Sam smiled. "He said you would do fine. Just let your woman nurse you and stay away from bullets in the future."

"Tell him I will." Scott smiled at the old man. He turned to see how Rosalie had handled the old man's innuendo. Her face was red. The man had embarrassed her.

Scott wondered if he was red in the face, too. For a moment, he wondered what it would be like to take Rosalie into his arms and love her.

Then guilt struck. He loved Jeannie -- had always loved Jeannie. He felt lower than a swamp snake.

"Scott. You're human." Rosalie stared at his face, where he was sure his lust and guilt blazed like a neon sign. "You love Jeannie, but you're human. I still mourn Julio, but that doesn't mean I don't find you attractive. What's important is that neither one of us is going to act on those feelings. We are honorable people."

"Thanks. You hit it on the head. Neither one of us is dead, and I mean to keep us that way. Let's move it."

Scott said good-bye to the village elders and the medicine man. Then, he proceeded to the boat where Sam and Rosalie had already climbed in and sat waiting.

They'd stripped the Humvee of all weapons and survival gear they might need. Added to what they'd packed and what Sam had loaded for the lengthy trip to Brasilia, they were as ready as they would ever be.

Scott climbed into the boat next to Sam and across from Rosalie. Sam fired up the small motor. For the first leg of the trip, the small boat would go under power. Sam had assured him that there were enough 'fazendas' along the route to buy or barter for more gasoline.

But later, Scott knew, some of the tributaries segued into marsh lands flooded by the heavier than normal October rains and they would have less clearance. Then the motor would be useless. At that point, Sam and Scott would alternately pole and row the dugout canoe which was a lot like a bayou pirogue.

The goal was to connect, eventually, to the great Araguaia River, which traversed the Pantanal and flowed into the Goias region. There, at this time of the year, the great river would connect through various tributaries to take them directly into Brasilia.

Scott had heard that the land through which the great river flowed was often called "The Garden of Eden" for its high concentration of wildlife. It was one of the last and largest nature refuges in the world, not yet mortally harmed by man. If it weren't for the life-threatening nature of their journey, Scott would enjoy the upcoming trip. To him swamps were swamps, and he'd always loved exploring the Manchac with Paul.

"Scott, where did you go just now?"

He turned. Rosalie sat in the rear of the boat. She eyed the dark waters, made even more leaden with the thick cloud cover and the lush overgrowth of the swamp forest. He couldn't believe his eyes. She who had shot down an armed helicopter seemed afraid of the river.

"I was thinking about all the interesting things we'll be seeing on our trip. This area of Brazil is full of life."

Scott reached forward and took her hands in his in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. "Don't be afraid of the swamp and the jungle. Think of it as a large nature habitat, like at Disney World. I'll let you know when there is danger."

"Sam won't let you be hurt, senorita. The Pantanal and later the Araguaia are beautiful and full of wondrous things. Sam will show you, also." The little man nodded his head for emphasis as he cheerfully piloted them into the middle of the waterway. "See the caiman?" Sam laughed and pointed to a place over Rosalie's shoulder. "They are taking their siesta. The rocks -- they are still warm from the sun."

Scott eyed the large reptiles.

"They are bigger than the caiman in Louisiana," he said. "If we leave them alone, they'll leave us alone. We're too big for a meal."

Sam chortled. "Yes, yes. Too big. They seek the smaller food, like fish and turtles."

Rosalie sighed, then gifted the two men with a small smile. "I looked that scared, huh?"

"Yep." Scott smiled back and let go of her hands after a gentle squeeze. "I couldn't believe you were scared. I mean, you took that copter out like a seasoned Marine."

"I don't like river travel." She turned and pointed out a large bird taking flight ahead of their boat. "What's that?"

Scott took her abrupt question as a hint to change the subject. If she wanted him to know why she didn't like traveling on rivers, she'd tell him. She'd proven herself to be courageous and able. She'd do what had to get done. He and Sam would help her.

Scott studied the bird. "Looks like an egret, but it isn't quite the same. Sam?"

Sam's answer showed he'd been following their conversation closely. His English learned in a missionary school was excellent. "It is a 'curicaca', what you call an ibis."

He gestured toward a stand of trees. "See near the lower branches? The 'curicaca' nest there. A little higher see the nests for other swamp birds. That is a 'ninhais', a nesting place. This is where they nest during the day. At night they move to other trees and have their night-time resting place called a 'dormitorios.'

As Rosalie quizzed Sam on why the birds felt the need to have two separate nesting areas, Scott scanned both banks of the small waterway. They were being watched. Not by the enemy, they wouldn't be after them just yet, but by the curious eyes of local natives. Scott wasn't too worried. The locals along this part of the journey would know that the three were not a danger to them. Sam had explained the native telegraph. The watching eyes would assure them of safe passage, at least until they were out of Sam's tribal lands.

Later, when they hit the less-traveled part of the swampy region, who would threaten first? The wildlife or the natives or One World's mercenaries?

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT.

'Manchac, Louisiana -- October 30th.'

Jeanette and Mama Chloe baked cookies for the Halloween carnival at the local elementary school. Instead of trick-or-treating from house-to-house, the town of Manchac held a carnival every year so the students could have a safe environment to celebrate Halloween. The carnival featured lots of games, treats and entertainment, including a Haunted House in the high school gym.

Brigitte looked forward to attending. Jeanette was thrilled that her daughter had adjusted so well to attending the public school. The little girl had already made lots of new friends. Mama Chloe knew everyone in town and made sure that Brigitte -- and Jeanette -- felt welcome.

A loud noise from the front of the house disturbed the peaceful atmosphere in the cozy kitchen. The racket was followed by hurried, heavy footsteps.

The sudden intrusion had both women gasping. As one, they turned toward the door which led to the front hallway.

"Who's making all that commotion?" Mama Chloe recovered first. She wiped orange frosting off her hands as she stepped toward the doorway.

Frenchy, one of the local fisherman and Mama Chloe's beau, rushed in. He held a rifle in his strong, weathered hands. For such a friendly man, he looked too comfortable with the deadly looking weapon.

Jeanette shivered at the sight. While omnipresent gun racks in the local men's pickup trucks blatantly advertised that this was NRA country, she couldn't recall ever seeing any of them carrying the guns quite so openly. And especially not into someone's house.

"Is it Brigitte? Is something wrong?" She ripped off the apron she wore and threw it on the counter. "What's happened? Why are you carrying a gun?"

"We got us some big time trouble coming. We need to get you women hidden away back in the bayou. There's some strangers in town who've been asking questions about Scott -- and you gals."

Frenchy went to the storage closet off the kitchen where he pulled out another rifle and a couple of boxes of shells. "Chloe, 'cher', you've been practicing with this like I taught you?"

"I can hit any vermin I aim at, Frenchy, and you know it." Mama took the gun. "Where we gonna go? The hunting cabin?"

"Yeah. Tony put out a call for reinforcements from his agency. He's picking up Little Bits from school. Floyd sent the nosey bastards on a short trip the wrong way up the road, but they'll soon realize he steered them wrong. They'll be back. You need to be gone."

Jeanette ran out of the kitchen and into her bedroom. Pulling a bag from the closet, she threw some clothes into it, then proceeded to do the same for her daughter. Anything she didn't remember, she didn't need.

Cursing her clumsiness, she finally zipped the bag. Jeanette shuddered. She'd never pictured the taciturn Cajun as an alarmist, but his fear was tangible.

Rutherford had somehow tracked her down. Had he connected her to Scott and his hometown? 'Oh my God!' Had something happened to Scott? Had they captured him? Tortured him? Was that how they'd found out about Manchac?

Swearing under her breath, she ran back to the kitchen. Throwing the bag on the floor, she grabbed the satellite phone from the counter. She hit the redial

and waited for the phone to connect. Then she listened as it disconnected.

The signal wasn't going through.

Cursing once more, she dialed the number Scott had given her for One World

headquarters at San Jacinto.

Frenchy and Mama Chloe stood with mouths open at the swear words that

seemed to tumble effortlessly from her lips as she waited for someone to answer.

"Who you calling?" Frenchy finally asked.

"Scott."

Mama Chloe's eyes reflected confusion, followed quickly by shocked

realization. Now she, too, uttered a combination of prayers and swear words.

She'd finally made the connection to Frenchy's words about the men asking after not just Jeanette, but Scott.

Frustrated, Jeanette whispered, "Come on, answer, God damn it."

"'Hola'. San Jacinto 'fazenda'."

"Is Dr. Scott Fontenot there, please?" She hoped the person on the other end

understood enough English.

"Who is calling, please?"

"His sister."

Mama Chloe smiled and mouthed the words "smart girl."

"He is not here, 'senorita.' May I take a message?"

"When will he be back?"

"I am not sure. There is some confusion here. May I take a message?"

"No. Thank you."

Jeanette hung up. "They said he wasn't there, and they aren't sure when he'll

be back. They said there was some confusion." Tears streamed down her

face. "I think Scott is in trouble."

"You don't know that. Remember, he said he was leaving. He probably did that last night. He's long gone, 'cher'." Mama Chloe came over and hugged her. "We need to leave."

"But what if he calls? We won't be here."

"We'll have someone come and check the machine." Mama pulled her around and gave her a gentle shove. "Now go get your bag. Tony just drove up."

Jeanette started to move, then stopped. "We need to call Evan. Tell him what's going on and that we're leaving. Tell him to use the cell phone number he has to contact me."

"Good idea, 'cher'. I'll do that. You scoot on out there and comfort your daughter." Mama nudged her toward the door.

"Oh damn." Jeanette kicked her bag. "Brigitte was so looking forward to the Halloween Carnival tomorrow night. Now she'll miss it."

"Plenty of other carnivals in her future," Frenchy said in his calm way. "Go on, get out there and into the boat. We'll bring some of these cookies and have us our own Halloween party in the bayou."

Jeanette couldn't argue with his logic. Once again, she was forced to run. But she was tired of running. She wanted to confront the bastard who'd made her life a living hell.

Yet, all those around her assured her it wasn't the time to stand and fight. Jeanette was afraid that when it was, she wouldn't measure up, that she would let all those counting on her -- Lynn Barrios, Evan, Scott, Mama, Brigitte -down.

Frenchy's air boat whisked them smoothly across the surface of the black waters of the swamp. From the town of Manchac, they headed deep into the back of the bayou. The heavily treed waters provided just enough room for the skilled boatman to maneuver his craft among the large-rooted mangroves. Spanish moss hung down from the denuded trees. The plentiful moss, which was a form of fungus, brushed the boat's inhabitants' heads and shoulders.

This area of the swamp seemed as stagnant as the water. Or maybe it was just the fact that fall had come with winter just around the corner. All was deathly still in preparation for a long winter's sleep.

Shivering at the gloomy surroundings, Jeanette couldn't help but remember a story she'd read in school about a man who'd traveled into the back of the beyond, away from all civilization, and found not the enlightenment or the riches he sought, but insanity. Was she traveling into her own "heart of darkness?" Would she, like Conrad's Kurtz, find only horror when the thin veneer of culture was stripped away, revealing the true and violent nature every human had lying just beneath? Would she waiver and abandon her faith? How could she maintain the teachings of her Church and society when someone wished to kill her? Harm her daughter and those she loved?

"The horror. The horror," she whispered. Was this how Kurtz had felt? Empty. Soulless. Helpless in the face of violence and true evil.

"Mama!" Brigitte's excited voice drew her from the dark well of depression into which she'd sunk. "Look!"

Jeanette followed the line of her daughter's pointing finger.