Dakii hugged Nate tightly.
"Don't thank me yet;" Nate said. Around the glade, the other Indians were being untied, but Nate focused on the booby-trapped tree with its nine napalm bombs chained around its trunk.
Sergeant Kostos passed by, rubbing his chafed wrists. "I'm going to see about disarming the charges. Camera's off to see if she can find the weapon she hid:"
Nate nodded. Nearby, the freed Ban-ali gathered around the two jaguars. Both cats were now lounging in the shade, seemingly oblivious to the audience. But Nate noticed the larger female watching everything through slitted eyes. The cat was not letting its guard down.
Anna and Kouwe stepped over to join him. "We're free, but what now?" the professor asked.
Note shook his head.
Anna crossed her arms.
"What's wrong?" Nate asked, noticing her deeply furrowed brow.
"Richard Zane. If we ever get out of this mess, I'm quitting Tellux."
Note smiled despite their situation. "I'll be right behind you with my own letter of resignation."
After a bit, Sergeant Kostos
strode back to them, wearing his usual scowl. "The bombs are all hardwired and booby-trapped. I can't stop the detonation sequence or remove the devices:'
"There's nothing you can do?" Kouwe asked.
The Ranger shook his head. "I have to give that French bastard's team some credit. They did a great job, damn them:'
"How much time?" Anna asked.
"Just under two hours. The digital timers are set to blow at eight o'clock:"
Note frowned at the tree. "Then we'll either have to find another way out of this valley or seek some type of shelter:'
"Forget shelter," Kostos said. "We need to be as fucking far from here as possible when those babies blow. Even without the additional incendiaries placed by Favre's men, those nine napalmers are enough to fry this entire plateau:"
Note took him at his word. "Where's Dakii? Maybe he knows another way out of here:"
Kouwe pointed to the entrance to the Yagga. "He went to check on the status of his shaman:"
Note nodded, remembering the poor man who had been shot in the gut by Zane. "Let's go see if Dakii knows anything helpful:"
Kouwe and Anna followed him.
Sergeant Kostos waved them on. "I'll keep examining the bombs. See if I can come up with anything:"
Once inside the tree's entrance, Nate again was struck by the scent, musky and sweet. They followed the blue handprints up the tunnel.
Kouwe marched at Note's side. "I know escape is foremost on everyone's mind, but what about the contagious disease?"
"If there's a way out," Nate said, "we'll collect as many plant specimens as time allows. That's all we can do. We'll have to hope we stumble on the correct one:"
Kouwe looked pensive, not satisfied with Nate's answer, but had no other rebuttal. A cure discovered here would do the world no good if they themselves didn't survive.
As they continued to wend their way up the tree, the sound of footfalls echoed down to them. Nate glanced to Kouwe. Someone was coming.
Dakii suddenly appeared around the corner, winded and wide-eyed. He was startled to find them in front of him. He spoke rapidly in his own tongue. Even Kouwe couldn't entirely follow it.
"Slow down," Nate said.
Dakii grabbed Nate's arm. "Son of wishwa, you come:" He tugged Nate toward the upper tunnel.
"Is your shaman okay?"
Dakii bobbed his head. "He live. But sick . . . very big sick."
"Take us to him," Nate said.
The Indian was clearly relieved. They hurried up at a half trot. In a short time, the group entered the healing ward at the top.
Nate spotted the shaman in one of the hammocks. He was alive but did not look well. His skin was yellowish and shone with fever sweat. Very big sick, indeed.
As they approached, the prone man sat up, though clearly it pained him immensely to do so. The shaman waved to Dakii, ordering him across the room on an errand, then stared at Nate. He was glassy-eyed but lucid.
Nate noticed the ropes lying on the floor under the hammock. Even gravely injured, the man had been bound by Favre.
The shaman pointed at Nate. "You wishwa . . . like father:"
Nate opened his mouth to say no. He was certainly no shaman. But Kouwe interrupted. "Tell him yes," the professor urged.
Nate slowly nodded, obeying Kouwe's instinct.
The response clearly relieved the suffering man. "Good," the shaman said.
Dakii returned, burdened with a leather satchel and a pair of footlong lengths of reed. He held the gear out to his leader, but the shaman was too weak. He directed Dakii from his hammock.
Obeying, Dakii lifted the pouch.
"A dried jaguar scrotum," Kouwe said, pointing to the pouch.
"All the rage in Paris," Nate grumbled.
Dakii fingered open the pouch. Inside was a crimson powder. The shaman spoke from the bed, instructing.
Kouwe translated, though Nate caught a word here and there. "He describes the powder as all ne Yagga:"
Nate understood. "Blood of the Mother."
Kouwe glanced at Nate as Dakii tamped some of the powder into the tips of the two straws. "You know what's about to happen, don't you?"