "Stand by in the stern and bow to bring up the anchors," his voice rumbled more forcefully throughout the boat on the speakers embedded in every section.

Carl pushed a button mounted on the wall of the engine room. He could hear the winch engage, which controlled both the bow and stern anchors. Then there was a satisfying click as the winch stopped. He gave Mendenhall and Sanchez a thumbs-up.

Carl met Sarah and Doctors Nathan and Ellenshaw at the base of the large spiral staircase in the section four lounge that led to the upper and outermost deck of Teacher. They went up and Carl opened the large acrylic glass bubble. They climbed out into the heat. A ten-by-ten-foot section in the center of the boat just aft of the radio and radar tower allowed them a view of the river. Three sections to their front, they saw Jack and Virginia climb out on deck and then sit in one of the many weatherproof chairs lining the gunwales.

They felt Teacher shudder as Jenks applied power and she slowly backed away from the crumbling riverbank. She backed up until her large stern was well out into the main channel of the Amazon, and then they heard her transmission shift into forward gear and Teacher almost leaped out of the water. Her tri-hull rode gracefully, cutting through the greenish water with ease as the large boat started her maiden voyage down the most famous river in the world on her way to a tributary that to the modern world existed only in legend.

Two hours later Collins, Everett, and Mendenhall were outside the glass-enclosed cockpit while Sarah sat with Jenks in the copilot's chair, talking about, what else, the chief's boat.

Corporal Sanchez had volunteered to be the expedition's cook, much to Mendenhall's dismay, and he brought them a tray of coffee. He handed two cups through the door to Jenks and Sarah, then left the tray on the centerline table in the navigation department.

"I don't think the master chief likes me," he said, wiping his hands on a towel.

"That man doesn't like anyone except this woman," Carl said as he patted the composite side of the boat.

"Ain't normal," Sanchez called as he walked back through the hatch and back to his cooking.

Jack returned to the large glass table. Padilla's map had been scanned and placed in the main navigational computer. Laid before them in detail were items that had been added to the map by placing known terrain colors and features from U.S. Geological Survey RORSAT photos. The display was "current position" capable, meaning they could see their position the entire way on the computer-generated map. In the next few hours they hoped to have telemetry set up with Jet Propulsion Labs in Pasadena to allow them access to live images from Boris and Natasha.

Carl spun a steel ball embedded in the side frame of the map table and slid forward along the image of the river from their current position. While he sipped his coffee, he studied the area that worried them the most. The Padilla map showed only the winding river; on the more scientific survey maps that had been superimposed over the Spaniard's, there were only trees and jungle. From above, there was no river to speak of, as it had disappeared from view under the rain forest canopy. A computer line marked where the tributary should be according to the Padilla map beneath it.

"There are so many variables — width, depth, and other factors — that could stop us right in our tracks," Carl said.

"Well, I guess that's when we'll see if Teacher is as magical as the master chief seems to think she is," Jack said.

"I think she'll be," Mendenhall offered. "He's right; she's something, isn't she?"

Both Carl and Jack looked over at the sergeant but didn't comment.

"That doesn't mean that I like him or anything, just that he built a great-lookin' boat," Mendenhall said defensively. "I think I'll go check on the arms locker and scuba gear," he said, feeling like a traitor for praising their pilot. He picked up his coffee and excused himself.

"What's going on in navigation? Any change in course? We still trying for that phantom cutoff onto that Black Water Trib?"

Jack hit the com button and selected Cockpit. "No change in course; according to Padilla, the tributary is hidden, looks like a normal bend. So stay to the right of the center current," Jack said as he released the switch.

As the two men looked at the screen they saw the cutoff. It was marked by a rendering of trees that had grown so thick even in the Spaniard's time that Padilla had made a black X through the drawing of the sun. Carl mumbled something.

"What was that?" Jack asked.

"I guess that's where we fall off the edge of the world."

Jack didn't respond; he just nodded.

Three hours later, with Carl at the helm, Jenks and half the team were at dinner in the crowded lounge in section four. At only twenty-three and a half feet wide, Teacher lacked what would be properly known as elbow room. Sarah, Virginia, and Jack sat as far away from the master chief as they could to avoid any unnecessary charm he might add to their conversation. They were all enjoying their view of the passing river in a most unique way: the bottom port windows were actually underwater, and the green flowing river eased by like a huge aquarium before them.

"Are we prepared in case we run into our French friend?" Virginia asked, forsaking her chance at Sanchez's ham and cheese casserole, instead opting for a cup of coffee and salad.

"It all depends on circumstances, I guess. He's no fool; he'll wait until he feels he has the advantage in numbers, or surprise. I figure he'll wait until we've done most of the work; that's his pattern, from what I've learned."

Sarah listened but didn't comment, so Jack knew there was something on her mind.

"What are you thinking, short stuff?" he asked.

She laid her fork in her plate and sighed. "It's Danielle, her showing up at the dig in Okinawa. If she was so intent on tracking her ex-husband down, why use us? I mean, surely she has other resources at her disposal, so much so that we should have been irrelevant."

"Well, you heard her explanation. She didn't really want to bring in her own people for personal reasons," Virginia said.

"I'm not buying it," Sarah insisted.

Jack gave her a look she knew all too well.

"Knock it off, it's not just that I don't like her, or because her former name was Farbeaux. It's the way her agency has so conveniently become cooperative right now. Besides, so soon after Lisa's death, I think she's a bad influence on Carl."

"Oh, that's it — you don't think Carl's man enough to avoid an entanglement. Or is it that you're jealous for Lisa?" Jack asked.

"Listen, Jack," she said, then caught her mistake a split second after it was out of her mouth. "I mean Major, leave that crap out of it… it's just that maybe Lieutenant Ryan would have been better off working with her, instead of Carl," she said, picking up her fork to indicate she was ending her part in this awkward conversation.

"Where is Jason, anyway? He's usually attached to you and Carl like a pet," Virginia commented.

"I assigned him another project," Jack quickly replied. "And Ryan is the last man you want around a Frenchwoman anyway," he joked, hoping to steer the conversation away from the lieutenant's whereabouts.

"Chief Jenks, Major, come to the bridge please," Carl said over the intercom. "We're coming up on the area where our Spaniard said the Black River starts."

Jenks and Jack passed Danielle in the companion way that joined the navigation area with the cockpit. She smiled and nodded a greeting. The master chief stopped and tilted his head to admire her from behind, then entered the cockpit to relieve Carl at the controls.

"Had Frenchie keepin' you company, Toad?" Jenks asked as he squeezed into the command chair.

"Nah, all by my lonesome up here," Carl answered.

Jack caught an inflection in his answer and, instead of going into the cockpit, turned and looked around the navigation compartment. He went to the map table. The computer rendering of Padilla's map was up. Jack remembered shutting it down earlier, and surmised that Carl must have turned it on when he took over for Jenks. He ducked his head into the cockpit and saw that the map was also up on the monitor between the two seats. Everett must have used the map table first and then routed the program to the cockpit.

"We have a branch coming up. We have about fifteen feet of water under our keel, so no problem there, yet," Jenks said.

"I was thinking," Jack asked, "what would have made Captain Padilla take this particular tributary route instead of keeping with the main river?"

"What do you mean?" Carl asked from the copilot's seat.

"It makes no sense, there had to have been something his scouts had seen that made Padilla choose this route over the Amazon, a peculiarity in the river perhaps, or a man-made object. I just don't see him arbitrarily leaving the main river."

"I see what you mean and I don't have a clue. If that's the case, others in the five hundred years since would have seen the same thing and ventured down the tributary," Carl said. "So whatever it was that drew him to it—"

"Isn't there anymore," Jack finished for him.

"Well, this is going to be one short-ass trip, boys. Look," Jenks said as he throttled back on the engines.

"What the hell, we must have taken the wrong route," Carl exclaimed.

Up ahead, Teacher was dwarfed by sheer rock walls in front of her. A waterfall splashed down and created a beautiful scene in front, but that was it. The tributary ended after only ten miles. Jenks looked down at the sonar picture.

"She's deep. We've gone from fifteen feet under the keel to thirty-five," he reported. He reached down and pinged the bottom with a blast of sound, getting a clearer picture of the bottom landscape when the sound waves bounced back.

"Lot of boulders and shit on the bottom, some pretty large schools of fish, but that's about it. Wait a minute, look at this," he said, tapping at the still shot of the computer-generated sonar picture. He used a cursor and backtracked a little. "That's a weird-shaped rock."

"Damned near looks like a head, doesn't it?" Carl ventured.

Jack leaned in and nodded his agreement. The boulder, if that's what it was, looked as if it were a head, with ears, nose, and everything.

"Ah, sonar plays tricks on you sometimes, just a weird-shaped rock, that's all."

"Chief, those fifteen fancy remote probes you have from TRW, I think its worth one to see what that is, I'm betting it's something," Jack said, still looking at the frozen sonar picture.

"You're betting about five thousand bucks, Major," Jenks responded as he stuck a fresh cigar in his mouth. "I have only five that are programmed and operational; there were priorities in the work assigned the last two days."

Jack just looked at him.

"You're the boss, I'm only a galley slave," Jenks acquiesced. "Toad, on your console, hit the button that says UDWTR Bay 3, will ya? It's time to see if I trained you right the last few hours on the operation of our Snoop Dog."

Carl found the button and pushed it. Somewhere below they heard a short whine coming from somewhere. Then a small console popped up on the thick armrest of Everett's chair. It was equipped with a small joystick. Jenks reached out and switched the main monitor between them to another channel, which was filled with static.

"Now, raise the small plastic cover there," he said.

Carl saw the switch cover by the joystick and raised it. Underneath was a red push button that illuminated when the switch cover was raised.

"Push it, Toad," Jenks ordered.

Carl pushed down until it clicked. They heard a gush of air and saw bubbles rise to the surface ahead of them.

"Hey, hey, watch it, you'll run her into the bank. Swing her around, swing her around!" Jenks called out loudly.

"Shit!" Carl said as he saw on the monitor the little torpedo-shaped probe was heading for shallow water. He took the small joystick and twisted it to the left. The angle on the monitor changed and the compass located in digital form at the bottom of the screen swung from east to north to south.

"Okay, Toad, now you're headed right for us; twist the top of the joystick, that's your speed control. Toad? Slow down, goddammit!"

The picture angled right at Teacher, the tri-shaped hull clearly visible, the probe slowed.

"Damn, kid, keep the speed down, will ya? Now, push down on the joystick. That controls your dive on the probe, push down for down, and pull up for—"

"Up?" Carl said smartly.

"I knew they made you an officer for a fuckin' reason, Toad."

Carl turned the probe again until it started heading away and then threw the four-foot-long radio-controlled unit, dubbed "Snoopy," which TRW had developed for the navy, into a spiral headed down, trailing her near-invisible fiber-optic power and control cable behind it.

"You catch on fast, now try not to run it into the mud. We can still recover her and use her again. Major, ask that kid Mendenhall to get to the fantail and make ready to bring the probe aboard, and tell that army fella not to fall overboard, it's heavy."

Jack did so using the intercom.

On the monitor the picture grew darker. A light just under Snoopy's nose came on with the use of an installed rheostat sensor that automatically lit up in darkness. The probe edged deeper with every turn it made, the small fins on the zero buoyancy craft keeping the device in a tight spiral. Jenks looked at the depth and called it out.

"Ten feet to bottom, eight feet, six… ease up, Toad," he said, watching the depth gauge and ignoring the picture. The probe slowed.

"Let me tell you, for a dead-end tributary, I'm having one hell of a time keeping this thing trim. Every time I head east, it wants to keep going. There is really one bitch of a current out there," Carl said as he fought the small joystick.

Through the window, Jack could make out some sort of thick vegetation behind the wide waterfall. He then turned his attention to the computer screen.

"Okay, you're at four feet; level her off and come right three degrees. That should put you on top of our rock," the master chief said.

Snoopy banked to the right for a split second and then quickly righted itself on command from Carl. The light was picking up nothing but murky water and a fish now and then.

"Where in the hell is it?" Jenks asked.

The light picked up a darker outline ahead of Snoopy. Carl eased the probe forward, steering into the strengthening current. Finally the light picked out what looked like large teeth. Then the mouth and nose, large pointed ears, and eyes that stared back at them through the monitor. The head was at least ten feet tall and it looked as if there was even more buried under the mud.

"Chief, can we pipe this through the boat into the science labs?"

"Yeah," Jenks said as he pushed a button labeled BOAT MONITORS. "There, now the whole ship can see Toad's future father-in-law," he said, laughing.

Jack pushed the intercom. "Doctors, look at your monitors. Does anyone have any guesses?"

The probe made a complete turn around the huge head, picking out other small details — the feathers coursing along powerful-looking arms, the breast piece which was made up of a different type of stone from the rest of the body. All around its circumference, only half of the stone was above the mud and silt of the river's bottom; the rest disappeared into murk.

"Can you see if the figure is holding something in its right hand?" asked the voice of Professor Ellenshaw over the speaker mounted next to Jack's head.

Snoopy swung down and traveled a few feet. The probe ran along the rather large belly of the statue and protruded above the mud. The images revealed that it was indeed holding something.

"What do you think?" Carl asked.

"A pitchfork?" Jenks suggested, adjusting the brightness on the monitor.

"No, not that, but close," Jack said as he flipped on the intercom. "Professor, we have a trident in the right hand and a battle-ax in the left, crossed over at the midsection; anything else is under the mud."

"Good, good, gentlemen. You have just proven beyond any doubt that at one time at least, the Inca had passed this way. They thought it important enough to leave some strong medicine here. That is the Incan god Supay, god of death and lord of the underworld. Also the lord of all underground treasures," Ellenshaw said in a mysterious voice.

"I also believe this is Supay," Professor Keating said from one of the labs.

"I concur; the likeness etched in stone in front of us is exactly that, Supay," the voice of Professor Nathan agreed. "God of the underworld."

"Nice," mumbled Jenks.

Jack was listening but at the same time studying the cliff walls above them. There were many large ledges, so it was completely possible for the statue to have broken, or have been knocked free from one of those outcroppings by an earthquake perhaps, or just erosion.

"I think that would have been a guide, or at least reason enough, for Padilla's expedition to sidetrack," Carl said, still looking at the monitor.

"But where in the hell did he go?" Jenks wondered. "Maybe they climbed out of here and over the cliffs and picked up the tributary at another point."

Jack didn't say anything; he continued to look at the walls around Teacher. He left the cockpit and returned to the navigation section. There, he brought up other maps, selected the one he wanted, and clicked the mouse on the side of the navigation console. A U.S. Geological Survey map came up and on it Jack located the area where they were, thanks to their global positioning transponder. He traced the small tributary above them, the one that the waterfall was created from, and followed it. It routed right back to the main Amazon, in about a two-mile loop. He electronically sent the map to the console monitor up front and then went back to the cockpit.

"I don't think they climbed any cliffs; the small tributary that is responsible for the falls ahead, the Santos Negron, is nothing but a hundred-milelong tributary that's not even that old. It was created by flooding no more than five years ago. I think Padilla stuck to this tributary; it had to have been the only natural one in existence five hundred years ago."

"How did he and his people go forward, underwater?" Carl asked.

"If not underwater, how about underground, or both?" Jack asked.

Carl and Jenks didn't say anything; they looked straight ahead toward the expanse of ancient and man-made falls.

"But what are the odds that these waters would have covered by accident the very route that Padilla took?"

Jack turned to see Danielle Serrate standing behind him, leaning into the hatchway.

"Fluke," Jack said. "The new tributary would run wherever rainfall had created a trough beyond where the Brazilian government had controlled the flooding. Once it reached this point in unsurveyed and unmapped land, they really didn't care what new tributaries were created."

"I wouldn't care to wager the house on that," Danielle said. "Is that the American phrase, bet the house?"

"Yeah, that's what they say, but that's exactly what I think we should do," Carl said as he took a firm hold on Snoopy's joystick and brought its nose up. The view on the monitor changed and the picture became brighter as the probe emerged from the murkiness of the bottom toward the surface. Jack patted Carl on the shoulder. Snoopy sped up east toward the falls that were now starting to rock the probe left to right with the turbulence of the falling water. Carl directed the probe ten feet deeper as it approached. The monitor was filled with white water and bubbles as the impact of the high-falling tributary struck the flat surface below it. Carl adjusted the trim and sent Snoopy ten feet deeper, still believing the impact of the water would be enough to damage the TRW probe. Suddenly Snoopy was into darker but calmer water, where it snagged on an obstruction as an alarm sounded on the console.

"Whoa, cowboy, you rammed something. See if you can back her up some," Jenks said.

"Chief, how close can you get to the falls?" Jack asked.

"I can take her right under if I want; that little water hose of a falls couldn't dent this composite hull."

On the monitor Snoopy had successfully backed away and rose by fifteen feet to the surface.

"What is that stuff?" Danielle asked.

The master chief fired up Teacher's engines and started edging the large boat toward the falling water.

"It's bushes, water plants, and vines, a thick curtain of them," Carl described. "It's a wall of them behind the falls; Snoopy was stopped by them. Goddamn, you may be right, Jack."

"Right about what, c'mon, what's he right about?" Jenks said as Teacher slowly drifted toward the turbulence of the water.

"He thinks he knows where and at what point our intrepid Captain Padilla disappeared into history, Chief," Carl said as he brought Snoopy to the surface next to Teacher. "And look at the center there, it's been recently penetrated; see where a lot of new growth has occurred? I suspect that weakened area tells us that Professor Zachary has been this way also."

"Ask Mendenhall to bring the probe aboard; she earned her keep," Jenks said.

Jack ordered Snoopy brought aboard.

"Well, I suppose you want me to take Teacher through there?" Jenks asked.

"It would probably take us over a day to hack our way through there, maybe get a couple of people hurt seriously with that falling water," Jack said as he leaned in closer to view the falls ahead.

"Wouldn't the vines and plants be more damaged if Professor Zachary had come this way less than three months ago?" Carl asked.

"Bubba, this is South America; the growth rate of plants down here can be measured in minutes, not days or months," Jenks said.

"Well, let's go then," Danielle urged.

"Unless you don't think the old girl has the wherewithal to punch her way through it, Chief," Carl said without looking at Jenks.

The master chief clamped his jaws down on his cigar. "You officers think you can play me like that? You think you can use that shit you learned at officers' school," he turned around and stared at Jack, "or West Point, in Psyops, to goad me into taking her through there?"

"Not at all," Jack replied quietly.

Jenks looked at his digital controls on the panel in front of him and said nothing. While the others thought he was thinking it over, he was actually figuring the stress tolerances of Teacher's composite hull. He was silent for two full minutes.

"Major, Toad, get some help and lower the sail tower and jackstay; we're riding too damned high to get her through that opening. We're also going to put a lot of weight onto this girl's ass." The master chief saw the expressions of confusion from Jack and Danielle. "We have to take on one hell of a lot of ballast; we have to ride low, dangerously low, to get her through whatever that is up ahead," he explained. "And it's still no fucking guarantee we can do that. We may get through the opening and find a dead end fifty yards into it."

"Or, on a brighter note," Carl said as he squeezed out of the copilot's chair, "we just may fall off the edge of the world."

13

Two hours had passed since the order was given to lower the radar tower and jackstay. Collins, Mendenhall, and Everett were on the upper deck of section four, bolting down the retractable tower that was now laying along two whole sections, while the rest of the crew was below making ready for a rough ride in case they ran into something other than a tunnel leading to the mysterious east end of the Rio Negro.

Jack had been the first one to notice, but he kept working. It was Mendenhall who cleared his throat.

"I see it, Sergeant," said Jack. "Just stay busy like you don't see them."

"How long have they been there?" Carl asked as he lashed down his last tie to the tower.

"About twenty minutes that I know of; wouldn't have noticed it at all if I hadn't caught the sun gleaming off their glasses."

"With the tower down, so is our radar, so we won't be able to confirm who they are," Carl said, straightening.

"Probably that boat and barge we saw on the river coming in this morning. Can't you feel our friend Farbeaux close by?"

"I sure can," Mendenhall said.

"Come on, let's get this show on the road," Jack said as he headed for the hatch.

"Stand by," Jenks said into the intercom as he fired up both of the Cummings diesels. "Is our board green, Toad?"

Carl checked the status of all hatches and windows. The companionways in between sections all read green — closed and secured.

"Board is green, Chief."

"Major, pull down that jump seat in the aft bulkhead and strap yourself in; this could get bumpy and I don't need you in my lap at the wrong time," Jenks said as he lit his cigar and started Teacher forward toward the falls. "Everyone, strap in at whatever station you're at. You can follow our progress on the nose camera at the bow; it promises to be the must-watch TV show of the year." He laughed loudly as he throttled forward to two knots.

In the sciences compartment, Sarah looked at Virginia and cringed. "That guy makes me a little nervous," she said.

"A little?" Virginia asked.

"Here we go," the master chief said as he eased back on the twin throttles and let Teacher's forward momentum carry her into the falling water. Suddenly the boat rocked violently from side to side, just as Snoopy had done two hours earlier. The sound of water striking the hull was deafening, and all the while Jenks had a smile from ear to ear as he edged Teacher into the darkness.

Carl reached out and flipped on the exterior running lights as water covered the acrylic windows in the bow. Jack flinched as the first of the water struck; he thought the nose glass would cave in. But the boat slid neatly through the falls. The roar slid down the entire length of Teacher as the crew felt every inch of her entry. Then the bushes and vines snagged her and she bounded to a stop. The chief bit down on his cigar and throttled her engines forward. Teacher lurched into the water plants and undergrowth, making a screeching sound as her hull came into contact.

"There goes the paint job," Jenks said loudly as he goosed the engines again.

"Low ceiling!" Carl called loudly above the din of water striking the hull.

"Give us another three thousand pounds of ballast," calmly ordered the master chief.

Carl turned on the ballast pumps. Although he couldn't hear them engage, he was satisfied as he saw on the digital readout that the distance between keel and the bottom was decreasing.

"She's down a full three feet, Chief," Carl reported.

Outside their windows the crew could see the greenish waters lapping six or seven inches above the sealed frames.

Jenks applied more power as Teacher strained to break free of the under-growth. Her engines were churning up water as she struggled for momentum. "Going to fifty percent power, hang on!"

Teacher seemed to be stuck in place. As they viewed the situation in their monitors, the crew each willed her either forward or for their pilot to back off.

"Going to seventy-five percent power," Jenks called out and pushed the throttles forward to the three-quarters mark, but still the bushes, roots, and vines clung to the hull like tentacles of an octopus, refusing their advance.

"Engines are overheating," Carl shouted.

"No news is good news. Can that shit, mister, going to redline!" Jenks shoved the dual throttles all the way to their stops.

Strapped into their seats, Mendenhall and Shaw were standing by in the engine compartment, sweat rolling down their faces. The heat was overpowering the air-conditioning, and the section was slowly becoming unbearable. The diesels were so loud that the two men couldn't converse. Suddenly something popped and a small fire broke out as a gasket failed and diesel fuel sprayed out onto the deck.

"Fire!" Mendenhall shouted but Shaw had his ears covered and couldn't hear him. The sergeant unsnapped his harness and ran for the fire extinguisher. He emptied the extinguisher, momentarily smothering the flames. Mendenhall threw away the empty and grabbed another, as the engines seemed to strain even louder as they went to full power.

Suddenly and very slowly the vines started to separate with loud popping and tearing sounds. Still the master chief kept full power to the engines. Then all at once they were through. Outside the view ports of the cabin, they saw the vines and bushes suddenly slide by as Teacher was sling-shot into the giant cave. Her lights picked out rock walls and sides as she sped into the void.

"Engine shutdown!" Jenks cried. "Toad, hit the forward jets, stop this goddamned thing before we slam into a wall!"

Carl engaged the two forward water-jet thrusters and applied full throttle to them both. Teacher started to slow. Then before they knew it, the large boat was at a standstill. All was silent except for the forward thrusters. Carl reached out and shut them down. The voyagers found themselves in a giant cave sitting in the middle of a slow-moving underground grotto, with the river leading out to the east.

"So this is the missing east end of the Rio Negro," Jack said as he reached for the intercom. "Okay everyone, we're through. Welcome to Captain Padilla's Black Water Tributary."

Before starting down the long corridor of darkness, Jenks inspected the engine room and declared engine number one down. He, Mendenhall, Shaw, and the amazingly and hereto unbeknownst mechanically inclined Professor Charles Hindershot Ellenshaw III, who volunteered his services in their capacity, began to change out the head gasket on number one and replace the fuel line that had split. They would run in the meantime on engine number two, as Jenks didn't think they would be calling for speed anytime soon. He inspected the rest of Teacher, and aside from a few rubber window gaskets that had leaked, she had come through the falls just fine. They were under way at five knots ten minutes later, still running low in the water through the blackness that engulfed the boat.

Farbeaux was amazed at what he had just witnessed through his glasses. That strange-looking craft actually went through the falls.

"These people never cease to amaze me," he mumbled as he handed the field glasses back to the captain. "And to think our lady friend, Professor Zachary, also found it and made it through — surely we must respect them. Do you agree, senor?"

"So, what do you plan to do?" Mendez asked annoyedly.

"I expect we will wait for two hours, and in that time we will prepare to follow them. Captain, get your crew ready and let's cut the profile of the Rio Madonna down some so we may attempt to enter the cave; the barge is low in the water so should not pose a problem," Farbeaux said as he walked off the flying bridge.

"Si, senor," the captain responded, and started shouting orders to his tenman crew.

Mendez felt better that Farbeaux was taking such complete charge, it gave him the benefit of not having to coordinate the effort but still be critical if need be. He walked back to the fantail and sat down with Rosolo and his team of twelve bodyguards.

Farbeaux walked to the port side of the Rio Madonna, stood by the gunwale, and lit a cigarette. He was getting an old familiar feeling that came upon him when things were not under his complete control. He felt there were more elements involved than he had accounted for. As he looked around the jungle surrounding them, he was starting to feel like a small piece of a much larger puzzle, a puzzle that could become very dangerous if he wasn't the one to figure it out first.

There was a knock on Niles's door. He rubbed his eyes and looked over at his nightstand. It was only ten at night and that was when he realized he had fallen asleep in his clothes. He shook his head and reached for his glasses.

"Yes?"

"Sorry to disturb you, Niles, but you'd better see this, Boris and Natasha are now on the job and they caught something," Pete Golding said from outside the door to Niles's quarters.

"It's open, Pete," he called out as he turned on the nightstand table light and put his stocking feet on the carpeted floor. He stood and made it over to his desk, where the day's paperwork still lay undone.

Pete walked in, holding several pictures in his hand. "Your computer up?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?"

"Good, we won't have to use these wet stills, then."

Pete stepped up to Niles's computer. He quickly typed in some commands and his security clearance, then he turned the monitor toward Niles.

"These are only twenty minutes old and were taken on Boris and Natasha's first pass."

Niles looked down at the monitor. It displayed a night shot that the KH-11 satellite had taken over its new position. He could see the river in dark relief, and then he spotted many small, glowing objects. The photo, obviously infrared, showed about fifty warm bodies moving along the river in the only section for thirty miles that had any clear opening through the massive canopy of trees.

"Where are these people?" Niles asked.

"The exact coordinates the major reported from this afternoon. Now, Jack says he suspected they were being trailed by a boat with a barge attached, which has disappeared, by the way, but he doesn't know anything about people on the ground. And look at this," Pete said as he typed in another command on the keyboard.

The picture started to resize itself. White squares appeared upon white squares and they started to swirl. The picture had been enlarged by Natasha until Niles could clearly make out the men walking along the river in the dark.

"Goddammit!"

"Yeah, those are troops; you can even make out most of their equipment," Pete said.

"Just who in the hell are we dealing with?"

"Could be anyone, but my guess would be Peruvian, most likely," Pete ventured as he leaned back away from the picture he had been studying for the last hour.

"For a goddamned secret valley, enough people seem to know about it," Niles said, rubbing a hand over his balding head. "We have to contact Jack."

"We tried. There's nothing since Jack reported they were going into the cave."

Niles slumped into his chair and pushed the daily reports away from him. "Contact Lieutenant Ryan," Niles said as he looked at his watch, "he and his twelve-man team should have arrived in Panama by now. Tell him Operation Conquistador is now on full alert."

"You got it, Niles," Pete said as he gathered up his photos. Then he thought better of it and placed them back on the director's desk, and then left the room.

Niles studied the monitor briefly and then pulled the topmost wet photo off the pile and stared at it. He hoped Jack would be able to make contact if and when they exited the cave. Because if they couldn't at least get a signal up and out to Boris and Natasha, they would be cut off with no chance of help arriving.

As Niles contemplated the images, he knew there was a whole lot of trouble heading their way.

Hell, he thought, also trouble from a source that was probably already there waiting for them, just as it had been for the Padilla and Zachary expeditions.

14

Teacher was cruising in the dark at a revised three knots. Thus far they had been in the cave for three hours and had been amazed at the carvings they had documented that covered the rock walls — depictions of wild men in different hunting poses, Incan gods and warriors, and strange beasts and fish. Thus far they had cataloged three hundred different carvings. The work had been meticulously worked and showed in minute detail what life had been like for those who traveled the ancient tunnel before them.

Carl was at the helm in the cockpit, kept company by Jack who assisted with fathom soundings and as a lookout for rock projections, which had nearly done them in twice. Teacher was still riding low in the water with the extra ballast they had taken on, as the roof was only ten feet above them and as low as a mere yard in some spots. Every once in a while they saw bats flutter in and out of the floodlights.

Jenks was in section seven, assisting the science team with the expandable observation module, which would be lowered to allow them a view of their new underwater domain.

The center of the section was taken up by a large boxlike structure made mostly of glass and aluminum framing. There were seats inside this eight-foot-long vessel for six crewmen, and it was fully equipped with small cameras, for both still photos and video. Jenks assisted Danielle, Dr. Nathan, Sarah, Mendenhall, Heidi Rodriguez, and Professor Ellenshaw into the observation module and checked to make sure the hydraulic pressure was up. Then he removed his cigar from his mouth.

"Okay, I suspect you're going to feel a little queasiness when you're lowered. The section is telescopic so you won't actually be out of the boat, just under her some. Ready?"

The six passengers nodded as they turned toward the sides and the glass that for right now showed nothing other than the outer composite hull.

Jenks pressed a button on the intercom. "Toad, you're going to feel some drag as we lower the section into the water, Teacher's computer should compensate after about thirty seconds, so don't worry about it, got it?"

"You got it, Chief; right now we have about thirty-two feet under the keel. We'll give you plenty of notice if we run shallower than twenty-five," Carl said from the cockpit.

"Okay, boys and girls, hold onto your asses," Jenks said as he raised the switch cover and pressed.

The hum of hydraulics sounded from motors embedded in the sides of Teacher as the section started to telescope. The passengers grabbed the armrests of the seats and looked up as they were lowered. The faces of Jenks and the rest of the sciences team became obscured as the rush of passing water was heard. They turned toward the glass again when the small boat-shaped platform broke into the river. Mendenhall was sitting in the frontmost seat and so was nearest the bow-shaped and aerodynamic front. A mere six inches of acrylic separated him from the rush of greenish water being split by the platform. First they were lowered by five feet into the river; next, another section started sliding from the hull of Teacher and the platform was telescoped another five feet into the river. Then floodlights blazed to life and the underwater world was illuminated around them in stark detail.

"My god, this is great," Sarah said.

Above them, a section of soundproof decking slid over the top of the submerged platform, sealing out light and noise from Teacher and the crew above.

All about them, fish of every freshwater species darted about, some curious as to the strange creatures staring at them, enough so that they returned the favor.

"Damn, look at this — it's got to be the largest damn catfish I have ever seen. Look at its color," Mendenhall said.

Outside the glass of the pointed bow, an albino catfish, with a wide mouth that was at least large enough to take a man whole, swam by curiously but sped away when it came into the center of one of the floodlights.

"We're invading its home," Danielle remarked as she watched the black walls of the cave slide by her.

"Look at that," Ellenshaw said. "Supay, the god of the Inca underworld."

Outside the acrylic windows, they could see a statue, at least forty feet in length. It lay on its back. Teacher easily cleared it and, as she passed over, they could see the slanted, snakelike eyes as it watched the strange craft ease by above it.

"Professor, look!" Danielle said loudly.

"Oh my god! Someone start filming this, please!" Ellenshaw cried as he found himself face to face with a freshwater coelacanth, a fish that was supposed to be extinct more than 60 million years before. More than one saltwater species had been caught off the coast of Africa, but this was the first live specimen Ellenshaw had ever seen, outside of some rare footage of one that was filmed four years before. It was just inches from his face.

"Cameras are running, Professor," Jenks called through the intercom from above.

"This is amazing," he said as he raised his hands to the glass. The huge fish swam easily, its strong finlike appendages able to maneuver it like a swimmer with hands.

"This is not the saltwater species found in the seas, look at her! She must be two hundred pounds, and in freshwater, remarkable!" Ellenshaw exclaimed. "Professor Keating, are you seeing this?" he asked with the aid of the intercom.

"Indeed, I am. This is truly remarkable."

As Sarah joined them at the window, the prehistoric fish suddenly moved with the speed of a snake striking a victim. It smashed itself into the window, making all inside fall back, either into chairs or onto the deck. It swam away and then attacked the glass again. It repeated the aggressive action three more times as it gathered more speed with every turn. Then the five-foot-long fish apparently finally decided enough was enough and swam off into the murky water.

"Well, that was fucking exciting; not exactly something you would put in your tank at home, is it?" Sarah said as she was helped up by Mendenhall.

"Do we have film of this?" Ellenshaw asked.

The speaker came alive and Jenks answered, "Got it all, damn near thought he was going to punch a hole in that acrylic."

"It was indeed splendidly aggressive, wasn't it," the wild-haired Ellenshaw said excitedly.

"Yeah," Mendenhall said, looking at the professor as if he had lost his mind.

"Okay, folks, that's enough for now, too dangerous while we're under way. Bringing her up," Jenks warned.

The ceiling above them slid back as they resumed their seats. The bottom section telescoped into the first, and that into the main hull. All six crewmembers exited with a feeling they had just returned from another world.

"I hope we can get a specimen while we are here; that would be marvelous," Ellenshaw said as he slapped Mendenhall on the shoulder.

The sergeant just gave him an uneasy smile, then turned to Sarah and rolled his eyes.

Later, while Jenks was at the helm in the cockpit, Teacher suddenly broke free of the cave and into the star-filled night sky. It was so sudden he didn't even realize it until the moon lit up the cockpit. He reached out and slapped Lance Corporal Walter Lebowitz, who had been sleeping and was supposed to be assisting him.

"Wake up, jarhead!" Jenks called out loudly and then lit his cigar.

The lance corporal didn't know where he was for a moment, and the brightness of the moon clearly confused him after the hours inside the pitch black of the cave. He looked around at the jungle and forest that crowded the riverbank in every direction.

"Go wake Lieutenant Commander Everett and Major Collins. Tell 'em we're clear of the cave and have to stop to blow out our ballast tanks and check the boat out. We'll get under way again in—" Jenks looked at the digital chronometer on the command console, " — two hours; got it, Corporal?"

"Yes, Chief."

"Then why aren't you moving, boy?" Jenks growled.

The pilot watched him go and then shut down the exterior lights, throwing the outside world back into darkness with the exception of the lowering moon. The cockpit lights were switched off, and only the green-blue glow of the instrument panels illuminated Jenks. He reached out and throttled back on both engines. He shut them down and then put the auto pilot in hover. The electrically operated jets would keep Teacher in the center of the tributary with small adjustments on her thrusters. Only the forward jets would be working full-time to keep the boat from drifting back with the slow current. He then turned the knob that read ballast purge, and throughout the boat a loud hiss of escaping air woke most everyone. Large bubbles of exploding air and water surrounded Teacher as the tanks emptied and the boat's hull rose high into the air after her being half-sunk for the need of having a low profile.

As Jenks relaxed and looked ahead, all he could make out was more darkness as the tributary went under the never-ending canopy of trees once again. He suspected this would be the last location for a while where the major could make contact with anyone back home.

"Hello, may I join you?" a female voice asked.

Jenks turned in his seat to see that scientist-type woman with the great legs, as she moved in and sat down in the copilot's seat.

"Dr. Pollock, isn't it?" Jenks asked as he slid his side window open and tossed the remains of his cigar into the river.

Virginia was in Levi's and a black mock turtleneck shirt. "Yes, how are you, Chief?"

"Me, I'm fine, what can I help you with?" he asked, his eyes roaming over her chest and then quickly back to her eyes. "You come a-slummin', or what?"

"Well, I was up in the galley, waiting for coffee, and I thought I would come up front and see the ogre himself. Judge for myself and see if you're the gruff bastard everyone says you are," she said, raising her left eyebrow as she removed her glasses.

"Well, am I?" he asked.

"I don't know yet. I did hear you yelling at that poor marine from all the way in the galley. You seem to think you're mean and tough, but I don't know; I haven't formed an opinion just yet."

He looked the tall woman over even more closely than before, or for what etiquette called for. One eye twitched as he tried to figure out what she was about.

"Would it make a difference if I kicked your ass?" he suddenly blurted.

"Perhaps it would," she answered, "but how about taking a break and buying me a cup of coffee instead. Then we can discuss the side of you no one sees." She stood up and left the cockpit.

Jenks followed her with his eyes and then leaned over to look as she went through the glass hatch and into the navigation compartment. He started to reach for a fresh cigar, then thought better of it and stood and followed. He stopped long enough to look at himself in the large window next to the navigation table as he entered section two, and decided a trip into the head wouldn't be a bad idea. His eyes were bloodshot and his breath smelled as if he had just come off leave in Shanghai. He didn't know it, but Virginia Pollock had a thing for lost causes, and the master chief was definitely one of those.

At the break of dawn, with the antenna array up and operating, and the radar dish turning to Jenks's satisfaction, Jack attempted to check in with the Event Group Complex. They had an opening in the tree canopy of only sixty feet or so, and thus he hoped Boris and Natasha had made the move that had been planned. Pete Golding responded as clearly as if he were talking from the riverbank. Jack reported that they had penetrated the falls and had found the tributary just as the map had indicated. Then Pete handed the conversation off to Niles.

"Jack, we should have visual of you in the next hour or so, via Boris and Natasha. When you find yourselves in thick canopy country, we'll use space-based radar to keep track of Teacher, using her heat signature," Niles said.

"Okay. We're just now getting under way; nothing earthshaking to report as of yet."

"Jack, we have two problems. One, the president will not, I repeat, will not permit Ryan and the Delta on the ground in Brazil; it's political and he just won't make that call."

"Well, hopefully we can handle anything Farbeaux can throw our way."

"That's problem number two; you have company headed your way besides the Frenchman."

"The boat and barge, we know about those. They're probably him," Jack countered.

"No, Jack. Boris and Natasha has picked up an armed group of about fifty men on foot, just entering the area of the falls. And I've more good news — your trailing boat and barge are nowhere to be found; I suspect they may have followed you into the tributary."

"Have you alerted Ryan to our backup? Operation Spoiled Sport will replace Conquistador?" Jack asked.

"Done, he's on full alert for plan two. The Delta team will act as security while Proteus is on the ground in Panama, but that's not a sure thing, Jack; they're having trouble getting the system online. Remember, the whole program is experimental and the whole damned platform could possibly explode over half of South America, so you be careful. Any rough stuff, get your team out of there, into the jungle if you have to. Are your orders clear enough, Major?"

"Got it; go get some sleep, Niles," Jack said and clicked off the satellite communication link. He patted Tommy Stiles on the back. "Thanks, it was clear as a bell."

"Is everything all right?" Sarah asked.

He winked. "Yeah, just cautionary. Inform everyone that from here on out we'll be going to fifty percent alert status, half on, half off."

Carl, Sarah, and Danielle gathered close to study the computer-generated version of the Padilla map on the navigation table. Carl slid his finger along the shoreline of the tributary. Then he punched in the current coordinates on a small keypad, and the small blip that indicated Teacher's position showed itself in red, underneath the deep tree canopy.

"According to the map, Padilla's Sincaro village was only about three klicks up the river. That would place the lagoon and valley not that far away."

"We can't even report our location since the sky disappeared," Sarah said.

"Yeah, I've never seen trees like these. How can they grow so much that they block out the entire sky?"

"Water, constant rain. They fight each other for the right to sunlight, making it a battle for supremacy," Danielle stated, "each one vying for the sun by reaching out over its neighbor, thus creating a giant umbrella effect that will allow nothing through."

The engines of Teacher were like the sad drone of a constant lullaby. Most of the team had sacked out as they entered the darkness of the rain forest, knowing sleep could be hard to come by in a few hours. Jenks was at the helm with Virginia. She was actually getting a kick out of his permitting her to use the toggle controls of the cockpit, as she had been amazed at how responsive the big boat was. As she copiloted the vessel, she laughed at almost everything Jenks had to say. The master chief had never smiled so much as during the time he was spending with Virginia.

Carl was still leaning over the navigation table with Sarah and Danielle when he heard the master chief and scientist erupt with laughter; he never knew Virginia had such a deep and reactive laugh. He stood up and looked at the two women at the table.

"Does anyone else find that disturbing?" he asked.

Ambrose had received his marching orders. He didn't like it and knew the secretary was escalating the situation before he knew for a fact that there was even a need to. He picked up the phone and punched in the numbers he had memorized.

"Yes."

"General, how are you, my friend?"

The man in Brazil sat up straighter in his chair. He swallowed as he tried to find his voice.

"I am…I am well, senor."

"Good. Are you prepared on your end to do what is necessary?"

"Yes. Yes, I am."

"Good. You may send your ground element onto the river to follow my countrymen now. If the area in question is found, you may set them loose. There will be no foreign element allowed out of your country, General, is that clear?"

"Si…uh… yes, I understand."

"Are ten boats enough, General?"

"They are the best assault force in the private sector, senor. They will do their jobs."

"Good, good. Your reward will be handsome as we promised, both monetarily and politically. Your air force is ready in case?"

"This is an element I would rather not use—"

"It will only be used if something unforeseen arises; don't worry, my friend."

The connection was cut and the general was left holding the phone, aghast that he had gotten himself into this very dangerous game of treason.

Mendez had bided his time. He was a patient man when it came to killing. That was where his former partners in the drug trade had failed on a monumental scale. Targets and places of assassination were to be chosen with expert precision and never, ever was the decision to be made hastily. Mendez and his operatives knew when the iron was hot enough to strike. Why place the blame of murder upon yourself, when you can make people believe the illusion of someone else's doing the dirty work?

In the darkness he could see the Frenchman in the wheelhouse talking with that fool of a captain. Santos was an annoyance that he would soon tire of, along with Farbeaux. He lit a cigar. The flare of the match momentarily illuminated his features as he caught Rosolo's eye. Mendez nodded and then turned away toward the stern of the boat.

Captain Rosolo made sure Farbeaux was still occupied by Santos, then he followed his boss to the gunwale at the far end of the boat. Once there, he removed a small cylinder from his coat pocket and found the trigger. He held the device up and out away from the Rio Madonna and aimed it through a small break in the overhead canopy where stars could be seen. To the rear, they could clearly make out the trailing barge as it silently cut the river into two white slices. Rosolo turned and gestured to one of his men just below the wheel-house. The man held up a portable radio and switched it to the Madonna's frequency. Then he pushed the squelch button, with the volume turned all the way up. Inside the wheelhouse, they heard the radio come to life with the most godawful squeal imaginable. At the same time, Rosolo pulled the string at the end of the tube and the bright flash of a flare shot out and through the small opening in the tree canopy. The light breeze quickly pulled the telltale smoke away from the boat and into the surrounding jungle, just as Farbeaux made an appearance on the bridge wing to admonish the man below for making so much noise with his radio. Rosolo smiled as the Frenchman didn't even look their way. He stepped back into the now silent bridge.

"Well done, my friend." Mendez puffed on his overly large cigar as the pop of the flare sounded three hundred feet above the canopy.

Five hundred feet above the trees and thick jungle, the lead pilot of a flight of two Aerospatiale Gazelle attack helicopters, once owned by the French army, circled. The bright flash of the red flare arched out of the forest below and the two pilots knew they had a mission. They were mercenaries hired by Mendez, and their specialty was airborne murder.

The pilot in the lead Gazelle had forgone the hiring of a weapons officer for this well-paying opportunity, out of greed. The two pilots would share their reward with no one. After all, they were only going after a slow-moving river craft. They could handle the attack themselves.

He called his wingman and gave his instructions. He reached out and turned on his FLIR radar. The forward-looking infrared system activated and showed the coolness of the jungle and trees below. Then as they crossed the winding and unseen tributary below, the target they were seeking came into full view. It was marked clearly through the canopy of trees as a long, very bright ambient red color as it churned away slowly below. The fools would never know what hit them. He pulled the safety cover from his trigger mounted on the control stick, and selected his guns. He had elected not to bring the missiles he had stored in Colombia because he felt it would be a waste; they would have trouble penetrating the trees below. But twenty-millimeter rounds wouldn't have that problem, as they would smash their way through any protecting wood surrounding their target.

The lead pilot smiled as he brought his Gazelle to full power and made his turn for the dark jungle below. His unsuspecting target didn't know it yet, but they were about to be destroyed by a lightning strike from heaven.

Jack stood up from the navigation table. A familiar noise had entered his train of thought and then vanished. He glanced over at Carl, who was staring at the cup of coffee that sat near the table's edge. A minute tremor was making the dark coffee inside shimmer in the dim lighting of the cabin. Jack reached out for the intercom.

"Chief, have you turned any systems on in the last thirty seconds?"

"It's late, Major, not the time to be using equipment we don't need." Jenks clicked off.

"Kill the engines," Jack said as he looked at Carl and then Sarah.

Suddenly the boat went dead quiet. As they listened with faces cast in varying colors from the navigation screens on the table, Jack tilted his head. He heard it immediately. He reached for the intercom again.

"Chief, restart the engines and wait for my word; we may have company."

"Goddammit, we're not a warship, Major; I told you that."

"Chief, shut up and be ready."

"What do you think, Jack? Brazilian?" Sarah asked.

Sarah finally heard the soft whine of engines from outside. She was amazed the two officers had noticed it above the sleep-inducing drone of Teacher.

"No, Brazil uses the Kiowas and old Hughies we sold them." Jack closed his eyes and leaned on the table, listening more intently. "These are Gazelles. French-built attack helicopters."

"Goddamn, are you sure?" Carl asked as he went over to the wall-mounted phone.

"I heard enough of the little bastards in Africa and Afghanistan to last a lifetime."

"Will, go to the arms locker and get a fire team on deck," Carl said into the phone.

He hung up the receiver just as forty twenty-millimeter rounds smashed into Teacher. Jack pulled Sarah to the floor as the red-hot bullets punctured the thin composite hull and passed through to the water below. Jack didn't bother to use the intercom this time as he shouted out toward the cockpit, "Get your ass moving, Chief!"

The order was redundant as Jenks had already slammed Teacher's throttles to her stops. The large boat sluiced into the center of the tributary and then started evasive zigzagging. He knew exactly what was happening, and the way to beat some of the fire from above.

Around them they heard the screams of the doctors and professors as they were jolted awake by the sheer noise and terror of the large rounds hitting Teacher. The military personnel were trying their best to get them behind equipment and under tables as another assault slammed into them. The red tracer rounds passed through the thin hull easily and smashed equipment as it did so. The noise was absolutely horrifying.

"You stay here!" Jack yelled at Sarah. "Come on, Carl, we can't take much more of this."

Both men gained their feet and ran to the winding staircase in the next section, ducking when more steel-jacketed rounds slammed into them. The red phosphorus tracers ignited fires in the boat's interior as they went though the hull like a kid punching holes in a soda can. The sound of breaking glass and exploding fire extinguishers sounded throughout the boat as Jenks swerved from riverbank to riverbank.

Mendenhall, Sanchez, and even Professor Ellenshaw were already on deck. The professor, standing on the rubberized flooring, was reaching up to supply magazine after magazine for the two M-16s being used by the two security men as they fired blindly up into the trees toward the sound of the turbines passing overhead.

"Situation, Will?" Jack screamed as he tossed to Carl one of the M-16s Mendenhall had stacked on the deck. The lieutenant commander didn't waste time; he pulled the charging handle and opened up at one of the low-flying assault choppers. His own tracers stitched the sky and disappeared into the tree branches above them.

"I think there are two, can't be sure. Our return defensive fire ain't getting through the trees. We're going to get our asses kicked!" Mendenhall said as he inserted another magazine while more of the tracers slammed through the trees. They hit water at first and then the awful noise of rounds hitting the hull of Teacher sounded, as one of the science labs took heavy damage. He looked down as Ellenshaw, white hair flying in panic, reached up with another full magazine. "Goddammit, stay down, Professor, until I ask for one!" Mendenhall shouted as he used his foot to push the crazy bastard back onto the deck.

Jack heard the scream as one of the Gazelles came low. He pointed just ahead of where the chopper should be, and Carl, Mendenhall, and Sanchez opened up. Bright white-hot tracers arched up into the canopy, and with dawning horror Jack saw over 90 percent of the light 5.56-millimeter rounds ricochet off branches and tree trunks, not able to slam their way through to the sky and the attacking ships above them.

Damn!" he said. More tracer fire erupted around them as both Gazelles opened fire. The scene felt like something out of a science-fiction movie as lines of twenty-millimeter rounds resembling laser weapons struck the water and boat around them. The choppers were stitching the area with death and destruction even while they were, themselves, impervious to their return fire.

Below, the master chief knew he didn't have the time he needed to find adequate cover for his slow-moving target duck that was lined up as if in a carnival's shooting gallery. He howled in frustration as more thumps sounded throughout his boat.

"By God, that's just about enough of this!" he yelled as he reached out, took Virginia's slim hand, and thrust her fingers around the throttle and rudder control located on her chairs armrest. "Take the wheel, doll; keep zigzagging as much as possible; just don't slam the old girl into the riverbank. Keep her moving no matter what." He left his seat and, before exiting the cockpit, leaned over and kissed Virginia on the cheek. "Be right back, dollface, it's fucking time for the cavalry to show up."

Virginia didn't hear a word Jenks had said. Her eyes were wide and she was too busy shaking, which in the long run increased their survivability, as Teacher rocked from side to side when she shook the temperamental controls. She even failed to realize the master chief had pecked her on the cheek.

Abovedecks the security team knew they were fighting a losing battle. It was obvious to Jack and Carl that the shooters orbiting above the tree canopy had a FLIR system and were using the boat's own heat signature to track them through the trees.

"I'd give my right nut for a Stinger right about now," Carl said as he emptied a twenty-round magazine into the overhead branches, hoping at least three or four rounds could pop their way through.

Jack kicked himself for not including some kind of airborne defense in their small arsenal of mostly automatic weapons.

Suddenly, weapons fire opened up from the bow's upper deck as Sarah, Danielle, and a few of the scientists began shooting with arms from the forward locker. There were now nine M-16s firing blindly upward into the canopy.

"Good girl," Jack mumbled as he quickly inserted another magazine.

At that moment, a long line of twenty-millimeter red tracers broke through the trees and stitched a long line of holes across the bow. They heard a scream; one of the female assistants working with Professor Keating had cried out as one of the large rounds nicked her arm. Jack could hear the damage the shells were doing to the interior of Teacher as whoever was at the controls now directed the vessel toward the middle of the tributary.

A mere hundred feet above the tree line, the two Gazelle gunships swung around. Their target was far more evasive than they were led to believe. Mendez only said they would encounter a riverboat. But this craft was maneuvering as if it were a river patrol boat. And they were taking an inordinate amount of fire from below. So far the lead Gazelle had felt the distinctive thump of several small arms impacts against its aluminum fuselage. Whoever was below had organized a defense against the attack with lightning speed, and the volume of fire was amazing.

Mendez radioed the second Gazelle that they should make a scissoring maneuver and come at their target from two different directions, catching the boat below in a crossfire that should at the very least disable it. He would concentrate fire on the bow and his wingman would take the rear, possibly hitting the engine compartment, and bringing the evasive vessel to a stop. Then they could strafe the craft at their leisure.

The two French-built Gazelles climbed to an altitude of two hundred feet and then split apart. They would start their killing run in two minutes. They would line up the copters with the aid of the FLIR and start their assault as early as a thousand yards from target. Giving their ammunition a far better chance of slicing their enemy in two.

Jenks fought his way into the navigation and sonar section of the boat. Several heavy rounds had at one point almost ended his career as they slammed into the hull and rocked the galley area, sending pots and pans everywhere. He spotted three of the lab technicians, who were hiding behind one of the couches in the crew lounge. Instead of feeling sorry for the two women and one man, he started kicking at them as they tried to crawl away.

"Get you fucking asses out there and defend yourselves, you fuckin' idiots. Move, I said." He took a final swipe at the crawling techs and then turned and made his way to his seat at the navigating console.

The technicians quickly stood and ran for the spiral staircase that led to the upper deck. They must have figured that the odds of surviving the bullets outside were far better than they would get facing the master chief.

Jenks reached out and pulled up a clear red-tinted cover that had a flash symbol on it. Then he turned in his chair and hit several switches marked dwael. He watched as a monitor located above the sonar and communications panel flickered to life.

"Sons of bitches want to play with technology, we'll fuckin' play with technology," he grumbled as he hit the FLIR tracking system he had installed at the last minute when it had been offered to him by the Event Group technicians in New Orleans. It had been installed for use in detecting animal movement where thick cover foliage was blocking all other sensory systems. Now he would use the forward-looking infrared system and DWAEL to make a whole new weapon, a stinger for the old Teacher. The deep-water argon-enhanced laser was a new system that was to be used for getting precise readings on deep canyons of unknown waterways, such as the supposed lagoon they were heading for. But little did most of the public and military know, the laser itself, if turned to full power, could be used as a very efficient cutting instrument. The main problem was supplying the system with enough juice from Teacher's generators to switch it from being a depth finder to a killing weapon. The master chief, though, knew his boat. He reached out and found the main power connection for Teacher's many systems and then isolated the sonar console and generator stations. He pulled as hard as he could on the main conduit, breaking the line free from the cabinet, which in turn popped the emergency breakers for everything except the systems he had isolated, causing a major breakdown in the boat's power grid. In layman's terms, the master chief had basically pulled the plug.

On the upper deck, Jack and the others held their fire as they heard the screaming approach of the Gazelles' charging at Teacher from above. He encouraged everyone to aim at the noise. He knew it was a lost cause, but they had to try something.

Suddenly a warning horn blared and Jenks's voice came out over the loudspeaker on the tower.

"All hands, grab your socks and hold your cocks! Hit the deck and keep your eyes closed!"

Jack and Carl hollered for everyone to get down. They heard a motor engage and, before Jack threw himself to the rubber-matted deck, he saw a small section on the starboard side of Teacher rise. A long, cylindrical arm was hydraulically activated and swiveled its clear glass head around as the arm extended from the opening. It resembled a ballpoint pen with a lightbulb attached to the tip. Immediately recognition dawned in Jack's eyes as a memory flashed into his mind. He recalled his days at Aberdeen proving ground, specifically the Argon laser systems they had been working on, a larger version of what he had just seen come up from Teacher's hull. But he knew that they were using it for many nonmilitary things like speed and radar enhancements, measuring tools that were accurate to the millimeter. What was the master chief up to?

He heard the generators below deck go full throttle just as Virginia brought Teacher to the center of the tributary again. Then the engines shut down. The hairs on Jack's arms began to tingle and he smelled ozone in the air as electricity was being put out at a monumental rate of power. The current was starting to escape containment and the hair of everyone on deck began to rise.

"Oh, shit, stay down!" Jack yelled just as the helicopters above the trees let loose with their cannon.

Rounds started striking the water three hundred yards from Teacher. The red tracers came down in a magnificent straight line as the two attacking Gazelles made their way to the stalled boat. Then suddenly a loud crack sounded from everywhere. Teacher's bulk was slammed into the water as Jenks discharged the power that had built up in the laser, sending out a straight beam of white light that burned its way through the thick canopy of trees in a microsecond. As the beam reached out, the cutting began.

The lead pilot saw something explode from below; his target's being covered by trees, he thought sure he had hit one of the enemy's gas tanks. Then suddenly the trees disappeared in a bright flash. He was momentarily blinded as a brilliant white light shot up and out. The beam caught his wingman cleanly down the middle of the Gazelle, neatly slicing the helicopter into two distinct pieces and sending its spinning rotor blades off in all directions. The white-hot beam ignited the aviation fuel and the remains of the copter plunged neatly through the trees into the river below.

The leader immediately ceased his run and let up on the trigger as he turned his Gazelle away from whoever had just fired at them from below. The nature of that weapon he didn't know, nor did he care to remain and find out firsthand what had so suddenly ended the life of one of his employees. As he ventured a look behind him, the brightness of the beam of light lessened even while it still searched the area for its second target. The pilot turned the throttle on his collective all the way to the stops and tried to turn, but the beam, though faded in intensity, turned with him. It easily sliced through his tail boom. The helicopter started to spiral out of control. The trees rushed up and the pilot closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable, crushing death that was waiting only seconds away.

Jack knew they were lucky. Teacher, still out of power and drifting, floated past some of the remains of the first Gazelle. As he watched the burning wreckage slide below the dark waters, he had his proof that someone was out to stop them at all costs from reaching the lagoon.

Ten miles to the stern of Teacher, Farbeaux had thought he saw the flash of gunfire through the canopy. He walked to the bow of the Rio Madonna and stared out into the darkness. He was soon joined by Captain Santos.

"You saw this thing also, senor?"

"I saw something."

"Ah, perhaps it was just heat lightning, a common thing on the river." Santos watched the Frenchman for a reaction. The captain was pleased to see the frown on his face.

"Perhaps." Farbeaux turned away and saw that Mendez and his pet killer hadn't moved from the fantail. They sat silently at their small table watching the night around them. The only visual evidence that they were there at all was the soft glow of Mendez's cigar, and even that hid the smile on his face.

15

It took six hours to patch the holes in Teacher. Jenks had taken the pats he received on the back as well as expected as he supervised the repairs, grumbling about the slow reaction time of his crew, claiming they could have defended his boat faster than they had. If the truth be known, he had been stunned at how fast the major had organized the defense. Jenks now regarded the army officer with a little more respect.

The good news was the engines weren't hit. They started downriver as soon as the worst of the hull breaches had been fixed. The rest of the time was spent putting back the pieces of the boat's interior.

On watch abovedecks in the early morning hours after most of the major repairs had been made, Mendenhall, Sanchez, and Sarah watched the low-hanging branches slide eerily close to their heads. The antenna tower had been lowered again since they entered the rain forest, otherwise they would surely have lost it by this point. The drone of the engines, coupled with the anticollision strobe atop the deck fore and aft, lulled the lookouts as they fought to remain awake.

Sarah was alone in section three, just aft of the navigation section, when she saw a very low-hanging tree branch. Mendenhall momentarily illuminated it so Sarah could see it. Then he moved the light away and clicked it off to preserve his own night vision. Sarah leaned over as the large branch cleared her head by less than a foot. That was when she felt something touch her baseball cap and then remove it. She thought she hadn't lowered her head far enough, that it had been snagged by the branch, until she turned and saw the hat hanging there, the dark little fingers holding the bill and turning it. Sarah's eyes went wide as Mendenhall laughed.

"I think a monkey just stole your hat," he called from the top of section four.

As Mendenhall continued to laugh, the red cap was tossed back at Sarah, who caught it before it went over the gunwale.

"Must not have fit," the sergeant said with a chuckle.

Suddenly a small arm reached out and removed the bush hat from his own head and he instinctively ducked, but both arm and hat had disappeared into the trees.

"I guess it thought yours would be a better fit," Sarah said with a grin.

Mendenhall cursed. He clicked on the spotlight and aimed it at the trees. He shined the bright light behind him and then all around. Then he quickly shut it off.

"Sarah, now, this is no shit; there are about a hundred…things in the trees."

Sarah seated her cap back on her head, still smiling. "Monkeys?"

Before he could respond, the deck was inundated with small objects they immediately recognized as exotic flowers, bananas, and berries of every sort. Then the night erupted with chattering, not monkeylike at all in its sound, or maybe it was, Sarah thought, but it was as if the animals in the trees were laughing: their chatter was interrupted by short gasps of air. Sanchez immediately called out for Mendenhall to shine the spotlight his way, that something was in his hair. As he did so, his and Sarah's eyes widened when the light fell on a shiny-skinned four-limbed creature that had its tail firmly wrapped around the corporal's neck. It was running its small hands through his thick, dark hair, jabbering, and appeared to be petting Sanchez.

"What in the hell is this thing?" he called out, afraid to move. "It's kind of fishy smelling."

Sarah couldn't believe what it was she was looking at. The animal was about three feet in length and for all practical purposes did resemble a monkey, except it had not one hair on its body. Sarah started breathing a little heavier than before as she carefully and slowly reached out to push the intercom button.

"Chief, kill the engines," she said.

Without asking any questions, Jenks shut down the diesels and the night went silent. Sarah could now hear the lone creature sitting atop the head of the marine coo and chirp. It almost sounded as if it were singing as it groomed the hair of Sanchez.

Sarah still had the button depressed for the intercom and without removing her eyes from the bizarre scene three sections back, she found the button for the sciences lab. She hoped someone was still working down there.

"Anyone up in science?" she said in a barely audible voice.

There was no answer. Then the deck hatch above her opened and Virginia stuck her head up.

"The master chief wants to know if there's a problem; he said he can't get through your intercom," she said as she climbed out onto deck. Then she saw Sarah was still holding down the talk switch on the communication intercom. Virginia looked to where Sarah was looking and froze. "Oh my god," she whispered and then without turning, pried Sarah's finger from the button. "We have a visitor, Chief; everyone's all right."

"A visitor?" he asked.

"This thing has scales, and its fingers are wet and they're webbed," Sanchez said, still not moving.

"Hold it together, Corporal, I don't think it's aggressive," Sarah managed to say.

The small creature looked up at the sound of the humans' voices and tilted its head. It jabbered softly, and then it stood and reached for a passing branch and easily lifted itself free of the corporal's head and disappeared into the canopy. Its swinging tail was the last thing they saw as it vanished completely.

Sarah reached down and picked up a twig that had berries still attached to it. She pulled one off and ate it.

"Good," she said.

"That's not a very good thing to do, not very scientific, Sarah," Virginia said as she picked up a beautiful species of orchid she had never seen. She smelled it and then placed it in her hair, above her ear. "Have Corporal Sanchez fill out a written report on his description of what occurred, even his feelings on the matter. Okay, Sarah?" Virginia added in a distant voice. "What an amazing animal."

Sarah watched Virginia reenter the hatch and then looked at Mendenhall. As she watched, a small hand jutted from the trees and slammed his bush hat back onto his head. He ducked as laughterlike chatter sounded all around the drifting boat.

The twin diesels fired back up and Teacher started forward again. This time, the three lookouts would have no trouble staying awake.

Most of the off-duty crew, twenty of them, were in the cramped dining section of Teacher eating a breakfast of ham and eggs as they listened to Mendenhall and Sarah tease Sanchez about his strange encounter in the dark morning hours.

"And these creatures weren't aggressive at all, or timid?" Ellenshaw asked, his white hair looking as if a garden hoe had churned it up.

"Well, ask the corporal, he had a little better view than Will or I," Sarah said as she sipped her coffee with difficulty. Even hours later, it was difficult not to laugh.

Sanchez shot her a look and then had to smile himself. "No, I didn't exactly get the feeling they were timid," he said as he took a bite of his toast.

"And they definitely looked aquatic in nature; you actually saw the webbing between its small fingers?" Heidi Rodriguez asked.

"Saw and felt it," the corporal said, losing his appetite for his toast. "And it smelled to high heaven, like… well, fish."

As they talked, they heard Teacher's engines shut down.

"All hands are asked to join Major Collins on the upper sun deck," Jenks's voice said over the intercom.

Sarah looked out of the large window as she rose and saw it first. "Jesus, look at that," she said as she hurried from the dining section toward the nearest stairwell that led upward to the deck above.

The others glanced out the windows and then hurriedly followed Sarah.

Jack and Professors Nathan and Pollock were on deck with the rest of the first watch. Virginia was busy snapping pictures and Nathan had a video camera out, documenting the amazing sight above them that had been illuminated by the boat's external floodlights.

Sarah joined Jack and shaded her eyes from the bright glare. "Beyond belief," was her simple statement.

"What in the hell are they supposed to be?" Jenks said as he joined them after placing Teacher's automated systems online.

Towering above them, on both sides of the tributary, stood two eighty-foot statues. They were ancient with vines and other vegetation growing from age cracks in their stone.

"They're like no Incan gods I have ever seen," Nathan said as he continued to film with the camera.

"They are carved directly from the granite of the cliff," Virginia said as she turned to photograph the other one on the opposite bank. "They're identical depictions of the same… same deity," she said, snapping four quick pictures.

"Look at the hands," Jack said.

The large hands of the carvings were webbed, like those of the small creatures that were reported by Sarah and her night watch. The statues had scales like a fish and the body was humanlike, very massive, and depicted strength. The head was the most amazing thing of all. Its features were that of a fish, but in the shape of a human head. Several rows of finlike flaps extended downward from the neck and head and draped just over its broad shoulders. The lips were thick, pursed like those of a fish; the nose was but two small holes; and they could make out the gills that ran along each side of the jaw in four distinct lines. But the most amazing feature was the way in which the carvers of these ancient statues had depicted the eyes. Although human in shape, they had dead dark pupils like those of sharks.

"Lord, look what the left hand of each is carrying," Nathan said as he lowered his camera.

A small human skull was grasped in each statue's left hand. Long claws were sunk into the bone in a disturbing and vicious illustration by the stone carvers.

"What would you say the scale is on that, Charles?" Virginia asked Ellenshaw, who was staring wide-eyed.

"If that is an accurate-size skull of an adult human, I would say the gods depicted here would be at least eight and half to nine feet tall, upright of course."

"It would have been one hell of a swimmer," Jack said. "Look at its feet."

The clawed feet were very long and wide, and they, too, were webbed. The powerful-looking legs had long fins down the back until they disappeared into the rock wall of the cliff. The arms also had fins, running along the back of the forearm to the wrists.

"All in all, not something I would care to run into either in the water, or out," Sarah said as she hugged herself. She remembered the fossilized hand, just as the others now recalled it.

"This must mean we're close to the valley and the lagoon," Professor Keating said.

"What makes you think that, Professor?" Jenks asked.

"Because these statues were placed here as a warning. They're guarding something," he said, looking at Jenks. "And I can't think of anything else they would be here to protect unless it was Padilla's lagoon, would you?"

The master chief placed back into his mouth the cigar he had been holding and clamped down with his teeth. "Well then, let's just go see what's so damned important that someone would carve statue, of their mother-in-law in the cliffs." He smiled at Virginia. "It must be good, whatever it is," he said as he turned and went below to get Teacher under way again.

The other thirty-plus members of her crew stayed on deck and watched the large statues slide past as they started downriver again. Most had to turn back for last looks as they just couldn't fathom why the Incan gods had never been cataloged or documented before; after all, there were lakes all over Peru, and her coastline was extensive. Why a water god way out here, and why one that was so different from the squat, rakish-looking gods of other Incan deities?

It was only Jack who noticed that the jungle and forest sounds had returned as they moved up river. What unnerved him was the fact that no one had noticed when they had ceased in the first place. Then he realized why: Teacher's voyagers had been so awed by the giant statues that they hadn't noticed they had drifted into sunlight for the first time, when the canopy of trees had given way to the carvings. Now that they had reentered the tree-covered tributary, the sounds of life had returned. Why had the birds and animal sounds stopped when they were in front of the carvings?

Jack turned and went over to Carl, who was scanning the river ahead with binoculars.

"Carl, go to Mendenhall and get sidearms from the weapons locker. Issue them to all security personnel; give one to Jenks and Sarah also."

"You got it, Jack. See something you didn't like?" Carl asked, handing him the binoculars.

"Yeah, two somethings, both of them about eighty feet high and representing something we may have a part of in fossilized form, and those things didn't look like they were welcoming people to this part of the river."

16

Teacher was still in semidarkness at noon. Every once in a while, dapples of bright sunlight would filter through in beams as bright as lasers. The oppressive heat and the sight of those strange carvings had unnerved the crew to the point that most were lost in their own thoughts. Before they had boarded, everyone had been briefed by each department on everything that was known about the original Padilla expedition, and now certain pages of those briefs were standing out like a lighted piece of artwork. Every man and woman onboard Teacher remembered the fossil and its estimated age from the carbon-14 tests that had been conducted. Although not official, the estimation of only five hundred years was now not just a curious fact, it was just a little scary, because the more one saw of this strange world, the more one could believe the existence of almost anything.

Jack was reading a tech manual on the operation of a small charge that could be used at depths up to two hundred feet, which was filled with Hydro-Rotenone, a tranquilizer used by research scientists and developed in Brazil for underwater catch-and-release programs. The hand grenade-size charges operated in exactly that fashion, except these silverish little eggs had a small switch that could be used to select certain depths to detonate a charge that would disperse the Hydro-Rotenone in a thirty-foot arch underwater.

"More toys?" Sarah asked as she sat next to Jack in the false twilight the canopy of trees had thrown them into.

He put the manual down and looked at Sarah, who was dressed in shorts and a sleeveless blue blouse. She was freshly showered and smelled strongly of bug repellent.

"Love that perfume," he said as he lightly placed a hand on her leg, then removed it.

"It's all the rage in New York these days." She watched his hand for a brief moment, saddened that he couldn't leave it on her leg.

Teacher had run up to six knots, and the breeze the extra speed created felt good. They heard laughter coming from a few sections down, where most of the science team was out on deck getting some air after lunch. Mendenhall was on duty with Jenks, and Sanchez and Carl were learning the fine points of the submersible operation in the engine room. Jack raised his head and wondered aloud were Danielle Serrate was.

"The last I saw, she was in the computer library doing something," Sarah said. "Why, are you starting to wonder what her motives are?"

"Yeah, it's hard to believe they're just ex-husband motivated, but with her being the head of her agency and being sanctioned by her government in the assistance she's shown, I wouldn't care to guess what her real motives would be."

"Does the fact that Carl is getting close to her affect your way of thinking?"

"Everett is a grown man; I think he knows how to handle himself. It's been over a year since he lost Lisa, and I think it's time he starts realizing there are other women in the world. Besides, have you ever in the last year heard him talk so much?"

"Yeah, I—"

They were interrupted by the very object of their conversation, as Danielle bounded up through the open hatch.

"Jack, look over the side!" she said as she made the deck and leaned over the gunwale.

The major stood and went to Danielle's side and Sarah to her other. Jack immediately saw what she was indicating and turned and ran for the boat's intercom, where he slammed down the proper button.

"Kill the engines, Chief," he said loudly as he again switched buttons and hit the one marked eng.

"Carl, are you still in engineering?"

"Still here," he said.

"Get someone and get to the fantail; use a boat hook and snag those bodies," Jack said hurriedly.

Jack heard the engines shut down. He hurried to the hatch and made his way down the spiral stairs. He quickly ran aft to the engine room. The double rear doors were open to the fantail. One of the detachable chairs went flying as the men maneuvered to arrest the floating bodies with boat hooks. As Jack joined them, he saw the bodies were bloated.

"Goddammit!" he said as he reached out and opened the railing. The four men struggled, bringing the two bodies aboard over the fantail just above the black letters that spelled out Teacher.

"Oh," Carl said as the smell hit them. He gently rolled over the larger of the two and saw that it was a man clad in a diver's wetsuit. The neoprene was stretched beyond endurance and had split in the upper arm and thigh areas. The face was bloated and misshaped. But that didn't keep them from seeing the deep gouges that had been inflicted upon the man's face.

Jack heard noise behind them and saw Virginia and Dr. Allison Waltrip, the surgeon from the Group, as they hurried through the double doors. Virginia gasped but Waltrip immediately bent over the two still forms. The three marines backed away and turned to face the slow-flowing river. The doctor moved from the larger to the smaller of the two. She gently rolled it over and saw that it was a girl who couldn't have been more than twenty or twenty-one. This corpse was bloated like the other, but had no injuries that were readily apparent. Her eyes were wide in death and glazed over with a milky substance that made Virginia partially turn away before she remembered her professionalism. Dr. Waltrip started feeling around the body for a wound. The girl was dressed in shorts and a blouse; it reminded Jack of the very clothes Sarah was wearing. The doctor ran her fingers through the girl's hair and then stopped.

"Gunshot wound to her temple. My guess she was dead before she entered the water, but I can't be sure without an autopsy."

Then her attention was drawn back to the large man in the wetsuit. "His injuries are extensive. The face wounds wouldn't have been life threatening," she rolled the man over, "but these wounds are deep enough to have severed several arteries in his back and lungs." She probed the open wounds with her finger, making everyone cringe just a little. As she ran her fingers along one of the larger gouges, she extracted something and held it up to the deck light. It was rounded and ridged and it seemed to shine, giving off rainbow effects in the light.

"What is it, Doctor?" Carl asked.

"I don't know." She looked closer. "That almost looks like a hair follicle on the bottom, see?" She held it up for all to examine.

"I think I know what that is," Heidi said as she stepped up and took the object from the doctor.

"What?" Carl asked.

"It looks exactly like a fish scale — a damned big one, but a fish scale." Jack walked to the railing and looked out on the water. "Dr. Waltrip, can you get a good picture in two hours of how they died?"

"I can try," she said.

Jack walked to the fantail intercom and informed Jenks that they would anchor in the middle of the tributary for two hours while autopsies were performed on the two bodies. Then he watched as the men moved the bodies to the section seven medical labs.

When they were gone, Jack looked at the rain forest canopy overhead and saw the dapples of light were fading from the sky. After hoping they would make the lagoon before nightfall, he had to reconsider under the circumstances. He might have to order them to anchor, as the thought of entering Padilla's lagoon in total darkness left little appeal. The bodies not withstanding, the urgency of arriving on site for possible survivors had become possibly a moot point. He would now have to consider the safety of this team his top priority now.

Jack couldn't shake the image of the young woman they had pulled from the river. When she had put on those clothes, she had never figured she would die in them. Just as he was sure Sarah would never have thought the same when she had put on her own similar clothing this morning.

Jack watched the water and the stillness of the shoreline in front of him. He touched the holstered nine-millimeter at his side. Of all the places in his career he had been assigned, this was the one that unnerved him the most. Was it the absence of direct sunlight? The cries of creatures that remained hidden in the vast canopy of giant trees? Jack knew himself never to be a man of premonition, yet he sensed beyond a doubt that men were never meant to be in this place.

As he turned to leave, motion on the riverbank caught his eye. He stood still and didn't turn to look, but used his peripheral vision to see. Standing back of the thick shrubbery that lined the bank, several small Indians stood and watched Teacher as she maintained her position in the middle of the river. The only sound he noticed was the almost silent hum of the vessel's thrusters as they fought to maintain their hold on the current. The noises of the rain forest had disappeared and silence filled the late afternoon. The faces of the Indians stood out palely in stark contrast to the darkness surrounding them. That was when Jack decided to let them know he was aware. He turned and held up a hand, but the gesture went unseen, as the Indians had vanished into the brush. As he stood there feeling silly, the cries of birds and even the scream of a large cat rushed to fill the air as sound returned around him.

Several people were outside of the medical lab in section six waiting on the word from Dr. Waltrip. Heidi and Virginia had been drafted by the good doctor as her morgue assistants. Jack sat with Sarah, Danielle, Carl, Keating, and Dr. Nathan, who were all anxious to find out the results of the medical examination of the two corpses. Their conversation was muted.

Jack had not said anything about seeing the Indians along the riverbank, as he felt the information wasn't helpful to anyone. The discovery of the Sincaro's deity had already been the topic of conversation for almost a day and a half. One thing Jack did do was order not only sidearms to be issued to the military personnel, but two shotguns per watch. He had nothing against the little tribe of river natives, but until they found out about the reasons behind the disappearance, why take chances? He had a gut feeling that the people he saw weren't behind those two deaths; they seemed only curious. From prior discussions with Group historians, the professionals who had studied the legends, he had learned that the small people had every right to be at least suspicious of any strangers along their river.

The door opened and Virginia came out first. She was pale and seemed rattled as she asked for some coffee. Allison Waltrip came out, next pulling off her gloves and then placing them in a plastic bag. Then she held out the bag for Virginia to put hers in, and she complied with a shake of her head. Then she took her coffee from Danielle, who also offered a cup to Dr. Waltrip. The surgeon accepted it with a nod.

"Jack, we have to get those bodies into the ground," said Dr. Waltrip. "We don't have the facilities to store them here." She turned.

"Lieutenant Commander Everett, navy man, right?" she asked.

"Yes," Carl answered.

"This man," she held out a plastic specimen bag, "he was in the navy also, Kennedy, Kyle, M. A lieutenant."

"Doesn't ring a bell," Carl said as he took the plastic bag from Waltrip and examined the dog tags.

"He has a small seal juggling a beach ball tattooed on his right forearm."

Carl rolled up his sleeve. "Look like this?" he asked, showing his own SEAL tattoo.

"Exactly, except his had a four underneath, not a six," Dr. Waltrip said.

"SEAL team four, San Diego based; they are an excellent and well-trained assault force. But I've never heard of a Kennedy, and I know most of that team."

"Major, Virginia is aware of what your file contains and she said I can ask you, I understand you were in black operations and had trained for all kinds of—" she paused and looked at Virginia.

"Broken Arrow," Virginia answered.

"Yes, Broken Arrow scenarios, trained to deal with them, that sort of thing?"

Jack looked uncomfortable talking about it with so many in earshot, especially Danielle. "That's right, I am qualified to disarm or… why?" Jack only hoped everyone didn't know the term "Broken Arrow" was one used by the military for designating a lost nuclear weapon.

"Can you identify this?" Dr. Waltrip held out a second plastic bag. "It was clenched so tight in the lieutenant's right hand I had to pry it loose."

Jack took the bag and looked it over, glancing Carl's way once because he felt his eyes on him.

"M-2678 tactical warhead key," he said barely loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Jesus, Jack, what did those idiots bring with them?" Carl asked.

"I can't even venture to guess why they thought they needed a tactical nuke out here," Jack answered as the section grew silent.

"Just another mystery to add to our growing list," Dr. Waltrip said. "The girl was no older than nineteen. As I said out there, she died as a result of a possible self-inflicted gunshot to the left temple. There are gunpowder burns around the wound and powder particles embedded in her left hand, indication she was holding the gun that killed her. It was a nine-millimeter round." She handed another specimen bag to Jack.

"Could be military, but who knows."

Dr. Waltrip nodded her head. "Anyway, the bottoms of her feet were quite cut up, as if she had been running on a rough surface, and in her wounds on her feet I found this." She held up a small jar; inside were several cotton swabs. She held it up to the light and they all saw the glimmer. "Gold, I would say, found in her wounds, her hair, her clothes, her nostrils, and lungs. These samples represent a swab from almost every area of her body."

There were no questions, no talking. Carl handed the dog tags back to the surgeon.

"I'll place these in the ship's safe," she said. "Now, as I said, we need to bury these bodies very soon; they're deteriorating fast."

"The wounds, Doctor, the marks on the diver?" Jack asked.

"I was saving the best for last, Major," she said. "Virginia, show them the scale, please."

Virginia reached into her lab coat and pulled out a plastic case. She passed it to Jack.

"Without running a complete DNA sequencing, which Heidi is performing right now, I can't tell you much. It is a scale from a freshwater species, but according to every data bank we have, it belongs to nothing in the waters of the world. We don't even have a prehistoric record of a fossil's ever having scales like that. Look at the deep age ridges that run the length of the scale. I thought they would serve no purpose other than to show age, like the rings on a tree or the squares on a tortoise shell. But when I examined it, I found that scale to be almost impenetrable. I used a scalpel and couldn't cut it. The follicle that had attached the scale to its host is almost human. The minute sample of blood from that follicle is just like ours, I even typed it at O negative." She held up a hand when they all started protesting at once. "I don't have answers, people, none at all. Everything we have come across only raises more questions than we have answers for. It was Virginia who came up with something that makes me want to warn the major to take an armed team ashore when you bury the bodies — show them."

Virginia took the plastic case from Jack and held it up to the light. It, too, sparkled with gold.

"As you can see, it's covered, just like the girl, in gold particles, better known as gold dust. We examined both the gold from the scale and the girl, and found it to have been processed gold. Not gold in its natural state; it had already been heated and smelted. The electron microscope verified it," she said, still holding the scale to the light. "These particles came from bars or ingots, leftovers maybe from the molds that were used. But the scale—" she hesitated.

"What?" Sarah prompted.

"Hold on to your hats. It was also contaminated — with an enriched uranium source, most probably from a damaged tactical nuke that key represents and indicates may be down here. But there is a very strange factor at work here; the blood sample from the scale didn't show any long-term effects of it. Whatever creature this scale came from, it seems to even be impervious to radiation poisoning."

"That's impossible," Keating said at her side.

"It's my fucking field, Professor," she said quietly. "I am perfectly aware of what's possible and impossible, and radiation poisoning is an absolute; there are no immune species of animal. But if we could discover why this particular species is, or was, immune, it would be a find that would benefit mankind beyond belief."

"Why, so we could make nuclear war not only probable, but feasible, give governments the go-ahead to off everybody cleanly with no worries?" Keating argued.

Virginia lowered the scale and faced Dr. Keating. "No, not at all, I'm surprised that you would even think I would consider such an asinine theory," she said, staring Keating down until he looked away and shook his head. "But I was thinking, Professor, that maybe we could save hundreds of thousand of people suffering from cancer the indignity of the effects of radiation treatments. Maybe stop a little girl from throwing up every time modern science tries to help her, or keep her hair from falling out while stopping the pain of chemotherapy — not about making nuclear warfare feasible."

"My apologies, Virginia, stupid comment," Keating said, taking her right shoulder and squeezing.

"Show them the other item, Virginia, the reason why the burial team needs to be armed and watchful," Dr. Waltrip said.

Virginia closed her eyes for a moment and gathered her thoughts. Then she reached into her lab coat and brought out a photograph. "I enlarged this on the computer. I took it of the two statues the Inca had placed on the riverbank," she said as she again held the scale up to the light and then held out the picture for them to compare. "See the scales on the statues; they're lightly etched into the stone. Now look at the ridges on this scale," she held the plastic case back up to the light, "and compare them to what was carved hundreds or maybe thousands of years ago by a race that no longer exists."

"Oh, boy," Carl said.

"The ridges, they're identical. Why would the Incan stone carvers duplicate something on their statues that they could only know about by seeing it?" Sarah wondered.

"Maybe because they were carving from life experience, and the statues they carved were of a real animal," Virginia said as she passed around the scale and photograph.

"I guess Helen Zachary was onto something with that fossil," Jack said.

"Yeah, but it looks like she may not have lived to be congratulated," Danielle said, touching Carl's arm.

It had taken them another hour to land Jack and a shore party to bury the dead. The entire time it took, the sounds of the rain forest had ceased as if in respect for what was happening. The bodies were put deeply into the earth and covered quickly. Large rocks were placed over them to keep out predators and then Jack hastily hurried the shore party back. All the while, he felt the eyes of the Sincaro, or whoever the modern-day indigenous people were, upon them.

"Carl," Jack said, just before he reached the makeshift boat ramp.

The lieutenant commander stopped and looked around him in the semi-darkness. Sweat rolled down his face as he looked from the forest to the major.

"That key," Jack said.

"Yeah, it's worrisome, Jack."

The thought didn't have to be voiced as Carl was just as well trained in theater-style nukes as was Jack. He knew when you turn an activation key on one of the warheads to arm it, the bottom half of the key snaps off; that's what connects the circuit, creates a bridge, thus allowing the warhead to be activated. Then all you have to do is set the timer, or push a button.

"The key is intact, isn't it, Jack?"

Collins reached in his pocket for the activation key. He held it up and Carl saw the bottom section had a rough edge, just as if it had been snapped off.

"Oh, shit."

"I hate to say it, but we have a live nuke someplace in that lagoon."

They both knew that once the activation circuit has been completed, it couldn't be commanded to just shut off; it would have to be disarmed manually.

"Okay, we both have Broken Arrow training; we can disarm this thing," Jack said.

"Yeah, but where in the hell is it? A pissed-off monkey could set the damned thing off just by looking at it too hard."

"Our priorities have shifted once again, swabby."

Onboard Teacher, everyone was still on deck save for Danielle Serrate. She was alone in the navigation section, just sitting there. The main screen on the table was dark and she was currently using it as a large coffee coaster. She was so deep in thought she didn't hear Sarah enter.

"So, how are you and Carl getting on?" Sarah asked as she slid into one of the couches next to the exterior bulkhead.

"You're a curious woman, aren't you?"

"Only because I like Carl and I'm cursed with that mothering instinct, especially about him. He needs looking after, like most men do, I guess," Sarah said.

Danielle looked at her for the longest time without comment. Then she smiled. "I don't have that mothering instinct. Other instincts? Yes. But not that particular one."

Sarah returned the smile and slid out from beside the table. "I bet you have other instincts, Mrs. Farbeaux… Damn, I'm sorry, I hate that," she said, shaking her head and gently tapping her forehead, "Ms. Serrate, I mean, but I do bet your instincts are more toward the survival kind."

"That and many other kinds, my dear Sarah," Danielle said as she watched Sarah leave. She stood up, knocking her coffee over in the process, and then she forced herself to calm down. She looked around for a rag and found none, so she glanced quickly into the cockpit area and silently stepped inside.

The large boat was cruising along at five knots, matching the last known speed of Teacher. It had taken the captain far longer than he thought it would to get his main mast and antennas up again after exiting the cave. Since then, he had numerous repairs to make as he had inadvertently gouged his hull on several occasions in the darkness of the cave. It was only his sheer ability as a river captain that had kept him from ramming one of the jagged-edged walls. The Frenchman had been a tremendous help, as he had assisted on the bridge, calling out depths and making course correction. The man was indeed very knowledgeable about surviving difficult situations. That fool Mendez and his men were a different story. They had cowered in the total darkness of the cave — a fact they would never live down in the captain's eyes. From here on out, the men from Colombia would have to be watched.

Thus far they had had one casualty on this bizarre journey. While making a physical sounding when the fathometer had failed for an hour, one of his men had entangled the sounding rope on the bow anchor and had reached into the water to free it as two men held on to his ankles while he dangled over the side. The water had suddenly erupted and the man had started screaming. As the men pulled him back aboard, a long trail of blood splashed the white paint as he was lifted up. His hand had been totally bitten off. One of the men, Indio Asana, a man raised in the heart of the Amazon basin, had said that the large fish that did it was unlike any he had ever seen on the river before, with a large jutting jaw and a tail that looked strong enough to snap a two-by-four in half. He said that it had fins on it unlike any he had ever seen, and since it was Indio who had said it, the captain had no doubt as to its truth.

"Capitan, I have received a ping from three miles ahead of us," his radio/sonar man said from his small desk in the back of the wheelhouse.

"Senor Farbeaux, a signal from the Americans: someone has pinged us with an active sonar search."

Farbeaux was amazed the captain had any notion as to what an active sonar search involved.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, my equipment, while not state-of-the-art for the U.S. Navy, senor, is quite adequate for us South American rum runners," he said, smiling through his cigar smoke.

"I meant no disrespect, Captain. How far ahead would you say the search originated from?"

"My operator says three miles upriver, senor," he said as he turned the large wheel and started for the bank in anticipation of the Frenchman's order.

"We'd better delay a while; they may have stopped for some reason, maybe an accidental ping? Nonetheless, we better anchor for a while, would you agree, Captain?"

"Si, senor, we are currently doing just that," the captain replied as he straightened the wheel and pulled the Rio Madonna alongside the south bank of the tributary.

Santos ordered the bow and stern anchors out and shut down his twin engines. Several men rushed aft and, with long poles, arrested the momentum of the large tow-barge that contained the Frenchman's equipment. When he was satisfied, he watched the sly Farbeaux as he went to the afterdeck to inform his majesty, Senor Mendez, of the delay. The shouting and tantrum at the unexpected layover would begin momentarily. The captain smiled as he wondered how long it would take for Farbeaux to put a bullet into that idiot's brain.

As he thought this, he wondered just who it had been to accidentally hit the active sonar button on the American boat, an accident that warned them the strange boat was stopped up ahead. Convenient, he thought and then laughed, happy that the Frenchman was on his side. But as he looked upriver his smile faded. Somewhere up ahead was a lagoon that was uncaring of laughter of any kind, rumored to be a place of sheer sorrow, and he was blindly following this Frenchman into the heart of that dark place. The captain removed a strange medal from inside the collar of his shirt, and kissed and replaced it. Then he turned off the overhead light and sat in the darkness, listening for the familiar sounds he had heard since his childhood. Ahead on the river, legends waited, as they had for thousands of years, to greet the greedy hands of man. Again, the captain reached for the medallion under his shirt and then crossed himself.