Tlateloco
While Mason and Lauren were working with Guatemotzi, trying to get him to understand the idea of a map or satellite photo, Shirley Cole was busy washing Guatemotzi’s clothes in a strong bleach solution to get rid of any anthrax bacteria still clinging to them from his days around the campsite and in the nearby jungle.
Finally, after Lauren had tried for the tenth time to get the boy to point toward his village on a map, he just shook his head and pointed over his shoulder at some distant mountains to the south and west of the camp.
When Lauren asked him how many days to walk to his village, Guatemotzi thought for a moment, looked at her and then at Mason and grinned as he held up five fingers.
Mason laughed. “Something tells me he doesn’t think too much of our ability to travel at speed through the jungle. He probably doesn’t think we’ll be able to keep up with him.”
Lauren raised her eyebrows. “I don’t know about you, Doctor, but I play tennis three days a week, jog at least five miles a week, and can swim a quarter-mile in just ten seconds off the current college record.”
He shook his head and grinned. “Gosh, that leaves me in the dust. I can’t run anymore ’cause of a knee injury I got while serving in the Navy, but I do bicycle to and from work every day—about five miles each way.”
“A bicycle?” she asked. “What are you, a sissy-boy? Does the bike have training wheels on it?”
“Hey,” he protested. “I’ll have you know I take my life in my hands every day to do battle in Atlanta traffic.”
She started to smile and then frowned. “Hey, what about weapons? I don’t want to be a worrywart, but if we’re gonna trek through the jungle for five days, there is no telling what kind of critters we might run into along the way, and I’d just as soon not try to fend off a cougar with my nail file.”
“Not to worry,” Mason said. “I got proficient with a. 45 while in the Navy, and we have a cabinet in the lab with a few Armalite AR-15 rifles and plenty of ammunition.”
And then he frowned. “But I think our worries should be more on running into drug cartel members rather than wild animals. The animals will try to give us a wide berth if we let them, but the drug dealers with try to kill us if we stumble upon a marijuana field or a plot of poppies they are cultivating to turn into heroin.”
Lauren smirked and looked at her watch. “Jeez, Doc, I just realized I’m late for an appointment in Mexico City—not that I don’t want to come on this trip with you since you make it sound so romantic and all.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, don’t be such a crybaby,” he joked. “I’m sure Guatemotzi knows trails that are both safe from wild animals and will keep us away from the drug lords who might be in the area.”
She glanced at the Indio boy. “Great, I’m putting my life in the hands of a teenage boy who can’t even read a map, cannot speak much English, and who is most probably friends with all the drug kingpins in the area.”
She smiled feebly and spread her arms out. “You are right, Dr. Feelgood, what do I have to be worried about?”
Mason laughed again and put his hand on her shoulder. He was momentarily surprised at how right it felt to touch her and how good it made him feel. “Come on, let’s get packed . . . but keep it light. Remember we’re gonna be slogging through five days of jungle heat and humidity, not to mention the many small mountains we may have to climb, and those AR-15s are not exactly lightweight.”
She shook her head as they walked toward the lab. “Man, you sure know how to show a girl a good time, Mason. First a worldwide plague, then a five-day jaunt through jungles filled with drug lords and wild animals looking to eat us, and all while trying to keep up with a teenage Tarzan of the Jungle.”
“And don’t forget,” he added with a sly smile, “after we’re done in the village, we get to walk back through the jungle for five more days.”
She glanced sideways at him. “I think your momma misnamed you. Shoulda called you Simon Legree or Marquis de Sade.”
* * *
After they were packed and ready to leave the camp, Shirley Cole walked over to Guatemotzi and turned him around and began to fiddle with the snaps on the small backpack Mason had provided for him. “Here you go, Guatemotzi,” she said, “I’m putting a couple of extra Hershey’s bars and even a chocolate chip muffin from Shirley into your pack in case you get hungry on the trip.”
The boy grinned, understanding most of what she’d said, especially the part about the Hershey’s bars.
Suzanne walked up and patted Guatemotzi on the back, and then she looked over his shoulder and said to Mason, “I still think I should come with you, in case you need help with the samples or the blood drawing.”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I think you’ll be much more valuable here, Suzanne. After all, this may all be a wild goose chase and the Battleship is going to need your advice on measures that can be taken to slow or stop the spread of the plague until a vaccine or cure can be found.”
“Okay, okay, I know when I’m licked,” she said, smiling sadly. “But you guys be careful,” she added, looking into Mason’s eyes. “I’d hate to never see you again.”
“Not to worry,” he said, hoisting his pack on his shoulders. “I’m like a bad penny . . . I just keep on turning up.”
“Until you do, we’ll keep on working on that nasty little bug and see if we can’t find a combination of antibiotics that will kill the little fuckers,” Shirley said, surprising everyone with the profanity. “Hopefully in time to save Dr. Matos’s life.”
None of them had ever heard her say anything much harsher than dadgummit. It was a measure of just how worried each of them was about the slim possibility of stopping the plague before it depopulated most of the civilized world.
Mason gave her a hug and said he knew she’d find a way to kill the bug, and then he followed Guatemotzi and Lauren into the brush.
* * *
A half-hour later, Bear felt the sat-phone in his jacket pocket vibrate. He was riding copilot to Jinx, who was the team’s designated pilot for touchy low-altitude flying, though all members could fly the plane in an emergency.
Bear pushed a button on the side of the phone and put it to his ear. “Yeah?”
“The Indio boy and Mason and the woman from the college just headed into the jungle toward the boy’s village,” a static-filled voice said. “They are heading south-southwest from the dig site, and I managed to plant a GPS signaler on the boy. It will signal on four hundred and forty megahertz and you should be able to pick it up within about two to three miles, depending on the terrain.”
“Thanks, Janus.”
“Bear?”
“Yeah?”
“Try to get the boy and the samples without killing Mason, okay? I don’t give a shit one way or another about the woman, but I’d like Mason to make it through this if it’s possible.”
Bear’s gunmetal gray eyes widened. He’d never heard Janus be sentimental about anyone before. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, without promising anything. After all, the boss had as much as ordered him to kill Janus, too, which kinda pissed him off since the spy had always been straight with him and his men.
He clicked off the phone and put it back in his pocket.
“What was that about?” Jinx asked, glancing sideways at him in the darkening gloom of the late afternoon.
“Nothing,” Bear grunted irritably, looking out the airplane’s windows and wondering for the first time if he was on the right side. He and his team had intercepted plenty of possible germ warfare agents before in the years they’d been working for Blackman, but this time it was different. Half the fucking world was dying and their orders were to take a possible cure and hand it over to the megalomaniac who employed them and hope he did the right thing with it.
He and his team had killed many times in the past, and their victims probably numbered in the dozens if not hundreds, but never before had the stakes been in the hundreds of millions, and Bear found himself in strange territory. He was suddenly thinking about things like morality and if being responsible for the deaths of hundreds of millions of innocents would wither his soul beyond redemption. Not that he necessarily believed in a soul, but still . . .
He shook his head and sighed deeply. He’d always been a man of action and was unused to indecision. Indecision and hesitation could get a man in his line of work killed faster than a speeding bullet.
He glanced over his shoulder into the rear seats of the plane and saw his men with their heads back against the seats dozing, and he envied them their lack of imagination.
They had no thought for the millions of people who may die in agony because of their actions. To them, this job was just another paycheck and another chance to kick some ass and take some names.
He turned back around and stared out the window at the dying embers of the sun off to their right and wondered what his final decision would be and whether he would ever be the same after this mission was over.
Hell, after this job maybe it was time to stake out a place on the beach in the Caymans and drown his memories in liquor and babes.