To the south of their camp, about a hundred feet into the forest, small flames flickered in the shadows, low to the ground. Through breaks in the canopy, a thin column of gray smoke drifted skyward.
"I'll investigate," Jorgensen said. "The rest hang back with Camera:"
"I'm going with you," Manny said. "If anyone's out there, Tor-tor will scent them:"
As answer, Jorgensen unstrapped the M-9 pistol from his belt and passed it to Manny. Together they cautiously passed into the deeper jungle. Manny signaled with his hand, and Tor-tor trotted ahead of them, taking the point.
Back behind them, Camera ordered everyone together. "Keep alert!"
Manny followed after his cat, walking abreast of Corporal Jorgensen. "The fire's burning on the ground," Manny whispered.
As they neared the spot, the corporal signaled for silence.
Both men's senses were stretched, watching for any shift of shadows, listening for the telltale snap of a twig, searching for any sign of a hidden threat. But with the twittering of birds and mating calls of monkeys, it was difficult work. Their steps slowed as they neared the smoldering glow.
Ahead Tom-tom edged closer, his natural feline curiosity piqued. But once within a few yards of the smoky fire, he suddenly crouched, growling. He stared at the flames and slowly backed away.
The men stopped. Jorgensen lifted a hand, a silent warning. The jaguar sensed something. He motioned for Manny to sink lower and take up a guard position. Once set, Jorgensen proceeded ahead. Manny held his breath as the corporal moved silently through the forest, stepping carefully, weapon ready.
Manny kept watch all around them, unblinking, ears straining. Tor-tor backed to his side, now silent, hackles raised, golden eyes aglow. Beside him, Manny heard the cat chuffing at the air. Manny remembered the cat's reaction to the caiman urine beside the river. He smells something . . . something that has him spooked.
With adrenaline doped in Manny's blood, his own senses were more acute. Alerted by the jaguar, Manny now recognized an odd scent to the smoke: metallic, bitter, acrid. It was not plain wood smoke.
Straightening, Manny wanted to warn Jorgensen, but the soldier had already reached the site. As the soldier eyed the burning patch, Manny saw the man's shoulders jerk with surprise. He slowly circled the smoldering fire, rifle pointed outward. Nothing came out of the forest to threaten. Jorgenson maintained his watch for a full two minutes, then waved Manny over.
Letting out his held breath, Manny approached. Tor-tor hung back, still refusing to approach the fire.
"Whoever set this must have run off," Jorgensen said. He pointed at the fire. "Meant to scare us:"
Manny moved close enough to see the spread of flames on the forest floor. It was not wood that burned, but some thick oily paste painted atop a cleared section of dirt. It cast a fierce brightness but little heat. The smoke rising from it was redolent and cloying, like some musky incense.
But it was not the smoke nor the strange fuel of this fire that sent icy chills along Manny's limbs-it was the pattern.
Painted and burning on the jungle floor was a familiar serpentine coiled symbol-the mark of the Ban-ali, burning bright under the canopy's gloom.
Jorgensen used the tip of his boot to nudge the oily substance. "Some combustible paste:' He then used his other foot to kick dirt over the spot, smothering the flames. He worked along the burning lines, and with Manny's help, they doused the fire. Once they were done, Manny stared up, following the smoke into the late afternoon sky.
"We should get back to camp:"
Manny
nodded. They retreated back to the bower under the large Brazil nut tree. Jorgensen reported what they discovered. "I'll radio the field base. Let them know what we found:" He crossed to the bulky radio pack and picked up the receiver. After a few moments, the soldier swore and slammed the receiver down.
"What is it?" Manny asked.
"We've missed SATCOM's satellite window by five minutes:'
"What does that mean?" Anna asked.
Jorgensen waved an arm at the radio unit, then at the sky overhead. "The military's satellite transponders are out of range:"
"Until when?"
"Till four o'clock tomorrow morning:'
"What about reaching the other team?" Manny asked. "Using your personal radios?"
"I already tried that, too. The Sabers only have a range of six miles. Captain Waxman's team is beyond our reach:"
"So we're cut off?" Anna asked.
Jorgensen shook his head. "Just until morning."
"And what then?" Zane paced nervously, eyes on the forest. "We can't stay here for two more days waiting for that damned helicopter."
"I agree," Kouwe said, frowning deeply. "The village Indians found the same mark on their shabano the very night they were assaulted by the piranha creatures:"
Private Camera turned to him. "What are you suggesting?"
Kouwe frowned. "I'm not sure yet:" The professor's eyes were fixed on the smoggy smudge in the sky. The forest still reeked of the bitter fumes. "But we've been marked:"