Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart Of The Warrior (3 page)

Though he frowned, Jaime said laughingly, “And why would I not want to meet this woman and hear her words directly? If she is Indian and knows Portuguese, there should not be a language problem, eh?”

Biting down on his lower lip for a moment, Mike said quietly, “She is known as the jaguar goddess, Colonel. Her real name is Inca.” He saw the colonel’s eyes widen enormously, as if he’d just been hit in the chest with an artillery shell. Before the Brazilian could protest, Mike added quickly, “We know the past history between Inca and yourself. That is why Roan Storm Walker is going along. He’ll relay any information or opinions from Inca to you. We know you won’t want to interface with her directly due to…circumstances….”

Marcellino uttered a sharp cry of surprise. He shot up so quickly that his chair tipped over. His voice was ragged with utter disbelief. “No! No! A thousand times no!” He swung toward Morgan, who sat tensely.

“You cannot do this! I will not allow it! She’s a ruthless killer! She murdered my eldest son, Rafael, in cold blood!” He slammed his fist down on the table, causing the wood to vibrate. “I will not permit this godless woman anywhere near me or my troops!” His voice
cracked. Tears came to his eyes, though he instantly forced them back. “I lost my eldest son to that murdering, thieving traitor! She’s a sorceress! She kills without rhyme or reason.”

Choking, he suddenly realized how much of his military bearing he’d lost in front of his fellow officers. His face turned a dull red. He opened his hands and held them up. “I apologize,” he whispered unsteadily. “Many of you do not know me, know of my background. My eldest son, the light of my life…the son who was to carry on my name, who was to marry and someday give me grand-children…was senselessly and brutally murdered by this woman named Inca. She is wanted in Brazil for thirteen murders. Thirteen,” he growled. Straightening up, his heart pounding, he again apologized. “I had no idea you would suggest her,” he told Morgan in a hoarse tone.

Morgan slowly rose and offered a hand in peace to him. “Please, Colonel, come and sit down.”

An aide scrambled from near the door to pick up the colonel’s fallen chair and place it upright so that he could sit down. Hands shaking, Jaime pulled the chair, which was on rollers, beneath him. “I am sorry for my outburst. I am not sorry what I said about this sorceress.” Sitting down, he glared across the table at Morgan and Mike Houston. “You know of her. You know she’s a murderer. How can you ask me to tolerate the sight of her, much less work with her, when she has the blood of my son on her hands?” His voice cracked. “How?”

Houston looked to his boss. This was Morgan’s battle to win, not his. Sitting down, he watched Morgan’s face carefully as he rose to his full height to address the emotionally distraught colonel.

“Jaime…” Morgan began softly, opening his hand in a pleading gesture, “I have four children. I almost lost my oldest son, Jason, in a kidnapping and I know of your grief. I’m deeply sorry for your loss. I truly am.” Morgan cleared his throat and glanced down at Mike who sat looking grim. “I have it on good authority that Inca did
not
kill your son Rafael. She said she was on the other side of the basin when he and his squad surprised a drug-running operation in a village. Inca denies killing your son. The person in this room who knows her well is Mike Houston. Mike, do you have anything to add to this, to help the colonel realize that Rafael was not murdered by Inca?”

Mike leaned forward, his gaze fixed on Jaime’s grief-filled face. The colonel had lost his hard military expression, and his dark eyes were wild with suffering and barely checked rage. Mike knew that in most Latin American countries, the firstborn male child was the darling of the family. In the patriarchal cultures in South America, to lose the eldest son was, to the father of that family, to lose everything. The eldest was doted upon, raised from infancy to take over the family business, the family responsibilities, and carry on their long heritage. Mike knew the people in Jaime’s social strata were highly educated. Jaime himself, descended from Portuguese aristocracy of the 1700s, had a proud lineage that few others in Brazil possessed. Rafael had been trained, coaxed, nurtured and lovingly molded according to this prominent family’s expectations. Mike knew even as he spoke just how devastating the loss was for the colonel.

“Colonel Marcellino. Inca is my blood sister.” He held up his hand and pointed to a small scar on the palm of
his hand. “I met her when she was eighteen years old. She saved my life, quite literally. She almost died in the process. The Inca I know is not a murderer. She is a member of the Jaguar Clan of Peru, a group that teaches their people to defend, never attack. If someone fires on Inca, or someone attacks her, she will defend herself. But she will never fire first. She will not ever needlessly take a life.”

Marcellino glared across the table at him. “Do not paint a pretty picture of this murdering sorceress. The men in Rafael’s squad saw her. They saw her put a rifle to her shoulder and shoot my son cold-bloodedly in the head!”

“Listen to me,” Mike rasped. “Inca was two hundred miles away from the place where your son was killed. She was with an old Catholic priest, Father Titus, at an Indian mission on the Amazon River. I can prove it.” Mike pulled out a paper from the open file in front of him. “Here, this is an affidavit signed by the priest. Please, look at it. Read it.”

Belligerently, Jaime jerked the paper from Mike’s hand. He saw the sweat stains on the document and the barely legible signature of the old priest. Throwing it back, he barked, “This proves nothing!”

Mike placed the paper back into the file. Keeping his voice low and quashing his feelings, he said, “No one in your son’s squad survived the attack by the drug lord and his men. I saw the report on it, Colonel. All you have is one person’s word—a man who was later captured and who is suspected of working with the same local drug lord who indicted Inca. He said Inca was there. You have a drug runner’s word. Are you going to believe him? He has every reason to lie to you on this. He wants to save
his hide and do only a little bit of prison time and get released. How convenient to lay the blame at Inca’s feet. Especially since she wasn’t there to defend herself.” Houston tapped the file beneath his hand. “I know Father Titus personally. The old priest is almost ninety. He’s lived in the basin and has helped the Indians at his mission for nearly seventy of those years. At one time he helped raise Inca, who was orphaned.”

“Then all the more reason for the old priest to lie!” Jaime retorted. “No! I do not believe you. The blood of thirteen men lays on Inca’s head. There is a huge reward, worth six million cruzeiros, or one million dollars, U.S., for her capture, dead or alive, in Brazil. If I see her, I will kill her myself. Personally. And with pleasure. My son’s life will finally be avenged.”

Roan shifted slightly in his chair. The atmosphere in the room was cold and hostile. Not one man moved; all eyes were riveted on the colonel and Mike Houston. Roan saw the hatred in the colonel’s face, heard the venom that dripped from every stilted English word he spoke. The colonel’s black eyes were a quagmire of grief and rage. Part of Roan’s heart went out to the man. Jaime had made the worst sacrifice of all; he’d lost a beloved child. Well, Roan had something in common with the colonel—he’d lost someone he’d loved deeply, too. But who was Inca? The woman he’d seen in his dream earlier? She sounded like a hellion of the first order. Warrioress, madwoman—who knew? Roan looked to Mike Houston, who was laboring to get the colonel to see reason.

“Inca’s only responsibility is as a Green Warrior for Mother Earth,” Mike said quietly. “She has taken a vow to protect the Amazon Basin from encroachment and de
struction by anyone. Twelve of these so-called murders were really self-defense situations. Plus, the twelve men who are dead are all drug dealers. Inca does not deny killing them, but she didn’t fire first. She shot back only to save herself and other innocent lives.” Mike held out a thick folder toward Jaime. “Here is the proof, colonel. I haven’t understood yet why the government of Brazil has not absolved Inca of those trumped up charges. I’d think Brazil would be happy to see those men gone.” He laid the file down. “But I don’t want to get off track here. You can read her sworn statements on each charge when you want.”

“It is well known she hates white men!” Marcellino snapped, his anger flaring.

“Not all,” Mike countered. “She’s my blood sister by ceremony. She respects men and women alike. Now, if someone wants to destroy, rip up, start cutting down timber, hurt the Indians or make them into slaves, then Inca will be there to stop him. She will try many ways to stop the destruction, but murdering a person is not one of them. And as I said, she will fire in defense, she will never fire the first shot.”

“And I suppose,” Marcellino rattled angrily, “that the thirteen men she killed fired on her
first?
”

“That’s exactly what happened in twelve cases,” Houston said gravely. “Your son is the thirteenth to her count, he shouldn’t have been added. Members of the Jaguar Clan can be kicked out of it by firing first or attacking first. She can only defend herself. So twelve men fired
first
on her, Colonel. And she shot back. And she didn’t miss.”

“She murdered my son! He’s one of the thirteen.”

“Inca was not there. She did not shoot your son.”

Morgan appealed to Marcellino. “Colonel, would you, as an officer, lead your entire company of men into an unknown area without proper help and guidance?”

“Of course not!”

“Inca knows the basin better than anyone,” Morgan said soothingly. He lifted a hand toward Roan at the end of the table. “This man will be standing between you and Inca. You won’t have to face her. You won’t have to see that much of her. He’s your liaison. Your spokesman, if you will. Inca can lead you and your men safely to this valley in the mountains. I know much is being asked of you, and that is why Roan is here—to assist and help you as much as he can. Anything she tells him, Roan will relay on to you or your officers. I realize the pain of your loss, and we tried to come up with a plan that would somehow protect you and her both during this mission.”

“I will kill her if I see her.”

“No,” Morgan said, his voice hard and uncompromising, “you won’t. If you really want to take this mission, you will promise to leave her alone.”

“And you will not order one of your men to shoot her, either,” Houston growled. “Any attempt on Inca’s life, and she’ll leave you and your company wherever you are. And if you’re in the middle of the rain forest, Colonel, without a guide, you’ll be in jeopardy.”

“Then I will hire an Indian guide to lead us.”

Houston shook his head. “There isn’t an Indian willing to lead you into the area, Colonel. If the drug lords find out that they did, they’d move into their village and murder everyone in retribution.”

Jaime tried to take a breath. It hurt to breathe. His heart
was wild with grief. Rafael had been murdered two years ago, but it felt like only yesterday. Rubbing his chest savagely, Jaime snarled, “You cannot ask this of me. You cannot.”

Morgan moved around the table and faced him squarely. “Colonel, if I thought for a heartbeat that Inca had killed your son, I would not have asked you to head this mission. Nor would I have asked Inca to be your guide. I believe Mike Houston. I’ve never met her, I only know of her reputation in Brazil. I know that if a person becomes a legend, many times the truth gets tattered and distorted. I believe the old priest’s affidavit. He has no reason to lie to protect her. Priests don’t lie about something like this. I’ve also read her sworn statements on each charge. I believe she’s innocent in such charges.” Morgan eased his bulk down on the table next to Marcellino’s chair.

“Colonel, you are a man of consummate honor. Your family’s heritage stretches back to the kings and queens of Portugal. You were the only person we wanted for this mission. You are a brave and resourceful man. You are someone who is good at his word. Your love of your country has been obvious in the twenty years you’ve served in her military. You are one of the most decorated men in your country.” Morgan held the officer’s dark gaze. “I believe, Colonel, that if you will give me your word that you will not harm Inca for the duration of the mission, that you can be trusted. Look beyond her. Look at what you will accomplish for all the people of Brazil. You will be a hero.”

Morgan raised his hand and swept it toward the rest of the men sitting around the table. “And think of the glory
you will receive, the recognition, for going in first to strike a blow for freedom from these drug runners. Your name will be on the lips of people around the globe. Is that not a credit to your son? Could this mission be undertaken in his name? In his memory?”

Morgan saw Marcellino sink back into the chair. He knew the officer’s ego and pride were tremendous. And typical of South American aristocracy, fame and power would appeal strongly to the colonel. Morgan was hoping it would break the logjam on this mission. He tried to sit there appearing at ease, even though his gut was knotted while he waited for the man’s answer.

Roan watched the proceedings with rapt attention. So, he was to be a bridge, a liaison between this wild woman from Amazonia and the colonel who wanted to kill her in the name of his lost son. Roan realized the immensity of his mission. Was this woman, Inca, sane? Was she manageable? Would she respect him enough to stay out of Marcellino’s way so they could successfully complete the assigned task? Roan wasn’t sure, and he had a helluva lot of questions to ask Houston when the time was right.

All eyes were on Marcellino as he sat back, deep in thought over Morgan’s softly spoken words. No one moved. The Brazilian finally looked at Houston. “What makes you think she will work with Storm Walker?”

“He’s Indian like she is. Inca respects Indians.”

“He’s a man.” Marcellino’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Inca doesn’t hate men. She respects men who have honor, who have morals and who aren’t destroying Mother Earth. Roan, here, comes from a similar background. He’ll be able to understand her, and vice versa. I
believe it is a good match, and I believe Inca will get along well with him.”