The short and previously very pudgy man beamed and preened. “Do you really think so, Señorita Elliot?”
“Yeah, I do. You must have lost fifty pounds, Eduardo,” she said, thinking anthrax had been particularly good for this pig of a man. Hell, he could probably see his prick for the first time in twenty years.
“Fifty-three,” he said proudly, patting his stomach. “There is nothing like nearly dying of a prehistoric illness to make un hombre lose weight.”
Suzanne poked him in his now flat belly. “Now, you stay away from the enchiladas and beans and eat more healthy and I’ll bet the lovely, young, señoritas will be following you around like starving puppies.”
Now he blushed. “I am very afraid my wife would not take kindly to such activities,” he said with feigned pomposity.
Suzanne laughed and elbowed him with a wink, “What the little lady doesn’t know won’t hurt her, will it Eduardo?”
He gave a hearty laugh. “No, but it very well may hurt me.”
Shirley Cole and Joel Schumacher walked up in the narrow corridor. “Are you teasing our guest?” Shirley asked with a mock frown.
“No, just telling him how good he looks since the illness caused him to lose so much weight,” Suzanne answered.
“Well, don’t embarrass him too much, ’cause he’s on his way back to Mexico City today. The INAH is sending a helicopter to pick him up and take him home,” Joel said.
“Good for you, Eduardo,” Suzanne said, holding up a fist.
Matos glanced down at her fist, a puzzled look on his face.
Joel took his hand, made it into a fist, and bumped Suzanne’s fist with his. “A new American custom, Eduardo,” Joel said, grinning.
“Ah, I will have to remember that to show my children. They are always interested in anything having to do with America and your strange customs.”
Shirley put a hand to her ear. “I do believe I hear your helicopter coming in for a landing, Eduardo.”
She eased around them and went to the door. “It should land in the clearing about fifty yards to the north.”
“Come on,” Suzanne said, taking his arm. “We’ll all walk you out to your ride, after all, you are our first plague cure and we wouldn’t want you to get lost in the jungle.”
In the descending helicopter, Mason spoke into his helmet microphone. “Let me be the first to exit the helicopter. I want to give whichever person is Janus a real surprise.”
“That is strange,” Matos said, using his palm to shield his eyes from the ever bright tropical sun. “That is an American Navy helicopter. I thought the INAH was going to send a Mexican military helicopter for me.”
The entire staff of the Bio-Lab had turned out to see Matos off, and they all stood there with hands up for shade looking at the chopper as it settled into the clearing in a wall of dust.
As the rotors slowed and the dust began to settle, a man strode out of the cloud and walked rapidly toward them.
Suzanne Elliot gave a strangled cry and fainted dead away, sinking to the ground before anyone could catch her.
Mason Williams walked up and spread his arms to the group. “Daddy’s home, children,” he cried with a wide grin.
Following close behind him, Lauren gave a narrow-eyed glance at Suzanne lying on the ground and then smiled up at the group. “I’m not Mommy,” she said laughing, “but I’m home, too.”
“And me!” Guatemotzi hollered as he ran out of the dust cloud carrying their duffle bags and backpacks in his sinewy arms.
The group didn’t know whether to hug Mason or to see to Elliot, who lay on the ground moaning, “It can’t be… it can’t be…”
Matos knelt next to her and began to gently pat her cheeks. “Señorita Elliot… Señorita Elliott, are you all right?”
“She’ll be just fine,” Mason said cavalierly, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder like a side of beef. He strode to the lab, entered, and went into the ICU cubicle and flopped her down on the bed there.
The rest of the crew followed him, puzzled expressions on their faces.
“What in the name of all that is holy is going on, Mason?” Sam Jakes asked, anger in his voice at the way Mason was manhandling Suzanne.
“Yes,” Shirley asked, moving to stand beside Suzanne. “Why are you being so rough?”
As Suzanne began to come around, Mason stepped to the head of the bed and addressed the group. “I believe Suzanne is a spy, code-named Janus, who has been working undercover for Colonel Blackman at USAMRIID to thwart our finding a cure for the plague, or to steal it for him if we found one before the army did.”
Everyone except Lauren gasped and seemed to step back from Suzanne, as if her treachery might be contagious.
She moaned and moved her head back and forth as she began to come to. Upon hearing Mason’s words, her eyes filled and she wiped at her tears as she stared at Mason with anguished eyes. “How did you find out?”
“The mercenaries your boss hired to kill us and steal the specimens told me.”
Suzanne laid her head back down on the pillow with her arm draped over her face and began to cry softly.
Mason stepped to her side and searched her white clinic jacket, pulling a sat-phone from her left pocket. “Come on,” Mason said to the others, walking out of the room.
When the room was empty except for Suzanne, he locked the door from the outside and walked to the dining room so they could tell the others the tale of their trip and all that had happened to them since they’d been gone.
“Shirley, would you make a large pot of coffee?” he asked. “We’ve got a helluva story to tell and it’s going to take quite a while.”
She stared at him through slitted eyes. “Would some chocolate cookies go good with that? I just happen to have a fresh batch cooling in the galley.”
“Damn right,” he said.
Colonel Woodrow Blackman entered his office three days later at 0630 with a cup of coffee in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other. He hadn’t slept for the past two nights waiting for word from Bear that he had taken Janus out, but he’d heard nothing.
He did not look happy and had a deep scowl on his face as he read what was written on the top sheet of paper. “That son of a bitch is a dead man,” he muttered as he reached over and flipped on the lights.
When he looked up from the paper, his hand jerked, spilling scalding hot coffee all over the front of his uniform.
“Goddamn!” he exclaimed, shaking his hand and glaring with wide eyes at the group of men sitting scattered around his office.
“What the fuck…,” he started to bellow until he looked into the barrel of the ACP .45 caliber semiautomatic handgun Bear was pointing at his chest. The hole looked big enough to get lost in.
He swallowed whatever it was he was about to say and glanced around at the other men with Bear. Evidently he didn’t like what he saw in their eyes, as his hand began to shake and sweat popped out on his forehead.
Bear smiled. “Have a seat, Colonel.”
Blackie eased around his desk and sat down slowly. He placed the empty coffee cup on his blotter and the sheaf of papers on his desk in front of him.
A sickly smile appeared on his face and he slowly reached for his phone. “Hey, Bear… guys… let me order us all some coffee…”
Bear wagged his head side to side and said in a low voice, “Put the phone down, Colonel. Let’s keep this meeting just between us for now.”
“S… s… sure, Bear,” Blackie stuttered. “What can I do for you?”
Bear’s forehead creased, and he asked, “What were you cursing about when you came in just now?”
“Oh, nothing.”
Jinx stood up from his chair in the corner and crossed to lean over and read the sheet of paper Blackie had been holding in his hand. “Boss, this here paper Blackie was readin’ says all the DNA samples are from the same person, as were all of the blood samples.”