Morgan's Mercenaries: Heart of the Warrior

Her hair was thick and black and hung in one long braid over her right shoulder and down between her breasts, which were hidden by the bandoliers of ammunition. There was such pride and absolute confidence in her stance, in the way her shoulders were thrown back. As she lifted her chin imperiously, Roan wanted to simply absorb the sight of her and the feeling of that incredible energy swirling around her. He wondered if she was a figment of his imagination, a hybrid between Sarah and some kind of superhuman woman.

The instant he thought that, her eyes snapped with rage and utter indignation.

“Do not waste precious energy and time on such speculations!” she growled at him. “You were born into a medicine family. You know better!” She jabbed a finger at the amulet he wore around his neck. “You carry the stone of the Jaguar Clan. You are one of us! I am Inca. I am asking for your help, Roan Storm Walker. Well, will you give it? I do not beg. This will be the only time I stand before you. Answer me quickly, for many will die without you here by my side to fight the fight of your life and mine. I am in a death spiral dance. I invite you into it.”

Walker felt her outrage at the very thought that he might say no to her request. Inca. A mysterious name. The name of a woman from…where? Perhaps from the Inca empire in Peru? Her accent was thick, reminding him of Spanish. He touched the blue stone that lay at the base of his throat. It felt hot, and throbbing sensations moved through his fingertips. The amulet he wore was powerful; his mother had told him so, and Roan had often experienced strange phenomena regarding it. But he’d never before felt the level of energy that was emanating from it now. He glanced down and saw a strange turquoise-white-and-gold light pulsating around it, like a beacon.

“Where do you come from, Inca?” he demanded in an equally fierce voice. He was not afraid of her, but he respected her power. Where he came from, women were equal to any man.

“I come from the south, Storm Walker. The stone you wear around your neck tells me of your heritage. The spirits of your ancestors led me to you. You are needed in my country. Time is short. Many lives are at stake. My guardian says you are the one.” The woman’s green gaze grew demanding. “Are you? the one?”

“I don’t know. How can I help you?”

“You will know that when you see me the second time.”

He searched her shadowed features. She had the face of an Indian, all right—most probably of Incan heritage if she was from the south. Her stance was uncompromising. This woman feared nothing and no one. So why was she approaching him? He looked around, feeling another, invisible presence near her.

“Your guardian?” he asked.

A sour smile twisted her mouth and she gazed down at his gold cougar, which stood guard. “Watch,” she commanded. “I run out of patience with you.”

In moments the golden light enveloped Inca once more. Roan watched with fascination as the woman disappeared within spiraling bands that moved like a slow-motion tornado around her. But what walked out of the light moments later made him gasp. It was a huge stocky, black-and-gold male jaguar.

Roan vaguely heard Anna growl. In response the male jaguar hissed and showed his long, curved fangs. His golden eyes were huge, with large, shining black pupils. As the animal stalked around them, his tail whipping impatiently from side to side, his thick body strong and sensuous as he moved, Walker watched in awe. Anna remained on alert at his side, but did not attack the slowly circling jaguar.

The coat on the cat was a bright gold color, patterned with black crescent moons. To Roan, the massive jaguar seemed formidable, invulnerable. His mind churned with more questions than answers. A woman who turned into a male jaguar? She was a shape-shifter—a medicine person from South America who had the power to change shape from human to animal, and then back into human form at will. That in itself was a feat that few could manage successfully. He recalled that his mother, who worked with the Yaqui Indians of Mexico, had possessed shape-shifting abilities herself. One never knew, seeing a bird, a reptile or a four-footed, if it was in fact human or not. Walker had been taught never to kill anything that approached him in such a bold, fearless manner.

As he watched the male jaguar make one complete circle, Roan was wildly aware of the throbbing power around the animal…around this mysterious woman called Inca. As he stared, he felt an intense, searing telepathic message being impressed upon him, body and soul.

I cannot control the tides of the ocean. I cannot change the course of the winds. I cannot control what is free and yearns to roam. I can only bend and surrender to a higher power through my heart, which rules me. I bend to the will of the Great Goddess, and to the Jaguar Clan. I ask you to willingly, with pure heart and single-minded purpose, to work with me. My people need your help. I ask in their name…

To Walker’s surprise, he felt hot, scalding tears stinging his eyes. 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 her enemies?”

“A Green Warrior—” Houston grimaced “—or worse. I think you ought to prepare yourself for Colonel Marcellino’s reaction to her. He won’t have anything good to say when he hears we’re going to pair him up with Inca.”

Studying Houston, Morgan slowly closed the file and stood up. “Mike, I’m counting on you to help carry the day in there. You’re my South American expert. You’ve been fighting drug lords in all those countries, especially in Peru and Brazil. No one knows that turf better than you.”

“That’s why Inca is so important to this operation,” he said as he walked with Morgan toward an inner door that led to an elevator to the top secret, underground war room. “She knows the turf even better than I do.”

Morgan halted at the door. He rearranged the red silk tie at the throat of his white shirt. Buttoning up his pinstripe suit, he sighed. “Did you ever find anyone in our merc database who could work—or would want to work—with the infamous Inca?”

Grinning a little, Houston said, “Yeah, I think I did. Roan Storm Walker. He’s got Native American blood in him. Inca will respect him for that, at least.”

Morgan raised his brows. “Translated, that means she won’t just outright flatten him like she does every other male who gets into her line of fire?”