Part 47 (2/2)

She glanced over at him, her face tired and sad. ”I won't be long. I just need a few minutes alone with my brother:”

He nodded. He had no doubt the Ban-ali would leave her unmolested, but he hated to see her alone with such raw grief.First her daughter, now her brother . . . somuch pain shone in every plane of her face.

She reached to him, squeezed his hand. ”Thanks for offering, though,” she whispered, and set off across the fields.

Behind Nate, Kouwe already had his pipe lit and was talking wit Dakii. Nate patted Tor-tor's side and walked over to join them.

Kouwe glanced back at him. ”Do you have a picture of your father?”

”In my wallet:”

”Can you show it to Dakii? After four years spent with your father, the tribesmen must be familiar with recorded images:”

Nate shrugged and pulled out his leather billfold. He flipped to a photo of his father, standing in a Yanomamo village, surrounded by village children.

Kouwe showed it to Dakii.

The tribesman c.o.c.ked his head back and forth, eyes wide. ”Kerl,” he said, tapping at the photo with a finger. ”Carl . . . right,” Kouwe said. ”What happened to him?” The professor repeated the question in Yanomamo.

Dakii did not understand. It took a few more back-and-forth exchanges to finally communicate the question. Dakii then bobbed his head vigorously, and a complicated exchange followed. Kouwe and Dakii spoke rapidly in a mix of dialects and phonetics that was too quick for Nate to follow.

During a lull, Kouwe turned to Nate. ”The others were slain. Gerald escaped the trackers. His background as a Special Forces soldier must have helped him slip away.”

”My father?”

Dakii must have understood the word. He leaned in closer to the pho-tograph, then back up at Nate.

”Son?” he said. ”You son man?”

Nate nodded.

Dakii patted Nate on his arm, a broad smile on his face. ”Good. Son of

wishwa:”

Nate glanced to Kouwe, frowning.

”Wishwa istheir word for shaman. Your father, with his modern won-ders, must have been considered a shaman:”

”What happened to him?”

Kouwe again spoke rapidly in the mix of pidgin English and a mishmash of Yanomamo. Nate was even beginning to unravel the linguistic knot.

”Kerl . . . ?” Dakii bobbed his head, grinning proudly. ”Me brotherteshari-rin bring Kerl back to shadow of Yagga. It good:”

”Brought back?” Nate asked.

Kouwe continued to drag the story from the man. Dakii spoke rapidly. Nate didn't understand. But at last, Kouwe turned back to Nate. The pro-fessor's face was grim.

”What did he say?”

”As near as I can translate, your father was indeed brought back here- dead or alive, I couldn't say. But then, because of both his crime and hiswishwa status, he was granted a rare honor among the tribe:'

”What?”

”He was taken to the Yagga, his body fed to the root:” ”Fed to the root?”

”I think he means like fertilizer.”

Nate stumbled back a step. Though he knew his father was dead, the reality was too horrible to fathom.

His father had attempted to stop the corruption of the Ban-ali by the prehistoric tree, risking his own life to do so, but in the end, he had been fed to the d.a.m.n thing instead, nouris.h.i.+ng it.

Past Kouwe's shoulder, Dakii continued to bob his head, grinning like a fool. ”It good. Kerl with Yagga.

Nas.h.i.+ nar!”

Nate was too numb to ask what the last word meant, but Kouwe trans-lated anyway.

”Nas.h.i.+ nar.Forever:”

8:O8 PM.

In the jungle darkness, Louis lay in wait, infrared goggles fixed to his head. The sun had just set and true night was quickly consuming the valley. He and his men had been in position for hours.

Not much longer.

But he would have to be patient.Make haste slowly, he had been taught. One last key was needed before the attack could commence. So he lay on his belly, covered by the fronds of a fern, face smeared in streaks of black.

It had been a long and busy day. This morning, an hour after sunrise, he had been contacted by his mole.

His spywas still alive! What good for-tune! The agent had informed him that the Ban-ali village did indeed lie in a secluded valley, only approachable through the side canyon in the cliffs ahead. What could be more perfect? All his targets trapped in one place.

The only obstacle had been the valley's d.a.m.ned jaguar pack.

But his darling Tshui had managed to handle that nasty problem. Cov-ered by the early morning gloom, she had led a handpicked team of track-ers, including the German commando, Brail, into the valley's heart and planted poisoned meat, freshly killed and dripping with blood. Tshui had tainted each piece with a terrible poison, both odorless and tasteless, that killed with only the slightest lick. The pack, its blood l.u.s.t already up from the attack upon the Rangers, found these treats too hard to resist.

Throughout the early morning, the great beasts dropped into blissful slumbers from which they would never wake. A few of the cats had re-mained suspicious and had not eaten. But hunting with the infrared gog-gles, Tshui and the others had finished off these last stubborn cats, using air guns equipped with poisoned darts.

It had been a quiet kill. With the way clear, Louis had moved his men into a guard position near themouth of the side chasm.

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