He hated being left behind by the others.
Hearing a rustle at his side, Manny glanced up. It was the anthropologist, Anna Fong. “May I?” She pointed to the jaguar.
Manny lifted an eyebrow in mild surprise. He had noticed the woman eyeing the cat before, but he had thought it was with more fear than interest. “Sure.” He patted the spot next to him. She knelt, and he handed her the brush. “He especially likes his belly and ruff worked over.”
Anna took the brush and bent over the sleek feline. She stretched her arm, cautiously wary as Tor-tor watched her. She slowly lowered the brush and drew it through his thick coat. “He’s so beautiful. Back at home, in Hong Kong, I watched the cats stalk back and forth in their cages at the zoo. But to raise one of them yourself, how wonderful that must be.”
Manny liked the way she talked, soft with a certain stilted diction, oddly formal. “Wonderful, you say? He’s been eating through my household budget, chewed through two sofas, and shredded I don’t know how many throw rugs.”
She smiled. “Still…it must be worth it.”
Manny agreed, but he was reluctant to speak it aloud. It was somehow unmanly to express how much he loved the great big lug. “I’ll have to release him soon.”
Though he tried to hide it, she must have heard the sorrow in his words. Anna glanced up to him, her eyes supportive. “I’m sure it’s still worth it.”
Manny grinned shyly. It sure was.
Anna continued to massage the cat with the brush. Manny watched her from the side. One fall of her silky hair was tucked behind an ear. Her nose crinkled ever so slightly as she concentrated on the cat’s grooming.
“Everyone!” a voice called out, interrupting them.
They both turned.
Nearby, Corporal Jorgensen lowered the radio’s receiver and shook his head. He turned and faced the camp. “Everyone. I’ve got good news and bad news.”
A universal grumbling met the soldier’s attempt at joviality.
“The good news is that the Brazilian army has rousted up a helicopter to fly us out of here.”
“And the bad?” Manny asked.
Jorgensen frowned. “It won’t be here for another two days. With the plague spreading through the region, the demand for aircraft is fierce. And for the moment, our evac is a low priority.”
“Two days?” Manny spoke up, accepting the brush back from Anna. Irritation entered his voice. “Then we could’ve traveled with the others until then.”
“Captain Waxman had his orders,” Jorgensen said with a shrug.
“What about the Comanche helicopter stationed at Wauwai?” Zane asked. He had been lounging in his hammock, quietly fuming.
Private Carrera answered from where she was cleaning her weapon. “It’s a two-seater attack chopper. Besides, the Comanche’s held in reserve to back up the other team as necessary.”
Manny shook his head and furtively glanced at Kelly O’Brien. She sat in her hammock, eyes tired, dull, defeated. The waiting would be the worst for her. Two more days lost before she could join her sick daughter.
Kouwe spoke from near the large Brazil nut tree. He had been examining the crude markings knifed in the bark by Clark, and now had his head cocked questioningly. “Does anyone else smell smoke?”
Manny sniffed, but the air seemed clear.
Anna crimped her brow. “I smell something…”
Kouwe swung around the base of the large Brazil nut tree, nose half raised. Though long out of the forests, the professor’s Indian senses were still keen. “There!” he called out from the far side.
The group followed after him. Carrera quickly slapped her M-16 back together, hauling it up as she stood.
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 Carrera.”
“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, Carrera 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 Tor-tor 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.