Tiewater approached one of the tents and stopped outside, listening. Hearing nothing, he pushed the tip of his barrel through the nylon flap and moved it aside, peering in.
Nothing.
One by one, he checked the others before looking up to Anderson and shaking his head.
“No one here,” he whispered into his microphone. “But it’s definitely not abandoned.” Tiewater moved to the larger of the trucks, where the monkeys were still watching him. He looked into the front cab.
“Judging from their supplies, I’d say four or five, tops.” He moved back to the smoldering fire pit and studied it. “They’ve been here a few days.”
“They sure are tidy.”
Tiewater nodded. “Makes for a quick departure, and with minimal evidence.”
“Smart.”
“Or paranoid.” Tiewater stopped, noticing something on the ground. Kneeling down, he retrieved his flashlight and held it close to the soil, covering it with his hand. The beam was small and focused and revealed several footprints.
He turned it off and put the light away.
“Tracks?” Anderson asked.
“Yep.”
62
Hugo eased to his left, shifting more weight onto his elbow as he scanned for a source of the chattering. Dressed in full jungle camouflage and hat, he kept the brim low, covering most of his face.
Through the night scope, he checked slowly from one tree to the next, until spotting his target on a wide branch. The dark outline of the capuchin was unmistakable, moving only slightly as it chattered back and forth.
Hugo remained trained on the silhouette for a long time, giving his colleagues time to lock in on any others. Once the first shot was fired, they would all have to follow suit before the rest fled.
To make matters worse, some monkeys were surprisingly sharp, realizing something was wrong before the poachers had a chance to shoot. They still hadn’t figured out what tipped off the brighter ones, which forced them to be even more cautious.
Hugo lowered his head and centered his scope on the target. He took a deep breath and slowly let it out, smoothly pulling the trigger halfway through.
A loud thump exploded from the end of his rifle, followed by two more shots nearby. The silhouette on the branch shrieked and fell from sight, hitting the ground with a thud. High-pitched screams instantly filled the air overhead. Dozens of capuchins scrambled away as Hugo and his men leaped to their feet, running for the trees.
He reached the base of the tree and grabbed the tiny figure curled on the ground. But when he held it up, the white tip of the dart dangled from its loose skin, not from the body. It wasn’t a direct hit. The monkey wasn’t unconscious.
Instead, it began flailing in his hands, screaming and clawing wildly. The small creature desperately tried to free itself while Hugo struggled to hang on. One of the monkey’s claws abruptly took a chunk of skin out of his soft cheek, causing a searing pain.
Hugo yelled and squeezed harder, trying to restrain the creature, but it only fought harder. After another painful gash across his mouth, Hugo’s right hand withdrew his sap and brought it forward, smashing the hard metal against the monkey’s tiny head.
The animal was instantly silenced. As it fell limp in the man’s hands, he brought it closer, studying it in the moonlight.
“Shit,” he growled. The damn thing was dead.
He stood up and removed the dart, angrily dropping the limp body onto the ground. He looked around for the other men and spotted the outline of Vito moving toward him.
“Yours sounded lively,” the shorter man called out.
Hugo felt his lip. Even in the darkness, he could feel the blood on his fingertips. “Damn thing attacked me. I had to smash it.”
The other man laughed and held up his captive’s listless body. “Got mine.”
Over the tops of their rifles, both Tiewater and Anderson watched the two men converge and continue talking. A few minutes later, two more arrived, both empty-handed.
Tiewater eased his head up and brought his mike in closer. “Tie here.”
“Go ahead,” replied Caesare.
“I think this is the place our gorilla is looking for. And you probably want to hurry.”
Caesare’s eyes stopped when he heard Tiewater’s message. They were moving the last of their gear under a small rock shelter, not far from where they’d been. It wasn’t perfect, but it would provide at least some protection from the rain without compromising their position.
Caesare turned his head to Corso and had just began to speak when they all heard the sound they had been dreading. The distant roar from dozens of engines as the first sets of headlights crested the top of the mountain.
All four stood and watched over the trees as truck after truck appeared, steaming up the last of the incline, and approached over the dirt road.
63
Leading the procession, Salazar’s vehicle continued for another half mile before stopping in the middle of the road. He promptly climbed out of his Humvee and moved off the road, watching with a smile the line of headlights as they appeared one by one. Eventually the vehicles began braking to a stop behind him.
His lieutenant climbed out of the third vehicle, a large truck carrying over a dozen men, and approached Salazar. Together, they watched the silhouettes against the long line of headlights as their men began pouring out and surrounding the trucks.
Salazar retrieved a cigarette from his shirt pocket and watched as Otero, emerged from his Range Rover with Russo close behind him.
He ignored both men and spoke directly to his lieutenant, Sosa. “Get a base set up and find some fresh water. I want a dozen men out searching for whoever or whatever was dropped off here. And tell them they’re authorized to shoot first.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me. Shoot anything they see unless it’s a goddamn monkey.”
Sosa displayed a look of concern. “Sir, if there’s someone else up here, we don’t know who they are.”
“I don’t care who they are.”
The lieutenant’s eyes flickered briefly to Otero and Russo before returning to his commanding officer. “Sir, what if they are Brazilians?”
Salazar looked at Sosa hard. “Then they have no business being up here.”
Sosa simply stared at Salazar. The tense moment was interrupted by footsteps from the grass. They all turned to see Becca’s smaller frame emerge from the darkness.
“Dr. Becca,” Salazar said. “Your men will be ready within the hour. I recommend you be as well.”
“An hour?” she said, surprised. “I thought we were starting in the morning.”
“The plan has changed. Someone else is already here. And they’re likely searching for the same thing we are.”
Otero was watching, his features barely visible in the darkness. “When was the drop?”
“This morning.” Salazar turned back to his lieutenant. “Get your men moving.” Then he turned to Becca. “Doctor. One hour.”
With that, Salazar turned and walked back toward his vehicle. Both his lieutenant and the doctor quickly disappeared into the darkness, leaving Otero and Russo alone.
“How did he find out about the drop?” Otero muttered.
“He’s communicating with someone,” Russo mused. “Someone with access to Aeronautics Command. We don’t have any radar stations up here, which means the drop could only have been picked up by aircraft. Probably one of the Orions.”
Otero didn’t answer. Instead, he stood there thinking, still watching the lieutenant’s silhouette as he marched back to the trucks and began yelling orders.