The impassioned plea made him blink rapidly. Tears! Of all things! He hadn’t cried since…since Sarah had died so unexpectedly and tragically. Trying to halt the tumult of feelings radiating through his chest and around his heart, he watched the jaguar through blurred vision. What the hell was going on? This was no lucid dream. This was some kind of phenomenal, otherworldly meeting of the highest, purest kind. He’d heard his mother speak in hushed tones of those times when the gods and goddesses of her people would come to her in her dreams. She had often described rare meetings just like the one he was having now.
Was Inca really a human being? A shape-shifting medicine woman? A shaman who lived in South America? What was the Jaguar Clan? All questions and no answers. The stone at his throat seemed like it was burning a hole in his flesh. He felt it with his fingertips; it was scalding hot. This was the first time it had ever activated to this extent. His mother had said that the stone possessed powers beyond anyone’s imagination, and that at the right time, he would be introduced to them. Rubbing his throat region, he understood this was no ordinary meeting. This had something to do with the stone’s origin and purpose.
The jaguar stopped. He stared up at Roan with those huge eyes that were now thin crescents of gold on a field of black.
Walker felt the inquiry of the massive jaguar. His heart was beating hard in his chest, adrenaline pumping violently through him. Fight or flight? Run or stay and face combat? She was a warrior for something. What? Who? Who does she represent? The light or the dark? Walker knew she wasn’t of the darkness. No. Everything within him shouted that she was of the light, working on the side of goodness. Yet she was a combat soldier. A modern-day Amazon.
Roan felt his cougar rub against his thigh, and he draped his fingers across the female animal’s skull. She was purring and watching the jaguar with interest. Looking down, Roan saw Anna was once again relaxed, no longer on guard or in her protective stance. That was his answer.
Lifting his head, Walker looked over at the male jaguar. “Yes, I’ll come. I’ll be there for your people.”
Within seconds, the jaguar disappeared into the cloud of brilliant, swirling light. And in the blink of an eye, the light was also gone. She was gone. Inca…
The drip, drip, drip of the rain off the tin roof slowly eased Walker out of his altered state. This time, as he opened his eyes, the grayness of dawn through the thick fir trees caught his attention. Twisting his head to one side, he looked groggily at the clock on the bedstand: 0600. It was time to get up, make a quick breakfast, drive down the mountain to Philipsburg, fifty miles away, and meet with his boss, Morgan Trayhern, leader of the super secret government group known as Perseus. A messenger had been sent up the mountain two days ago to tell him to be at the Perseus office in the small mining town at 0900 for a meeting with him and Major Mike Houston.
As Roan swung his naked body upward and tossed off the sheet, his feet hitting the cool pine floor, he sighed. Hands curling around the edges of the mattress, he sat there in the grayish light of dawn and wondered who the hell Inca was. This lucid dream was no dream at all, he was sure. He’d never had an experience like this before. The stone against his upper chest still burned and throbbed. Rubbing the area, he slowly rose to his full six foot six inches of height, then padded effortlessly toward the couch, where a pair of clean jeans, a long-sleeved white Western-style shirt, socks and underwear were draped. First, make the coffee, then get dressed. He pivoted to the right and made his way to the small, dimly lit kitchen. Without coffee, no day ever went right for him. He grinned a little at that thought, although his mind, and his heart, were centered on Inca. Who was she? What had he agreed to? First, he had to see what Morgan Trayhern and Major Mike Houston had up their sleeves. Roan knew Houston had worked down in South America for a decade, and he might be the right person to share this experience with. Maybe…
“What the hell are we supposed to do?” Morgan Trayhern growled at Mike Houston from his place behind the huge dark maple desk in his office.
Army Special Forces Major Mike Houston turned slowly away from the window where he stood and faced his boss. “Inca must lead that Brazilian contingent into the Amazon basin or Colonel Jaime Marcellino and company will be destroyed by the drug lords. Without her, they’re dead,” he said flatly. Then his eyes snapped with humor. “They just don’t know it yet, that’s all.”
Rubbing his square jaw, Morgan dropped the opened file labeled Inca on his desk. “Damn…she’s a lone wolf.”
“More like a lone jaguar.”
“What?” Disgruntled, Morgan gave Mike a dark look.
“Jaguars,” Mike said in a calm tone, “always hunt alone. The only time they get together is to mate, and after that, they split. The cubs are raised by the mother only.”
Glaring down at the colored photo of a woman in a sleeveless, olive-green T-shirt, bandoliers across her shoulders, a rifle across her knees as she sat on a moss-covered log, Morgan shook his head. “You vaguely mention in your report that Inca’s a member of the Jaguar Clan.”
“Well,” Mike hedged, “kind of…”
“What is that? A secret paramilitary organization down in Brazil?”
Mike maintained a dour look on his face. He unwound from his at-ease position and slowly crossed the room. “You could say that, but they don’t work with governments, exactly. Not formally…” Mike wasn’t about to get into the metaphysical attributes of the clan with Morgan. He tiptoed around it with his boss because Mike felt Morgan would not believe him about the clan’s mysterious abilities.
“But you’re insisting that Inca work with the Brazilian government on this plan of ours to coordinate the capture of major drug lords in several South American countries.”
“Morgan, the Amazon basin is a big place.” Mike stabbed his finger at the file on the desk as he halted in front of his boss. “Inca was born near Manaus. She knows the Amazon like the back of her hand. The major drug activity is in the Juma and Yanomami Indian reservation around Manaus. You can’t put army troops into something like this without experts who know the terrain intimately. Only one person, someone who’s been waging a nonstop war against the drug lords in that area, knows it—Inca.”
With a heavy shake of his head, Morgan muttered, “She’s barely a child! She’s only twenty-five years old!”
Mike smiled a little. “Inca is hardly a child. I’ve known her since she saved my life when she was eighteen years old.”
“She’s so young.”
Mike nodded, the smile on his mouth dissolving. “Listen to me. In a few minutes you’ve got to go into that war room with emissaries from those South American countries that are capable of raising coca to produce cocaine, and sell them on this idea. Inca has a reputation—not a good one, I’ll grant you—but she gets the job done. It ain’t pretty, Morgan. She’s a Green Warrior. That’s slang for a tree hugger or environmentalist. Down there in Brazil, that carries a lot of weight with the Indian people. She’s their protector. They worship her. They would go to hell and back for her if she asked it of them. If that Brazilian army is going to make this mission a success they need the support of the locals. And if Inca is there, leading the troops, the Indians will fight and die at her side on behalf of the Brazilian government. Without her, they’ll turn a deaf ear to the government’s needs.”
“I read in your report that they call her the jaguar goddess.”
Raising one eyebrow, Houston said, “Those that love her call her that.”
“And
