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Back Whirlwind Save as PDF
Chapters (95)
  1. Title Page
  2. 1
  3. 2
  4. 3
  5. 4
  6. 5
  7. 6
  8. 7
  9. 8
  10. 9
  11. 10
  12. 11
  13. 12
  14. 13
  15. 14
  16. 15
  17. 16
  18. 17
  19. 18
  20. 19
  21. 20
  22. 21
  23. 22
  24. 23
  25. 24
  26. 25
  27. 26
  28. 27
  29. 28
  30. 29
  31. 30
  32. 31
  33. 32
  34. 33
  35. 34
  36. 35
  37. 36
  38. 37
  39. 38
  40. 39
  41. 40
  42. 41
  43. 42
  44. 43
  45. 44
  46. 45
  47. 46
  48. 47
  49. 48
  50. 49
  51. 50
  52. 51
  53. 52
  54. 53
  55. 54
  56. 55
  57. 56
  58. 57
  59. 58
  60. 59
  61. 60
  62. 61
  63. 62
  64. 63
  65. 64
  66. 65
  67. 66
  68. 67
  69. 68
  70. 69
  71. 70
  72. 71
  73. 72
  74. 73
  75. 74
  76. 75
  77. 76
  78. 77
  79. 78
  80. 79
  81. 80
  82. 81
  83. 82
  84. 83
  85. 84
  86. 85
  87. 86
  88. 87
  89. 88
  90. 89
  91. 90
  92. 91
  93. 92
  94. Also by DAVID KLASS
  95. Copyright Page

There is total, eerie silence beneath the emerald canopy. This is a biosphere that understands bloodletting. Even the birds and the tiniest insects seem to be impressed by what has just taken place.

Jack, we’ve got company.

Two long, sleek outboard canoes motor toward us from either side of the log. Five soldiers in uniform stand motionless in each canoe, and it would be hard to imagine a tougher-looking group of rescuers. The men are short and muscular. I can’t see their faces clearly because they’re all wearing dark sunglasses and low-slung gray hats. Several of them carry submachine guns.

Still, the enemy of your enemy is your friend, and these roughnecks just saved us from being eaten. I wave at the man in the front of the lead canoe, who is cradling an Uzi in his arms like it’s his favorite child.

“Sir, I don’t know if you understand English, but thank you for saving us. Muchas gracias.”

He takes off his dark glasses and looks back at me as his canoe pulls up alongside our log. His face is not exactly warm and friendly, but he smiles at me and I smile back. “Não é nada,” he grunts, turning his submachine gun in his hands so he’s holding it by the barrel. Then he swings it like a baseball bat at my head.

I wasn’t expecting the attack. I start to duck away, but I’m still holding the boy in my arms and he slows me.

It takes me just a fraction of a second to push the boy down and start to roll away from the blow. But the delay makes all the difference.

The metal butt of the submachine gun catches me on the side of my head with a loud CRACK.

As I black out, I feel myself slipping off the log, and the silvery swamp water closes over me like a shroud.

37

37

I awake to the tolling of church bells. Are they striking the changing hour or has someone died?

It takes me a few seconds to realize the persistent ringing is inside my head, an excruciating metallic ache that reverberates from ear to ear each time I breathe.

My eyes are sealed shut with my caked blood. I’m lying down, being carried swiftly along.

I force one eye open. I’m on my side in a canoe, sailing quickly down a narrow and winding river. Tree branches reach across it to block out the sky overhead.

My wrists are handcuffed behind me. I twist my body around and glimpse Gisco and the boy lying near me, similarly bound. A soldier with a gun stands over us.

Bam, bam. The jackhammer switches on again. Gisco?

Welcome back, Jack. You haven’t moved in three hours. I was afraid he shattered your skull.

He sure swung for the fences. Who are these goons?