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 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 Carrera 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.”
5:33 P.M.
Frank was never happier to see the sun sink toward the horizon. They should be stopping soon. Every muscle ached from so many hours of hiking and so little sleep. He stumbled in step with the Ranger ahead of him, Nate marching behind.
Someone yelled a short distance away. “Whoa! Check this out!”
The straggling team members increased their pace. Frank climbed a short rise and saw what had triggered the startled response. A quarter mile ahead, the jungle was flooded by a small lake. Its surface was a sheet of silver from the setting sun to the west. It blocked their path, spreading for miles in both directions.
“It’s an igapo,” Nate said. “A swamp forest.”
“It’s not on my map,” Captain Waxman said.
Nate shrugged. “Such sections dot the Amazon basin. Some come and go according to the rainfall levels. But for this region still to be so wet at the end of the dry season suggests it’s been here a while.” Nate pointed ahead. “Notice how the jungle breaks down here, drowned away by years of continual swamping.”
Frank indeed noticed how the dense canopy ended ahead. What remained of the jungle here were just occasional massive trees growing straight out of the water and thousands of islands and hummocks. Otherwise, above the swamp, the blue sky was open and wide. The brightness after so long in the green gloom was sharp and biting.
The group cautiously hiked down the long, low slope that headed toward the swamp. The air seemed to grow more fecund and thick. Around the swamp, spiky bromeliads and massive orchids adorned their view. Frogs and toads set up a chorus, while the chattering of birds attempted to drown out their amphibious neighbors. Near the water’s edges, spindly-limbed wading birds, herons and egrets, hunted fish. A handful of ducks took wing at their noisy approach.
Once within fifty feet of the water’s edge, Captain Waxman called a halt. “We’ll search the bank for any sign of a marker, but first we should make sure the water is safe to be near. I don’t want any surprises.”
Nate moved forward. “We may be okay. According to Manny, those predatory creatures were part piranha. Those fish don’t like standing water like this. They prefer flowing streams.”
Captain Waxman glanced to him. “And the last time I checked, piranhas didn’t chase their prey onto dry land either.”
Frank saw Nate blush slightly and nod.
Waxman sent Corporal Yamir forward toward the swamp’s edge. “Let’s see if anything stirs up.”
The Pakistani soldier raised his M-16 and shot a grenade from its attached launcher toward the shallows off to the side. The explosion geysered water high into the air, startling birds and monkeys from their perches. Water and bits of lily pads rained down upon the forest.
The party waited for ten minutes, but nothing responded. No venomous predators fled the assault or attacked from the water’s edge.
Captain Waxman waved his men forward to begin the search for another tree marker. “Be careful. Stay away from the water’s edge and keep your eyes open!”
They didn’t have long to wait. Again Corporal Warczak, the team’s tracker, raised his voice. “Found it!” He stood only ten yards to the right, not far from the sludgy water.
Upon the bole of a palm that leaned over the water was the now familiar strip of polyester cloth, nailed to the tree with a thorn. The markings were almost identical to the last one. The initials and an arrow pointing due west again, right toward the swamp. Only the date was different. “May fifth,” Olin read aloud. “Two days from the last marker.”
Warczak stood a few paces away. “It looks like Clark came from this way.”
“But the arrow points across the water,” Frank said. He tipped the bill of his baseball cap to shadow his eyes and stared over the water. Distantly, beyond the swamp, he could see the highlands that Captain Waxman had shown him on the topographic map: a series of red cliff faces, broken with jungle-choked chasms and separated into tall forest-crowned mesas.
At his side, Corporal Okamoto passed him a set of binoculars. “Try these.”
“Thanks.” Frank fitted the scopes in place. Nate was also offered a pair. Through the lenses, the cliffs and mesas grew clearer. Small waterfalls tumbled from the towering heights into the swampy region below, while thick mists clung to the lower faces, obscuring the forested chasms that stretched from the swamp and up into the highlands.