"What is it, Professor?" Favre asked with irritation.
"That was Kelly O'Brien. She's with her injured brother. If she says Nate's not up there, then he's not:"
Favre frowned and checked his watch. "We'll see:" He raised his bullhorn. "Ten seconds!" He then held out a palm, and a wicked weapon was handed to him: a curved machete as long as a scythe. Even in the smoky sunshine, it shone brightly-freshly sharpened.
Favre leaned and placed the curve of the blade under Anna Fong's neck, then lifted the bullhorn. "Time is running out, Nathan! I've been generous giving you an initial two minutes. From here on out, every minute will cost a friend's life. Come out now, and all will be spared! This I swear as a gentleman and a Frenchman:" Favre counted the last seconds. "Five . . . four. . ."
Nathan struggled for some plan . . . anything. He knew Louis Favre's sworn word was worthless.
Three . . . two. . .
He had seconds to come up with an alternative to submission.
"One. . ."
He found none.
"Zero!"
Nathan rose out of his hiding place. He stepped out with his shotgun over his head. "You win!" he called back.
Favre straightened from his crouch over Anna, one eyebrow raised. "Oh, mon pent homme, how you startled me! What were you doing down here all along?"
Tears flowed down Anna's stricken face.
Nate threw his shotgun away. "You win," he said again. Soldiers trotted around to circle him.
Favre smiled. "So I always do:" His lips turned from amused to feral.
Before anyone could react, Favre twisted from the hip and swung the machete with all the force of his arm and back.
Blood flumed upward.
His victim's head was shorn clean off at the neck.
"Manny!" Nate cried out, falling to his knees, then his hands.
His friend's body collapsed backward.
Anna screamed, swooning into Kouwe's side.
With his back to Nate, Favre faced the shock and dismay of the other prisoners. "Please, did any of you truly think I'd let Monsieur Azevedo strike my love without recourse? Mon Dieu! Where's your chivalry?"
Beyond the kneeling line, Nate saw the Indian woman touch a gash on her cheek.
Favre then turned back around to face Nate. His white outfit was now decorated with a crimson sash of Manny's blood. The monster tapped his wristwatch and waggled a finger at him. "And, Nathan, the count did reach zero. You were late. Fair is fair."
Nathan hung his head, sagging toward the ground. "Manny. . :'
Somewhere in the distance, a feline howl pierced the morning, echoing over the valley.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Cure
AUGUST 1 7, 4:1 6 PM.
AMAZON JUNGLE
Louis surveyed the final preparations in the valley. He carried his soiled field jacket over one arm, his shirtsleeves rolled up. The afternoon turned out to be a scorcher-but it would get hotter here, much hotter. He smiled grimly, satisfied, as he stared over the ruins of the village.
A Colombian soldier named Mask snapped to attention at his approach. The fellow, standing well over six feet, was as lethal as he was tall. A former bodyguard for the captain of a drug cartel, the swarthy man had taken a face full of acid protecting his boss. His skin was a boiled mass of scar tissue on one side. He had been fired afterward by his ungrateful ward, too ugly and too awful a reminder of how close death had come. Louis, on the other hand, respected the man's show of stalwart loyalty. He made an excellent replacement for Brail.
"Mask," Louis said, acknowledging the man, "how much longer until all the charges are set in the valley?"
"Half an hour," his new lieutenant answered sharply.
Louis nodded and glanced at his watch. Time was critical, but everything was on schedule. If that Russian hadn't gotten that damned GPS working and a signal transmitted, Louis would have had more time to enjoy his victory here.
Sighing, Louis surveyed the field before him. There were eighteen prisoners in all, on their knees, hog-tied with their hands behind their backs and secured to their crossed ankles behind them. A loop of rope ran from the bindings and encircled their necks. A strangler's wrap. Struggle against your knots and the noose tightened around your neck.
He watched a few of the prisoners already gasping as the ropes dug deep. The others sat sweating and bleeding under the hot sun.
Louis noticed Mask still standing at his side. "And the village has been scoured?" he asked. "There are no more of the Ban-ali?"
"None living, sir."
The village had numbered over a hundred. Now they were just one more lost tribe.
"How about the valley? Has it been thoroughly scouted?"
"Yes, Sir. The only way onto or off this plateau is the chasm:"
"Very good," Louis said. He had already known this from torturing the Ban-ali scout last night, but he had wanted to be sure. "Do one last sweep through all stations. I want to be out of here no later than five o'clock:"
Mask nodded and turned smartly away. He strode swiftly toward the giant central tree.
Louis followed him with his eyes. At the tree, two small steel drums were being rolled out of the trunk's tunnel. After the valley had been secured, men with axes and awls had hiked up inside the tree, set deep taps into the trunk, and drained large quantities of the priceless sap. As the men pushed the drums into the field, Louis studied another team laboring around the base of the giant Yagga tree. His eyes narrowed.