This Green Hell

NINE

Alex looked out the porthole window of the massive Talon Blackbird, and down at the patchy green landscape and the giant runway that had been scraped out of it. The secret base at Mariscal Estigarribia, northern Paraguay, was one of America’s best-kept secrets. Four hundred US personnel were permanently stationed there, their role to closely observe what they believed to be regional rogue governments determined to destabilise the entire South American continent. The base was in a prime strategic location due to its proximity to Brazil, Argentina and Bolivia, as well as the fractious Venezuela.

Though Alex appeared outwardly calm as the plane made its descent, impatience churned within him, knotting his stomach. He thought of Aimee somewhere in the Paraguayan jungle, and remembered the unidentifiable roar on the recording of the attack on the Green Berets. Now, the Paraguayan government had placed the camp under a quarantine order. Aimee needed his help. Why was it taking so long to get to her?

The aircraft touched down smoothly and, even before the rear ramp had fully opened, the four HAWCs and the two CDC scientists were leaping onto the tarmac. The CDC had sent one of their leading scientists from their infectious diseases division: Maria Vargis. Alex guessed she was in her fifties, but she was still a very handsome woman with an olive complexion, thick wavy dark hair with silver streaking back above her ears, and a figure that could be described as Rubenesque. Her large brown eyes showed a sharp intellect and what was either a sparkle of humour or an impatience just as keen as Alex’s own to get to the drill site. Accompanying her was her son, Michael, also a scientist. Hammerson had assured Alex that the man deserved to be there in his own right, not merely as his mother’s assistant.

It didn’t take long to unload the HAWCs’ gear: each soldier travelled with a compressed backpack that carried most of what he or she would need — the bulk of the carry-weight was reserved for weaponry. For this mission, that meant knives of varying lengths and thicknesses, each in a scabbard, plus a powerful H&K USP45CT pistol on each hip. The smooth, matt-black sidearms were made of a moulded polymer with a hostile environment coating and had a variant trigger for faster discharge. Finally, each HAWC had been issued with a stripped-down XM29 dual munitions burst rifle. The top barrel was a light cannon that fired bursting munitions using a ballistic computer to program the round, telling it where to explode. The bottom barrel was a 5.56mm assault rifle with integrated laser rangefinder, thermal- and night-vision capabilities, and up to 600 per cent telescopic magnification. The plastic stock and polymer-cased ammunition made it lightweight but with all the lethality intact.

The scientists had more equipment and the HAWCs helped with the unloading.

‘Fuck!’ Casey Franks grunted as she hefted one of the smaller boxes. ‘What the hell have you got in here — freakin’ house bricks?’

Michael Vargis laughed. ‘Sorry, I should have said something. It’s our batteries — six 3R12 zinc-chloride dry cells — just in case it’s the only power we can get access to. Very powerful but also very heavy — about fifty pounds altogether. Let me help you.’

‘Nah, just give me room, baby face.’ Franks’s forearms bulged as she lifted the box. ‘Took me by surprise was all.’

An ex-SEAL, Franks had been a HAWC for a number of years. Standing five eight in her combat boots, she had ice-blue eyes and a snub nose. Her face might have been called attractive once, but a cleft scar running from just below her left eye down to her chin pulled her cheek up slightly, giving her what looked like a permanent sneer. Her green and black tiger-striped uniform was tight across her chest, but not because of a cleavage like Maria Vargis’s; rather, taut bands of pectoral muscles gave Franks the shape of a female body builder. She had multiple tattoos on her forearms — daggers, dragons, names of high-power motorbikes, and a rose with the name Linda written in curling calligraphy underneath.

‘I expected it’d be hotter,’ she said as she looked around, the unloading completed.

‘Not much of a jungle either,’ said the tall, dark-skinned HAWC who had come to stand beside her. He pulled a mono-scope from a side pouch and focused it on the high mountains just visible to the north-west.

Makhdoum Basasiri Safieddin, Mak for short, stood at nearly six foot four, his wiry frame like corded wood. He had been one of the elite Republican Guards in Iraq and had worked with the Americans after the war. For that, his entire family had been wiped out by one of the local militias. Mak had come to Hammerson’s attention when Alex had met the Iraqi after the completion of the Dark Rising assignment in the region. The US had been looking for good men who could train up local defence personnel. Mak had learnt quickly and with purpose. Now, he couldn’t wait to get back to Iraq — there was a certain militia he looked forward to revisiting.

Sam took Mak’s scope and scanned the nearby peaks for himself. ‘We’re about 1000 feet above sea level here, basically at the foot of Bolivia’s Cordillera Mountains. But don’t fret, children, where we’re going it’s roughly 800 feet below sea level. Down there we’ll be getting into some of the densest, darkest, most impenetrable jungle on the face of the Earth. Plus all the heat and humidity you can suck up. Enjoy the cool breeze while you can.’ He tossed the scope back to Mak.

‘I love the heat,’ the Iraqi said. ‘The sun’s warmth is a gift from Allah.’

‘Yeah, but according to you, everything is a gift from Allah,’ responded Franks.

‘Ha, and so it is!’ Mak turned his face to the sunshine and smiled, showing strong white teeth.

Alex looked up and down the runway, then did a 360 turn. His jaw was set in annoyance.

‘Something bothering you, boss?’ asked Sam.

‘Something’s missing — where’s our chopper?’

Alex looked at his watch and swore. Their visit was top secret, so they hadn’t expected a parade, but they had expected to pick up some supplies and then head out immediately on a waiting helicopter that would drop them into the drill site. All up, no more than another six hours of travelling.

‘Best laid plans, huh?’ Sam said, turning his own face up to the sun.

Alex spun again as he heard something on the other side of the runway. Two men had emerged from one of the small flat buildings in the distance and were jogging to meet them. One was in the jungle-striped camouflage of the Paraguayan military; the other wore nondescript drab green coveralls. American, Alex thought. He knew none of the US men and women stationed here wore rank badges or identifying insignia.

‘Action at last,’ Maria Vargis said, putting her hands on her hips.

‘Maybe, maybe not,’ Alex said.

He stepped forward as the men halted before him.

The Paraguayan saluted and held his hand out. He had a close-cropped beard and wasn’t particularly tall. ‘Captain Hunter, I assume? I am Captain Fernando Garmadia. I will be taking charge of your team.’

Alex ignored the display of authority. He didn’t return the salute, just took Garmadia’s hand briefly, then turned to the other man.

‘Sergeant Banks, sir,’ he said. ‘Glad you and the team could make it.’

Alex nodded in response. ‘I don’t see our chopper, Banks. I assume you know we’re in a bit of a hurry.’

Captain Garmadia spoke before the American sergeant could respond. ‘There has been a complication that has necessitated a slight change of plan. Please follow us for new instructions.’

Alex felt the knot of frustration in his belly tighten. He turned to Sam, discontent plain on his face. ‘Lieutenant, get the team ready to leave on my return.’

‘You got it. Want me to tag along?’ Sam raised his eyebrows.

Captain Garmadia smirked slightly at Sam and took a step towards him. ‘Stand at ease, soldado, this is just procedure. You and your superior need not be alarmed by my request.’

Alex shook his head at Sam and set off at a brisk pace towards the buildings, not waiting for the other two men. He heard them break into a run in order to catch up.

Garmadia put on a sprint to get ahead of Alex so he could lead him into the building and down to a meeting room at the end of the corridor. Banks followed in what Alex thought was amused silence.

A man in his late fifties stood up when Alex entered the room and gave him a flat smile. He didn’t bother saluting, just held out his hand. Alex could see by the insignia on his uniform — three gold stars with red circles underneath — that the man was a colonel either in the artillery or infantry. A working soldier; good, he thought.

‘Colonel Eladio Lugo,’ the man said. ‘You must be Captain Alex Hunter. An old friend of mine speaks very highly of you; Cabeza Dura, we used to call him — it means “hard head”. Many years ago he trained some people for us.’

By that description, Alex guessed he meant Jack Hammerson.

Lugo gestured to some chairs around an enormous walnut desk and spoke briefly to Garmadia in Spanish, who nodded in reply and turned to smirk briefly at Alex.

‘I believe Captain Garmadia mentioned there has been a complication,’ Lugo said. He turned a map around so Alex could see it. A red circle had been drawn around a dark green zone roughly halfway between the cities of Asunción and Concepción and close to the Paraguay River. There were no markings for towns, roads or any other sign of human habitation.

Lugo sat back and folded his hands across his flat stomach. ‘This complication is something far more dangerous to us than bandits or mercenaries, Captain Hunter. The area has been closed by an extreme quarantine order from the highest level. Even our people cannot go in, neither can our vehicles, aircraft or helicopters — nothing. Until the source of infection has been identified, or has burned itself out, we must wait.’

He leaned forward and brought his hands together on the map, looking hard at Alex, perhaps expecting anger or some other type of outburst. Alex, however, barely reacted to the information. His voice was even and unemotional.

‘My team will be completing its assignment. We are going in, whether I have to buy or steal an aircraft. We leave in thirty minutes.’

One of Lugo’s eyebrows went up and a small smile touched the corner of his mouth. ‘Are you sure you are not related to Cabeza Dura?’

Sergeant Banks finally spoke. ‘There are no planes, Captain Hunter, or choppers. They’ve all been deployed to the Bolivian border for security exercises. Even if there were, you’d probably be shot down if you tried to fly across the exclusion zone. I’ll do what I can to help, but we’re a little restricted on foreign soil.’

Colonel Lugo had turned the map back around and was examining its green lines and swirls. He spoke without looking up. ‘It is a problem we are becoming more familiar with, Captain. As we push further into the jungle, we are seeing more and more sporadic outbreaks of disease — such as the hantavirus hotspots. We fully intend to keep such infections out of populated areas.’

‘You North Americans need to be reminded that you must follow the rules while you are guests here,’ Garmadia said with a self-satisfied grin. He allowed his eyes to drift across to Banks. ‘While all of you are guests here. The United States needs this base; you don’t have too many friends in Latin America anymore, Captain Hunter.’

Alex could feel the blood surging in his chest and a small bloom of pain in the centre of his head. He sat immobile and tried to keep his breathing calm. His eyes remained, unblinking, on Garmadia. The smaller man swallowed, perhaps thrown off by not getting the reaction he had expected. He went on, this time sounding a little less sure of himself.

‘You probably think you will walk out of here, make a phone call and go over our heads, but be warned that it could be us phoning your superiors.’

Alex’s eyes slid across to Colonel Lugo. He saw that the man’s face had gone a deep shade of red.

‘That is enough, Captain Garmadia,’ Lugo said. ‘North America is like a big brother to us. There will be no insulting of family — especially while I am in the room.’

He held Garmadia’s eyes a moment longer, the glance carrying a warning, then returned to the map and the HAWCs’ destination. He opened his mouth about to speak, but Garmadia was there before him.

‘If I may remind you, Colonel,’ he said, raising his finger, ‘even the Minister for Foreign Affairs has said that we must look to our own neighbours for our security in the future, rather than bowing before fading superpowers—’

‘That’s enough!’ Lugo exploded and slammed one hand down on his desk. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second then opened them again, a roguish smile creeping across his face. ‘Captain Garmadia, I was about to send you out of the room, but I believe you may be of assistance on a little trip I am about to authorise.’

He turned to Alex. ‘It is true what Sergeant Banks has told you. There are no aircraft available to you now, and the zone is under mandatory quarantine. However, I believe your CDC scientists should be allowed to enter the area to assist our country with any diagnoses and, we hope, the containment of this health hazard.’ He smiled and pointed at a red line running down the interior of the country. ‘This is the main road all the way to Asunción — and you can’t be shot down travelling by vehicle, can you? You have two choices. First, leave the highway at Pozo and head towards Concepción, where you can obtain a boat and travel down the Paraguay River to this spot close to the camp.’

Alex did some quick calculations: just over 200 miles by truck, forty by boat, then another forty-mile trek. A lot of distance over some tough terrain. He wasn’t sure how the scientists would cope.

‘But if it was me,’ Lugo went on, ‘I would be tempted to drive to a point just past Pozo and obtain a guide there to take you through the jungle to the camp. This way you avoid the river altogether, which is unpredictable coming into rainy season. Two-fifty miles by truck, then about twenty miles through some dense jungle — should take maybe two days, or less if you have a good guide.’

Alex looked up from the map and nodded.

‘Good. How long until you can be ready?’ Lugo asked.

‘We’re ready now, Colonel.’

Lugo looked over his shoulder. ‘And you, Captain Garmadia?’

‘What?’ Garmadia’s smirk vanished.

‘I think you would be of enormous assistance to our North American friends in providing translation services, obtaining a guide and generally showing them some real Paraguayan hospitality,’ Lugo said. ‘Only a few days. I’m sure your wife will not miss you. Get yourself a light field pack and be out front in twenty minutes. That’s an order. Dismissed.’

Garmadia looked as though he had just received an electric shock.

Lugo rose from his desk, clapped the Paraguayan captain on the shoulder and walked him to the door. As the two men left, Lugo leaned in close to Garmadia’s ear. Alex could hear the colonel’s muted words as though they were whispered into his own ear.

‘You may have the ear of the minister, but I have the ear of the President. Take care, Captain, and take care of them, or I will make sure you are stationed deep down in the jungle permanently.’