Table of Contents

Amy's Amazon

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1 - Green Jungle, Yellow Monster

Chapter 2 - The Greenergy Board

Chapter 3 - Preaching the Message

Chapter 4 - Planning the War

Chapter 5 - Is This Love?

Chapter 6 - Under Cover of Darkness

Chapter 7 - The Hunted Hunts

Chapter 8 - Enemies Collide

Chapter 9 - Rendezvous and Re-Think

Chapter 10 - Further into Consciousness

Chapter 11 - Dockside Dealing

Chapter 12 - The Truth

Chapter 13 - Enemies Collude

Chapter 14 - A Warning

Chapter 15 - Death and Destruction

Chapter 16 - Cat Conversation

Chapter 17 - Boardroom Manoeuvres

Chapter 18 - Wonders of the Natural World

Chapter 19 - Another Life Wasted

Chapter 20 - A War of Words

Chapter 21 - Battle Commences

Chapter 22 - The Takeover

Chapter 23 - Evolution

Chapter 24 - War Draws Near

Chapter 25 - A New Dawn from the Amazon

Chapter 26 - The Word Spreads

Chapter 27 - Further Sacrifices

Chapter 28 - The Hunter Is Caught

Chapter 29 - One War Won, Another One Begun

Acknowledgements

AMY’S AMAZON

Book Two of

The Thrillosophy Trilogy

By Anthony Whelan

Copyright © Anthony Whelan 2013

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted,

in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior

permission of the publishers.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

Anthony Whelan asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

ISBN: 978-1-909154-18-6 (Paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-909154-35-3 (Ebook)

A catalogue record for this book is available from National Library, Ireland and the British library, UK

Cover Design –Anthony Whelan, Alison Comyn & Terry Collins

Cover Photography – Terry Collins, Drogheda, Ireland

Cover Artwork – Vivienne Byrne, Drogheda, Co. Louth

Cover Model – Nathalia Bianchi, Sao Paolo, Brazil

First Edition

Published 2013 in co-operation with Choice Publishing, Drogheda, Co. Louth, Ireland (www.choicepublishing.ie)

www.anthonywhelan.ie

www.thrillosophy.org

Dedication

For my Father, Paddy Whelan.

For my Brother, Patrick Whelan.

Gone but not forgotten.

‘It is not the days in our life,

But the life in our days.’

Until we meet again,

Rest in Peace.

CHAPTER 1

Green Jungle, Yellow Monster

˜

Amy lay back on the luxuriant living carpet and relaxed into its welcoming embrace. All around her was vibrant healthy life. The sun shone, the birds sang, the vegetation thrust its way joyfully towards the sun. Attuned as she was to the life surrounding her, Amy could sense on some deep internal level the pulsating energy of the forest. As she looked around before closing her eyes, she was once again struck by the majesty and beauty of the Amazon. The million shades of green, interspersed with reds, yellows, purples and every other colour of the rainbow, fascinated and enthralled her. The sheer energy of the forest as it sang homage to the Earth humbled her. And the damage being done to it angered her.

As Amy relaxed into a meditative state, she felt more clearly the life-force of the forest. She knew that it was not made of millions of separate organisms in the way that conventional science had previously believed. She understood on a primal level that the new holistic view of the universe was more correct – John Donne's observation that "No Man is an Island" came to mind as she viewed her environment on a sub-physical level. She perceived the interrelationships that bound every object, both animate and inanimate, in a web of life that supported and joined all the inhabitants of the forest in a single environment where every action had a reaction, where every object had a purpose, and where every creature unconsciously worked to maintain the balance that had sustained the forest for millennia. Amy sensed the unity and harmony of the forest, felt the positive life-force flowing through and around it, and revelled in the energy and ‘right-ness’ that surrounded her.

As she relaxed further into peace, Amy could also sense the toxic undercurrent that was flowing through the forest around her. Although this poison was decades old and to her seemed therefore to have been in the air for a long time, she knew that to the forest a decade was but the blink of an eye and that was why it hadn’t yet entirely awakened to this new danger. And yet the environment sensed on some deep level that something was wrong, that this new phenomenon represented some kind of danger. Over the millennia, the Amazon had gradually changed and evolved, slowly incorporating new lifeforms and situations while others died off. Until recently, this had in most cases been part of the positive development of life that had made the Amazon the richest reservoir of bio-diversity on the planet, with most recent estimates suggesting that fully thirty per cent of the lifeforms on the planet were to be found in this single incredible environment.

But the forest knew. The environment around her knew. Amy felt the disquiet of the forest. Some people, maybe most people, laughed at her when she said ‘The forest is afraid.’ They said she was crazy, unbalanced, a new-age environmental activist whose passions had driven her to the brink of insanity. But Amy knew. Amy felt it. Amy understood it. The entire forest, the environment as a whole, wasn’t a thinking organism in the way that a person was, or even in the way that an animal was. But it did have a low-level fundamental consciousness that measured time in centuries and millennia, and while it didn’t have or need the self-awareness that defined the human being, it did have a different kind of consciousness, a type of self-awareness that most of humanity had not yet learned to recognise, much less understand.

And in this environmental consciousness, anxiety was a new feeling. Natural catastrophes such as fire and earthquake barely impinged on this environmental consciousness because they lasted only hours or days – too short a time for the forest to be even aware of them. But this new catastrophe had lasted decades, and was increasing its pace. Its destructive force as it annihilated all in front of it was so severe and so sustained that it became perceptible to the consciousness of the forest. As a vast interrelated web of organisms and objects, with a perception that was not yet recognised by most of science, the environment was slowly awakening to the fact that there was something wrong – something terribly terribly wrong. While the forest couldn’t articulate these concerns, the carnage that had now lasted decades was causing the relatively recent uneasiness that Amy could feel underlying the natural harmony that had lasted in this huge region since the last Ice Age.

To an outside observer, the scene in the forest clearing would have appeared idyllic. Amy had not physically changed significantly over the past three years, since she had first fled into the forest to escape the malevolent forces that she believed might still be seeking her. She had travelled the world before that, using her real name as ‘normal’ people did, initially as a carefree young backpacker, but then as a fugitive from international law enforcement as she sought to fulfil her beloved father’s dying wish. And when her work was done, she had gone to South America to hide, while her companions finished the work that her mission had enabled. They were to dismantle the global conspiracy that had been born out of the CIA’s activities in Vietnam in the 1960s, and that had grown in the decades since then, nourished and empowered by the drug trade. But as more and more time passed without hearing from them, Amy had grown fearful that her partners in this endeavour might have failed, and that the malignancy of the Provisional CIA, as they called themselves, might have won the day. And so she had stayed in the Amazon, so that she could not be found.

As she lay on the carpet of forest grass and moss, she still looked as beautiful as she always had, perhaps even more so. She had allowed her hair to grow back to its former length, but she coloured her natural blond tresses dark with a dye she concocted from roots, letting the forest disguise her from anyone who might be looking for her. As her environmental activism had increased, so had her profile, and she knew she needed to be careful. But she still had the same stunning figure, the same perfect face, the same captivating eyes. As she lay still in the clearing, she looked as though she had been born to this place – a natural beauty tanned by the Amazonian sun, lying on a bed of moss and relaxing in the morning light. But while Amy was relaxed, she was also hyper-vigilant in her meditation, conscious of her surroundings on many different levels.

And as the time slowly passed, she became aware of the rumble from the south. The monster was approaching, and Amy was here to face it. The rumble grew louder, and soon Amy could feel the earth vibrating under her body as the grotesque monstrosity grew closer. She knew its name, she knew its function, she knew its very reason for existence. She breathed deeply to maintain her calm as the atrocity approached. She lay still on the floor of the clearing, believing that the strategy she had put in place would allow her fifty kilograms to at least temporarily halt the fifty tonnes of yellow outrage that drew ever closer. To Amy, it was a destructive force that had to be stopped. It was raping the forest, defiling it, killing it slowly as it and its cohorts devoured their way through the Amazon in an unthinking feeding frenzy that violated all the laws of nature.

Amy could only think of the machines as a tidal wave of monsters, rolling across the beauty and the majesty of the Amazon, destroying and obliterating everything in their path. With dispassionate ruthlessness, the tsunami wounded, raped, and killed, destroying everything from micro-organisms that naturally had a lifespan of hours, to mighty trees and ferns that would normally have lived for centuries. The invading horde had no recognition or feeling for the splendour and magnificence that it was exterminating. As it extinguished life, it had no thoughts, mindlessly responding to the operations of its masters. And it was this thought that made it so difficult for Amy to remain calm and centred. These monsters were ruled by her own kind. Her own species created and operated the monsters. It was human beings who decided what locations would be destroyed next. It was Humanity that was presiding over the greatest destruction of life that the world had ever seen.

As the rumbling grew in volume and the earth shook beneath her, Amy steeled herself and put her faith in the plan she had laid out. Trees crashed to the ground at the edge of the clearing as the yellow monster emerged into the light. The sun reflected off the painted yellow steel, bouncing brilliant rays from the chrome grilles and the windows that were five metres off the ground. The caterpillar tracks crushed the earth beneath them as the machine moved forward, coming to a stop close to the frail-seeming girl lying on the ground. The rumble died down from its crescendo to a deep muttering and Amy knew that if the machine moved now, she would die. Her plan revolved around the masters of the machine giving her one last chance – if they had already decided that she had been given too many chances, then she would cease to exist in this life. One part of her mind wondered what would come next if that were to happen, before being brought back to the present by the voice that started to speak next to her.

‘Do you really think you can stop a multi-million dollar project by lying on the ground?’

Amy made no reply, recognising the voice as Miguel Varela, a manager in one of Greenergy’s sub-contracting companies.

‘Listen, I’m trying to help you here. You’ve got to give this up.’

No reply.

‘Sweet Jesus, who the hell do you think you are?’ The exasperation was evident, and clearly working its way to fury. ‘Do you really think that one person can stop all of this? It’s not just us, you know. Between all of the major corporations operating in the Amazon – for the good of humanity, might I add – you’re talking billions. You can’t stop that!’ The voice rose to a shout as he finished.

Again, Amy didn’t dignify the puppet with a reply. While she believed his actions were wrong, she knew that as the machines were controlled by their driver operators, so this man was controlled by the beast that was the Board of Greenergy in Houston. Even the name of the corporation angered her, as the energy corporation’s PR machine fed its critics an endless stream of propaganda designed to paint the company as an altruistic supporter of the environment. Amy waited to see if the timing that was so critical to the plan would hold up, now that the anticipated attack was underway.

‘I can’t believe you. You lie there as though you haven’t a care in the world. Don’t you know what’s happening here? You’ve made one too many statements, one too many protests. It ends here. Right now. We’re in the middle of the bloody Amazon. There’s no-one here to protect you. Let me tell you what happens next, little lady. You have a choice. If you choose to get up and fuck off out of our way, then you can go on being a pain in the ass. But if you choose to stay lying there, then this machine behind me has a ten-tonne bucket. It will pick you up, along with the three metres of earth underneath you. And then it will neatly up-end the bucket and you will be in a three-metre deep grave. End of story!’

He paused, presumably expecting that Amy would react in some way, preferably by getting up and going away. She lay still, eyes closed, drawing fortitude from the forest around her.

‘OK! O-fucking-K! If that’s the way you want it, then that’s the way it’ll be. Do you think you’re going to be some kind of fucking martyr? Is that what you think? Because you won’t, you know. You’re here by yourself, you stupid bitch. Did you really think that after everything we have done over the past twenty years, that we would let one person stop this? Get fucking real. Last chance, bitch.’

Amy lay still, communing with the forest that she so desperately wanted to save.

‘You’ve about thirty seconds,’ the man said, stepping back and waving to the driver of the monster. As the beast’s rumble increased to a roar, Amy waited, listening intently. And then, what she wanted to hear – a mobile phone ringing. She couldn’t hear what was said, but the machine backed away and its roar dropped and went silent. Now Amy could hear the man talking again, and she knew the phone call originated in Houston. She waited with bated breath as she listened.

‘What do you mean, get the hell out? Why the sudden change? One minute from now, we can be rid of her for good.’

A pause, while he listened to the reply.

‘On camera?’ the man’s voice rose in non-understanding. ‘What the hell are you talking about? How the hell could we be on camera?’

Another pause, as he listened again.

‘Jesus Christ, that’s not possible!

‘Let me get this right. You’re telling me that you are watching a live feed of me right now, this minute, on the fucking Internet?

‘Oh my God, what the hell are we going to do?’

A moment of silence.

‘Yeah, thank Christ there’s no audio with it. OK, leave it with me – I’ll check in when we get back to base.’

As the call ended, Amy sensed the man moving back beside her and standing over her.

‘You think you’re so fucking clever, don’t you? Well, you’re wrong, dead wrong. And dead is exactly what you will be if you don’t get out of our fucking way. You might have won this round, but baby, we’re only getting started.’

With that, the man moved away, climbing the ladder up into the cab of the yellow monster. The engine roared to life and it reversed slowly before swinging into an 180o on-the-spot turn and moving back along the trail of destruction that it had created upon its arrival. Amy realised she had been holding her breath until her lungs burned, and she gratefully filled her lungs with the Amazon air, soiled though it was by the traces of exhaust fumes lingering in the air.

She lay in the healing heat, drawing strength as always from the environment around her. She liked to imagine that the forest was conscious of her, though she didn’t truly believe that this was possible, and that it welcomed her as an advocate, fighting on its behalf. She tapped into the environmental consciousness, sensing the powerful life-force flowing through the web of relationships between all the elements of the forest, and feeling also the uneasy undercurrent that the decades of pillage had created. She communed with the forest as she waited, until after an indeterminate time she sensed two people approaching. She could feel their exhilaration, although she believed it to be misplaced.

‘Amy! We did it!’

Amy opened her eyes and saw John and Philip walking into the clearing with huge grins on their faces. As they moved out from under the trees, they broke into a run to cover the short distance to where she lay, falling to their knees beside her. Philip took her hand.

‘Are you OK? We reckoned you hadn’t been touched, but we were so afraid. We couldn’t believe that you didn’t so much as flinch, especially when the earthmover started up the second time.’

‘I’m fine,’ she reassured them. ‘For a moment there, I did think that our timing might have broken down. We certainly cut it fine.’

‘I know,’ John said. ‘Philip was working the camera as arranged, and I put in the phone call to that Greenergy crisis number that you got a hold of. But the guy who answered the phone obviously didn’t know what Greenergy are up to here, and I had to explain to him before he put me through to Wilkinson. But once I told Wilkinson, it was obvious that I was talking to the right guy. He checked the web address I gave him and instantly said it was some kind of misunderstanding – I nearly laughed at such a ridiculous comment. But Philip said the machine had started moving towards you, so I was too bloody terrified to laugh at anything.’

Amy thought before speaking. ‘So it was obviously Wilkinson who rang Varela. I could hear Varela’s end of the conversation – he couldn’t believe that we had the whole thing set up as a live feed on the web. Wilkinson must have been panicking at the thought that if they went through with it, the whole sequence would be up there for everyone to see – not even Greenergy could explain that away. As it is, and especially since we hadn’t time to get an audio feed set up, they’ll say that it was a misunderstanding, that no-one got hurt, and then they’ll continue with their rape and destruction of poor Amazon.’

The sadness in her voice sobered John and Philip, who knew all too well what Amy was telling them. They might have won this battle, but the war was still there to be fought, and won or lost.

‘Will it ever be over?’ asked Philip.

‘Yes,’ replied Amy. ‘Either when the Amazon is dead and the entire globe suffers the consequences, or else when we get a real and enforceable agreement on how the area can be sustainably exploited. It still pisses me off when people say we want the Amazon quarantined; that we believe no-one should be allowed in for any reason. I’ve said it a million times – I fully support the exploitation of this incredible environment for the betterment of mankind, but it has to be sustainable and respectful. That’s the key. How do we use the Amazon for research into medicine and a million other things, while ensuring that we do not destroy it in the process? Because as I’ve also said a million times, if we allow this carnage to continue unabated, it will destroy the Amazon. And if that happens, I still don’t think anyone truly understands the scale of catastrophe that would result for the entire world!’

She stood up, and embraced her two colleagues.

‘Anyway, enough speechifying from me for the moment. We need to get back to camp and plan our next moves. Let’s go.’

They split up as they moved around the clearing, gathering up their equipment. Advanced digital video cameras were removed from their camouflaged hiding places, the rechargeable batteries were tucked away into their knapsacks. The portable comms broadcaster that had beamed the signals from the cameras to the temporary command centre that John and Philip had operated was dismantled and stored safely. Amy marvelled at her colleagues’ expertise – give them any power source, be it batteries or a generator, and they could have equipment operating as though they were in the centre of a high-tech campus. After fifteen minutes they moved away, to the spot where John and Philip had monitored developments in the clearing, and they packed up the remaining gear there. With that done, they had a snack before starting the long trek to where they had left the vehicle, and by nightfall they were back in camp, with John and Philip updating their fellow activists on the events of the day.

Amy retired to her tent early, telling the group that they would consider their strategy the next morning, warning them again that this victory today was only for today, that they still had a long way to go before they could rest in the knowledge that the Amazon was safe. As she prepared for bed, she reflected on her precarious situation. There were now at least two groups who wanted to see her dead. The Provisional CIA had chased her around the world before she disappeared into South America, even proving they were willing to execute all the crew and passengers of an aeroplane they believed Amy was on. And today, Greenergy had crossed the line from impatience and corporate bluster to a willingness to commit cold-blooded murder. She knew that if she hadn’t had the scene filmed and broadcast live, they would have carried out their threat and she would already be dead. Amy wondered how she had gotten herself into this dangerous position, with one shadow organisation and one major US-listed corporation both trying to kill her. As she lay down on her cot-bed, exhausted from the combination of facing down the yellow monster and trekking with the heavily-laden knapsack, she resolved to leave her worries for another day. She fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, while the forest held her safely.

CHAPTER 2

The Greenergy Board

˜

As Amy fell into a peaceful sleep in her cot-bed in the Amazon, the Greenergy boardroom in Houston was anything but peaceful. The boardroom occupied the floor below the penthouse at the top of Greenergy Tower, a thirty-five story skyscraper whose occupants were dedicated to the pursuit of energy. The tower stood in downtown Houston, surrounded by the offices of the world’s major energy corporations. Like them, Greenergy had diversified over the years from solely oil production in the US to having a vast network of companies and offices around the world that were engaged in all aspects of energy production. There were separate divisions for oil, gas, nuclear and sustainable, and in many countries Greenergy was involved in the full energy life-cycle, from extracting the raw product through to retail electricity, gas and fuel distribution.

They had been called together for an Extraordinary Board Meeting, prompted by the events in the Amazon earlier in the day. Everyone present was tense and on high alert, knowing how much was on the line for the company and for themselves personally. All of the Board members knew that Greenergy sometimes engaged in questionable behaviour, undertaking activities that were better not discussed in the open. But each of them took their salaries and reaped big bonuses, and while they might be aware of the unethical tactics employed by the company at times, most of them had never had to get their hands dirty. They maintained a safe distance between themselves and anything that might smack of illegality, and until this night most of them had managed to avoid being directly involved in anything that could land them in trouble with any of the corporate enforcement bodies.

In the boardroom on this night, there was an atmosphere approaching panic, as the eight men and one woman around the table discussed what had happened in the Amazon that day, and the potential commercial and political repercussions. At the head of the table was the CEO, Gregory Carren. A veteran of the energy crisis of the 1970s, Carren knew the world was on the edge of another crisis that would make the seventies look like a hiccup. With the Middle Eastern bloc of countries holding an estimated sixty per cent of the world’s oil reserves, and oil accounting for almost half of the world’s energy production, Carren saw two issues. If the Middle East bloc were to start limiting supply, then the economic consequences could threaten the West’s stability. And even without that nightmare scenario, Carren knew that within a few short years, the world’s energy requirements would start to outstrip available supply. He saw himself as a tough but fair man, who made the hard decisions when they were needed. And he believed that even though some people called those hard decisions unethical, the greater good was being served, and sometimes the greater good had to outweigh considerations of fairness and equity for people who got in the way.

To Carren’s right sat Dave Wilkinson, President of Greenergy South America. He was both nervous and furious as the discussion continued around the board table, knowing that Carren held him responsible for what could have been an unmitigated disaster. It had been his initiative, worded sufficiently vaguely that no-one could prove he had ordered her death, that had culminated in the fiasco earlier in the Amazon. He knew his role in Greenergy – to extract the maximum benefit for the company from the natural resources of South America, at the least cost. And the environmentalist Amy Williams had become more and more of an obstruction since she first came on his radar almost three years ago. Wilkinson knew that while his fellow Board members were obliged to follow the public line that Greenergy would never knowingly put any individual in harm’s way, the reality was that his job was to silence the likes of Williams. To remove her if necessary.

Doug Hartley was the CFO, the Chief Financial Officer of Greenergy. As CFO, he saw only the bottom line, and he knew that the near-murder of an activist, filmed and streamed live to the Internet would have what he would term a seriously negative impact on the bottom line. He just wanted Williams to leave them alone, and he didn’t want to know anything about how that was to be accomplished, with the proviso that there should be no comeback on Greenergy.

Next to Hartley was Rich Small, the Marketing Director. Like Hartley, he had a single goal in mind - that nothing should derail the incredible PR campaign that he had masterminded in recent years. Despite Greenergy’s massive exploitation of oil and gas reserves, which the environmentalists decried as destroying the planet, the general public saw Greenergy as a leading light of the environmental movement. Greenergy gave financial support to a large number of small community projects in every jurisdiction where it operated, all of its publicity materials emphasised the work undertaken by Greenergy’s Sustainable Energy division (even though it accounted for less than one per cent of corporate turnover), and Greenergy spokespeople were always among the best-prepared when called upon to comment in the media about energy or environmental affairs. Like Hartley, Small knew that today’s events could undermine the continuous work of recent years.

Bill Cummins looked around the table, seeing an opportunity that he had coveted since he first became President of Greenergy North America. If he could just work this the right way, he might be able to convince Carren, the CEO, that it was time to amalgamate North and South America under a single President. Given the increased responsibility, there would of course be a requirement for increased remuneration, yet the cost would still be less than having two Presidents for the Americas, which Carren could sell to the shareholders as increased efficiency and reduced cost, leading the fight for better shareholder returns from Board level. Cummins sat quietly as he considered how to pounce on Wilkinson’s misfortune.

Paul Sanders (OBE) felt the familiar tinge of disdain for his Board colleagues as he watched proceedings with an aloof air. He was continually exasperated by so much of the Americans’ behaviour. Being President of Greenergy EMEA (Europe, Middle East & Africa), the Englishman Sanders felt that he had a much more complex set of responsibilities than his colleagues. While the environmental lobby in both America and Asia was effectively neutered by political interference, the situation in Europe was very different. Sanders’ biggest headache was the European Union bureaucracy, a collection of career politicians and professional civil servants who thought nothing of passing regulations limiting emissions, regulations limiting exploration, regulations limiting pollution, and regulations for just about every aspect of his operation. He frowned at the easy familiarity of the Americans with each other and indeed with him, as his habitual interpersonal style was one of reserve and formality with all but his closest family and friends. He couldn’t believe that Wilkinson had ordered a hit on Williams, which despite the Machiavellian manoeuvring taking place in this room tonight, was clearly what had happened. And worse than ordering a hit that could be traced to Greenergy – using one of their sub-contractor’s earthmovers, for God’s sake! – worse than that was the fact that they had been caught in the act. Sanders just wanted to be back home in his Regent’s Park apartment in London, preparing for a meeting with the EU Energy Commissioner that was scheduled to take place in only three days’ time.

Anne Chang sat surveying the panic in the room. As the only female on the Board, she felt she had proven her worth over her male counterparts many times. She had to, to get to her current position as President of Greenergy AsiaPac (Asia and Pacific). Her region had a phenomenal amount of energy reserves, many of which were only beginning to be tapped. Chang’s dream was that heretofore unsuspected reserves would be found in Asia, Australia or out in the Pacific. If that happened, it would put her in the driver’s seat vis-à-vis the relationship between the different Board members and the CEO, Carren. Her goal was to be CEO of Greenergy someday, which would make her the first Asian female to control a global energy player. Like Cummins, she watched proceedings with a view to turning them to her own advantage.

Mark Davidson was furious. As Director of Greenergy’s Oil and Gas operations, Davidson was directly impacted by the unilateral action by Wilkinson. If he had his way, Davidson would throw Wilkinson to the legal authorities and the press, to ensure that Greenergy could prove that the corporation itself was not complicit in the illegal activities planned, condoned and organised by Wilkinson. But he knew that he might as well wish he was still a young man – both were impossible. Greenergy needed South America, especially the Amazon, and the corporation could not afford the time, money or restrictions that could result from engaging with the environmental lobby in a positive way. So they buried the activists under a never-ending deluge of PR, and when necessary, they turned a blind eye when parts of the command structure took more radical solutions to the problems. Davidson wanted Wilkinson out, although he knew he couldn’t state the real reason. He had to work this carefully, to get the outcome he wanted.

The last person sitting around the table was the Frenchman, Philippe St Claire - Director of Greenergy’s Nuclear & Sustainable operations. St Claire knew he was a token Board member in more ways than one. The token continental European. And the token to sustainable energy. St Claire felt more than a little self-loathing when he read Greenergy’s PR output – to read it, one would think that sustainable energy was the core, the heart and the biggest part of the corporation. In reality, sustainable was little more than a minor division elevated to significant status for PR reasons alone. St Claire had started his professional career as a true believer in sustainable energy – Greenergy included some of the speeches he gave decades earlier in their publicity material, in which he had decried the global reliance on oil, with the attendant pollution. But as he had moved through the ranks of a number of energy companies, the money had sometimes forced him to keep quiet about some things that he saw as abuses of power and abuses of the environment. And the more positions he held and the more years that passed, the more he had to keep his silence. Now, here he was, Board member of Greenergy, one of the world’s biggest energy companies, President of its Nuclear and Sustainable operations. And hence the self-loathing, for despite his principles and beliefs as a young man, he now oversaw an operation that directly contradicted everything that he had once stood for. Greenergy had no interest in sustainable energy, seeing it as long-term returns requiring short-term investment. And that kind of forward-thinking just didn’t play well with shareholders, who wanted to get their dividends this year, and who wanted to see the value of their shares increasing this year. And so St Claire loathed himself even more than he loathed the people that he was forced to work with around this table. And he knew that he was walking a tightrope with his own unilateral actions. He hoped he was doing it for the right reasons, though he suspected he was really just attempting to assuage his own conscience. If Carren ever found out what he was up to, there would be hell to pay.

Carren looked around the table, halting his gaze and resting it on Wilkinson.

‘So what we have here, Dave, is a video that a couple of billion people can look at on the web. And that video shows this ...’ He paused as he looked at his notes, ‘… this Varela guy, a local Ops Manager for one of our Brazilian sub-contractors, appearing to threaten a gorgeous young defenceless girl with a fifty-tonne earthmover. Is that an accurate summary?’

‘Oh, come on Gregory, that’s not what it shows at all. The only thing you see in the video is the earthmover coming into the clearing and stopping in front of the girl. Then Varela is seen talking to the girl, who by the way seems to give no response – she could be dead already when you look at the video. After that, Varela talks on his phone for a couple of minutes, speaks briefly to the girl again, and then gets back into the earthmover, which promptly goes back the way it came.’ He turned to Rich Small for support. ‘Come on, Rich. Surely your team can put an interpretation on it to say that the girl’s presence was unexpected, and the machine left as soon as she was discovered, so that we could be sure there wouldn’t be any unfortunate accidents?’

Small responded, ‘Sure, Dave, we can put any goddamned interpretation on it that we want to. The question is: Will the public accept that interpretation? And I can tell you now that while many will, a significant number will not. This video feeds the groups that are against everything we stand for. The misinformed, the ignorant, and the downright fucking contrary will use this video as a stick to beat us with, let there be no doubt about that!’

Cummins saw his opening. ‘I think the real issue here is that this earthmover ever came to be in a position that could be interpreted as dangerous or threatening to the girl in the first place. That was a serious error of judgement. If this girl is being a nuisance, there have to be better ways to deal with it than having our own sub-contractor’s personnel and machinery implicated.’ He left the obvious unsaid – there could be no explicit recognition that this was a murder mission. But everyone around the table knew what Cummins was saying.

Carren sighed. He knew that his colleagues on the Board were engaged as much (or more) in political manoeuvring for power as they were focussed on the needs of the company. And it was his job to keep them working as a team, and to resolve the issues raised by today’s unfortunate incident.

‘OK,’ he said. ‘I think the time to review the circumstances that led us to this point is not right now. The business at hand is to see how we can minimise the fall-out from this video, and how we can try to neutralise the threat posed by this girl Williams. Dave, since this is happening in your bailiwick and you have been most closely involved, tell me what your thoughts are. How do we go forward from here?’

Wilkinson hid his relief – he was to survive this evening at least. He knew many of his colleagues, especially Cummins, would like nothing more than to see him fall on his sword, but Carren had given him a chance to redeem himself.

‘Thanks, Gregory. I think the way forward is pretty clear. Rich gets his guys to pull together a press release along the lines I just went over – something about how conscientious we are - that even when people put themselves in harm’s way, we ensure their safety. That deals with that issue. As for Williams, I want to be very clear that neither Greenergy as an organisation, nor me nor my team, would ever contemplate harming her in any way. I think we need to leave the local organisation to talk to her and see if we can arrive at a position that is mutually agreeable. We just have to hope that nothing gets in the way of those talks, in so far as the Amazon can be a pretty deadly place, and accidents happen to people down there all the time. And that’s it. We leave it with Rich’s press release, and we leave the locals to talk to Williams.’

There was silence around the table as Wilkinson’s colleagues on the Board considered what he had said. They all knew the sub-text – Wilkinson had just acknowledged that he was wrong to use people and equipment that could be traced to Greenergy. And that the next time (for there clearly was going to be a next time), a more circuitous route would be used, with Williams’ death probably being made to look like an accident. Once they agreed with Wilkinson, they were effectively signing the girl’s death warrant, but in such a way that the minutes of the meeting could never implicate them.

Hartley thought about the bottom line, and agreed the girl had to go. Small looked at the PR impact and believed it could be done without negative impact, provided the ‘accident’ couldn’t be traced back to Greenergy. Cummins, Chang and Davidson filed Wilkinson’s implicit admission of an error in the back of their minds, and each felt his or her hand was strengthened for the power struggle that he or she anticipated. Sanders just wanted to get back to London and didn’t give a damn about Williams. And St Claire resigned himself to yet another downward step in his downward spiral of giving up all the principles he ever stood for, so that he could hold onto his money and prestige, while at the same time feeling some small satisfaction that at least he was taking action to atone in some small way for the sins he was committing as Director of Greenergy’s Nuclear & Sustainable operations.

Carren looked around the table, gauging the reactions to Wilkinson’s proposal. He knew each of the Board members had their own reasons, but he could see that none were going to object to the plan being put forward. And while he hated to give Wilkinson free rein on this issue, he knew that Greenergy’s position in South America had been advanced and strengthened in recent years precisely because Wilkinson was willing to do whatever was required to ensure their dominance in the area.

‘Right then,’ Carren said in an upbeat tone. ‘So let the minutes show that the Board regrets the incident today, during which an activist put herself in harm’s way, and that we are happy that our local sub-contractors took steps to ensure her safety. And we will pursue discussions with Williams through our local representatives so that we can clearly understand her concerns and hopefully arrive at a mutually agreeable solution. Is everyone OK with that?’

Murmurs of ‘Yeah’ and ‘Sure’ came from around the table.

‘OK then,’ continued Carren. ‘I know a lot of you have flights to catch, so apologies for the lateness of the meeting, but it was important that we cover all current issues facing the organisation. I wish you safe travel, and keep in touch at all times. The next Board meeting will be as scheduled later in the month.’

As the Board members rose from their places, said their goodbyes and started to file out of the room, Carren quietly asked Wilkinson to stay behind for a few minutes. When they were the only ones left, they moved to some easy chairs in the corner, and Carren poured them both a stiff drink before sitting down opposite Wilkinson.

‘Well Dave, we had a narrow fucking escape today. If it had taken only a few seconds longer for you to contact Varela, it would have been catastrophic. As it is, Rich can put the spin on it, but I don’t have to tell you that would have been impossible if we had murdered that girl today.’

Wilkinson flinched at the use of the word ‘murder’, but he knew they were off the record now, and Carren was speaking freely to ensure that there were no misunderstandings after the coded language of the minuted Board meeting.

‘I know, I know,’ he sighed. ‘It seemed so simple. We got word that she was going to stage a one-person protest to stop our move east, and there was no hint that she had anything else organised. Clever bitch had the whole thing set up though; that much is clear now. Off the record, Gregory, I have to admit that I underestimated her – again! I just can’t figure it. She appeared out of nowhere a few years back, we know nothing about who she is or her background, and with all the digging I’ve done, I’m convinced at this stage that she’s using a false name. She seems to move around the Amazon at will and invariably turns up exactly where we don’t want her. And there’s no doubt that in the last year she has turned her attention more and more to Greenergy, presumably because she’s realised that we are the most aggressive company working in the region. Sometimes she seems to know more about our operations and local activity than I do. I’ve never come across anything like her – so gorgeous, and so fucking ...’

Wilkinson paused, unable to express how frustrated he was. Greenergy, like every other energy company, faced protests and activists as part of their daily business. But over the years, Wilkinson had learned how to deal with them – some could be bought off, some frightened off, and some could be safely ignored. But Williams was different. He had watched the video repeatedly before the Board meeting, and he simply couldn’t understand it. She had to be crazy. Even when the earthmover had started to move towards her, she had simply lain on the ground as if she were sunbathing peacefully without a care in the world. She was either the craziest or the bravest adversary he had ever had to deal with – and he wasn’t sure which was more dangerous.

For another thirty minutes, Carren and Wilkinson discussed the situation, confirming that Williams had to be removed. There was simply too much at stake, and she was increasing her profile all the time, even though she usually allowed fellow-activists to speak on her behalf. She was media-shy, which was unusual for an activist, but hopefully that would make her ‘accident’ in the Amazon less newsworthy. As both men left, Wilkinson already had a plan in mind, while Carren assigned Williams to his mental ‘Pending’ file, to await updates from Wilkinson. She wouldn’t survive more than another week or two.

CHAPTER 3

Preaching the Message

˜

Amy awoke, stretched, and felt refreshed as she always did when she slept in the arms of her forest. She thought of the Amazon as ‘her’ forest, but not in a possessive way, not that she owned it or somehow had special rights to it. She thought of it as ‘her’ forest in the way that one thinks of a friend as ‘my’ friend – with a sense of shared companionship, not of ownership. As she sent her senses out among the flora and fauna, she thought about the previous day. She knew they had taken a huge risk, but she was satisfied that win or lose, they would have achieved some gain. If she survived as she had, then they would have frustrated Greenergy’s expansion into virgin forest for at least a few days – a small victory. If John hadn’t gotten through to Wilkinson in time, then she would have died, but in many ways that might have been the greater victory, as it would have mired Greenergy in an indisputable murder, which in time might have shackled the company so severely that they might have ceased to be a force in the Amazon. And yet she knew that even that would not be enough – there were corporations operating here from all over the world, and she had to find a way to stop all of them.

She got up from her cot-bed, picked up some clothes, a towel and the natural soap made from the plants here in the Amazon, and went for her shower. As she stood under the small waterfall and cleaned and refreshed herself, she thought about how incredible the forest was. She and her companions had brought a lot of foreign paraphernalia with them, from tents and clothes to communications and scientific equipment. Yet she knew without any doubt that she could survive comfortably in this environment on her own, using nothing but the natural resources around her. She could clothe and feed herself, keep herself cool and protected from the sun; she could be happy here on her own. But she knew that such thoughts were idle luxuries – she had a mission to fulfil here, just as she had when she travelled the world to fulfil her father’s dying wish, delivering Jopl to Professor Symington.

She often wondered what had happened – had they failed?; were they succeeding, but slower than expected?; or had they succeeded but for some reason not managed to contact her via the personal ads in the International Herald as they had agreed? But she hadn’t checked the paper for months now, feeling that her new mission was her priority, and it was up to Jopl, the Professor and Rob to fight their war. Sometimes she thought this might be wrong of her, that maybe she should attempt to contact them to see what was happening and if they needed her support. With her increased senses she thought she might be able to make a difference, although she knew their war was man-on-man, whereas her current battles were man-on-environment. She sighed as she dried herself and dressed – it was hard when you couldn’t be certain that you were doing the right thing. But she thought back to Imno and Jopl and knew that all she could do was take all factors into account, make her decision based on that, and go do! And in that, she had decided that her fight lay here.

Amy dropped her gear back in her tent and made her way to the main tent, which served as dining room and meeting room. She helped herself to fruit, meat and fruit juice and sat at the head of the longest table in the tent, fortifying herself with the natural goodness of the forest. As she ate, her companions drifted in, got themselves juice, water or coffee, and sat along the sides of the table. Amy ate in silence, acknowledging their presence with a nod and a smile as each one sat down. She knew they regarded her as a friend, but that their friendship was tempered with awe, which she understood, even though she felt it was a little bit ridiculous. She didn’t see herself as anything special, although she knew she had been granted an incredible gift in her ability to sense the environment around her with a sixth sense. While she saw her new-found ability as a sense that existed in all people and maybe indeed in all things, she knew it was dormant in most people. All that had happened was that the sense had been awakened in her, due to the time she had spent with many people, most importantly Jopl, her little boy/man. It frustrated her that she seemed, so far at least, to be unable to do the same for her companions – to allow them to sense what she could sense, allow them to operate on that deep level that she was able to access. But she believed that all things were possible in time, and that the failing was not her companions’, but hers.

As she finished her breakfast, expectancy grew in the air. She knew that after the previous day’s events, they were waiting. Waiting for her. Waiting to hear what came next. Over the past three years she had gathered these people around her, drawing them to her with a shared vision of the future – a vision of a mutually beneficial relationship between Humanity and Environment, in which each could benefit and neither Humanity nor the Environment would be on the losing side. Some of her followers (a term Amy hated, as she thought of them as companions, not followers) had left, finding her talk of the forest’s feelings too outlandish, and not being able to accept that the environment had some kind of fundamental consciousness. Amy referred to it as ‘The Environmental Consciousness’, and many people found that too challenging, too alien to their ingrained way of thinking. But Amy thought of Jopl and knew that in this at least she was correct – the environment was aware.

She looked around the table, seeing hope, belief and the element that always disturbed her, adoration. She didn’t like the adoration, as she felt it sprang from the wrong source. Every person should adore every other person she thought, just as they should adore every animate being and every inanimate object in the world. That adoration should be based on the knowledge that all things are connected, and that when you go to the very basics, all things are one. Amy was annoyed that she found this so difficult to put into words, especially to put the concept into words that would allow people to see what she truly meant. But the adoration she saw on some of the faces around her wasn’t based on that Universal acceptance; it was based on her actions. And therein she knew lay a danger. Some of these people saw her as a Saviour, a Messiah for the Amazon. And Amy knew that she was no Messiah. And she knew that when people looked up to someone in the way that her companions revered her, there were many dangers. Danger of disappointment and disillusion on their part. Danger of arrogance and megalomania on her part. As always, she wished people could share her vision without placing her on a pedestal. But she knew that visionaries were often misunderstood.

Whether they were her companions or her disciples, they looked at her and waited. And so she spoke.

‘Well, guys, we had some excitement yesterday.’

Enthusiastic nods and ‘Way to go!’ came from around the table.

‘I want to thank all of you for everything you have done over the past few months, up to almost three years for some of you. We are really starting to make a difference. I know it can sometimes be discouraging, when you look at the forces arranged against us, but you must remember the progress we have already made. If Greenergy had gone ahead with my assassination yesterday, it would have put them in such trouble that they might never have recovered. As it is, we still delayed them, for a couple of days at least. So we won what turned out to be more of a minor skirmish than a battle, and the war goes on. What we need to think about now is what we do next. How can we escalate our actions, in a peaceful way, so that people finally start listening to what we are saying instead of dismissing us as extremists and nutcases?’

John, the handsome archaeologist in his early twenties, spoke up.

‘I hear what you’re saying Amy, and you’re dead right. We won a small battle, while we are engaged in a large war. So we have a huge amount still to do. And when I think of what you have accomplished over the past few years, it really is incredible. But I’m not sure that we can keep talking about this “Environmental Consciousness” that you’re tapped into. I don’t doubt for a second that it’s true, mostly because of what I have seen you do here. But it definitely turns people off, and makes it easier for the critics to hang that “crazies” label on us. I think we would be better off sticking to the kind of facts and figures that are generally accepted – there’s more than enough scientific evidence to make our case, and it avoids the dismissive reaction that comes from us saying “the forest is afraid”. Don’t you think we can achieve more if we try to be a little more ... conventional?’

Amy had heard variations of John’s argument ever since she started talking about trying to save the Amazon.

‘I’m sorry, John. I can’t change the basis of the argument simply because it might sell better. We are here for the reasons that we are here. I can not and will not allow dishonesty to creep into our campaign just because it might help our cause. That’s the thin end of the wedge, John. It would represent a betrayal of our principles that would in time leave us with “the end justifies the means”. The simple fact of the matter is that the environment is aware, on some deep primeval level, of what is going on. There is fear there. And we will be honest about that, just as we are honest about the conventional science that can be used to demonstrate the practical consequences of what is going on here. We will publicise both the legal and the illegal activities of the corporations. We will demonstrate the impact of the legal activities to try to get them stopped – or changed. And we will expose the illegal activities as we did yesterday, so that they have to face the full rigours of the law – such as it is. That’s the strategy, and while we can discuss the details of how we do that tactically, the overall strategy and principles of our work here are not up for negotiation.’

As she spoke, she was aware of how definite and adamant she sounded. And that worried her a little. She had learned from Jopl that one of the ways to keep on the narrow path was to always accept that you could be wrong, to deeply understand that no matter how sure you are of your own correctness, you always need to be prepared to change and adapt as you learn and grow. And yet on this point, she believed she had to hold a firm line, even if she might have to change that position on some future date. She felt the only way to succeed was to fight the issues on the basis of her truest understanding of those issues.

AnneMarie was sitting next to John. She was the mother of the group, older than most of the activists, in her mid-forties. She was the one Amy went to when she was feeling unsure, when she needed to talk through how she was feeling and get herself back on an even keel. An environmental scientist, AnneMarie had fully accepted Amy’s explanations of the Environmental Consciousness, which AnneMarie often referred to as EC in verbal shorthand. She had seen Amy doing things in the forest that could only be explained on the basis of a relationship between Amy and the environment, founded on some form of thought and consciousness. Amy had found food where no-one knew it existed, had an unerring sense of what food was safe and what wasn’t, even if it was a plant that she had never seen before. She used plant mulches and juices for healing cuts, settling sick stomachs, easing painful muscles, always knowing which part of which plant would be most efficacious. While she couldn’t actually talk to the animals, there was no doubt that she seemed to have a special relationship with them, being able to influence them in some way so that the dangerous animals avoided them and their time in the forest was safer than AnneMarie had ever experienced in all of her many expeditions over the years.

‘We understand,’ said AnneMarie, speaking to the rest of the group as much as to Amy. ‘And I think we can effectively do both – acknowledge the Environmental Consciousness when this issue is raised, while focussing and speaking mostly about the generally accepted scientific evidence. In this way, we stay true to Amy’s vision, while to a large extent avoiding getting immersed in discussion and debate about EC, which we know often tends to distract from the main issues. And that’s what we need to focus on – how do we stop the indiscriminate carnage that’s going on, and move to a sustainable model of cooperative exploitation of the environment that benefits Humanity while protecting the environment.’

‘You’re right, AnneMarie,’ replied Amy. ‘Although I suspect that even the way we talk about Humanity versus the environment is in itself a little misleading.’ She looked around the table and desperately wanted her colleagues to share her understanding. ‘When we talk about Humanity and the environment in that way, we are assuming a separation that in reality doesn’t exist. I think it comes from the individualism that has blighted human consciousness for so long. Descartes has a lot to answer for!’

She paused, searching for the right words so that she could explain the concepts that she herself perceived only in a slightly vague way.

She went on, ‘The environment consists of every person, plant and animal, every object, every living and non-living thing that exists. So it is not us versus the environment, it’s about us as part of the environment. And that’s why Humanity itself will suffer so much if we don’t learn to work within the environment as part of it, instead of perceiving ourselves as being something separate from or outside it. What we need to do is in some ways a question of education, not of activism, although activism might be the only way to drive that agenda at the moment. And it’s made more difficult by the urgency – we don’t have years and decades to try to get people to understand. The Amazon itself is rapidly reaching a point of no return. I can feel that. I know this to be true. If we cannot halt the destruction very quickly, it will become irreversible, with all of the consequences that we have spoken about. And as we know, the most serious of those consequences is the degree to which global weather patterns will change. Droughts in some places, floods in others. Changing ocean currents. Changing planetary wind patterns. The impact on the environment, of which mankind is but a single part, will be enormous. We can use the cost in financial terms to illustrate how important this is. But the cost in human terms will be much greater. Deaths from starvation, drought, floods. Entire communities, maybe even entire countries, being laid waste.

‘And this is why we do what we do. Because we care about Mankind. Because we care about the environment. And because these are one and the same thing. You cannot separate them. When we talk of the damage humankind is doing to the environment, that is self-harm. In harming the environment, we harm ourselves. In harming the environment, we reduce our own capacity to flourish and develop. In harming the environment, we limit our own future, and the future of countless generations to come.

‘And it’s not just our future. It’s the future of every species of life on the planet. It’s the future, indeed, of the non-living things on the planet. Mountains. Rivers. Coastlines. Everything is impacted. Because the environment IS everything. That’s the whole point. We need to help people to understand this as a fundamental truth. There is no “us” and “them”. There is no separation. Individualism is great, and every instance of creation is unique, whether it is a person, an animal, a plant or a stone. But at the same time, nothing and nobody stands alone. Every action has a reaction. Every decision has an impact. Every happening has a consequence. And so when we say there is no separation, that all life and non-life is joined in a single entity, we are not denying individualism, or reducing the wonder and glory of each creature and every individual thing on the planet, as some people say we are. We recognise and indeed we value the uniqueness of every thing. But, and here’s the dichotomy, the seeming contradiction - at the same time that we recognise the uniqueness of every individual thing, we also recognise that “no man is an island”. We are all connected in Creation.

‘And that is why we fight on to protect the Amazon. Again, this is part of the difficulty that people have in understanding where we are coming from. They feel a need to define everything, to label and classify everything. And a lot of people have great difficulty in accepting multiple classifications. So when they think of the environment, they have to think of one thing, not many things. Either the environment has to be the atmosphere, or it has to be flora and fauna, or it has to be a particular location. But the Amazon is a perfect example of multiple classifications. The Amazon as an environment is incredible, spanning seven and a half million square kilometres - that’s nearly one and a half billion acres - and containing thirty per cent of the world’s biodiversity. But the Amazon is itself part of the global environment, within which it fits, and at the other end it is made up of smaller micro-environments, which are themselves made up of smaller ones, until you get down to the level of individual plants, animals, rocks, and so on. And you can follow that further down – what we think of as a single cohesive organism, is in itself made up of smaller systems and substances working in harmony to deliver a coherence and stability to the overall organism.’

She paused, as she hadn’t meant to make a speech. But she could see now that her colleagues were renewed, filled again with purpose. As always, she wished she could express her thoughts and feelings more clearly, but she seemed to be able to get her ideas across despite what she saw as her own shortcomings in that regard. She felt a new Truth, a new reality; but because she didn’t fully understand it and didn’t yet see it clearly, she found it difficult to clearly express what she was perceiving. Yet today, as often happened, her words seemed to convey enough for her listeners, even though Amy herself felt that she was by necessity leaving a lot unsaid.

CHAPTER 4

Planning the War

˜

Amy looked around the table at her companions. While many activists came and went, spending anything from a week to a few months with them, the core group was made up of just these six people – herself, and the five sitting with her now. In recent months Amy had declined all offers from people interested in her work to join her. She had allowed the activists that she considered ‘non-core’ to finish their planned time with the group, and had resisted some attempts by people to extend their time with them. Amy had sensed that their work was reaching a climax, and she wanted to protect both her work and the people with her. She felt that if there were too many people involved, a number of whom she didn’t know very well, then both those people and the work of the group might be threatened, whether intentionally or not. And so she found herself sitting deep in the Amazon with just her five most trusted and most constant companions.

John was the archaeologist, fascinated by the ruins that Amy brought him to see in the Amazon, finding sites never before exposed to ‘civilised’ eyes – Amy seemed to be able to sense the old centres of civilisation in the region. She knew John found the idea of Environmental Consciousness challenging, although he didn’t question Amy’s gift for sensing what was happening in the natural world around them. He learned from Amy about how ancient civilisations had lived symbiotically with the environment, and that motivated him to try to encourage modern society to do the same.

Next to John was Philip, a biologist in his early twenties. Philip had been passionate about the secrets of Nature and life since he was a small child, and that passion had led him to a PhD in Biology. But in addition to all he had learned in his studies, Amy had shown him what he had always suspected, that there was a layer to the biological world that he couldn’t yet connect to or perceive. And it was that non-physical element that finally explained life to Philip. Through Amy, he had learned that there is a connection between all living things that was more than just a cause and effect relationship. It was the shared consciousness of EC, and it shed a new light on Philip’s understanding. He had already published a small number of scholarly articles in academic publications that spoke of EC, and he assured Amy that the academic world was at least listening, if not yet accepting. This was one of the fronts on which Amy wanted to fight the war, through academia.

On the other side of the table sat the two ladies of the group, along with Amy herself. AnneMarie was her sounding board and her confidante, and she had fully accepted that everything Amy said about EC was correct. Next to AnneMarie was Susie, an activist in her early twenties. Susie had no formal qualifications, but had been concerned about the environment since she was in her early teens, and she had taught herself everything she knew about the environment, and about the different groups, big and small, around the world that were engaged in promoting the environment. Susie was their expert on environmental protest and activism, and it was she who was able to detail who could help with different aspects of their struggle. Through Susie, Amy had been able to make contact with and get support from a large number of individuals and organisations around the world.

Amy finally looked at Diego, the sixth member of the core group, knowing that he was key to the war they were fighting, but wanting to make sure that she didn’t seem to put him ahead of the others. She and Diego were lovers, and she didn’t want the rest of her colleagues feeling that his importance was due to his relationship with Amy. His importance was due to the tools he brought with him, the new tools of the twenty-first century. Though only in his late twenties, Diego was an extremely wealthy man who had moved into philanthropy before coming to work full-time with Amy and her group. He had made his money as a successful entrepreneur, selling his company for billions of dollars only five years after setting it up. And it was that background that made Diego such a critical player. The company he sold was called OurWorld, and it was one of the biggest players in the social media world, with hundreds of millions of subscribers. Amy felt that social networking was the way to get their message out to the world, knowing that traditional media could not be relied upon due to the perception of many mainstream scientists and commentators that Amy and her band were crazy people.

As she looked around at the group, each with their skills and strengths that complemented each other and equipped the group as a whole to be so effective, Amy thought about how they could proceed now and have the most positive impact. As if reading her thoughts, Diego spoke.

‘Amy, we’re all one hundred per cent behind you. So, what do we do next? We’ve been so focussed for the past few weeks on Greenergy’s move east that we haven’t really discussed the longer-term strategy. Especially given what you’ve just said about Greenergy just being one player in the Amazon, albeit the most aggressive. How do we go about getting the sustainable exploitation you mentioned? What’s the plan?’

She was grateful to Diego, for once again focussing her. She found his experience of turning the idea that was OurWorld into a global corporation helped her to keep the balance between short-term operational tactics and long-term strategic vision. She mentally reviewed the skillsets of each of her companions, and thought out loud as she considered how to utilise the resources they had.

‘OK, Diego, you’re right. How do we go forward from here? I think the key is to wage the war on a number of fronts simultaneously. Time is running out, and we need to make an impact quickly. Our goal here is to bring about a huge and fundamental change in the way the Amazon is exploited, and we only have months, or not much more than a year at most. And the work is made more complicated by the fact that Greenergy is now actively involved in trying to kill me.’

Gasps came from around the table.

‘Actively involved in trying to kill you?’ blurted Susie. ‘I know you said they were ready to kill you yesterday if they had the opportunity, and from what Philip and John said about what happened, it sounds as though you were right about that, but you make it sound as though they’ve taken out a contract on you or something. Surely a US company couldn’t do that?’

‘Indeed they could, and I believe that if they haven’t done it already, they will in the next day or two. Wilkinson miscalculated when he decided to use my lie-down protest as the opportunity to get rid of me. And I think that was purely opportunistic – if I was in the way, they were quite prepared to see me die, but they hadn’t gotten to the stage of actively seeking to have me killed. But after yesterday, and knowing a little bit about how these organisations work, I think Wilkinson will certainly take a contract out on me now. I’ve experience of people like Wilkinson – they think nothing of one human life if it gets in the way of their goal. And we know Wilkinson had presided over some terrible human rights abuses – just think of Ayacucho village - one hundred Amazonian Indians driven from their village and dumped half-dead in Belem city.’

Her companions looked at her, wondering about her history. Sometimes Amy let little references to her past slip through her conversation, despite the fact that she explained to everyone when they joined the group that she wanted to leave her past behind her. The unconscious slips seemed to imply that she had at some time been hunted, and the attempted murder yesterday didn’t seem to unduly trouble her, as though it wasn’t the first time that she had been subject to attempts on her life.

‘It’s only relevant in terms of how it impacts us directly. I need to stay more in the background, for other reasons as well as because of Greenergy. So we will use a number of different channels to get our message out there. And we need to do that in such a way that it will cause policy changes at governmental level. And guys, you have to understand the scale of the challenge. The problem with democracy is that it is vulnerable to being subverted by vested interests. And there are massively influential lobby groups with almost unlimited finances who will do everything that they can to prevent the energy industry from being limited in terms of what and where they can exploit.’

‘As Diego said, Amy, we’re with you a hundred per cent,’ said Philip. ‘So how do we do this? How do we cause “policy changes at governmental level”?’

‘Here’s what we’re going to do,’ said Amy. ‘Like I said - a number of fronts, a number of channels.

‘Philip, I want you to draft another academic article on EC. This one is to be the most specific yet, really putting it at the top of the agenda, but as AnneMarie said, we’ll use examples of the work we have done here as the evidence. And we’ll tie in the latest accepted scientific evidence to hammer home the impacts of the destruction of the rain forest. And lastly, we’ll put forward the alternative vision – sustainable and mutually beneficial exploitation of the environment that allows mankind to benefit without damaging the environment of which we are part.

‘John – similar to Philip, I want you to do an article for the archaeological academic journals. We’ll detail some of the findings that our relationship with the forest has allowed us to uncover, and that is sure to get attention. But again, while we use the findings to generate the interest and the coverage, our underlying focus will be on the EC that allowed us to make those findings in the first place. You said yourself that in your short time here, the discoveries we’ve made constitute a lifetime’s work and more for most archaeologists. So they won’t be able to ignore that.

‘Susie – I want you to work your contacts. I want a TV crew in here, someone who specialises in environmental issues, and who has respect in the mainstream media. We’ll give them a programme like they’ve never had before; we’ll show them things they’ve never seen before. We will demonstrate on TV what we can do with the forest, how we can relate to it, understand it, and interpret it. It will be a landmark production, where we will incontrovertibly prove on camera that we have made more advances in our understanding of the forest in three years than have been made in the previous three generations, and we’ll give real-life practical examples of those applications, such as new foods and medicines.

‘AnneMarie, same as Philip and John. Between the three of you, we can get similar articles into respected academic media that talk about our findings, and the ramifications of those discoveries, but that also point to EC as being the key that has allowed us to unlock these discoveries. You go for your specialty as an environmental scientist. Again, the thrust will be some of the work we have done here, talking about how we can cooperate with the environment, how we benefit from it without damaging it. We’ll use examples of some of the plants that we have found beneficial for physical conditions – that’ll have the whole pharma industry sitting up and taking notice as well.

‘And Diego, your role is, not surprisingly, social media. As these articles are published and the TV programme is aired, we’ll promote each one individually. That’ll give us four separate strands that we can promote, to try to raise public and political awareness. But I don’t want thousands of people reading about us on social media sites and being supportive. I want literally tens of millions. Do that whole viral marketing thing you were talking about. Get me followers, friends, connections, fans – whatever terminology you want to use. But get them in their millions. I want us to get to a situation within a couple of months where everyone has heard of Environmental Consciousness, everyone knows at least what the concept is. And through social media, I want tens of millions of people saying they support our call for sustainable, environmentally-friendly development. I want a ground-swell of public opinion that the politicians can’t ignore, that will be so big and so strong that it will overwhelm the vested interests.’

She sat back, knowing that what she was asking sounded like nothing and everything. On the one hand, a few academic articles and a TV programme, all being promoted through social media – not much. On the other hand, to build public awareness around the world to such a point that serious and fundamental policy changes would be made by and between governments – quite a lot indeed!

As often happened, it was Diego who questioned her. She knew he believed in her, probably more than any of the others, because his business experience allowed him to understand how she was working and just how effective she could be. But he was always prepared to challenge her, to probe for detail if he felt he hadn’t full grasped what she meant. And she knew as well that sometimes he questioned her if he felt that the others had doubts, to give her an opportunity to explain further and assuage any doubts they might have.

‘And do you think that’s enough, Amy? I mean, I know you talk about an unstoppable tidal wave of public opinion, but do you really think we can do that with a couple of academic papers and a TV programme? And in the meantime, what about Greenergy – how do we slow down their destructive rampage?’

‘It has to be enough, Diego. And it’s up to us to make sure that it is enough. We have to fill the articles with enough detail, presented in such a compelling way, that it will convince academics and catch the public imagination. And you, Diego, have to run a social media campaign that will make anything that has happened in that space before now look amateurish and small. This has to be new, in terms of its scope and reach. We need to quickly get to a stage where politicians around the world see this as a bandwagon that they cannot afford to miss. I will support you all as you pursue each avenue. I’ll help write the articles, I’ll help decide what to show the TV cameras, I’ll help with the social media. But ...’

She paused for a moment, wondering how to tell them this, without causing a flurry of questions – or of doubt.

‘But I have to do it from behind the scenes. I can’t be at the forefront of the campaign. I’m happy to talk to anyone I need to talk to, but no photos, no TV.’

She suddenly thought of a way to explain it to them, which was true and valid, but which avoided the need for her to talk about the fact that she was afraid she might be recognised, and that there could be very powerful people out there who wanted nothing more than to see her dead, and who made the Greenergy Board look like pacifists by comparison.

‘This campaign cannot be about me; it can’t be about any one person. It has to be about the issue, not about us as individuals. Each of you can front up your own area of expertise, and that’s fine – indeed, it’s necessary so that what we are saying has the weight of expertise. But I should only ever be introduced as one of the activists, even though we will need to talk about my ability to communicate with the nature around me. I absolutely believe that if we manage this right, and we harness the power and influence of social networking to our cause, then we can do this. What do you think?’ asked Amy, throwing it open to her five colleagues to comment.

‘Well, I can tell you now,’ said John, ‘that if you allow me to go public with all of the discoveries we’ve made, from centuries old to millennia old, it will certainly get the interest of the archaeological community. South America has never had the profile of Europe or Africa, but what we’ve found here will definitely generate massive interest. And calls for preservation. Like that pre-Inca ruined city that Greenergy plans on levelling – no way will the international community let that happen. At least not until there has been time to study it properly, and that’ll take years.’

‘Mine is probably a little harder,’ said Philip, ‘because it’s not simply facts like John’s will mostly be. He can point to our discoveries, and no-one can argue that it’s a ruined city, an ancient burial site, or whatever, whereas I’ll be arguing the existence of Environmental Consciousness. However, having said that, if I can use all the real-life examples that we have of your ability, then that certainly strengthens the argument for EC. I think I might need to tie into the TV side as well, because the visual element I think will be very important in converting people to EC.’

‘OK, great,’ Amy said, ‘although I want you to be careful about using phrases like “converting people to EC”. This isn’t a religion; it isn’t even in truth a philosophy. It’s a simple reality of nature, and the fact that it has been hidden from us doesn’t make it any less true. So just be mindful of that.’ She smiled so that Philip wouldn’t take offence, before turning to AnneMarie to get her reaction.

‘Oh, speaking as an environmental scientist, the medicinal discoveries alone that you’ve made will have them eating out of our hands,’ promised AnneMarie. ‘I can guarantee you huge coverage not just in my own scientific arena, but in medical circles as well. I think you still don’t appreciate the enormity of that aspect, Amy. You seem to think its normal, no big deal, but as I keep telling you, you’ve found natural herbal cures for conditions that simply don’t exist now. This’ll be huge.’

Susie was next to speak up. Amy knew that Susie was sometimes self-conscious and a little insecure about the fact that she didn’t have professional qualifications as the others did, but her contribution was no less significant.

‘I’ve been thinking about who to get,’ she said. ‘There’s Michael White, the environmentalist in the UK – he’s built up a huge following through his TV programmes on the natural world. If we could get him, it would guarantee massive exposure – the viewing figures for all his programmes are huge, and not just in the UK. I’ve spoken to him before, and I know he will buy into Amazonian preservation mega-big-time. With some of the exclusives that I can promise him, I might be able to persuade him to get involved. I’ll start trying to contact him and see if we can schedule it as soon as possible.’

Amy smiled. ‘Michael White? Wow. That would be some coup if you get him, Susie. See what you can do, and we’ll take it from there.’

Diego was the last to contribute. ‘OK Amy, I think you have it. With what the guys here are saying about the impact they can create individually, we can run a coordinated social media campaign that pulls them all together. I won’t do it under my name, because again the media will focus more on me than the message. But I’ll use OurWorld as the main engine, and I’ll spin it off into all of the other social networking channels as well. I don’t know if I can guarantee you tens of millions of fans, but we’ll certainly make a splash that overshadows any private, public or commercial campaigns that have been run to date.’

‘Great!’ Amy stood, indicating that it was time to start moving. ‘If each of you can make a start straightaway, we’ll make as much progress as we can, as quickly as we can. If you want to gather your gear and work from here, you’ll be able to bounce ideas off each other.’

The others moved off to their tents to gather laptops and notes, but Diego stayed and stood beside Amy.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked her.

She answered honestly, ‘I’m not too sure. I have a bad feeling about Greenergy, and I intentionally didn’t answer the question you asked a few minutes ago about what we’re going to do about them. I feel as though there is a disaster ahead – maybe not enough to stop us, but something bad is in front of us. I need time to figure that out.’

She paused, looking up at Diego, the man who brought her comfort and strength as well as support for the work she was undertaking.

‘For the moment, you’re mostly waiting for the others to produce something for you to promote,’ she said, smiling. ‘So why don’t we go back to my tent for a while?’

Smiling back at her, Diego took her by the hand and led her to her tent.

CHAPTER 5

Is This Love?

˜

As they stepped into the tent and let the flap fall behind them, Diego pulled Amy to him in a fierce embrace. They kissed deeply, savouring each other and rejoicing in shared emotion. But Diego knew that while Amy cared for him deeply, loved him indeed as she seemed to love everyone and every thing, there was a part of her heart that he could not access. He adored her, for a million reasons. It wasn’t just the sex, incredible though that was. As a multi-billionaire twenty-something entrepreneur, Diego had had a choice of many beautiful girls. But Amy had everything they had, plus so much more – so incredibly much more. She was stunningly beautiful; he knew that. Her fantastic figure, her gorgeous face, and her long rich hair all attracted him. But much more than that, much deeper than that, her personality, her passion, her slight other-worldliness attracted him on a deeper level.

Amy didn’t seem to realise the effect she had on people, he thought. There was a quality to her that seemed to draw people to her – in most cases. Sometimes he had seen people seem to intuitively dislike her, as though they felt she was some kind of threat to them. But for most people, it drew them in. She had a comforting, reassuring quality, able to understand people and relate to their feelings, hopes and fears, even when they didn’t verbalise them. He knew that he certainly had been drawn under her spell. She fascinated and enthralled him, as though she had cast a spell on him. He couldn’t get enough of her – physically, intellectually or emotionally. And he knew that of these, it was the emotional feelings that she didn’t fully reciprocate. She held part of herself back, and it was more than just the fact that she wouldn’t talk about her past. He often wondered where she came from, who she really was. But physically and intellectually, there were no barriers. She made love to him with an abandon and delight that was captivating and appealing in its simplicity and innocence.

And when they lay in the afterglow of great sex and murmured quietly of their work and of each other, he sometimes felt traces of sadness and loss in Amy. He respected her wish to keep her past to herself, but Diego suspected that heartbreak and tragedy were there. He wished he could free her from that burden, but whenever he tried to broach the subject, she just shook her head and smiled, taking his hand and assuring him that everything was OK.

But none of that seemed to matter when she looked at him. She lay back on her small bed and smiled up at him, filling his heart with wonder, gratitude and a feeling that he must be the luckiest man alive. She drew him down to her, wrapping him in a warm and tender embrace, body against body, lips against lips. As she undressed him, she planted butterfly kisses on his body, awakening his desire and making him feel like a king. He in turn undressed her, and then drew him to her in a tight embrace, entering her and becoming one with her body. Sex with Amy seemed like an almost spiritual experience, as they transcended the physical and his senses took flight in their union. They panted and pushed, grinding their bodies against and into each other. Sweating in the tropical heat, they slid against each other, their bodies moulding and remoulding as they joined, bringing each other delight and release.

As they rested and recovered in the blissful afterglow, she took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes.

‘Oh, Diego, please don’t love me too much.’

‘Amy, I can’t help what I feel. I know there are places in your heart that you won’t let me go to. I know, or at least I think, that you have been hurt before. But I do love you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way. You are incredible, and for as long as you let me, and for as far as you let me, I want to be with you. It’s not just the work, Amy, though you know I am behind you a hundred per cent in that. It’s you. I love you, Amy. Is that so wrong of me?’

‘It’s not that it’s wrong, Diego. It’s not fair, that’s all. Not fair on you. Because whatever you might think, I’m just not capable of a relationship like that. It’s not that I don’t believe in love, I do. Of all people, I believe in love. But I just don’t think I have the capacity anymore to have that kind of a relationship with someone. The kind of relationship where you give yourself – totally and absolutely, without reservation. Where you give yourself fully and completely, with mind, body, heart and soul. I just can’t do that,’ she said, a hint of tears in her eyes.

He held her closely, shushing her.

‘It’s OK, beautiful one. I know, I know. I understand as best I can. And I demand nothing of you. Like I said, I am thankful for what we have together. I demand nothing more.’

‘But what happens when I have to go, Diego; what happens then?’

‘Then I will be sad, baby. But I will still be thankful for having met you, having loved you. And nothing will ever change that. I will be sad if and when you leave, very very sad. But never so sad that I will wish I had never met you in the first place. That’s what love is, honey. It’s about enjoying someone, being with them as absolutely as you can be. But it’s not about locking them in a cage like a songbird. You have to leave the door open. If they fly away, you lose only that which you didn’t have before you met them. You go back to where you were. But you are not worse off than where you were – at least, not unless you wallow in your loss. But if, instead of wallowing and focussing on what you have lost, if instead you rejoice that you had such a beautiful thing as love for a time, then it all makes sense.’

Half-jokingly, Amy said, ‘You must have loved and lost a few people, to be able to talk about it like that. It seems to be something you have given a lot of thought to!’

‘Not really, though like everyone, I have had my relationships that didn’t work out. But it really comes from my grandfather. He talked about love and life and loss a lot. He came over to the US from Germany after the Second World War, and while he never really spoke about what happened in Germany, I know he saw the most incredible suffering, the most ferocious brutality. And that always stayed with him, and he always told me to treasure not just what you have, but what you have had in the past as well. He said when you lose something, don’t mourn it but instead celebrate what you have had even when you no longer have it.’

Amy looked at him thoughtfully before saying, ‘You know, someone once told me about happiness, and I have the same feeling now that I had then. Feeling that what I’m told is correct, but thinking that it’s almost too easy. That if it’s that easy, then why do I find it so hard? I think you’re right Diego, and your grandfather was right as well. But maybe it’s just not for me,’ she finished sadly.

‘My poor Amy,’ Diego said softly, a smile in his voice. ‘Give yourself time, my darling, and when the time is right, and the person is right, and the circumstances are right, then you will know. And then you will find true love and happiness, for however long it may last. But for now, rest a while, and then we will go and see how the others are getting on.’

‘OK,’ she said, effortlessly shifting from personal to business, ‘but we also have to plan a move tomorrow. We have been in this one place too long – I’m nervous that if Greenergy has a contract out on me, our location might be too well known at this stage. Even though we bring in visitors and volunteers by a combination of vehicle and trekking so that they won’t know our exact location, anyone with a GPS phone could send our exact coordinates to Greenergy or their local strong-arm thugs. Susie has been on the phone to Michael White for hours today; anyone could trace us so easily. But we can think about that tomorrow.’

Diego cuddled her in his arms, and she relaxed into sleep, feeling safe and protected.

Later in the day, after they had woken and showered, Diego went to the main tent to see how the others were getting on with their articles. Amy was sitting outside her tent having a fruit juice and relaxing, when AnneMarie wandered over, cup of coffee in hand.

‘Mind if I join you?’ AnneMarie asked with a grin.

‘Not at all, delighted to have your company.’

‘So, tell me,’ AnneMarie asked as she sat down beside Amy.

‘Tell you what?’ asked Amy.

‘You and Diego. Seems to be more than just something casual. Could my girl be falling in love?’

‘Oh, AnneMarie, I wish I could. But I can’t. It’s out of the question.’

‘Well, that seems very blunt. What is it, honey; is there someone else?’

‘No, AnneMarie, there’s nobody else, not anymore.’

‘Not anymore? Ah, so there was someone. What happened?’

‘You know I can’t really talk about my past. But I suppose I can give you an idea. Especially after yesterday. I saw my life flash in front of my eyes, AnneMarie. I knew I might die, there and then. So I’ll just say this much about what happened to me, far away and long ago. I fell in love. That was it. I fell hopelessly, madly, totally in love. With no holding back, no boundaries. I gave myself totally, completely, without limit.’

She paused for a moment, and AnneMarie waited, seeing that Amy wanted to talk but was unsure either of what to say or how to say it.

‘It was incredible, AnneMarie. Like nothing else I had ever experienced. And looking back on it now, it seems in some ways, ridiculous. There I was, twenty-four years old. I had just lost my father – my mother died when I was little – and I was in a very dangerous situation in a strange country that I didn’t know. And along came this man, promising to help me, to support me, and he had a link back to my Dad. And AnneMarie, he was my Dad’s age! Well, almost. And I loved him. He seemed to have an old pain in his heart as well. And he did protect me AnneMarie; at least I thought he was protecting me. It was so good, so beautiful. I only had to look at him and I felt safe, I felt protected and loved and cherished and valued. It was incredible.’

AnneMarie saw the look of pain cross Amy’s face.

‘What happened, darling?’

‘It was a lie. It was all a lie, all of it, from start to finish. I had something he wanted, and everything – what he said about how he felt, what he said about me, what we did – it was all a lie. A lie. From start to goddamned finish. And at the end, he would have happily seen me dead. Indeed, his whole purpose was to kill someone that I had grown very close to. And when he was gone, I swore never again. Never again would I put myself in a position where someone could hurt me that much, could crush me and break my heart. Never again!’

AnneMarie watched this young woman she admired so much, and saw that despite all of Amy’s skills, despite her incredible gift, she was in many ways still a young woman who was learning about life and about relationships.

‘I know it was crazy,’ said Amy. ‘I know that now. It was so fast, so complete; it couldn’t possibly have been real. But with everything that was going on, I was probably extremely vulnerable emotionally, and I guess I saw and felt what I wanted to see and feel. But it was so devastating when it ended, especially because of the way it ended. Never again!’

‘You poor child. You are so young. Tell me, was he your first true love?’

‘Yes he was. Oh, I had had relationships before that. But they were casual, more like sex between friends or with virtual strangers than really being true lovers. He was the first man I truly loved in that way. And I think the last.’

‘Amy, Amy, Amy. What will I do with you? Don’t you know that this is part of life? That we love, and we lose – sometimes. That life is all about beginnings, and endings. And yes, some couples are lucky enough to fall in love and to stay in love with each other until they day they die. But just because that doesn’t always happen, doesn’t mean it can’t happen. Just because a previous love ended, or as you say turns out to not have been real in the first place, that doesn’t mean that there is no such thing as true love.’

‘I know that, AnneMarie, I know. At least, I know in my head, but I think … no, let me rephrase that. I do truly believe in true, genuine love, both platonic and romantic. My God, my whole life now is based on love. Love of people, of the plants and animals, loving the totality of creation, of all that is. But in this one area, I just don’t seem to be able to … to take the risk, I suppose. I can’t begin to tell you what it was like, AnneMarie. The ecstasy, the joy, the sheer unbridled unlimited bliss of being in total and absolute love with someone. And then the reverse of that – the desolation, the devastation to my very being when I found out that none of it was true. I could have curled up and died, if it wasn’t for the fact that I felt I had a responsibility to carry on. And that’s the fear – I never want to experience that level of hurt again. I’m afraid of it,’ she finished simply.

‘My heart goes out to you, darling. Not so much for what you have suffered in love, but for what you are missing out on now. Some people find true love, some don’t, so there are no guarantees, but at least keep yourself open to the possibility. I know you don’t want to risk being that hurt again, but that’s what life is, that’s what living is – it’s about risking it, taking the chance. Without that, there is a huge part of your life that is barren. Don’t do that to yourself. What about Diego – you say you can’t allow yourself to love him totally, but if you could, do you think he might be the one?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not sure. I don’t think so. I mean, he’s a lovely guy, and he is so kind and loving to me. And I know that he feels that he is completely in love with me. But even if I was looking for a life-partner, someone to open myself to fully, I don’t think it would be poor Diego. And I don’t want to hurt him. But there just isn’t that spark, that magical something different that I think lifts a relationship from the level we are at, to that level where two people become almost like one. You know what I mean?’

‘Hmmm, I wonder at your perception of true love, you know. I mean, I know a lot of religions talk about marriage as being where two people become one, but I don’t think that’s right. Even in the closest relationships, I think both people need to retain their own identities, their own interests. I think it’s much healthier for people to view themselves as themselves, and in a relationship; than to view themselves as part of a single entity made up of two people. I think that this “man and woman as one” thing takes away identity, and I don’t think that’s a good thing. Maybe that’s part of your fear as well – maybe you see that level of commitment as giving up something of yourself, of your own identity – almost as if you would have to lose a part of your own individuality if you were to enter into that sort of relationship.’

‘Oh, maybe, I’m not sure. It’s just so all mixed up. I am as clear as I can be on my work here, on my attitude to the world around me, but this is the one area where I am completely confused and a bit lost – to love and be loved in a romantic sense as opposed to platonic or intellectual. I guess I was so emotionally dependant on my Dad all my life, though I never realised it until he was dying. My Mum was mur…’ Amy paused, corrected herself. ‘My mum died when I was very small, and I have no brothers or sisters, so my Dad was always my emotional bedrock, my firm ground. And then he died, and I was alone. Not just alone, but trying to do something good, something that my father had asked me to do as he died. And people were trying to stop me – scary people. You have no idea how terrifying it was, AnneMarie. I was on my own, in a foreign country with a foreign language, foreign culture and customs and everything. Being hunted, threatened, feeling lost and afraid and alone and frightened. And along came this man, who had worked with my Dad when he was a young man. And he was kind and strong and experienced in the kinds of things that were happening to me, experienced in dealing with the kind of people who were chasing me. And he protected me. I think that was it, that was why I fell so head-over-heels in love, so quickly. He was the replacement for my Dad, I suppose. And then the devastation when I found out it was a lie. So, no, it’s not that I am afraid of losing my identity in a relationship. It’s just that I’m not sure that I would be strong enough to survive that kind of hurt, that level of damage to myself, again. And so I play it safe.’

‘I know you don’t usually talk about your past, Amy, and I respect that. But I think you are going to have to talk to someone about these feelings if you are to overcome that fear, and go on to have a normal happy life.’

Amy laughed, partly in self-mockery. ‘A normal, happy life? I’m not sure that “a normal, happy life” will ever be an option for me, AnneMarie. Not after all that has happened. Do you know, and you must never breathe a word of this to anyone, seriously, but my real name isn’t even Amy.’

‘Your secret is safe with me, darling. Though you shouldn’t be surprised to hear that I’m not surprised that you are using a false name. You are always so secretive about your past. I have always assumed, since shortly after I got to know you, that there are reasons for that. And a false name in that case makes sense. Just be careful that you don’t lose yourself, and that you don’t lose your past. I can only guess that it must be very hard when you can’t even use your own name. I have been AnneMarie all my life, except when I was naughty as a child and my Mum would call me Anna Maria, which is my name as it actually appears on my birth certificate and ID card. However, other than that, always AnneMarie. Even when someone calls me Anna Maria now, it feels weird. I would hate if I couldn’t tell people my real name.’

‘Yes, it’s hard sometimes. There are times when I feel like screaming at people “My name is Laura”!’ She paused, realising that she had inadvertently gone further than she had intended in this conversation – much further. She loved and trusted AnneMarie, but all her self-preservation instincts during the past three years had made her bury her past from everyone she met, and now she had not only told AnneMarie a great deal of the outline, though without mentioning names and places, but she had told AnneMarie her real name. Amy, as she now always tried to think of herself, or Laura to use her real name, kicked herself mentally.

AnneMarie saw the consternation on her friend’s face, and hurried to reassure her.

‘It’s OK, Amy. I have already erased that last piece from my memory. If you want to be Amy, then you are Amy to me. I didn’t hear you say that it’s not your real name, and I didn’t hear you say any other name. It’s OK, honey. Your secret is safe with me, honestly.

‘To finish up, all I will say is that you should try to open your heart to the possibility of finding love. Whether you do or you don’t, the world is a much brighter and more positive place if there is at least that possibility in our lives.

‘Now,’ said AnneMarie in a more business-like tone, ‘I am going over to the mess tent to check that all our individual projects are coming along. Within a few days, we’ll be ready to kick off the publicity and try to put a stop to the destruction of the forest. And then we’ll be able to sit back and look at our future, for all of humanity as well as ourselves, with a brighter eye as well.’

AnneMarie gave Amy a quick kiss on the cheek as she rose to leave, smiling encouragingly at her friend. Amy watched AnneMarie go, and wondered about the conversation they had just had, thinking of a number of different aspects at once.

There was the breach of her self-imposed secrecy, but she knew she could do nothing about it now, and she believed that she could trust AnneMarie to respect her confidences. Then there was the substance of their discussion about love. Amy felt in her heart and soul that AnneMarie was right; she needed to be open to love, but she knew that the fear of more hurt was overwhelming. She wondered how it was that she could be so brave in other aspects of her life, but in this one area she didn’t have control. She knew what she should do, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She couldn’t help being closed, being protective of herself. She knew it was something that she was going to have to work on though, and that in itself made her feel as if she had just taken a big positive step forward. Before today, she couldn’t even contemplate the possibility that she might one day love again, as she had loved Greg. But now, even though she knew she still wasn’t ready to be so open, now at least she could consider the possibility that some day she might learn to love like that again. That gave her hope, and made her feel that she was thinking more in the way that her beloved Jopl would want her to think.

Turning back into her tent, Amy pulled out her laptop and opened the ‘Lessons Learned’ document. This was the journal that she had been keeping since she fled into the Amazon three years previously. The early entries were her thoughts on the lessons she had learned from Jopl, Chanarong, Imno, Tahir and others. When she was feeling discouraged, she leafed back through them, through the sections on happiness, right and wrong, the meaning of life, and all the other learnings she had picked up during her mission to fulfil her father’s legacy. Later entries dwelt more on the environment, as her time in the Amazon had opened her eyes and mind ever-further in an understanding of the environment, and of how humanity itself was part of the environment and interacted with it.

She started typing, beginning a new section that she called ‘Love After Loss’.

CHAPTER 6

Under Cover of Darkness

˜

Amy snapped awake in an instant, her deep and peaceful sleep abruptly transformed to an alert wakefulness. She swept her tent with a glance, and knew immediately that the source of the disturbance was outside. She listened intently but no audible sounds were apparent even to her acute hearing. Amy relaxed into her meditative state and within seconds was aware of disturbances, interruptions in her forest’s natural rhythm.

As she concentrated on the source of this intrusion, she sensed a cold implacability. Human, of that there was no doubt. Intent on harm. And as she reached out, Amy realised the harm was directed at her. But that in addition, these men – for male they undoubtedly were – had already decided that if any of her companions got in the way they would be brushed aside, without pity or remorse.

Amy surged into action. They had planned for this day, had practised drills under different attack scenarios until her friends were quite convinced that her security-consciousness bordered on paranoia. She grabbed the hammer lying beside the bell hanging inside the entrance of her tent and beat out the alarm code for night-time attack: Disperse!

As she rang the alarm a second and a third time, Amy tried to ‘feel’ how far away the attackers were. She believed they only had about two minutes, three at the most, before the marauders would be upon them. She dropped the hammer and pulled on shorts and T-shirt in a flash before pulling the rug out from under her cot to reveal a trapdoor. She jumped into the small space and reached out to pull the rug over the edge of the trapdoor before pulling it closed. She knew a thorough search of her tent would quickly yield up her subterfuge, but she hoped that the attackers would be too rushed in their night-time attack to give her tent anything more than a cursory sweep.

She raced along the low tunnel on all fours, scraping her back against the earthen roof. After 100 metres she burst into the cramped control room, where the north wall was lined with the small control panel. She calculated that maybe ninety seconds had passed since she rang the alarm, which meant she only had thirty seconds or a little more before the campsite would be breached. She glanced along the control panel, associating each of the four red switches with the device that John had explained to her would be activated by each one. She had been surprised and delighted, and also a little nervous, when she had discovered that John had extensive experience with explosive ordnance. He had explained how archaeologists often worked with the most delicate tools to excavate a millimetre at a time, but sometimes needed to clear large-scale obstructions quickly to reach their goal. It was through that aspect of his work that he had learned how to use explosives to maximum effect, and it had become a fascination for him ever since. Between the practical work he had carried out in the field and the reading and research he had done out of interest and curiosity, John had become something of an expert in how to best deploy and utilise a range of explosive devices and materials to maximum effect.

With a smile of ironic satisfaction, she pulled the first switch and felt the dull shock as the blast device to the east exploded. The second switch, and she knew the silent smoke bomb further east was now filling the air with white smoke. She hoped that she was generating the confusion that she intended as she pulled the third switch and felt the boom of the bomb to the northwest, which was designed for maximum light and noise. As she moved to activate the fourth and final device, she knew the attackers had to be at least twenty seconds from the edge of the camp. She pulled the lever and sensed the fireball from the incendiary device lighting up the sky with a massive eruption of flame.

Amy glanced around the earthen bunker with a little sadness. She felt and regretted any destruction to the forest, and setting off four bombs certainly meant destruction. She consoled herself with the thought that John had designed the bombs for maximum noise, light and smoke, while minimising the actual damage caused. The intention was to frighten, confuse and most importantly slow down the attacking party so that she and her companions would have time to escape and rendezvous at one of the three fall-back sites they had previously selected. Muttering a quiet word of apology to the environment for the damage inevitably caused, Amy made her way up the little ladder and pushed open the moss-covered trapdoor to breathe in the night air, laden with the dampness and scents of the forest.

She could hear the raucous cries of the animals and birds agitated by the noise, light and fire of the bombs, and she could feel the tremor running through the Environmental Consciousness. More human-wrought destruction, she thought, as she crept away into the night. Almost immediately, she heard the sound of gunfire coming from the direction of the camp. She resisted the urge to go back and see if her friends had gotten away safely, knowing that she had laid out the escape plan to work in this way for good reasons. Steeling her resolve, Amy ignored the continuing sound of gunfire and continued to slip through the forest like a ghost, moving further away from the campsite.

It was thirty minutes later when Amy looked down from a low ridge into the clearing they had identified as the first fall-back site. She sat quietly, sinking into a deeper consciousness as she melded with the environment around her, searching for any indication that there were people nearby. She could sense two or possibly three people, and she probed the ether trying to determine their intentions. She caught a sense of worry and fear, but nothing that would tally with the idea that the people nearby were their attackers. Reassured by a feeling of familiarity, Amy decided that these people had to be her companions, waiting for the allotted timeframe to see if she would alert them to her presence, before they would give up and move on to the second fall-back site.

Amy crept down to the edge of the clearing, all the time probing and sensing the environment around her. When she was satisfied, and just before her companions would start to move away and make their way to the second site, Amy whistled softly, waited three heartbeats and then whistled a second and a third time. She felt relief in the air around her, and quickly heard the small noises of people creeping towards her. Within two minutes she had Philip, Susie and AnneMarie at her side, looking at her with a mix of fear, anger and relief. She greeted them quietly, and they settled down to wait another fifteen minutes to see if John and Diego would show up. Her three companions huddled close to her, seeming to draw comfort and resolve from her presence.

After another fifteen minutes, Amy whispered quietly to them, and they started on the trek to the second fall-back site. Amy led the way, sensing the air in front of her and moving with an absolute silence that was awesome in her ability to meld and blend with the forest. Even though she was only two steps in front of Philip, he sometimes found it difficult to keep track of her, and she would have to whisper to him so that he knew which direction she was moving in. After walking almost two kilometres, Amy whispered back to Philip that they should wait for her while she went ahead and checked the second site.

She moved on slowly, and again found herself on a small rise overlooking a fall-back site. Each site had been selected with great care, ensuring that she and her team could approach them quietly, and allowing a vantage point over the site so that they could survey it from a short distance to ensure there was no ambush waiting for them. Amy again sank into meditation, and for a long time could not sense any human presence in the vicinity, other than her companions waiting behind her. Eventually though, she picked up a weak sense of another presence nearby, but it was so weak that at first she couldn’t be sure it was human, and she had no way of telling if it was hostile or friendly towards her. As she focussed more intently, she got the sense that it was someone waiting, waiting for her. And with that feeling came an impression that they were desperately waiting for her, hoping against hope that she would come and there was a feeling of rescue associated with the sense of her coming.

Amy moved forward as slowly as she could, making no sound and seeming to become almost transparent as she moulded herself to fit into the forest in as natural a way as possible. As she neared the edge of the little clearing, she was able to make out a shape at the base of a tree that did not belong with the forest. She inched her way forward until she was only a step away from the hunched figure, and realised with a start that it was John. And he was injured. Resisting the urge to lay her hand on his shoulder, Amy again paused and swept her senses around the nearby forest, but she couldn’t detect any hostile presence that might be a threat. Moving in closer behind John, Amy went from absolute stillness to lightening movement in an instant. She wrapped her right arm around John’s body and her left hand across his mouth, immobilising him and making sure that he could neither move nor make a sound.

She whispered urgently into his ear, ‘It’s OK, John, it’s me. It’s Amy, I’ve come for you. Everything is OK now, I’m here. I need you to be as quiet as a mouse and absolutely still when I let you go. Is that OK?’

She paused and added, ‘OK John? I’m going to let you go now. Quiet as a mouse.’

She felt the attempted movement of a nod and eased her dual grip on John, feeling him exhale quietly as he relaxed from the frozen shock he had experienced when she first grabbed him.

‘I’m hurt,’ he whispered.

‘OK,’ she murmured. ‘Can you walk if I help you? We need to get away from here; it’s too exposed. We need to get back to the others.’

He nodded weakly, and Amy bent down and helped him to his feet. Her slight frame hid a surprising strength, and Amy partly supported but mostly carried him as they moved back to where the others sat quietly waiting. She gently lowered John to the ground, whispering to Philip that he was hurt. Philip was the unofficial paramedic in the core group, with a basic knowledge of emergency care coupled with a broad range of first-aid skills that he had picked up through courses and during his time on expeditions. He quickly examined John in the moonlit gloom.

‘He’s been shot,’ Philip whispered back to Amy. ‘It looks as though the bullet went straight through his thigh, so as long it didn’t sever any critical arteries or nerves there should be no permanent damage. But he’s lost a lot of blood so he is very weak, and there’s no way he’ll be able to walk on it.’

Amy crept away again, leaving Philip to tend John as best he could. She moved like a wraith through the forest, relying on her environmental sense to guide her. After only a short distance she stopped, looking at the clump of vegetation growing in front of her. Part of her wondered if it had been there all along, or if it had just materialised because she needed it, but she shrugged away what was at this moment an irrelevant question. Stooping down, she pulled a plant from the ground and tore off a leaf and started to chew it as she moved back to the others. As she hurried back to them, she wondered if John’s wounding was the disaster that she had sensed was going to happen. Something told her this wasn’t it, that the adversity which she had yet to face was going to be much worse than John getting injured.

‘Here Philip,’ she said, taking the wad of half-chewed leaf from her mouth. ‘Put this into the wounds front and back, and then we’ll tie the rest of the leaf over it to keep it all in place. When we can stop and rest later, we’ll boil the root and poultice the wound. In the meantime the leaf will stop the bleeding and prevent infection.’

Philip marvelled at Amy’s knowledge, correctly suspecting that she had never seen this plant before. Yet he knew from experience that if Amy said it would heal, then heal it would. As gently as he could, he pushed some of the leaf into the small entry wound at the back of John’s thigh, and into the larger exit wound at the front. Then he wrapped the leaf around John’s leg to cover both bullet-holes, and tied it in place with a bandana handed over by Susie.

When Philip had tended to John as best he could for the moment, he and Amy held John up by his arms and supported his weight between them as they again moved off into the forest. They had a longer walk this time, almost three kilometres, and it took more than an hour to make their way through the forest until they came close to the third and last fall-back site. Again leaving her companions sheltered in a thick cluster of small trees, Amy moved slowly up the ridge to overlook the third site. Her heart was thumping in her chest as she reflected that she had never thought they would need to use the third site. Surely anyone who managed to get away from the camp would have managed to get to at least the second site if not the first one. With a conscious effort of will, Amy forced herself to clear her mind of the worry for her colleague, friend and lover, and focussed on trying to detect Diego’s presence nearby.

For twenty minutes Amy strained in conflict, part of her naturally tending to worry and stress, while part of her sought to totally relax and meld into union with the environment. She could not ‘feel’ Diego’s presence and she continually tried to extend her senses ever-further and deeper into the forest around her. Eventually she had to acknowledge that there was no trace of the man who was so precious to her, both personally as her lover and strategically for the role he had to play in the war she was waging. She moved down into the small clearing, hoping that her senses had somehow failed her and that she would find Diego sitting waiting for her. As she moved around the clearing like an apparition, Amy seemed to shift location and change shape, becoming ever more ghost-like as she moved further into a realm of Universal Consciousness than she ever had before. After covering the entire clearing a second time she acknowledged with a stifled sob that Diego wasn’t there.

What had happened to him? John had been shot from behind, and Amy had been so intent on finding her companions and getting them to safety that she hadn’t yet quizzed John on what had happened. Had Diego been shot as well? Shot and captured? Or infinitely worse, and her heart seemed to stop with shock at the thought, shot and killed? She had to find out what had happened.

Armed with fresh resolve, Amy moved back to her companions.

‘What happened, Amy?’ AnneMarie asked urgently as Amy kneeled down beside them. ‘You were gone so long, we were afraid you had been …’ AnneMarie paused, before continuing, ‘Where’s Diego?’

‘I don’t know. He’s not here. Something must have happened.’

She turned to John, who lay beside Philip, and she could see that his face was deathly white in the moonlight.

‘John, can you talk? I need to know what happened back there. How did you get shot?’

John looked at her, emotional as well as physical pain clearly written in his face.

‘When the alarm rang, I threw on my clothes and ran out of the tent. I saw a couple of the others disappearing out of the camp, and so I went a different direction like you said we should. I nearly ran straight into a guy – he was huge, dressed in combat gear and carrying a gun. I nearly died with fright. I turned and ran as fast as I could, and then I saw Diego over to my left. The next thing I knew, it felt as though someone hit me in the leg with a sledgehammer – I didn’t realise at first that I had been shot. I fell, and Diego grabbed me and hauled me into the bushes. I had to catch my breath, and Diego said to lie still for a moment before trying to creep away. Then he ran off – I think he intended the guy to see him, so that he’d chase Diego and I could get away.’

John paused, a stricken look on his face.

‘Amy, I think he risked his own life to save mine. Oh my God.’

‘Hush, John, it’s OK. In that situation, everyone does what they can.’

Amy stopped then, deep in thought. Her most immediate concern was who was pulling the strings. Had this attack been orchestrated by old enemies, the Provisional CIA, or by her newer adversary, Greenergy? On balance, especially given the timing, Amy was sure it was Greenergy. They had tried to get rid of her when the opportunity had presented itself – Amy could scarcely believe that it had only been the day before yesterday when she had faced down Varela’s earthmover. Greenergy had clearly been galvanised into more pro-active action after the failure of that attempt, and had arranged some local mercenaries to solve their problem for them. Amy was sure that there was no way she would be able to prove this – Greenergy, and probably specifically Wilkinson who she believed had been inured to human suffering during his time making decisions that affected lives so much - would have used a number of middlemen to arrange the attack so that it could not be linked to them.

Amy felt her head hurt with the array of problems now facing her. She still had to wage the war against Greenergy as she had outlined to her companions the previous morning. She had to get her companions to safety so that John could be treated for his injury. What was she to do about Diego? It sounded as though he must have been captured or killed when he tried to lead the attackers away from John. And always there was the threat of the PCIA. She shook her head, forcing herself to mentally prioritise her problems on a scale of importance and urgency, so that she could decide which to focus on first.

‘OK, here’s what we are going to do. I’m going to punch coordinates into the GPS for you to go to. You’ll be safe there, and John can be looked after. I’m going back to see what has happened to Diego. And we’ll meet up at either sunset tonight or dawn tomorrow morning.’

This was greeted with looks of confusion, concern and fear.

‘Are you sure about this, Amy?’ asked AnneMarie. ‘I mean, I’m sure we can manage to get to wherever you are sending us, but are you sure we will be safe there? And more importantly, are you sure that it’s a good idea for you to go back? What if they catch you as well?’

Amy noticed that AnneMarie was now assuming that Diego had been captured, and she wished that she herself was sure, so that she could share that assumption. But she felt that she had to find out for certain, and the only way to do that was to go back.

‘Yes, AnneMarie, I’m sure. You are going to a small village – they have had very little contact with anthropologists or any other aspect of our so-called modern civilisation. They keep themselves to themselves, but they know me and they will help us. The name of the village is Alheio. When you get there, don’t be afraid, because their first reaction will be intentionally to try to frighten you away. All you have to do is call out my name, and then they will shelter you and help you in every way they can. They call me “angiru-mitakuna” – it means “girl who is our friend”. Once you call out my name, you will be safe.

‘And in the meantime, I will see what happened to Diego. I have to do this AnneMarie, I know you understand that.’

AnneMarie nodded, accepting what Amy said even though she was clearly still worried. Amy entered the GPS coordinates of the village she was sending her companions to, and hugged each one as they prepared to set off. When they moved away she looked after them until they were swallowed up by the trees, and then she turned and started to make her way back towards their camp.

CHAPTER 7

The Hunted Hunts

˜

Amy set herself a punishing pace, running with a long loping stride as she moved like the wind. Like the wind, she was fast, and like the wind she at times seemed to be invisible as the leaves barely moved when she passed by. Up and down hills and slopes, around trees, over obstacles and through thickets, Amy flew on and on. As she approached the area near the camp, Amy slowed to a walk and then stopped, hiding amongst the foliage while her heart and breathing slowed, and she brought her mind to rest, calm and peace.

When she felt she had attained stillness, Amy once more sent her senses outwards, probing and seeking. She quickly knew that the intruders seemed to be gone – she could sense the destruction wrought, and she didn’t need her environmental awareness to know that the attackers had set fire to their tents – she could clearly smell the smoke from the smouldering remains. Still she stayed unmoving, trying to make certain that none of the invaders were waiting in ambush. The forest was already settling back to normality, with small creatures now venturing back into the camp area.

Once she was sure the camp was truly deserted, Amy moved forward and examined the area in the dawn light. Tents had been burned and she could see the tracks of heavily booted feet criss-crossing the area. As she moved around the perimeter of the camp, Amy could see that all of the attackers had entered as a single group from the eastern side of the camp, and she smiled grimly as she realised that either they weren’t experienced fighters, or something had happened to make them careless. If she had been planning the attack, she would have spread her forces around the camp so that nobody could escape; but then she wondered if the four bomb detonations had forced the attackers to move sooner than they had planned. In any event, she thought, their single-pronged approach was probably the main reason that the others had been able to escape.

She remembered John saying that he had almost run straight into one of the men, so Amy concentrated her attention on the eastern perimeter of the camp. Deciphering the different sets of tracks overlaid on top of each other, she was able to reconstruct the sequence of events. She could see where John had been running, then swerved suddenly and kept running. Then the fall, blood on the ground, a short trail of blood into a small clump of bushes, a pool of blood where John had lain for a few minutes, and then the trail out and away where John had made his escape. Moving back to the bushes, she could see where Diego had run away after leaving John, and looking back towards where John had almost run into the armed intruder, she realised that Diego, presumably intentionally, had run across the man’s line of fire. That would undoubtedly have drawn the man’s attention away from John, so Diego had definitely saved John’s life.

She followed the tracks Diego had made when running, and saw where he had come to an abrupt stop, digging his heels into the ground. Moving forward, she could see three sets of tracks, so Diego had obviously been brought up short when he realised three of the men were in front of him. She looked at the slight marks on the trunk of a nearby tree, and saw that Diego had been tied up for a time. Clearly the men had immobilised Diego while they ransacked the camp, before untying him and heading off on foot. Amy could see where they had left the area, and thought only briefly before deciding to follow them.

She first returned to the camp to see what could be salvaged. In the wreckage of the main tent she got some bottles of water, and ate some of the semi-burned food while she planned her next steps. The attacking force had waited around the camp while the tents burned, and from the tracks she could see that they only had about an hour’s head-start on her, or ninety minutes at most. Having refuelled her body, Amy once again started to run, and was immediately covering the ground at pace. She did some quick mental calculations as she ran along the track left by the men as they had approached and later left the camp. They were moving at a relatively slow pace, hindered by their own equipment and the fact that they were herding a prisoner with them. She estimated that they were moving at about four kilometres per hour, while she was running at maybe twenty kilometres per hour. If that was accurate, and they had left the camp an hour before her, then she would catch up on them in only fifteen minutes, assuming they hadn’t managed to get vehicles closer to the camp, which Amy doubted.

As she ran, she could see from the tracks that she was rapidly closing on them. Bushes that they had pushed past hadn’t yet returned to their undisturbed state, with leaves and branches still bent in their direction of travel. She slowed her pace as she got closer to her lover’s captors, careful that they might have one solitary mercenary bringing up the rear in case they were followed. After another few minutes, Amy could hear sounds in front of her and she paused her running, listening intently and once again pushing her senses into the forest. She was close now, very close. Up ahead of her, the men moved in a single group, and they had to have Diego with them.

Amy moved off to the left of the track and once again increased her pace. She ran in a wide semicircle designed to go around the moving party and get in front of them. Once she was satisfied that she was just two hundred metres in front of the men, and right on the track that they had left on their way in, Amy scurried up one of the tall trees to get a vantage point from which she could safely view the scene below her. No sooner had she settled herself on a branch high above the ground that the party came into view below. She counted them quickly – eight men, dressed in camouflaged combat gear and all heavily armed with semi-automatic rifles. The men moved in a group with two walking abreast in the front, then one each side of her beloved Diego and the other four walking in two pairs behind them. Diego’s hands were tied behind his back, and she could see the rope tied loosely about his ankles. He could walk with slight difficulty, unable to take full strides, and he certainly couldn’t hope to run while he was tied like that.

Amy thought to herself that the men were careless – they clearly considered themselves to be out of the fire-zone and well on their way to safety. Yet at the same time they had managed to tie Diego in such a way that prevented his escape while also allowing him to walk along with the men. But she was grimly pleased to see that they had neither a scouting party leading the way nor a trailing member of the gang to check they weren’t being followed. The gang obviously considered that their work was done, but as far as Amy was concerned, this battle wasn’t over yet!

Once the raiding party had passed out of sight, Amy slid down the tree and again ran in a semi-circle to get in front of the men once more. She then ran along the track they had made earlier in the night, not entirely sure what she was looking for until she found it. As she hurried along the man-made path, she stopped suddenly, retracing her steps until she drew level with a tree growing alongside the track. Stretched along one of the lower branches was a snake, two metres long and as thick as her forearm. It was coloured a mud-brown shade, with bright orange spots running in a line along the centre of its back. It was one she hadn’t seen before, but she knew intuitively that it was exactly what she was looking for. This had happened to her so many times in the Amazon that on one level she was coming to think of it as ‘normal’, but on another level, she knew that what was happening was at the very least inexplicable, and quite possibly miraculous.

Even though she had never seen this snake before, Amy knew with absolute certainty that its venom was extraordinarily toxic. It wasn’t fatal, but it could produce an almost instant paralysis in its victims, which would last for a period of hours before releasing them from its grip. Amy didn’t know how she knew this, but she knew that it was correct, and on many occasions over the past three years in the Amazon she had had similar experiences. She had found plants that could stop bleeding, cure infections, ease pain, and settle sick stomachs as well as many other therapeutic uses. Sometimes Amy instinctively knew that the animals or plants that she was using were natural and indigenous to the region, or for example might only grow in wet ground or sunny areas. But other times she had no sense of the origin of the plant, and it was at these times that Amy wondered where the plant or animal came from. She had at times during her stay in the Amazon wondered if these animals and plants materialised out of some non-physical dimension in response to her immediate need. Amy never discussed these thoughts with anyone, even when she was talking to her closest confidantes about Environmental Consciousness. She knew that many people were unable to accept her theories about the environment possessing a low level of consciousness – if she spoke about things materialising from other dimensions, she felt that she would lose all credibility with everyone.

Even as one part of her mind considered the phenomenon of her environmental awareness, Amy was already looking around her to see how she could use this latest resource. She moved to a bamboo stand nearby and broke off a short thin length of bamboo, checking that the hollow tube wasn’t blocked by any internal membranes. Next she broke off a dozen long slender thorns from a bush growing at the base of the tree where the snake was basking. She moved closer to the snake, wondering if she was crazy, wondering how she could be capable of acts such as the one she was about to undertake.

She wrapped her left hand in a broad leaf so that her skin was protected, and picked up the first of the thorns. Moving slowly and gently, she reached out with her right hand and placed it softly on the snake’s skin just behind his head. As if working in perfect tune with Amy and her intentions, the snake opened his mouth wide, so that Amy could see the venom glistening on his two long fangs. She reached in with the thorn and rubbed it around one of the fangs, coating it in the venom until the tip was soaked with the poison. She repeated the procedure with each thorn, conscious that she couldn’t rush, but also that the attacking party with their hostage would soon be upon her. With thorn after thorn, Amy reached into the snake’s mouth and coated the thorn in his seemingly inexhaustible supply of venom. When the last one was done, Amy removed her hand from the back of his head, and the snake immediately slithered gracefully down the tree trunk and disappeared into the undergrowth. Amy picked up the twelve thorns and her bamboo shoot and retreated into the shelter of a leafy bush nearby, assuming that the men would continue to follow the same track and so would walk right past her.

Amy knelt down and placed the twelve thorns in a row on a flat stone. She was going to have to be very fast if she was to have any chance at succeeding in her strategy. After a few minutes of waiting, she heard the mercenaries approaching and then they came into view as they walked towards her, totally unaware of her presence. Amy waited until they came a little closer, so that her aim would be sure and true. She had already placed the first thorn within the bamboo shoot, and when she was satisfied that she would not miss, she blew an explosive silent exhalation of air into the bamboo tube, launching the first thorn on its way towards one of the two men leading the group. Without waiting to see the impact, she grabbed the second thorn, placed it in the tube, aimed and blew. Again and again she repeated the procedure, vaguely aware of the men flinching, and sometimes swiping a hand across their thighs where she was aiming.

As she blew the eighth thorn, the first man suddenly stumbled and dropped to his knees. Amy placed the ninth thorn in the bamboo in case she had missed anyone. There was mounting panic and hysteria as each man fell, the ones behind starting to shout, ‘What’s wrong?’ and ‘What is it?’ in Portuguese. Into the middle of the noise, Amy projected a forceful whisper to Diego, willing him to hear and understand.

‘Fall down.’

By now six of the eight men had fallen, initially struggling and trembling, and then subsiding into flaccid limpness while their eyes screamed panic and incomprehension. Amy watched, waiting for the last two men to fall, and willing Diego to fall down as instructed. She was afraid that if Diego remained standing, then one of the remaining two thugs would realise they were under some form of attack, and could shoot Diego before being rendered helpless by the venom. As she waited, one heartbeat and then two, Diego fell to the ground. She watched admiringly as he mimicked the movements of the other victims, dropping to his knees, keeling over onto his side, struggling and quickly losing all movement. She sent loving thoughts to him, willing him to trust her.

The seventh man fell, and Amy switched her attention to the last. He looked around him, shouting and swinging his automatic machine gun. Amy felt there was something wrong, but had no time to think about what it might be as she saw the sudden look of determination in his eyes and realised she had missed with the last dart. She raised the bamboo tube to her lips, but before she had time to blow, the brute raised his gun slightly and pulled the trigger. There was a deafening roll of staccato thunder as he raked the undergrowth each side of the track they had been following. Small branches exploded, leaves were shredded, and bigger tree trunks shuddered under the impact of more than ten bullets per second from the awesome technology that mankind had developed for warfare. Amy dived to the ground, knowing that her life expectancy was now a case of random probability. The man was firing indiscriminately, obviously realising they had to be under some form of attack, but unaware of the source. Amy shuddered as she felt the breeze from a wave of bullets passing just over her back, and she was showered with a rain of broken leaves and splinters of wood.

As he swung his fire towards the opposite side of the path, Amy peered out at him and saw he had turned his back. She put the bamboo to her lips once more, but almost froze in shock as she saw him swing his gun towards Diego – he had obviously concluded that the attack was a rescue attempt, and he was determined to execute Diego before he himself could be overcome. Amy blew, and saw the man wince as the thorn struck him in the neck. She knew it had taken a few seconds for the previous darts to work on the other victims, and Diego didn’t have a few seconds. But the direct injection of the poison into the neck instead of the thigh must have intensified the effect of the toxin, and the man immediately wavered and dropped to his knees. He fired off one last burst into the air and then collapsed in a twitching heap on the ground before becoming still.

Amy hesitated for a moment. She was uneasy about something that had caught her attention just before the man started firing, but her concern for Diego outweighed everything else. She jumped to her feet and erupted from the shrubbery to run to Diego. Clasping him to her, she saw him looking up at her and knew he was unhurt. She closed her eyes as she wept his name, giving thanks that they had survived such a terrifying ordeal. It was only as the smell of gun smoke cleared from the air that she felt Diego stiffen in her arms. Her eyes flew open, fear in her heart that he had been hurt after all. She looked at his face, and saw a mixture of fear and anger in his eyes as he focussed his gaze behind her. Before she had time to move or react, Diego pushed her aside and launched himself forward.

Amy spun around and saw Diego crashing into one of the men. Her mind whirled – she didn’t understand what was happening. All the men had been immobilised, how could one of them now be standing up and reaching for the machine gun? Diego and the man rolled around on the ground, the man trying to reach for the gun and Diego desperately trying to restrain him. Released from her sense of shock, Amy galvanised herself into action and ran over to where the two men were grappling on the ground. Grabbing one of the guns as she reached them, she held it by the barrel and swung the stock as hard as she could at the man’s head. He went limp, and Diego gingerly rolled away from him.

‘I don’t understand. They should all be paralysed. Conscious, but paralysed.’

Amy looked around. She could see that seven of the eight were indeed conscious – she could feel the anger and frustration boiling off them. And the eighth was the one who she had just knocked unconscious.

‘Oh my God, Amy,’ gasped Diego, interrupting Amy with the first words he had spoken since she had launched her rescue attempt. ‘What the hell are you doing here? How did you …?’

His voice trailed off into silence as he looked at her in wonder and love.

He shook himself and continued, ‘How did you find me? And how in hell have you … did you say “paralysed”? … How the hell did you just paralyse eight men?’

‘You know me,’ she almost laughed in relief, ‘a little bit of this and a little bit of that. Put me in the Amazon and, I told you, the forest works with me. It guides me. It shows me. It was all very simple in the end, though terrifying.’

‘But what did you actually do? And how are you even here?’

‘Well, I’m here because I love you. I couldn’t leave you. So once I made sure the others were safe – and they are all safe. John is hurt, but he’ll survive. So once I knew they were safe, I went back to the camp and followed you.’

Diego looked at her in wonder. She said it so simply. So matter-of-factly, as if that’s what anyone would have done. He marvelled at her, yet again amazed at her resourcefulness, as he had been so many times before.

‘OK. So you followed us. I get that, though I think it’s unbelievable – you have no idea just how incredible you are. So once you caught up with us – how did you just paralyse eight men? It’s unbelievable, Amy!’

‘Well, catching up with you was easy. The hard part was figuring out how I was going to rescue you – bit of a gender role reversal here, Diego – it’s supposed to be the gallant knight rescuing the damsel in distress, not the damsel rescuing the knight! Anyway, once I found you, I looked around, and there was this …’

She paused ‘… OK, I admit even I find this bit unbelievable, but this is what happened. I don’t know how or why this happens, Diego. It’s like a gift that someone has given me, or maybe that the universe itself has given me, I don’t know. And sometimes that’s a bit scary, if the truth be told. I can’t be fully comfortable with it, simply because I don’t understand it. And that means that I don’t even know what the full extent or potential or implication of this “gift” is. Sometimes I’m exhausted from just thinking about it. The ramifications are huge, Diego. Bigger than huge. This is like the most fundamental change in consciousness that the world has ever experienced – bigger than people deciding the Earth was round and not flat, bigger than people deciding that the Earth revolves around the sun and not vice-versa, bigger than … than anything I can think of at the moment.’

She paused again, and Diego could see the internal conflict reflected in her expression. She looked proud and joyous that she had this ‘gift’, and at the same time confused and afraid at the implications.

‘You’ve lost me, Amy. I’m not sure what you’re talking about. We’ve all seen the way you can seem to communicate with the environment, and I think the evidence makes it beyond doubt that you do indeed have a gift But I think it’s clear that it’s a good thing – why are you afraid of it?’

‘Because I’ve never told you the full story, Diego. I’ve never told anyone. It’s like what happened just now. I caught up with you, and I didn’t have a clue how I was going to rescue you. There were eight of them, all heavily armed; there was me, unarmed; and there was you, unarmed and tied up. I couldn’t see any way that I could possibly manage to get you free. And as I stood there, I saw a snake on a tree. A type of snake that I’ve never seen before, never heard of before. Now I’m no expert on snakes, so maybe it’s a common snake here, but I don’t know. I think it’s possible that this is a type of snake that doesn’t actually exist – or at least, that doesn’t exist in our world as we know it.’

Now Diego looked more confused than ever. ‘You mean you think you might have imagined a snake? Or that you were hallucinating?’

‘No,’ she almost shouted. ‘It was real alright – you’ll see when I tell you what happened next. But I don’t know if it’s real in this world. That’s the part that sometimes scares me. Sometimes I wonder if I’m going crazy. Although the evidence would suggest that I’m not.’

She laughed ironically before continuing, ‘I think, and I don’t mean this to sound arrogant or anything, but I think that maybe it’s me that’s sane and everyone else in this “world” of ours who’s crazy.’

Diego looked at her, trying to understand. ‘OK. So, go on. What happened?’

‘Well, like I said, I don’t know if the forest just made sure that the snake would be in the right place at the right time, and somehow made me aware of how to use it – that in itself is incredible enough, I know. Or if the universe itself somehow created this creature specifically in response to my immediate need at that time. In any event, the snake was there. And somehow or other, I knew that its venom would paralyse, but not kill. So I got thorns off a nearby bush – again, a bush with thorns that were just the right thickness and length just happened to be in the right place at the right time for what I needed. And I rubbed the thorns around the snake’s fangs to soak them in his venom.’

Diego gasped. ‘You what? What do you mean; you rubbed the thorns on his fangs?’

‘Just what I said. The snake opened his mouth, and I took each thorn and rubbed it around his fangs. I knew somehow that he was there to help me, that he wouldn’t hurt me or harm me or attack me in any way. He lay there like a little lamb, and it wasn’t just that he allowed me to use him – he was actively helping me by opening his mouth. Diego, that snake knew what I needed to do, and he was helping me! Anyway, then I got a bamboo shoot, hid in the bush, and fired the thorns at them.’

She paused, thinking about the sequence of events again.

‘Damn, that’s it! When the second-last guy went down, I felt there was something wrong, but I had no time to think about it because I realised I had missed the last guy. That was it! The second-last guy – our unconscious friend here – did what you did – he pretended to fall the same way the rest of them had. He must have realised that something had made his mates keel over, so he copied them in the hope of escaping. So that was it – I missed the last two, or the thorn lodged in their trousers and didn’t pierce the skin. Then I had to blow-dart the last guy again, and it was only when I came out of hiding that the other guy saw his chance. We were lucky!’

They both looked at the eight men lying around them – one unconscious and the other seven conscious but unmoving. Some of the seven were facing towards Amy and Diego, and Amy could see the looks in their eyes – some with murderous rage and some with fear and wonder. She spoke directly to the men.

‘You guys, I don’t know how much you were told about me when you were given your orders, but let this be a warning to you. You have seen now what I can do, and I have no doubt that you heard some of what we just said. Be warned – this forest is part of me and I am part of it. When you attack me, as you did last night, you attack this forest. And when you and your paymasters attack this forest, they attack me. This time, you have gotten away with your lives. The venom will wear off in a couple of hours, and you will feel nothing more than some aches and pains. So heed my warning – if you come for me again, the forest will swallow you up and it will be as though you never existed.’

Turning to Diego, she took his hand and led him back down the trodden track towards their camp.

CHAPTER 8

Enemies Collide

˜

Dave Wilkinson trembled with barely-restrained fury as he spoke on the phone.

‘Jesus Christ, Varela, what the fuck are you playing at? Stop. Stop! I don’t believe this! Start at the start again. Tell me just what the hell happened.’

Varela’s voice echoed out of the speaker-phone on Wilkinson’s expensive mahogany desk.

‘OK, Dave, OK. Believe me, I’m every bit as pissed-off as you are. I couldn’t believe it either, but I just got off the phone with Alvarez and he’s halfway between wanting to rip her to shreds and being fucking terrified of her. He’s just been talking to his guys – they’re still making their way out of the forest. It’s un-fucking-believable. OK, OK, here’s how the whole thing went down.

‘As you said, I stayed in the background the whole time. The only link to us on this operation is Alvarez, and he went through another gang to organise the whole thing, so we’re twice removed from any involvement. Anyway, they organised eight guys, real heavies by the sound of it. These guys have been involved in various … let’s say “activities” in the region over the past few years, so they’re well experienced. Alvarez kept going on about that – he was obviously afraid that given the outcome, I’d think he sent in rank amateurs. But he’s insistent – these were experienced in jungle combat, heavily armed, and the whole thing should have been a walk in the park for them.

‘They rendezvoused on the bitch’s camp last night, and were just getting ready to attack and grab her when the whole fucking world went to hell. There were bombs going off all around them, fire, smoke, the whole fucking thing. Alvarez says that the explosions didn’t really faze the guys, but I reckon it must have slowed them down a little. Anyway, by the time they burst into the camp, her guys were already running into the forest, and they were only able to grab one of them. There wasn’t a fucking sign of her, nowhere to be seen. I reckon the bitch-coward legged it out of there as soon as the first bomb went off. Although in fairness, given what she did afterwards, she’s no fucking coward. A witch-woman maybe, but definitely not a coward.

‘Anyway, they grabbed one guy, and then they torched the whole fucking camp. They looked around to see if they could find any of the other fuckers that are working with her, but there wasn’t a sign to be seen of any of them. Once the camp was in flames they started to hike out of there. Even though their instructions were to grab her, take her into the forest and shoot and bury her, they seemingly decided themselves that they needed to hold onto the one guy they had managed to catch. I think their idea was that we might pay to get a hold of him so that we could question him about witch-woman, but as it happened …

‘Well, this is the fucking incredible bit. They had been hiking back from her camp for I think an hour or so, with their “prisoner” well tied up so that he could just about walk, and Alvarez said he was walking along in the middle of them. It sounds as though they knew what they were doing alright – they had a couple on point, more around the guy to make sure he couldn’t make a run for it, and a couple bringing up the rear. Next thing, they started falling down! It must have been like the weirdest fucking thing ever. Alvarez said they fell down, one after the other, and as they fell they were, like, fucking paralysed!

‘One of the guys saw his buddies falling like flies, and he must have been a quick thinker, ‘cause even though he couldn’t see or hear anything, he immediately reckoned someone had to be shooting them with a silencer or something. So he fell down as well, just like his buddies had. It seems she must have missed one of the other guys too, ‘cause he went fucking crazy, firing a fucking machine gun all around him, but then he went down too – she must have gotten him eventually.

‘So our one clever guy is lying on the ground, waiting to see what the hell is going on, and next thing witch-woman bursts out of a fucking bush. He knew it was her straightaway ‘cause Alvarez had given Williams’ photos to the middle-man who set the whole thing up. So she’s kneeling down with the guy they’d captured, and our guy took his chance. His story is that he grabbed his gun and was about to finish the two of them off when the prisoner guy attacked him. All he remembers is fighting with him, and then nothing – he must have gotten a knock on the head, ‘cause when he eventually came to, his head was nearly split open.’

‘I don’t believe it, I just don’t believe it,’ groaned Wilkinson. ‘How the hell could this go so wrong – it was supposed to be a simple job in the middle of the fucking Amazon.’ His voice rose to a shout. ‘I don’t get it. She’s a small fucking girl – how the hell did she knock out eight mercs?’

‘Well, that’s the thing – she told them what she did. Or at least, some of it she said to them, like a warning they said, and some of it they overheard as she talked to the other guy. And this is the witch-woman bit. This is the bit that apparently had those battle-hardened mercs fucking terrified of her, like some of that voodoo shit that the locals believe in down there! It’s crazy – they’ve all said to Alvarez’ contact that they’re not going after her again – can you believe it, they’re too fucking afraid of her!’

‘Maybe I’d believe it if you’d stop talking in fucking riddles! You’re not making any sense, man. How could what you call “battle-hardened mercs” – these men are supposed to be experienced in jungle combat, are supposed to have multiple kills to their credit – how the fuck can they be scared of this woman – she’s hardly more than a little girl?’

‘Exactly, that’s exactly it. I’m not talking in riddles, if you’ll just listen for a minute and let me tell you.’

Wilkinson almost howled in frustration and rage. ‘Tell me!’

‘OK, OK. It seems that she fucking paralysed them with some fucking snake venom. But that’s not the scary bit – some of the local tribes are known for their use of snake venom, so it’s not unheard of. But it seems that she was talking about snakes appearing from, like, I don’t know, some fucking underworld or something – they said that she said the snake didn’t belong to this world. And they said that the snake came especially for her, and the snake, get this, the snake actually helped her to milk its venom. I know this sounds like crazy shit, I know. But Alvarez himself was shook by the whole thing, and believe me, it takes a lot to shake Alvarez – he’s fucking half-crazy himself.

‘And then to top it all off, she warned the guys. She said something like that an attack on her was an attack on the forest, and that they were getting off lightly this time. She told them that if they came after her again, the forest – not her, the fucking forest itself, as though it were some fucking animal or something – the forest would kill them. They’re convinced she’s some kind of magic going on, and they’re having nothing more to do with it.’

Wilkinson groaned. He had come across many things in his time, and while he was mostly a standard unexciting executive businessman, there had been occasions in the past when he had had to take extraordinary measures to address particular situations. But he was stunned by this latest turn of events. He had taken the momentous decision to have Amy Williams removed – permanently. He had gone through layers of intermediary to protect Greenergy from any potential fall-out. And she had escaped! Not only that, she had apparently taken on and beaten a murderous group of eight experienced fighters! It defied belief, and yet Varela was adamant that this was exactly what had happened.

‘Give me a minute,’ instructed Wilkinson. ‘I need to think about this for a second.’

He desperately tried to marshal his thoughts – what was the potential fall-out from the failed attack, was there any risk that it could be traced back to Greenergy, and what the hell was he going to do next?

‘One other thing,’ came Varela’s voice over the speakerphone. ‘I’m not sure what this means, but I think it’s important.’

‘More? What the hell more could there be? This is a fucking disaster!’

‘Well, Alvarez mentioned something that I think is important. It seems that other people have been asking questions about our little witch-woman. Alvarez doesn’t know who they are, but he’s very impressed by them, whoever they are. He says they’re powerful, money is no object, and then he said the bit that interested me. They’ve been asking around about Williams, and someone said to them that she was hiding out in some village for the past couple of weeks. Elino, I think it was called. I wouldn’t have believed that information, because we believe she’s moving around the forest and not staying in one place, but apparently these other people believed it. It seems that this is a small community – about fifty people were in this village: men, women and children. And these guys believed their information, but they didn’t do what we did. They didn’t send in some heavies to grab Williams. Oh no.’

Varela paused, and Wilkinson had to prompt him, already intrigued and knowing from his tone that this was going to be interesting.

‘Well?’

‘Well, according to Alvarez - and I have no reason to doubt him - the whole fucking village, the entire place, was razed to the ground by an aerial firebomb attack in the middle of the night. No survivors, none, zilch. They killed everyone, every single person, every living thing, within a radius of a hundred metres.’

Varela paused again, waiting to see the impact that this news would have.

‘What?’ exclaimed Wilkinson. ‘What are you saying – they thought she was there, and so they firebombed an entire village and killed fifty people? Including women and children? Are you serious?’

‘Deadly fucking serious. But apparently nowhere near as deadly or as serious as these guys. When they discovered she was still alive, it seems the guy who had told them that she was in that village went missing, and turned up in a couple of places two days later.’

‘What do you mean, “turned up in a couple of places”? What the hell does that mean?’

‘It means that his body was found in one place, and his head somewhere nearby. Poor bastard had been decapitated. And the body hadn’t been hidden. Alvarez says that no-one knows who these people are, but now everyone knows not to fuck with them.’

‘OK, so what does this mean? Are you sure they’re after Williams?’

‘Yep, Alvarez says definitely. They only showed up a couple of weeks ago, started asking general questions using her description, though they said she was blonde, not the black-haired bitch that we know. But I’m thinking now that she’s one and the same. As they asked around, they seemed to start to focus in on her. Of course no-one knows where she is - the way she skulks around that forest, she could be anywhere within a three or four-hundred mile radius. But they started asking specifically about the white environmental activist – it seems they have totally bought into the witch-woman idea because Alvarez said they call her the woman who talks to the forest. Anyway, I just thought you might like to know that we don’t seem to be the only ones that she’s pissed off.’

‘Sounds like it,’ mused Wilkinson, his thoughts racing as he tried to think how he could bend this new information to his advantage. ‘And pissed off enough to want her dead. And from what you’re saying, they mean business. And it sounds as though they’re not operating with the same constraints as we are.’

‘That’s putting it mildly! It’s been a nightmare just trying to remove her quietly, without causing any waves. But these guys wipe out an entire fucking village! And for some reason, no-one has asked any questions – the police, military, government; not even the media. Not a fucking whisper!’

There was a silence while Wilkinson pondered and Varela waited.

‘Right, here’s what we’re going to do. We don’t know where she’s disappeared to, so we can’t go after her right away. And anyway, I’m nervous about trying again immediately – there are too many chances for something to go wrong, and if this ever came back to us, it would be catastrophic. You have to realise, Varela, this is a big game we are playing here. The stakes are enormous – riches and comfort on one hand, fucking jail on the other hand.

‘So we do nothing. But I think we need to find out what these other guys are up to – if possible, we need to find out who they are. And from what you’re saying, they should be easy enough to find.

‘I’ll tell you what. Get back onto Alvarez. Tell him to let it be known that he has information about her. If we can talk to these guys, then maybe we can turn this whole thing to our advantage. But make sure that Alvarez doesn’t mention your name. We don’t want any of this coming back to us!’

‘OK, Boss. I’ll talk to Alvarez and hopefully he’ll be able to get some information over the next couple of days. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll come back to you, OK?’

‘Great, I’ll talk to you then.’

With that, Wilkinson terminated the call and leaned back in his chair. Dusk was falling over Houston, and Wilkinson looked out across the city as he thought about the conversation with Varela. If someone else was willing to go to such extremes to find and kill the Williams girl, it could save Greenergy and Wilkinson personally, not just a lot of trouble, but a lot of risk as well. Wilkinson moved across to the drinks cabinet in the corner of his office and poured himself a large whiskey, adding ice before moving back to his desk. He relaxed in the high-backed chair, sipping his drink as he thought about the years he had spent and the risks he had taken to get to the exalted position he held today. The outer offices quietened as the staff left for the day, and Wilkinson savoured the feeling of success while he anticipated the further rewards to be gained from the profits to be made in the Amazon. He relaxed back into his chair and spent the next couple of hours pondering the future, considering options, discarding possibilities and making notes as he tried to decide how to most efficiently and effectively tackle the problem posed by Williams and her band of misfits.

He looked up as his office door opened, expecting it to be one of the cleaners, as his own staff were all gone home for the day. But the man who walked in certainly wasn’t a cleaner. He was a man of about fifty, solidly built, and moving with an unconscious assurance and confidence that marked him as someone used to being in control. He was dressed tidily and professionally in a suit and tie, understated but clearly expensive.

‘Hello?’ asked Wilkinson. ‘Sorry, can I help you?’

‘It might be more I that may help you.’

His accent was difficult to place, the words clearly enunciated without any regional intonation that Wilkinson could place.

‘You help me? I don’t think you realise whose office you’ve just walked into!’

The man smiled grimly. ‘And yet, you can’t even take care of one young woman.’

Wilkinson’s jaw dropped. Who the hell was this guy? And what did he know?

‘What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I’m talking about the girl you call Amy Williams. Your local errand-boy Varela got Alvarez to set up a job on her with some of the local hoodlums. They went after her last night, but they didn’t find her. Not only that, but this morning she actually went after them – went after them, took them down, and rescued the one person they had captured from her camp.

‘Because they don’t know what they’re dealing with, they failed. Just as I could have told you they would. You can’t go after this girl with conventional means – especially not now that she’s in her element.’

Wilkinson recoiled in his comfortable chair.

‘What the hell are you talking about? This is rubbish – absolute nonsense! Who the fucking hell are you – and how the hell did you get in here?’

‘Who I am is not important. Nor is how I got in here, though I have penetrated security a million times more intense than the lax setup you have here. What is important, though, is this: How can I help you? Indeed, can I remove this problem for you and from you – permanently?’

Wilkinson’s thoughts scrabbled about in his head, confusion, fear and a glimpse of an opportunity jostling about in his mind.

‘What … wait a minute. You walk in here with some conspiracy garbage about Amy Williams. Isn’t she that environmental activist that we have been trying to engage in constructive dialogue with? I don’t know who you are, buddy, or what you’re on, but I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about. But if you want to stay and speak your mind, then I’m all ears.’

Wilkinson paused, hoping that a robust denial combined with an offer to listen would protect him from being incriminated while also encouraging the stranger to talk more.

‘Hmmm, OK.’ The man seemed amused at Wilkinson’s verbal acrobatics. ‘You want me to talk some more, to give you more information, so that you can decide whether or not you can trust me, maybe even work with us. But you’re terrified of being caught up in something that could expose you and your company’s sordid little antics. OK.’

He eyed Wilkinson speculatively before continuing.

‘I, shall we say, “represent” an informal syndicate. We have a structure that loosely mirrors a corporate structure like Greenergy’s, but without the single points of failure that a corporate structure inevitably brings. We … provide things. Services. To the highest bidder. We are global, and we have been in operation for almost half a century. And you have never heard of us. You have never seen or heard anything that even suggested the slightest whisper of our existence. And this is despite the fact that the evidence of our existence is all around you, all the time. It’s a little bit like when the Christians say that Satan’s greatest victory is convincing ordinary people that he doesn’t exist. So it is with us. Greenergy, like all corporations, invests massive resources in “Marketing”, making sure that as many people as possible know who you are and what you do – well, some of what you do anyway, you keep the rest safely hidden away from the light of day. We do not publicise our activities.

‘That’s all you need to know about us in general terms, and that’s all you ever will know. In more particular terms, let’s talk about Amy Williams. Do you even know her real name? Do you even know that Williams is not her real name?’

Wilkinson looked at the man, wondering if he represented the salvation or destruction of his dreams and ambitions.

‘Well, we suspect it’s not her real name. There is so much information online these days, and we have searched exhaustively for her, but we can find nothing, nada, not a damned thing. We thought a few times that we had tracked her down, but it was a false lead every time. All we know is that she popped up in the Amazon about three years ago – we know nothing about her before that. I should reiterate of course, that we undertook this research purely in an attempt to better understand Miss Williams’ background and motives, so that any dialogue we might have with her would be as constructive and relevant as possible.’

The man smiled sardonically.

‘Constructive dialogue? OK, I’ll let that go for the moment. But eventually you are going to have to decide whether or not you want to be upfront with me. And believe me, we are the only people who can fix this problem for you.

‘Amy Williams’ real name is not important, but let me tell you a little about her past. She grew up in a quiet middle-class family in Middle America. Nothing strange, nothing unusual. Though it was tragic that she lost her mother while she was still just a small child - a terrible car accident, very tragic. But her father reared her, and everything was just fine, perfectly normal.

‘Then her father went and got cancer. And when he got cancer, it seems he also got a conscience. And his death-bed wish was to try to turn back the clock, to try to use his daughter to win a war that he had lost decades previously. And so he sent her out into the world to fight his war for him, a soldier to carry on when he was dead and buried. She shouldn’t have had a chance, because even though she didn’t fully understand what she was involved in, she was a threat to us, to the organisation I represent. Passenger airliners were blown out of the sky to stop her, government and military resources around the globe were mobilised to stop her. And somehow, even though she grew “intimate” with one of our own agents, somehow she got away every time.

‘She revived a war that we thought we had won and buried a long time ago. We are still fighting that war today. And she is the key, even though she seems as far as we can tell to be totally uninvolved since she ran away into the Amazon. It seems that she isn’t even aware of what is happening. But she stays in the Amazon, and there is no doubt her power is growing.’

‘Her … power?’

‘Yes, her power. And this is why your mercenaries failed last night. Why they were bound and predetermined to fail. That’s why she was able to take them on and defeat them this morning. They went in after her with conventional methods and conventional weapons. And these will not work against this lady. She is more than a normal human being. She has powers that may seem supernatural, but we are starting to suspect that these powers may be the most natural thing in the world. And maybe the issue is that “modern” mankind had simply forgotten them. And it is because of these powers that we have decided that we need to capture her and study her. So our focus has changed from killing her and putting an end to her and everything that she stands for. Our focus now is to examine her as you would study a rat in a laboratory, so that we can learn how she does what she does. And that could be the key to power in the coming Age.’

‘What? You’re crazy! Are you talking about witchcraft and shit? I don’t believe it!’

‘Really? Haven’t you heard that “any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic”? Although it isn’t technology that this girl is accessing. We think it might be a resource as old as Mankind – older actually. What separates this girl from the rest of us is that for some reason, she can access it while the rest of us continue in our forgetting.

‘Anyway, enough about our reasons, and about “Amy Williams”. Do you want her gone or not?’

‘Well, I wish no harm to her. Greenergy is a responsible and caring corporation, and we wish only to be able to speak to Miss Williams, so that we can come to understand her concerns and hopefully reassure her that our work in the Amazon is not contrary to her wishes for the environment. Having said that, if I were to be totally selfish, I would have to admit that it would make my life a little bit easier if Miss Williams wasn’t around to disrupt our activities at every opportunity.’

‘I can see you have learned the art of double-speak. Orwell and his IngSoc crowd would be proud of you. OK, you can cover it with whatever bullshit you want; that’s not my concern. All I need from you is any and all information you have on her. Tell me your thoughts, impressions, hunches. What do you think of her?’

‘I’m not sure it would be ethical for me to provide you with access to that information. Network access is very tightly monitored in Greenergy, and we would need good documented reason for providing you with information stored on our network.’

‘You just don’t get it, do you? In the past hour, we have hacked into your so-called secure network, and we have already downloaded every document and every file that contains or is tagged with the string “Amy Williams”. We have also downloaded everything with “Amy”, or “Williams”, or “Amazon”, or “environmentalist”, etc., etc. etc. – obviously, it will take us some time to trawl through these and winnow out the relevant material, but we have a team working on that right now.

‘What I want from you is not the information you have documented and filed – though that webcast was interesting – it’s not often you get to see a girl facing down a fifty-tonne earthmover! No, what I want is your thoughts, your feelings, impressions, hunches, whatever. Tell me what you know about this woman, what you think about her. It might be of no use, or as sometimes happens, there might be one little nugget in there that could make all the difference.’

Wilkinson’s visitor moved across to the drink cabinet, looking at the various bottles appreciatively. Wilkinson realised he still had no idea of what the man’s name was, but he strongly suspected that asking would not be welcome. He watched as the man opened a bottle of very rare single-malt and poured a small measure into a cut-crystal glass. He returned to sit in the chair by Wilkinson’s desk, sniffed the glass and swirled the contents, watching the tawny liquid settle before taking a small sip.

‘Good whiskey. Now, talk to me about Amy. Just free-associate, let’s see what comes out.’

He sat back, holding his glass, and there was a pause while Wilkinson briefly considered his position. Wilkinson hadn’t ruled out the possibility that this was some kind of entrapment, someone from some arm of law-enforcement trying to get him to incriminate himself. But he thought this unlikely, especially given the weird shit the visitor had been talking about. Also, while Wilkinson regarded himself as a tough man, there was something … something intimidating about this stranger. He gave an impression of violence held in check, and only partly covered with a veneer of civility – or normality. Wilkinson decided he could talk about Williams, just be sure not to incriminate himself or Greenergy; and then see what this stranger made of what he had to say.

‘OK, no worries. Amy Williams strikes me as a vociferous and absolutely determined environmental activist. We have had no success in talking to her. She always seems to know more than we expect – actually, in terms of your witchcraft theory, that’s one of the things about her that has driven me crazy. I’ve dealt with her type before, many times before. And I have always been able to overcome their objections, or nullify them one way or another. But this girl is definitely different. I suppose I hadn’t really stopped to think about what made her different. But it’s weird stuff.’

He paused before continuing. ‘She knows stuff she shouldn’t know – both about our operations and plans, and about that fucking forest. She moves around the Amazon apparently at will. And now she has started telling people that if they attack her, that the forest will kill them. I know that sounds crazy, but – and I reiterate that this is just some crazy rumour that I heard, it had nothing to do with us – apparently someone attacked her last night in the forest, and some fucking snake materialised out of nowhere and offered itself up to her so that she could milk its venom. And she told these guys who attacked her, after she had paralysed the whole lot of them, that if they came after her again, that the forest itself would kill them, as though she was just handing them over to the forest and it was out of her hands. Truly weird shit, but there is definitely something very fucking strange going on down there.’

Wilkinson paused, looking at his visitor who sat quietly as though listening to a boring presentation. ‘Is this what you need?’

‘It is exactly what I need. I heard of the failed attempt to capture her, and her rescue of Salazar – that must have been a bit embarrassing for you.’

A blank look from Wilkinson. ‘Salazar?’

‘Diego Salazar, her technical guru. Don’t you even know who’s on her team?’

‘We have some information on some of them, but not a lot. She has always been almost impossible to pin down. It’s been driving me crazy!’

‘We can help you. Indeed, it is in our own interest to get her out of your hair because we want to have her all to ourselves. So what about it, Dave? Are you ready to trust us?’

‘I don’t know about “trust”. But if you need anything from us – anything you haven’t already taken, that is – then just ask and I’ll see what we can do.’

‘Thanks Dave. If you want to speak to me, just send yourself an email with the name “Luc Rousseau” in the title and I will call you on your private cell number. If I need to talk to you, I will either drop in to say hi, or again I will ring you on your cell and give my name as Luc. Until then, Dave, take care of yourself.’

Luc turned as he reached the door. ‘And by the way Dave, if I were Greenergy I would invest a bit more in the physical security procedures for your facilities, and I would invest a massive amount more in your IT security. Au revoir, mon ami.’

Dave Wilkinson looked at the door as it closed behind ‘Luc’, thinking that he was unquestionably a dangerous individual. Wilkinson wondered if he had just made a pact with a useful ally or with the Devil himself.

CHAPTER 9

Rendezvous and Re-Think

˜

Amy pressed lightly on Diego’s shoulder, prompting an automatic pause. He was exhausted, feeling more drained than ever before in his life. They had walked and jogged unceasingly through the day, making their way back from where Amy had ambushed his captors and rescued him, past the ruined camp where she stopped briefly to salvage some supplies out of the ashes, and on through the morning and afternoon as Amy made her way towards their destination like a homing pigeon. At one point Diego had stumbled, exhaustion overcoming him as his breathing laboured and the muscles in his legs cramped and seized, unable to keep working. Amy had put him sitting on a fallen tree trunk while she foraged amongst the undergrowth, returning with a white root that she made him chew as they walked. The effect was to put Diego into a semi-comatose state whereby he was able to walk and run, responding to simple instructions from Amy, but he seemed unaware of his surroundings or the passage of time. It reminded Amy of when Imno had brought her and Jopl into the Australian Outback, and the first few days had passed in a blur as they walked deep into the wilderness of the bush.

They were now close to Alheio village, where she hoped to find her companions. Amy had absolute faith in these villagers, knowing from experience that they kept themselves to themselves and did not welcome outsiders. It was almost two years ago that Amy had first come into contact with them, initially being treated with suspicion and distrust as she tried to explain that she wanted to save the forest from its human predators. As she quickly learned their language over a period of days, the headman in the village seemed to start to treat her a little differently – he later told her that even in those early days he could see that she was someone special. As she became able to communicate clearly with them, she was amazed at how they viewed the forest as a living thing, populated by Gods in every nook and cranny, with every incident and occurrence believed to be a conscious action of the forest that fit into the overall pattern of its existence.

In turn, Amy started to discover new knowledge within herself. It was the strangest feeling, unlike anything she had ever experienced before. It did not feel as though she was being taught anything, learning new knowledge as she went along. Instead it felt as though she was remembering things that she had always known, but had forgotten for a very long time. So it was that she could select a plant at random, and immediately know what uses it had for food, medicine, clothing, and so on. She felt as though she had always known everything there was to know about this plant, but was only now remembering it.

Similarly with animals, though the effect was less marked. Amy wasn’t sure, but she felt that this might be because the animals’ own consciousness was impeding the flow of awareness between her and each individual animal. Nevertheless, she could sense when animals were nearby, and their frame of mind – she knew if an animal was hunting, resting or afraid. And while she could not talk to the animals, there was no doubt that they seemed to sense her presence, and they seemed to be comfortable in her presence.

As she stood at the edge of the village, Amy now strained to detect any disturbance, and she quickly became aware that the village was unsettled, as though it had been broken from its usual routine. As she watched, listened and ‘felt’ the village, she realised the disturbance was the earlier arrival of her companions. There was no sense of immediate threat that she could detect, though she knew from the feeling of watchfulness that the villagers had kept a number of the young men of the village on guard. Amy wanted to let them know that she had arrived safely without alarming them, and she considered for a moment how best to do this.

She stooped low to the ground, pursed her lips and blew a series of notes similar to one of the birds she knew the villagers considered to be especially revered. As she vocalised the slow ‘pur pur pee pee pee pur’ of the bird, part of her mind wondered how she was able to recreate the sound so faithfully, and even more marvelled at how she knew that the villagers would recognise her from the bird song. She whistled again and then sat back to wait.

‘Angiru-mitakuna?’

The low call came from her right, where she had felt a presence appear shortly after she whistled. Amy smiled, knowing that despite recognising her, the villagers were taking no chances. That was why the one hunter to her right hailed her quietly, while the young men she sensed to her left and directly in front of her waited and made no sound.

Amy replied in their dialect, ‘Yes, it is me. May I enter?’

‘Please.’

Amy roused Diego with a whispered, ‘Come’, and led him forward into the village. At first it seemed to the eye to be deserted, though Amy could sense the villagers hidden around the edge of the clearing, and her companions in one of the huts. She knew that their innate caution, born of unhappy contact with outsiders, meant they wanted to be completely sure she had nobody with her other than the exhausted man at her side before they showed themselves. She walked to the largest hut in the centre of the clearing and stopped in front of it, gently easing Diego to the ground before turning around slowly in a full circle, looking directly towards many of the villagers hidden in the undergrowth as she turned. Having thus let them know that she was alone except for Diego, and that she knew exactly where each of them was, Amy herself knelt beside Diego and rested his head in her lap, waiting for the villagers to be reassured.

After another few minutes she heard movement, and then saw the men, women and children appearing and coming towards her. She bowed her head in respect, and then looked up as the leader of the small tribe approached and knelt in front of her.

‘You come in haste, and in need,’ he stated simply in his native language.

‘Yes. Thank you for looking after my friends. There was nowhere else I could send them that I knew would be safe,’ Amy said, using his own language without difficulty.

‘Your friends are our friends. This you know. But you know also that we shun outsiders. We have learned from what happened to other tribes. They lost their way, became corrupted. Many of the old tribes are no longer of the forest. They live here, but they are not of here. Do you still understand this?’

‘Yes, yes I do. And I would not have presumed to force your hospitality if it had not been absolutely necessary. The time draws near.’

‘Ah. The time. The time of ending or the time of beginning?’

‘I do not know. That has not yet been decided. As things stand, it could be either. There are strong and dark forces at work. Forces who wish to bring a time of ending to this place, so that they can continue to rape and abuse the earth as they have done for centuries. And longer.’

‘We have felt this. I do not know what we can do. Our ways are simple, and we cannot fight these forces, even if we wanted to.’

‘Even if you wanted to? What do you mean? Surely you want to fight? I can understand that you do not know how, for these forces are far outside your experience. But you must want to fight? To save the forest. To save your knowledge.’

‘It seems to me that perhaps you place too much emphasis on saving what is. What is, is simply one form of life. When it falls, as inevitably all form must, it will be replaced by another form. Life continues, regardless of what living things do or do not do. This is what you still fail to understand.’

‘I need to understand. I need to talk to you about these things. And I hope that you will grant me the privilege of discussing these matters with you. But first I need to tend to my friend here – he is desperately in need of rest. And I need to talk with my companions in the hut over there, to let them know that I am alright. Will you grant me this?’

‘Please,’ he answered, gesturing towards the hut that she had looked at.

Nodding her thanks, Amy once more roused Diego and guided him over to the small structure, pushing aside the hanging moss fronds and entering into the shaded interior. Before the moss curtain had fallen back into place, her friends were crowding around her with exclamations of relief and delight, questions about herself and Diego, and claps on the back and hugs.

‘OK guys, OK, give us a little space for a second.’ Amy laughed. ‘First things first. Diego, go and use the bed in the corner,’ and she guided him to the red reed bed and laid him down. The second his head touched the soft reeds he was in a deep deep sleep, and Amy turned back to her friends.

‘Now, before I start to answer your million questions, how are you? John, are you OK?’

‘Well, OK might be putting it a bit strongly, but I can feel that I’m already on the mend. It’s still bloody sore, but the bleeding has stopped and the intense agony is gone – it’s more of a dull ache at the moment. And I feel much better. So enough about me – tell us what happened with you. How did you get Diego back?’

Amy laughed with their relief and their welcome, and told them everything that had happened since she had set them on their way to Alheio. As she recounted the appearance of the snake they gasped in wonder, all of them reminded that Amy seemed to have a magical relationship with the forest, where all was not always as it seemed and Amy could commune with the environment on a level and in a way that none of them truly understood.

After Amy had brought them up to date on her rescue of Diego, they filled her in on their much more mundane story of events since they had parted. The four friends had followed the GPS signal as instructed, and had arrived at the village in the afternoon, to find it apparently deserted. Wondering what to do next, AnneMarie had called out the name she had given them, Angiru-mitakuna. Within a moment two of the young men from the village were at their side, talking in a language none of them could understand. AnneMarie, not knowing what else to do, had simply kept repeating the name and after a few minutes the young men were joined by an older man who stood and looked over the group without speaking for a few minutes, before giving what sounded like instructions to the two younger men.

They had led the group of four to one of the huts and gestured for them to enter. When they did, the young men left them and returned with food and drinks, manna to the exhausted and starving trekkers. Then an old lady had entered and had approached John, looking at the gunshot wound in his thigh before calling out to someone outside the tent. A younger girl arrived a few minutes later carrying herbs and a small pot of water, which the old woman placed over the small fire burning in the centre of the hut. She shredded the herbs and boiled them in the pot, all the time chanting a repetitive, hypnotic incantation. She took the herbs from the pot and squeezed them out before applying them to John’s leg and wrapping his thigh in long grasses, tying the grass around the wounds.

Since then, the group had rested in the hut, waiting for Amy to appear.

‘And now I’m here. Guys, I need to rest, and then I need to speak to the chieftain. I know that right now you have questions, and fears. But I need to rest first, then speak to the chief, and then I will be able to sit with you and explain as best I can what has happened, and more importantly, what happens next.’

Seeing their confusion and their impatience for answers, Amy sighed.

‘I know you want answers, and that you want them now. But it is not yet time for the answers. I do not know the answers yet. But let me rest and talk to the chief, and then I will be able to discuss these things with you. Please guys, you have to trust me.’

They nodded their agreement, their concern for Amy overtaking their impatience and their fear. She moved to the reed bed beside Diego, lay beside him and in an instant was in a deep sleep. They watched over her as she and Diego slept. Diego was clearly having some distressing dreams, occasionally twitching and tossing in his sleep, expressions of fear crossing his face from time to time. Amy in contrast almost seemed to be dead, she was so still. But the serene expression on her face belied the deathly appearance of her stillness, with the hint of a smile on her lips and no worries seeming to assail her as she slept.

A full night’s sleep later, the eastern sky showed the first pale streaks of pink light heralding the imminent sunrise. Amy opened her eyes, moving from deep sleep to alert wakefulness in an instant, something that always amazed anyone who saw her wake. She seemed to make the transition from a sleep that was deeper and more peaceful than most people’s, to a waking state that was more alive and attentive than most people’s, without ever moving through the bleary-eyed transition that most people experienced.

‘When have you guys eaten last?’ she asked, clearly considering this to be the first item on the day’s agenda.

‘They brought us food just after you went to sleep,’ answered AnneMarie. ‘I don’t know the mealtime routine here, so God knows when …’

AnneMarie broke off mid-sentence as the reed curtain covering the doorway was lifted aside, and two girls entered the hut carrying wooden trays laden with food and drinks.

‘Why is it that the timing of things around you always seems so propitious?’ John asked Amy with a smile.

Amy was delighted to see that John was clear-eyed and smiling, indicating a speedy recovery from the gunshot wound and subsequent blood loss.

‘I don’t know, John. Maybe it’s because when you try to be in harmony with the Universe, then the Universe tries to be in harmony with you. Which means things happen around you at the time they can best happen.’

Amy stopped to thank the girls in their own language, and the five of them filled themselves on nourishing and invigorating food and drink while Diego slept on in the corner. Before long, the bowls were all wiped clean, and Amy looked at her friends.

‘Now, I am going to go and talk to the chief. I will be back in a while, and I hope that by then I will have some understanding of where we need to go from here.’

She left the hut and walked to the centre of the village. The same two girls who had brought the tray came up to her and took her hands, leading her along a narrow foot-trodden path to a small stream. There they undressed her and gently pushed her into the water, handing her a sap-laden chunk of thick leaf to wash herself with. Amy allowed herself to be directed, knowing that in this world, everything would happen at the appointed time, so there was no need to try to rush her meeting with the chief. She scrubbed her skin until it tingled, and washed her hair until it shone. When she stepped out of the water, the girls held out a simple one-piece smock similar to the ones they wore themselves, and Amy stepped into it, tying the cord around her waist. The girls told her they would wash her own clothes for her and leave them in the hut, before telling her that the chief was waiting for her a little further along the stream.

Amy walked in the direction indicated until she came to a place where a tree had fallen across the stream. Half-way across the fallen tree trunk, directly above the middle of the stream, sat the chief, waiting for Amy. She bowed respectfully and he returned the gesture before indicating that Amy should sit beside him.

They sat in companionable and contemplative silence for a time before the chief spoke.

‘Endings and beginnings. In our arrogance, we humans place so much importance on them.’

‘You said that. That I place too much emphasis on saving what is. But I do not understand. I thought that this was my purpose. To save this place. To save this, this life,’ she responded, gesturing to the forest around them.

‘Maybe it is. I do not presume to know the mind of Creation. It might well be that your purpose is to save this world that you call Amazon. Or it might be that the time has come for it to leave creation, for it to be replaced with something else. I do not know. But I do know this. You do have a purpose. I have felt this. Ever since we first met, I have known this. And if you feel your purpose is to save this world of ours, then that is what you must strive to do. But remember always that you serve a higher purpose. And remember always that you must be alert for any sign that you might be on the wrong path. Many ills have been done by people who thought they were doing right, but who had forgotten or misinterpreted their purpose.’

Amy smiled. ‘You remind me of a dear friend of mine. An old head on young shoulders. He always said that I had to be prepared to be wrong. That I could never be one hundred per cent sure of anything, not with absolute certainty. And I do try to remember that. But even keeping that in mind, I do not believe that the time of the Amazon has come to pass. I believe that the time of the Amazon is in some ways only beginning. That we have an opportunity here to harness the ancient wisdom of the environment with the new wisdom of humankind. This I believe is the next evolution of creation. A broadening and deepening of humankind’s understanding of the universe. A poem comes to mind.’

The chief waited, simply saying, ‘There is much wisdom to be found in the right words.’

Amy quoted,

“To see a world in a grain of sand,

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,

And eternity in an hour.”

‘Ah, yes. True wisdom. But what does this mean for you, now, here?’

‘I can’t put it into words properly. But I am slowly coming to realise that the world is one. We think each of us, every thing, is separate. But this is an illusion. There is a unity to creation, and each “thing” is an expression of creation. So even though we think we are separate, we are not. Does that make sense?’

‘Does it make sense? It depends on your view, does it not? To many, it does not make sense. Many are so misled and deceived by the world of form, that it would make absolutely no sense to them at all. They would say you are the one who is deluded. But in my humble opinion, I think you are on the right path. All is one, yes, this is true. And do not be concerned that you find it difficult to articulate. This is to be expected; it is by definition impossible to fully express your view in words.’

‘Why? Why is it impossible? I feel that I have a knowledge, that I have become aware of an awesome and fundamentally different reality than I had ever perceived before. I feel that this new reality, that all is one, is the only truth that can save my world. And yet I cannot even express it properly when I try to explain it to people. Why do I fail in this way?’

The old man smiled at Amy indulgently, as one might at a child who is finding his or her way in the world, unable as yet to see the world with an adult knowledge. It reminded Amy of how Jopl sometimes looked at her, and the recognition of that look shook her.

‘It is not your failure. It is an inevitable consequence of a physical being trying to express, in a physical way, that which is not physical. It is like trying to gather water in a pot with no bottom and no top – it cannot be done. Words are not the tools by which you communicate this knowledge – words can do no more than point in the direction of this knowledge. For this knowledge is something that each person has to learn for themselves. But you should not despair. Look around you. Look at your companions. They are further along the road of understanding now than they were when they first met you, is this not true?’

‘Yes, I would like to think that they are. But it frustrates me that I cannot let them see what I see.’

‘And what is it that you see?’

‘Well, that’s what reminded me of that poem. “To see a world in a grain of sand.” That is what I see. That all of creation exists in every thing, in every person. That I am not just me, or maybe that I am not even me. What I am is creation itself. As are you, and everyone else, and everything else. All an expression of creation, all one, none separate and none ever alone.’

‘You see much, child. And I believe that you see true. So do not be concerned that others do not see as you see. This is not for you to decide, not for you to control. Leave that to Creation. You have your mission while you exist in this form. And that is sufficient. To pursue your mission, your purpose. To pursue it in whatever way seems right and true. If you do this, then you are assured of success, whether you recognise the outcome as success or not. Remember that despite your wisdom, it is as nothing compared to the wisdom of all that is. So do what you must, and leave the rest to Creation.’

Amy sighed. Sometimes it was just so hard, trying to do the right thing. Trying to even know what was the right thing to do in the first place. She found herself wishing that Jopl was here with her right now, so that she could turn to him and gain strength from his wisdom, solace from his words. But she knew that this was not the time. He had told her that they would meet again, but she knew that for now she had to fight this war alone.

‘So I must do what I must do. And not worry about the outcome?’

‘That is correct.’

They sat together quietly, each listening to the sounds of the forest and listening to the silence from which the sounds arose and to which they returned. The silence that was another pointer to the underlying connectedness of all things, and where peace, rest and bliss were to be found.

As she listened to the silence, Amy thought about all that had happened. Now that she had kept her rendezvous with her companions, it was time to decide on the next steps. Time to decide how to best approach the next phase of the war. Time to decide what impact the recent attack and Diego’s near-kidnapping had on the strategy. Time to decide what influence the PCIA were having on unfolding events. Time to decide. Time to re-think.

After an indeterminate length of time, Amy rose gently from her cross-legged pose, silently acknowledged the chief with a wordless thanks, and made her way back to the village and her friends’ hut.

‘Amy, we were getting worried about you – you were gone so long.’

‘It’s OK; I was just talking to the chief. Talking, and thinking.’

‘Thinking?’

‘Thinking.’

‘About what happens next? It was only the day before yesterday that you laid out the plan, but after yesterday, that’s all blown to hell. What do we do now, Amy?’

Amy looked around the bare interior at her comrades, her soldiers. She saw that Diego was awake and looking refreshed, watching Amy and Susie as Susie asked Amy what was to happen next. Amy knew Diego would always help her, that he would be there for her as long as she wanted him to be.

She reflected briefly on her recent musings, mentally checking that it all made sense to her, and hoping that it would make sense to her companions as well.

‘OK, in some ways, there is no change to the plan. We will do the academic articles and TV coverage as planned, all supported by Diego’s social media campaign. The only difference between what we had originally planned and what we will now do is the level of secrecy about our own whereabouts. For reasons that I cannot go into, but which were illustrated by the attack on our camp and Diego’s kidnapping, we are now targets. Targets of at best Greenergy, but possibly something much more powerful, much more resourceful, much more ruthless. So we launch the campaign exactly as planned, as quickly as possible, but all the time keeping our whereabouts absolutely one hundred per cent totally and perfectly secret, OK?’

The others all nodded, no doubt in their minds about how serious Amy was. They sensed that a new element from Amy’s past life had come into the reckoning, and long habit stopped them from asking Amy about her past.

‘So, it’s all systems ahead as already planned?’ asked Diego.

‘Exactly. We need to get some gear together – laptops, comms, all of that stuff. We are going to work from inside the forest, and we will be travelling with a minimum of gear. Nothing that would slow us down. We will get as much food and shelter from the forest as we can, so that we have to transport as little as possible. The plan now is to take one week to prepare everything, and then go for simultaneous publication of the three articles and the TV coverage, all supported from the first minute by Diego’s online campaign.’

‘Are you serious, Amy?’ asked Philip. ‘You want us to disappear into the Amazon with virtually no provisioning, write some world-changing articles in a week, and then go on to save the world? Isn’t there anything else you would like us to do during our quiet times each day?’

Amy looked at Philip with compassion and understanding.

‘I know you’re scared, Philip. And that’s OK. In some ways, only a crazy person wouldn’t be scared. But have I ever led you astray yet?’

Philip shook his head.

‘And have I ever let you down yet? Ever failed to deliver?’

Philip shook his head again, feeling a mixture of shame that he had doubted Amy, and relief that she was addressing him in a way that showed she felt she was responding to a legitimate and natural concern.

‘OK. And I won’t let you down now, I promise. You have to trust me on this. I am very clear in my own mind, given what I know and understand at the moment, that this is the right course of action for us. That’s not to say that in future, looking back with hindsight, we might say we should have done things differently, but that’s in the future. This is now. And right now, this is the right thing for us to do. I know it. I believe it. I have faith and trust in this course of action. Is that OK?’

Her companions nodded, with Philip feeling reassured by Amy’s certainty. The doubts and worries he had felt melted and dissolved under Amy’s calm and confident certainty, like a morning mist under a bright sun.

‘Thanks Amy. That’s exactly what I needed.’ Philip smiled. ‘So, it sounds as though this is all very short-term stuff. When do we start?’

‘Tomorrow! We would start now, except that I need to get laptops and all the comms gear that we’ll need. I’ll get a couple of high-end compact digital cameras as well so we can do our own photos and video clips for the articles. Have a think about anything else we’ll need, but remember that insofar as we can, we will get things like clothes, food and shelter from the environment. The main things I need to buy are the technology items that the forest obviously can’t provide. So, think about it while we eat, and I’ll make a list.’

As Amy finished speaking, the flap in the doorway of the hut was moved aside, and the same two young girls entered with trays of food and drinks. They placed the trays in the centre of the hut and stepped backwards out of the hut. Amy and her friends ate with gusto, enjoying the fruit and meats provided, and savouring the juices that tasted like the sweetest nectar. As they spoke, they brainstormed their requirements over the coming weeks, with Susie emphasising the need for mobile telephony so that she could pursue the conversation she had already started with Michael White, the TV environmentalist programmer. Thirty minutes later Amy was ready to leave her friends in the care of the villagers, while she went off to assemble the necessary hardware they needed.

Diego followed her out of the hut, as Amy called to one of the young girls in the centre of the clearing. The girl pointed to one of the huts, and Amy walked towards it, saying to Diego, ‘Follow me. I need to change back into my western clothes before I go to Manaus.’ She went into the hut, with Diego following her, and pulled off the simple smock, replacing it with the clothes that the villagers had cleaned for her.

‘Amy, I don’t know if this has occurred to the others or not, but we are in the middle of the Amazon, you have no transport, you have no ID or currency, and yet you are saying you are going to go to Manaus and buy a fortune’s worth of high-tech gear. I know you can magic snakes out of the forest, but I think stuff like laptops is a little different, don’t you?’

‘Yes, my darling, it is a little different. But trust me – there are more ways to access funds than by physical ID or credit cards. I have access to funds, and I am best-placed to get in and out of Manaus without anyone seeing me, and especially best-placed of all of us to be able to make it back here while making absolutely certain that I am not being followed. Is that OK?’

Diego nodded, though still clearly worried about her safety, as he followed her out of the hut into the bright sunshine.

‘It’s going to be OK, Diego, I promise. This part at least is simple, trust me. I’ll be in and out of Manaus in no time, and I’ll be back here tomorrow with everything that we need.’

She kissed him once, soft and slow, before turning and walking along one of the foot-trodden paths leading out of the village until she disappeared around a corner in the trail. Diego returned to the others in the hut, knowing that all they could do at this point was to wait until Amy returned the next day, and then take it from there.

CHAPTER 10

Further into Consciousness

˜

Amy walked along one of the forest paths worn by the villagers and by the local wildlife, knowing without thinking what direction she needed to take. She knew she had a lot of thinking and planning to do, but she resolved to simply relax and enjoy the first portion of her journey to Manaus. As she walked along, she let go of all the issues, concerns and worries that assailed her. She focussed on her five traditional senses, at first concentrating on the messages her brain received from each sense as she walked along. She marvelled at the colours, luxuriated in the smells, took comfort in the sounds. She could taste the Amazon air on her tongue and she could feel the comforting touch of leaves and fronds on her arms as she made her way along the narrow path.

Amy consciously cast past and future from her mind, acknowledging only the present moment as she walked along. There was a joy in such abandonment, in the utter completeness of the present moment when all else was banished. She found deep solace in the peace and eternity of the present moment when she accepted it as all that is. There was a stillness underlying all of the movement around her, a deep certainty that even her own movement was in one sense an illusion. She felt that all movements and sounds, all tastes and touches and smells, were a manifestation of a single underlying entity. She didn’t have words for this underlying entity – she knew that some people called it ‘God’, some ‘Creation’, some ‘The Absolute’, while many others said it did not exist at all.

Yet when Amy joined the present moment in this way, she knew there was something connecting all the physical elements of creation. She knew there was a purpose, a unity to all things. And in that knowledge was a deep and comforting reassurance. The apparent chaos of the world was an illusion. The apparent separateness of all things, of all life, was an illusion. As she walked, Amy withdrew her attention from the objects discerned by her senses, and refined her attention to just the senses themselves. Instead of acknowledging the sights she saw, she focussed purely on the sense of sight. Instead of acknowledging and mentally labelling the sounds she heard, she focussed purely on the sense of hearing. Doing so brought her further into a meditative state, removing her further from the physical world around her, even as she continued to walk purposefully along the path.

She walked now as in a waking dream, her body automatically navigating the path while her mind grew ever stiller. Ever more at rest. Ever more peaceful. Her sense of self as an individual separate being receded, and she felt more and more part of something greater than herself. And even that was misleading, an inevitable shortcoming of language. It wasn’t that she felt she was part of something greater than herself, she actually felt she was something greater. Something universal and eternal. She was it, and it was she. There was a quiet rejoicing in her human heart at the grandeur and awesome magnificence of her true self.

Amy had experienced glimpses of this feeling before, but never to this extent. There was a sense that she was everything that had ever existed. A sense that she transcended time and space. In one way, it did indeed feel God-like. But Amy knew that she wasn’t God. She simply felt ‘I am’. And that was enough. That was complete. That was all that there ever could be. And it was incredible!

Amy gradually drew herself back towards the physical world. But she did not re-engage with her traditional senses. Instead she concentrated on what her friends called her sixth sense, and Amy had acknowledged that it was indeed a sixth sense. She felt it was not unique to her, because she didn’t feel that she had undergone some transformation that made her different from everyone else. Instead, Amy had an intuitive feeling that everyone possessed this sixth sense. Indeed, she felt that in the mists of human history, people probably had more access to this sense and more awareness of it, but that this had gradually been dulled and forgotten as humanity travelled through the ages and moved away from nature and towards technology.

She extended her sixth sense outwards, enchanted by the clarity with which she could perceive the world around her through this environmental sense. Rather than seeing a plant as a physical shape, with colour and texture and name, she saw it as an extension of herself. She ‘felt’ its energy, its life-force. She knew that she and this plant were in truth one and the same. All separation disappeared and Amy knew with a supernatural clarity that she was the plant, and the plant was her, and both she and the plant were all that ever was. It was a beautiful feeling, a belief that she was so much more than a single body with a single mind. She was everything that ever had been and everything that ever would be. Even more than that, she was everything that ever could be – all potential existed in her, and she in it. Amy luxuriated in the security of this belief, relishing the peace and security of immortality.

After a number of hours had passed, Amy brought herself back to the physical world as the path she had been following emerged onto an asphalt road. Now she sat and rested, drinking water from a nearby stream and eating fruit from the trees and bushes around her. She had been re-energised by her experience during her walk, and now she knew it was time to focus on immediate needs. Not just for her, but for all of the creation of which she was a part. It was time for her to consider her current situation and to plan how best to manage the situation to engineer an outcome that would be most beneficial.

She listed in her mind the issues that had to be addressed. There was the on-going Greenergy destruction of the Amazon, the world’s richest reservoir of life. There was the destruction of the Amazon by the other companies and individuals who were intent on short-term gain, and who were willing to sacrifice the longer-term interests of humanity for that short-term gain. There was the proliferation of a similar attitude around the world. There was the PCIA threat, and the danger they posed. There was the concern about her friends in the US, and anxiety about whether or not they were making progress against the cancer that was the PCIA’s malign influence on modern culture. There was worry about her friends and companions, and how they would cope with the stresses of the coming days and weeks. There was the question of her unknown ally in Greenergy, who had given her the exact path that the earthmover would be taking when she planned her one-person sit-in, and who updated her on Greenergy’s overall strategy as well as their day-to-day operations in the Amazon.

Such a list of issues! If it weren’t for the continuing balm of the peace she had experienced while walking, Amy didn’t know how she would be able to cope with all of the pressures. But she still had that calm and harmony, and so she could concentrate on each issue in turn without being overwhelmed by the enormity of the challenges.

The first three issues all concerned the environment. Greenergy in the Amazon, other companies in the Amazon, and the same ‘exploit now, pay later’ mentality around the globe. And the last issue was related to Greenergy as well – her mole. Amy thought the plan they already had in place was all that could be done to address the first three issues. She turned it over in her mind again. Simultaneous scientific articles that provided a wealth of new data on the environment, proven by the respected academics on her crew, and all referring to the phenomenon of EC, or Environmental Consciousness. A TV documentary coinciding with the publication of the articles, and providing viewers with an intimate view of their work in the first instance, again proving the discoveries they had made, from archaeological findings to medical breakthroughs. And Diego’s social media campaign, designed and executed by the man who in a few short years had gone from concept to almost one billion subscribers. She mentally labelled the first three problems as ‘underway’, and moved on to the related Greenergy issue.

She did not know the identity of her informant within Greenergy. When she had first started to receive messages about Greenergy’s Amazonian operations from an anonymous source, she had been highly sceptical, but each time the information had proved to be completely accurate. She had also been given information on the dynamics within the Greenergy boardroom, and thus had been able to identify the President of their South American operations as the decision-maker in her area of interest. Her unknown source had provided her with the Greenergy crisis number that cut through all bureaucratic layers and allowed her team to make almost immediate contact with Wilkinson when she was facing down the earthmover only a few days previously. She was concerned for her unknown ally, but in truth there was nothing she could do to help him or her, except to make sure that she never revealed to anyone that she was getting information from inside their organisation. She mentally labelled the issue as ‘pending’, and moved on to the next consideration.

The Provisional CIA. Marauders and pillagers of the worst sort, parasites on modern society. In addition, all the worse for being hidden, secret, unaccountable. They had been, and possibly still were, the real political and economic force in the world, using national governments and international bodies like the UN and the World Bank as puppets and pawns in their rapacious and self-serving business. As far as Amy could tell, their business had become power for power’s sake – the very antithesis of everything that she believed in. They had no sense of decency, no respect for the dignity of others, no belief in morality or altruism.

And they were after her; of that she was certain. She didn’t know if the attack on her camp had been orchestrated by Greenergy or by the PCIA, but she had an intuition that it was Greenergy. The attack had been relatively simple, relatively straightforward, and relatively easy to react to. That didn’t sound like the PCIA, which she would expect to act with a massive show of force if and when they found her. So this attack wasn’t them, but she sensed them closing in on her nevertheless. She knew they were closer to her now than at any time since she had disappeared into the Amazon three years ago, fleeing from them and their malign power. Amy could feel their malefic presence reaching out to her, poisoning the ether and indicating their approach. They were after her, and all she could do was keep moving, trying to stay ahead of them and out of their reach for at least another few weeks or a couple of short months until her strategy to save her precious environment could yield the results she hoped for. Again she mentally labelled the PCIA problem as ‘underway’ and moved on to her next consideration.

Having thought about the PCIA, it was natural that her thoughts would turn to the friends and allies she had left behind to fight the war against the PCIA when she fled. Her beloved Jopl, a man with the mind, heart and soul of an ancient sage in the body of a boy. He had taught her so much, and she longed to talk to him, to discuss the new knowledge she had discovered buried within her during the three years since she had seen him. She felt that if she could only talk with him, be once again happily infuriated by his perceptive questioning, it would help her to crystallise the feelings and intuitions flowing within her. She was becoming one with creation, and she wanted to examine this with Jopl, as she felt sure that it was something he knew all about.

And then there was Rob, a one-time lover who she had believed while in Australia had become her deadly enemy, and who then saved her life in a quiet street in her hometown of Columbia in South Carolina. She had gone from being amused and interested in him to being angry and afraid of him, to thinking of him as a friend, ally and saviour. She wondered if she would ever see him again, if indeed he was still alive, and if they did meet again, what would happen. Would they be friends, or less than that, or more than that?

And of course, then there was Professor Symington. A stereotype of the academic professor, elderly, sleepy (in appearance if not in fact, she remembered and smiled), taking his afternoon naps in the university library. And yet he had been so strong when she needed an ally. When she thought she was all alone in the world, with no-one to help her protect Jopl, it was Professor Symington who had offered sanctuary and who had ultimately brought her to safety in his house.

Jopl, Rob and the professor. Her three heroes, who had ordered her to flee and hide while they rid the world of the cancer that was PCIA. She had fled as ordered, and for the first year had checked the Latin American edition of the International Herald Tribune as instructed by Rob, waiting to see the message in the personals section that would advise her that they had achieved their goal and it was safe to come home. There was no message. And as she had become more and more involved in the struggle to save the Amazon, which she had now widened out to saving the world, she had checked the IHT less and less often. She decided she would check it this time when she got to Manaus. Other than that, there was no way she could contact them. She had no idea where Rob or Jopl were, and she very much doubted that Professor Symington would have remained in his own home in Columbia when they were taking on the PCIA. Resolving to check for a message when she got to the city, she again put a mental label on the issue. This one was ‘underway’, and most likely would be ‘pending’ once she confirmed there was no message waiting for her from her friends.

That just left the concern she felt for her current companions, Diego, John, Philip, AnneMarie and Susie. She knew that none of them had fully appreciated the danger they were taking on when they had come to help her in her struggle. Each of them had known they would face privation and maybe a degree of physical danger in the tropical jungle, but none of them had been aware of the lengths that Greenergy would go to, to stop them. And certainly none of them had been aware that Amy was a target for a group of fanatical power-mongers, who wouldn’t hesitate for an instant to slaughter anyone and everyone in her company if and when they found her.

She also sensed again that there was a disaster waiting to happen, but she couldn’t pierce the veil of the future to understand what exactly this blow might be. As she considered, she felt keen loss, and she wondered if a death was in her future. If so, whose? Her own? That of one of her comrades? Or maybe even someone she hadn’t met yet? And was she willing to pay such a price if it were necessary? For her own life, she had little concern, except in terms of how her early death would prevent her from achieving what she was fighting for. But if it was one of her team, if one of them were going to be sacrificed in the name of her campaign, could she do that? Could she allow their lives to be forfeited for her dream? As she considered, she didn’t know if she would be able to ask them to pay that price. And yet, for the moment she didn’t know how reliable her feeling of impending doom was; and so she had no choice but to continue, and try to protect herself and those about her as much as she could.

In addition to the dangers, the ones they knew about and the ones they didn’t, there was also the task she had set them. To change the world in the space of a few weeks. With words as their only weapon. Through some articles and a TV programme, backed up by a social media campaign. Ridiculous. And yet Amy was convinced that the time was right. The world was crying out for this message. People were lost and they didn’t know that they were lost. They were hungry, but they didn’t know they were starving. But if she could get the message out to them, then they would wake up. They would see the truth of what she was saying. And they would demand change.

This was the belief that she had instilled in her companions. She would have to nurture and continually cultivate this belief within them to sustain it. They were good people, and she was determined to protect them to the best of her ability. But she silently acknowledged to herself that protection did not include an option to quit. They would persevere and they would not give up. She could only hope that none of them would have to pay the ultimate price for her determination. So again she labelled the problem as ‘underway’, and heaved a sigh of relief.

She had lived ‘in the moment’ during her walk, drawing solace and sustenance from the experience. She had now reviewed all of the challenges she was currently facing, and had concluded that each one was already being addressed as effectively as was possible. She could now focus one hundred per cent of her attention on her next task – to go to Manaus, check the IHT and then buy all of the supplies and materials that her group needed for the next phase of the campaign. She would buy a heavy-duty truck to transport it back to near the village, and she would then collect her companions and disappear into the forest while they prepared for the next battle. Clearer of mind and totally clear in purpose, Amy stood at the side of the quiet road and waited.

She relaxed as she stood there, letting the sights, sounds and smells of the forest wash across her as she communed and was at one with the world around her. After twenty minutes or so, she could hear a diesel engine before she could see the source. Then she could make out the cloud of dust heading in her direction, with a black blob leading the way. As it got closer, she could see it was a double-trailered lumber truck, no doubt hauling the load to the port at Manaus for shipping onwards. Amy moved out onto the edge of the road, making sure that the driver would see her. As he approached her, the huge Volvo FH16 rig slowed and stopped beside her. Amy climbed the steps and opened the door, calling in to the driver, ‘Manaus?’

‘Sim, chegar,’ came from the dim interior.

‘Obrigado,’ she replied as she climbed into the cab and settled herself into the passenger seat. She turned to look at her chauffeur as she put on the seat-belt, not sure what to expect. The man driving the massive lorry certainly didn’t meet the stereotype of the overweight haulier in oily t-shirt and grubby baseball cap. The face that smiled back at her had to be at least sixty years old, maybe more. The elderly man was dressed smartly in clean pressed shorts and shirt, with a spotless visor over the sunglasses that he had pushed up on his forehead as he turned to greet her.

‘Bem-vindos ao meu de casa humilde,’ he said gently, welcoming her to his truck, which he referred to as his home.

‘Thank you, obrigado,’ she said again.

‘Ah, you speak English,’ he said with a pronounced accent. ‘American?’

‘Yes, mas estou feliz por falar em portugês,’ she answered, assuring him that she could easily and happily converse in his native tongue.

‘No, please, it is good for me to practise other languages. I would be most grateful if you would do me the honour of speaking to me in your American English.’

‘OK, you’re the driver, so I guess you’re the boss.’ She smiled at him. ‘Are you going to the port in Manaus?’

‘Yes, I am. More of the forest goes to its unnatural resting place. Sad, but they tell me that this is the way of the world, and that I am, como falar, that I am stupido for thinking of it the way I do.’

‘What way is that?’ asked Amy, already intrigued by the dapper driver as he moved the huge rig through the gears.

‘Well, it seems to me that God in his wisdom decided to put this forest here. And I do not think it is the place of man to decide that it should be cut and shipped around the world. I sometimes think that if God meant this wood to be in the US or Europe or wherever, then he would have made it grow there. They tell me I am a, a relic. That I belong in the past.’

‘I don’t think you are a relic,’ said Amy gently. ‘Indeed, I think maybe you are a visionary, that you are a man of the future. And believe me, more and more people are starting to think along the same lines.’

‘You agree with me?’ he asked eagerly. ‘You think they should leave Amazon wood in the Amazon?’

‘Well, maybe not that exactly. But I do think that we have to stop the wholesale indiscriminate slaughter of the forest. Especially the destruction that goes on unchecked, unsustainable. That’s the crime – killing and not replacing. Uprooting and not replanting. That’s the danger.’

‘Yes, yes I understand. They are destroying what was once so great,’ he sighed. ‘My father and my father’s father were loggers, you know. As was I myself. We lived up near Rorainopolis on the 174 towards Boa Vista. My grandfather always said, and my father and I myself honoured this, that we must never cut one tree until we planted ten. He believed we should leave behind more than we found. And so we did.’ Again he sighed, and Amy could feel the unhappiness and regret behind the sigh.

‘What happened?’

‘What happened?’ he echoed. ‘Progress I suppose. Modern life. Modern economics. I simply could not survive on the work of a few men felling trees the old-fashioned way, and planting ten seeds for every tree we cut. Eventually I had to give it up, and start driving these machines. Do you know how much timber is on this load?’

‘No, but it seems huge.’

‘Huge it is. Almost one hundred tonnes. And rigs like this pull out of the forest every minute. It’s a river of wood, a flood, rolling out of the Amazon Basin. And for what? To make everything from telegraph poles to pencils, from stages to chairs. In other places. Like I said, from here to other parts of Brazil to the United States to Europe. And some say that some of our wood goes even further, although I do not know if that is true. But these foreigners take our wood, and it is part of us.’ He paused. ‘Sorry, that’s why they laugh at me sometimes. When I say things like that.’

‘Like what?’

‘That the wood is part of us. They say I am crazy.’

‘Don’t mind what they say. Tell me what you mean when you say that. What does it feel like?’ she asked eagerly.

‘Feel like? I don’t know. I am not sure if I can even tell you what I mean. I have worked in and with this forest since I was a child. I always thought that my children and the children of my children would do the same after me, but that is not to be. I feel that my father and the father of my father have cared for this forest. They have used it, certainly they have. But they gave back more than they took, left more than they found. And so they did no harm. But these new logging companies. They do not plant. They do not leave more than they take. They take everything and they leave nothing.

‘You asked me what do I mean. I do not have the words for this, not in your language and not in my language. When I drive this truck out of the forest with its one hundred tonnes of timber, I feel that I am removing something of ourselves from this place. I do not expect you to understand, because I do not understand what I mean myself. Maybe they are right. Maybe I am crazy.’

‘You are not crazy. It is they who are crazy if they do not see what you mean. I understand exactly what you mean. And you are right. The wood is part of us. And we are part of the wood. We are all one; we are all part of life. And life is not divisible, even though people think it is. People think that each one of us leads a separate life, as though each one of us owned a separate unit of life, if you understand me. But that is not right; in fact, it is completely wrong. There aren’t six billion different lives on this planet. There is only one life. And every person, every animal and plant, every rock and mountain and sea are all nothing more than individual manifestations of that one life.

‘It is like when you put a number of mirrors around a candle. If someone had never seen a mirror before, they would think that there was more than one candle. They would have no reason to believe that each image of the candle that they saw was anything other than a real candle. But you and I would know immediately that there was just one candle, and that each reflection was just that – a reflection of the one candle.

‘And that is why the wood is part of us. Everything in the physical world is like the reflection of the candle in the mirror. Everything in the physical world is nothing more or less than a reflection of the one true life. So you and I and the wood on your trailers and the forest out there are all part of the same thing. We are all part of life.’

She paused, and the driver flicked his glance between the road in front of him and the girl beside him.

‘Who are you? Where did you come from? Are you an angel? No-one has ever explained it like that before. That’s what I feel, just like you said it there. That’s why I always feel bad when I am driving a load out of the forest.’

‘Don’t feel bad,’ she said. ‘And no, I am far from being an angel. My name is Amy. What’s your name?’

‘I am João,’ he replied. ‘João Ximenes. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Amy.’ He paused, as though he was about to ask Amy what her full name was, as he had given his, but then he went on.

‘We are all part of life. It makes so much sense the way you explained it. But you haven’t told me yet whereabouts in Manaus you are going. I will drop you wherever you need – it would not do to have a beautiful young girl such as yourself wandering around the docks of Manaus.’

‘But it is to the docks that I must go, João. I have business to do, supplies to get, and the docks I think will be the best place.’

‘Now you have me worried, Amy. Normally if someone told me that they had business around the port of Manaus, and they were not clearly someone with legitimate business there, I would immediately think they must be involved in illegal activity. I could not think that about you. And yet, you do not seem to be someone who works in one of the shippers’ offices?’

Amy paused, wondering how much she could trust her new friend, before making her decision.

‘João, I have to tell you that what I am doing is not wrong. But also it might not be completely legal. I need to get supplies, lots of different stuff. But I cannot leave a trail behind me. I will be getting cash in Manaus and then dealing with whoever I can find to buy everything from a good truck to expedition equipment, cameras, computers and satellite phones – all in cash. So I need you to drop me in the port. I hope that’s OK?’

‘It is strange, Amy. Please, let me think about this for a moment.’ He focussed on the road in front, silent, but Amy could feel the tension in the air as he considered what she had said, and she knew that he was deciding whether or not he would help her or throw her out of the lorry right now. Time seemed to pass slowly, but Amy took faith in her belief that whatever happened would ultimately be for the best. She had made her best effort. Now it was up to events to unfold as they would.

‘You say that what you are doing might be illegal, but it is not wrong?’

‘I believe that with all my heart.’

‘I do not know if I am doing the right thing or not, but I will help you. Rest now, enjoy the scenery. I need to think.’

During the next few hours, João would sometimes point out features of interest as they rolled down the road, and at other times he rested in silence, clearly thinking and considering. But it was not until they entered the crowded streets of the city of Manaus that he referred again to their destination and Amy’s intentions.

‘We will be in port soon. I have to get my paperwork signed, and wait while they unload my trailers. Then I will be parking up for the night, sleeping in my cab here, and driving back to the logging site in the morning. Tell me a little more; explain to me what it is that you need to do. If I can help you, I will help you.’

‘Oh, João, thank you so much. OK, firstly, I need to get to a Western Union office, a big one. It has to be an office that keeps a lot of cash on the premises, and Manaus will surely have one. There, I will make a phone call, and then I will collect a lot of cash from them. And João, I mean a lot of cash,’ she said, emphasising the word ‘lot’.

‘Then, I need to make contact with someone who can supply all the different things I want. And who will take cash and ask no questions. That’s why I was thinking the docks would be best – that’s usually where it is easiest to make contact with a black-marketeer. One of the reasons is so he will deal in cash without asking questions. Another reason is that he cannot talk about it himself without getting in trouble with the law, so my secrecy and anonymity are assured.’

‘OK, and what are these items that you need to buy?’

‘Well, I have a full list in my head. The main one, and the most expensive and most difficult, is a half-tracked truck. Usual front wheels for steering, but caterpillar tracks on the back for traction – this truck will be going to some very isolated places. Then the normal supplies for a forest trek – tools, ropes, clothes, all of that kind of stuff. And finally the specialist items – think of a high-tech office. We need laptop computers, satellite phones, good quality digital video cameras, that kind of stuff.’

João looked at her. He knew there was more.

‘Oh yes,’ Amy said, afraid that the final items might make João run away from her. ‘Some weapons and ammunition. And some explosives.’

She paused, waiting for João’s reaction.

‘I see. Well, I do not see. I cannot imagine why you would need these things. I cannot imagine what you are doing. And I think I do not want to. But you said that what you are doing is right. And I am not sure why, but I believe you. So I will help you. Am I doing the right thing if I help you?’

‘I truly believe that this is the right thing, João. For all the reasons we talked about – this is about saving the Amazon.’

He nodded, accepting his own decision as they rolled through the streets towards the docks.

CHAPTER 11

Dockside Dealing

˜

‘If I take a short detour, I can go down Avenue Sete De Setembro, which I think has a Western Union as you seek. It is Manaus – you will have to pay so that I can wait in the street for you. How long do you think you will be?’

‘I’m not sure, but I don’t think it should take too long. I guess maybe fifteen or twenty minutes. Is that OK?’

‘Yes, I am sure it is. When the police come and tell me that I cannot park such a big lorry on the street, I will tell him that you will have money for him when you come out.’

‘Thanks, João. That sounds like a plan.’ Amy smiled.

After another few minutes, João turned onto Avenue Sete De Setembro, crossing the river and driving down the long straight street. Amy looked at the low buildings, interspersed with the occasional high-rise office block, commenting on the green spaces. João rolled his rig to a stop beside a paved area full of trees, across from a lovely old three-story building with a red tiled roof.

Just ahead of them on the opposite side of the street was a Western Union office, the logo emblazoned across the front. Amy dismounted from the cab, giving João a big smile of thanks as she did so. She waited for a break in the traffic before running across the street and into the cool interior of the office. Once inside, she paused to get her bearings. There was a row of glass-fronted counters directly in front of her, and what looked like two meeting rooms to her right. On the left was a desk with a ‘Customer Service’ sign, and it was to this desk that Amy made her way.

‘Olá,’ said the girl behind the desk, welcoming Amy with a smile. ‘Como posso ajudá-lo?’ she said, asking Amy how she could be of assistance.

‘Obrigado,’ replied Amy before continuing in English. ‘I need to speak to the Manager please; it is very urgent.’

‘Please wait a moment and I will see if he is free,’ said the receptionist, picking up her phone and dialling an extension number. She murmured quietly into the phone in Portuguese, with pauses as though she was being asked questions. After a few moments, she put the phone down and turned back to Amy.

‘Yes, he is free, and he will be out with you in just a moment. Would you like to sit while you wait for him?’

‘No, that’s OK, I can wait here. I’m sure he won’t be long,’ said Amy, conscious that she wanted to conclude her business and get back to João as quickly as possible.

She had only waited for about two minutes when a man came into the main office through a rear door, and walked over to Amy.

‘I am Paulo Alfarela, the manager here at Western Union,’ he said, extending a hand to Amy. ‘I believe you wanted to see me. I hope there is nothing wrong?’

‘Not at all,’ said Amy, shaking his hand. ‘But I do hope you can assist me in making a transaction. Would it be possible to use one of your meeting rooms so that I can explain what I need?’

‘Certainly,’ replied Alfarela. ‘Please, follow me.’

They made their way into one of the small meeting rooms, which had a PC and phone on the desk, with folders and pens, and four chairs arranged around it.

As they seated themselves, Alfarela asked how he could help.

‘Well, it is a delicate matter. I am in Manaus on very sensitive business, but my company is now ready to make a significant transaction. In order to smooth the way for this transaction, we need access to a significant amount of cash, which I am sure you can understand. What I need to do is to make a phone call, and have this sum transferred into an account from which you can withdraw it as cash. Is that possible?’

‘It is certainly possible, and here in Manaus we are used to assisting local industry in all kinds of financial transactions. How much are you hoping to withdraw today?’

This was the potential stumbling block for Amy – would Western Union allow her to deal in hundreds of thousands of US dollars in such a clandestine way?

‘The sum is significant, as I said. However, I am happy to pay a commission if that is required. If so, I can pay the commission from the receiving account itself, or from the cash once it has been withdrawn.’

She paused for a moment, to make sure that Alfarela understood what she had just offered. She was relieved as she saw the recognition gleam in his eyes.

‘That may be necessary,’ he said. ‘What is the amount?’

‘Two hundred thousand US dollars, in local currency,’ stated Amy calmly.

She heard the indrawn breath as Alfarela reacted. She could see him struggle with doubt, clearly weighing up the potential implications if he was caught facilitating a transaction that was outside Western Union procedures, whilst also calculating how much he could make from this transaction himself. It wasn’t long before avarice, or need, won out over procedures. Amy could see the decision before Alfarela confirmed it.

‘That is a lot of cash, but I am sure we can handle it,’ he said. ‘The commission is in two parts – two per cent will be taken directly from the funds when they are credited to the Western Union account, and there will be a further …’ He paused, and Amy could see that he was wondering how far he could push her. ‘… A further ten per cent to be paid from the cash,’ he finished.

Amy was happy with the ten per cent, but she felt that if she agreed too readily then Alfarela would become more nervous than he already was.

‘Ten per cent?’ she exclaimed. ‘That’s ridiculous. Five per cent is the absolute max I am willing to pay.’

‘Please, Miss,’ said Alfarela. ‘You and I both know that ten per cent is a fair sum. Or maybe I should just report this conversation to the authorities? I think they might be very interested in knowing what “business” you have in Manaus.’

‘OK, OK, Mr Alfarela,’ Amy grumbled. ‘As long as we can get this done quickly, you can have your ten per cent.’

Alfarela beamed, happy now that he had just earned a significant proportion of his annual salary in a single conversation.

‘Can I make an international call on this phone?’ asked Amy. ‘And I need the details of the account that you want the funds transferred into for withdrawal. And then get my cash together as quickly as possible.’

‘Certainly, certainly,’ said Alfarela, now anxious to please. He tapped the keys on the PC before giving Amy an account name with the necessary international account identifiers, which she wrote down.

‘Now give me a moment of privacy please. I will open the door when I am finished with the call.’

As Alfarela left the room, Amy dialled a Swiss number from memory. When the call was answered, a recording asked her to identify herself by name, and Amy gave her name as Laura Whiteland. She was then asked for her date-of-birth, which she gave, and the recording informed her that her call was being transferred to a Deposits Relationship Manager.

‘Miss Whiteland? This is Herr Schweizer speaking. How may I be of assistance?’

‘Hello, Herr Schweizer. I need to transfer two hundred thousand US dollars in Brazilian Real to an account in Brazil please, and I need to receive the funds immediately, as in real-time during this call. I have the account details here.’

‘Very well, Miss Whiteland. Your identity has already been confirmed by our voice recognition system, but I am going to ask you some security questions to confirm your instruction, is that OK?’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Amy, impatient now to keep moving. ‘Go ahead.’

‘I see you reset your security last year. Please give me the second character of your password please.’

Amy did so, answering a further three questions before Herr Schweizer moved on.

‘Thank you for that confirmation, Miss Whiteland. Now, do you have the details of the beneficiary account please? I will need the account name and the IBAN Code for the account – do you have that?’

‘Yes, I have it all here,’ confirmed Amy, relaying the details that Alfarela had provided.

‘Thank you, just give me a moment,’ said Herr Schweizer. After a short interval of soft hold music he came back on the line. ‘That transfer has been completed, Miss Whiteland. As you requested, the funds have been transmitted immediately, so should be visible in the beneficiary account within minutes. A charge has been applied to your account for this transaction. If you have any queries, please do not hesitate to contact me – I will be in the office for the next two hours.’

‘Thank you so much, Herr Schweizer,’ said Amy, before quickly saying goodbye and ending the call. She rose from the desk and opened the door of the meeting room, and Alfarela immediately came across from the Customer Service desk where he had been waiting.

‘Mr Alfarela, the funds should now be in that account. Can you withdraw the full amount, minus the Western Union commission of course, and we will count it here in this office? Then I can pay you the second part of the commission and get out of here.’

Alfarela disappeared though the same door he had originally come out of, and was gone for about five minutes. When he returned, he was carrying a rucksack, and was accompanied by a security guard. He came into the office and closed the door behind him, leaving the security man standing outside the door. He pulled the blinds to block any prying eyes and emptied the contents of the bag onto the table.

‘OK, Miss,’ he said. ‘There are 312,365 Real here. It is in bundles of ten thousand, each bundle with one hundred notes, each note to the value of one hundred Real. You can count it all if you like, or just check a number of the bundles. There are thirty-one bundles, and the spare 2,365 Real are here,’ he said, as he pointed to a smaller roll of notes of different denominations.

Amy quickly counted two of the bundles at random, pulling off the elastic band and checking that there were one hundred notes, each of one hundred Real.

‘That’s fine Paolo. Thank you so much for your help. If my calculations are correct, the cash commission is for ten per cent of this, which is thirty-one thousand Real, yes?’

‘Thirty-one thousand, two hundred and thirty six,’ Alfarela answered, excited and eager to get his hands on so much cash.

‘OK, here’s what I will do. Here are three bundles for you; that is thirty thousand. And you can have the smaller bundle, so you are getting a couple of thousand extra. In return, I want you and that security guard to walk me out of the building to my transport across the street, OK?’

Alfarela quickly agreed, and as Amy stuffed the remaining 280,000 Real into the rucksack, Alfarela efficiently hid his four bundles underneath his jacket. When they were both ready, he opened the door and spoke briefly to the security guard, before turning back and nodding for Amy to follow him. Alfarela led the way, with Amy in the middle and the security guard bringing up the rear.

As they exited the building, Amy pointed across the road to João’s truck. Alfarela looked back at her with a question in his eyes – whatever he had been expecting as Amy’s transport, it clearly wasn’t a loaded double-trailered lumber truck. Amy nodded, and they ran across the road, going around the truck to the passenger side. Amy got a shock when she saw João standing there with a policeman, but then she remembered that João had told her that they would have to pay off a policeman if he was going to be able to park there.

‘Mr Alfarela, I think you can take care of any negotiation with the police about our parking,’ Amy said to Alfarela. ‘We need to get moving, and all he needs is a “Commission”’ – (she said the word sarcastically) – ‘because we have been parked here. May I leave that with you?’

‘You can’ Alfarela answered. ‘I will take care of it, and it has been a very good day for me. My wife and children thank you for your generosity. You go, and I will look after the police …’ He paused, a smile on his face ‘… the “commission” for the police.’

‘João,’ called Amy. ‘Mr Alfarela is the manager of the Western Union. He will deal with anything that the policeman needs. You and I need to go.’

João turned and spoke briefly to the policeman, pointing towards Alfarela as he did so. The policeman nodded, slapped João on the back, and walked over to Alfarela. As he did so, Amy climbed into the cab, and João got in from the driver’s side. He started up the huge rig and pulled away, as Amy saw Alfarela dip his hand inside his jacket before handing over some money to the policeman.

‘Is everything OK?’ asked João as the rig picked up speed.

‘Yes, everything is OK,’ Amy reassured him. ‘That’s the easy part done. Now I have to make contact with someone who can supply me with the items I told you about earlier.’

‘I do not know peoples like this. But I am sure that I know someone who will know someone who knows these kinds of peoples. When we get to the docks, I think you should stay inside, and I will ask some of the peoples I know. I am afraid, Amy. I do not feel that you will be safe.’

‘Do not worry, João. I know this is all very strange, and I am sure it is a little scary. But as I told you, I am doing what is right. I do not wish to harm anyone. And as I said, this is ultimately about making the world a better place. About saving the Amazon. And about doing what is right.’

João seemed to accept this, and was quiet as he navigated the short drive to the port, and he pulled up at the entrance. He spoke to the security guard on duty, showing his ID and the paperwork for his load, explaining to the guard that Amy was his niece who was along for the ride. With the guard satisfied, João drove into the port complex and rolled the lorry to a stop in front of a low office building, behind which was a huge yard filled with lumber, some on the ground and some still on trailers.

‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I have to arrange for them to unload my trailers.’

Amy stayed in the cab, her rucksack behind her back, as João made the necessary arrangements and then drove the truck over to a crane that proceeded to free the trailers of their load. He then drove to what looked like a rest area, where there were fifty or sixty lorries parked outside a two-storey building.

‘We can eat here,’ said João, ‘and you can use the restrooms if you need. I will stay with you, so that these men do not cause you any trouble.’

Amy hoisted the backpack onto her shoulders, choosing to carry it with the bag in front of her instead of on her back as would be more usual. She followed João into the building, and used the bathroom while he waited outside. They then made their way into the café, where they got their meal at the counter and sat at a table in the corner to eat.

While they ate and drank, João continually looked around the room. As they neared the end of their meal, João gave a grunt of satisfaction, and Amy followed his eyes to see two hauliers walking into the café.

‘I will talk to these men,’ João said, before leaving the table and joining the two men as they got their food at the counter. With their trays they moved to an empty table, and João sat with them for a time, the three men talking in low tones as they huddled their heads close together. Amy could see the two men casting occasional glances her way, and she wondered what João was telling them. Would he be able to arrange assistance for her, without getting either Amy or himself in trouble?

As she covertly watched João talking to the men, Amy felt a shiver run up her spine. There was something wrong, she could feel it. She watched the two men with João, but couldn’t get any sense that they were the cause of her uneasiness. They were rough, for sure, and avaricious, she could sense that. But they were no immediate threat to her. She kept her head down, casting sideways glances around the dingy room. There! In the corner, a man sat by himself, nursing a coffee, no food on the table. He was dressed in a long coat, which was very unusual on this hot and humid day. Amy let her hair fall forward, so that she could see him through a veil of hair, which hopefully meant that he couldn’t see her watching him.

He was interested in her, of that there was no doubt. And he was trying to hide his interest. A number of the men in the café were casting appreciative looks at Amy, but openly, almost leering. This man was furtive, with rapid glances in her direction, while trying to appear as though he was concentrating on his coffee. Amy could sense anger, and fear, from the man. She couldn’t tell if he knew her, or if his anger was at all young white women. But it felt personal.

She shook herself and refocused as João made his way back to her table. ‘They will ask around. They know where I will be parked for the night before I make my return journey in the morning. They will come to us when they have decided who can help you.’

Once they had finished their coffee, Amy and João left the café and returned to his truck. João moved it to the back of the parking lot outside the café, and as night fell he told Amy to try to get some sleep. He explained that they were safe in the cab, and he would wake her if and when his friends returned with news.

Amy found that she was keyed-up, acutely conscious of the amount of money she had on her person, and worried about João’s as well as her own safety. She wondered who the man in the café was, and if he was connected to her in some way. She admonished herself, reminding herself that she had chosen this path, and that for the time being she had placed her trust in João. Remembering the chief’s words, she remembered the truth that what happens, happens, and that she should place her trust in João and her faith in Creation. Thus reaffirmed, she forced herself to close her eyes and slow her breathing, gradually moving to a place of quiet and peace. She could hear the sounds of trucks and heavy machinery around the docks, the banging as ships were loaded and unloaded. But these soon faded into the background as Amy relaxed mentally as well as physically, before she fell asleep and drew nourishment from the peace of inner silence.

She didn’t know how long it was, but it was dark outside when she woke.

‘João, wake up. Someone is coming.’

‘What? Who?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe your friends. They are not going to hurt us.’

As she finished speaking, there was a gentle rap on João’s door, and he looked down from the cab. ‘How did you know?’ he asked Amy in wonder as he opened the door, to reveal three men standing outside, two of whom were the men João had spoken to in the café.

João spoke to the men quietly, getting responses first from the man who had knocked on his door, and then from the third man, who Amy hadn’t seen before. Amy could follow the conversation, but decided on an impulse not to let the third man know that she spoke Portuguese.

‘What is it, João?’ she asked in English. ‘Can they help us?’

She saw João look at her – she had told him that she could speak Portuguese, and now she was asking him to translate. Without hesitation or question, João responded as though she had no Portuguese.

‘Yes. This man,’ he said, indicating the third man, ‘is Franco. My friends were introduced to him tonight when they asked where they could buy those things that you asked for, for cash. He says that he has everything you might want – although he does say only if you have the money to pay for it.’

‘Thank you João,’ said Amy, before speaking directly to Franco. ‘Franco, do you speak English?’

‘A little. It is necessary for my business.’

‘Good. Where can we go to talk?’

‘I have a house on a street near here. We can talk there, and I can arrange everything that you need. Your friends tell me that you are going in to the jungle?’

‘That’s right. How do I know that I will be safe with you if I go to this house of yours?’

‘All the men here respect your friend, João. Even though he is not one of us, and he has never done business with me, we all know of him. If you are his friend, then you are safe with me.’

Accepting that this was the closest she could get to a guarantee of safety, Amy turned to João.

‘João, I have to go now, and make these arrangements. I might need to come back and stay in the truck for the rest of the night if he cannot get everything together immediately. Would that be OK?’

‘It is not just OK, I insist on it,’ replied João before turning to Franco and telling him in Portuguese that when his business with Amy was concluded, he was to return her to João. Franco readily agreed to this, and Amy climbed down, leaving her rucksack in the cab behind her seat.

Together they walked out through the main entrance of the port onto the major road bringing traffic into the complex. Franco immediately turned left into a maze of little streets, and they took a number of turns before he stopped in front of a ramshackle house. While the building looked old and decrepit, Amy realised it was more than it seemed when Franco used two different keys and a code to open the front door. She followed him in, and he led her down a short hallway into the kitchen. It looked like a normal kitchen to be found in any poor house, with worn floors and furniture, but Amy guessed that the conversations that took place here were anything but normal conversations.

She sat down at the table while Franco took two beers from the fridge, opened them and wordlessly offered one to her. She accepted and drank as Franco seated himself opposite her, watching her warily as though unsure what to make of this strange American girl.

‘You need supplies?’

‘I do.’

‘And some of these supplies are … you cannot buy them in an ordinary shop?’

‘That is correct.’

‘Tell me.’

‘OK. I am going into the jungle. With some other people. Everything that I buy needs to be good quality, made to last and able to be used without any problems or breakdowns. Is that clear? Do you have a pen? It is a long list!’

‘I will remember. Tell me.’

‘OK, here goes. First of all, I need a truck. But it will be covering some very rough terrain, so it has to be half-tracked, do you know what I mean?’

‘Wheels on front, like tank on back, yes.’

‘Exactly. Can you get a truck like that for me?’

‘I can. Tell me what else you need, so I know how much the truck will need to carry.’

‘OK. Well there are six of us for a start, plus all the equipment. Most of it is standard stuff for a jungle expedition.’ Amy listed off all the items she had in her mind, from office supplies such as paper and pens, to a generator. Franco listened carefully as she spoke, and soon got up to get a pen and paper from one of the drawers. He wrote as Amy spoke, the list getting longer as they went along.

After she had listed the standard equipment, Amy continued, ‘Now, I also need some specialist technical gear. Six satellite phones, fully GPS-enabled. Six laptops, high spec, again fully online. Three top-of-the-range digital video cameras.’ Again, the list went on, with Franco continuing to write and looking more interested as Amy’s requirements grew more technical, and presumably more expensive. Eventually, she finished her list of scientific equipment and paused, drinking more of her beer as Franco waited for the last category of items that Amy needed.

‘Last but not least, I need some military equipment. Six handguns, light but effective. Three rifles, automatic, with large magazines. One sniper rifle with scope, range of half a mile. Ammo for all of them, but not enough to start a war. A half-kilo of semtex. Two dozen grenades, half smoke and half percussion.’

As Amy continued through the last portion of her list, Franco continued to write and Amy could see him doing his first mental calculations of how much he was going to make on this deal. Eventually she finished, and Franco looked at her.

‘You have come to the right man. But I do not understand any of this. João is respected by all the men of Manaus Port, and other places. But we know him as a simple man, certainly not a violent man. What is this about?’

‘I cannot tell you. But it has nothing to do with João directly. He has simply agreed to give me a lift, nothing more. This does not involve him. Now, can you get me these things, or can you not?’

‘I think so. Let me make a call.’

While Amy sat at the table and sipped her now-warm beer, Franco made a call and spoke in Portuguese. Unknown to him, Amy could follow his side of the conversation perfectly, although she couldn’t hear what was being said by the person on the other end of the line. He was talking about the truck, checking who had what that was ready for sale, and arguing about the price. Eventually he ended the call, grinning at Amy before making another call. On this one, he discussed the normal items such as tools and the generator, agreeing a list to be collected later that night. The third call was for the technical equipment, and this took longer as Franco argued about makes and models and specifications. Eventually this call too was concluded, with Franco apparently happy that he would get the items required, and at a price that he was happy to pay. Finally he made a call for the armaments, and again argued about specifications. This was the longest call, with Franco at times waiting, as though the person he was talking to was making other calls and then coming back to Franco. Finally he put the phone down and turned back to Amy.

‘Everything that you need will be in the truck by eleven tomorrow morning. It will be parked at Sitio Dois Irmaos, which is on the road from Manaus back to Boa Vista, which is the road that João will be driving. Now all we need to discuss is the price!’

Amy waited to see what Franco was going to suggest as his initial price. From listening to his conversations, she knew that he was going to pay around 100,000 Real for all of the goods, with the guns and explosives the most expensive group of equipment and the truck the most expensive single item.

‘And for all of these supplies, which are not only very expensive for me to buy, but it is also very dangerous for me, and I must be paid for this danger, the price is 300,000 Real.’

Amy feigned a shocked intake of breath.

‘300,000 Real? Are you crazy? It’s not worth half that!’

In a surreal moment of recall, as she and Franco argued and haggled, she remembered buying a wooden sculpture for her father shortly before he died. She had bought it from a Bedouin trader in the Northern Sahara, whose name she had learned was Tahir, and who had brought her into his home. The setting and the circumstances now could not have been more different, and yet the ancient rites of bargaining were the same throughout the world. The seller gave a first price much higher than he expected to get, the buyer pretended to be shocked or outraged, and they then argued towards a middle point. Eventually the pace of exchanges slowed, and Amy knew she was close to agreeing a deal that would make Franco very happy, and that got her what she needed. She had been prepared to spend her full 280,000 Real on her supplies, but that would not be necessary.

‘I cannot take less than 250,000 Real,’ Franco protested. ‘Already you make me poor. I am making almost no money on this deal. Take it or leave it!’

Amy’s last offer had been 230,000 Real, and she was fairly sure that if she really pushed it, she would be able to get Franco down to 240,000. But money was not the issue for her.

‘OK, I’ll tell you what. You give me your word of honour, on the respect that you have for João, that everything you give me will be top-quality, and I will agree. Do we have a deal?’

‘We have a deal.’ Franco beamed. ‘Yes, yes, all top quality. You do not know who you came here with. I do not understand why, but even I would not anger João. I have done many things to many people in my life. But you are under João’s protection, and so you will have only the best. We have a deal.’

‘Great. I will pay you at Sitio Dois Irmaos, OK? Oh, one more thing. Will you leave an English-language copy of the latest edition of the International Herald Tribune newspaper in the truck as well?’

Franco look puzzled.

‘The newspaper?’

‘The newspaper,’ Amy confirmed, knowing that Franco was at a loss trying to deal with the varying needs of his strange customer.

‘Yes, I can do that.’

‘Thank you Franco. You do not know it, but you are doing our world a very great service this night. And now I must get back to João.’

‘I understand none of this. And none of my customers have ever told me before that I was helping the world! But this is not important. I should ask for some of the money now. But I will not. I do not know why, but I do not ask for money now. I trust you. Pay me at Sitio Dois Irmaos. And now I will take you back to João,’ he finished, putting his hand out to shake on the deal.

Amy shook his hand and they both smiled in relief as Franco led Amy back outside and locked the door behind him. She followed back the short distance to the port and found herself standing at João’s lorry as Franco waved goodbye and disappeared into the shadows. She knocked on the door and saw João peering out before he unlocked it and swung the door open for her. Amy climbed up into the cool interior and collapsed on the seat, only realising at that point that adrenaline had been coursing through her veins for the past two hours.

She explained to João that Franco would have all her supplies in a truck at Sitio Dois Irmaos at eleven o’clock the next morning, and he shook his head as if wondering how he had come to be mixed up with this crazy enigma that was Amy. They agreed on timing for the morning, and then both lay back to rest and sleep until breakfast time.

CHAPTER 12

The Truth

˜

João awoke to find Amy sitting beside him, face freshly scrubbed, looking like someone who had enjoyed a restful night’s sleep.

‘Good morning João. How are you feeling?’

‘I feel good. Although I am tired. I only sleeped properly after Franco brought you back. You said that Franco will get you everything that you need. Are you sure you can trust this man? He is not the kind of man that I keep company with.’

‘I am sure, João. I am trying to prepare. If it is meant to work, it will work. If not, then another path will open. That is the way of the world when you know your place in the world, and the world knows you.

‘Now, you do look a little tired. How soon can we be on our way? Remember, we need to be at Sitio Dois Irmaos by eleven o’clock.’

‘What time is it now?’ João checked his watch. ‘Ah yes. We have time for breakfast, and I need to use the restrooms here to wake myself properly. Come, let us go,’ he said, and pulled a bag from behind his seat and made ready to leave.

Amy and João made their way back to the café, where she waited while João used the bathroom. Then they went inside and ordered two large breakfasts, which Amy washed down with fruit juice while João drank a full pot of coffee. As they finished their breakfast and prepared to leave, the man who had been watching Amy in the café the previous evening walked in. He got himself a coffee, and sat in a corner table, where he could see Amy clearly. Amy got the same sense of menace from the man, a feeling that he was a threat. But the danger didn’t feel immediate, and Amy could only ignore him and hope that he wouldn’t try to interfere with her plans. She left the café with João, and soon they were back in his rig and pulling out of the dockyards. Amy settled back in her seat as they left the busy streets of Manaus and starting eating up the miles to Sitio Dois Irmaos.

As João drove, there seemed to be an unspoken agreement that they would not discuss the supplies that Amy was about to collect, and instead they spoke of the Amazon.

‘It is the most beautiful place, Amy. I have not seen much of the world, but I know from reading and from talking to many different people that there are strange and wonderful things in the world. But I do not think that there can be anything like the Amazon. It is hard for me to explain this to people who have never seen the Amazon. And it can sometimes be even more hard to explain it to people who live here! That is why they call me crazy. They do not see what I see, and I cannot understand why they do not see it.’

‘What is it that you see, João?’

‘How can I say it? I think I see the candles like you spoke of – in the mirrors. I see that I am part of the forest, as much as the trees and the animals. I see that my father and my father’s father worked as part of the forest – that they took from the forest and that they gave to the forest. That their work and their lives were a part of the life of the forest. That their generations lived and died as men, but that this is all part of the forest. When someone in my family died, they were buried in the forest and we were sad and missed them, but we never felt they were completely gone. We believe that part of them lives on in the forest, and is never gone. This is why my friends sometimes say I am a crazy man, Amy. They do not see this. They do not feel this.’

‘João, I told you yesterday – you are not crazy. What you see is Truth. You just do not understand it. Yet. But you will. More and more people will see the Truth, and more and more people will understand the Truth. More and more people will accept and believe the Truth, and more and more people will then live the Truth. That’s what this is all about, João. I do not know why. I do not fully understand my role. But for the moment at least, I absolutely believe this. That a new Age is coming. A new dawn. A new step in the development of Humanity towards what is real. Towards our destiny. Towards the Truth.’

‘You say very strange things, Amy. What do you mean by this? What is “The Truth”?’

‘The Truth, João, is that there is a purpose and a reason for Life. That Life itself is Truth. That everything we do and everything that we are has a reason. That our purpose in life, as a very wise friend once told me, is to leave this world a better place than we found it. And above and beyond that, to understand that in reality, we do not leave this world at all. Ever. As you said when you spoke about how your family do not really leave you when they die, when you bury them in the arms of the forest. They are still here. Obviously not in the same form. And maybe not as themselves, I don’t know. But they do not leave us. They simply return to where we have all come from. To creation. To life. True life. Call it what you will. Heaven, God, consciousness, the Absolute. It doesn’t matter.

‘All this trouble over religion. From disagreements, to wars - over religion. Persecution, torture and murder over religion. And then some people make the mistake of equating religion with … with that which is not physical. Call it spirituality if you like. But even that has such negative connotations for many people. Instead, call it what it is not, as that is the only way we can approach it. Call it non-physical. That’s the problem with words. Another friend explained that to me. We try to get to the truth. And so we debate and reason and argue and we try to use the force of our argument to convince people.

‘And in that trying to convince people lie two fundamental errors. One is that the non-physical simply cannot be put into words. By definition, the non-physical is outside the physical world. But words are of the physical world. They take shape in the human brain, an organ of the physical world. And they are expressed through our physical mouths, or in physical writing. And we perceive them with our physical ears or our physical eyes. And then we understand them in our minds, hosted in the brain, again an organ of the physical world. So words can never truly express the non-physical world, simply because words are born of the physical world.

‘That is one error in trying to convince people of the Truth. The other error is more dangerous. We should never try to convince another. That in itself is a form of arrogance, of pride. If we are not careful, soon the need to be right about what is true overcomes the truth itself. Down that road lies ruin, because it is intrinsically antithetical to the truth. The truth involves understanding for one’s self. Understanding and accepting the truth, without the need to force reason onto the truth. Reason is a fantastic faculty of the human being, but one which has its place. And the truth we are talking about is beyond reason. Beyond our human thoughts. It lies in silence and stillness, and it expresses itself through the vibrancy and the joyous shout of the physical world.

‘That’s the Truth, João. That’s what we aim for. Each for himself and herself. I believe that in time, more and more people will come to that Truth. My job is simply as a messenger for Truth. To explain it in as clear a way as I can, subject to the limitations inherent in language. And it is for each person to decide for themselves whether or not they want to awaken to that Truth. I suspect that Humanity itself stands on the brink of a chasm. To one side is enlightenment, peace, joy, bliss. For everyone that wants it. To the other side lie darkness and pain, grief and loss. It is for each person to make that choice for themselves.

‘And the more people choose the path of light, the more hope there is for humanity as a whole, that our entire race will move to a higher plane of existence. And that is what I am slowly coming to understand. That it doesn’t matter what each person chooses. It doesn’t matter what happens to humanity. That doesn’t mean that I don’t care. I do care, deeply and passionately. But I have to understand that I cannot make that decision. Not for any other individual, nor for humanity. “To each, their own”. As is the case for every other person, if I am to be enlightened, I too must “Train myself to let go of everything I fear to lose”. That is the freedom that comes from non-attachment. To care and to dream, and yet to accept fully whatever happens, whether it is in line with my wishes and dreams or not.’

She paused, looking at João with a Mona Lisa-like smile. ‘Do you still think you are the crazy one, João? Or do you now think that Amy is the crazy one?’

‘I truly do not know. You say very strange things. Maybe crazy things, but I do not think that you are crazy. I feel a truth in your words, but if I tell you the truth, I have to admit that I do not understand your words. Can you tell me what you mean? Can you make it clear?’

‘No, João, I cannot. No-one can tell you the Truth that we are talking about. The Truth that we are talking about is for each person to come to, by and for themselves. It is for each person to discover for themselves. Beware people who tell you that they can explain the Truth of life to you, for it seems to me that this is not possible. I cannot tell you the Truth. But I do what I can. And I am starting with the Truth that you yourself have spoken about. That you yourself believe, and that you yourself live.

‘And that Truth is that we are not separate from the people and things around us. As you said about the forest, we are part of it. In a deep, fundamental and basic way, all things are one. That is my mission. To tell people this, to show them as best I can. And my hope is that in understanding that unity of all things, that this will help people to arrive at the Truth for themselves. Because I do not think you can ever truly understand the Truth that we are talking about if you do not first understand this – that we are all one.

‘That is my mission. And some people want to stop me. Some for money, and some for other reasons. That is why I need all the equipment that I have asked Franco for. Most of it, like all the technical equipment, is simply to allow me to get the word out there. And the guns and stuff so that I can protect myself and my friends as best I can, so that the message does get out there. What will happen after that, I do not know. I don’t know what will happen to me, and I don’t know what will happen to the world. But if I have a role to play after we get the word out there, then that role will become clear in time. And if I do not have a role, then I will have done my part; I will have played my role on life’s stage, and I will welcome whatever comes after. In life or in death, I will survive and I will go on. Because the Truth is that in our unity with all things, in our participation in life, we are eternal.’

‘So I must discover the truth for myself. But you will point the way?’

‘As best I can, yes, I will point the way. But the journey is yours, and yours alone. I cannot walk it for you. But as I said, for me to point the way, there are things I have to say. Things I have to show. That’s why I need the equipment. Are we nearly there?’

‘Yes, we will be at Sitio Dois Irmaos shortly. Did Franco say whereabouts he will meet us?’

‘No, funnily enough, he just said that the truck will be there. I have to pay him there, so I assume he will be there to hand it over. Is it a small village or a big town?’

‘It is a small village. If Franco is there, we will see him as we drive through. Especially if the truck is as you said, with the machine tracks on the back instead of wheels. We will be there very soon.’

Amy moved in her seat to get more comfortable, and waited for the village to appear. After another ten or fifteen minutes, the road widened slightly and houses lined both sides.

João slowed the huge lorry and glanced along both sides. As the houses thinned and it looked as though they were almost through the village, João grunted in satisfaction.

‘There,’ he said, pointing to the left. Amy saw a sandy area, cleared of trees, with a half-track truck and a car parked, facing the road. João pulled into the clearing in a wide circle, driving behind the truck and car, and coming to stop facing back towards the road. He and Amy climbed down from the cab, stretching and breathing in the warm air.

‘Oi,’ came a shout from the car, and Franco climbed out and joined some rough-looking men standing beside the tracked truck. ‘Amy, I am pleased that you have come. I am nervous having so much equipment out here when we are unprotected. The local police from this district will not trouble us, but your cargo is valuable. You must pay me now and we will go.’

‘That’s no problem, Franco,’ she answered. ‘But first you must show me that you have gotten everything that we agreed.’

‘OK,’ Franco said, quickly climbing onto the back of the truck, which had a rigid frame supporting a canvas top. ‘Here,’ he said, holding out a hand for Amy to climb up and join him.

He quickly called off the items from Amy’s list, pointing to each and waiting for a moment while Amy verified that she had what she had ordered. After a short while, Amy was satisfied that Franco had fulfilled her order completely.

‘Thank you, Franco,’ she said. ‘Wait here for a moment.’

She returned to João’s lorry and got back into the cab. She opened her rucksack and pulled out her cash, counting off 250,000 Real. She went back to Franco and handed over the cash, waiting while he counted it. When he was satisfied he nodded and reached out to shake her hand.

‘You are a strange lady, but I wish you luck in what you are doing.’

‘Thank you. I need to get going, so I can get back to the village before dark. You have done a good thing today.’

He shook her hand, and joined his men as they stood around their car, smoking before they left to go back to Manaus.

She stood and watched them leave before turning back to João.

‘João, I want to thank you so much for all that you have done. I hope that in only two or three weeks, you will start to see stories on the news about the things we have been talking about. If you do, then you will know that I am alive and well, and that we are starting to get the message out.

‘But for now I must leave you. Thank you for helping me. Be good, and who knows, maybe we will meet again.’ She threw her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug.

‘What do I do now?’ he asked.

‘What you have always done, João. Live your life as you have lived it. It is a good life. And believe what you have always believed. And tell people about the Truth. Not about me, I do not matter. Do not speak of me. Speak of the Truth. People will listen. Not everyone. Maybe not even many. But as long as one person is listening, there is hope. Now I must go.’

With that, she turned from him and climbed into her truck, throwing her backpack onto the seat beside her. She turned the key and gunned the engine before putting the truck into gear and pulling out of the clearing, across the road, and disappearing into the forest. João sighed, shaking his head at the strangeness of this girl. Then he too climbed aboard his lorry and pulled back out onto the road, heading towards Rorainopolis and his future.

Amy drove slowly into the forest, knowing intuitively where to find the path of least resistance. Even as she picked her route carefully, she knew that not even a four-wheel drive jeep would have been able to cross the terrain she was covering. But the half-tracked truck managed it without difficulty, climbing hillsides and crossing small streams without hesitation. As she moved through the forest, she silently apologised for the destruction caused by the passing of the mechanical truck. But the forest regenerated almost instantly as she passed, so that within minutes there was no sign of her passing, except where the tracks of the truck had imprinted their grooves in the soft ground. The bushes however seemed to bend under the truck and the tracks, and returned to their previous position as soon as she passed, with just some bruising on their leaves and branches, which quickly faded.

Amy changed direction frequently as she drove, always seeking the path that would cause the least damage, as well as looking for a route that her truck could navigate. Yet her direction always returned to the heading that brought her towards Alheio village. At times she would stop the truck and dismount to drink from a stream or to eat some fruit, and in this way she sustained herself as she drove. As night was falling she reversed the truck into a clump of young saplings before turning off the engine and tucking the key into her pocket. Leaving everything in the truck, she walked away before turning to look back at the grove of trees that now hid the truck. The young trees that she had reversed over had returned to their upright position, and now there were no signs to indicate where the truck was hidden.

Satisfied that she could do no more, and that the truck would be safe until morning, Amy turned to walk the short distance that remained to Alheio. It was dark as she approached the village, where she paused to once again announce her presence with the birdcall ‘pur pur pee pee pee pur’.

‘Angiru-mitakuna?’ came a question from the dark.

‘Yes, it is me,’ she answered.

One of the young villagers appeared from behind a tree, and she fell into step behind him as they entered the village. Her friends were sitting around an open fire in the centre of the clearing, and they jumped to their feet with whoops of joy when they saw her. They ran over to her, with hugs and kisses and questions. Amy hushed them, and they all returned to the fire where they arranged themselves around its warm light.

‘OK friends, I have gotten all the supplies that we need. They are hidden not far away. In the morning we will disappear, and the real work begins.’

They plied her with questions, some of which she answered, and some of which she told them that the detail did not matter. Only Diego sat silent, clearly happy to simply sit at her side and hold her hand as the others questioned her. Food and drink was brought and they ate their fill, talking about the articles that were to be written in the coming days.

Eventually Amy yawned and stretched before addressing the small group.

‘Tomorrow morning we will leave this village. Our presence here puts the village in danger. From now on, we must consider ourselves fugitives, and we have to do everything we can to keep our whereabouts hidden from everyone.

‘Susie, you are the only one who will need to communicate with the outside world over the next few days when you talk to Michael White. You can tell him that we are in the Amazon, but you will not be able to tell him anything about where in the Amazon we are. And every time you speak to him we will immediately move at least 10 kilometres away, so that if anyone manages to pin-point our location by getting a fix on our position from the GPS signal on the phone, they still won’t be able to find us.

‘Is everyone clear on what they need to do? Is everyone still willing to go ahead with this?’

Nods and affirmations.

‘OK. We need to turn in now, and get a good night’s sleep. We have a busy day ahead of us tomorrow.’

Her companions rose, each one coming over to give her a hug before they moved back to their communal tent until only Amy and Diego were left at the fire.

‘Sometimes I feel weak,’ Amy said to her lover. ‘I need you to hold me, and to tell me that everything is going to be OK.’

She took his hand and led him from the fire into the forest. After three minutes’ walk they came to a small area with soft moss on the ground and Amy lay down, pulling Diego to her in a tight embrace. He whispered encouragement to her until she slept, and then he relaxed himself in her arms and they both lay in a sound sleep.

CHAPTER 13

Enemies Collude

˜

Dave Wilkinson paced his office, impatiently waiting for Varela to appear. He had received a call from Varela earlier in the day, and he replayed the short conversation in his mind as he waited.

‘Dave, I have news.’

‘Is it about our environmental lady that has been causing such problems?’

‘Yes, let me tell ...’

‘Stop right there. Don’t say a word. I have concerns about all of our security at the moment, and these cell phones are the least secure technology we have. I want you to get on a plane and meet me in my office in Houston, OK?’

‘Houston? Dave, I think I have information, but I’m not sure if it is one hundred per cent reliable. Surely you don’t want me to fly up there just for that?’

‘Yes, Varela. That’s exactly what I want. How soon can you be here?’

‘OK, OK, but don’t blame me if you feel it wasn’t worth the trip – this flight is being charged to Greenergy. I should be there by about seven PM your time.’

‘Right. Come straight to the office. See you at seven.’

Wilkinson felt he was on the cusp of a turn in events. He was still shaken by the meeting with ‘Rousseau’, and wondered if the immediate future held the resolution of all his problems, or the destruction of everything he had worked so hard for throughout his adult life. Whatever information Varela had, it might be the saving or the end of all his dreams, and he had spent the day waiting for Varela to arrive, afraid since his conversation with Rousseau to trust that Greenergy’s communications systems were secure from hacking.

A knock on his office door.

‘Come in.’

Varela walked in, looking unsettled and nervous.

‘This is crazy, Dave. Why the hell have you made me fly all the way up here? I don’t even know whether or not my info is right, much less whether or not it’s useful, even if it is right. Why couldn’t I just tell you over the phone? What the hell has gotten into you?’

‘You don’t know the half of it, Joe. There’s some pretty weird shit going on right now, and we’re not the only ones interested in Amy fucking Williams. Remember you told me about the other guys who were looking for her, who fire-bombed that fucking village - Elino, was it?’

‘Yeah,’ he said cautiously.

‘Well, I think I’ve met one of them, or a representative speaking for them, at least. And they’ve compromised all our security systems. I had one of them standing right where you’re standing now. And he told me some weird shit about Williams that put this whole thing in a new light. They don’t want to kill her, they want to “capture” her – they want to “study” her.’

‘What? But I heard they wiped out an entire village! That doesn’t sound like attempted capture to me! They definitely wanted her dead, at that stage anyway.’

‘I don’t know the details. Maybe they knew she wasn’t in Elino, and were sending a message to let people know that if they help her, they’re putting themselves in the firing line. I don’t know; I honestly fucking don’t. But I do know that I wouldn’t want to get on their wrong side, that’s for sure. Anyway, tell me what you’ve heard, and we’ll see if we think it’s any use.’

‘OK, OK. Well, it seems that she might have been in Manaus.’

‘Manaus? What the fucking hell would she be doing in Manaus? We’ve never heard a whisper about her being anywhere except in the deepest jungle. Where did you hear this?’

‘It came from Alvarez. He’s still fucking scared of her, but he’s desperate for someone to take her out. He said he has contacts in Manaus – I got the impression he was talking about arms dealers, maybe drugs and shit, I don’t know. But anyway, he said one of his contacts saw her in the port in Manaus the day before yesterday, and he followed her. It seems she met some black market guy in the dead of night, that this contact of Alvarez’ does some work for. But the word down there is that she was on a shopping spree.’

‘A shopping spree? Jesus, Varela, if you don’t get to the fucking point, I swear I’ll strangle you with my own hands! What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘Give me a chance, Dave; I’m trying to tell you. This white American in her twenties was in Manaus, and bought a shit-load of stuff, like she was going on a jungle expedition. You know, camping equipment and all that kind of field gear. And she was buying high-tech stuff as well, computer and video gear and all that. But that’s not the most interesting part.’

‘OK, what’s the most interesting part then?’

‘Weapons. It seems she bought guns, ammo, explosives. She bought all this gear from some dealer in Manaus, paid cash for it, and drove off into the jungle yesterday. I reckon it has to be her – she matches the description of Williams, and it makes sense that Williams would be buying all that stuff ‘cause Alvarez’ men burnt her camp out. And there was something else. Alvarez wasn’t clear on this, but there was something funny about the whole deal, you know what I mean?’

‘No, Joe, I don’t know what you mean. Something funny?’

‘Yeah, stop and think about it for a second. It doesn’t make sense when you stop and think about it. This girl is in the fucking jungle, and Alvarez destroys her camp – he said they burned everything in it. And within a couple of days, she’s in Manaus, spending hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash with fucking gunrunners? None of that makes sense. Who the fuck is she, that she can get that much cash in the middle of nowhere, that she has those kinds of contacts, that she can be out buying guns and explosives? But that’s not really what I meant about something funny going on.

‘Alvarez said that she seemed to have protection. As I said, he got this info from a contact of his – Alvarez either didn’t know or wouldn’t tell me his name. But his source says that even the gunrunner, who has to be a pretty fucking tough guy himself, seemed almost to be afraid of the girl. And it wasn’t the standard, “She has friends and you need to be careful”. That’s the bit I don’t understand. It was like she was under some kind of magical protection, that this fucking gunrunner treated her with respect, and he even seemed to like her.’

Wilkinson sat and thought for a moment. Should he tell ‘Rousseau’ about this latest information? Would it leave him better or worse off? Would Rousseau take the girl out of the picture, and leave Greenergy free to exploit the resources of the Amazon as efficiently and as profitably as they could? Or would it mire Greenergy in something that they didn’t need to be part of – something that at best might land Greenergy with a PR problem, or at worst could land Wilkinson himself in jail?

‘OK, Joe. I need to think about this and see if it’s information that is any use to us. Was there anything else Alvarez said that might be useful?’

‘Nope, that’s all I have. Dunno if it’s accurate – I guess it is, but no way to know for sure. And I don’t know if it’s any use – Alvarez isn’t going to go after her again; he’s made that clear, so I don’t know what, if anything, we can do with the info. I could see if we can go through some other intermediaries to set up another try to get her?’

‘No, Joe, no. Definitely not. We’ll take no action at this time. I have my own reasons for that, which I can’t go into at the moment, but right now, we do nothing. Leave it with me. I want you to head back, and continue the work as usual. Forget about Williams, at least in the context of doing anything about her, but do continue to keep an ear out. Let me know if you find out anything, no matter how small. Other than that, keep the show on the road – we have a business to run in South America, and we need to keep everything on schedule, OK?’

‘Sure, Dave, you’re the boss. I’ll head back, and keep the wheels turning. Let me know if you need anything else.’

After brief goodbyes, Varela left, and Wilkinson considered this new information. What to do?

He turned the question over and over in his mind, veering towards taking no action one minute, then resolving to contact Rousseau, before changing his mind again. Eventually he logged back into his PC, and brought up his email. He put his own name in the recipient’s field, and typed ‘Luc Rousseau’ into the title. He hesitated for a moment more, before taking a deep breath and pressing the send button. Then he sat back in his chair and waited to see what would happen. For better or worse, he had set the wheels in motion now, and could only wait to see what direction events would take from here.

He sat and thought, wondering what would happen next. As was his habit, he doodled on his A4 pad, drawing meaningless shapes, writing down key words as they occurred to him and drawing shapes and symbols around them. His page was almost covered in his scribbling, when his cell-phone rang. He picked it up, looking at the display and seeing that the caller was unidentified, before pressing the Call Accept.

‘Hello.’

‘Mr Wilkinson. It’s a pleasure to speak to you again. You wanted to talk to me?’

‘Ah, Mr Rousseau, yes indeed. I have some information that might be of use to you, although I cannot vouch for its authenticity, so you will have to decide for yourself whether or not you want to take it at face value. Would it be possible to meet at some time so that we can discuss it? I’m not sure it would be advisable to discuss it over this line.’

‘Indeed. It is good that you seem to be taking at least some basic security precautions. You are in your office, yes?’

‘Yes, I am.’

‘Good. I will be there in under an hour.’ And the line went dead.

Wilkinson wondered again about Mr Rousseau and the people he represented. A corporate structure, but highly secretive. Selling services to the highest bidder. Just what the hell were these people up to? Resolving to ask Mr Rousseau for more information when he arrived, Wilkinson returned to his ponderings, considering all the different paths that events might take. As he sat and considered the potential value of this find, his door opened.

‘Mr Wilkinson.’

‘Mr Rousseau. How did you get in again without getting a pass from Security? I’ve emphasised to them that they need to step up their procedures!’

‘You are assuming that I entered through the lobby. There are many ways in and out of your building, Mr Wilkinson, and not all of them are protected as well as they should be.’

‘Well, you don’t look as though you’ve been scaling walls. Just how did you get in here?’

‘That is irrelevant to me at this point in time, Mr Wilkinson. Now, you called – I assume it is in connection with your recent discussion with Mr Varela in your office here?’

Wilkinson couldn’t stop an involuntary gasp. ‘How the hell did you know about that?’

‘Mr Wilkinson,’ said Rousseau patiently, as though explaining to a child, ‘I have already told you your systems are not secure. Not your physical building security, your IT security, or your communications. We know as much as we need to know about you. If we deemed it necessary, we would know everything you say and do, in your office, in your car, in your home. Now, tell me what has happened.’

Wilkinson swallowed, convinced more than ever that he was playing the ultimate high-stakes game, and very conscious that he didn’t really know anything about the people he was getting involved with. They had exceptional resources at their disposal; that was clear. And if Varela’s story about them firebombing an Amazonian village was true, then there was also no doubt that they were in a different and altogether more dangerous league than Greenergy. And yet, this might be the key to removing the activist that had become more and more problematic in Wilkinson’s key area of operations. Wilkinson swallowed again, resolved that it was all-or-nothing time, and he really had no choice at this stage than to play the hand he had been given, and see where the cards would fall.

‘OK, OK Mr Rousseau. We have information that may or may not relate to the girl you are interested in. I don’t know for sure if this information is correct or accurate, you understand? I can only tell you what we have heard, and it is up to you to take it or leave it as you judge best. OK?’

‘Yes. Now get on with it,’ the tone becoming slightly impatient.

‘OK. A girl matching her description was seen – well, I have been told this, but I don’t know if it is true …’

‘I said, get on with it! We will be the judge of how relevant it is.’

‘OK, OK. A girl who looks like her was apparently seen in Manaus yesterday. She was buying supplies on the black market, everything from regular jungle expedition supplies to comms gear to - and this is presumably the most interesting bit - weaponry. She apparently paid for it all in cash, and drove off with the whole lot.’

‘Hmmm. Interesting.’

‘Well, maybe you can clear something up for me. How the hell could she get that kind of cash? – I was told it ran to hundreds of thousands of US dollars.’

‘A paltry sum to your Ms Williams, I can assure you. She has access to many, many multiples of such a small amount at a moment’s notice. Who was she dealing with in Manaus?’

‘I don’t know. We didn’t get that information.’

‘And does your source know this information? Someone has to know where this information came from.’

‘I told you, I don’t know. That’s all we have, and as I said, it is up to you to decide whether or not you want to use it.’

‘Yes indeed, that is true. However, it seems to me that in order to assess the veracity of what you have been told, we need to talk to the person who told you. Does that not seem logical?’

‘I don’t care if it seems logical or not,’ Wilkinson blustered. ‘As I told you, that’s all we know. End of story.’

‘Hmmm. Well, Varela told you. Does Varela know where this information originated from?’

‘No, he doesn’t know,’ Wilkinson said, increasingly uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. ‘His source either didn’t know himself, or else chose not to tell Varela – we don’t know which.’

‘And who told Varela?’

‘I can’t tell you that! Jesus Christ, I might as well just let you do my entire fucking job!’

‘You still do not seem to understand, Mr Wilkinson. I am not asking you to tell me. I am ordering you. You may choose to protect whatever hoodlum Varela got this information from, but if you do, your family will pay a high price, as will you.’

‘My … my family? What the fuck are you talking about?’

‘Mr Wilkinson. If you do not cooperate, we will release certain details concerning irregular payments from Greenergy accounts based on fabricated invoices, and we will show that the recipient accounts are controlled by some of the most murderous gangs in South America. The paperwork will show that you authorised those payments, and so your career will be ruined and you will be in jail. Greenergy itself will also suffer heavily from such revelations. And in terms of your family, what I mean is that it would be very easy for one of your fine young sons to be the victim of an unfortunate crime, maybe a mugging gone wrong. It is so sad when one reads of these incidents in the newspaper, is it not? A young life cut off in its prime, apparently as a result of a random act?

‘Now, who told Varela?’

Wilkinson groaned. What had he gotten himself into? Where was the way out? He thought furiously. He hadn’t gotten to his present elevated position by being hesitant, or by being afraid to take the hard decisions and issue the tough orders when they were called for. He frantically reviewed his position, evaluating and discarding alternatives.

‘And if you decide that this has gone far enough, I assure you that there is no way out,’ said Rousseau, as though he could read Wilkinson’s thoughts. ‘Just to make sure that you understand what we are capable of, I believe you are shortly going to get a call from your darling wife. You need to answer that call. In the meantime, I want you to consider the situation.’

With that, Rousseau turned to the small bar and poured himself a whiskey. He sat down across from Wilkinson, watching him as one might watch a specimen in an experiment.

Wilkinson sat still, stunned into immobility while his mind raced. What was Rousseau talking about – how could he know that Wilkinson was about to get a call from his wife? And what could she be calling about? Just what had he gotten himself into?

After a couple of minutes, Wilkinson’s cell phone rang. He looked at the display. It was his wife.

‘Hello dear’, trying to keep his voice steady.

‘Dave, Dave, you have to come home,’ she said, her voice almost hysterical.

‘What? Why? What’s wrong?’

‘Oh Dave, it’s awful. Someone broke into the house. They got in through the back door, though I’m sure it was locked. But the police are here and they say the person must have had a key, ‘cause the door is unlocked now and there’s no sign of a break-in. Oh Dave.’

‘It’s OK honey, I’m here. What happened? Is anyone hurt?’

‘No, no, but it’s a miracle. The police say Wayne must have disturbed the intruder – he was upstairs studying and came down to get a drink. He didn’t know anything was wrong until he walked into the kitchen. They … they …’

‘Take your time, honey. You said the cops are there, so you’re safe now. What is it? What did they do?’

‘It’s crazy, Dave. The police don’t know what to make of it. They wrote on the kitchen wall. I don’t understand.’

‘Understand? What do you mean? What did they write?’

‘Easy. They wrote it on the wall. Over the worktop. Just one word. Just easy. That’s it. Why would someone do that?’

‘I don’t know, honey. Maybe the cops are right. Maybe you accidentally left the door unlocked, though I know you’re usually paranoid about that kinda stuff. Maybe some local kid got in, and was just playing about. Look, I’m sure it’ll be fine. Let the cops check the place out if it makes you feel better. I’ll leave the office now and be home as soon as I can, OK?’ he said, trying to keep his voice calm.

‘Please, Dave, yes. Get home as soon as you can.’

‘Richard is waiting downstairs for me to finish, so that he can drive me home. I’ll get him to break every red light if I need to, honey. Just relax and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

He said goodbye to his wife and looked at Rousseau, with fear and anger in equal measure.

‘That was you, wasn’t it? Easy?’

‘Yes, Dave, that was us. Just so that you understand your predicament. Now, who told Varela? Then you can go home and comfort your dear wife.’

Wilkinson didn’t have to think about it anymore. He knew he had no choice. This was the way the cards were falling, and all he could do now was to try to see the game through.

‘Alvarez. Alvarez told Varela that he got this information from someone, but he didn’t say who. Apparently it was someone who was working with the gunrunner that she bought all the stuff from.’

‘Thank you, Mr Wilkinson. Now, wasn’t that easy? I will leave you now. I suggest you go home. There will be no further problems as long as you cooperate. And remember, we are monitoring all of your communications. We are dealing with you, and you alone. Do not mention me or our association in any way, to anyone inside or outside Greenergy. If you do, I’m afraid the next break-in at your home will have much more tragic consequences. And at the end of this, we will have the girl and you will be free to pursue your interests in the Amazon and beyond.’

With that Rousseau got up and left the room. Wilkinson sat still for a moment, still stunned by the speed at which events were now moving. He shivered and then called down to the lobby to have his driver ready as he urgently needed to get home. He left the office, hoping that it would end as Rousseau had predicted.

It was thirty minutes later that St Claire walked into Wilkinson’s office. He spent five minutes sitting at Wilkinson’s desk and then left as quietly as he had entered.

CHAPTER 14

A Warning

˜

Amy woke and looked at Diego sleeping beside her. He looked so peaceful, lying on his back, one arm stretched under her neck, his mouth slightly open as he breathed the humid air in his sleep. She stroked his cheek gently, thinking how lucky she was to have such a capable and loyal friend, ally and lover. She could feel that the next few weeks were going to see her succeed or fail in the mission she had set for herself. Although she had minimal contact with the outside world, she knew from the stories of her companions as they had joined her group that there was a groundswell of change sweeping the globe. Change was in the air, from financial and political turmoil, to natural disasters and changes in weather patterns around the world. And now she was aiming to introduce a social and political and environmental change that would fundamentally alter the way humanity looked at itself as part of the environment.

She shivered at the enormity of the task before her, but then calmed herself, thinking of the many wise words she had heard over recent years, from Jopl to the chief of this small tribe. She knew that she had to set herself the goal based on what she believed was right, throw all her energy and passion into achieving her aims; yet not feel attachment to the outcome of her efforts. That was the key to the peace and wisdom that she sought – to do one’s best, and to leave all else in the hands of Creation. She would let the Universe decide whether or not she was on the right track, let the Consciousness of the world determine what was to be. Feeling thus reassured, Amy sent her senses out into the world about her, feeling again the true oneness of all that was around her. She felt that if she needed to, she would be able to hold all Creation in her awareness, that she could know all that ever was and ever could be.

‘Diego,’ softly and gently.

He stirred beside her, slowly opening his eyes and finding her in his field of vision. He slowly smiled, and she wondered if he was one of the true loves of her life. Then she corrected herself, for she knew that not only Diego but every living and non-living thing in the Universe was her true love, that even beyond the physical Universe was love.

‘Good morning, darling’ he murmured, looking up at her with wonder in his eyes. ‘Are you OK?’, a slight note of concern in his voice.

‘OK?’ she answered, smiling. ‘I am better than OK. I am growing, Diego. I don’t yet understand it, but I feel myself … changing. I feel as though I am a caterpillar that is slowly changing, unaware that he will shortly be the most beautiful butterfly, able to stretch his wings and fly, leaving behind the ground that has held him prisoner all his life. I can’t describe it, Diego, but I know something is happening, and I know it is good.’

He looked at her in wonder. It seemed to Diego that she was becoming ever more beautiful, with an ephemeral impression that she looked both more and less human than ever before. He knew while looking at her that he was witnessing something wondrous, though he could not say what it was. She looked both fragile and indomitable at the same time, simultaneously solid, physical and human, but also magical, supernatural and mystical in a way that he couldn’t properly recognise, much less verbalise. He felt love, as he had for Amy since shortly after meeting her. But he also felt safe and secure, bathing in her quiet certainty.

‘You look … incredible’ was as much as he could say, and he saw in her eyes that she understood the depth of what he was trying to say as she stroked his cheek with tenderness and love.

‘What’s the plan?’ he asked, sensing that she was taking time to spend with him, even though there were urgent and pressing matters to be addressed.

‘The plan?’ she asked, a smile twitching at the corner of her mouth as though the question was amusing. ‘The plan, my darling, is simply this – we will do what we can do, and the outcome will be as it will be. It is so simple really. I feel the pain of people when they try to mould their reality to suit their perception of what is best. And yet, in truth, the simplest and the most fulfilling path, and the path to true happiness, is so simple, so easy. We will just do our best, and we will not seek beyond that to coerce the Universe. We will be as satisfied with the outcome if it does not meet our plan, as we will be if it does. So the plan is simply to disappear as we discussed, write the articles, get the TV crew in, and support the publication of the articles with your social media campaign.

‘Let’s go get the others. We need to eat, gather our gear, and disappear.’

She rose and pulled Diego to his feet, embracing him and making him feel that the world was already complete. She moved him back to arm’s length, still holding onto his upper arms, and gazed at him.

‘You Are.’

‘I am what?’ he asked, though he already sensed the answer.

‘There is no “what”,’ she answered, holding him in her gaze. ‘That’s the whole point. You simply Are. And that is enough.’

She kissed him, and taking his hand in hers, they walked back to the small village.

As they walked into the clearing, they saw their comrades sitting down to start the breakfast that the villagers must have just laid out for them. Amy and Diego joined the small group, greeting them warmly. Amy moved around, hugging John, Philip, AnneMarie and Susie in turn, murmuring ‘You Are’ to each of them as she embraced them. As Diego watched, he could see that they were as affected by Amy as he was. They seemed to grow as she embraced them, standing tall and appearing both gentler and stronger after her embrace. He couldn’t tell if Amy was aware of this, or how she felt about it if she was aware, as she sat and reached out for a piece of fruit.

‘Come, one and all,’ she said. ‘Sit and eat. We have some very busy days ahead of us, so eat and drink, fill yourselves with the goodness and energy of the forest, so that you are prepared.’

They sat around in a circle, enjoying the bounty that the villagers had laid before them. They chatted, relaxed yet energised by the work to come. They questioned Amy about the details of what they were to do, discussing the various articles to be written and debating what was to be included and what not, what was to be emphasised and what not.

Susie was concerned that she hadn’t been able to speak to Michael White, the TV environmentalist, since her first conversation with him four days ago. Her initial information had intrigued him, with her promises of environmental scoops including many new discoveries making White anxious to get filming as soon as possible.

‘He said he might even cancel another trip he was about to do, so that he could come out here straightaway, Amy. I’m worried that with no contact since I spoke to him four days ago, he might have gone ahead and confirmed his other trip. And I know how reliant the whole strategy is on getting his documentary aired as soon as possible to support the campaign. I didn’t discuss that with him when I spoke to him, but you know that something like this usually takes months if not more, from when the programme is initially planned, through shooting and editing until it is finally aired. I’m really worried about this, and I’ve gotten more worried about it the more I’ve thought about it. What happens if I can’t get him out here in time, or if he can’t get the programme edited and aired in time?’

‘Don’t worry, Susie. Be calm. You Are. I want you to do everything you can to get him out here urgently. Be as persuasive as you can be, let him know that he will see sights that have never been seen before, talk to the others about what examples you can give him over the phone. I am confident that he will jump at the chance, and that he will prioritise this over everything else. But if he doesn’t, then that’s OK too. Either way, You Are and I Am. We all Are. Do you understand?’

‘Honestly? Not really. But that’s OK. Once we get underway I’ll call him and see where we go from there.’

The conversation continued in this vein, each member of the party talking about what he or she had to do, and the group brainstorming each element of the plan as they reviewed it. They reassured Amy, who considered herself to be very non-technical, that as long as they had the communications equipment and fuel for the generator, they would be able to work all of the electronic apparatus and operate in the virtual online world as easily as if they were working in a sophisticated city office. Before they knew it, the food was gone, and it was time to move out. The chief approached the group.

‘Angiru-mitakuna.’

Amy got up and bowed respectfully to the chief.

‘The time draws close.’

Amy smiled as she asked, ‘The time of beginning or of ending?’

He smiled back at her. ‘You are learning. Wisdom draws near. You know that every ending is a beginning, and every beginning is an ending. This is the way it is. Nothing truly begins to be or ceases to be – only changes. Ends and begins. The two together, inseparable.’

‘So we approach an ending and a beginning? A change, nothing more?’

‘A change, yes. But do not say “nothing more”. For some changes are fundamental to the fabric of life. I sense such a change in the wind. It calls to me, and I think it is good. There are dangers along your path, yes; yet you must do what you must do.’

Amy turned to her friends and beckoned them to her. They rose and stood each side of her, and as she bowed once more to the chief, they mimicked the movement, bowing to him as a team. While he and Amy had been speaking, the villagers had silently formed two lines, getting closer to each other as the ends of the lines reached the edge of the clearing, as though they were a spear pointing the way. After Amy and her companions bowed to the chief, he and the two lines of villagers bowed to them. At that, Amy started to walk, proud and erect, between the two lines of villagers, her friends following behind her. She led them out of the clearing and onto a forest track, leaving the village behind without a backward glance.

After a few short minutes they reached the spot where Amy had hidden the truck. She pulled aside the saplings, and they all crowded forward to see the truck and its contents.

‘Time enough to examine what we have, when we are far from this place,’ Amy said. ‘Two of you can fit in the cab with me, but the other three will have to sit in the back. Susie, will you sit in the front with me and one of the others – one of the cell phones is in the cab, and you can call Michael White as we drive.’

The three men pulled themselves into the back of the truck, exclaiming like children at Christmas as they saw the laptops and the cameras, but becoming a little more subdued as they saw the guns. AnneMarie and Susie climbed in the passenger door as Amy mounted from the driver’s side, turning the key and kicking the truck into life. She pulled out slowly and started to drive the half-tracked beast of burden through the undergrowth.

As they drove, Susie powered up the cell phone and made her call. Amy and AnneMarie could follow her side of the conversation, and knew the outcome before Susie ended the call and turned to them in triumph.

‘He’s completely sold on it! You know how passionate he is about preservation, and when I told him about the ruins and some of the medicinal stuff, I think he nearly wet himself in excitement. He knew from our last conversation that we had something significant for him, but now he’s convinced that, to use his own phrase, “this is a game-changer”. He was waiting for my call, and now that he’s satisfied that I wasn’t exaggerating the last time, and now I’ve told him so much more detail, he said he’ll be ready to move within twenty-four hours.

‘We’re lucky that he was going to do this other job, because he has his team and all their equipment ready to go. And because he has his own production company, it seems he’s totally free to cancel the other trip – he was going to Southeast Asia to do filming there – he can cancel that and re-divert the flight to here. He said it will take him only a few hours to get the flight plan altered, and he reckons he’ll be here tomorrow. Can you believe it?’ she finished, excited and proud that she had delivered so successfully.

‘Well done, Susie,’ Amy said. ‘I knew you would pull it off. We’ll arrange for him to drive to somewhere remote that he can get to, and we’ll meet him there and bring him deeper into the forest. The last thing we need now is for our enemies to find us, especially when we have other people involved. I don’t like putting other people in danger’s way, but it has to be done. But we’ll protect Michael and his crew as best we can.’

Susie and AnneMarie were sobered at the reminder that their camp had been attacked only four nights ago, that John had been shot, and they didn’t know what would have happened to Diego if Amy hadn’t rescued him.

‘Don’t worry, girls,’ Amy reassured them. ‘It’s just a matter of staying hidden. I don’t know if you noticed, but I was heading as close to due south as I could manage while Susie was on the phone, but now I’ve turned onto a northwest heading. That’s so that even if someone was tracking our location by the phone signal, which I don’t think anyone is – not yet, at least – even then, they wouldn’t be able to find us. And hopefully that’s all we need to do, in order to stay safe for the next few weeks while we prepare all the articles and Michael’s filming. We just need to constantly move, especially if we use the phones or go online with the laptops.’

As Amy continued to navigate the terrain, the talk in the cab turned once more to the articles, focussing on AnneMarie’s. AnneMarie explained that she wanted to do the article in four sections. The first three sections would detail discoveries they had made in a number of areas, covering some of the interrelationships between the flora and fauna that cast a new understanding on the dynamics of the region; the food aspects in terms of what plants and animals could be cultivated to grow in what regions of the world, which AnneMarie suspected would significantly boost global food production; and finally the medicinal aspects, which AnneMarie was convinced would lead to radical advances in pharmacology. Finally, she would turn to EC, presenting it as the method by which they had made more discoveries in a couple of years than had been made across generations previously.

‘The more I think about it, Amy, the more I wonder why we didn’t do this before now. It seems so obvious, and the more I think about what I can include, especially if we tie in part of Michael’s documentary to support it, the more I’m convinced that we are going to make an unprecedented impact.’

‘I understand, AnneMarie, but the time was not right before now. We have refined and extended our understanding in recent months, so now we can talk much more authoritatively about these things, and we have more demonstrable proof. For example, we’ll see if we can get Michael to transport some plant extracts to some of your contacts in the pharma industry, so that they can start trials immediately to prove they have the effects we say they do. At the same time, our hand is being forced now, both because Greenergy has stepped up their efforts to include attempted murder, and for other reasons. But mostly because time is running out for the Amazon – we have to stop this destruction quickly, because this ecosystem is quickly reaching the point of no return. If the damage lasts much longer, it will not only become irreversible, but it will start a chain reaction of system breakdowns that will unleash catastrophic consequences, not just here in the Amazon but around the world. If that happens, nowhere will escape the effects, and it will be the greatest upheaval the world has ever seen since the last Ice Age.

‘Now, I can’t say with absolute certainty that this would be a bad thing, especially in the long run - maybe that’s exactly what is meant to happen. But for the moment I am content to try to protect this environment, and try to make progress through positive change rather than through cataclysm. So we will do our thing, and we will see what happens after that.’

They drove on through the rest of the day, until Amy stopped on the edge of a small clearing that seemed to satisfy her needs. The team started to set up a small camp, with Amy emphasising that they needed to be able to move at very short notice. She warned them that all essential equipment was to remain in the truck when not in actual use, so if worse came to the worst, they could simply drive off and leave other stuff behind.

While the team erected the tents and prepared a meal, Amy took one of the laptops and a cell phone, telling her friends that she was leaving the camp in case the signal was being traced when she went online. She started to run like the wind and after thirty minutes she paused, judging that she was now far enough from the temporary campsite so that even if her whereabouts were pin-pointed, it would not be enough for any enemies, whether in PCIA or Greenergy, to use the location of the signal to subsequently find the camp in the midst of the Amazonian wilderness

She powered up the laptop, logging into the account that she used to communicate with her source in Greenergy. There was a message for her, saying that her source needed to talk to her urgently. Amy looked at it for a time, wondering what the message meant, and whether or not she could trust this source. She knew that all of the information she had received to date had proved reliable, and indeed had at times been critical in her fight against Greenergy. She sent back a message asking if her anonymous friend had a secure number that she could call on, and after only a few minutes she got a reply listing what looked like a US cell phone number.

Amy thought again, and decided to call the number. She dialled the number she had been given.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello. I got a message to call this number.’

‘Thank God you called. Thank you for trusting me.’

‘I’m not sure I do yet. But I have taken precautions. Have you? Is this line safe to talk on?’

‘Oh yes’. The voice was male, the accent undoubtedly French, though with American overtones. A Frenchman who had spent a number of years in the US, Amy guessed. ‘It is fully secure. I am taking a huge risk in talking to you, Ms Williams. You know that the information I have provided you with before now has always been reliable. I cannot do what I would like to do, so through helping you I hope in some small way to make up for my sins.’

‘Your sins?’

‘Yes. I used to believe in so much, but my ideals were compromised over the years, so that now I do what I used to protest against. I am what I used to hate. And so I help you. To make amends. As far as I can.’

‘Well, I’m glad for your help, I truly am. Your message seemed urgent, and you have never asked to speak to me before. What has happened?’

‘I’m not sure. But I have information that may mean more to you than it does to me. You remember I told you that Dave Wilkinson is in charge of our South American operations?’

‘Yes, I remember,’ Amy answered, thinking that her informant had unwittingly let slip that he worked for Greenergy. ‘That was very useful information a few days ago.’

‘I imagine it was. The Board was in uproar after Wilkinson had Varela nearly kill you with that ‘dozer. So I’m told anyway; obviously I wasn’t there.’

‘If you say so,’ Amy said, wondering if this was the Frenchman she knew from her research was on the Board of Greenergy. Though why he would be helping her, she couldn’t imagine. She was going to have to do some research when this call was finished. ‘Is that why you wanted to speak to me, to tell me what happened at the Board?’

‘No, though that is part of it. I am told that the minutes of that particular Board meeting will show that the Board was concerned for your safety, and that local Greenergy representatives are trying to make contact with you so that your concerns can be discussed. That is what the minutes will say.’

‘I take it that the minutes might not fully reflect the conversations that took place, then?’

‘That is correct. Well, the minutes are an accurate reflection of what was said. But they do not cover what was not said. There was an unspoken agreement that you are to be removed, by whatever means are necessary. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, I understand. And I believe they moved quickly, because our camp was attacked four nights ago. I believe the attack was orchestrated by Greenergy, or by Wilkinson at least, if he was acting on his own initiative. And I have no doubt that murder was the aim!’

‘You may be correct. I would not be surprised, although I had not heard about it. But it makes sense – the Board of Greenergy has agreed to sanction your murder, even though it was never spoken. I don’t think you would ever be able to prove that Greenergy was behind such an attempt, Ms Williams.’

‘I had assumed as much, my friend. Thank you for the warning. I think I have more to worry about than Wilkinson and his thugs, but it is good to get confirmation of what I suspected.’

‘There is more. Wilkinson has had two visits from an unlogged visitor in recent days. Do not ask me how I know this, but I believe the visits are important, and that they are probably connected to you. After the most recent of these visits, just this evening, I had an opportunity to see Wilkinson’s notepad – he always scribbles pictures and notes to himself when he is thinking. You name was on that pad, Ms Williams, circled with daggers! Also Varela’s name – he is the man who spoke to you when you were almost killed by that ‘dozer. The other two names are not known to me, but they might mean something to you.’

‘Go ahead,’ encouraged Amy.

‘The first was Alvarez – I do not know who that is. The other was a Christian name, Luc. Does either of those mean anything to you?’

‘No, I don’t recognise either of them. However, given that they were on the same pad as my name and Varela’s, I think you are right that it has something to do with me. Presumably, they are something to do with Wilkinson’s attempts to get rid of me.’

For some reason, a picture of the mercenaries that she had paralysed to save Diego flashed in her mind. Amy wondered if either Alvarez or Luc was connected to these men.

‘Thank you for telling me this. Do you have any other information that might be of use?’

‘Just one more piece, though again it means nothing to me. Wilkinson had written “Secret Corporation” on his pad, in the middle as though it was important. I don’t know what that could be referring to, though, do you?’

Amy forced her voice to stay level, resisting the urge to gasp. She knew with an unyielding certainty that ‘Secret Corporation’ could mean only one thing – the PCIA. If that was correct, then it meant that the PCIA had linked up with Wilkinson and Greenergy in their attempts to find her. The world had in a moment become a much more perilous place.

‘Thank you again,’ Amy said, avoiding the question. ‘Anything else?’

‘No, that is all I have. I hope it is of some use. As always, if I get anything more that might be of use, I will send you a message.’

‘OK. It was nice to talk to you at last. Take care of yourself.’

‘I will. I am trying to make amends, but I am not a brave man. You take care of yourself as well.’

‘I will. Goodnight,’ Amy said, and disconnected the call, already deep in thought. She jogged at a right-angle to the direction she had taken from the camp, and after a while stopped and used her laptop to connect to the Internet. She did some brief research on the French Board member of Greenergy, finding that his name was Philippe St Claire, and that in his youth he had been outspoken against the use of fossil fuels, and was an articulate supporter of renewable energy. She was not certain, but she thought it very likely that her informant was indeed St Claire.

She turned her attention next to Alvarez, searching for the name and getting a series of hits that did not seem to be relevant in any way. Then she came across a brief article on terrorist activities in South America, which mentioned the name of a man named Alvarez who was described in the article as a mercenary gun-for-hire who had been involved in a number of unspecified atrocities over the past decade.

She logged off the web and again was sunk in thought. Maybe Alvarez was the man who had organised the attack on her camp for Wilkinson. Given what she had just read, it seemed plausible that Greenergy would use such a man if they had decided to have her killed. And now it seemed that the PCIA were involved as well. What did it mean? The PCIA would have resources massively over and above what Greenergy could deploy against her. But could they find her? She had given no indication since leaving her camp of where she was. There should be nothing to connect her to Alheio village. But as she considered this, a shiver ran down her spine, and she had a bad feeling. Could the PCIA connect her with Alheio in any way? Her comrades hadn’t known where they were going after their camp was attacked, and hadn’t been in communication with the outside world since. She thought back over Susie’s conversation with Michael White, and satisfied herself that there was no mention of Alheio by name, or anything that could identify the village. She ran through her visit to Manaus, and while she felt sure that she hadn’t identified the village in any way, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong.

She felt the village was in danger, though she couldn’t understand why she felt that way. But she had learned to trust her instincts, and decided that if she had such a strong feeling, even though she couldn’t explain it, she had to warn the chief. But how? She didn’t want to return to the village, as she felt they needed to move away from it continually over the coming days. So how was she to warn the chief that the village might be in danger?

As she thought about it, she felt a presence approaching. Not human. It was animal. As it got closer, she knew it was feline. She waited calmly, knowing that events were ordering themselves. As she watched, a jaguar gracefully walked towards her, stopping a short distance from her and regarding her with green eyes. The cat tilted her head slightly, as if she was waiting for Amy to act.

Amy slowly stood, unsure of what was expected of her. She walked towards the jaguar, until she stood next to her shoulder. She reached out, stroking the cat as she stood quietly, peacefully, but with a power and ferocity that Amy could sense was being held in check. Not knowing what she was about to do, Amy moved to the front of the large cat, and knelt before her, almost touching. The jaguar continued to watch her, and Amy again had a strong sensation that the cat was waiting for her.

She leaned forward, until her forehead was resting on the jaguar’s nose. She pictured the route back to the village, and then pictured the village itself. She pictured fire and explosions, and death being rained down on the village from the sky. She held the picture for a moment, before removing it and picturing the chief of the village. She knelt back and looked at the jaguar, willing her to understand what she was trying to do. After she and the jaguar had rested for a moment, she again leant forward until her forehead touched the jaguar‘s nose. Again she ran through the same sequence of visual images, accompanying the pictures of the village’s destruction with feelings of pain and loss. After a time, she leaned back again. She stared at the jaguar and then rose to her feet in front of her. The cat looked at her for a moment before turning and accelerating into a run as she left her view, moving in the direction of the village.

Amy watched her leave, in wonderment at what had just happened. She didn’t know if it would work, but for the moment it was as much as she could do. With that taken care of, she herself turned and left, heading back towards the camp and her companions.

CHAPTER 15

Death and Destruction

˜

Alvarez sat in a bar in Manaus with his cronies. It was a rough part of the city, where illegality was not just a way of life, but was often the only way to survive. The honest were either killed or run out of town, and the dishonest only survived through being more ruthless and cunning than the average denizen of the area. Around Alvarez was a motley crew of drug-smugglers, muscles for hire, gunrunners, child smugglers – the clientele of the bar represented a cross-section of Manaus’ underworld. Every one of the men, for there were only men in this bar, had killed, many of them many times. There was tension in the air, as each one strove to maintain an air of confident toughness, knowing that any sign of weakness would be pounced upon by someone wanting to take over a new slice of profitable business. The combination of drugs being smoked, injected or swallowed would have kept any laboratory busy for months, analysing the cocktails that many of the men used to keep themselves functioning while slowly (or sometimes very quickly) sucking the life-force from their bodies and their minds.

Alvarez ordered more rum, more beer, while throwing some small packs of cocaine onto the table. He had suffered a setback when one of his gangs met more than their match in a single girl, and he knew his reputation was in the balance. He had spent the last day in Manaus, talking big and flashing a lot of money about. He had told stories about major raids his men had conducted, always successfully, of course. He knew that many of the men he was talking to had heard about the story of an American girl taking on his men, and winning. But so far, no-one had dared to ask him about it to his face. Alvarez wanted someone to ask him about it, so that he could tell his own version of the tale, and then possibly kill the questioner as a signal that Alvarez was not someone to be messed with.

They had been in the bar since the previous evening, and a lot of alcohol and drugs had been used in the intervening hours. There were five men sitting around the table with Alvarez, each one of them a seasoned survivor of the Manaus criminal scene. As another pitcher of beer was delivered to the table, one of the men, Miguel, snorted yet another line of cocaine. As the drug coursed through his veins, he could see no reason why he shouldn’t ask Alvarez about the rumour that a girl had beaten some of his toughest men, all by herself.

‘Alvarez,’ called Miguel, ‘have you heard the latest rumours? I’m sure they can’t be true.’

‘What rumours, Miguel?’

‘Oh, just that there’s some girl running about the forest, doing crazy stuff.’

Alvarez face hardened. ‘Yes, I’ve heard the rumours. They say she’s some kinda witchcraft or voodoo thing going on.’

‘Yeah, that’s her. That she can be in more than one place at once, I heard. And that she has other magic as well.’

‘Other magic? Really? Like what?’

‘Oh, they say that she can take on a whole bunch of armed men and turn them into harmless pussycats.’ The man laughed uproariously. ‘Have you heard that as well, Alvarez? Or maybe you know more about it than we do!’ The man laughed again, the drugs and alcohol blinding him to the look on Alvarez’ face as he laughed.

‘I’ve heard that, yes. But she wasn’t unarmed herself, you know. And she didn’t turn them into pussycats – they were fucking paralysed. And she wasn’t on her own either; she had a whole army of warriors from one of the tribes with her. It was them who hid in the trees and paralysed my men. All she did was waltz in when the action was all over and spout some bullshit, trying to pretend that she had done all of that on her own. As if that was fucking likely – I had eight good men out there, but I reckon there was at least twice that number of her local fucking mates hiding in the trees.’

‘Really? That’s funny, ‘cause I heard that your men were saying she was on her own. That she had magic. And funniest of all, that she was talking to snakes and even talking to the trees. It sounds to me as though your men had too much mescal, that their minds were totally fucked. That’s what I think.’

‘That’s what you think, is it? Well let me tell you,’ continued Alvarez, preparing to pull his gun, ‘I don’t give a fuck what you think. I’m telling you what happened. So you can either agree that my men were tricked into believing what that bitch told them, or you can call me a liar. Which do you want it to be?’

Miguel paused as his addled brain tried to interpret the urgent messages of danger being broadcast from his sub-conscious. He sensed, though he was too high to be able to think clearly, that Alvarez was ready to kill him. He tried to think about how or why this conversation had started, but the thoughts crashing about in his mind stopped him from being able to think rationally. He was about to try to make some kind of reply when the door of the bar opened, and a flood of men poured into the bar.

They were all heavily armed, all with rapid-fire machine guns held in a way that most of the men in the bar were able to recognise as professional – highly competent and therefore very deadly. None of the invaders spoke; they simply moved as a unit so that they formed a ring around the entire bar. The ring surrounded the single-room bar, with the raiders all standing with their backs to the outer wall, pointing their weapons menacingly at the patrons and staff. They moved so quickly that the customers watched in a daze, seemingly unable to react. By the time any of them were able to think about drawing a weapon, they found that even the slightest movement resulted in the barrels of at least three machine guns being pointed at them. And so they sat or stood, and waited.

After what seemed like a long time, one of the raiders spoke into a microphone.

‘Securise,’ in a French accent.

After a moment, a man walked through the doorway. He scanned the room, his eyes lighting on Alvarez. He nodded towards Alvarez, and one of the intruders grabbed him and brought him to stand beside the man, who had not yet spoken. The man nodded again, and some of the gunmen started to shout orders. Leaving Alvarez to one side, though still watched and guarded, they herded all of the other occupants of the bar to one end of the room. They made them drop any weapons to the floor and kick them back out of reach, although they did not seem concerned about hidden weapons, nor did they search the men.

When everyone was crowded against the end wall, one of the gunmen looked back at the silent man in the doorway. He nodded, and the gunman said the last word that any of the men huddled at the end of the wall would ever hear.

‘Tirez.’

All of the gunmen unleashed the full ferocity of their high-tech weaponry on the mass of huddled flesh trapped in front of them, and hundreds of bullets per second hammered into the bodies. The guns had silencers fitted, and Alvarez watched in amazement as the muzzle flashes were accompanied by quiet spitting sounds. The only sign of the power being expended was in the reaction of the men’s bodies receiving the bullets, as they jerked spasmodically in response to the force of the bullets crashing into their bodies, and the drumming noise and dust coming from the bullets that either missed flesh and hit the wall, or passed through flesh before hitting the wall, staining the dirty white plaster with rivers of blood.

After thirty seconds, the leader who had ordered them to open fire raised his right arm with a clenched fist, and the gunfire stopped as suddenly as it had begun. He dropped his fist, and walked over to the pile of shredded bodies, calmly stepping through the blood and gore. He switched his machine gun to single-fire mode and fired one bullet into every skull, even though it would have been a miracle if any of the men were still alive after the torrent of lead had ripped their bodies apart. Finally satisfied with the results, he stepped back and nodded to the man who still stood inside the door, unspeaking and unmoving.

He turned to Alvarez and regarded him coolly.

‘Mr Alvarez. It took some time for us to find you.’

Until the man spoke, Alvarez had been hoping against hope that he was being saved for a good reason. As the realisation sank in that these men had come for him, his hope disappeared. A lot of people had just been slaughtered, with less concern or compassion that you would see in a slaughter house, and now it seemed that the subject of the visit was Alvarez himself.

He tried to marshal his thoughts, tried to force himself to calm down, as he knew his life must surely hang in the balance.

‘Why … why did you do that? Why kill them all?’

‘Because we are here to talk to you, Alvarez. They were in the way, that’s all. And we don’t want any witnesses to our conversation. So it’s obvious, isn’t it? They had to die. It also, I think, will make our conversation a little easier. A little faster as well, maybe. What do you think?’

‘I don’t know what you mean. I am just a simple trader of goods. What could you possibly want with me?’

The man nodded at the lead gunman once again, and he pulled up a table and two chairs. The man walked from Alvarez, and sat at the table with his back to the pile of bodies at the end of the room. The smell was stifling, with blood, urine and faeces already starting to stink in the heat. Alvarez was pulled over and made to sit in the other chair, facing the pile of bodies as though the men wanted to make sure that he would stay focussed on what they wanted.

‘Now, Mr Alvarez. I am going to make this very simple. You have just seen what we can do, so you should be very clear that you either cooperate fully with us and live, or you hesitate and die. Is that clear?’

Alvarez nodded.

‘Good. I am about to relate some facts, so that you will know that I am well-informed and I am not bluffing. I will then ask you a question. You will either answer that question fully and correctly, and walk out of here alive and free, or you will delay or not answer or lie to me, in which case your death will be infinitely slower and more painful than these were,’ he said with a dismissive flick of his head towards the pile of bodies behind them.

‘Again, is that clear?’

Alvarez nodded frantically, daring to believe that he might actually survive the afternoon’s mayhem.

‘Again, good. You sent in a band of your men after the American woman, on instructions from Varela, acting for Greenergy in Houston. Your men failed to capture her, but they did kidnap a member of her party, who they were bringing back for questioning. However, the girl rescued him by single-handedly attacking your eight soldiers, disabling them with poison darts and threatening them with death if they returned to the forest. OK so far?’

Alvarez nodded again, afraid to speak.

‘You yourself are frightened by this woman, because you do not understand how she does what she does. You heard she was in Manaus, so you came here, presumably to watch her from a distance, as I was told that you are too afraid to go after her again. You heard from someone that she was buying supplies, and that her supplies included weaponry. You passed this information to Varela, who in turn updated his boss in Greenergy. Any errors in what I have said so far?’

Alvarez shook his head, wondering what it was that this terrifying man wanted.

‘Excellent, you are doing very well. We are nearly finished, and in a moment you will be able to walk out of here. Now, I just have one question. From whom did you get the information about the girl in Manaus? Who told you that she was here, and what she was buying?’

Alvarez considered the question for only a microsecond. He had seen first-hand what these men were capable of. He was looking at the butchered bodies, and the stench of death was overpowering. He wasn’t sure if they would let him go, but he had every reason to believe that any hesitation or deception on his part would unleash a fury that would see him dead in a split-second.

‘Felipe Rojas,’ he blurted.

‘And where will we find him?’

‘He does different jobs for people, mostly based around the docks. Most days you’ll find him down there, usually helping to load stuff, but he’s able to take care of any troublemakers if it’s needed, you know what I mean?’

‘I do indeed. And it was him who told you that the American girl was in Manaus, buying forest expedition supplies and weaponry, is that correct?’ Another nod from Alvarez. ‘And did he tell you anything about where she is now – is she still in Manaus, has she gone back into the forest, anything?’ Alvarez shook his head. ‘And is there anything else useful that you can tell me?’

Alvarez shook his head, mentally and emotionally drained, beyond any ability to think, other than reacting to this insistent questioning whilst the sight and the smell of the dead bodies sickened even him. The man nodded to the gunman standing behind Alvarez, the one who had delivered the coup-de-grace to all the bodies. The gunman expertly raised his gun, and a single bullet removed all life from Alvarez’ body. It jerked back in the chair before toppling to the side, blood and brain matter oozing from the jagged hole that indicated the exit point of the powerful bullet.

‘As you instructed, Mr Black,’ said the lead gunman. ‘No witnesses, no problems.’

‘Indeed, Sergeant,’ said the man referred to as Mr Black. ‘Now we need to make our way to the docks.’

With that, the men retreated out of the bar, concealing their weapons under their clothes as they did so, and then climbing into three SUVs parked outside. As they drove away, there was nothing evident to indicate what had just taken place. Not long after they left, screams started to rend the air as people once more entered the bar and found the madness and mayhem within.

The three SUVs travelled to the docks. On arrival, one of the gunmen who had a local accent was instructed to ask around for Felipe Rojas, and to pretend that he was an old friend who wanted to buy Rojas a drink for old times’ sake. After thirty minutes, he returned to the SUV parked at the back of the three, reporting that Rojas could be seen further down the dock, apparently loitering aimlessly but probably protecting an illegal cargo that was about to be loaded onto a ship. A short conversation ensued, after which the lead SUV slowly cruised towards Rojas.

As the SUV pulled up level with him, the two doors nearest him opened and two heavily-armed men jumped out, pointing serious weapons in his direction. He went to run, but they instead indicated for him to get into the back of the SUV, and with two guns pointed at him, he knew he had no choice but to comply.

Rojas climbed in and found himself in a seven-seater jail, with two men in front, one driving and one turned with a handgun pointed at him. On his right was a man sitting quietly, unarmed, while on his left, one of the gunmen climbed in beside him and pointed another gun at him. And behind him were two more, each also pointing a gun at him.

‘Hello, Felipe,’ said the unarmed man. ‘My name is Mr Black. I believe you have some information that I need.’

‘Is that right? What information?’

‘Let me be very clear. I want this information, and I want it now. Many men have already died this morning. I do not care if you are added to that list. However, if you tell me what I need to know, then you will walk away from here, and that will be the end of it. Do you understand?’

‘I understand.’

‘You told Alvarez that an American girl was buying supplies in Manaus. All I need to know is who she bought them from.’

Rojas looked at Mr Black, considering his options. Alvarez had clearly sent these men to him, probably to save his own life. He made up his mind very quickly.

‘Franco Villalobos. She bought a load of gear from Franco. I only know because I helped with loading the truck. She bought a truck with caterpillar tracks on the back, like a tank, you know? And she had all kinds of kit that they use for expeditions into the forest, with computer gear and stuff. And weapons – guns and explosives. This is everything I know, all that I can tell you.’

Mr Black regarded him calmly, while Rojas wondered if he had given enough information to save his life. He was in no doubt that these men were serious, and he was desperately hoping that full and complete cooperation would see him let out of the speeding SUV unharmed, as Mr Black had promised.

‘Where do we find this Villalobos?’

‘Often back on the docks, and he has a house nearby that he uses for meetings. He deals in all kinds of trade; he always says he can get anything for anyone, if the price is right. He is one of the big men around here – no-one messes with Franco.’

‘I need to talk to him. We will drive back around the docks, and you will locate him for us. Then we will let you go.’

Mr Black barked an order to the driver in a language that Rojas didn’t understand, and the SUV swung around and headed back towards the docks, followed closely by the other two. As they approached the docks, the two following SUVs pulled to the side of the road, and Rojas was driven back into the dockyard. They drove around slowly, but Rojas couldn’t see Franco. He argued to be let out so that he could ask around, but Mr Black refused, leaving no doubt that Rojas wasn’t leaving the SUV until Franco was inside. After a while, Mr Black suggested that they try the house that Rojas had mentioned,

They drove to the house, following directions from Rojas. As he glanced behind, he noticed that the other two SUVs were once again following them. The SUV pulled up a short distance from Franco’s house, and the men exited, keeping Rojas between them and keeping him under at least two gun barrels at all times. He knocked the code on the door, and they waited for a moment before hearing footsteps inside. The gunmen moved to the side so they couldn’t be seen through the spyhole in the door, keeping their guns trained on Rojas.

‘Felipe?’ from inside the door. ‘What do you want?’

‘Let me in, Franco. I have news of a good deal for you.’

They could hear locks being turned and a chain being removed, and then the door opened. As it did, the gunmen surged forward, pushing Rojas through the door and forcing Franco back. Within a few seconds they were all inside, and the door was closed behind them. Franco and Rojas backed up into the kitchen, where the men fanned out around them, and Franco saw four guns pointing at him.

‘Franco Villalobos. I find myself becoming tired of asking questions, but now I am near the end. Like your friend Mr Rojas here, this is very simple, and it can all be done very quickly. I need some information about the girl you supplied goods to recently. Give me that, and we leave. Refuse, and you die. Simple, yes?’

Franco looked at him. ‘What do you want with her?’

‘That is no concern of yours. Worry about yourself, not the girl. Where is she?’

‘I do not know.’

‘What did she want those supplies for?’

‘I do not know.’

‘Villalobos, you are very close to death. If you have no useful information for me, you will die, here and now. I want to find her; I want to know where she is and what she is doing. You need to think of something to help me, or you die.’

Franco looked at the man, surprised that he felt no fear. They wanted his customer; that was clear. He could tell them about João, who had driven her in and out of Manaus. He could tell them that when she collected the goods and paid him, she had mentioned that she had to get back to some village. He could think of nothing else that might help him to save his life. He thought about the girl, and the strange impact she had on him. She had told him that by helping her, he was helping the world. And for some reason, Franco had felt good about that. He knew his life was one of crime, of violence, and of cruelty. But when Amy had told him that he was helping the world, he had for the first time in a long time felt genuinely proud of what he was doing. He looked at the man who was searching for her.

‘I can think of nothing else.’

‘You are lying.’

‘I have nothing else to say to you about the girl.’

A nod from Mr Black, a spit of a silenced gun, and Franco lay dead on the floor. Rojas jumped, amazed that these strangers could come into Manaus and calmly kill one of the leading figures of Manaus’ criminal fraternity without any concern of retaliation. Mr Black turned to Rojas.

‘So Felipe, it seems you have been of no use to us after all,' he said ominously.

Rojas thought furiously. Surely he could think of something else that would please Mr Black. In his mind, he ran through the early morning when he had helped load the truck with all the supplies that girl had bought from Franco, trying to think if Franco had said anything that might be of interest to Mr Black. Nothing. He thought about the drive to Sitio Dois Irmaos, but again there was nothing. What about when Franco had handed the truck over to the girl and she had paid him. Yes, there was something.

‘Wait, Mr Black. There is something. Let me think, please.’

‘Think quickly, Felipe. Time is running out.’

‘It was when we met the girl to give her the truck and get paid. It was in Sitio Dois Irmaos, the day before yesterday. She paid Franco, and said something about having to get back to some village. And then she drove straight into the forest; she didn’t use the road. I thought it was strange. I wondered why she didn’t take the easy route – you know, drive on the road. Now I’m thinking, if she had to get to some village, and she drove into the forest instead of across the road, maybe she was going to Alheio.’

Rojas looked at Mr Black, hoping against hope that this was the information he needed.

‘Alheio. Where is this Alheio?’

‘In the middle of the forest, about sixty kilometres east of Sitio Dois Irmaos, maybe seventy. There are no roads out there – that would explain why she headed straight into the forest instead of using the road. It is a small tribal village – they keep themselves to themselves; they are natives. They don’t like outsiders. I think there has been very little contact with them. Foreigners often come here, and go exploring the forest and doing research on the local tribes. But the people of Alheio refuse to allow themselves to be studied. I think they want to keep the old ways, and so they keep outsiders away.’

‘Thank you, Felipe. At last, something useful. You have been very helpful.’

Rojas smiled, relieved that he was now safe. As he breathed deeply in relief, Mr Black nodded to the gunman who had shot Franco. Another silenced shot, and Rojas slumped dead to the floor, sprawling across Franco’s body.

CHAPTER 16

Cat Conversation

˜

The group had settled into a routine. Each morning they would pack up the camp, load the truck, and Amy would drive to a new location, always in a different direction than previously. They would work for the day, before packing up their materials and driving to yet another site, where they would camp for the night. Amy insisted that two moves per day was the minimum needed, and none of the group were inclined to argue with her on this point, believing that Amy knew better than any of them what dangers were stalking them, and how to avoid them.

On the second day of their exile, Susie told Amy that Michael White had arrived in the country. Amy told her to get White to drive to a specific location, which she knew was the deepest into the rainforest that he would be able to get with his vehicles. They rearranged the contents of the truck so that they would be able to fit White’s crew’s gear into it along with their own supplies, and Amy set off with Susie to rendezvous with White.

As they drove, Susie seemed deep in thought, and Amy asked her if everything was OK.

‘Oh yes, absolutely. I guess I’m just a little confused by everything that is happening. It almost seems unreal, you know? Surreal, I guess.’

‘I can understand that.’ Amy smiled. ‘Unreal in what way?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes when I stand back and look at what is happening, it feels as though I must be dreaming. Or that I’m like one of those people who live in a fantasy world, you know, to the point of being considered crazy!’

‘Well, that has to be a bit unsettling. What do you mean … that it feels as though you’re living in a fantasy?’

‘Sometimes, yes. I believe in you, Amy, I truly do. I know that what I have seen over the last few months can only be explained by Environmental Consciousness. I know that you have abilities that normal people don’t have. And you know that I believe passionately in everything that we are trying to do for the environment, for the Amazon. It’s just that ...’ She paused.

‘Just that what, Susie?’

‘Well, that’s what I mean by the fantasy bit. It’s crazy, you know? Like, if I was trying to explain to one of my friends, I’m sure they would say that I’m imagining some of the weirder stuff. Or that I’m being conned. And I don’t believe that. I truly do believe that I am seeing more Truth now than I ever did before. But there is still a part of my mind that’s saying “crazy”. Or that’s whispering “You are being tricked”. I don’t believe it. But it gets in the way of me being totally free of doubt.’ She paused again. ‘Are you mad at me?’

‘No, Susie, I’m not mad at you. And indeed, I am very happy that you have some doubts. I was once told that one of the paths to evil is certainty. If someone is convinced that he or she is absolutely right, then they can become blinded to reason. They become a prisoner of their own beliefs, their own opinions really, because how can any of us say we have insight to Absolute Truth? All we can ever have is our perception of the Truth. Nothing more than that, so some doubt is always good.’

‘Maybe,’ Susie said doubtfully. ‘But it’s … unsettling, you know? I’ve brought Michael White in here because I believe. But what happens if he looks at you, at us, with a fresh eye, objectively, and says it’s all rubbish?’

‘Then, you would have to weigh up what you have seen and experienced, against his opinion, and decide which path to follow. Please Susie, don’t stress about it too much. People spend so much time worrying. Worrying and stressing. About everything. About what has happened, which is in the past and can’t be changed. About what might happen, which might be in the future and might not. But all that really counts is Now. This moment. And really, life is simple, and it doesn’t require us to stress and worry. It merely requires us to live in the moment, to Be, nothing more. Can you understand that?’

‘I can understand the words. But it’s harder to actually do it. It feels as though I would have to let go of so much.’

‘Ah, yes. I can identify with that. We are programmed, I think, to not let go. Which is so sad when you think about it. People search for happiness in so many ways, but really, for true happiness, all you have to do is stop searching and simply Be. That is true happiness right there. And once you get over the barrier of letting go, it is so simple. And then nothing can worry you. Not events, not people, not even life and so-called death.’

‘I know. And I hope I will get there. Though I don’t think I could ever stop myself worrying about what we are doing. I mean, about how it will turn out. I really hope Michael can do his filming in such a way that it’ll help our cause.’

‘Yes, our cause. But that’s what I mean about not worrying. We’ll bring Michael in, show him what we can show him, and leave the rest to … to Consciousness, or to the Universe, or to Fate - whatever you want to call it. And we won’t worry about the outcome. We simply identify what we think is the right path, and we walk it to the best of our ability. After that, it’s out of our hands.’

‘I’ll try not to stress about the outcome, Amy. I have another issue, though.’

‘Oh, what’s that?’

‘It’s my Dad. He’s not well, and I really should be at home. I feel I’m needed here, that I can contribute; but I feel that I’m needed at home as well. Sometimes I wonder if I’m doing the right thing, staying here when Dad is sick.’

‘A difficult choice, to be sure. And one that I cannot really help you with. You have to make that decision yourself. But I want you to know that I will support you if you decide you need to go home. We all have to make these choices. That’s what life is. Choices. So if you need to go to your Dad, then you should go. No-one will judge you, Susie. We all do what we must do.’

‘Thank you. That means a lot to me. But for the moment, I think my place is here. That’s what he would want. If it changes, I’ll talk to you about it again.’

‘Absolutely, anytime. Now, sit back and relax. Enjoy the scenery; it’s so beautiful. We’ll get to the rendezvous point in a couple of hours, but if you want to talk about anything else, just shout and we’ll see where the conversations leads us.’

With that, both girls were silent, Susie marvelling at the sights of the forest, and Amy nourishing herself on the feeling of the forest as well as the sights. The truck continued to rumble though the Amazon, at times having difficulty despite the heavy-duty tracks driving it forward. Amy negotiated obstacles with skill, always able to pick the most efficient path. Eventually they came to a flat grassy area, with a narrow dirt track leading away from it in the opposite direction from the side where Amy and Susie drove in through the undergrowth. The two girls got out of the truck and stretched in the warm sunshine, drinking water and chatting idly while they waited for White’s crew to arrive. Before long, they could hear engines in the distance, followed soon after by the sight of two vehicles driving into the clearing. Amy and Susie waited as the SUVs pulled up beside them, and Susie beamed as the TV environmentalist Michael White climbed out of the first vehicle and greeted her.

‘Michael, it’s so good to see you.’

‘Thanks Susie, but if what you’ve told me is true, it’ll be me who’s so delighted to see you. I wondered once or twice over the last while, where you were and what you were up to. You went very quiet there for a while, but it seems you’ve been very busy!’

‘Absolutely, Michael. This is Amy; she’s one of the group of people I’m working with.’

‘Hello, Amy, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ White said, holding out a hand. ‘Are you the one that Susie said is able to read the forest like no-one else?’

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Michael,’ Amy said, shaking the proffered hand warmly. ‘I’ve always been a huge fan of your programmes; they are so informative and passionate about the natural world. I really want to thank you for coming out here at such short notice.’

By this time, three other men had joined them, and White introduced them as his cameraman, sound engineer and handyman. There was little conversation as they transferred all the gear from the two vehicles into the truck. When the loading was finished, they reversed the two SUVs into the undergrowth, removed the batteries and carburettors, and left them hidden. White got into the cab of the truck with Amy and Susie, and his three crewmembers climbed into the back of the truck and settled down for the drive back to the environmentalists’ camp.

As they pulled out of the clearing, Amy addressed White.

‘Michael, before we really get into this, I have to ask you one thing. Susie has told you that we are in a high-stakes game, with some people prepared to stop at nothing to make sure we are silenced, didn’t she?’

‘She did,’ answered White, smiling at Susie. ‘To be honest, it seems a little bit melodramatic, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

‘Well, I need you to be totally clear on what you are getting involved in here, so let me tell you what has happened.’

Amy told White about the attack on the camp by heavily armed men, glossing over her rescue of Diego, but emphasising the seriousness of the attack. She told him that the attack had been organised by Greenergy, and that she had since received further information from sources that she couldn’t talk about. Based on this information she now believed that another organisation had joined forces with Greenergy, but that these other people were much more ruthless than any legitimate company could ever be. She insisted that their lives were in danger, and asked White if he still wanted to be part of the effort to save the Amazon.

‘Absolutely. If you’re familiar with my work, you’ll know that my crew and I have been in high-risk situations before. Not like what you are describing, to be true, but dangerous nevertheless. So we’ll work with you, but if what you say is true, we’ll try to get our filming done as quickly as we can.’

‘Good. That suits us perfectly. You have to understand, Michael, time is short for many reasons. I hope that as you film over the coming days, you will understand the depth of our understanding of the forest. Once you accept that, you will appreciate the seriousness of what I am about to say to you. You know that scientists all over the world are working on the effects of climate change and global warming, and that their projections and predictions vary in terms of how much longer we can continue to damage the environment the way we do before it all becomes irreversible.

‘However, based on our understanding that we have developed over the past three years here in the Amazon, I know the answer to that question. There are only a number of months left, Michael – a year at the most. Very soon, the effect is going to become irreversible, and what people don’t really understand is the chain reaction that will be set off. Within months, the Amazonian ecosystem is going to start to collapse, and the effects world-wide will be beyond what anyone has predicted.

‘Nobody truly understands the inter-dependencies and interrelationships of the environment, Michael. Once the Amazon is hit, if it is, there will be changes to global weather patterns beyond what anyone has dreamt of in their worst nightmares. Floods in some places, drought in others. Massive hurricane-force storms, even in places that would usually never see anything beyond a gale. Ice caps melting more rapidly than any existing predictions, sea levels rising metres in a few years. The cost in human terms will be tragic, and the cost in economic terms - though now I know I’m talking about an area I am most definitely not an expert in - the cost in economic terms may well make the recent global financial crash seem like a mild prelude to the real disaster.’

White looked at her, surprise and doubt visible on his face.

‘That’s some scenario, Amy. Do you have anything to back it up?’

‘That’s why I said I hope we can convince you of the depth and reality of our understanding of the environment. Because that’s my only real evidence. I know these things because I can see them all around us. Especially here in the Amazon. I think it might not be as apparent somewhere else. But the Amazon is one of the engines of the natural world, and so here I can see it written clear.’

‘I know that,’ White answered, sounding slightly annoyed. ‘I know what the Amazon is, and how important it is. But I don’t know how you could possibly extrapolate everything that you have said, simply from looking at this one environment.’

‘I understand that. But Susie has told you about some of the discoveries we have made. Ancient ruins. New foodstuffs – well, new to humans, but not new to nature. New medicines. New understandings of the relationships between the different animals, plants and other elements of the environment. Once we get to camp, we’ll collect the others and move to a new camp; and in the morning we will get to work on your filming. You just tell us what you want, and we will support you in every way we can. After you have spent a few days with the group, decide for yourself what you think at that stage. All we ask is that you keep an open mind for the time being, and see where this leads. Is that OK?’

‘Yep, that’s fine,’ answered White, still with a note of scepticism. ‘I’m happy with that. And I do have an open mind, because Susie told me some of the stuff that you guys have been doing, and I know how much she cares about all things environmental.’

The conversation then turned to White’s trip into the Amazon with his crew, with Amy and Susie both taking the opportunity to again thank him for coming. By the time they drove into camp, night was falling. Everyone climbed out of the truck and greeted the waiting activists, with introductions being made all around. White knew of AnneMarie and Philip’s work, and seemed impressed at the calibre of people working with Amy. While he hadn’t heard of John before, he quickly formed the impression that he was competent, and probably expert in his own field. White couldn’t yet understand the involvement of Diego Salazar, as he knew the multi-billionaire had been involved in high-tech, though he wasn’t too clear on the details.

Once again, the truck was loaded with the gear from the camp, and the whole team set off, with the three girls in the cab and all the men squeezed into the back with the gear. Amy drove for an hour before finding another site that suited her needs, with a grassy area sloping gently down to a fast-flowing stream. Some of them unloaded tents and set them up, while others set about starting to cook dinner using the solar-powered stove that Amy had brought. White’s men checked all their equipment, making sure that nothing had been damaged in transit since they left the UK the previous day. They declared themselves satisfied that everything was in working order, just as AnneMarie and John announced that dinner was ready. They left the camera gear they had been testing on tripods, and the group sat down to dinner.

The conversation flowed as they ate, with mostly Philip, AnneMarie and John talking about the new discoveries they had made, while White questioned them. As the conversation progressed, he grew visibly excited, saying that while some of the discoveries such as medicinal claims would have to be verified, others such as archaeological discoveries and new foodstuffs would make great TV.

Amy stayed quiet most of the time, offering confirmation of statements the others made when requested. Suddenly, however, she spoke.

‘Michael, get your crew on the cameras, quickly.’

‘Why, what’s happening?’

‘I can’t guarantee anything, but you might be about to get some good footage. Quickly!’

Michael called to his cameraman and sound engineer, and they ran over to the equipment they had been testing before the meal. In less than a minute, they called to White that they were rolling. He turned and looked at Amy.

‘OK, here’s the deal,’ she said. ‘You can do all the filming in the world, but we want to agree which material can be used, before you leave. Now, this is an example of the relationship we have with this environment. I can feel a presence nearby, feline, big. I need everyone to be still, and quiet,’ she ordered, looking around at the group. ‘Don’t be afraid, no matter what happens. No-one is in any danger here, not from this source.’

She walked a little distance from the others, so that she stood on her own, and faced a line of bushes growing nearby. As she waited, she turned slightly, as though tracking something that was moving behind the bushes, out of sight. There was a collective gasp from the others when a large and beautifully coloured jaguar strode out from between two of the bushes, and stood facing Amy. The cat ignored everyone else, staring straight at Amy as she started to walk slowly towards her. The jaguar was a large specimen of its kind, almost three feet tall and six feet long. She was muscular and strong, with a beautiful tawny yellow coat dotted with black marks.

Everyone held his or her breath as the cat stopped in front of Amy, looking up at her face. Only Amy seemed totally relaxed, almost somnolent. She slowly knelt in front of her and smiled slightly as her face came level with the cat's face. She leaned forward and rested her forehead on the jaguar's brow, drawing another gasp from the people watching. White glanced over at his crew, reassured that they were capturing this in digital detail.

Amy ignored them, concentrating totally on the animal in front of her. As she rested her face against the cat's, she could sense she was being allowed to come closer in spirit, and she knew that the cat was waiting for her to relax to a point where something would happen. As she passed that point, she started to feel pictures, like watching a grainy video. She saw Alheio village in bright moonlight, as though the jaguar was standing in the middle of the village and she was seeing through her eyes.

The picture was unchanged for a while, the scene shifting as the cat looked around the village. Then the view snapped to the right, and she saw heavily armed men in camouflage moving into position in the undergrowth at the edge of the village. The view swung around, and Amy knew that the village was being surrounded. Suddenly men broke through the brush on every side, with two men darting to the doorway of each hut in well-orchestrated silence. They stood quietly for a moment, and then each pair swung into each hut simultaneously. There were crashing sounds from inside the huts, and Amy could see lights come on, as though the men had switched on torches as they entered.

There was confusion for a moment, with the view swinging around the village, and then Amy saw the men coming out of the huts, empty-handed. She could hear sounds like human speech, but she was unable to make out the words, and couldn’t even be sure what language the men were speaking. It was clear however that they were shouting to each other, and as Amy watched the picture, one man seemed to be in charge, with the other men addressing him in turn.

The picture flashed white for a second, and Amy guessed that one of the powerful torches had been shone straight into the jaguar’s eyes. She saw muzzle flashes and the roar of gunfire, and suddenly felt a searing pain across her back. Amy almost fell in front of the cat, but managed to maintain her composure and held the connection with the animal. The picture jumped crazily, and Amy knew the large cat was bounding out of the clearing, getting away from the men and the gunfire. A last view swung back to the disappearing village, and then the pictures ended.

Amy moved back on her knees, still watching the animal while thinking about what had just happened. If she was to trust herself, and this jaguar, then she had just been shown what had happened at Alheio village. It seemed the village had been attacked as she had feared it might, but there was no-one there when the attack happened. If that was correct, then Amy had to believe that the message she had tried to impress on the jaguar two day’s previously, had been successfully passed onto the village chief by the animal. Not only that, but that the jaguar had then waited in the village to see what happened, and had brought her back news of the attack. Amy briefly wondered if the cat had decided to do that herself, or if the chief had somehow communicated a wish for news of the attack to be brought back to Amy.

Then she remembered the searing pain, and automatically felt her back. There was nothing there. Knowing what she would find, she moved closer to the jaguar and gently ran the tips of her fingers along her back. As she expected, she could feel a furrow in the skin, and she looked calmly and reassuringly into the cat’s eyes before moving around to her side to inspect her more closely. She parted the fur and could see where a bullet had grazed the cat slightly, not enough to disable her, but breaking the skin and matting the area in blood.

She moved back to look into the cat’s eyes again, projecting a sense of health and safety and waiting. Then she stood up and went to a nearby plant, tearing off some leaves and chewing them as she walked back to the jaguar. She spat the mixture into her hand, and gently rubbed it into the bullet wound. Kneeling in front of the cat for the final time, she leaned against her and sent her feelings of gratitude and respect. As she leaned back, the cat stepped back one pace, and roared fiercely. Michael White was shocked, as he knew that a jaguar’s call sounded like a repetitive cough, not the deep-throated continuous and loud roar that this animal had just made, which sounded more like a lion’s. The jaguar then turned and ran away, speeding up as she left their sight.

Amy walked back to the table where the rest of the group were seated, as the cameraman and sound engineer turned off their equipment and joined them.

‘Good God, Amy, what the hell was that all about?’ White asked.

Amy looked tired, but responded immediately to Michael’s question.

‘This is what I meant when I said that we would want to agree on what footage can be used, Michael. When I sensed the cat nearby, I knew she was coming for me, and I wanted you to film her so that you can review it yourself and see that there was no trickery involved. However, I don’t want you to use that footage in the TV programme.’

‘Why not? That was one of the most spectacular things I have ever seen. No-one has ever domesticated a jaguar, that I know of. But that one certainly looked as tame as a lamb!’

‘She isn’t tame, Michael. That jaguar is as wild as any, and may never have even seen a human before I met her two days ago. However, I needed her to do something for me, and she did.’

‘My God, that’s even more spectacular. I don’t understand; that’s incredible footage. What wouldn’t you want me to use it?’

‘Because, and this is an important point, Michael, because I do not want this documentary to be about me. I want it to be about the environment, about the Amazon. About the discoveries we have made. You can film the others as much as you like, because they are acknowledged and qualified scientific experts in their fields. But not me. This cannot be about me. I don’t want to become some kind of freak show. This has to be totally and absolutely about the environment, and about saving the environment. About how Humanity can work with the environment instead of destroying it. About how we can develop and utilise the wonderful resources that the environment gives us, but that we can do it in a sustainable way, a way that supports the environment instead of destroys it.’

‘OK, I can see your logic there. But you have to tell me more about what just happened. You said something there, that you needed the cat to do something for you. It sounds as though you were communicating with that animal in some way. Tell me, what is going on here?’

‘There is communication here, Michael; that much is true. When you think about it, we communicate with elements of the environment every day, whether we know it or not. Or maybe it’s more to do with how we define the word communicate – which I think we have narrowed down to the use of human speech. But stop and think for a moment. If you pet a dog, then you have communicated with it, right?’

‘What?’

‘You’ve communicated with it, haven’t you?’

‘Well, I guess it depends … ah, now I see what you mean when you say it’s about how we define communication. If the definition of communication is the transfer of knowledge, then no, you haven’t. But if we include non-verbal, non-knowledge in communication, then yes, you would have communicated with the dog.’

‘Yes, of course you have. You have communicated a feeling, which I would say is knowledge in itself. You have also communicated something about your intentions, again knowledge. What happened between me and the jaguar is an extension of that, in the same way that a lot of what you will see in the coming days is an extension of our senses, of our ability to perceive the world around us. We will talk more of this in the coming days, so you had better get plenty of rest.’

With that, Amy seemed to gently end the conversation, and before long Michael White and his crew were asleep in their two tents. Amy’s friends had remained around the table, and she turned to them. It was difficult for them to read the expression on her face, but they knew she had news or an announcement of some sort.

‘Friends,’ she began. ‘Again, I want to thank you for all that you have done. And I need you to really concentrate all your energies on your respective tasks in the days ahead. Our job becomes ever-more vital, but the danger is becoming more real as well. Alheio village was attacked last night.’

There were indrawn breaths around the table.

‘Attacked?’ exclaimed Philip. ‘By who? And why?’

‘The who is simple,’ Amy answered. ‘It was a large group of heavily armed men, either working for Greenergy or for another group that has joined with Greenergy in trying to stop us. Luckily, I had a bad feeling and so I managed to get a warning to the chief. When the attack happened, the village was empty. The entire tribe had fled, probably only a few hours before the attack happened. So no-one was hurt, but let this be a reminder that we are targets now. And we will continue to be targets until and unless we make such a change that resistance becomes futile.’

‘Amy,’ Diego said quietly. ‘How do you know what happened in the village?’

She looked at him gratefully, knowing that he was intentionally giving her the opportunity to explain to the others what he had already guessed.

‘It was the jaguar,’ she answered. ‘I asked her to warn the chief that the village would be attacked. While I was … in communication with her just now, I saw what the jaguar saw – the village was attacked, but no-one was there. So no-one was hurt except the poor cat. She was grazed by a bullet – not badly injured, but it was terribly painful for her. The leaf I put on it will ease the pain and make sure it doesn’t get infected.’

Her comrades looked at her with renewed admiration. They knew from experience that Amy seemed to have supernatural powers, but this was the strangest thing they had seen yet. The group talked about what had happened for another thirty minutes, before Amy sent them all to their beds, reminding them that they would be up early the next morning to break camp and move to the next site.

CHAPTER 17

Boardroom Manoeuvres

˜

Wilkinson sat in Carren’s office, feeling that events had spun far beyond his control. Varela had told him that Alvarez had been murdered, though Varela was under the assumption that it was some gang war gone wrong. Wilkinson suspected that it was Mr Rousseau and his associates who were responsible, especially when Varela described how everyone in the bar that Alvarez was in had been butchered with indiscriminate gunfire, while Alvarez had been executed with a single gunshot to the head. Wilkinson knew that Rousseau was going to talk to Alvarez, and he didn’t believe in coincidences. Rousseau and his secret corporation must have murdered almost thirty men, just to find out who had told Alvarez about the Williams girl buying supplies and guns in Manaus.

Wilkinson’s head ached. This was beyond anything he had ever experienced before. He had at times ordered intimidation of problematic nuisances, be they environmentalists or competitors. On two occasions, the intimidation had resulted in a death, and Wilkinson considered himself a tough man, who didn’t let the occasional casualty stand in the way of his climb to success and security. But he knew now that the brutality of Rousseau’s people was orders of magnitude over and above anything he had ever been involved with previously.

He felt that he was drowning. He was involved with savage and ruthless multiple murderers, who had broken into his own home and threatened not just his career but his family. He believed that they wouldn’t hesitate to carry out their threat, and he believed that his own life and the lives of his family were hanging by a very thin wire from a very high cliff. The end of everything he had ever dreamed of was a very real and a very close possibility.

He had tried to think of a way out, had spent sleepless hours tossing and turning, trying to come up with a solution. But as he frantically considered option after option, only one course of action ever presented itself. He had no choice. He had to cooperate with Rousseau, and hope that the situation sorted itself out. Wilkinson was not used to feeling powerless. He had spent many years climbing the corporate ladder, never hesitating to use any means necessary to get ahead. And in that time, he had amassed power – people listened to him, and they obeyed him. He was the Director of the most important region in one of the world’s biggest energy companies. He lunched with Congressmen and Senators, and had met both the current and previous Presidents of the United States of America.

But he had now accepted that in this situation, he was nothing more than a pawn. He was dealing with forces that were infinitely more dangerous than anything he had come across before. It had always been like a game to him, betting the next advancement on a power-play or strategy, and usually winning the bet and moving ahead. But now he could do nothing except try to protect himself and his family, mostly by taking no action except whatever Rousseau might choose for him.

He still hoped that the situation would resolve itself. That Rousseau would find Williams and lock her up in a lab for their weird experiments. And that when she was locked up, his problems would end and he could return to his normal life of corporate politics and business dealings. But Carren had summoned him, and Wilkinson knew there was something wrong. He had been sitting in Carren’s office for five minutes now, and still Carren hadn’t spoken, except to acknowledge him when he came in, motioning to a seat in front of the desk and asking him to wait for a moment while he finished something off. As Carren pressed a last key on his keyboard and raised his head to speak, Wilkinson wondered what was coming.

‘Now Dave, thanks for dropping everything, but this is important. Have you ever heard of a man called Alvarez, down in Brazil?’

Wilkinson’s head spun. How could Carren know about Alvarez? And if Rousseau found out that Carren knew about Alvarez, would he assume Wilkinson had told Carren? And if he did, would he carry out his threat?

‘Alvarez?’ asked Wilkinson, trying to stall for time while he could think how best to react. He couldn’t afford for Carren to find out what was happening. ‘Alvarez. It sounds familiar, though I can’t place it at the moment. It might be a common name down there, I dunno. Why? Who is he?’

‘Let me help you. Alvarez is, I am told, someone who does dirty work for Varela. The kind of work that Greenergy could never and would never be involved in. Does that make it easier for you to remember, Dave?’

Wilkinson was shocked, and tried to keep it from showing on his face. He had never mentioned Alvarez’ name to Carren, but the conversation he had with Carren after the last emergency Board meeting had, as far as Wilkinson was concerned, given him the authority to use whatever means were necessary to get rid of Williams.

‘Oh yes, that would be right. I’ve heard Varela mention his name in passing.’

‘In passing. Right. Let me be very clear here, Dave. Greenergy is a responsible corporation, and we take our code of ethics very seriously. I would be deeply concerned, indeed I would be repulsed, if Greenergy were to have any involvement of any sort with someone like Alvarez, is that clear?’

‘Of course, Gregory,’ Wilkinson answered quickly, trying to keep up with this latest turn of events. The Board meeting had sanctioned the murder of Williams, though in suitably coded language. And his conversation with Carren after the meeting had been much more explicit. What the hell was Carren doing?

‘I hope so, Dave. As CEO of Greenergy, I have responsibility not just to our shareholders and our staff and our customers, but also to wider society and to the economy. I can under no circumstances afford to have Greenergy implicated in any dirty business in South America. If I thought for a moment that there was any connection between Greenergy and this Alvarez, you understand that I would have to launch an immediate and thorough investigation? And that anyone associated with Alvarez would be on immediate garden leave pending the outcome of that investigation?’

Wilkinson blanched. He was being thrown to the wolves. Carren was willing to sacrifice Wilkinson in order to protect his own position, and presumably in the best interests of Greenergy. Wilkinson railed internally at the injustice of being the victim of a tactic he had so often employed against his own adversaries, while trying to think of the ramifications of what Carren was saying.

Alvarez was dead, but Varela knew everything, as he had been the local contact who had dealt directly with Alvarez. And if Wilkinson was ousted, Rousseau might attack his family. Plus the fact that Rousseau seemed to have more than enough information to damage not just Wilkinson’s career, possibly landing him in jail if they didn’t kill him first, but also enough information to implicate Greenergy itself in attempted murder.

‘Absolutely, Gregory. I would insist on that myself, if there was even a suggestion of any connection between Greenergy and any “dirty work” as you put it. As I said at the last Board meeting, my concern is that no harm should come to any of the activists down there. That’s why I specifically instructed Varela to try to make contact with Williams. So that we could maybe arrange a meeting, have a discussion with her, try to understand her concerns in more detail. And so that we could present our side of the picture to her. Hopefully, with the ideal outcome being that we could assuage any concerns that she might have, and continue to exploit the Amazon in a responsible way.’

Carren looked at him, and Wilkinson tried to guess what was going on in the CEO’s mind.

‘That sounds good, Dave. But unfortunately I have information that what you have just said may not be true. Indeed, it has been suggested to me that rather than carrying out the actions we agreed at our last Board meeting – to talk to the girl – you instead told Varela to use Alvarez to take some unilateral action against the girl – action that would be illegal as well as ethically repugnant. You have to understand, Dave, that if there could even be a hint that something like this could be believed by people, even if it is not true, then Greenergy cannot afford to have you on the team. An investigation could potentially be very damaging, so I think you need to consider your position.’

Carren sat back, as Wilkinson’s mind reeled in shock. Had Carren just given him an ultimatum – resign, or else? He was buffeted by the suggestion that his career in Greenergy might be about to end - which he would in his innocence have previously considered a disaster - combined with the true disaster that could result if Rousseau thought he had failed them.

‘What are you talking about, Gregory? What information? Who told you this rubbish?’

‘Who told me is not relevant. But it seems that Varela might not have been as discreet as you expected, if any of this is true. This came from Varela himself, or so I have been told.’

‘This is crazy, Gregory. Do you really expect me to give up everything, because someone, you won’t tell me who, has told you Varela said to them that I asked him to get this Alvarez guy to … to do something to the Williams girl? This is ridiculous, Gregory – surely you can see that?’

While he was protesting his innocence, Wilkinson was acutely aware that Carren knew the truth. He wondered if he could use that as leverage.

‘And furthermore, Gregory, I agree that any investigation would be damaging. Not because it would find any truth in these ridiculous accusations, because it wouldn’t. But if such serious, though totally unfounded allegations, were being investigated against a man in my position, then I think it would be inevitable that there would be some people who would suggest that if I was involved in something like this, then you must have known about it as well. Not only would I hate to see either of us suffer because of these lies, but if you and I were both tainted by these accusations, then Greenergy itself would suffer; there’s no doubt about that. Our share price would surely fall, and that’s no service to our shareholders, Gregory. I think the obvious thing to do, the only responsible course of action, is to confront whoever made these stupid allegations, and put an end to this. Immediately. And quietly.’

Carren drew in a deep breath. ‘I’m not sure about that, Dave. I mean, the Board minutes clearly show what action was agreed and sanctioned by the Board – all above-board, if you’ll pardon the pun. If I thought for a second that this was true, and especially if I thought that there was any evidence that it might be true, then I wouldn’t hesitate for one second, Dave. I’d fire your ass so fast that you’d be out of this building and out of this company before you could draw a single breath. But I don’t have proof, so I’m not making that call. Not yet. But it is close, Dave. I really think you need to go back to your office and have a think about this. Let me know what you decide before the end of the day.’

Carren turned back to his PC and started typing. Wilkinson knew he had been summarily dismissed from the CEO’s presence, and he rose and went back to his own office. He sat in his chair, thinking furiously. For some reason, Carren wanted him out, and out fast. Carren was obviously expecting his resignation to be on his desk by close of business. What to do, what to do? The biggest threat to him at the moment was Varela. Varela must have spoken to someone about Alvarez. If Varela was willing to speak about it on the record, then Wilkinson knew the game would really be over. How could he make sure that Varela wouldn’t talk to anyone?

As he sat and panicked, an idea took hold. Wilkinson dismissed it, but it returned, whispering of simple solutions. Wilkinson pushed it away, thinking that he hadn’t yet sunk that low. The idea insisted, reminding him that if Varela spoke, then it would all be over. Wilkinson denied it, dreading the implications. As the idea persisted, Wilkinson found himself drawn to his PC. He logged in, created an email to himself, typed the word Luc into the subject line, and his finger hovered the mouse over the send button. A raging debate was going on in his mind, but desperation slowly won out. He clicked.

Almost immediately, his cell phone rang.

‘Mr Wilkinson.’ Short, sharp. No courtesies on this call.

‘Yes, it’s me. Something has happened. I need to speak to you urgently!’

‘I am unavailable for a face-to-face meeting at this time. Hold on a moment.’

Hold music played quietly, followed by a series of clicking noises on the line.

‘OK, this line is secure. You can speak openly, provided you are sure that you cannot be overheard by anyone on your end.’

‘Yes, yes, I’m sure of that. Are you sure I can talk about this – it’s serious!’

‘I would not have said it, if I was not sure of it. What is wrong?’

‘It’s Carren. Our CEO. He just called me into his office. He’s asking for my fucking resignation!’

‘Why?’

‘He said that someone told him that Varela had said that I got Varela to hire Alvarez to go after the Williams girl. He more or less said that I have to resign or he’ll launch an internal investigation.’

‘Hold on one moment.’ A longer silence on the line this time, before Rousseau returned and continued.

‘OK. Do you want us to help you?’

‘Of course I want you to fucking help me!’ Wilkinson almost shouted, trying to keep his voice low. ‘You have to understand, this is out of my control. I don’t want this to happen.’ Wilkinson felt that he was pleading for his life.

‘That might not be our perception, Mr Wilkinson. Varela is your man. If he has erred, then that is your responsibility. It might complicate our interest in the girl, and again, that would be your responsibility. What action do you feel would be appropriate?’

‘Listen, I hear what you’re saying, OK? But I can’t be responsible if Varela goes shooting his mouth off. That’s not my fault! But “what action is appropriate”? Just that someone has a chat with Varela, convinces him not to talk, that’s all.’

‘A chat? You have such a simplistic view of the world, Mr Wilkinson. You should know by now that my associates do not take half-measures. And we do not leave things to chance. A chat might convince Varela, or then again it might not. Or it might convince him, for a short while, but then someone else might convince him otherwise. I think a more permanent solution would be more appropriate. Do you agree?’

‘A more permanent solution? Jesus Christ, what are you talking about?’

‘You know exactly what I am talking about. But it suits me to spell it out. I want no misunderstandings on this. The most appropriate solution is obviously to kill Varela. Do you agree, Mr Wilkinson?’

‘Kill him? Isn’t here anything else that can be done? Something less … less fucking permanent?’

‘Absolutely. Yes, there is. We can do nothing at all. But you need to be aware, Mr Wilkinson, that if Varela talks, then that draws attention to Alvarez. And by association, that draws attention to you, and therefore potentially to me, both directly and indirectly. We would not like that. That would not suit our purposes, not one little bit. Which means, if Varela talks, then even if Carren doesn’t destroy your career, we will. But we will do much more than that. Remember how easy it was for us to tell you how easy it is for us to strike a much more severe blow than simply ending your career!’

‘Oh my God. I know, I know. Do you think I haven’t been thinking about that? What the hell have I gotten myself into?’

‘Into the real world. Welcome to the real world, Mr Wilkinson. Now, do you want us to take no action? Or do you want us to safeguard you, and your career, and your family?’

Wilkinson felt he was drowning in a sea of desperation. He couldn’t think straight. He couldn’t think at all. The only thing he could see was a lifeline that Rousseau was throwing to him. He hated himself, and he knew he was being manipulated, being drawn further into Rousseau’s web, but he couldn’t help himself. There was only one thing to do.

‘Yes, yes. We have to make it safe.’

‘I need you to be more specific, Mr Wilkinson. What is it that you want us to do for you?’

Wilkinson almost sobbed as he said the words. ‘Kill Varela. I want you to kill Varela.’

‘Your wish is my command, Mr Wilkinson. For the moment. Payment will be non-monetary, and will be of a nature and at a time that is at our discretion.’

The line went dead, and Wilkinson slumped in his seat. Time passed before he could rouse himself. He went to his private bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, before going to his private bar and pouring himself a stiff whiskey. He gulped it down, feeling the warm glow in his belly and the shock to his taste buds. He sat down at his desk again, trying to understand how he had come to this position, but the series of events seemed inexorable in hindsight. He shook himself, thinking that he needed to focus now on how to deal with Carren, how to hold onto his job.

He sat and thought, and planned, and re-planned. The hours passed as he formulated a strategy that he hoped would see him through this mess. As the afternoon drew to a close, he returned to Carren’s office.

He knocked on Carren’s door and walked in, as was his practice. He knew instantly that he had interrupted a conversation about himself, as three faces looked up, with varying degrees of ‘caught-in-the-act’ guilt in their expressions.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Wilkinson, sensing that he was being outmanoeuvred.

‘We are having a meeting, Dave,’ Carren answered, clearly annoyed. ‘I expected you to ring up before you came back to me.’

‘Well, I’m sorry about that, Gregory. I hadn’t realised that was expected. So, what is going on?’

‘I told you, we are having a meeting. But now that you are here, I suppose we might as well get this out on the table. Is that OK with you, gentlemen?’

Nods from Davidson and St Claire, the other two men in the room.

‘Sit down, Dave, and I’ll bring you up to speed.’ He sat. ‘Mark and Philippe have been giving me more information since our last meeting. It was Mark who was told by Varela that you had engaged this Alvarez person. He discussed the information with Philippe before coming to me. As per the conversation you and I had earlier, I think we need to launch an internal investigation, given the seriousness of these allegations. That is, of course, unless you hand in your resignation, effective immediately, in which case it becomes a moot point. Even if there were any truth in such allegations, any association that Greenergy might be deemed to have with a hoodlum like Alvarez would be terminated by your resignation. Have you thought about our conversation?’

Wilkinson knew the script was that he should now hand in his resignation. He arranged his face into muted outrage, as he had no intention of following the script. He had gotten this far, and he was damned if he was going to let it all go to hell now.

‘Yes, Gregory, I have thought about it. I have thought about it long and hard. I am deeply shocked at these allegations. I cannot think what could possibly have motivated Varela to make such a ridiculous accusation against me. Or indeed, what would motivate anyone to countenance such obvious lies,’ he added, casting a warning look at Davidson and St Claire. ‘I think the next step is obvious. We fly Varela up here, and ask him to his face what the hell he is playing at. If he wants to stick with these lies, then I am all in favour of an investigation, as I know for a fact that any such investigation would clear my name one hundred per cent. I have worked long and hard for this company, and my loyalty has never been questioned. Sure, I have to play it a bit rough at times, and I know some people find me a little abrasive, but there has never been any evidence that I have ever done anything illegal.’

He paused, gauging the reactions around him, before continuing.

‘If Varela persists in these crazy stories, then I will be the one calling for an investigation. And I will pro-actively step aside while the investigation is being conducted. And when it exonerates me, as it will, I will resume my position. But if Varela is not willing to stand over his story, then we will agree that there was no substance to whatever he may or may not have said,’ he said, with another warning glance at Davidson, ‘to Mark here. I think that is a reasonable and logical way to proceed, don’t you?’

Carren thought about it. When Davidson had come to him with this story, he had been shocked. Not shocked that Wilkinson would have done such a thing, because he and Wilkinson had discussed it, strictly off-the-record. But shocked that it had come to another Board member’s attention, and shocked at the fall-out that could follow if it were to become more widely known, or even rumoured. He knew his own position could be in jeopardy, and so he had sought a quick resignation from Wilkinson to put an end to the affair. But while Wilkinson had seemed to be caught by surprise at their earlier meeting in the day, he now seemed much more confident, and he was clearly not willing to fall on his sword to save Carren’s ass. Considering what Wilkinson had just said, Carren thought it might indeed be the best way to proceed.

St Claire watched with mixed feelings. When he had sneaked into Wilkinson’s office, he had gotten enough information to contact Williams. And his conversation with her had convinced him that Wilkinson was already carrying out the coded instruction from the Board meeting. He had wondered if there was any way to prevent Wilkinson from attacking Williams, and so had planted the seed with Davidson, whom he felt had a grudge against Wilkinson for some unknown reason. Together they had approached Varela, and by convincing Varela that they were fully in the loop with Wilkinson, had tricked Varela into revealing more than he should have. St Claire was hoping that Wilkinson would be forced out, and that such a move would give at least some breathing space to Williams, if not remove the threat fully.

Davidson listened to Wilkinson, hoping against hope that Carren would not agree. Davidson felt he couldn’t force the issue too hard however, because he didn’t want to draw any more attention than was necessary to his efforts to get rid of Wilkinson. He had his own reasons for that, and it was important to him that those reasons not come under scrutiny.

Finally, Carren spoke. ‘Well, yes, I have to say that it seems reasonable to at least talk to Varela before we launch a formal investigation, with all that a formal investigation would entail. I’ll get my secretary to call Varela first thing in the morning, and ask him to come to Houston for a meeting. I will speak to him first, as I want to be sure that I understand what is going on here. Then we will speak to him as a group, and see where that leaves us. Are we all in agreement with that?’

Davidson and St Claire both nodded agreement, even though both of them, for different reasons, wanted to see Wilkinson gone without further ado. Both of them however were being careful not to be seen as wanting to get Wilkinson out, as they both wanted to keep their real reasons hidden from the others. Wilkinson felt himself relax a little, as he knew he had been given another reprieve. He knew Varela wouldn’t be making it to Houston, or to anywhere else.

‘OK,’ said Carren, finishing up the meeting. ‘I’ll let you all know when Varela is due to arrive. Thank you, gentlemen.’

The three men left Carren’s office and went their separate ways without speaking to each other. Wilkinson left the building and went home to his wife and sons, hoping that the next day would see his problems start to recede.

CHAPTER 18

Wonders of the Natural World

˜

‘Amy, can I check something with you?’ White asked, as the group started to unload the truck. They had woken a couple of hours earlier, breakfasted and then moved camp to this new site. Michael and Amy moved a little away from the others as they talked.

‘Of course. What’s up?’

‘Well, it’s my guys. To be honest, they’re a little pissed off about all this moving. They’re complaining that we’ll get damn-all filming done if we have to move every morning and every evening. Two site moves every day is gonna take up a lot of our time.’

‘I understand, Michael. But I urge you to remember, and to value, quality over quantity. I heard your crew talking last night. I watched their faces as AnneMarie and Philip and the others spoke about the things we have discovered, about the things that we are going to show you. And I know, as surely as I can, that before one or two days are done, your crew will not be complaining. Indeed, my expectation is that they will be delighted.’

‘I hope so, Amy. I’m basing my approach here largely on what Susie has told me. I’ve known her for a few years now, and I know for a fact that she is a genuine and dedicated activist. You have obviously convinced Susie, so I am happy to go along with whatever you say for the moment. But I have to warn you, just like my guys, I’m giving you only a couple of days to start coming up with the goods.’

‘That’s OK. Speaking of which, I thought we should start with something physical, something that is cast in stone – that’s a joke, by the way, but you’ll only be able to appreciate it once you see this morning’s Exhibit A!

‘OK, get the team together; we have a short walk before I can show you. I don’t want to drive in the truck, because it would inevitably cause damage. Let me know when you’re ready to pull out.’

With that, Amy and Michael went to their respective teams, and told them what was needed for the trek. Michael and his crew seemed a little unhappy, but Amy reassured Susie that it was only because they needed more evidence before they were able to appreciate what was happening. In the meantime, Amy’s friends were quietly excited and a little nervous, because they knew what Amy was going to show the TV crew, and they were fervently hoping that Michael and his team would be as impressed as Amy’s friends had been when she had first shown it to them.

Before they left the camp, Amy asked Michael to make sure he had his aerial filming equipment, and was assured that it was in one of the rucksacks being distributed among the group. She also asked John to load some specific items from the truck into his backpack, quietly explaining to him what she hoped to do. John was grinning widely as he prepared, and the rest of Amy’s friends knew that something unexpected was in the air. Once everyone declared themselves ready, Amy led the way, picking a route that was manageable for the group as they struggled with the weight of the backpacks.

After walking for about twenty minutes, they stopped on the top of a large hill. It was different from the surrounding terrain in that it had no trees or bushes growing on it, just a soft moss covering the ground from the circular base up to the gently rounded top. Amy turned to Michael.

‘Well, Michael. What do you think?’

He looked at her, confusion on his face. ‘What do I think? Of what?’

‘Of the fact that you are probably the first so-called civilised man to stand here, other than ourselves?’

‘I imagine that’s true of ninety-nine per cent of the ground in the Amazon basin, Amy. Is there something special about this area?’

‘Oh, Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. If only you knew. And now you are going to know. I think the best way to begin might be to use your aerial camera. Just fly it up and up above us, looking down at our position, and tell me what you see.’

Michael nodded at his cameraman, who assembled what looked like a model helicopter. He took a remote control from his rucksack, flicked a switch and the helicopters rotors started turning.

‘You’ll notice it’s totally silent,’ Michael said to the assembled watchers. ‘It’s electrically-driven so there’s no engine noise, which allows us to fly it right into a flock of birds when they are on the move. We’ve gotten some amazing footage with this little baby.’ As he spoke, the cameraman guided the helicopter straight up into the sky above them, with himself and Michael watching a screen showing the video being captured by the micro-camera mounted on the base of the helicopter. ‘What are we looking for, Amy?’ asked Michael as the view expanded, and the images of themselves standing on the top of the hill grew smaller.

‘Watch and see,’ she answered with a smile. ‘Something that shouldn’t be here, not if this is the virgin wilderness, untouched by human hand, that we imagine it to be.’

There was silence as the remote-controlled helicopter rose further above them, and the hill they were standing on grew smaller on the screen as more of the surrounding terrain came into view.

‘Wait a minute,’ exclaimed Ian, the cameraman. ‘What are we looking at here?’

‘Wait,’ answered Amy. ‘Say nothing, not yet. Do you see it, Michael?’

‘No! See what? What the hell are you guys talking about?’

‘Watch,’ answered Ian. ‘If I just rotate the view a little, it might make it more obvious.’

The picture rotated on the screen, and then stopped.

‘What?’ The exclamation from Michael this time. ‘What the hell? Is that a compass?’

‘What makes “compass” spring to mind, Michael?’ Amy asked him.

‘Well, I’m seeing a series of pointers radiating out from the hill we’re standing on. They seem to be carved into the earth, although the vegetation has blurred the outlines, especially the further out from the hill they go. One is longer than any of the others, and it is pointing …’ He lifted his head and paused, checking his orientation. ‘… Yes, it is pointing due north. Then there are three others pointers a little shorter, pointing east, south and west, with smaller again pointers between them, so they would be pointing northeast, southeast, and so on. But what are the two short thick pointers? What are they pointing at?’

Amy laughed. ‘It is a compass, Michael. A compass over a kilometre big, made maybe twelve thousand years ago by our forefathers. And now that you know what you are looking at, you have asked a very important question: What are the two shorter arms pointing at? You can get an expert astronomer to verify this if you like, because I only know it because I feel it. The two shorter arms are pointing at the exact points on the horizon where the summer and winter solstice suns rise.’

‘But how? How could a civilisation that old have built something this sophisticated, and on such a scale? Twelve thousand years – that would pre-date the pyramids; it would pre-date even Newgrange in Ireland and Stonehenge back home. If you’re right, Amy,’ his voice rising in excitement, ‘this could be literally the oldest human construction ever discovered in the entire world.’

‘I know, Michael, I know. And it gets better. Have you noticed that in the middle of all this Amazonian abundance of plant life, this hill has nothing but moss growing on it? No trees, no bushes, flowers, not even any grass.’

‘Yes. I noticed it immediately. Why though? What’s wrong with this hill?’

‘Nothing. Nothing is wrong with this hill, nothing at all in the whole world. Rather, it is more a question of what is right with this hill. You can take a soil sample and bring it with you when you leave if you like. If you get it tested, you will find that there is no reason why other plants aren’t growing here. No reason that could be explained by conventional science anyway, not at its current level of understanding. This soil has all the nutrients, minerals, everything that is needed to support all the plant life that you see growing just at the base of this hill. If you want, I can explain why only moss grows here, but I can tell you now that you are not going to believe me. Not yet anyway. Not until you see more of what we are going to show you in the days to come.’

‘No, try me. Maybe I’ll surprise you. I’m more open-minded to the wonders of the natural world than you know.’

‘OK. Here goes. Twelve thousand years ago, our ancestors in South America hadn’t yet domesticated animals or started growing crops themselves. They were still nomadic hunter-gatherers. However, as their intellectual capacity expanded over the generations, they started to wonder about where they had come from. They were in many ways much more advanced than modern mankind is, certainly in terms of their understanding of the world about them, and their relationship to it. They posited a supernatural entity, a being that existed outside the natural world, a god if you will.

‘They came to believe that they needed to appeal to and appease this god, so that the god would intervene in the natural world on their behalf. This hill was built as the central place of worship and sacrifice. The hill itself is not a natural part of the local geography, even though they used local soil and rock to build it.

‘The reason that nothing other than the moss grows on this hill is even more outlandish.’ Amy paused, giving Michael and his team time to process what she had said so far, before continuing. ‘You see, the people wanted to be sure that their place of worship would survive through the ages, so they essentially asked the hill not to allow anything else to grow on it. They told the hill that it should only allow moss to grow on it, and for the past twelve thousand years, the hill has chosen to honour that request.’

Michael’s brow furrowed, Ian looked totally bemused, while their sound engineer openly laughed.

‘I’m sorry, Amy. What was that again?’ Michael asked in a restrained tone.

‘The people asked the hill to allow only moss to grow on it, and the hill has honoured that wish for the past twelve thousand years.’

‘But that’s …’ Michael’s voice trailed off.

‘Nuts?’ Amy asked with a fleeting smile, underlain with a sense of sadness. ‘It sounds nuts, I know. But you said you were open to the wonders of the natural world, Michael. Are you able to open yourself, open your mind, to at least the possibility that this sort of thing might be real? That the world around us has a consciousness of sorts? That humans were once able to communicate with the world in a way that we have lost? Remember the jaguar, Michael – if you hadn’t seen it with your own eyes, would you have believed it?’

‘But that’s different,’ Michael protested. ‘People can train animals. No, I wouldn’t have believed it, but nor would I have said that it was a complete impossibility!’

‘I know. I understand, I truly do. But again I say to you, keep an open mind, and decide for yourself as the days pass. There is one more thing I want to show you here, just so you know for certain and beyond any doubt that this is not just an ordinary hill, that it is something special, and specifically that it is manmade.’

She turned and nodded to John, who walked to a spot about a hundred yards away, about half-way down the hillside, which Amy had quietly pointed out to him while they had been waiting for Michael and his team to see the compass. He pulled aside some of the thick carpet of moss, exposing the soil underneath. He took a small slab of explosive from his backpack, plugged a detonator into it, and rolled the wire back to where the group were standing.

‘What are you doing?’ Michael demanded.

‘Amy wants you to see what’s really under here. Under the moss and soil, that is. She says this is the spot, so …’ John glanced at Amy as he went on, ‘… so I truly hope you have it right, or we’re all going to look like a pack of nutters.’ He turned back to the group and continued, ‘It’s just a small charge, so we’re perfectly safe here, but you might want to shield your face for a moment in case any debris is thrown this far.’

As everyone lifted their hands to their faces, John pushed down his detonation handle, and there was a loud bang. Dust and soil flew into the air, mostly landing in a circle within a few metres of the hole. As they uncovered their faces and looked down the hill, there seemed to be a small landslide, and the side of the hill just below the blast area started to move. A rectangle of earth about five metres wide slowly slid about two metres down the hill, leaving a hole in the ground.

‘Now,’ Amy said brightly, ‘let’s see what’s down there.’

She walked down the hill, with the rest following, and stood looking at what the landslide had revealed, a low wall in the side of the hill, previously buried about a foot beneath the surface. Amy asked John for a soft brush, and started vigorously brushing at the wall, sweeping away the remaining earth clinging to the front of the wall. As she worked from left to right, Ian set up his camera and turned it on. On hearing Ian say to Michael that the camera was rolling, Amy briefly paused in her work and turned to Michael.

‘Remember what we said about what can and can’t be filmed. I think you really want to capture this.’ She turned to Ian. ‘Film as much as you like of the wall, and me sweeping away the clay, but try not to get identifiable shots of me. I said to Michael it’s important that this doesn’t become about me. So film everything, including close-ups of my hands at work, longer shots of me from behind, but not identifiable, OK?’

‘Sure thing. Don’t worry, I’ll keep filming, and I’ll bear that in mind. It’s inevitable that I will have some shots of you, but there’ll be a mile of editing to be done on this rough film, and we’ll leave any shots that we’re not allowed to use on the cutting room floor.’

Amy turned back to the wall, and continued her brushing. She could hear the murmurs behind her as the others slowly realised what was being revealed. The wall was covered with intricate carvings, with traces of bleached colour still visible in places. As Amy swept more of the wall clear, her onlookers could see that it was a picture, like a tableau of what life must have been like when the hill was being built. There were pictures of men urging on oxen who were pulling what seemed to be flat slabs, piled high with rocks. When the oxen reached the wall, they were unyoked and led away. Teams of men carried the rocks to the base of the wall, where women piled rock on rock, using some sort of mixture to bind the rocks together. As the tableau expanded under Amy’s sweeping, they were all struck by the vibrancy of the picture – they could almost believe they were looking at a freeze-frame in a video. It felt as though any moment someone would press Play on the remote and the tiny figures would all come to life and start moving.

As Amy finished sweeping, she stood back and admired the artwork. ‘Oh wow,’ she whispered. ‘I had no idea it would be so beautiful.’

‘It’s like they’re alive,’ exclaimed Malik, the sound man.

‘In a way, they are,’ Amy said. ‘You see, this is what I meant when I said that these people were much more in tune with nature than most of us can comprehend. When they carved these pictures into the stone, they weren’t carving into inanimate matter, which is what we would consider to be the case. No, they were carving into the living rock – and I mean the word “living” literally. The rock didn’t resist them, and they did not have to subdue and overcome the rock. The rock worked with them, and that is why the pictures seem so vibrant. They are literally full of life.’

Michael spoke next, wonder in his voice, but with bewilderment as well, and possibly a hint of suspicion.

‘Hold on. You said something there, Amy. You said that you didn’t know it would be so beautiful. I don’t understand. This wall was buried. So you couldn’t have seen it before. So how did you know it was here? How did you know exactly where to tell John to plant his explosive? Come to that, how did you know that you wouldn’t explode this wall, this incredible artefact - if that’s what this is? Hold on. This … this doesn’t make any bloody sense!’

Amy could see that Michael was on the verge of denouncing her as a fraud. She could see a hope, a wish, burning inside him that what he was seeing was true. But she could also see, plain to all, the suspicion that came from his conventional view of the world. She tried to reach him with her words.

‘It makes absolute sense, Michael. But only if you accept what I am telling you. And accept the evidence of your eyes. And we will show you more in the coming days to support all of this. I will give you the GPS coordinates of this site, and after the filming is finished you can get teams of archaeologists and other experts in here. They will assure you that this site is genuine. And they will find much more than I have shown you. This hill is actually on the northern edge of what was once a city of twenty thousand human beings. Almost a quarter of a million people, a quarter of a million manifestations of Life, lived and passed in this city over the generations that occupied it. And immediately north of this hill, just outside what was the city boundary, is the burial ground. Most were buried in mass graves, but dignitaries were buried separately. All of this and more is just waiting to be found. And you can choose the experts.’

Michael looked at her, hope and suspicion waging war in his expression.

‘I can choose the experts?’

‘Yes, absolutely.’

‘And you are confident that they will verify everything you have said? That they will find the remains of a city to the south of here, and a burial ground to the north?’

‘They will,’ Amy said calmly, but with conviction.

‘Then explain this to me. Help me to understand. Have you seen this wall before?’

‘No, I haven’t. Never set eyes on it until this moment.’

‘Then how did you know it was here? How did you know the exact spot?’

‘Because I could feel it, Michael. This is what I am trying to tell you. I could feel it. I could feel it calling to me. Its beauty. Its life, carved into the rock. Just as I can feel the old city. And I can feel the graves of the dead bodies, though their bones have mostly turned to dust now. But a quarter of a million manifestations of the One Life leave a trace, Michael. If you can feel it, they leave more than a trace – they leave an unmistakeable imprint, as clear to me as the shout of a crowd in a football stadium would be to you.

‘It is like I said about the people who carved this in the first place. It’s why the pictures are so beautiful, and so alive. Think of it as a sixth sense; I think that’s the easiest way to explain it. It’s just another sense organ, like your eyes or ears or nose, mouth or the sense of touch. There is a sixth sense, which people have wondered about and talked about with varying degrees of belief over the millennia. Intuition is closely related to it, or maybe is it. I could feel this wall here while it was under the ground, every bit as definitely as you can see it now that it is exposed to your sight. I think if I had focused on it enough, I would have been able to feel it as clearly as you can see it. Or maybe not, I’m not sure. What matters is that there is a sixth sense. We all have it. For most of us, it is dormant, in such a deep sleep that we have never seen it or felt it. And so we deny its reality. But in me, that sense has been awakened. And it is my job to awaken it in everybody. It’s scary, but it’s also extraordinarily beautiful. I don’t know yet what limitation it has, if any. Time will tell.

‘So, that’s it. That’s the story. And we will prove it to you with concrete examples of the things we have learned. I will challenge anyone to explain how we have learned so much in such a short time, if it isn’t for this Environmental Consciousness.’

‘Environmental Consciousness? That’s a phrase I’ve heard before.’

‘Really? In what context? And what did you think of the idea?’

‘I came across it online somewhere. If I remember rightly, the premise was that the environment as a whole has a consciousness, just as we do. Is that what you mean?’

‘Not exactly. That the environment has a consciousness, yes. That it is like ours, not really. It differs in important ways. For example, in one way it is much more powerful than our consciousness, in that it relates to everything much more clearly. Although, on the other hand, that’s probably misleading, because it is all the same Consciousness, what we have and what the environment has. What we are talking about here, Michael, is a Universal Consciousness - an Awareness that underlies, is embedded in and is part of everything that we call reality, the physical world. If it’s OK with you, Michael, I don’t really want to go into the theory of it right now. I don’t think you’re ready, and you’d probably just dismiss us as a pack of nutters. Let us show you more, and then we can discuss it. Is that OK?’

‘If you say so, you’re the boss. Anyway, I think you might be right – that I’m not ready, I mean. I do want to make a clear and objective assessment of what we are seeing here, and at the moment I have to admit, the crazies label does seem like a very easy way to reconcile what we are seeing. Amy, you said you are going to show us more?’

‘Much more!’

‘But we could spend weeks filming just in this one spot. What’s your plan?’

‘I suggest you spend a little time filming here, bearing in mind that we have a deadline of a week or two to get you out of here, back to so-called civilisation, and then only another week or two before you have a programme ready to air. So if you just get enough material here for that first programme, then I have a couple more sights to show you today.’

Michael agreed that this might be the best approach, and held a quick impromptu meeting with Ian, Malik and Luca, his handyman. Ian and Malik started filming, taking a mixture of video and still shots, with Michael in some of the shots, though they would dub on the commentary later. Luca carried equipment backwards and forwards as needed, and within the hour Michael announced himself satisfied that they had at least enough for an initial programme.

All the equipment was packed into the rucksacks, and Amy led the group down off the hill and back into the undergrowth. As they walked, she asked Michael what were the biggest problems facing humanity.

‘Now that’s a big question, Amy. I don’t know – war? Hunger? Population control?’

‘And they are good answers, Michael. Would you agree that at the present time, two of the biggest problems are having sufficient food to feed the world’s population, and sufficient drinking water for everyone?’

‘Yep, they’re certainly high on the list at any rate.’

‘Well, we think we have solutions.’

She said it so quietly and calmly, with no drama, that it took a moment for Michael to grasp the enormity of what she had just said.

‘What?’ he asked explosively. ‘For crying out loud, Amy, you’re not trying to tell me that you’ve solved the world’s hunger and water issues, are you?’

‘Well, obviously I haven’t solved them. There are still millions, billions, of people out there hungry and thirsty. However, we do have resources here that can be used to greatly reduce, if not eliminate, both hunger and thirst.’

She stooped down and pulled what looked like a grass plant out of the ground, handing it to Michael.

He looked at it in his hand, a blank expression on his face. He looked back at Amy. ‘Grass?’

‘Not exactly,’ she said, once again with an enigmatic smile. ‘More like rice, I think, though it yields much more than rice. And it also has more nutrients than rice, a bit like soya bean – which is why it will work perfectly as a staple part of the diet for vegetarians – they’ll get all the protein and nutrients that we usually rely on meat for, from this little vegetable. And most importantly, it doesn’t need the vast quantities of water that rice needs to grow. This plant needs about the same amount of water as wheat or barley through its growing season.’

‘So what are you saying – that this can feed the world?’

‘It can certainly make a huge difference, yes. Just think of it, Michael. I’m no expert on agriculture, but a plant that yields more than rice, is more nutritious than rice, and can be grown in temperate climates with no need for any irrigation. Doesn’t that sound like a “game-changer” to you?’

‘Yes, it does. If it’s true. How do we know? Amy, I can’t air an entire bloody programme, without knowing if what I am showing the public is fact or make-believe!’

‘You won’t have to. I’m going to feed us with this plant tonight.’

With that, Amy pulled handfuls of the grassy plant and put them into her rucksack.

‘Tonight you will see what this plant is like to eat, which should at least start you on the road to believing. I suppose it will take at least a year, or a growing season, to prove that it can be grown in temperate climates. But if you bring some of these grains back with you, you can have them tested as well. The tests will show the nutritional value. Now, on we go.’

With that, Amy led the way again, her friends and Michael and his team following along. As they walked, Michael and his team chatted with Philip, John, Diego, AnneMarie and Susie, getting a feel for what they had been doing for the past three years. Despite themselves, the initially cynical and intentionally critical visitors found themselves starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was some truth in what they were being told. Diego reminded Michael that based on the first half of their first day, if only ten per cent of what Amy said was true, it would be enormous news. If all of it were true, then the paradigm of human existence was about to change.

‘Ah, this is perfect,’ Amy exclaimed, as she reached the bottom of a small valley. A stream fed into the centre of the valley floor, with small pools separated by shallow boggy areas covered in a yellow and purple moss.

‘I’m going to ask you gentlemen to prepare this site for us, to set up a demonstration, if you will. This is going to sound a bit gross, but trust me and all will become clear in a little while, if you’ll excuse the pun. We ladies are going to leave you now. We’re going to head off over that ridge there. I want you to follow us, to catch up with us. But before you do, I would like you to use this pool as your toilet. I want you to pee in it, poo in it if you can, and generally make as much of a mess as you can. When you’re done, Ian, I want you to film the water, so that you have a shot of how filthy and contaminated it is.’

Everyone looked at her, as though they were waiting to see if she was making a joke.

‘OK AnneMarie, Susie, come with me. Guys, follow us as soon as you can.’

Amy walked off with AnneMarie and Susie following her, and the men realised she wasn’t joking.

‘Is she serious?’ Michael asked Diego.

‘Looks like it,’ Diego answered. ‘If you gentlemen will turn your backs for a moment, just to afford me a little privacy, I’ll start the ball rolling.’

As the others turned away, Diego waded in to the pool, kicking up dirt and pieces of dead vegetation from the shallow floor of the pool. He then stood at the edge of the pool and urinated into it before joining the rest of the men.

‘Next up,’ he said cheerfully. ‘No need to set foot in the water – I’ve stirred it up good-o and relieved myself from the edge. Unfortunately I don’t need to do number twos at the moment, so if any of you guys can oblige, that’d be great.’

With great bemusement, each of the men took a turn at the edge of the pool. By the time they were finished, all six had urinated into the water, and two had defecated as they squatted over the edge of the small pool. They grinned at each other with slight embarrassment as Ian filmed the pool from close and medium range, making sure that anyone looking at the video could see that the water was filthy, with some lumps of faeces floating on the surface. When he was satisfied, he once more packed his gear and they headed off to join the ladies. They caught up with them and Michael couldn’t stop himself from asking the question that he knew his own men were certainly thinking.

‘Do you mind if I ask you, just what the hell was that all about?’

‘You’ll see when we pass back this way in a little while. But before that, I have one more treasure to show you. Luca – I see you have a plaster on your arm there. What happened?’

‘Oh, it is nothing much,’ Luca answered. ‘When we were loading the equipment in the UK I caught my forearm on a nail that was sticking out of one of the packing crates. It’s been a bit red and raw since, probably because of the humidity. I’m keeping it covered with a fresh plaster every day and night so that it doesn’t get infected.’

‘I see. Well, what if I told you that I have here one of the best antibiotics ever created? This leaf here has more than enough antibiotic power to heal ten cuts like yours. And because it is growing in harmony with the environment, it evolves along with viruses and bacteria, so you won’t eventually get resistant strains like happened with penicillin.’

As Amy spoke, she drew a knife from her waistband and cut a stalk from a low plant growing beside where she was standing. The plant had about ten thick dark green stalks growing from a central base, each one the thickness of an adult’s wrist and about half a metre long. Long narrow leaves grew from the stalk, the leaves being a paler green colour than the stalks themselves. Amy cut into the stalk, and they were able to smell a pungent, slightly putrid odour.

‘Don’t worry about the smell. That’s just this plant’s defence against being eaten. More important than the smell is the sap.’

She squeezed the stalk and a dark green, almost purple sap exuded from the cut. She gathered it up into the palm of her hand with her fingers and instructed Luca to take off his plaster. She asked Ian to take a picture of the cut on Luca’s arm, and then she rubbed the sap into the cut, and then bound his arm with one of the leaves.

‘The leaves have antibiotic properties as well, but not as strong as the sap from the stalk. When we get back to camp in a couple of hours, we’ll have a look at that arm and see if it’s any better.’ She turned to Michael. ‘Again, film the plant, film the sap. You can take a sample to bring back for testing. The first proof will be when you see Luca’s cut tonight. The next proof will be the test results you get back in the UK.

‘OK, now back to the pool that you disgusting men made so horribly filthy. Let’s go.’

Michael looked at Ian and shrugged as if to say, “What the hell? Why not?” and once again they trooped after the young woman. As Michael struggled to keep up with her, he was struck by how much she seemed to naturally ‘fit’ in the forest. She looked totally at home, and at rest even while she led them through the thick undergrowth and over the uneven ground. Michael couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to have an unerring sense for finding the path of least resistance, never having to use a machete to hack a path, always seeming to find narrow passages through the growth.

They arrived back in the small valley where the men had fouled the pool, and Amy stood back while the rest of them searched for it. There were a series of pools along the valley floor, and despite the fouling of the water only an hour earlier, the men couldn’t now say which pool they had treated in that way until Malik saw he had dropped some paper.

‘This must be it,’ he said to the others, ‘though …’ His voice trailed off, a puzzled look on his face.

‘Wait. Are we sure this is the same valley?’

The others answered him, pointing out the way they had come in.

‘OK. Then … then this has to be the pool. I … I dropped some paper, sorry. But, but, it can’t be. The place was filthy. Like, really fucking filthy!’

Michael turned to Amy. ‘You know, don’t you? I agree with Malik – this has to be the same pool. But at the same time, it couldn’t be. Not unless you had people creep in here after us and somehow clean up the whole place, but even that wouldn’t have been possible. Tell us, Amy – what the hell is going on here?’

‘See, Michael? You start to believe.’ She laughed, the innocent and carefree laugh of a child. ‘It’s the moss. You see the moss? It is a beautiful colour, is it not? – all shades of yellow and purple. But it is not just its colours that make it beautiful. Michael, do you remember a little earlier, we spoke about two of the big problems facing humanity – food and water? And the grains we will cook tonight will help solve the problem of feeding the world’s population? Well, this moss here will help to solve the problem of treating enough drinking water to ensure that no-one ever needs to go thirsty again.’

Michael looked at her, feeling overwhelmed by everything he was seeing today. Diego was right when he had said that if even ten per cent of what this girl was saying were true, then Michael would be able to make the most explosive TV programme ever seen, with scientifically verifiable facts on old ruins, new food, new medicine and now new water-treatment methods.

‘How does it work?’

‘I don’t know the scientific terminology, but essentially the moss filters water, and feeds on any impurities in the water. So your urine, and anything else you might have put in there, has been absorbed by the moss – that’s how it feeds, how it grows. So you can take any kind of dirty water – as long as the impurities in it are bio-degradable – pass it through this moss, and the water comes out the other side as pure as the freshest spring water can be.’

Michael’s mouth moved, but it took a moment for him to be able to form the words.

‘Amy, I truly and honestly hope and wish to God that you are telling the truth, that you’re right about this, that you’re not just making it up. Any kind of dirty water. Do you know what that means? If it’s true?’

‘I think I do, Michael. But it gets even better than you might have realised. When I say that this moss removes any impurities, as long as they are biodegradable, there is one particular “impurity” that you might not have thought of.’

He looked at her, waiting. Thinking, What Next? Wondering.

‘Salt, Michael. The moss removes salt.’

‘Salt? So what? Why would …?’ he trailed into silence. ‘Salt!’ Almost a whisper now. ‘Salt?’ He gazed at her in awe. ‘As in sea-water?’ She nodded. ‘This moss can turn sea-water into drinking water?’ She nodded again. ‘But how would you do it? You can’t just throw chunks of it into the sea. Can you?’

‘No, Michael, not quite. You could, however, grow beds of this moss – you’ll need some science boffin to figure out the maximum throughput, to see what size beds you would need to get a particular output per day or whatever. But you could grow beds of this moss beside the shore line, pump the sea-water onto the beds, and collect fresh drinking water the far side. Simple.’

‘Simple? Simple? You really must be a bloody nutcase. Amy, if this is true, it would be the biggest discovery since … since … bloody hell, I don’t know! Since bloody forever or something.’

He swung around to his team. ‘Ian and Malik – film this spot again. Use some of the same camera angles if you can. Capture the light and the sounds as well. Luca – take some samples of the water in the next pool downstream, there. And see if you can take some samples of the moss with the clay still attached to them. I want to bring this stuff home and get some conventional, boring, well-known and respected environmental scientists to test these claims.’

Michael was almost jumping with excitement, like a small boy on Christmas morning who just cannot believe that so many good things were happening all at once. He knew all these claims still had to be verified, but there was something about this girl. Something reassuring. Something that made him want to believe her. Still, he wasn’t going to get carried away. Excited though he was, he would be saying nothing of these supposed ‘finds’ until he had teams of scientists verify them. But if they were true! Even if only one of the things they had seen today were true. It would be incredible. And he would be proud to be a part of it.

Amy interrupted Michael’s thoughts to say that it was getting late. She wanted to get back to camp and cook dinner for them before breaking camp and moving to a new site for the night. She smiled as she asked Ian, Malik and Luca if they minded moving so much after what they had seen this day. It was gratifying to see the smiles on their faces and the pleasure as they assured her that they did not mind. They too knew that if any of what they had been told today were true, they would be a part of history.

As the various members of the troop thought about the day’s events, Amy led them out of the valley, starting the trek back to the truck and camp. As she led them through the forest, she was aware of disturbances in the serenity of the environment, and she probed the air with her sixth sense. She could feel a constant watchfulness, malevolent. She knew the PCIA were searching for her, and while they did not yet know where she was, they were implacable in their intent to find her. She said nothing to her companions, believing that there was nothing to be gained by trying to convince Michael of phenomena even more outside his experience than what he had already witnessed today.

And yet, as they walked, Amy couldn’t shake the feeling of impending tragedy. Something bad was going to happen – she didn’t understand how she knew this, and yet she could feel a calamity waiting in her future. She once again felt a sharp sense of loss, and wondered if it heralded a death. She couldn’t be sure, but the feeling of bereavement felt like a death. Was she going to lose one of her comrades? If so, she would be responsible. She had led them here – to this place and to this struggle. She had introduced them to danger, to risk. She truly believed their fight was critically important to the future of the world, but she still hesitated when she asked herself if winning this war was worth the life of one of her friends. What was she to do? She felt she couldn’t give up, just because of a nebulous feeling; even though she had learned in the last three years to trust her intuitions. She resolved to be as protective of her group as she could, and she hoped that she would be able to avoid whatever ruin was lying in wait for her.

CHAPTER 19

Another Life Wasted

˜

Varela stormed back into his office, muttering to himself. He spent all his time in the bloody jungle, but the locals had the nerve to say it was too hot for them to work. He had to show them who was boss, and there was no better way to do that than by firing some of them. He had just dismissed the three men he suspected were behind this latest attempt to make Greenergy give some consideration to workers’ rights, but his anger was still simmering.

He popped open a can of beer from his fridge to calm himself down before he left the site for the day, bitterness in his heart at the injustice of life. It was him and people like him that kept Greenergy and all the other companies like it going, generating massive profits, but did he get to enjoy the luxury that people like Wilkinson were able to take for granted? No way, and it just was not fair. He was damned if he was going to let Wilkinson keep treating him like a second-class citizen, not much better than the labourers that Varela employed to work on behalf of Greenergy.

It was bad enough that he had to run one of Greenergy’s biggest operations in the Amazon without getting a fair reward, but everything had been complicated by the Williams girl. Varela and Wilkinson had started their working relationship on a standard business footing, but over the years they had gotten to know each other well, very well. As the trust between the two men had grown, Wilkinson had at times let Varela have autonomy in deciding how to handle certain local issues, such as worker discontent or environmental protests. Varela let Wilkinson know that unorthodox methods sometimes had to be used, which over time evolved into open statements to the effect that illegality and violence were sometimes employed.

But until the Williams girl, that was as far as it had ever gone. One activist had been accidentally killed during a protest in the remote forest, but Varela and Wilkinson knew without it being said that while the death was partly accidental, it could probably have been avoided if safety had been the priority for Varela on that day. Instead, the priority had been to continue logging, and so one of the protestors had been crushed by a machine. Some payments to the local authorities made sure that the death was officially classified as an accident, despite calls from the protestor’s colleagues and family for an investigation.

Williams had created so many problems that Wilkinson and Varela were eventually forced into final solution mode. Wilkinson told Varela in open and uncoded language that Williams was to be killed. Murdered. The instructions were to either ensure there were no witnesses or else to make it look like an accident, and that Varela was to use a minimum of one or two intermediaries so that even if something went wrong and the men sent to kill her were caught, there would be no trail back to Greenergy.

Varela had organised everything with Alvarez, feeling very much out of his depth when talking to the mercenary. Alvarez was a ruthless killer without a conscience, and Varela was nervous about dealing with someone so unpredictable. Nevertheless, he did what had to be done, confident that Wilkinson would make sure he was handsomely rewarded. But so far, he had seen nothing over and above the salary and bonus that he was getting for running the usual day-to-day operations. He was getting impatient, and he had finally decided that it was time to get on to Wilkinson and insist on a very significant bonus payment. He knew Wilkinson might resist, on the basis that Williams was still around, but Varela reckoned that wasn’t his fault. He had done everything Wilkinson asked, and it was Wilkinson himself who decided that they shouldn’t take any further action after Alvarez’ attack failed. If Wilkinson seemed unwilling to make payment, then he could always be threatened with exposure.

He knew Wilkinson was starting to get a bit paranoid about using phones, so he decided that he would call Wilkinson from home. Wilkinson’s boss Carren had called him to Houston the next day, though no agenda had been forwarded, which was a little unusual. Varela assumed that it would be yet another request for an update on progress at the site. Sometimes he felt that he had to spend more time explaining to Senior Management what he was doing, than he actually spent doing the bloody job in the first place. He decided to tell Wilkinson that they needed to meet privately after the Ops meeting with Carren, and then he would tell Wilkinson that it was time for payment.

He packed up the papers from his desk, locked them into the safe in his office, and then locked the door behind him as he left. He jumped into his pick-up and started the drive back to the nearest town where he had rented a house while Greenergy focussed their logging operation on this part of the Amazon. He relaxed a little as he drove through the forest, not able to go too fast because of the poor condition of the roads.

As he came around a bend in the road, he saw what looked like an accident up ahead. Two big black SUVs were stopped in the middle of the road, blocking it completely. It looked as though they had swerved to avoid each other, and Varela could see where the tires had ripped up the earth on the dirt road as the two vehicles had skidded towards each other. Two men, both dressed in black suits, which was very unusual in the Amazon, stood between the two SUVs, arguing. Varela rolled to a stop and got out of his pick-up, walking towards the two men as they shouted in a language he didn’t understand.

‘Guys, do you think you could move your jeeps outta the way?’

The two men ignored him, and Varela walked closer.

‘Excuse me, guys – can you clear the road? No-one can get past.’

Still the two men shouted at each other, not seeming to notice Varela as he walked over to where they stood, toe to toe.

Varela reached out to tap the nearest man on the arm, noticing as he did so that both men were huge. Not fat, but muscular.

‘I said, excuse me. Do you speak English? Ou portugês?’

As he spoke, he tapped one of the men on the arm. As he finished speaking, the two men suddenly seemed to notice him for the first time. Both swung to face him, looking at him carefully.

One said something quickly to the other, and the second guy reached out and literally lifted Varela off the ground.

‘What the hell? What are you doing? Let go of me, damn it!’

Once again Varela was ignored, and he was carried over to the back door of one of the SUVs. The door swung open and another man stepped out. He too was dressed in a black suit, and was wearing mirrored sunglasses.

He spoke, seeming to snap an order at the man holding Varela. Varela was immediately set down on the ground, standing and facing the guy who seemed to be in charge. Varela said nothing at first, wondering what the hell was going on. He already sensed that this wasn’t what it seemed, that this was no random meeting. So he held his ground, held his voice, and waited.

‘Mr Varela. Would you like to confirm that you are indeed Varela, General Manager of the sub-contractor currently overseeing Greenergy’s logging operations here in the Amazon?’

Fuck. This was bad. This wasn’t a random meeting, or even a random hijacking. They had come looking for him. Specifically for him.

‘Who’s asking?’

‘Ah. Courage. Very good. Very commendable. But on this occasion, I’m afraid very much misplaced. Alvarez is dead; you are aware of this, yes?’

‘Yes. What’s that got to do with me? Or with you, for that matter?’

‘What does it have to do with you and I? That is a very good question, Mr Varela. Tell me, how do you think he died?’

‘From the little that I know of him, some drugs deal gone wrong. Or some gang war. Something like that, I don’t know. Apparently there was a whole bar full of Manaus’ worst crims, wiped out. Fucking savages.’

‘Savages, Mr Varela? Hardly. Indeed, I would say quite the opposite. Highly professional, and if I say so myself, highly cultured men. Us.’

‘You?’ Varela gulped. He still couldn’t figure out what was going on here. ‘You? Why?’

‘Because Alvarez had some information that we needed. We executed all the men in that bar for three reasons. One, they were witnesses. Two, it encouraged Alvarez to talk, because he knew immediately how serious we are. And how deadly. And three, because it pleased me to rid the earth of scum like that. That’s why.’

‘And then you killed him?’

‘Indeed. He gave us some information, and he served no further purpose. His usefulness was at an end. Now, Mr Varela, it is time for you to give us some information. And to see if perhaps your usefulness can be extended.’

‘Or …?’

‘Or you die. Here. Today. On this unmarked dirt road in the middle of this forest. Never to be seen or heard from again. Maybe never even to be thought of again, who knows?’

Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! What the hell did they want? ‘It doesn’t look as though I have any choice. What is it that you are looking for?’

‘Tell me everything, Mr Varela. Tell me everything about Williams. About Wilkinson. About your sordid little attempts to murder her.’

Varela knew he had no choice. All he could do was tell this strange man everything, and hope against hope that they would let him go. He told the man everything he knew about the Williams girl. How she had first appeared three years ago. How they couldn’t find out anything about who she was or where she had come from. How she started by being a minor pest, protesting against all of the companies working in the Amazon, and generally denouncing the logging, drilling and mining that was going on. How she seemed to focus more and more on Greenergy, and how she seemed to know so much about what they were doing, when and where.

As he spoke, the man gave no indication if what he was hearing was what he wanted or not. He simply nodded from time to time, encouraging Varela to continue.

Varela moved on to Wilkinson, explaining how they first met when Varela got a job as Assistant Manager with his current company. How they got to know each other well over the years, how they liked and trusted each other. How Wilkinson put in a good word for Varela when his boss retired, so he got his current job as General Manager. A little about the normal operational activity of the company, and how he and Wilkinson liaised on day-to-day issues.

Feeling that he was approaching a crisis point, he moved on to the recent decision to get rid of Williams. As he started to describe the instructions that Wilkinson had given him, he couched his words in vague terms, but that caused an immediate interruption.

‘Be specific, Varela. We know all about Wilkinson’s order to you to murder the girl. All about how you contracted Alvarez to do the dirty work. All about the attack on her camp, how she rescued one of her men, everything. So please don’t try to avoid being specific. Specifics are the only thing that might save your life at this moment.’

Varela resumed his monologue, trying desperately to be as accurate and specific as he could possibly be. As he spoke, part of his mind wondered who these weird guys were. Law enforcement? Certainly didn’t feel like it. And couldn’t possibly be if what the man said about killing all the men in the bar was true. Criminals, like Alvarez? Maybe, but again didn’t feel like criminals. Not like Alvarez anyway. Corporate competition? No, that made even less sense than the law. So they had to be criminals. But a type of criminal that Varela had never come across before.

He told them all about the orders from Wilkinson. That he was to make it look like an accident, or make sure there were no witnesses. That he arranged the attack with Alvarez. That Alvarez said he was sending in experts in jungle battles, men who had lots of experience in jungle warfare. That everything went wrong on the night of the attack. Alvarez’ men missed Williams completely, but captured one of her party, against instructions. That Williams seemed to then rescue her guy, paralysing the whole team of supposed battle-hardened veterans.

That Alvarez himself seemed scared of the girl. That Wilkinson had ordered no further steps be taken to get rid of her, for the time being at least. That Wilkinson seemed to have a specific reason for calling off the offensive against the girl, but that he had refused to discuss this with Varela. As he brought his description of events up to the present, Varela’s voice trailed off into silence. He looked at the man in black, unable to see his eyes behind the sunglasses, and wondered what was going to happen next.

‘Hmm. Very interesting. Mostly known to us already of course, but some informative material from your description of your interpretation of the events and facts that we were already aware of. Thank you, Mr Varela. Thank you indeed. I feel that this has been a very beneficial and constructive meeting.’

‘OK. OK, I’m glad you feel that way. Very glad!’ A nervous laugh. ‘So, is there anything else you need from me, anything else that I can do for you? Or will I just get out of here? Out of your way?’

‘I think we’re just about done, Mr Varela.’ Then, like an afterthought, he said, ‘Oh, there is just one thing, actually. Can you tell me what this is?’ He gestured to the side and walked to the side of the road, looking down into the small ditch that ran alongside the beaten track. Another short order barked to the accompanying musclemen, as Varela walked over and looked down into the ditch as well.

The man in sunglasses took a step back as one of the heavies took a step forward. Before Varela had an inkling of what was happening, a silenced shot put a bullet through the back of his head, exiting in a spray of blood, bone and brain-matter. The body stood upright for a second, before crumpling and falling forward to lay face-down in the ditch.

More orders barked, and the body was picked up, carried a short way into the jungle and thrown into the shallow grave that lay waiting. The grave was filled, and the SUVs and pick-up were started and driven into the nearest town, where the pick-up was parked carelessly outside a pub with the keys left in the ignition. Within hours it would be stolen, broken up for parts, and never seen again.

*

It was ten minutes after two o'clock the next afternoon when Carren buzzed his secretary.

‘Geraldine, has that Varela guy arrived yet for our two o’clock?’

‘No, Mr Carren, no sign of him yet. I spoke to him yesterday to schedule the meeting, and he hasn’t rung in to say he was delayed, so I’m assuming he’ll be here shortly.’

‘OK, I’ll work though the bumpf that Rich wants me to sign off for him. Let me know as soon as Varela arrives. I have a three PM with Congresswoman McCarthy.’

Three o'clock came and went, the meeting with the Congresswoman came and went, and still there was no sign of Varela. Worse still, there was no word from him, which Carren considered highly unprofessional and completely unacceptable.

He instructed his secretary to ask Dave Wilkinson to drop up to Carren’s office.

A knock on his door, and Wilkinson stuck his head in.

‘Hi Gregory, what’s up?’

‘Varela, that’s what’s up.’

‘Varela? Isn’t he supposed to be here today? I had a meeting pencilled in for four PM with you and him, and Philippe and Mark, but Geraldine called to say that it was delayed. What’s going on?’

Wilkinson was nervous. He had heard nothing further on the topic of Varela from either Carren or Luc since his phone call two evenings previously. He had almost collapsed with relief when Geraldine had told him that the four o'clock meeting was postponed, hardly daring to hope that Varela wasn’t going to show up, and too afraid and guilty to think about the reason for his non-appearance,

‘I don’t know what’s going on, Dave. He’s your man, for God’s sake. Geraldine scheduled a meeting with him, here in my office, at two PM today. He accepted, and I haven’t heard anything from him since. No explanation, no apology, nothing. It’s just not good enough, Dave.’

‘Well, I have to say, that’s not like him, Gregory. Varela is reliable, if a little rough around the edges. Usually he’ll be where he says he’ll be, at the time he says he’ll be there at.’

‘I’m not happy, Dave. Not comfortable. Especially given the subject matter at hand. I am deeply concerned that Varela hasn’t showed up. Although I didn’t tell Geraldine anything about why I was calling Varela to HQ. I wanted him to assume it was a routine briefing. Have you spoken to him since our meeting the day before yesterday?’

Wilkinson could hear the suspicion in his boss’s voice. Carren was obviously wondering if Wilkinson had told Varela not to show up.

‘For Christ’s sake, Gregory, this is getting fucking ridiculous. What, now you think I told Varela not to come; is that it? Can’t you see how ridiculous that is? Why would I tell him that? He can’t hide from you, for God’s sake. If I told him not to come today, you would just insist that he come tomorrow, so it would be stupid and pointless. And that’s not even considering that fact that we have been friends and colleagues for years – how could you think I would do something like that? For crying out loud, Gregory.’

‘Stop the dramatics, Dave. I know you well enough to know that you are more than happy to bend a few rules, even break one or two, if it means getting the job done. But no, I’m not saying you told him not to come. Mainly because it would be stupid. Anyway, look, call him, will you? Tell him you know he had a briefing meeting with me today – say that I have to meet a potential investor, one of the pension funds, and so I want to get a first-hand account of the latest news on how we’re getting on down there.

‘Find out why he isn’t here. Also, find out why the hell he hasn’t bothered to call Geraldine or me. And reschedule that meeting, for tomorrow if at all possible. I’ll get Geraldine to juggle my diary once I know what time he’ll be here. I want to get this business done as soon as I can; it’s making me fucking nervous. OK?’

‘You got it. I’ll call him the second I get back to my office, and I’ll let you know what the story is.’

Wilkinson went back to his own office, wondering where Varela was. Had Rousseau done as promised? The thought made Wilkinson giddy with relief, but at the same time weighed heavily on his heart. He knew Rousseau was manipulating him, but that didn’t change the fact that if Varela was dead, the responsibility lay with Wilkinson himself. It was he who had called down the wrath of Rousseau and his people. He who had in effect signed Varela’s death warrant. He might as well have pulled the trigger himself.

As he sat behind his desk, Wilkinson wondered how to proceed. First things first – act naturally. He called Varela’s office – no answer. He called his cell phone, which went to voicemail. Wilkinson left a short message, very briefly outlining the scenario Carren had given him, and asking Varela to call back urgently. He called the number of the house that Varela was renting, but there was no answer there either. Finally, he called Varela’s site office and was told that there had been no sign of Varela since he left the site the previous evening. And no-one had heard from him.

As he put the phone down, his own cell phone rang. He looked at the display – private caller. He answered, nervous and hesitant.

‘He … Hello.’

‘My dear Mr Wilkinson. How are you today?’

The apparent normality of Rousseau’s tone, and the seemingly friendly enquiry after his well-being, were all the more sinister given Wilkinson’s suspicions.

‘I’m well. I have a question for you, but before that, why are you calling?’

‘To answer your question, of course.’

‘What? But I haven’t fucking asked you yet! How the hell can you call me to answer a question that I haven’t even had a chance to ask you?’

‘Please, Mr Wilkinson. I do not appreciate profanity. Nevertheless, I will overlook your tone on this occasion, and answer this question about a question. I have told you before that we are watching you. You have just had a meeting with Mr Carren. Presumably, though I confess this is just a guess, about the whereabouts of Mr Varela. You have just made a series of phone calls trying to locate said Mr Varela. With no success, not surprisingly.’

‘Oh my sweet Jesus Christ. Who the fuck are you people?’

‘Do not try my patience, Mr Wilkinson! I have already told you once about profanity!’ The tone was much sharper this time.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m … I’m … oh God …’ Wilkinson’s voice trailed into silence.

‘I understand, Mr Wilkinson. You are out of your depth. You are confused, bewildered, and a little bit frightened. Rightly so. You know we are watching you, so once you have had a chance to process my last statement, you will not be surprised that we know about your phone calls.

‘Which leads us rather neatly to your question. You may ask it now. This line has been secured, so you may speak freely as long as you are sure that no-one can overhear you in your office.’

Wilkinson had to stop and think for a moment, trying to grab onto something to calm his mind. He knew he had to ask Rousseau a question. What was it? Think, damn it, think!

‘Emm, Carren, he called me. He said … oh yes, that’s it. Yes. Where’s Varela? That’s the question. Varela was to meet Carren at two PM today. But he hasn’t shown up. Hasn’t called. No-one knows where he is.’

‘Ah, I see. Where is Mr Varela? Where, indeed? I suppose the answer depends on your definition of a person. In one sense, I can give you the exact GPS coordinates where you will find Varela. In another sense, I could say that Varela per se no longer exists. Or maybe he does continue to exist, just not in a form that we can observe. Our friend Ms Williams might be approaching an answer to the question. If we can get our hands on her, I will have to ask her.

‘Does that answer your question, Mr Wilkinson?’

‘What? No! No, it doesn’t. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about. Where’s Varela?’ His voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Did you kill him? Is he gone?’

‘I personally did not kill him, no. However, he has been killed. And buried. He is dead, and will cause no more trouble. Your job now, Mr Wilkinson, is to act concerned and keep trying to contact Varela. And then smooth over this issue with your boss so that it gets dropped. Then continue to do your job and await instructions from us.’

‘Await instructions? What do you mean? What instructions?’

‘None, as yet, so you can relax. However, I have been ordered to be very clear about this with you, Mr Wilkinson. You work for us now. All of my conversations with you have been recorded. You do not know me, you cannot find me, you cannot send any agency of government or law enforcement after me. You, however, Mr Wilkinson, are all too easily identified. Identified, found, and brought to justice. So if you want to stay out of jail, not to mention guarantee the safety of your family, you will do as I say, when I say, is that clear?’

Wilkinson hung his head in his hands. ‘Yes. Yes, that’s clear.’

The line went dead, and Wilkinson knew that his future was no longer his own to decide. He had to wait and play this game out, obeying Rousseau as if he were both father and boss. In the meantime, he drew limited relief from the knowledge that as no word was received from Varela over the coming days, he would be able to convince Carren to drop the whole question of what Varela had or had not done. For the time being at least, he was safe.

*

St Claire knew he was risking more and more every time he passed information to Amy Williams. He knew also that actually talking to her represented a geometric increase in the level of risk involved. Yet he felt that he had no choice, given events over the past couple of days. As he left his office, he walked to a nearby shopping mall and visited a shop that sold cell phones. He pretended to be a tourist, emphasising his French accent and pretending to have only a few words in English. He bought a pre-paid cell phone for cash, writing down a false name and address in France, pretending not to understand the sales assistant’s repeated requests for a form of ID. Eventually the assistant gave up, collected the form and the cash, and handed over the phone to St Claire.

He walked to the local park and texted Ms Williams, asking her to call him urgently. He sat and rested, wondering if she would get the message immediately, and how soon she would be able to call. He was about to give up and return to his office, when the phone rang.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello, my friend. I recognise your voice. It’s Amy here. You asked me to call you?’

‘Yes. Yes indeed. Events are moving very quickly. There are things you need to know.’

‘OK, shoot.’

‘Do you remember Varela? The guy who spoke to you when you lay on the ground in front of the bulldozer?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I now know for a fact that Wilkinson told Varela to arrange your murder. Varela himself told …’ A pause. ‘He told two members of the Greenergy Board that Wilkinson ordered that you were to be killed. Two other members that is, not Wilkinson, do you understand?’

‘Yes, I understand.’

‘Good. Now, it seems that they went to Gregory Carren, the CEO. He called Wilkinson in two days ago, and threatened Wilkinson with an investigation, and said that Wilkinson would be suspended during the investigation. From what I can gather, Wilkinson was shook at first, but it seems that he quickly recovered his usual arrogance. Wilkinson himself suggested that Carren get Varela up to Houston, to see if he was willing to stand over these claims. Wilkinson said that if Varela stood over the claims, then he would voluntarily step aside from his job on a temporary basis, pending the outcome of the investigation.’

‘Wow. That is big news. So Wilkinson’s going to be out of the picture for a while. And more important, Greenergy is going to have an investigation to see if one of its own Board members ordered my murder? It sounds too good to be true!’

‘Well, that’s the thing. It might be too good to be true. Varela was supposed to be here today, but it seems he’s disappeared. No-one knows where he is, even his own people in Brazil. And no-one has heard a word from him. It seems to be an awful coincidence, but Varela has disappeared at the precise moment when he was about to do Wilkinson a lot of damage.’

Amy thought for a moment. She already believed that the PCIA had infiltrated Greenergy, based on her last conversation with her not-so-mysterious-anymore informant. If the PCIA were now working with Wilkinson, then she had no doubt that they could have located and killed Varela so that he couldn’t cause trouble for their man in Greenergy.

‘So what are you thinking? Do you think Wilkinson could have had Varela taken out of the picture?’

‘I don’t know. It seems too incredible to be true. Yet at the same time, I know for a fact that he ordered your murder. Once one stoops this low, maybe there is no redemption. Maybe another life now would cost him no thought, no pain. I am not sure. What do you think?’

‘I think that your Wilkinson has probably gotten himself involved with some extremely dangerous people. Exceptionally sinister and ruthless people. I have no doubt, especially given what you have said about the coincidental timing, that Wilkinson, or people working with Wilkinson, have killed Varela. Unless he turns up shortly, I think that has to be the assumption. Varela is gone, and Wilkinson, or people working with him, are responsible.’

‘Then no-one is safe anymore. I will try to help you, as I have done until now. But I cannot guarantee it. I am not a hero, Ms Williams. Good luck.’

With that, St Claire ended the call, and started to walk back to his office. On the way, he disassembled the cell phone, dropping the battery, the SIM card and the handset itself into three different garbage bins as he walked along.

CHAPTER 20

A War of Words

˜

Amy believed that if you were in tune with creation, then all things would happen at the right time. Nevertheless she was finding it difficult not to be impatient. It was six weeks since Michael White had finished filming with them and returned to England to do his editing and sell his programme to the networks. He had warned that it couldn’t be done in two or three weeks as she had hoped.

He would have to do more than just the editing, and then use trailers of the finished product to get buyers from the networks, who would have to schedule it into their listings. By the time he had left the Amazon, he was happy to believe that everything Amy was telling him was true and correct. The first day he had spent filming with her had been a revelation, and it was followed up in subsequent days with footage that was every bit as incredible.

Both he and Amy knew, however, that it would take more than White’s word to convince a sceptical public, much less bring about the sea-change in attitudes that Amy was looking for. As they discussed the issues at hand, it became apparent that White would have to incorporate testimony from respected experts based on results of tests on the various foods, medicines and so on, that he was bringing back to England with him.

They had also agreed to have an independent team of archaeological experts visit the ruins that Amy showed Michael on his first day. They had spent two weeks on the site, sworn to absolute secrecy, with Michael’s crew working with them while he stayed in England preparing the programme. As results from the tests came in, Michael verified them and added to the bank of evidence that he now had to support Amy’s amazing claims of Environmental Consciousness.

Michael also interviewed a number of leading philosophers and theologians, and was surprised to find that they didn’t consider the possibility of a level of consciousness in the environment at large to be revolutionary. Many told him that variants of that belief had waxed and waned in various societies over the ages, and that elements of the theory that Michael was illustrating were incorporated into many modern belief systems. He was also astounded to find that a number of leading physicists also seemed to be open to the idea of an overall Consciousness; as they explained that the further they delved into quantum physics, the less they understood about the fundamental force that tied the physical world together into our accepted reality.

Amy’s friends had all prepared their articles, and had networked aggressively to make sure that they could get them published in respected journals as soon as Amy gave the word. Susie had been talking to her contacts throughout many environmental and related organisations, briefing them that something big was on the way. Diego had been preparing the ground for his social media awareness campaign. He explained to Amy how the social media websites worked, what factors influenced how widely posts were distributed, and he had spent recent weeks creating user accounts on the Our World database, giving them characteristics and statistics that ensured their comments would be widely read once they started to post.

The plans had been developed, the groundwork had been laid, the pumps had been primed. Now they were waiting for Michael to tell them it was time to pull the trigger. Amy was concerned that so much time was passing, when the deadline for saving the rainforest was fast approaching. And yet she knew that the intervening weeks had been well spent. They were much better placed now than they had been a month ago, and she was confident that their chances of making a difference had been greatly improved by the preparations all her colleagues had made since their articles were first drafted.

Moving camp twice a day was no longer mandatory, since Amy felt neither Greenergy nor PCIA would be able to find them in the vastness of the Amazon while they waited for word from Michael that he was ready. However, any use of comms equipment was only allowed after travelling at least thirty minutes away from the camp. It was three days since she had last spoken to Michael, and it was time to get an update from him, so Amy told her friends she was going to make a call, and left the camp.

She ran like the wind, revelling in the sense of freedom that she always got when she was running in the forest. She raced up and down hills, waded across a river, and eventually found a peaceful shady spot underneath a giant fern. She turned on her phone and called Michael.

‘Hello, Michael White here.’

‘Michael, its Amy. How are you?’

‘I’m fantastic, Amy. It’s all come together. I really can’t believe it, you know?’

‘Believe what?’

‘Just … just the way it has all come together. We’ve finished the editing, tying in what we filmed with you and the testimony of the various experts who’ve tested some of the verifiable claims. I had two engineers and a biologist in here a couple of days ago, wetting themselves with excitement over the filtering moss. I’ve divided the programme into segments. Everything that has been tested and supported is presented first. That will give it the credentials for the stuff that can’t yet be proven, with EC being at the heart of the final segment. I’m telling you Amy, this is going to be mega-huge!’

‘That’s brilliant, Michael. I’m delighted. But you know me – I’m going to come straight back to the key question. When can you air?’

‘Aha, that’s another part that has being coming together beautifully. We prepared a teaser for the various potential buyers, and put it out to the industry. In keeping with what you were saying about the profit motive, we said that my production company would not be charging anything for making the tape available for broadcasting, but that we are recommending that any buyers should donate an amount of their own choosing to an environmental charity. The only other limitation we put on it was that it could not be broadcast until the first Friday next month.’

‘The first Friday, next month? That’s … that’s only ten days away, is that right?’

‘Yep, that’s exactly it. On Friday week, the programme will be aired!’

‘Oh, Michael, that’s wonderful. You truly are a saviour. And who is going to air it? Will it get much coverage, or viewers or whatever way you measure these things?’

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. And that’s why not charging for the rights to broadcast was such a stroke of genius. Normally networks bid for the rights, with the most expensive bid being for exclusive rights for a period of time. So, typically a network will buy the rights to air a programme, and I can’t sell to other networks for say a month or two. But because we are not charging them anything, the usual exclusivity clause doesn’t apply.’

‘OK. And what does that mean, exactly?’

‘It means, Amy, that you are looking at near-simultaneous broadcasting around the globe. The trailer we put out is captivating, even if I do say so myself. We have promised news of genuine radical breakthroughs, backed up by a list of the experts who will be giving testimony on the programme. So the whole thrust changed from exclusivity to no network wanting to be left behind. I’m signing them up at a rate of knots, Amy. Every day, more and more are coming in. It’s starting to get mentions on the newswires. Everyone knows that there’s something going on, but nobody knows for sure what it is. We’ll have to distribute the tape during this week, because networks will want to see what sections they will break it into, depending on their advertising schedule. So I’m expecting some leaks next week.’

‘Leaks? OK. Well, off the top of my head, I’m guessing that’ll actually be a good thing, won’t it? It should increase the audience figures. And I’ll alert the team here and we’ll get their articles published next week, which will hopefully bump up the overall impact. And then Diego can launch his campaign on Saturday morning. It sounds as though we’re looking good, Michael. What do you think?’

‘We’re looking better than I would ever have believed possible. Amy, I have to tell you, I am more excited about this than I have been about anything in a long time. And I am a very passionate man when it comes to my area of expertise. But not for years have I felt anything even remotely approaching this level of excitement. Roll on Friday week!’

Amy and Michael discussed some more of the logistics before Amy disconnected the call and returned to camp. She called the team together and addressed them as a group.

‘OK, guys, I’ve been talking to Michael. We’re good to go. The programme will air on the Friday evening of next week.’

Delighted looks beamed from around the table.

‘With who, Amy?’ Diego asked. ‘Who is carrying it?’

‘It’s starting to look as though it might be easier to say who isn’t carrying it, Diego. I think Michael has missed his true calling – he may be one of the greatest publicists the world has ever seen. He has loads of networks falling over themselves to be among the first tranche of stations to show this programme. At this stage, it looks as though it will be broadcast all over the world, with everyone from the biggest cable and satellite stations to small local and national stations all broadcasting it. Michael said it will be like a wave rolling around the globe on Friday evening as the sun sets. The programme will move through the timezones.’

More happy looks.

‘So, the scene is set, guys. Next week is the week for each of your articles to be published, OK? Do we expect any challenges at this late stage?’

‘Not at my end, anyway,’ John said. ‘I’ve been talking to a couple of the Board members of the AJA – that’s the American Journal of Archaeology. They publish quarterly, but after the examination by Michael’s independent experts over the last month, they are willing to print my article online whenever I want to. They have insisted on a week to preview it, but I’m happy that they’ll publish, given the independent verification we’ve already received. As you know, the article starts with our biggest find, with some of Michael’s photos and video embedded in it. Some of the shots such as the aerial view of the compass and the hidden wall coming into view for the first time are still heart-stopping, and the article credits Michael’s programme for the video, so that the whole lot ties together. The second half of the article then focuses on EC, talking about how it was only through EC that we were able to locate the site and say so much about it, even before any excavations were started. It’s weighty, it’s revolutionary, and I think it will stand up to critical review.’

‘Excellent, that’s exactly what we want. So you will need to send it to them this Friday, so that they can publish on Friday week. Brilliant, well done! Who’s next?’

‘Mine is ready to roll as well,’ AnneMarie confirmed. ‘Like John, I’ve set it up with some friends who have influence with the International Journal of Biological Sciences. It’s hugely respected, partly because they usually take three months to peer-review any article before they publish it. In this instance, however, I’ve been able to get a waiver on that requirement, and they agreed to review the summary I sent them, on condition of absolute confidentiality. Again, it was Michael’s work that convinced them, I think, so we have a lot to be thankful to him for. Anyway, the medical and food discoveries that I discuss in the article have such potential to be world-changing that together with Michael’s test results, they’ve totally bought into the whole thing. Like John, I’ve referenced Michael’s programme a lot, so that hopefully the programme and the article will generate cross-publicity for each other. They’ve asked for one day to read the complete article, just so that they can verify that it matched the summary I gave them. So I’ll let them know now that I’ll be sending it to them on Thursday next week, and they’ll publish the next day.’

‘Happy days, happy days. We’re looking good. Philip?’

‘Yep, it’s all systems go. Like the guys, I use examples of the discoveries we made, with Michael’s filming and test results to back up our claims. My whole focus though is on the whole sustainable exploitation, with EC less of an issue, though I do mention it. As you know, the article covers a lot of detail in terms of how we can live in communion with the Amazon, how damage to the Amazon is damage to the global environment, and I talk a lot about the potential consequences of changes to things such as weather patterns and ocean currents as a result of damage to the Amazon. I’m publishing in a number of respected forums rather than in a single publication, so I think we’ll get a good spread of online coverage across the three articles.’

‘Fantastic, John, great work. Susie, you’ve already contributed a huge amount by getting Michael on our side. But I know you have plans to do more.’

‘You bet. Michael has lined me up with excerpts from the programme, plus some of the material that he won’t have time to show in the programme itself – he’ll be putting a lot of extra material up on his website. As soon as the first show airs, which if Michael has networks in every country will be New Zealand I think, I’ll start posting combinations of comments about the show and snippets of video on various websites that I know. Hopefully by the time the show is being aired in the States, we will already be generating awareness in countries ahead of the programme being aired. That should help to generate big viewing figures, getting the message out to as many people as possible, as quickly as possible.’

‘You’re an angel, Susie, well done. And Diego? Our social media guru? How are your plans looking?’

‘I genuinely think the delay has been very fortunate, Amy. I know you are anxious to get the message out there quickly, that the time is right. But the difference the past few weeks have made will be huge. Three weeks ago, I could have launched a social media awareness campaign that would have been impressive, given the tools at my disposal. However, with the tweaks and enhancements I have been able to put in place over the past few weeks, and what I can still do between now and Friday of next week, I think we are looking at a new yardstick for measuring the success of these campaigns.

‘Not to be cocky, and I could yet be proven wrong, but I think this campaign will dwarf anything we have seen so far. I have used back-door programmer access points into the OurWorld engine to create a number of user profiles that have artificial statistics that will guarantee that what they post will get huge visibility. I have created connections to other users that will go live at the press of a button. I’m connecting my dummy users to two types of users. One is people who have in excess of four hundred connections already – every one of those people will be told that one or two of my dummy users have accepted their connection request. The reason I went for users with over four hundred connections is that they usually won’t remember who they asked to connect anyway, so it shouldn’t raise any questions in their heads. Also, they tend to be power users, so if they decide they don’t want to be connected to the dummy user, they’ll just block them, so no alarms should go off in OurWorld HQ.

‘The second type of user is people with fewer than fifty connections, but who have logged an interest in one of the key words that I asked you for – environment, sustainable, Amazon, rainforest, nature, etc. These are likely to be specialists, who are using OurWorld to communicate with colleagues, or people who share a very specific interest. They won’t be told their connection request has been accepted, because they would know they hadn’t made the request in the first place. Instead, they’ll receive a request to connect. Hopefully I’ve made the profiles of the dummy users sufficiently interesting that they’ll say yes. Once they do, they’ll get all the information we are disseminating through the dummy users. The problem with this group though is that they’ll tend to be infrequent users, so it’ll take more time for the word to spread among them.’

‘Brilliant. And what about the other social media sites? How do we stoke the fires in their virtual communities?’

‘Well, that’s the second phase really. I’ve had to log on as an ordinary user to those sites, and manually create the dummy users using the various front ends, so it’s a slower process. I haven’t sent out any friend requests yet. But once we launch next week, I’ll start posting comments, Michael’s videos, etc., and we’ll see how quickly we can grow the connections across the other sites. Having said that, on the other sites especially, but also on OurWorld, it’s going to be more about how many shares and views and comments we can get on the stuff we post, than about how many connections we get. In OurWorld, I can track multiple levels of sharing and commenting, so we’ll get a really good picture from that.’

‘Yep, I remember you explained that to me. Maybe for the benefit of the others, you might run through it quickly again?’

‘Yeah sure.’ He smiled, looking around at the group. ‘OK, you know the way you might post a photo, and you can see that maybe twenty people liked it, let’s assume eight shared it, and let’s say three commented on it, yes?’

Nods from the group.

‘OK, now what you don’t know is what happens to the eight shared versions of the photo. Let’s take two extremes. In one extreme, let’s assume that nobody likes, shares or comments on any of the eight versions of the photo, OK? And for simplicity’s sake, let’s assume that the twenty that liked your photo, the eight that shared it, and the three that commented on it are all different people, OK? That’s actually extremely unlikely, since some people will have liked it, commented on it and shared it, but this is just to keep it simple, OK? That means that the photo registered, or made an impact on, at least thirty-one people, OK?

‘And you can only say thirty-one, because none of the shared copies of the photo got any comments, likes or sharing. So, that’s one extreme. Now, let’s look at the other extreme.

‘Assume that each of the eight shared copies has the same level of impact – that is, assume that each one of the eight shared copies in turn makes an impact on at least thirty one people, OK? If you do the math, your one photo has now impacted the original thirty-one people, plus eight times another thirty one. That’s nine times thirty-one …’ He screwed his forehead in thought ‘… That’s 279 people, OK? But, we’ve assumed the same impact, in which case each of the eight copies gets shared eight times, which means another sixty-four copies of the photo are now published in cyberspace. If they have the same impact, then something like sixty-four times thirty-one people …’ He pulled out a calculator and typed on the keys. ‘… That’s nearly two thousand people. And so it goes on.

‘This is how we built OurWorld. Even with those small levels of sharing and impacting, nine levels of sharing would touch everyone in the entire world who has an online account, many of them a number of times. If you assumed figures of, say, 100 people impacted per photo, and twelve shares on each iteration, only seven levels would cover the online global online population. It’s a function of geometric enlargement, which can always yield amazing results. And that’s what we’re going to try to do. Try to connect with as many subscribers directly, so they will see what the dummy users post. But more importantly, try to get them to then share it themselves, so it proliferates at as high a rate as possible.

‘When a really well-known personality posts, whether it’s an entertainment star or a self-improvement guru, there can easily be millions of copies of their words floating around within days. We hope to smash that figure.’

‘That sounds like exactly what we need, Diego. So ...,’ Amy said with a provocative smile. ‘… are you willing to put a number on it? How many people will have read about Michael’s programme, or the Amazon, or our work or Environmental Consciousness within a week of the programme going out? Within a month?’

‘No, I’m not willing to put a figure on it. Certainly not an exact figure. But in terms of the various topics you just mentioned, I hope tens of millions, with hundreds of millions not being impossible. In terms of EC specifically, I hope millions, maybe tens of millions. Satisfied?’ he asked with a return smile.

‘Yes. Absolutely, yes. You know Chopra says one per cent of a population can bring about a fundamental change in the common beliefs of that population. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but if it is, and if we can get ten million people recognising the reality that is Environmental Consciousness, then we may soon be much further ahead than we could have thought possible before today.’

She looked around at them. Her team. Her friends. Her support and her strength.

‘We are on the cusp, my friends. I have been told that the winds of change are blowing stronger now than they have done for thousands, maybe tens of thousands of years. We will put our plan into action next week. On Friday. And we will let the Universe decide on the outcome. Regardless, we will know that we have fought the good fight. That we have stood up and been counted. That we believe. Most importantly, that we, all of us together, We Are. We Are All.’

CHAPTER 21

Battle Commences

˜

The night was dark, the air humid and still. Dawn was still two hours away, but Amy and her team sat patiently, waiting for the programme to air in New Zealand, which was the first country in the world to show it. Two channels, one the main free-to-view channel and the other the biggest subscription channel, were showing it, both at eight PM local time.

Snippets of the programme had been posted online in recent days, presumably leaked from the trailers that Michael had provided to channels around the world. Diego was continually assessing the impact, and had pronounced himself very satisfied with the early proliferation of the topics covered. Now the team waited to see what would happen when the programme aired in its entirety for the first time.

They sat around the table, laptops on, tuned into NZ TV and various websites and forums, with the small generator chugging away quietly in the background, providing the electrical power to run their electronic equipment. The truck was parked nearby, almost fully loaded, ready to roll at a moment’s notice. Now that they were going to be online almost continually for the next few days at least, Amy had insisted that they remain stationary for only a few hours at a time, with repeated moves being the order of the day for at least the next forty-eight hours.

‘Here it comes,’ Diego whispered. ‘Two channels, simultaneously, in New Zealand.’

The team watched the programme, seeing the full edited version for the first time. They were struck by how powerful the message was, with Michael expertly weaving footage from the Amazon with testimony from a wide variety of experts from a wide-ranging selection of disciplines to support the claims that had already been tested.

It was all there – the various geological and archaeological finds that Amy and her team had shown to Michael, with stunning visual shots of the landscape and the features that had been discovered. The compass and the wall that Amy had shown Michael on the first day delivered the climax to this first section of the broadcast, with experts from a number of fields, some of whom had spent two weeks examining the sites with Michael’s camera crew, confirming the existence of the sites and stating that they had already radically altered the understanding of the development of modern man. As the sites were studied further, they expected new discoveries to aid their understanding of the past, and therefore possibly of the present as well.

Then the programme turned to new and startling information on the relationships between the various elements of the environment, from animals and plants to natural features such as topology and water. Michael presented possible theories, which the team knew were based on what Amy had stated to Michael as facts, to experts – in every case the experts agreed that the theories were possibly correct, while some said these theories for the first time presented a cohesive picture of how the natural world worked, and why it had evolved to its present configuration. Some went further and said that these theories for the first time gave a rational and coherent explanation for the effects of climate change and global warming.

Food was a topic that got a ten-minute slot of its own. The programme showed the ‘grass’ that Amy had cooked for Michael after the first day’s filming, with Michael himself declaring that the cooked grains had been sweet tasting and filling. Then more experts, verifying that the plant was very highly nutritious, and saying that while they needed to do trials to be certain, there was no reason to doubt that it could grow in temperate climates with moderate water, and could be high-yielding. The Director of one of the world’s best-known NGOs was interviewed, saying that if the plant was as good as was being claimed, it would represent a breakthrough in the battle to end world hunger. A celebrity chef confirmed that he had cooked some of the plant that Michael had given him, and said that the combination of the sweet taste and the high nutritional value meant that anyone using the plant as a staple part of their diet would have no nutritional or medical need for meat.

Water came next, a five-minute slot. It started with before and after shots of the pool in the valley, with Michael explaining how he and his team had fouled the pool, and that within an hour it and the pools downstream were crystal clear. Then there was film that Michael had shot while the archaeologists were examining Compass City, where he had poured a bucket of mud into the pool, followed by a speeded-up footage of the water flowing through the moss and coming out perfectly clear on the other side, with Michael drinking some of the water just to emphasise how clean and pure it both looked and tasted. Then followed testimony from further experts who had tested samples of the colourful moss that Michael had brought back to the UK. While their test results were preliminary, they confirmed that the moss seemed to soak up all bio-degradable impurities in water, including salt. Then more experts explaining the implications of this moss. Hope that pure drinkable water might become easily accessible to all.

Next was a section on the medicinal properties of some of the plants in the Amazon. More before and after shots, this time of Luca’s arm – the before shot showing a red and angry-looking wound, the after shot showing the wound still there, but clearly much healthier-looking. Michael explaining how he and his team had seen this effect with their own eyes. Claims for plants to ease aches and pains, plants to ease unsettled stomachs, plants to fight infection, and most controversially, plants to fight cancer. More expert testimony, though more guarded and less specific this time. Each expert saying preliminary tests seemed to show some efficacy, though each couching his or her words very much in terms of ‘possibly’ and ‘it would seem’ and ‘we cannot discount’ – the lawyers seemed to have been coaching the pharma experts.

With about three-quarters of the programme broadcast, Michael then seemed to summarise everything that had been shown so far. He itemised the discoveries, listing the potential implications. He reminded the viewers that the new information presented in the programme pointed to a volume and wealth of discoveries about the natural world that possibly exceeded the sum of all such discoveries in the previous decade at least, if not the previous century. And he posed the question, ‘So, how have we learnt so much, from so few, in so little time?’ On both channels, the programme cut to an advertisement break.

When the programme resumed, Michael faced the camera, with a screen behind him showing short video clips from his time in the Amazon with Amy.

‘I had the honour of working with a small team of people in the heart of the Amazon a short while ago,’ he started. ‘It was from these people that I learned of all these discoveries. So I should really re-phrase my question as how did they learn so much, in so little time? They have explained this to me, and I now offer you the explanation that they gave me. I have to warn you, dear viewer, that I found their explanation difficult to believe. Impossible to believe, at first – it just seemed too far-fetched. Not to mince words, it seemed crazy. But as I spent the days and weeks with them, and as the various experts that you have just heard and others verified many of the claims that this group made, I have had no choice but to believe what I have been told.

‘As the famous sleuth Sherlock Holmes is quoted as saying, “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth”. And so it is that I present to you the theory, although this group of people describe it as a fact, of Environmental Consciousness. “What is that?” I hear you ask. Environmental Consciousness is in essence the holistic consciousness of the natural world. It has been described to me as Mother Nature’s equivalent of our own human consciousness, with the human ability to perceive it, or to link into it, described as a sixth sense in addition to the traditional five senses that we know of, those being of course sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch.

‘If you think of the human being, we each have a consciousness. Philosophers sometimes describe it as that thing, or entity, that is capable of wondering, “Who am I?” Environmental Consciousness posits the same type of Consciousness for the environment as a whole. And yes, that is saying that the environment is conscious. That the natural world is self-aware. I warned you that the explanation of how we came about these discoveries would be difficult to accept. But before I talk about how Environmental Consciousness helped us arrive at these discoveries, let me first ask some eminent scholars about the possibility that such a thing could exist.’

The programme then had short snippets of interviews with a number of different people, with Michael explaining that the interviews in full were available on his website. As the extracts of the interviews proceeded, Diego announced to the group that the program was now a trending topic on Twitter, and Michael’s website was already seeing a huge surge in traffic – apparently a lot of people were already watching and wanting to find out more. Michael spoke to two theologians, two philosophers, a physicist and an environmental scientist. All stated that the theory had merit, though none were willing to commit themselves to fully support it, describing it as ‘only a theory’. They did however accept that should all of the discoveries presented in the programme be validated by independent trials, then that would certainly add a lot more weight to the theory. The theologians and philosophers spoke about how theories similar to Environmental Consciousness had waxed and waned throughout the ages, giving the theory the weight of history. The physicist and the environmental scientist spoke about how recent discoveries in both fields, up to and including the discovery of a ‘Higgs Boson-like particle’ in CERN in 2012, were forcing science itself to look at the possibility of a ‘supernatural’ explanation as being the ‘glue that holds our reality together’.

As the last interview ended, the setting reverted to what looked like a simple sitting room, with Michael sitting in an armchair, papers piled on a small table at his elbow.

‘So, we seem to have a consensus that the theory of Environmental Consciousness has merits, though it is yet to be proven. And each of the experts you have just heard, from widely disparate disciplines, have agreed that if all of the discoveries that we are announcing on this programme are correct, then this would lend weight and credence to the theory of Environmental Consciousness.

‘Why so? Well, because the people who have shown me all of these discoveries, the people who have learned more in three years spent in the Amazon than was possibly learned about the natural world in the preceding decades, if not century – these people have told me that it is through their connection with Environmental Consciousness – through their sixth sense that allows them to experience the natural environment on a more fundamental level than ever before – it is this ability that has allowed them to learn so much, to understand so much, so quickly. Therefore it follows that if these discoveries are all validated, as I firmly believe they will be, then we have to listen to what these explorers are saying.

‘And they are saying that Environmental Consciousness is a reality. That it exists, and that if humans tune into it, then humans can experience the world on a non-physical level. These scientists, these adventurers and explorers, have developed that ability. They insist it is not a “superpower”, it is not magic or religion, and it is certainly not quackery. They can “see” the non-physical world as clearly as you can see me on your screen right now.

‘When they look at the forest, at all of nature that surrounds them, they do not see only the physical objects. They can also see the purity of the natural world; they can see the inter-relationships that bind the whole ecosystem together. And they can “hear” the Consciousness of the environment. They can sense its intentions – usually benign. And at the moment they can sense a fear in the Amazon. A fear deep in the fabric of the forest itself. The forest truly is afraid. And why wouldn’t it be?

‘The Amazon, like so many of our natural environments around the world, is being killed. It is being ripped up, torn down, fragmented and crushed. And it is being exported to the four corners of the globe – everything from the acai berry ingredient in your smoothie, to the wood in the chair you are sitting on. If you for one moment accept that the natural environment might have some kind of consciousness, some kind of awareness – and I have to reiterate here the testimony you heard from our experts, from theologians and philosophers to scientists – if you accept the possibility of environmental consciousness for even a moment, then imagine what it must feel like to be that forest.

‘Proud and mighty, it has stood for millennia, slowly evolving over time, some species dying off while new species are born. And for all of that time, it has served as the engine room for our world’s climate. If we lose it, the effects globally would be catastrophic – there is little or no doubt about that. But now, in addition to the human costs, we also have to consider the damage being done in the context of environmental consciousness – the environment is a conscious organism, at least to the same extent as an animal. Would you allow someone to treat a dog in the same way that we are currently treating the Amazon – cutting away parts of it, burning parts of it, destroying it – all for short-term financial gain?’

Finally Michael ended the broadcast with a passionate plea for sustainable living. He emphasised how this one programme had presented discoveries that would hugely ease the suffering and plight of a large portion of humanity. He explained again the inter-relationships throughout the environment that had been presented at the start of the programme. He outlined an apocalyptic vision of the not-too-distant future, should humanity continue to damage the earth as it had in recent decades. He finished by asking all citizens of the world to make their voices heard with their leaders, elected or unelected, to urge them to bring about a new era of sustainable living.

As the credits rolled, the pre-dawn sky brightened on the horizon as the team leaned back in their chairs, feeling a little overwhelmed. They had been instrumental in the making of the programme. None of the discoveries in it were new to them. And yet the artistic and forceful way that Michael had edited it to tie all the pieces together left even them a little shell-shocked.

Susie was the first to speak, albeit with just one word. ‘Wow.’

The others slowly nodded, as the impact of the programme sank in.

‘Good God, Amy,’ AnneMarie almost whispered. ‘I don’t know why, I’ve seen it all before, but that really blew me away.’

‘Exactly,’ John echoed. ‘If that doesn’t stir up a hornet’s nest, I don’t know what will!’

Amy looked around at each one of them, her face glowing, her ice-blue eyes shining.

‘You have all been wonderful. This is all down to you guys – no-one could have done this on his or her own. You Are All.’

She paused, bowing her head briefly as though in prayer or giving thanks. She looked up at them again and murmured, forcing them to strain to hear her.

‘I don’t know how far I can trust this sense of EC. If I understood it better, I would know whether or not it has any limits. I think it may not, but I am not sure. Anyway. If my sense is correct as of this moment, then it has already started. I can feel it. A vibration in the air. A throbbing in the earth. It’s possible … it’s just possible …’ She fell into silence.

‘What, Amy?’ Diego asked, concern for her paramount in his mind. ‘What’s wrong? What is this thing that you’re saying is possible?’

She slowly focussed on him, as though she had been briefly in a different reality altogether.

‘Wrong, my darling? Oh no, not wrong. Right! So right that I’m also afraid to hope. Afraid to dare to dream.’

‘OK, honey, that’s good … I think. But what is it? Can you explain it to us? You know we can’t see what you can see.’

‘But you will, Diego, you will. That’s what I see. A change has begun. How many people might have seen the programme so far? Tens or hundreds of thousands? A million or two at most, surely? And yet already I can feel it.’ She beamed, happiness flooding from her as she seemed to radiate light, her voice seeming to speak with all the voices of creation. ‘The change, Diego.’ She looked around at them all. ‘Yes, already. It’s happening. It has started. It is so beautiful.’

Tears fell from her eyes unheeded. ‘It’s so beautiful, it’s ecstatic. Rapture. Euphoria. Difficult to come back to your world. But I must. It’s not done yet.’

With apparent difficulty she seemed to draw herself inwards, making herself smaller, somehow dimmer. More like a normal human being. She breathed deeply, quietly for a moment before looking at them with her usual blue eyes. When she spoke again, her voice also seemed to have returned to normal.

‘OK, guys. Sorry about that. I know how you feel – this is all a little overwhelming for me too. But first things first.

‘John and AnneMarie, your articles should be published on the relevant sites in the next few hours. But Philip, Susie and Diego, you can press the button on your pieces now. Let’s get this thing moving.’

For the next hour she moved between Philip, Susie and Diego, watching and encouraging as they posted articles, videos and comments on different websites, blogs, forums and social media websites.

Philip and Susie both had lists of sites that they were ready to post on. Susie’s tended to be more amateur environmental sites, while Philip focussed more on academic and professional sites. They were both posting videos, photos and comments, many linking back to Michael’s programme, and most of them referencing Environmental Consciousness.

Diego executed a number of dormant programs that he had filed in the OurWorld database, creating millions of connections in an instant. Millions more Friend Requests went to people who had expressed an interest in a topic that might relate to any one or more of the topics in Michael’s programme. And all the time, Diego was tracking statistics relating to Michael’s OurWorld page, reporting unprecedented traffic on the site.

After an hour, true dawn had arrived and the immediate tasks had been addressed. Amy instructed everyone to log-off, disconnect and power down their laptops. She checked that no phones were left turned on, and when she was happy that the team couldn’t possibly be generating any electronic noise, she hurried them into and onto the truck. She drove off into the forest, as always expertly navigating a route through the growth and the landscape that was navigable for the half-tracked truck and caused minimal damage to the plant life as they passed.

This time she drove for more than two hours, before announcing herself satisfied that they had sufficiently changed their location. As they dismounted and once again powered up their laptops, Susie asked Amy how anyone could possibly track them using the signals from their phones or laptops.

‘I don’t really understand the technical basics, Susie, though Diego explained a lot of it to me. Having said that, we are trying to change the dynamics of human society. We are trying to kick-start a fundamental change in human consciousness and practice. As such, we are now targets for much more than just Greenergy. We are targets for every vested interest, every corporate fat-cat, every so-called public representative who sees an easy life in the promises of the machine that is western modern culture, society and economics. And we are targets for much worse as well.

‘All I know is that every time you log on, you leave a trail. An electronic trail. And some of the people who are already hunting us have expertise and almost unlimited funds at their disposal. You know what happened at Alheio village, I told you. Luckily no-one was hurt there, because our friend got a warning to the chief. But there was another village, I’m not sure of the name. A village of fifty souls. All disembodied now. You would say dead, Susie.

‘The people finding us have the expertise. The funds. The will and the way. And they will stop at nothing. They will do anything to stop us. I am tempted to say that they are inhuman, but that would be wrong of me. So wrong. This is important, Susie – all of you.’

Everyone had been listening to Amy as they set up their equipment, but now they all stopped whatever they were doing and gave her their full attention.

‘No-one is inhuman. No-one is less than human, no-one,’ she said, fiercely, as though daring anyone to contradict her. ‘These people, you might want to call them savages, or animals. But they are not. They are people, just like you and me. But they have been damaged. Damaged, or inured. A teacher once said “Forgive them, for they know not what they do”. And so it is. They would move heaven and earth to stop us, if they could. They are lost. Lost in materialism. In consumerism. In the separation from what Is.

‘And so they deserve our sympathy. Our empathy. We will fight them in our way. With words. With peace. With knowledge. But to do that, we must also defend ourselves as well as we possibly can. And the best way to do that is to make sure they cannot find us. Not until we are ready. Not until the change becomes embedded. Becomes irreversible. And that time is coming. So for now we strike through words. Then we pack up, run and hide, then strike again. Write And Run, that’s what the word WAR stands for with us. That’s our motto.’

She looked around at them all.

‘I’m sorry if some of it doesn’t make sense. Just understand this, in terms of Susie’s question. We are in mortal danger. So we must stop and log-on to fight our war with words. And then we must pack up and run and move and hide before logging on and striking again. Does that part at least make sense?’

They all assured her that they understood the need to keep moving, keep changing location, never staying in one place too long. And they assured her that they trusted her to know best how often. How quickly and how far they should move. With Amy and the group all reassured that they were still in harmony, she asked them to log on again and continue to execute the plans they had made.

As Diego reviewed statistics from OurWorld, he gasped. ‘Jesus Christ, Amy! What have we done?’

‘What do you mean, Diego?’

‘I mean the traffic. Fuck, I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s unreal.’

‘OK. I take it that’s good, yes?’

‘Yes, God, yes. Unreal. Amy, OurWorld users typically generate an average of maybe three billion likes and comments every day. Like I said when I spoke about the geometric progression a couple of weeks ago, the volumes are crazy. But look what’s happening now,’ he exclaimed as he swung the laptop screen for her to look at.

‘Diego, darling, it’s a load of graphs. I think you might need to tell me, not show me,’ she responded with a smile.

‘OK, OK. So, typically three billion, right? That changes hour to hour, depending on what time it is in various parts of the world. So we always used GMT as our base time for all measurements. So I can look at the typical traffic for the past few hours, on an hour by hour basis. Up until Michael’s programme screened in New Zealand, the volumes were looking fairly typical – minor variations from the average, but all within the typical statistical allowances. But in the two full hours that I have data for since Michael’s programme ended – Wow!’

‘Wow what, Diego?’

‘Wow, the volumes, Amy. The volumes are curving up in relative terms. In the hour after the programme aired in New Zealand, comment volumes are up ten per cent. Then, in the last hour, twenty five per cent. That’s way outside statistical variation. And if I look at it on an intra-hour basis …’ A pause while he clicked the mouse, changing some of the graphs. ‘Yep, it’s growing all the time. I need to check the source of the comments – maybe some global celebrity has died!’

He went silent as he furiously clicked through screen after screen, and Amy moved to the others, checking how they were doing.

‘East coast of Australia has just started showing the programme in the last thirty minutes,’ Philip said.

‘Any way of seeing what kind of viewing figures they’re getting?’ Amy asked.

‘Nope, not that I know of anyway. Maybe Michael would be able to start getting early feedback from them,’ Philip suggested.

‘Good idea,’ she said as she grabbed her phone and turned it on.

‘Michael?’

‘Amy! Amy, I’ve never seen anything like this. It’s lunchtime here in the UK. And already I’m being inundated with calls. Two stations aired in New Zealand – did you see it?’

‘We were all eyes and ears, Michael, thanks to the wonders of the Internet. Diego set it up so that we could see the programme live as it aired in New Zealand. It was fantastic, by the way. You did a truly incredible job. Even though we were all part of the filming, the end result was still stunning. You should be very proud of what you have done.’

‘Thank you, Amy, but forget the praise for now. Much more important is the outcome. And what an outcome!’

She laughed. ‘You sound happy.’

‘Happy? Happy? That’s the understatement of the year. Both stations have called me to ask for more information – their switchboards are being flooded with calls from the public asking how they can help. How they can respond to the plea for support at the end of the programme. I’ve had my techie guru onto me asking for authorisation to spend money as an emergency to get extra capacity from server farms – I don’t understand the technicalities, but apparently my own website was in danger of crashing because of the amount of traffic onto the site – which can only be because of this programme.

‘Amy, we’ve only done one country so far, and already the impact is far and beyond, a million miles beyond, anything I have ever seen before.’

‘Ah Michael, there is a time and a place for everything. It would appear that the time and the place are here and now. I’m delighted. Everything would appear to be falling into place. But be on your guard, Michael. The war is not yet won. There are dark clouds on the horizon, I can feel them. Forces are amassing. We cannot yet relax. I will need you to be strong, Michael. In times of doubt, I need you to believe. “If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you”, Michael. That’s the trick. Do you think you can?’

‘I’m not sure what you are talking about, to be honest, Amy. But yes, I think I can. I know there will be detractors. I know that any calls for sustainable living are inevitably going to be attacked because they represent a threat to the structure that has built up in the last century or two, and especially in the most recent decades. I am a student of history as well as the environment, my dear. I know what we are up against here.’

‘That’s good, Michael. Really good. Because the attack is coming. I can feel it. The first tendrils of fear are reaching out to the monster. It is slow to react; it hasn’t yet recognised what is happening. But when it does, as it will in the coming hours, its retaliation will be swift and fierce. That is when I will need you to stand strong, Michael. When the accusations start flying. That is when I will need you most.’

‘And I will stand strong, my dear, you can be assured of that. Have faith in me, as I am coming to have faith in you.’

‘Faith in each other, Michael, faith in each other. You Are All.’

With that, she disconnected the call and looked around at her companions. They had heard her side of the conversation, and they looked worried.

As she expected, it was Diego who broached the question.

‘Amy, excuse us for eavesdropping, but we couldn’t really help it. You said something about an attack, and swift and fierce retaliation. Is there something you need to tell us?’

‘Only that which you already know.’ She looked at each one in turn, holding them in her gaze for a moment before moving onto the next. ‘Dark forces are arrayed against us. Some visible, some hidden. And they will move in the coming hours and days.

‘Death is in the air, my friends. I know how much I am asking of you. I think I know better than you, just what you are putting on the line. For me. For our fight. Your lives. That is the risk. I am torn by this. The responsibility. The possible cost. I feel tragedy in our future. We might not all live through this. And that pains me; it tears at my heart. I need to be sure that you know this. That you understand, properly and fully, what I am asking of you. You need to ask yourself if you are prepared to pay the ultimate price, to make the ultimate sacrifice, for Amazon. Are you?’

They looked at her, hearing her words, but not sure who they applied to. To one of them? To all of them? Each of them considered, and as humans do, each of them decided that they weren’t going to die, not now, not here. And so each of them nodded, confirming that they were willing to die for the cause, even though none of them felt that it would actually come to that.

Amy saw them nod and knew that none of them truly appreciated what might lie in store for them. People have a remarkable ability to believe in their own immortality, she thought, and yet she could do no more than warn them. They were willing to take the risk, and she was going to have to live with the consequences of their risk-taking.

‘Thank you, my friends. I will do my best to keep us safe. So for the moment, all is as expected. And the plan remains the same. Tell me, how are we doing?’

‘My article has just been published on the Biological Sciences Journal’s website,’ AnneMarie offered. ‘Not many hits as yet. But it’s only been up for about fifteen minutes. I’ll keep an eye on it and let you know if it starts getting a lot of comments or shares. I hope it does!’ she said a trifle anxiously.

‘Don’t worry about it, my friend. Remember, we do what we do, and Consciousness looks after the outcome. We have no attachment to the outcome,’ Amy surmised with a beatific smile.

‘Mine isn’t up yet, but it should be within the next few hours,’ John said.

‘OK, that’s fine. I was starting to worry that we would have too much happening at once if they all went up at the same time anyway, so that’s perfect. See,’ she said, again addressing them all, ‘the Creation is ordering itself just so.’

‘I can’t handle the number of comments and responses I’m getting to the stuff I put up before we moved camp,’ Susie said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this. I’m just trying to respond to the most pertinent comments while I post some more of Michael’s material.’

‘Magnificent. And do you have a feel for what percentage of the comments are positive, negative, or in between?’

‘Oh yes. Overwhelmingly positive. Though given the websites and forums that I’ve posted to, that’s no more than I would expect. These guys are looking for exactly what it is that we have to offer.’

‘OK, that’s exactly what we want to hear. Keep at it, Susie, spread that word wide and loud, so that no-one will be able to silence it.’ Turning to Philip she asked, ‘And Philip, how are you doing?’

‘I’m doing great, though I’m a little nervous. Like Susie, I’ve been getting big volumes of feedback on the stuff I posted. Nothing like the volumes she seems to be getting, but for my audience, it’s still unprecedented. I have to admit I’m a little nervous – if this all goes down in flames, these people aren’t going to forget that I was in the vanguard of the bandwagon, shouting about sustainable living and Michael’s programme and Environmental Consciousness.’

‘OK, that’s understandable, Philip. So tell me about the type of feedback you have been getting. Is it positive?’

‘I would say largely, yes. Though there is a significant proportion of negative as well. Some “you are crazy” stuff. You have to understand, Amy. Many of my audience have spent their professional careers expounding a particular point of view. And while some seem open to what we are suggesting, such as Environmental Consciousness, others seem to be almost automatically rejecting it out of hand.’

‘Again, as expected. That’s fine. If I may suggest, if you are responding to comments, answer positive ones with a very short thank you, and answer negative ones with a broad statement to the effect that no one person has an exclusive on all knowledge. Say that you are presenting possibilities – if people feel they are being asked rather than being told, they are much more likely to take the time to look at the proposition before rejecting it out of hand. Let me know how you get on.’

‘Amy, I’m seeing another spike in OurWorld traffic,’ Diego said. ‘I reckon it has to be connected to the programme now being aired in Australia. And there’s already significant traffic happening between my dummy users and the general populace on OurWorld. Other social media channels are much slower to take off, but that’s no more than I expected.’

Over the next twenty-four hours, the team never stopped to rest. They would move for an hour or two, stop for an hour or two, and then pack up and move again. Diego reported continuously increasing traffic, while all of the others reported increasing hits and comments on their various articles and posts. Amy assured them that they were proceeding perfectly according to plan, and after an exhausting marathon she finally declared them off-duty for twelve hours. They packed up once more, she drove them for three hours, and they camped in a crook of the Amazon River, far from any other human beings.

CHAPTER 22

The Takeover

˜

Dave Wilkinson lay comfortably in his bed, dreaming pleasant dreams of sailing the Caribbean with his wife and children. His sleep was suddenly interrupted by the jangling and intrusive sound of his personal cell phone ringing.

He fumbled for the phone, pressing the answer button and holding it to his ear in the darkness.

‘Uh-huh,’ he mumbled.

‘Mr Wilkinson,’ the tone sharp, impatient.

Wilkinson sat upright in the bed, jerked into wakefulness by the severity of the voice on the phone.

‘Luc! Mr Rousseau? What … what time is it?’

‘The time is of no concern. All you need to know is that it is already almost three hours since our mutual friend started the next phase of the war. It seems she has gone the route of publicity and PR. How soon can you be in your office?’

‘In my office? Oh my God, it’s nearly time to get up anyway. I’d normally be in there in about two hours. Why?’

‘Because you need to get there urgently. I’ll see you in your office. Be as quick as you can; there is no time to lose!’

The line went dead, and Wilkinson stared dumbly at the phone for a moment before galvanising himself into action. He quickly got up, showered and dressed, whispered goodbye to his wife and met his driver outside his front door. Within forty minutes of getting the call, Wilkinson strode through the foyer of Greenergy HQ, and got the lift up to his office.

As he walked in, he was greeted with the strong smell of a French cigarette. He was taken aback to see Rousseau waiting for him, having apparently once again bypassed Security, but he recovered sufficiently to bark at the Frenchman.

‘You’re not allowed to smoke in our building!’

‘Shut up,’ came his reply, short and sharp, brooking no argument. ‘Just shut the fuck up.’ Rousseau seemed rattled, not the usual cool, calm, collected individual that Wilkinson had come to expect. ‘That bitch Whiteland has really brought us to the endgame now!’

‘Whiteland? Who the hell is Whiteland?’

‘Williams! That’s what you know her as. And if you have a single ounce of sense in that thick skull of yours, you’ll forget the other name this instant. Now, we need to contribute in the action against Ms Williams.’

‘We need to what? I’m sorry, Mr Rousseau, ‘cause I want to help, I really do. But you’re not making any sense! We need to contribute to what?’

‘I apologise, Mr Wilkinson. I am not quite myself.’ Wilkinson could see Rousseau making a huge effort to get control of himself. It seemed to work. ‘Ms Williams has apparently worked with a well-known media environmentalist, Michael White.’

‘Michael White? Shit, I’ve seen loads of his stuff. Really incredible!’

‘Your admiration for Mr White will need to be short-lived. He has in effect aligned himself with Ms Williams, and that makes him our enemy. At eight PM New Zealand time, two New Zealand television stations aired a programme made by Mr White, with collaboration from Ms Williams. We are scrambling to catch up, because it would appear that despite all our preparations, we have been caught unawares. However, we can already say that she seems to have launched a simultaneous campaign of sorts online.

‘All of a sudden there is talk all through the ethersphere about the environment and sustainable living and worst of all, about Environmental Consciousness.’

‘Environmental Consciousness? What the hell is that?’

‘That, Mr Wilkinson, is the witchcraft that we discussed in an earlier conversation. That is what allows Ms Williams to move around the Amazon like a ghost. And it is what has allowed her to make all of the discoveries that have been documented in the programme that White just aired.’

‘Discoveries? What discoveries?’

‘Oh, just things like how to end world hunger. How to live sustainably with the environment. New medicines. And archaeological ruins in the Amazon that will put a stop to your logging in at least some parts of the forest.’

‘Damn. For a minute there, I was about to say that these discoveries are good things. But stopping us logging? What the hell is that all about?’

‘It’s much worse than that, Mr Wilkinson. You don’t understand. What does “sustainable living” mean? It means less industry for a start. A move away from oil. A move away from consumption, in all its forms. A move, Mr Wilkinson, away from capitalism. From the American Dream. Are you going to stand by and let her destroy all that your great society has achieved since Independence?’

‘Of course I’m not! I’m a fucking patriot! I’m not going to let that bitch destroy my dream. Nor the dream of the American people. What do we need to do?’

‘Moves are already afoot. Our technical people are trying to track them down. Both physically and virtually. We are moving resources into the field for when we complete the physical tracking. And our technical teams will try to block them in the virtual world once we pinpoint them there.

‘In the meantime, we will use Greenergy as a public face to start counteracting the PR she and this guy White are putting out.’

‘What? Wait! Use Greenergy? What do you mean?’

‘I mean that it is payback time, Mr Wilkinson. We protected you when you needed it. Now you are going to help us. I understand that Greenergy has a renowned PR department, under Mr Small. You are going to place that department at our disposal, under our command.’

‘What? I don’t have that authority. I can’t go and tell Rich that all of his people have to stop what they’re doing. And I certainly can’t tell him that they have to report to you.’

‘Hmmm. So I assume that only Mr Carren has that authority?’

‘Yes, though even Gregory would find it hard to explain.’

‘Trust me, he won’t have to explain. You will.’

Rousseau took out his phone – it looked very unwieldy and bulky to Wilkinson, old-fashioned in its dimensions. Rousseau made a call, and conducted a short conversation in a foreign language that Wilkinson couldn’t place. He ended the call and turned to Wilkinson.

‘You will shortly receive the authority you need. We will wait.’ He sat in one of the chairs and seemed to relax totally, although his eyes remained fixed on Wilkinson. After about ten minutes, Wilkinson’s landline rang.

‘Hello, Wilkinson here.’

Carren’s voice, sounding stressed. ‘Dave. Dave, good. Dave, something has come up. I’ll call Geraldine to let her know, and I’ll ask her to inform everyone else who needs to know. I have a family emergency. I won’t be in for a few days. In fact, you won’t be able to contact me for a few days. I’m delegating my authority to you, Dave, just for the next few days. I’ll tell Geraldine to pass the word to the rest of the team, so that they’ll know who’s in charge in my absence. Is that OK with you?’ he asked, almost pleading.

‘Sure, Gregory, sure. Anything I can do to help, you know that. Can you tell me what’s wrong?’

An indrawn breath from Rousseau, and a warning glance.

‘No, Dave, no I can’t. It’s personal – a family issue. But I need you to hold the reins for a few days, OK?’

‘You know you don’t need to ask, Gregory, of course.’

‘Good, good. Oh, and one more thing, Dave. I see on the wires that the Williams girl has put out a nature programme with the environmentalist Michael White. They’re making some pretty fantastical claims, most of which I’m sure are total rubbish. Nevertheless, they’re credible enough that they could encourage some moves against us in terms of our work, especially in South America. I’ll talk to Rich, let him know you’ll be in touch, that he needs to put his team at your disposal. You need to stop her. Is that clear?’ Again, a pleading tone.

‘Sure, sure, Gregory. Leave it with me.’

‘Thanks Dave. I’ll talk to Geraldine and Rich. I should be back in touch in a few days. Family emergency, you understand?’

The line went dead, and Wilkinson looked across at Rousseau.

‘Is there nothing you guys can’t do?’

‘Well, we haven’t stopped Ms Williams as yet. You have to understand, Dave,’ he said, his tone suddenly friendly. ‘This is Armageddon we’re talking about here. Williams wants to return humanity to the Stone Age. Disease and death rampant. Life expectancy of maybe twenty years. Privation, primitive, savage. We can’t allow that.’

‘Of course not! Hey, I’m on your side. So, what now?’

‘Now, we wait for two things, both of which should happen shortly. An email from Mr Carren’s secretary to the Board and other key personnel, saying that Mr Carren has been unexpectedly called away on a family emergency, and that he has deputised his responsibilities to you for the next few days. And a call from Mr Small to say that he has been talking to Mr Carren, and that his team are at your disposal. When that call comes in, you will ask Mr Small to come to your office to discuss the PR strategy to deal with Mr White’s programme. You will explain to him that you have already hired a consultant to help craft that strategy.’

Within minutes, Wilkinson saw an email from Geraldine, exactly along the lines that Rousseau had forecast. Another few minutes, and Wilkinson’s landline rang. He could see on the display that the caller was Rich Small.

‘Rich.’

‘Hey Dave. I just got a call from Gregory, and you saw that email that Geraldine just sent out? He sounded really shook. What’s going on?’

‘I don’t know any more than you do, Rich. Some kind of family emergency. Gregory didn’t tell me anything more than that.’

‘Jesus, that doesn’t sound good. I hope his wife and kids are OK. Anyway, he told me about White and Williams, and this programme that aired in New Zealand. Gregory was saying that it’s already getting a lot of attention, here at home and abroad?’

‘That’s right, Rich. I haven’t seen the programme myself yet, but from what I’m told, it seems that it could really throw a spanner in the works. If what I’m hearing is correct, this could have very real and very fast implications for our operations globally, and nowhere more so than in the Amazon Basin.’

‘That must be why Gregory asked you to take over in his absence, Dave. All the usual stuff is ticking along as usual. This programme though could be our priority over the next few days, and South America is your bailiwick. Have you any idea yet what we need to do?’

‘Just starting to pull ideas together now, Rich. I’ve engaged a consultant, an expert in this area. He’s in my office now. Can you pop in, and we’ll see what we need to do to counteract this programme?’

‘Sure can, Dave. I’m on my way into the office now; should be with you in half-an-hour.’

‘Great, Rich, see you in thirty.’

Wilkinson ended the call, and told Rousseau that Small would be joining them in thirty minutes. Rousseau made a call on his own phone, again using the language that Wilkinson couldn’t identify, much less understand. He ended the call and turned back to Wilkinson.

‘We need to understand what we are dealing with here. You will receive an email before Mr Small gets here, with instructions on how to view the full programme online. It seems that the online community is on fire with commentary about this thing. We don’t have a minute to lose!’

Forty minutes later, Wilkinson had the opening credits of the programme paused on his PC, and Rich Small had arrived and had been introduced to ‘our consultant, Mr Rousseau’. The three men sat back as Wilkinson pressed the Play button and his computer screen ran the opening credits of White’s programme. An hour later, the three men digested what they had just seen, as the closing credits rolled.

‘Jesus Christ,’ exclaimed Small. ‘That was good. That was really fucking good. I want to go out there and march and protest for the environment myself!’

‘I trust you are not serious?’ asked Rousseau.

‘Not really, no.’ Small laughed. ‘But I’m telling you now, that programme was very fucking powerful. A lot of people are going to be excited by it. Motivated by it. Who knows, some of them might even get off their fat lazy asses and actually try to do something about it!’

‘Which is exactly what we need to ensure does not happen. Mr Wilkinson, and Mr Carren through Mr Wilkinson, have engaged me specifically to ensure that White’s environmental propaganda does not have the effect you describe. The question is: How do we do that? Ideas, gentlemen?’

‘Yes, I have ideas,’ Small insisted, uncomfortable that this external consultant had been engaged at such short notice, apparently to do his job for him. And yet now he was asking for ideas. ‘We deal with this sort of thing all the time, though admittedly not on this scale. But I think the same logic applies. The same tactics.’

‘And they are?’

‘They are three approaches, all executed simultaneously. We flood the airwaves with our own experts; we post like crazy online, not just on our own website, but also on all related sites. And our own experts and our online activity go after three elements.

‘Firstly, the more extraordinary claims on the programme we insist have already been proven to be fantasy. We pull out experts who will say what we want, and we act as though the more extreme claims in that programme, and some of them were very extreme, like that Environmental Consciousness shit, are self-evidently ridiculous.

‘Secondly, we attack the claims that sound feasible but haven’t been fully proven in independent verifiable experiments. We throw doubt on those claims simply by asking why it is, if they are true, that even the makers of this so-called documentary, cannot point to independent proof. Like when they were talking about all the supposed medical stuff. All their own experts may have been vaguely positive, but none of them were willing to outright say, “This is correct”. They were all very careful to say “possible” and “maybe” and “encouraging early results”; but not one of them said that any one of those plant extracts they spoke about would definitely cure anything.

‘And last but not least, we go after the personalities. For every expert that they quoted, we publish a counter-argument from an equally respected expert, if we can find one. If we can’t, we try to cast doubt on their experts’ credibility. It could be professional – maybe they published a theory twenty years ago that has since been disproved. Happens all the time in academia, but the general public won’t know that. All they’ll see is “Ah, he’s been wrong before, so he’s probably wrong this time as well”. If necessary, and if we have nothing in the professional arena, we have on occasion in the past used personal peccadilloes to discredit someone – if we have to, we can do that again.’

‘Excellent, Mr Small, truly excellent. I can see that your reputation is well-deserved. Mr Wilkinson told me that there was no-one who could match you in a fight like this.’

Small allowed himself a feeling of satisfaction at this nod to his ego.

‘Now, you might be wondering, if I have nothing to add to your strategy, what value-add I bring to the table,’ Rousseau continued. ‘I think that will really become apparent in the third stage of your strategy. I am assuming that you have access to panels of experts that you can use for phases one and two. I will instruct my home office to start research on the various experts White used, and indeed on White himself. Let’s see what we can dig up.’

‘Great,’ Small said with enthusiasm. ‘We need to kick off the first two elements immediately – a stitch in time saves nine, and never more so than in these sorts of circumstances. I’m gonna convene my team now, get them to focus on this, and get responses out into the public domain, hopefully as early as this evening. If we can get stuff drafted by early afternoon, we can publish online and be ready in case anything hits our own mainstream news media.’

‘Good plan, Mr Small. I will similarly instruct my own team. I suggest we reconvene here at, let’s say, two-thirty this afternoon to assess progress - is that agreeable to you?’

‘It is indeed,’ assured Small, before rushing off to get his team into action. After Small left the office, Rousseau gave Wilkinson a series of instructions, before he too left, presumably to consult with his own team, whoever that may be.

Wilkinson sat back in his chair, luxuriating in the knowledge that he was, albeit temporarily, top dog. A little voice in his head whispered that he wasn’t top dog, that in fact, he was nothing more than Rousseau’s lapdog, and that he had less power and less autonomy now than had been the case for many years. Wilkinson silenced that annoying voice, telling himself that the version he preferred was reality, and believing the lie that he told himself, as only humans can.

CHAPTER 23

Evolution

˜

‘OK guys, time to pack and run again,’ Amy called to her colleagues. ‘When we get to the next stop, I want to pause and take stock of where we’re at. There’s so much happening, I’m concerned we might miss something important.’

The team powered down all their equipment, the constant moving from spot to spot now second nature to them. Amy called out her checklist that the whole team now knew off by heart.

‘All lap-tops logged off and powered down?

‘All cell phones powered down?

‘All equipment stowed in the truck?

‘No garbage left on the ground?

‘We are leaving the site as close to how we found it as possible?

‘You’re all OK?

‘You Are All. Let’s go.’

As was now standard, the three ladies hopped into the cab, with Amy driving, and the three men climbed onto the equipment in the back of the truck and made themselves comfortable. Amy drove further than usual, not stopping for four hours. She eventually stopped in a clearing in an unusually dense area of forest, and they all got out, stretching cramped limbs.

‘Hold on a minute, everyone,’ Amy called, as the five others were about to fall into their practised routine of grabbing gear and logging on. ‘Before we switch on any devices, let’s take a few minutes to pause. We’ll set up a table and chairs first.’

With that, she climbed into the back of the truck and started handing down chairs. A table followed, and the six of them sat in a circle around the table, with Amy’s companions waiting for her to begin.

‘My friends, You Are All. I have told you this before, and now I know that in time it will make more sense to you than it does now. We are a community, the six of us. I don’t know how long our little community will remain as it is, but for this time it suffices perfectly. I feel that every community should have its rituals – to bring continuity and harmony.

’This is even more important now, at this time. If anything happened to me, it is important that you have a focus, a structure, something to sustain you in times of fear and doubt. There is danger all about us, my friends, and you must be ready and prepared for anything that might happen.

‘I am suggesting that we create a new ritual for ourselves. Every morning, and every time we set up a new site, I would like to take a moment for us to commune with Creation, is that OK?’

They all nodded, not sure what exactly she was suggesting, but trusting in her totally.

‘Great. Thank you, my friends. And if anything was to happen to me, if ever you feel alone, practice this and I will be with you. In spirit, if not in body. Please, let us all join hands.

‘Now, close your eyes, and forget about everything. Let your mind be still, your heart calm, your body quiet, and your soul, your True Self, will know Itself.’

Her voice was hypnotic, and each of the five quickly reached a meditative state that would normally take much practice to achieve.

‘We think we are our body – the body is but the vessel.

‘We think we are our thoughts – thoughts are but dreams.

‘We think we are our feelings – emotions are but reactions.

‘We are our True Selves. Echo these words in silence.

‘I Am All.

‘I Am Creation.

‘I Am Consciousness.

‘I Am All that Has Ever Been.

‘I Am All that Is.

‘I Am All that Ever Will Be.

‘I Am All that Is, and I Am All that Is Not.

‘I Am All.’

Silence surrounded them, despite the sounds of the forest all around them.

Stillness bathed them, despite the movement of the forest all around them.

Bliss flowed into, through, around and between them.

Time and space no longer existed. Each of the people around the table experienced a sensation closely akin to the Zen-like tranquillity that is spoken of by the most accomplished meditators. They were both Nothing and Everything. They held Infinity in the palm of their hands.

A whisper from the physical world. ‘Beautiful.’ They reluctantly let go of Forever and returned to the table. As they opened their eyes, Amy was looking at them with excitement, pride and happiness in her expression.

‘Beautiful. You are all so beautiful. If you could have seen yourselves while you went to Stillness. You all looked so beautiful. So at peace, so complete. You have each just touched Consciousness. True Consciousness. The only reality that truly exists. And you will touch it again. Eventually the aim will be to live in that place all the time, even when your bodies and minds participate in the physical world. And here’s another thing – I think that repeating this ritual is going to awaken your “sixth sense”. I think that you will start to see and hear the world in the same way that I can.’

She beamed at her friends. ‘What was that like?’

They found it difficult to put into words, but phrases such as ‘It was awesome’, ‘Unbelievable’, ‘the most incredible feeling I’ve ever had’ made it clear that they were enthusiastic about the experience. Amy explained that by quieting their bodies and emotions, and especially their thoughts, they were making space for themselves to ‘hear’ Consciousness, or more properly, to ‘experience’ Consciousness. She told them that everyone could do this, that everyone had this capacity, just as every plant, animal and every supposedly inanimate object did. She said that every human could and did experience this awareness, before mankind started to see himself as separate from nature.

‘OK, now back to our purpose, as it were. Hopefully you will be able to view our progress more dispassionately, with less stress or anxiety. Let’s go around the table and get an update from everyone.’

‘No worries. I’ll start if you like,’ Philip said. ‘I posted various articles, blogs, videos on a range of sites, mostly professional or academic sites to do with various aspects of botanic science, or the environment. There has been a huge reaction, and there’s no question that the links with Michael’s programme is a huge factor in that. These articles and stuff would normally have been read by professionals only, but with the different tie-ins to the stuff in Michael’s programme, they’ve spread out into the general community. I can’t track it, but Diego has been helping me with something he calls “big-data-mining”. We know that there is huge interaction online specifically related to my articles. My social media site is adding numbers every second – I’ve gone from virtually no-one following my page to tens of thousands.’

‘OK, so that tells us that your message is getting out there. Do we have a sense for what response it’s generating?’

‘Yes, absolutely. Huge volume of responses, and they seem to be breaking into two categories. In terms of the claims we have made, up to and including EC itself, there is a mix of reactions. I would say over half of responses range from cautiously positive to completely supportive, with just under half ranging from mildly sceptical to downright hostile. So I’m not sure what that means, though I know you’ve said that a fifty-fifty split in reaction is really good news.

‘But then there’s the reaction to the call for sustainable living. There is a small amount of negative reaction, most of it, to be honest, based on a misunderstanding of what sustainable living means. There seems to be a sense out there that we mean we have to go back to the Stone Age, get rid of all technology, stuff like that. So some people are totally against us, based on that perception of what we mean. Having said that, most people are supportive. That ranges from people saying they’ve started to take small steps in the last couple of days, such as trying to cut down on the amount of electricity they use in their home, or cycling to work instead of driving, to people saying that they want to go off-grid, that they want to go back to agrarian living!’

‘Right, that kind of reaction is exactly what we need. And numbers – do we have any idea of numbers?’

‘Yep, again thanks to Diego. He’s showed me how to tweak the way I’m posting stuff, to make sure that it gets maximum visibility. And he’s done some rough calculations on the numbers. Are you sure you want me to say it out loud, Diego?’ he asked, with a broad grin.

‘Go for it, buddy. I’m comfortable with the numbers.’

‘Amy, Diego says that by now, probably between one and two million people have read either one or both of the two main articles that I posted. Add in the blogs, comments, videos, and Diego says we are talking tens of millions. And we’re only two days in!’

‘It is time. The time is now. We are a catalyst only, my friends – remember that. This could have happened anyway, though that is by no means certain. In any event, we are just the spark that has lit this fire. Hopefully it will soon become a conflagration that nobody can extinguish!

‘Keep at it, Philip. Keep punching, keep writing, posting, doing everything that you are doing. As you said, we are only two days in. What will you accomplish in two weeks, two months?’ She smiled at him and then spread her view to the others.

‘I’ll go next,’ AnneMarie said. ‘As you know, my focus, initially at least, was pretty much confined to the article I published on the Journal website of the Biological Sciences Institute. Very academic audience, very technical in the sense that they would be very much into the detail of the science involved. If I had published that article in that forum a few months ago, I would have been laughed at and dismissed as a nutter. But the combination of Michael’s programme, together with the independent verification that so many of our discoveries have received, has made a real difference. Is everyone saying that they’re on board? No, they’re not. But there is more cautious evaluation than there is dismissal. I’ve been getting a lot of requests for clarification, for more information. My general answer is that I don’t have time to address all the queries because there are a lot of them! – and I direct people to Michael’s website and some of the other guys’ material as well, including some of Diego’s “dummies” as he calls them.’

‘Excellent. And has your article spread outside the website where you originally posted it?’

‘Oh yes – sorry, I should have been really clear on that. Diego has been tracking it as best he could for me, and my results are similar to Philip’s, though maybe not of the same magnitude. The article has been re-posted by thousands of people, including, of course, all the guys here, which has given it even bigger exposure. Diego reckons tens of thousands of people have read the full article, with hundreds of thousands, or possibly even millions, having seen quotes from it or references to it. And it’s still spreading.’

‘Beautiful. Well done, AnneMarie, well done.’ Again she raised her gaze.

‘As for me,’ John said, ‘the picture is the same, with one interesting twist. Like AnneMarie, I published a specific article on a specific archaeological website. In fairness, AJA wouldn’t be the busiest website in the world – well, not until the last couple of days! I’m getting huge response from archaeologists and conservationists – having Michael get independent experts out here to look at Compass City as it is now being called, was a stroke of genius. There is already a general acceptance based on their verification, that the city exists, which is what has given rise to the twist I mentioned. There is already a huge impetus to have the whole area declared a World Heritage Site. I mean formally declared, like, under UNESCO. There’s only about a thousand World Heritage Sites around the world – if Compass City is added to the list, then that whole area will be instantly and absolutely off-limits for any logging or drilling!’

‘Wow! And do you think that might actually happen?’

‘Definitely! Definitely a possibility, anyway – maybe even a probability. The site meets most, if not all, of the criteria – most of the sites on the list only meet a couple of the criteria. The only thing is, I think sites are only added to the list at the annual convention, so nothing will happen for certain until then. Having said that, if a site is likely to be added, then considerable pressure can be put on national governments to protect the site pending its formal ratification as a World Heritage Site.

‘Anyway, that’s the specific twist on my one. Other than that, the story is the same as AnneMarie’s – similar numbers, though Diego reckons the Compass City piece specifically has been read by millions, if not tens of millions, of people. The feedback is hugely positive on the ruins, though debate is raging about what they mean, and that won’t be resolved until much more detailed examinations take place. The age of Compass City is being especially disputed – naturally enough, because it means that most of our theories on the historic development of Homo sapiens will have to be amended, at the very least; maybe rewritten in some aspects.

‘Other than that, as you know, I was very specific in the article that we were able to make these discoveries because of a connection to Environmental Consciousness, though I didn’t name you or say that it was a single person that had that connection. I have to say I’m surprised at the reaction to that – to be honest, I expected to be ridiculed. And while a minority are firmly in that camp, a surprising number, both of experts and ordinary folk, seem willing to suspend judgement on EC until they get more information, or maybe they just need more time to process it, I don’t know.’

‘You’re a gem, John, well done. It sounds as though you’re right on schedule, and on-track. Susie, how are you doing?’

‘Other than being exhausted?’ Susie asked, before adding, ‘Or at least, I should be exhausted. But I’m not. I’ve never been so busy. And so fired-up. And yet, I feel as ready to go on and do more, as though I’d just had a month’s holiday! Weird.’

‘Nothing weird about it, my darling. You are starting to get some of your energy from the Source now. Best energy there is – it can keep you going forever!’

‘Well, it’s doing me a power of good, that’s all I can say.’ She paused, a slight frown on her face. ‘I’m struggling with how to keep the message separate from myself. I’m sorry, that doesn’t make sense. What I mean to say is … I’ve been posting and blogging like crazy, about all the things we spoke about. New foods, the environment, new medicines, sustainable living, EC. And I’m getting a huge reaction. But a lot of it seems to be personal. People want to know about me, not about the message. I don’t know why,’ she finished, looking concerned.

‘Don’t disturb yourself, my dear. It’s natural, perhaps even inevitable. You’re the youngest and the most attractive one of us here. You are not a scientist, and so more of yourself shows in your writing than it does with any of the others, as they tend to be more technical in what they write and say. So naturally people are going to want to know more about the person, Susan Cardenas. Just make sure that any info about you that’s out in cyberspace is short, accurate and as bland as possible. Other than that, just respond to people on the basis of the subject matter in hand – again, people are just going to have to understand that you don’t have time to engage in individual personal conversations.’

‘True, that makes sense. Although my Mom has been messaging me – she is so proud. She says her friends are all telling her that I’m as good as …,’ she said with a slightly embarrassed smile to her friends, ‘… or better than, “all those sciency folk”, to quote my Mum. I feel a bit guilty, ‘cause she said Dad’s illness has gotten worse, so I should be there with him; but Mom said that Dad is saying that under no circumstances am I to come home, that I’m to stay here and keep doing what I’m doing. So I’ll keep at it; and I understand what you’re saying, Amy - other than family and some old dear friends, I’ll just stick to the facts, and not engage in any personal chat.’

‘That’s it exactly. So tell me, how is it going?’

‘Oh, sorry, yes. How is it going? Brilliantly! Amazingly! It’s like I’m suddenly a celebrity – everyone wants to know what I think, what my view is, what I’m saying. I’ve been active like crazy every time we go online. The stuff is spreading like wildfire. Diego says mine is harder to measure, ‘cause it’s a little all over the place – we’re covering everything, in all kinds of different forums. But the reaction is huge, and very positive. Younger people especially seem to be clicking into the vibe, much less suspicion or cynicism, which I suppose is maybe to be expected. They’re generally accepting that the news we’re presenting is true and fair and accurate. They’re hugely supportive of the idea of sustainable living, though I think we need to be getting a lot more information out there in terms of what we mean by sustainable living – there are some crackpot ideas springing up, and I certainly wouldn’t want to be associated with them. And then on the whole EC front, I’m getting a reaction that’s generally non-committal or positive – only a very small minority of the stuff I’m getting is saying it’s rubbish.’

‘Great. And you are right – many say that the young are the salvation of the future. And so it may be. That’s really good, everyone, really excellent. And Diego, pulling the virtual strings in cyberspace, how goes it with you?’

‘You know how it goes with me.’ He smiled. ‘But I know you want a summary from everyone, a stock-take at a point in time as it were, so here it is. We are two days in. As the programme aired around the globe, the reaction was like nothing I have ever seen before in my life. There’s no doubt in my mind now, that if we had gone with the articles on their own, we would have hardly caused a ripple, in comparison to what’s happening now. If Michael’s programme had aired on its own, and if the programme had just been about our “claims”, without any independent experts verifying some of them there and then, again, it would have made nothing more than a minor splash.

‘But by combining Philip’s, AnneMarie’s and John’s scientific articles, with Susie’s and my dummy users’ more personal and “ordinary” online posting, along with Michael’s programme being aired globally, and including all the facets it did? That’s what did it. Michael’s programme was watched live by about forty million households in the US – that makes it one of the most watched programmes of all time. Only Super Bowls command that kind of viewership. And it’s being watched by more and more people every day online. There’s some kind of positive feedback loop going on here – the more it’s getting talked about, the more people are searching for it and both watching the original programme and then diverting to all the other stuff that’s out there.

‘There is some bandwaggoning going on – people saying, “I told you so” and “This is what I’ve being saying all along”. That’s something you’ll need to look into, Amy – if some of these people are genuine, then we have allies around the world that we never even knew about.

‘Anyway, the numbers are staggering. The most searched for phrases online are usually the names of celebrities and sports stars – so much for the Information Age. Sometimes, they’ll be bumped off the top of the list by a major event, like the Twin Towers or the Indian Ocean tsunami in 2004, but it’s rare. Now, having said that, in the past twenty-four hours, do you want to know what the two most popular phrases being searched for on the web are?’

She smiled. ‘I’m afraid to guess. Tell me.’

‘Number two is “Sustainable Living”. And number one, believe it or not, is “A New Dawn from the Amazon”, the title of Michael’s programme. Can you believe it?’

‘If you say it, I believe it. Wow, top two, that’s incredible!’

‘Yes, and there’s more. “Environmental Consciousness” is the fifteenth-highest searched-for phrase, so people are aware of it. And on YouTube, “A New Dawn from the Amazon” is rising rapidly in the viewership charts – it already has twenty-five million views – that’s unheard of in two days, though it has a long way to get the all-time top spot – it’ll have to go close to a billion views for that!

‘But all in all, Amy, the response is seismic. Incredible amounts of debate, incredible activity with my dummy users, videos being shared multiple times through multiple layers. We have, as they say, gone viral. The trick now is to keep adding new stuff, so that the momentum is maintained. You said you wanted one hundred million people believing in EC, Amy. I always had my doubts that that was possible; you know that. But it is starting to look more and more possible. At this stage, I’m not going to rule anything out. We’ve already changed the bar in terms of online penetration for non-entertainment and non-sports stories – from here on in, we’re in uncharted territory. Anything could happen!’

‘Perfect. It is all falling into place. Thank you, thank you all. I wanted to get an update from each of you, even though we all had a good idea where each person was. Partly as Diego said, just so that we could have a pause to take stock. But also because I want to update you myself.’

She paused, and seemed to almost become luminous. When she spoke again, her voice was richer, deeper, with a sense of infinite experience.

‘My friends, We Are. We Are All. Each of us. Individually, and Together. We Are All.

‘You have told me what is happening to your words. Flying around this world. Being passed from person to person. Being sought out. Being absorbed. Your words are creating the potential for change. Your words are True. Truth. They cannot be denied, though many shall try.

‘This is what I feel. What I sense. There is an Awakening taking place. Now. Here. In this Time and in this Space.

‘An Evolution. I am evolving. Each of you is evolving. Many people reading your words are evolving. And through so much individual change, there is an opportunity, an opportunity that arises only once in an aeon. An opportunity for Humanity itself to evolve.

‘The potential is here. The potential is now. Many will fight it. Many will attack us, will seek to destroy us. The outcome is not fixed. It is not pre-determined. This is a time in history where all is in flux. Momentous changes will take place, of that there is little doubt. But what will those changes be? Consciousness does not yet reveal this.

‘Now, of all times, you must remain True. Every physical manifestation of Consciousness should have a personal vision. You must know your vision, and you must be True to your vision. When you are attacked, as you will be; when you are seduced, as you will be; when you are threatened, as you will be; this is when you must be at your most True. True to yourself. True to each other. True to All That Is.

‘Can you do this?’

The five companions assured her that they could.

‘Will you do this?’

Equally adamant assurances that they would be true, that they would stick together.

‘So be it. Time will deliver an outcome to this place. Hallowed is your cause.’

She shook herself slightly, and looked around at them before speaking again, her voice now sounding more like it normally did, although undertones of depth echoed still.

‘Gang, you are evolving, I can feel it. Soon you will start to feel it too. You know my “sixth sense”? Soon it will not just be mine. You will start to feel it growing in you as well. As will others around the world. We are so on the cusp. As long as we don’t let them derail us, if we can just keep this going for a couple of weeks, a couple of months at most, it will become unstoppable.

’I cannot tell you that our work will be successful. I do not know if we will all survive. I feel a premonition of darkness, of tragedy, but I do not know what it means. This is why I remind you, that if anything should ever happen to me, I need you to continue, to keep going. Use our ritual to sustain you. And remember why we do what we do.

‘You have done brilliant work in the last few days. In the last few years, actually. But it has all come to fruition in the last couple of days. Keep it up. Don’t let yourselves be side-tracked or slowed down or stopped. Not now. Not when we are so close to the finishing line.

‘OK. Get your gear. Let’s fire up, log-on and keep changing the world!’

She laughed, a joyous, carefree sound that seemed to reverberate around them, seemed to echo as though the very forest itself was laughing along with her. But while she felt joy at the progress they were making, she still couldn’t shake the sense of impending doom. Someone was going to die; she was becoming more sure of that as each day passed. Someone close to her, someone dear to her. She knew she would be devastated if any of her companions had to lay down their life for her cause. Her despair was not because of death itself, as she felt that death was nothing more than passing from one state to another. Her anguish came from her role in such a death, her responsibility. None of these people would be here if she hadn’t asked them to be. And while she had warned them of the risks, she knew that people had an amazing capacity to ignore danger when it wasn’t right in front of them. This is why people can smoke cigarettes, despite all the evidence that it shortens lifespan, and still believe they were going to live into their eighties.

Her friends had accepted the risk, but she believed they didn’t fully appreciate it. Someone here was going to die. Someone she loved, someone she cared for so deeply, someone who was so precious to her. She looked around at them as they worked at their laptops, her gaze stopping at Diego. Was it him? Was she going to end his life on this earth? She had to talk to him.

As he glanced in her direction, she pointed away from the others with a tilt of her chin, and she walked away between the closely spaced trees around them. Diego followed, and caught up with her and stood in front of her as she stopped and sat on a fallen tree trunk.

‘What’s up, Amy? You look … a little distracted.’

‘I am, my darling. I am distracted. I’ve told you, I’ve told you all, that I sense something bad ahead. I’ve asked all of you time and again if you are sure you want to do this, to risk everything, knowing how dangerous it is. And you’ve all said yes, every time I’ve asked.’

She paused.

‘Go on,’ Diego encouraged.

‘The premonition I have is becoming clearer, my dearest Diego. Not clear enough for me to be sure, but enough for me to be more and more worried. I feel death in the air, my love.’

Another pause.

‘And?’ he gently asked.

‘And. And I feel it is the death of someone close to me. Very close. Diego, I think one of us is going to die. I don’t want that to happen. And I’ll try my best to make sure it doesn’t. But I can’t shake this feeling that something terrible is going to happen. That one of us … well, one of you … is going to die.’

Her face contorted as she said the words, grief and fear etched clearly for Diego to see.

‘My love. My darling. None of us want that to happen. But we all know the risks. We are fighting for more than ourselves, you know that. To a large extent, we are in this for you. But not just for you, either. You are the beacon, the lightning rod. But we are really in it for the greater good. For the environment, for the world as a whole. You know that.’

‘Yes, I do. But, Diego, what am I going to do if it’s you? What am I going to do if I lose you?’

‘You will fight on, that’s what you’ll do. And in that way, you will honour me, you will honour my memory and what I stood for. Though I hope it’s not going to come to that,’ he added with a hopeful half-smile.

‘But I can’t guarantee you that it won’t,’ she groaned through clenched teeth, looking up at him standing in front of her. ‘I can’t guarantee it.’

‘I know that. I accept that. And whether you recognise the deadly seriousness with which I say this or not, I can tell you that it’s a price I am willing to pay. This is my decision, my choice. It is not yours. I choose to be here. I choose to fight this fight. And if I die, I will be relying on you to make sure that it is not in vain.’

She looked at him, and saw his conviction, his commitment. She could see that he fully understood and took responsibility for his own choices. And for the consequences of those choices. As she looked at him, she recalled the conversations they had shared about love. She remembered the conversation she had with AnneMarie on the same topic. Diego sat beside her on the log and waited silently.

Amy searched her heart. After Greg had betrayed her, she had sworn a promise to herself that she would never open herself so much to another man, that she would never leave herself so vulnerable and unprotected, so open to hurt if a man didn’t love her as much as she loved him. And so even though she and Diego had become lovers, she had held part of her heart in reserve. She had tried to ring-fence the deepest levels of her heart so that if he let her down, she would be able to survive, she would not be destroyed by the hurt and pain.

She took his face in her hands and looked into his eyes. This man loved her, she knew that. He had given himself to her without reserve, without holding back. Was she being unfair to him, even cruel, by not responding in kind? Was her fear of being hurt stopping her from experiencing true love, as AnneMarie had warned against? Which was worse – to protect herself from hurt, and in doing so never have the possibility of loving with true abandon, and at the same time being cruel and unfair to a man like Diego; or open herself to loving him as he deserved? To open herself like that would re-introduce the possibility of experiencing again the devastating hurt she felt when Greg betrayed her love. But AnneMarie had said that the risk of losing it all is the price we pay for true love.

As she held his face and looked into his eyes, these thoughts tumbled in her mind, making it hard for her to think clearly. She heard Jopl’s voice in the background, urging her to let go of the thoughts, to listen to her heart. As she focussed on her heart, she felt a gate opening. Did she want to do this? Was she willing to risk being hurt? Her heart answered her, echoing the words that a deck-hand had murmured to her when she first came to the Amazon. ‘Tis better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all.’ The gate opened wider. Diego was a good man, and he loved her, of that there was no doubt. The gate dissolved completely, disappearing and leaving behind a faint ache. He might die, and she would never have loved him the way that he deserved. The wall around her heart started to crumble. He might die, and she would never have loved him the way that she deserved. The wall around her heart disintegrated, and she felt a delicious freedom, coupled with the scariness of knowing that she had now allowed herself to once more become dependant on another for their shared happiness.

‘I love you, beautiful man.’

He smiled.

‘You love everyone, beautiful lady. You love everyone. But I think you mean more than that. Do you?’ he asked, hope in his voice.

‘I do. I’ve told you before that you loved me too much. That’s in the past. I love you now, as you love me. I am still my own person. I take responsibility for my own heart. For the hurt that I will feel if you let me down. If you …’ she paused, her voice choking slightly ‘… if you die. For me. For us. For what we are trying to do here. But yes, Diego, I love you.’

He pulled her to him, wrapping her in a bone-crushing hug, gripping her body and cradling her head under his chin.

‘You’ve made me the happiest man alive, my darling. And whatever happens, I will have no regrets. Because as I told you before, my granddad told me to value everything that you have ever had, even if you no longer have it. And I value your love for me more than anything else in the world.’

They sat and talked as lovers do, the conversation ranging from saving the world to insignificant trivia. They laughed, and sometimes they were sombre. But Amy revelled in the new sense of freedom, in the knowledge that she had overcome the scars of her past and that she was now a better, and a more complete, person.

CHAPTER 24

War Draws Near

˜

Rousseau looked out of a window on the upstairs floor of the only two-storey building in the compound. Heat and humidity made the middle distance shimmer, as though he was looking at a mirage. He knew that he was looking at a portion of the most diverse ecosystem on the planet. In a way he felt admiration for the Amazon, recognising the amazing richness of the environment around him. Yet his admiration did not get in the way of the job he had to do.

The PCIA did not have a strictly hierarchical structure, mostly because the men who had set up the organisation in the sixties believed that such a structure would introduce possible single points of failure, and expose the organisation to the potential for outside interference if a senior member of the group ever developed a ‘conscience’, willingly or unwillingly. And so the senior members all had a specific area of responsibility, but none of them had a view of the total organisation. No member of the PCIA knew all other members; none of them could list all the other members. Many of the people around the world who worked on behalf of the PCIA didn’t even know who or what the PCIA was, as they had never even heard the name. Like Wilkinson back in Houston, Rousseau thought with a grim smile.

Rousseau’s specific responsibility was the capture of Laura Whiteland, the girl who now called herself Amy Williams. The PCIA had first become aware of her when she tried to deliver a package for her deceased father, a package that turned out to be a man who looked like a young boy. In the three years since, the PCIA had, for the first time in its decades-long history, been forced to fight for its very survival. The boy-man called Jopl was working with a group of self-styled freedom fighters to dismantle the PCIA. They didn’t use force or violence, relying instead on a combination of law enforcement agencies and applying persuasive tactics directly at senior PCIA figures.

The PCIA had formed in the wake of the Vietnam War, born out of the ashes of the CIA’s tangled and twisted operations in Southeast Asia during the conflict. Once it was up and running, it had never been seriously challenged or disrupted, in part because its ethos of power for power’s sake and the valuing of material possessions chimed so perfectly with the culture of the day. In the last three years, that had changed. The boy-man Jopl had uncanny powers, of that there was no doubt. He had at times directly approached senior PCIA figures, and simply by talking to them, seemed to persuade them to turn their backs on a lifetime of achievement.

Rousseau personally knew of one such senior individual, Sebastian Muller, who had not only abandoned the PCIA, but had joined Jopl in actively hunting them. While he had been in the PCIA, he had been responsible for murders, financial market manipulations, and an array of crimes designed to increase the riches and power of those in the PCIA upper echelons. But now he provided national and international agencies with all the information and data that he was aware of concerning the PCIA. Trillions of dollars had been seized – literally millions of millions of dollars. Operations had been disrupted around the world. And the worst part of it all was that between Muller’s knowledge and Jopl’s intuition, they seemed to be unerringly accurate in deciding who they could turn to for assistance. As a result, the PCIA were continually on the defensive, operating without the wealth of intelligence that they would normally be able to draw on from their contacts in the various state agencies being employed in the war against them.

But the PCIA had not been powerless over the past three years. They had slowly learned more about their enemy – who they were and what they were doing. It became apparent over time that the main figure was Jopl, and they learned of his power to seemingly access knowledge across time and space. They associated him with Whiteland, the girl who had delivered Jopl to Symington in the first place. They came to understand that Jopl had passed some of his abilities onto the girl, and that she had moved to the Amazon. In time, they made the connection between the Laura Whiteland of three years ago and the Amy Williams of today, realising that they were one and the same.

Initially they were determined to kill her, both to remove her as a potential ally of Jopl’s, but also to demoralise him. But as they learned more about the enemy, both Jopl and Whiteland-turned-Williams, they saw a potential opportunity. It seemed that Williams was using some kind of sixth sense in the jungle – using it in the same way that Jopl used his uncanny power to learn things that he should have had no way of knowing. And so they saw a new power. A new tool that they might be able to harness and use for their own ends. Senior PCIA men and women started to whisper of this new power – what if they could see things from a distance, if they could understand that which could not be sensed with the five conventional senses, if they could influence events without being physically present? What limits would their control of the world know then? None?

Rousseau was assigned to Williams. Not to kill her, but to capture her. He had reviewed all of the material they had on both Jopl and Williams, and on their known co-conspirators. His reading led him onto esoteric literature, touching on psychology, philosophy, theology, sociology, the occult, magic, and many other disciplines that he had never before looked at. From the weak Gaia theory to neo-Pagan New Age religions. From quantum physics to geophysiology and biogeochemistry. And while his mind marvelled at the possibilities he uncovered, he never wavered from his objective. Indeed, the more he read of varying views of the natural world, and the possible supernatural elements that may underpin it, the more he believed it was essential that they get their hands on Williams. He believed she could be the key to unlock a door to a new and radical world order where the PCIA could rule without having to stay hidden. Where the PCIA could openly declare themselves to be what, in effect, they already were – masters of the world.

And so he found himself here in the Amazon. Williams and her band of cohorts were much more active online since White’s programme had aired a week previously. They were obviously coordinating a massive online campaign designed to destabilise the comfortable consensus that global capitalism and consumerism had fostered in the decades since the PCIA had come into being. A consensus that had sometimes developed coincidentally, but often with helpful nudges from the PCIA as they manipulated markets, bought and sold politicians, and took effective control of mass market media. Rousseau believed that her increased online presence had to make Williams vulnerable. He had a team of technicians tracking websites and social media for the individuals who were generating the flood of activity that was triggered by White’s programme. They had identified up to ten usernames out of the deluge of activity that seemed to be nodes for new content, which was then being picked up and replicated by unwitting individuals and organisations. They had tracked the users’ accounts to identify online identifiers, from email addresses to physical IP addresses.

Once he had these addresses, Rousseau had assigned experts to connect online locations into physical locations. They had scanned the airwaves, hacking into the NSA and GCHQ to track satellite communications. His experts assured him that if Williams was operating out of the jungle, then she would have to be using satellite communications for all of her telephony and internet connections, and this would make her much easier to track. They were now monitoring all of the identified node users, knowing immediately when they were online, and tracking them back through their IP addresses to identify their satellite signals. They were confident that they were very close to being able to pinpoint the dissidents’ exact physical location within an hour or two of them being online.

Rousseau was waiting for his experts to validate their confidence. Williams was using an online strategy similar to guerrilla warfare – hit and run. An enthusiast of military history and strategy, Rousseau had to admire her capability. Even in the modern technological world, she had successfully adopted the millennia-old tactic used by forces that were outnumbered and outgunned. Her ‘soldiers’ were logging on, firing a few well-aimed salvos, and then disappearing again. During their most recent incursion, his experts had gotten as far as identifying the individual signals of two of her users, and had been about to track those to physical GPS coordinates, but then they had logged off. His techies were frustrated, but they were also adamant that it was only a matter of time.

He mentally reviewed his preparations, ticking them off as he went along. He had three attack helicopters parked in the compound, each capable of carrying a fully-equipped squad of a dozen soldiers, and one AWACS circling over the Amazon basin. There was a full platoon of experienced professional soldiers, made up of three squads of twelve, working on a rota that ensured one squad was always battle-ready and could be airborne within two minutes, while another was on alert and could be airborne in ten minutes – the third squad at any given time was asleep, though they could, if required, be airborne within thirty minutes.

A call from the office behind him.

‘They’re coming online again!’

He rapidly walked into the office.

‘How many?’

‘Three so far. Wait, another one, no – two, have logged on. Hang on – nope, they have the same IP address. One of her guys is running a number of user accounts from a single PC by the looks of it. That’ll make him easier to track.’

‘You know by now how they’re operating. They’ll be online for an hour, two at the most, and then she’ll log them off. I’m assuming she’ll change location then, so I need their coordinates in time to get my assets to her site before they move on. How long until you have them?’

‘Hard to say. We were very close the last time, so we’ll be faster this time. Guess an hour, though there are no guarantees.’

‘OK. Let me know how it is progressing. I’ll alert the AWACS that we may have coordinates for them within the hour – I think they have about three hours before they have to come down to refuel, though I have a contact in the USAF trying to organise in-flight refuelling. I’ll tell the Squad Leader as well, though they’re supposed to be on maximum alert at all times during their shift anyway.’

He left the room, returning after a few short minutes and pacing behind the operators. An hour came and went, with no white smoke.

‘Well?’ he eventually demanded.

‘Bastards are good, I’ll say that for them,’ his lead technician complained. ‘They’ve routed their signals through a goddamned maze of servers around the world. We’re still tracking backwards to get to the source signal, but there’s no way of knowing how close we are. It’s taking us one or two minutes to backtrack each one – it’s just a question of how many they’ve used. But I will say that I’ve never seen it so well done before. We might be on the last one, and have an answer in a minute, or we might be here for a while yet.’

Rousseau snorted in exasperation, watching his clock tick the seconds down from the two-hour timer that he had started when they came online. He had forty minutes left to go when there was a shout.

‘Got the bastards!’

His techies started shouting to each other, in English but almost a dialect that he couldn’t follow.

‘Have we got coordinates?’ he shouted above the noise.

‘Hold on, hold on – that’s what we’re getting,’ one of them shouted back. Numbers and technical jargon were shouted back and forth, and after a few minutes of seeming confusion, his lead guy stood up and ran to him with a piece of paper.

‘Here! That’s them. That’s their GPS coordinates. That’s where they are at this second.’

Rousseau pulled out a field radio, pressing the transmit button.

‘Squad Leader, AWACS, chopper pilot. I’m going to call out the coordinates. You know the drill – her alive, and I don’t give a fuck about the rest of them. But she must be taken alive.’

As he called out the coordinates, he could hear one of the choppers coming to life outside. By the time he had repeated the coordinates and each listener had confirmed receipt, the chopper had lifted off the ground and raced away to the east with a full squad of heavily armed soldiers on board.

‘AWACS, how soon before you pinpoint them? Over.’

‘HQ, we need to move about a hundred miles to eyeball those coordinates. Give us a few minutes. Over and out.’

‘Chopper One, how long? Over’

‘HQ, about thirty minutes, going as fast as we can. Over and out.’

Rousseau ordered the second Squad Leader to get his men onto the second chopper and sent them in pursuit of the leading attack force.

‘HQ, come in, over,’ came from the radio.

‘This is HQ, AWACS. Report.’

‘We’ve visual on the site now. Cameras and infrared rolling. Confirmed sighting. Ground transport is showing up on infra-red – engine block must still be hot. Can’t see anything on visual – heavy canopy. Infra-red suggests number of bodies, maybe four to six. Over.’

Rousseau was about to respond when there were voices raised behind him.

‘What is it?’ he barked, swinging around.

‘They’re logging off, all of them. Yep, last one just disappeared,’ came from his lead technician.

‘AWACS, maintain cover. Don’t let them out of your sight. Over and out.

‘Chopper One, come in.’

‘Chopper One here, HQ. Over.’

‘They’ve just logged off. I expect them to start moving any minute. What’s your ETA? Over.’

‘Eighteen minutes, HQ. Over.’

‘AWACS. Will you be able to track them when they start moving? Over.’

‘Yep, should be a walk in the park. If they use their ground transport, it’ll heat up more than it is now. Even through the canopy, we’ll see ‘em. Over.’

‘Chopper One. Did you copy that? Over.’

‘We did, HQ. We’ll zero on their current location, and AWACS can update us if they move before we get there. They’re going down, HQ, guaranteed. Over.’

‘HQ, this is Chopper Two. We’re ten minutes behind Chopper One, so we’ll join the party before they know what’s hit them. Over.’

‘I admire your confidence, gentlemen. But you’ve all been briefed. She’s slippery. She’s in her element. And it’s entirely possible that she might be able to get the jungle itself to join in this fight. So, eyes wide open. Remember the briefings. And when you get hold of her, don’t take your eyes off her for a split-second. And don’t listen to a word she says – they say she can charm the snakes out of the trees, that she’s a hypnotist, all kinds of shit. So full alert! Believe me, you’ve never been up against someone like this before, in all your careers. Keep me updated, minute to minute. Over and out.’

He paced the floor, unable to force himself to relax as he usually could, with every second feeling like a minute and every minute feeling like an hour.

‘HQ, do you copy? Over.’

‘Yes AWACS, I copy. What’ve you got? Over.’

‘They’re on the move. Ground transport just started to move northeast, at maybe ten klicks per. Engine hotting up, clear as a beacon to us. Chopper One, Chopper Two, we have you on radar. Adjust your heading to intercept,’ the AWACS coordinator said and read out slightly different bearings to the two pilots to get them to converge where he estimated the truck would be.

A few minutes later, and a further call from the AWACS operator.

‘HQ, do you read? Over.’

‘I read you. What’s happening? Over.’

‘Emmm. A pause. ‘Not too sure. We were tracking them easily, infra-red lit up like a spotlight. But they’ve …’ Another pause. ‘They’ve disappeared, as if they just killed the light switch! Over.’

‘Disappeared? What the hell do you mean, disappeared? I thought you said you could track them with the infra-red, canopy or no canopy? Over.’

‘We can! We should be able to. This isn’t about the canopy. Or that she turned off whatever ground transport she’s using – it’d take a couple of hours for it to cool down. No, this is like, like she’s gone underground or something. There has to be something very fucking solid to block the heat signal of that engine from the infra. A cave, a bunker, something like that. Maybe she has a permanent base after all? Over.’

‘I doubt it. That would contradict everything she’s been doing. I’m convinced she’s travelling light, using a mobile base, with no fixed centre of operations.’ He paused while he thought. ‘Maybe it’s fortuitous. Maybe she just came across a cave or something, and decided to shelter in it, maybe just to cool down.’ He thought again for a moment. ‘AWACS, give the choppers the exact coordinates where you lost the signal. If she’s in a cave or something, we can still nail her. Chopper pilots, proceed to the coordinates AWACS gives you, and be on the lookout for them being hidden somewhere close. Over and out.’

He resumed his pacing while the radio chattered, with the two pilots and the AWACS operator updating each other on their progress. The first chopper landed, and Rousseau could hear the shouted instructions between the soldiers. He watched a video feed from their helmet cameras that was being transmitted to him through a secure channel via the AWACS aircraft. By the time the second chopper landed, it was apparent that Williams, her colleagues, and even the truck itself were nowhere to be seen. Both squads searched the area, widening their search in circles, while the AWACS kept a watching eye in the sky. Eventually, they had to admit that they had lost her, and Rousseau recalled them to base to await another try.

*

Amy had a bad feeling as her friends logged on. It was at the back of her mind, tickling, insistent. As her friends focussed on their various newsfeeds and websites, she mentally withdrew and focussed on the feeling. For a long time it stayed vague, but then it slowly crystallised into a vision. It reminded her of a movie she had once seen – maybe her subconscious was using that imagery to communicate the feeling that her sixth sense was picking up. A great eye was in the sky. A machine eye, built of technology, though operated by fellow humans, as was always the case. The eye continually swept the sky from horizon to horizon, searching, ever searching. And Amy knew that it was searching for her. She could feel the anxiety, the pressure behind the searching eye. Someone was desperate to find her. Not to help her, but to hurt her. The commander of the eye wished her ill.

Suddenly she jumped, startled, as the eye fixed itself on her. It gazed down from an unfathomable height, millions of wires extending from the back of the eye and disappearing into the distance. She felt the malice that powered the eye, and knew they were in immediate danger. She had to act. She had to move!

‘Gang, we’ve been traced. Quickly, log off all laptops, all phones. We’ve been found. Power everything down as quickly as you can; we need to move. Hurry, hurry!’ she shouted as she ran to the truck. They logged out of all systems, powered down all the equipment, and loaded all the technical apparatus and their chairs and tables into the truck. They were still climbing on and getting into position when Amy started to roll the truck forward, leaving the latest clearing and driving ever deeper into the forest. As she drove, she widened her internal vision, searching again for the eye. She gasped as she saw it again, dismayed to see that its gaze hadn’t left her as the truck moved out of the clearing. How was it possible? Could the eye be tracking her, even under the impenetrable cover of the foliage overhead?

She explained to AnneMarie and Susie what she was seeing, but it made no more sense to them than it did to her. AnneMarie called back to the three men in the bed of the truck, asking them if they could be tracked under the trees.

‘Absolutely,’ John shouted. ‘Any number of ways, really, though infra-red would be most likely. If Greenergy has been able to get its hands on a military plane with the right kind of equipment, or one of those spy drones, then they could be tracking us with infra-red. I don’t know if they could detect the heat signatures of our bodies, because it would have to be pretty weak against all the other heat signals in this jungle, especially through the layers of foliage. But the engine of the truck has to be throwing off lots of heat, so they’d definitely be able to track that, assuming as I said that they’ve been able to get their hands on the right equipment, and that they were able to track us to where we were last broadcasting from, in the first place.’

Amy thought furiously. Greenergy may or may not be involved. But she knew the malice in that eye in the sky. She recognised it. This was PCIA, of that she was certain. They would have no difficulty in getting their hands on the resources John was talking about. She sensed that they virtually owned the industrial-military machine, and she knew they would have covert access to equipment, personnel and other resources. If they were tracking the heat from the engine, what could she do? She couldn’t just turn off the truck; that wouldn’t instantly cool down the engine. And anyway, it would leave them sitting ducks for their pursuers, unless they abandoned all of their equipment, which was an option that had to be kept as an absolutely last resort. She drove, thinking. What to do? What do to?

‘Amy!’

‘What is it, John?’

‘We can hear a chopper! Seems to be coming from behind us. But definitely getting louder.’

‘OK, I hear you. Give me a minute.’

She was driving along a barely discernible trail, left by wandering animals as they roamed the majestic wilderness. As the truck passed, plants yielded, absorbing the weight of the truck and returning to their former positions as it passed, so that there was no trace of her passing. The forest knew that Amy was hunted, its awareness having been stirred by the depth of her interactions and the extra strength given to her activity by the ritual she carried out with her friends every morning and every time they moved camp. The forest had become aware of her, and it perceived her as a positive force, something to be protected. And so it hid all traces of her passing, while Amy tried to think about how to keep moving without giving off any heat signal.

As she drove, a mud-pit came into view. Mud-pits weren’t uncommon, and she had seen many of these particularly wet spots in her time in the Amazon. She knew not to walk or drive too close to them, as some were inches deep while some were metres deep – or more. But this one drew her eye. There was something different about this one. As she came alongside the patch of dark mud, she threw the truck into neutral, set the handbrake, and jumped out.

‘What is it?’, ‘Are you OK?’, ‘What’s wrong?’ her friends called, but she ignored them for the moment. She quickly walked to the edge of the pit, setting each foot down tentatively, testing the firmness of the ground underfoot. As she kneeled at the edge of the mini-lake of mud, she plunged her hand into the sludge, not sure what she was looking for. She felt around for a moment, her fingers feeling nothing but the sliminess of the muck against her skin. It took a moment for the realisation to hit her. The mud was cool! No, it was positively cold! She didn’t understand if this was some supernatural phenomenon, or if it was a standard mud pit being cooled perhaps by an underground spring. In any event, it didn’t matter.

She quickly called her friends to her, issuing quick instructions. They did as she asked, grabbing containers from the back of the truck and transporting gallons of the sticky mud to the truck, where they smeared it thickly over the hood and roof of the truck. As they worked, it became apparent that the mud pit was quite shallow, and Amy was concerned that they might not have enough mud for her needs. Once the truck was covered, she asked them to smear themselves in the mud, which drew muted protest, followed by rapid acquiescence as she explained that they were being chased. That the pursuers were closing in. That they had very little time left.

By the time they had all covered themselves in the black muck, the pit was empty, revealing a solid grassy floor. The underground spring made itself felt, as clear water bubbled up through the grass, making a small pool in the place of the mud-pit. Amy urged them back on the truck, and quickly drove away, again leaving no trace of her passing, but this time the cool mud hid the heat of the engine from whatever technology had been used to track them.

She drove for hours this time, before stopping the truck after night had fallen. She told the others that they would not log on again until morning, and that they would eat and camp for the night without making any electronic noise. As her friends climbed out, she called them together, and repeated the now-familiar ritual.

‘Please, let us all join hands.

‘Now, close your eyes, and forget about everything. Let your mind be still, your heart calm, your body quiet, and your soul, your True Self, will know Itself.’

In the accustomed way, each of them reached into Stillness.

‘We think we are our body – the body is but the vessel.

‘We think we are our thoughts – thoughts are but dreams.

‘We think we are our feelings – emotions are but reactions.

‘We are our True Selves. Echo these words in silence.

‘I Am All.

‘I Am Creation.

‘I Am Consciousness.

‘I Am All that Has Ever Been.

‘I Am All that Is.

‘I Am All that Ever Will Be.

‘I Am All that Is, and I Am All that Is Not.

‘I Am All.’

Silence. Stillness. Bliss. No Time. No Space. Only Being.

As they came back to the physical world, she looked at them with gentle concern.

‘My friends, my true companions, I am not sure if you understand what a close call we had today. Greenergy, and / or whoever they are working with, are trying to track us down. They followed our digital signatures today, from the virtual world into the real world, and they almost caught us. If we hadn’t found that mud-pool, I have no doubt we would have been cornered within minutes. It was that close. We must be more cautious than ever.

‘However, enough of concern. It is time for celebration. Tell me, as you look around, can you “feel” it, as well as see it? Can you “feel” the forest?’

They paused and looked inside themselves. She watched their faces – their expressions ranged from surprise to shock.

‘Yes,’ Susie whispered. ‘What is it?’

‘I told you. You are Awakening, all of you. You are starting to feel what I feel. You are starting to see what I see. The forest is becoming aware of you, too. It is calling to you. Everything is coming together, at the right time and the right place. Soon, your earth-sense will be clear. Soon your sight will be restored. No longer will you walk blind. This is my promise to you.’

CHAPTER 25

A New Dawn from the Amazon

˜

AnneMarie emerged from her home-made shelter of branches and leaves, to find that she was the last to wake. Philip, John and Susie sat at the low fire waiting for the water to boil so that they could brew whichever leaves Amy chose for them that morning. As AnneMarie stretched in the morning sunlight, Amy walked into the clearing with an armful of fruit and some light green leaves in her hand. She placed her load on the ground beside the fire and knelt, beckoning AnneMarie to join them. When they were all seated in a circle, she began the morning ritual.

‘Please, let us all join hands.

‘Now, close your eyes, and forget about everything. Let your mind be still, your heart calm, your body quiet; and your soul, your True Self, will know Itself.

‘We think we are our body – the body is but the vessel.

‘We think we are our thoughts – thoughts are but dreams.

‘We think we are our feelings – emotions are but reactions.

‘We are our True Selves. Echo these words in silence.

‘I Am All.

‘I Am Creation.

‘I Am Consciousness.

‘I Am All that Has Ever Been.

‘I Am All that Is.

‘I Am All that Ever Will Be.

‘I Am All that Is; and I Am All that Is Not.

‘I Am All.’

Silence. Stillness. Bliss. No Time. No Space. Only Being.

They each sat in their own silence while a short measure of time passed in the physical world, before they returned to that world.

‘Let’s eat. Eat and drink,’ Amy said as she passed out food, and Philip tossed some of the leaves into a stone bowl hanging over the fire. ‘I think you’ll like our morning drink, Philip. It’s a light, very delicate taste, and it’s a little bit fizzy. And excellent for cleansing both body and spirit.’

There was a comfortable silence between them as they started to eat and drink, using coconut shells for their brew. Amy looked around at them as they relaxed, again giving thanks that she had found such loyal and steadfast companions. They had stuck with her through hardship and danger, even when they were almost caught by the enemy, two weeks previously. As they finished eating and lay back to sip the last of their brew, Amy spoke.

‘Friends. You Are All. You are I, and I am you. One. United. Indivisible.’

‘We will take a day off today. No electronics. Nothing of the outside world. We have worked long and hard, without a break in the three weeks since the programme aired. We have been True. Today, we deserve a break. We will walk and talk; we will sit in silence. Today is a day for us, for our Selves. The world will care for itself today.’

They looked at her, with absolute faith in her leadership, but nevertheless surprised at the notion that they would go for an entire day without once logging on to drive and continually push the momentum of the campaign.

‘A day off?’ asked AnneMarie. ‘That’s become a bit of a strange notion to me! It’s great, but I’m not sure I would even know what to do if we’re not writing and running for the day.’

‘I know what you mean, AnneMarie,’ echoed John. ‘It seems my days in the physical world consist of log-on, write, post, blog, log-off, run. Get to a new place and “Repeat steps above”! Is everything OK, Amy?’

‘Oh, yes. Absolutely. We deserve a break. More than that, we need a break. We have been heavily engaged, at a very detailed mental as well as physical level, in the physical world, for three weeks now, while we’ve continually been writing and running. And so we have to keep the same level of precautions, hyper-careful. We can only log on for thirty minutes, while I scan for any sign of being watched. Even when I don’t detect anything, we still have to move after only thirty minutes, just to be on the safe side. Walk to another site for an hour or two and, as Philip said, “Repeat steps above”. Anything from five to eight moves, every day. It is time to rest.’

‘That’s great, Amy. I think it will do us good to be able to switch off completely for a day. But as AnneMarie said, what will we do for the day if we’re not fighting?’

‘That’s the point, Susie. It is three weeks since the programme aired. And, for all that time, it has been so intense. And that’s not healthy. We have gone way far and beyond what is healthy, because we had to. But every human instance of Consciousness, at our current level of evolution, needs regular days off. That is why societies have evolved practices such as having one rest day and one Holy day in every seven-day period. One day to replenish the body, one day to replenish the spirit. We all need this. But we have not had it. We have been sustained by Consciousness. But that doesn’t mean that we don’t need rest. Physical and mental. They are critically important.

‘Look at it this way. Rocks and rivers don’t have rest days. Plants and animals don’t have rest days. Only Humans. Why is this? It is because humans are the only manifestation that has forgotten the link. The only manifestation that does things like formalised work. When bees gather honey, they are not “working”, despite whatever anthropomorphic interpretation science might want to put on their behaviour. No, they are simply Being. Simply doing that which is right and good for them in the time and place of their own manifestation.

‘But humans have created an artificial concept of “work” as opposed to the other artificial states of “rest” and “play”. And when humans “work”, they have an external focus on getting a task done, usually for another person. That is unnatural, even though it has probably existed since humankind first started the move from hunter-gatherer tribes to farmers, and introduced labour specialisation into their societies. Imagine a society where every person does everything that the society needs. Although to do that, you have to think first about what does a society need? At its most basic, it needs water, food and shelter. That’s the body taken care of.

‘Over and above that, it needs mental stimulation and emotional security. Games can provide the mental stimulation. As can art, be it anything from cave paintings to structures like Stonehenge, Newgrange or the pyramids.

‘Things such as story-telling, building up a rich tradition of who and what our people are and where we come from - that provides the broad emotional security for the society, while stable family relationships, especially across the extended family, provide the individual with his or her security. That’s mind and heart looked after.

‘And then there is the most important, the spirit. The soul if you prefer that word. Although what we are really talking about is Consciousness. Being. That part of every thing – human, animal, plant, mountain, ocean … whatever – that part of every individual thing that is not of this physical world. That part of every thing that is in fact the real essence of that thing. Consciousness. I sense that before modern man, this wasn’t an issue. Simply because everything that they did, was done in Consciousness. So they didn’t need artificial constructs like deities. They didn’t need artificial roles like holy men to interpret what the deity wanted, because “ordinary people” supposedly couldn’t understand the deity.

‘No, it was very different. Every person lived every day in absolute communion with Consciousness. Like an animal or plant or a supposedly inanimate object does. So the needs of their spirit were constantly met. When humans lost that connection, you then had the rise of “religion”, and of external stimulus. When they lost the connection with Consciousness, the needs of the spirit were then met through worship, through prayer, sacrifice. And through external stimulus – people felt they could only satisfy their need for security, for peace, through exerting control or power over things external to themselves, be that material objects or other people.

‘And there you have it. Food, water and shelter for the body. Games, art and suchlike for the mind. Family relationships, story-telling and stuff like that for the heart. And an awareness of Consciousness, a connection to Consciousness, for the spirit.

‘That is a happy, healthy and whole human being. And a collection of happy, healthy and whole human beings is a happy, healthy and whole society.’

Amy paused and refilled her coconut shell with some of the slightly effervescent brew, as her friends considered her words. She could see their connection with Consciousness growing almost daily, and it pleased her. All of them except Susie had now truly experienced, on a very fundamental level, the connection with Consciousness that Amy spoke of. And through it, could sense the physical environment in the same way that Amy could. Philip, John, Diego and AnneMarie now had a much better understanding of the inter-relationships that governed the operation of the physical world, and understood as Amy did the urgency of stopping the unsustainable destruction of the Amazon ecology. They knew that cataclysmic devastation would follow if they went beyond a tipping point in the Amazon, a tipping point that was now very close. And that no part of the globe would escape the consequences.

Philip said, ‘There’s a lot of food for thought in what you’ve said, Amy, probably lots of it that I would like to discuss further. But you started by saying that we needed a day off, but you seemed to suggest that having to have a day off is somehow unnatural, did I pick that up right?’

‘I would say that’s a fair summation, Philip.’ She smiled.

‘OK. And you’ve explained why it’s unnatural. If I understand you correctly, it’s because we are not living with an awareness of Consciousness, that we’ve lost that connection?’

She smiled, encouraging him to go on.

‘OK, I get that. But what does that mean, down the road, if you know what I mean? Are you saying that if we live in Consciousness, that we have to go back to being hunter-gatherers? That we have to go back to pre-modern man? Back to the Stone Age? That’s the kind of spin on our work that Greenergy tried to put out in the first few weeks of the campaign, before their PR bullshit was lost under the positive news and feedback around the campaign.’

He looked at her, concern etched on his features. Amy looked back at him, wordlessly encouraging him to finish the thought.

‘That’s not what we want. Is it?’ he asked, almost plaintively.

‘The honest answer? The honest truth is that I don’t know. I know that my immediate goal is to ensure that the unchecked destruction of the Amazon is stopped. That it is replaced with sustainable exploitation. And we are getting close to that; we know that now. Hence our ability to have a rest today. But after that?’

She paused.

‘I’m not sure what comes after. Further change. Such fundamental change that it will make this campaign seem like a minor amendment in the world. Now we are focussed on environment. After that, the focus will be on society. We can talk about sustainable living, but we have spoken about it primarily in environmental terms. Which is great, as far as it goes. But it doesn’t go far enough. For Humanity itself to be sustainable into the future, it is society that needs to be sustainable. Consciousness will help with that, of course it will. But if we continue to focus on environment as much as we have done, we will miss an opportunity.

‘So we will keep fighting this war, and hopefully the end is in sight. But there will be another one after that. A war. Or revolution. Or maybe revelation is a better description. I honestly don’t know. But more change is to come, of that I feel sure. And I will have a role there, then, just as I have a role here, now. As will all of you, together or separately.’

John jumped in.

‘So we continue with our campaign, and try to arrive at a situation in which the Amazon is being sustainably exploited, and catastrophe has been averted. And if and when we achieve that, then we need to look at, I think you called it sustainable societies. And you said something there about what it would be like if every person did everything that society needs. And then you spoke about labour specialisation. I’m taking from that, let me see; I think you’re saying that in a sustainable society, there would be no labour specialisation. Is that right?’

He looked at her questioningly, and she returned the look. As she had with Philip, she wordlessly encouraged him to continue, to develop and verbalise this train of thought.

‘OK, OK, let me see. No labour specialisation. What would that mean? Bearing in mind the needs of the individual and society. The physical needs – water, food and shelter. That’s easy enough, in theory at least. Every person could work at growing food, carrying water, building houses for the community – I seem to remember some group at home in the States who come together every time a new house is needed for a family and they jointly contribute the materials for the house and then build it over like a weekend or something.

‘For the mind, you said things like games and art. Very easy for everyone to participate and contribute on that front. Indeed, I remember from my own childhood when we played card games, that I think things like that have as much, or maybe even more of an emotional role than mental stimulation. So things like communal games, provided they were played with a true feeling that it was all about the participation, and that the winning didn’t matter would cover the mental aspect.

‘Although before I go on to the other needs, and sorry for rambling, but just while the thought occurs to me: You know the way people say that sport should be about the taking part, not about winning?’

Nods came from around the fire, comfortable agreement from his friends.

‘Has it ever struck you that nearly all our games, not just sports but all kinds of games, involve winners and losers?’

‘And?’ asked Amy, again encouraging him to draw out the implications of his train of thought.

‘And, when I stop to think about it, that seems a bit, a bit sick to me, to be honest. I mean it’s … it’s dysfunctional, you know? Like, if it’s supposed to be about taking part, not about winning, then why are most games designed in such a way that the whole point of playing the game is to try to win? Surely we should have most, if not all, games – and sports as well – designed in such a way that the whole concept of winners is irrelevant to the game. Does that make sense?’

‘Absolutely, it makes sense. But think a little more about it for a second. You said that nearly all games are designed to have winners and losers. Think about that. Is that actually correct?’ Amy asked him.

‘Emmm, let me think,’ he said, as he furrowed his brow in thought. ‘Actually, I can’t think of any games off the top of my head that don’t have winners and losers. Although I’m taking it from your question that you’ve thought of some? I can’t think of any!’

‘OK. Maybe, instead of trying to think about “games”’, using her fingers to make an inverted comma symbol, to add emphasis to the word ‘games’, ‘try thinking about “playing”. Can you think of instances where “playing” does not involve winners and losers?’

‘Lemme see, playing? Not “games”, but “playing”, you say? Why would that make a difference? When is playing not a game? Not a game? Wait, not a formal game! Like a board game or whatever! Yes, that’s it. When kids play together, say. Like when they just play at dolls or houses or stuff. Like kids pretending they have a house, and they set the table for tea and stuff like that. I’ve seen my nieces and nephews play like that for hours. It is a game for them, but there are no winners and losers. Is that what you mean?’

‘That’s it, John. We’re on the same page. So, what does that mean?’

‘It means that when kids play games, they play simply for the sake of the enjoyment of playing the game. But as older children and adults, we play to win, for prestige or to enhance our self-image. So, are we saying that one is natural, while the other is unnatural?’

‘What do you think?’

‘Well, I think the argument could be made that the child playing just for fun is certainly natural. It has to be, because that’s their instinctive tendency. But the competitive element, I suppose you could argue that it’s a learned rather than a natural behaviour? So are we saying that the natural approach to games and sports is that they should be enjoyed simply for the sake of taking part, that there shouldn’t be any winners or losers? Is that right?’

‘That seems to be what you’re saying, doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, but …’ He was stopped by an interruption from Susie.

‘Hold on. Hold on. I’m sorry, I’m lost here. I know I don’t have all the college qualifications that you guys have, but this isn’t making sense to me. Amy, you started by saying that we need to change society, not just in terms of how we relate to the environment, but in a more general way. Then John, you started talking about how such a society would work, in terms of who would contribute what. But now you’ve gone down this alleyway about games, and Amy, you’re saying that games and sports shouldn’t have winners and losers. That they should be only about participation, not winning. Have I got that right?’ she asked, as she looked from John to Amy.

‘That seems about right, my dear, yes,’ Amy answered, feeling Susie’s frustration.

‘But that’s, I’m sorry, but that’s just ridiculous,’ Susie retorted. ‘Of course games and sports are about winning. That’s totally natural!’

‘What makes you say that, Susie?’

‘Well, just think about it for a second. Like, like evolution! You have said yourself, Amy, that we are all evolving. And that’s how the world has developed to its current state, through evolution. And that’s what winning and losing is all about – it’s about ensuring that the best specimens are the ones who survive, like when two stallions fight for control of a herd of horses. And that’s how a species gradually evolves. So yes. Yes, I would say that having winners and losers is totally natural.’

‘An interesting point,’ Amy answered. ‘And I can see how you are equating evolution with winners and losers; that’s a very good point. But if you think about it a little more, I wonder: Do we need to add a caveat in there? John was talking about games and sports. In the human world, as John rightly said, our games and sports have winners and losers, once we pass our young childhood anyway. But I think you, Susie, are talking about survival. Like if a lion chases a deer, for sure there’s going to be a winner and a loser. But that’s not a game, or a sport; that’s survival. That’s evolution alright, just like you said. Or like the example you gave about two stallions fighting – although that’s extremely rare in the wild, but anyway – even if it does happen, then there will be a winner and a loser, which is true. But again, that’s not a game, or a sport; it’s about survival as well - reproduction.

‘But when you see animals actually playing – lion cubs wrestling, or a herd of horses galloping purely because they love it – in those circumstances, the equivalent of what we might term games, or playing, then there aren’t winners and losers. There’s just enjoyment, natural fun.

‘So I take your point, that when it comes down to survival, there are, of course, winners and losers in nature. But when it’s about games, which is what John was talking about, then I think nature is about participation, not winning or losing. What would you think?’

‘Yeah, I see what you’re saying,’ Susie answered, sounding slightly petulant. ‘I guess sometimes I’m just not as educated as you guys are. All I know is, I’m here because of what we are fighting for now, for the environment. All of this other stuff is a bit much for me. But that’s just me, I guess. Anyway, John, go on with what you were saying,’ she said, as though anxious to end her own involvement in the conversation.

‘OK, OK,’ John said. ‘So, I was asking how this non-specialisation of labour would work in Amy’s vision of a sustainable society. As we said, basic physical needs could be contributed to by everyone, no specialisation needed. Then, the point where I veered off, mental stimulation could be shared by all through games, etcetera – though I would now add the point that games should be designed in such a way that there are no winners and losers.

‘Then there’s the emotional aspect, caring for the heart, as it were. Amy, I think you gave the example of family ties, and story-telling. Family ties, definitely important, critical in fact. Though such a society would need to have a mechanism for caring for those without a family – for example, a widow who had no kids herself. The community would have to care for her. So really, I guess you’d be trying to foster a culture whereby the society as a whole would consider itself to be a family, so that no-one would ever be alone. I think the whole games piece is as important for the heart as it is for the mind – I remember when we were kids, the fun we’d have playing silly card games – it was great. And then Amy, you said story-telling, to bind the community together, I guess in a shared sense of history and the past, and a shared sense of purpose and vision, for the future. I guess everyone can tell a story, if they don’t feel they’re going to be shouted down or laughed at. So again, everyone could share in looking after the emotional needs of the individuals in the society, and of the group as a whole.

‘Finally, then, that just leaves the spirit. Now, Amy, I think you said that in pre-history, our ancient ancestors all lived in some kind of permanent communion with Consciousness, is that right?’

‘That’s the sense I have, yes. Is it correct? I do not know, but I think it is. I see no reason to behave as though this were not true.’

‘OK. So if we go with that then, everyone in this future society that we’re designing would be aware of Consciousness, would be connected to the Source, as it were. And so they would have no need for religion or anything like that, because they would have a direct line to Consciousness – which is probably what many religions are trying to represent when they talk about their God anyway.

‘So is this what you are talking about, Amy? Some kind of re-working of the structure of society, along those kinds of lines?’

‘John, that was beautiful, thank you so much. You Are. I do not know exactly, but I feel that this will be the battlefield for the next War. But I do not know what the end result will look like – or even, what the end result should look like. But you talking through it just now certainly clarified some of the issues. I am seeing some of the challenges in the corner of my eye now as well, especially after you went through it the way you did. Time will tell, time will tell.

‘Now, my friends, we have spent time in deep discussion, and most interesting and most illuminating it has been. I suggest, if you feel like it, that we go for a walk now. We can, for once, leave our rucksacks here; they will be safe. And we can walk, purely for the joy of walking, the joy of what we experience along the way, and the joy of each other’s company. What do you say?’

They were all a little stiff from sitting for so long and well rested after their night’s sleep and energising breakfast. They readily agreed to Amy’s suggestion, particularly relishing the prospect of a gentle walk without being weighed down by their rucksacks. Amy invited AnneMarie to lead the way, and they followed her out of the clearing, with Amy bringing up the rear.

CHAPTER 26

The Word Spreads

˜

Politicians are nothing if not fickle. For decades, representatives of all traditional political ideologies, left and right, had mortgaged the future to pay for the present, all in an effort to curry favour with their electorates and thus ensure their own short-term hold on power. They read the polls, did the research, and hosted focus groups. For years, wily politicians had survived by accurately interpreting the immediate wants of their electorates and promising to provide them – the inherent weakness of democracy. Inevitably in democratic societies, because of the intrinsic processes mandated by the system, viable political parties all moved towards the centre. Over time, in most countries with democratic political processes, the actual policies espoused by the various parties vying for power became almost indistinguishable, with only minor and superficial differences between them.

Being creatures of the popular mood, politicians in the western democratic countries were first to react to the winds of change. While some genuinely believed in and supported the calls for sustainable living, many more didn’t give any serious or lasting consideration to the root causes, preferring to focus on how to capitalise on the new groundswell of public opinion. In the weeks following Michael’s programme, politicians across the world started to talk about sustainable living, about renewable energy, about the environment. They read the mood, and said whatever had to be said so that they could cash in on it.

As always, parties in power said that they were commissioning reports, launching investigations, assessing options and making five and ten-year plans. Parties in opposition decried the government response, saying it was too little too late, and called for immediate action instead of words. Around the world, the pattern repeated itself, with cries for action growing ever louder.

Canada was the first country to formalise a response, with both Houses of Parliament approving a motion put forward by an Independent MP, which called on national governments around the world to agree a new Treaty or Protocol. The ‘Earth Protocol’ as it was dubbed by the motion, was to be a wide-reaching agreement covering areas such as the economy (at all levels from local to global), the environment, and society. The Earth Protocol was designed to meet the specific goal of sustainable living on a global scale for all Humanity, quoting as part of the motion Michael White’s programme ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’.

The motion was approved unanimously by all Members of Parliament – a first in the history of the democratic process in Canada. Local and international media covered the event, and political handlers around the world noted the impact on the popularity ratings of the independent MP who had tabled the motion – overnight he went from having little or no national profile, having been elected on a ‘green’ agenda in one of the more remote areas of the country, to being the most popular and most recognised politician in the country, with the highest approval ratings among the general public. Political activists around the world saw, and they paid attention.

At the same time, Greenpeace, considered by many to be the world’s best-known environmental activist grouping, made an announcement, specifically in relation to the call to action in ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’. They declared that they would sail their three ships, Arctic Sunrise, Esperanza and Rainbow Warrior III, to the North Pole, the South Pole and the mouth of the Amazon respectively. They called on the world’s population to answer Michael White’s plea, reminding people that every person could contribute in ways both large and small.

They urged people to reduce, re-use and recycle. People were reminded that they could buy less, and insist on less packaging and bagging when they did buy. They could re-use items, such as handing down clothes, repairing tools, and doing simple things such as bringing a travel mug to the coffee shop instead of getting a disposable cardboard cup there. And when something had reached the end of its life and could no longer be re-used, there were always responsible recycling options about which everyone should educate themselves.

Quoting some of Michael’s programme, Greenpeace reminded the world that to ignore ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’ was to sign the planet into intensive care, if not a death sentence. As well as urging individual action, they called on politicians and civil administrators around to the world to apply the same Reduce, Re-use, Recycle methodology to their larger operations. Methane recovery from municipal landfills for example, said Greenpeace. Miniature solar power cells for street lighting. Changing public transportation to renewable energies.

The corporate world didn’t escape Greenpeace’s vision. Business leaders were urged to adopt energy neutrality as one of their core values. All companies should aim to produce as much energy as they consumed, through a combination of energy efficiency measures and installation of solar and wind power generation in their buildings. They were encouraged to use modern technologies to encourage home-working so as to cut down on travel.

Finally, Greenpeace singled out the energy industry for special attention. They claimed that energy companies had been intentionally blocking research and deployment of renewable energies, in what Greenpeace called a ‘selfish, immoral and inevitably doomed attempt’ to maintain their short-term profit margins. The statement said that this action was in effect economic terrorism, and they called on the governments of the world to combat this short-term thinking through new and more meaningful incentives and protections for R&D into alternative renewable energy sources.

The United Nations had come in for significant criticism in the preceding years, particularly due to the common perception among the public that it had become a ‘talking-shop’, powerless to act in the face of the most heinous crimes against humanity perpetrated in different parts of the world. The Swiss delegation saw in ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’ an opportunity for the UN to speak out clearly and objectively on an issue that had previously caused endless debate within both the General Assembly and the Economic and Social Council. Previous attempts to agree environmental targets had failed miserably, and even the modest targets that were agreed in the past had not been reached, with no procedure for sanctions in the event of non-compliance.

The Swiss delegation to the UN worked quickly and effectively in the background over a period of weeks. They talked to three of the agencies within the organisation in an attempt to respond to the calls in ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’ for concerted action across the three fronts of the economy, society and the environment. They networked with colleagues and allies in the United Nations Conference on Trade and Development, the United Nations Research Institute for Social Development and the United Nations Environment Programme.

A month after the programme had aired, the Swiss delegation proudly tabled a motion before the General Assembly, calling for a global response to the issues aired in the TV broadcast. The motion carried extra weight because it was presented with input from and the support of the three agencies that the Swiss had worked with. Being fully aware of the history of the organisation, the motion did not include specific targets, that being seen by the Swiss as another day’s work. Instead it called for action on a concerted global basis to include cooperation between all UN member states, and to include personal, corporate and national responsibility, to address the changes required to stabilise the globe and move it towards a worldwide agenda of sustainable living, to include initiatives across the three fronts of the economy, society and the environment.

Politicians of all hues, representing democracies and dictatorships, left-wing, right-wing and centre, developed and developing countries, could see no valid reason to vote against the motion. It carried no specified targets, no threat of sanctions. Yet it reflected a growing groundswell of public opinion, and so represented an opportunity to curry favour with the general populace, without actually mandating any immediate action. The motion was carried by a unanimous vote of the General Assembly, much to the delight of the Swiss proposers and many people watching from outside the UN.

Around the world, non-governmental organisations started to echo Greenpeace’s call to action. The movement almost instantaneously spread outside the traditional environmental lobby, with human rights organisations among others, calling for change. ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’ was igniting a suppressed dormant need for change, and the world was embracing it hungrily.

*

While the public clamour increased, the PCIA attempted a rearguard action. Using Greenergy as a public front, and attempting to leverage their unofficial influence within the world’s major media organisations, the PCIA counter-attacked.

Greenergy wheeled out qualified spokespeople, arguing that many of the claims in ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’ were self-evidently ridiculous.

‘Environmental Consciousness?’ they laughed. ‘The forest is afraid?’ they sneered. ‘There is zero evidence to back up these claims,’ they argued.

And yet their voices were dwarfed by the public calls for action.

The PCIA fed stories to the media about some of the experts who had appeared on Michael’s programme, with claims ranging from academic dishonesty to fraud, and in one case a carefully nuanced reference to ‘unattributed accusations’ of child abuse. But as each expert was sullied, so more academics and professionals echoed their calls for sustainability, and the impact of the PCIA’s smear campaign was negated.

Greenergy and the PCIA fought furiously, but senior figures within the PCIA privately acknowledged that they were losing the battle for the hearts and minds of the public in this epoch-defining debate.

*

While the PR battle was being fought around the world, Amy and her friends were fighting two battles simultaneously in the Amazon. In one conflict, they fought online, using words; but the other battle was much more immediate, and potentially much more deadly. Every time they logged on in the three weeks since their narrow escape, Amy sat and ‘listened’ for pursuit. She explained to them that she could ‘feel’ a great eye searching for them, and this is what had saved them from capture or worse, a week after the program had aired.

It was mid-afternoon on a hot and humid day when Amy pulled the truck into a sheltered clearing and they once again dismounted. They were tired but energised as they logged on and once again started interacting with the virtual world, spreading the message. Amy left them to their labours and sat on a fallen tree trunk at the edge of the space, clearing her mind and sensing the ether, quickly identifying the probing presence of the PCIA, searching the airwaves for her.

After twenty minutes she got up and used a bucket to draw water from the nearby stream, pouring it over the thick blanket that was spread across the bonnet of the truck. She knew they would be moving soon, and cooling the blanket had so far prevented their pursuers from being able to find them with their heat-seeking equipment. Satisfied that the blanket was wet enough and cool enough, Amy threw the bucket back into the truck and glanced around at her companions. They were all typing furiously, responding to comments, posting new material, cross-referencing people to each others’ sites.

Amy felt the eye drawing closer, and knew it was time to move, before their location could be pin-pointed.

‘OK, gang, time to pack and go, pack and go. Power everything off, and let’s get outta here.’

They were well-rehearsed in the process, and within two minutes all the equipment had been turned off, loaded into the truck, and they were ready to roll. As she pulled out of the clearing, Amy felt the eye focussing on their exact spot, and she knew she had moved just in time. With the bonnet covered and cooled, there was no way the PCIA could track them once they plunged back into the thick forest.

She drove quickly but smoothly, leaving the glade behind them and moving under deeper and thicker canopy. Amy could sense the presence in the sky searching for them, scanning the territory around the clearing they had just vacated. The great eye scanned all around the area, and Amy breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the cooling blanket kept their heat signature low enough that they couldn’t be detected by heat-seeking or infra-red systems. She drove in a circuitous route, being careful to always stay under cover of thick canopy.

After five minutes, Amy felt a sudden change, and focussed once again on the searching eye. It was staring straight at her, its gaze unwavering. Somehow, they had found her! She called to her companions, warning them that the danger hadn’t passed. As she drove, she could feel the eye following her path, never losing sight of her, never blinking. She could sense jubilation, and a cold implacable and clinical determination to kill her.

She shouted instructions.

‘Get your backpacks. We might have to abandon ship. Diego and John, move the generator to the back. Philip, get the cans of fuel. Everyone make sure you have your own gear, your laptops and stuff, all loaded into your backpack. We might have to leave all non-essentials behind. Ignore food, water, clothes – we can get all that from the forest. The electronics, that’s what counts. Be ready to move.’

She kept driving, and the eye followed. She didn’t understand. Keeping the truck cool had protected them for three weeks, keeping the PCIA in the dark as soon as they logged off.

‘Guys, check again – are all the electronics turned off? They’re following us, somehow. What’s different this time?’

Her five colleagues checked their equipment, and Amy turned as Susie gasped.

‘Christ, Amy, it’s me. It’s mine. My phone is on. Oh my God, I must have forgotten to turn it off. What are we going to do?’

For once, Amy found it difficult to stay calm, to keep herself centred. She was trying to manage all the sensations flooding into her – the fear, the five traditional senses, and all the time using her sixth sense to try to interpret what was happening in the sky above her. She forced herself to keep her voice level.

‘OK, Susie. Just turn the damned thing off!’

As Susie turned off her phone, Amy knew it was too late. She felt a surge of triumph, of hope, of victory from behind the eye in the sky. Whoever was controlling it believed she was finished.

‘Out of the truck,’ she screamed, skidding to a stop. ‘Go, go, run.’

AnneMarie and Susie jumped from the cab, while Philip leapt from the back. Diego and John lowered the generator over the back of the truck, and Amy and Philip man-handled it to the ground. The three men and Amy grabbed the generator, two on each side, and ran from the truck, following Susie and AnneMarie into the undergrowth, away from the faint path that Amy had been following underneath the trees.

Even as she ran, Amy probed the sky. She felt death on a wing, flying towards them at an incredible speed, heading straight for the truck.

‘Down, down. Everybody down!’ she screamed, and they all threw themselves to the ground. As their bodies hit the dirt, there was a massive explosion just behind them. A huge fireball burst up through the trees, and parts of the truck, its contents and dirt, stones and vegetation were thrown up into the air. As the debris started to fall back down, Amy could feel certain death raining down on them. If one of them were hit by any of the big lumps of metal or stone falling from the sky, they wouldn’t survive.

She threw her senses upwards, not knowing what she was about to do. She imagined a protective dome covering them, made of impenetrable glass, concentrating with all her might on keeping the glass intact. As the wreckage fell onto her imaginary dome, the rubble came through the glass, but was deflected slightly. Amy strained herself, putting all her energy into her dome. She could feel power flowing into her and through her, coming from a place that she knew but couldn’t name. Her body pulsed with an authority that knew neither space nor time, and transmuted as it ran through her, so that it could impact the physical world around her. The metal and rocks fell to the earth, but seemed to be pushed slightly to the side, landing with thunderous explosions all around them, but hitting none of them. As the noise faded, Amy looked at Diego.

‘Keep us moving. Stay under the trees – they can’t sense individual bodies, we know that. Make a travois for the generator. And for me,’ she ordered, before fainting into a deep unconsciousness.

CHAPTER 27

Further Sacrifices

˜

Rousseau was furious. Time and again they had tracked her down. Time and again they had her in their sights. And yet for almost four weeks she had continued to elude them. She had stopped using the truck, they knew that now. She and her motley crew were on foot, carrying all their supplies as they went along. It was almost a week ago that Rousseau had the small satisfaction of watching by video link as one of his attack choppers has blasted the truck and all its contents into a million pieces. But still she escaped from his grasp every time.

He didn’t understand how she was doing it. His team had become more adept at tracking her down – it usually only took between fifty and sixty minutes from their first log-on to their coordinates being pinpointed. But most times when they were narrowing down the coordinates, her group went offline just before they were located. On three occasions, his techies had managed to trace her exact location, but each time the AWACS could not confirm visual with any of their instruments, and when his squads got to the coordinates there was no sign of her team. His technical people assured him that there was no mistake – if they said she was transmitting from a particular point, then she was in that exact location. Yet the AWACS couldn’t trace them – it was maddening.

He had spent hours puzzling over it. How did she know exactly when to go offline? Why couldn’t the AWACS see her and her team on the few occasions when they got exact coordinates? Why was there no trace of her when the squads arrived at those locations? In thinking about it, he had come up with possible answers, though he knew they were controversial. Maybe she had enhanced her powers to be able to somehow detect the activity of his team, knowing when she was about to be located. Maybe she had developed some way of blocking her team’s heat signatures so that the AWACS couldn’t locate her using infra-red – the canopy made visual sightlines useless in any case. Maybe she was now so in sync with the environment, with nature, that she could pass through without disturbing so much as a leaf – Rousseau was worried by this, because if she was becoming that ghost-like, how was he ever going to catch her?

Rousseau came up with possible scenarios, and then considered how to deal with them. The first problem was how to locate her, which would be simple if only she didn’t log-off too soon. She had missed her cut-off three times in the past two weeks, and he couldn’t think of any changes he could make to the technology or process of searching for her. They would have to continue as they had, and hope that she would slip up again.

So if they did locate her, then what? The AWACS couldn’t see her, and by the time the attack helicopters got there, she was gone without a trace. How could he overcome that? As he thought about it, an idea grew in his mind. He would need more resources, for sure. But it should work. If they could just get her location, just one time, it should work. The drawback was that they wouldn’t be able to study her as they had planned. He consulted with his primary contacts within PCIA and they agreed – if she couldn’t be captured, as now seemed to be the case, then she should be killed. At least then she wouldn’t be able to cause them any more damage, and with the groundswell of public opinion growing by the day in favour of sustainable living, putting a stop to the girl and her companions now overrode all other considerations.

And so each time his team alerted him that Williams and her crew had come back online, he waited impatiently, knowing that if they could just get coordinates, this might be over once and for all.

‘Back on.’

Rousseau keyed his radio. ‘Strike One. Target online, tracking now. Launch and circle south of previous coordinates.’

The usual frenzy of tracking, tracing IP addresses through multiple servers around the world to get to the source signal. Correlating that with an associated GPS signal to identify the specific channel. Accessing the satellite database to triangulate the GPS signal. Twenty six minutes passed, and the tracking team set a new record for themselves.

‘Got them. And they’re still online!’

Rousseau transmitted again. ‘Strike One. Coordinates being relayed to your combat control unit now. Fire at will.’

Hundreds of miles away, an AC-130U attack aircraft wheeled northeast, quickly reaching its maximum speed of 300 MPH and taking only five minutes to come within range of the coordinates that had been uploaded into the plane’s computer.

‘Target area in sight. No confirmed friendly or enemy forces present. TV and radar not locating anything, but infra suggests may be a single asset on-site. Please confirm order. Over.’

‘Order confirmed. Targets going offline, may be about to move out already. Confirm order for maximum saturation of target area. Out.’

The AC-130 circled the coordinates, as its rotary cannon started firing thirty rounds per second of 25mm high explosive incendiary ammunition into a twenty-five metre circle that was centred on the exact GPS coordinates provided. Within two minutes, 3,600 rounds had been fired, there was a conflagration of over a thousand degrees Celsius in the circle, and the ground had been obliterated by the massive assault.

*

Earlier, Amy and her colleagues had stopped under cover of some particularly heavily foliaged trees, surrounded by walls of undergrowth. There were groans of relief as Amy, Susie and John dropped their rucksacks, stretching their arms and shoulders before sinking to the ground. AnneMarie, Philip and Diego unstrapped themselves from the triple-breasted travois that they had fashioned for the generator and cans of fuel, laying the harness on the ground and joining the other three in a circle.

‘Please, let us all join hands.

‘Now, close your eyes, and forget about everything. Let your mind be still, your heart calm, your body quiet, and your soul, your True Self, will know Itself.’

‘We think we are our body – the body is but the vessel.

‘We think we are our thoughts – thoughts are but dreams

‘We think we are our feelings – emotions are but reactions.

‘We are our True Selves. Echo these words in silence.

‘I Am All.

‘I Am Creation.

‘I Am Consciousness.

‘I Am All that Has Ever Been.

‘I Am All that Is.

‘I Am All that Ever Will Be.

‘I Am All that Is, and I Am All that Is Not.

‘I Am All.’

Silence. Stillness. Bliss. No Time. No Space. Only Being.

She gently called them back to the present, before speaking of the physical world. ‘OK, gang, we should have moved far enough by now. We’ll rest up for a while, I’ll prepare something for us to eat, and then we’ll log on for the last time today. I’ll warn you when to log off, and then we’ll make one last trek to find somewhere to camp for the night.’

They drank from the water bottles they had filled at the last stream they had crossed, thankful for the cool liquid to slake their thirst. Amy handed around fruit that she had gathered as they walked along. They looked like apples, but had a soft peach-like inside, with a strong sweet flavour.

‘Munch on those while I get a fire going. They’re high in sugar, great for an energy boost.’

She gathered some small twigs and bigger fallen branches and started a little fire, making sure that the wood was dry enough that it only made a minimum amount of smoke when burned. The foliage overhead dispersed the small amount of smoke that there was, so that from a distance there was no hint of human activity to be seen. She called Diego to help her, and the two of them walked along a vague path, Diego pulling up small tubers and some leafy plants as Amy directed.

When they returned to the clearing with armfuls of wood for the fire, and vegetables and fruit, Amy took out her knife and peeled some of the tubers, while placing others directly into the fire. She hung the peeled plants above the fire, and turned all the food as it slowly cooked.

‘Most of this you could eat raw,’ she said, as she handed food around to her five companions. ‘But it tastes better when cooked, and it breaks down some of the tougher fibrous material in that red one there. Most importantly, it’s natural, it’s healthy, and by throwing away the seeds that we spit out, we are encouraging regrowth. Thus do we sustain All.’

After they had all eaten and drank their fill, Amy addressed them again.

‘Guys, they’re getting faster at tracking us; you know they have it down to less than an hour now. So I’ll be on hyper alert once we’ve been online for half an hour, and I’ll warn you when they are getting close. Remember the truck last week – we can’t afford to take any chances. If we log–off before they track us, we’ve no worries – if they manage to nail us, then we’ll only have minutes before those damned choppers get here.

‘But as long as we log off on time, as long as we make sure everything is logged off, we’ll be OK,’ she said, casting a glance at Susie as she emphasised the word ‘everything’. ‘I don’t know if I could do what I did when the truck was hit, again. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to explain it properly. When the truck blew up, I thought we were going to die. There was so much wreckage falling from the sky, I was sure some of us were sure to be hit, maybe killed. I can’t explain what happened, other than to say that I tried to protect us from the falling debris, and I felt a power enter me. It wasn’t me that saved us – it was that power. Whatever that energy was, it deflected the rain of wreckage just enough to keep it from hitting us. And it was so strong, so overwhelming, that it knocked me out cold for twenty-four hours. And so I say yet again, thanks for dragging me on the travois while you got us all to safety.

‘So we have to stay careful, stay hidden.

'The campaign is going brilliantly, better than we could ever have hoped for. The word is spreading; we’ve seen governments, the UN, NGOs take up the call, albeit without specifics. And the devil is in the detail, as we know, so it’s not over yet. But your work is giving us incredible success, so keep it up.

‘Log on and do your thing. I’ll remove the fire and all traces of us, so that we’ll be ready to move when I give the call.’

Philip, John, AnneMarie, Susie and Diego all turned to their knapsacks, taking out their laptops and turning them on, plugging them into the portable generator that they took turns in pairs at dragging along on a sled. They logged on, and all was silent as they typed, continuing to drive the proliferation of the good news about sustainable living and Environmental Consciousness throughout the world. As always, they tied their comments, blogs and posts back to ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’, to maintain the cross–fertilisation of communications that had proved so successful and so decisive in their War of Words.

‘Amy, Michael has an update for us,’ Susie called to Amy, who was packing away everything except the equipment in immediate use.

‘Great, let’s hear it.’

‘OK, emmm let me see,’ Susie said, as she scanned the first lines of Michael’s latest email. ‘He’s still getting huge coverage. He’s been drip-feeding more of the coverage that he didn’t include in the original “A New Dawn from the Amazon” – it seems at this stage that some media outlets, and some academics, Michael says here, now have a full-time job just watching his website so that they can report on new items immediately. Some of the, wow – some of the big news channels have dedicated slots for “A New Dawn from the Amazon” – it seems their market research has shown it’s a hugely popular topic with their subscribers. Michael says that the intermittent drip-feeding of extra footage, combined with updates on independent expert testimony, seems to be one of the reasons why the coverage has stayed so high – people want to find out more. Emmm, lemme see, what else?

‘Oh, OK. Michael said he’s gotten more independent confirmation on reat. That’s the plant that they’ve named using an amalgam of the words red and meat because the flesh is red but has the nutritional value of good quality beef, you know that one? Nutritionists have confirmed the nutritional value and that it’s a very healthy food generally. Agronomists have looked at it, and have apparently said that it may be possible to grow it in a wide range of climates.’

Susie paused as she read to herself, her lips moving silently.

‘OK, back to a familiar point, Amy. Michael said that he wants to meet to discuss the ideas behind sustainable living more fully. He says here that he’s afraid there isn’t enough definitive information available on exactly what we mean - the mechanics of how we go about making society change sufficiently to cater for sustainable living on a global scale. He’s worried that if we don’t fill that gap, quickly, that others will fill it for us – in some cases with good, worthy, sensible material, but in other cases with rubbish and weird shit. He says if we allow that to happen, it might block our message – cause confusion, that sort of thing. He wants to do a programme on it; he says people are crying out for direction, now that they’ve heard the call to action.’

Susie looked at Amy expectantly. This was a topic they had discussed increasingly in recent weeks, as it seemed to be a potential stumbling block for their campaign. Amy thought for a few minutes.

‘I don’t think we can meet. It would be too easy for people to track Michael, exposing both him and us to deadly danger. No, we can’t meet. Email him back, say we understand the point, and we’ll think about it over the next day or so and revert with a plan.’

Susie started to type, and Amy realised with a start that they had been online for almost half an hour. Time to start scanning to see how close their enemies were to tracking them down. She relaxed, closing her eyes and feeling the world about her with her intuited sixth sense. As she dropped into stillness, her awareness expanded, taking more of the world into view than would ever be possible with the five traditional senses. With a shock, Amy realised that they had already been pinpointed. She could feel the focus of malevolence on them, just as some people might sometimes sense someone looking at them, and look up to meet a stranger’s gaze.

‘We’ve been found! Quickly, quick as you can. Log-off, power down. Hurry, hurry – I don’t know how long they’ve had us in their sights.’

She ran around her friends, helping them pack their laptops into their rucksacks, ordering them not to wait to put the rucksacks on properly. ‘Hug it to your chest and run. Run!’

She led them away from the clearing, crashing through the undergrowth that surrounded them. The five followed her untidily, madly scrambling to keep up as she led them away from the idyllic glade at as fast a pace as they could manage with their rucksacks. Susie, Philip, John, AnneMarie and Diego all ran after her, Philip and John dragging the travois with the generator on it, and Diego bringing up the rear. They had only gone a hundred yards or so, when Diego realised that he had forgotten the broadband dongle that connected his laptop to a satellite signal – he had left it on the ground where he had been sitting. He skidded to a stop, glancing at the retreating backs of his companions as he cursed himself. He knew that Amy had explained to them that leaving no trace behind was important, not just from an environmentally friendly point of view, but also because it frustrated their pursuers.

Not wanting to disappoint, he turned and sprinted back into the clearing. He grabbed the dongle from the ground, turning to retreat after his friends. Diego literally never knew what hit him. One moment he was driving his feet into the ground, picking up speed as he ran back out of the clearing. In the next half-second, three of the high explosive incendiary shells streaming from the AC-130 gunship hit his body. Diego literally exploded as the whole area bucked and trembled under the onslaught of explosions and fire.

Nearby, Amy and her friends were thrown to the ground by the concussive effect of the aerial bombardment. Amy looked back frantically, signing to her companions to crawl to her where she lay at the edge of a stream. As they reached her, she rolled in the mud from the edge of the stream, covering herself from head to toe in a thick film of black sludge. It was a tactic they had used to avoid detection by heat-seeking systems in the past weeks, so the others knew immediately what to do and they copied her actions. They inspected each other, slapping extra mud on any parts of their bodies that didn’t seem to be fully covered.

Amy’s ears were ringing from the impact of the explosions and firestorm close by, and she shook her head to clear it, knowing that something was terribly wrong. They should be working in pairs – someone was missing! She looked around – Philip, John, AnneMarie, Susie. Where was Diego? She frantically tried to still her mind sufficiently to connect to the environment around her, only partly succeeding.

As she reached out with her sixth sense, she detected Diego coming towards her. His form was ghostly, semi-transparent, wavering around the edges. He approached her silently, disregarding the noise and percussion that filled the air. Amy could see that he wasn’t walking in the normal sense of the word – he seemed instead to float towards her. As he stopped in front of her, she knew she was seeing what would commonly be called a ghost.

‘Oh, Diego. No.’

He didn’t speak or move, but she could feel him reaching out to her. Feelings of love, compassion and support swept through her. A sense that she had strength and resources deep within her that even she herself did not yet understand or appreciate. Confirmation that there was a job to do, and that she was the person to do it, but that she was not on her own. A sensation of support - support from the Creation, support from her four companions lying beside her, support from unknown people all around the world. An impression that people she knew were also fighting with her, supporting her, standing beside her in purpose and deed. An image of Jopl. Jopl looking directly at her, empathy in his eyes for the loss she had just suffered. He mouthed to her ‘A time and a place for everything. Nothing ever dies. Consciousness simply changes its manifestation. All live on, in your heart and in your memories. And most of all, in your communion with All that Is.’

As the image of Jopl faded, so too did the ghostly figure of Diego. Amy reached out despairingly, but her lover became ever-more transparent, until he faded from view entirely. Amy dropped her head and wept.

A hand on her shoulder. Shaking her. Insistent. Amy wanted to ignore it, but she knew she had a responsibility to the people beside her, and so she looked up, tears blurring her vision.

AnneMarie looked at her, concern furrowing her brow. They were all almost entirely deaf after the explosions so close at hand, and AnneMarie mouthed words to Amy.

‘Diego?’

Amy nodded, despair threatening to overwhelm her, grief pulling her down and backwards.

‘Amy. We all loved Diego. We will mourn him. But we have to get out of here now. Or we will all be dead. That’s not what Diego would want.’

Amy looked back at AnneMarie, not understanding the words. It was as though AnneMarie was speaking a foreign language that Amy had learned poorly many years previously, and now only vaguely remembered the half-meanings of assorted words. Some of the words seemed to have some kind of sense by themselves, but the string of words in a sentence made no sense whatsoever.

‘Amy,’ AnneMarie cried, taking Amy by both shoulders and shaking her hard. ‘Amy, we can’t all die here. Not now. It’s not finished.’

Amy’s eyes searched AnneMarie’s face, her expression stupefied.

‘Amy, I love you. You Are,’ whispered AnneMarie, before drawing back her outstretched palm and swinging her arm around to deliver a hard, sharp slap to Amy’s cheek.

Amy reeled back, shock on her face.

‘Amy. We have to go. You cannot let us die here today. Diego would want you to lead us out of here.’

Thoughts careened around in Amy’s mind, crashing into each other in a welter of noise and confusion. The slap created a clear point of focus, allowing Amy to make an effort to understand what was happening. They were under attack. They were in mortal danger. Diego was dead. Here, she almost faltered, almost fell back into the maelstrom of loss and guilt. She steadied herself, for she knew there was something else. Yes, she had brought them here. If she was responsible for Diego’s death, then she was equally responsible for the lives of the four people still with her. She had to save them.

She dropped her head into the stream, the cold clean water sweeping away the confusion from her mind. She reapplied the mud to her face, looking at her four companions with an expression that was frightening in its intensity. ‘Let’s go,’ she mouthed, waving to them to follow her. She picked up her rucksack, and threw the straps over her shoulders. ‘They’ll be here with foot soldiers in minutes’ she mouthed again, indicating for them to follow her. Crouched over, she moved off at a jogging pace, her four remaining friends following closely behind.

Amy stumbled along, only vaguely aware of her surroundings. She tried to send her sixth sense out, to see the whereabouts of any enemy soldiers that might be hunting them, but the weight of grief in her chest was too much for her. Instead she settled for sending out a plea for assistance, and she staggered on, her friends following blindly.

As she paused to let them catch up with her and gave them a moment to catch their breath, the bushes near her parted. A small deer, scarcely two feet high at the shoulder, daintily picked its way forward. It stopped in front of Amy, waiting. She knelt down, not knowing if she had the strength to even try what seemed to be expected. She leaned forward and touched her forehead against the deer’s. The deer was like a brother, warmly enfolding Amy within his embrace, giving her solace and strength together. She closed her eyes, and felt the deer’s love transmuting into the love of Consciousness. She relaxed, and gave herself to the feeling.

The deer seemed to give her all the time and space that she needed, so that seconds in communion with him felt like hours of time to herself. To grieve and to remember. To honour and to cherish those memories. After a time, she knew she had duties. She knew she had to move on. She directed her attention outside herself, to the small deer beside her. As she did, images appeared in her mind’s eye.

Huge. Ugly. Noisy. Two choppers dropping from the sky. Men pouring from the belly of each, two dozen in total. Fear and hatred, a paucity of spirit, were all visible in the men. Amy recognised their movements as practiced military manoeuvres. She didn’t know the names of the models of guns they carried, but she knew they were high-tech weaponry. She saw a panorama spread before her, a bird’s eye view of the forest. She could see the glade behind them, smoke still pouring skywards. She could see where the helicopters had landed, close to the burning clearing. She could see how the soldiers formed two lines, moving in opposite directions to each other, both away from the fire. One line moved further from Amy and so posed no threat. The other line was heading straight for her position, and so was an immediate danger.

Amy drew back from the deer, wordlessly smiling at him in thanks.

‘Go,’ she whispered. ‘Be safe.’

The deer turned and gently walked through a gap in the low undergrowth, disappearing in seconds.

‘Guys, the soldiers are heading straight for us. We need to change direction, get out of their line of advance. Follow me.’

Again she led them, and they followed, trust in her as deep as ever, despite the loss of Diego.

*

In Houston, St Claire was in fear of his life. He had been in Board meetings led by Wilkinson in Carren’s absence, and every antenna he possessed told him that he was being lied to. As were most of the rest of the Board. Wilkinson claimed to have no idea what had happened to Carren, who had scarcely been heard from for weeks, except for an occasional email. Wilkinson claimed that everything was ‘business as usual’, but St Claire doubted that.

He knew Wilkinson and Rich Small were having almost continual meetings, and he spied the stranger that he had warned the Williams girl about – he too seemed to be a permanent fixture in the early days of the crisis, though he hadn’t been seen for weeks now.

St Claire, for the first time in a long time, was getting a significant number of enquires from the media about sustainable energy, and queries on Greenergy’s current status in terms of R&D into sustainable energy. He knew that this was being driven by the increasing public interest in the whole area of sustainable living, which had unquestionably peaked massively since the ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’ programme a month earlier. The programme had talked about a group of researchers, activists and scientists working in the Amazon, and St Claire was convinced this had to be a reference to Amy Williams and whoever was working with her.

He would have expected that Wilkinson and Small would be all over this latest interest, pushing the Greenergy agenda and viewpoint as they sought to manipulate the media and public perceptions, as they had so often done in the past. Instead, Wilkinson and Small insisted that Rich’s team was responding to queries about ‘A New Dawn from the Amazon’ and the interest and calls for sustainable living that it was generating, but that it was not a high-priority agenda for them. If that was true, what were they meeting about so often? St Claire decided to try to find out.

After most people had left the Greenergy HQ building for the day, St Claire walked to Wilkinson’s office. He sat behind the desk, trying the drawers and finding them all locked. The PC was turned on but Wilkinson had logged out, so he could get no information there. There were some piles of paperwork in trays on the desk, but a quick riffle through them revealed only standard purchase order forms for approval and other administrative paperwork.

Looking around in frustration, St Claire’s eyes stopped at the wastepaper basket. There was a confidential bin in the room, where paper was shredded as it was put into the bin, so he could get nothing there. But might Wilkinson have left anything in the regular wastepaper bin? St Claire reached in, drawing out three sheets of paper. At first glance, they were filled with meaningless drawings and scribbles. But as he looked closer, and knowing Wilkinson and knowing about Amy Williams, some of it made more sense than Wilkinson would have intended.

Three words, one under the other, with a tick next to each – ‘Logging’, ‘Mining’, and ‘Drilling’. ‘AW’ written in sharp letters, with a thick ‘X’ beside it. ‘Counter-PR’, with ‘RS’ beside it. The word ‘Dirt’, with ‘LR’ written next to it. St Claire wasn’t sure what it all meant, but he was guessing that RS was Rich Small’s initials, which meant that he was responsible for Counter-PR, whatever that was. He guessed AW must then be Amy William’s initials. He scribbled down the phrases in a small notepad before crumpling the original papers and throwing them back into the wastepaper basket.

As he had done previously, he left the office and went to the nearby mall, buying an unregistered pay-as-you-go cell phone. He texted Amy, asking her to call him, and went to wait in the park. As he sat there, a large black SUV with tinted windows rolled to a stop in front of him and the driver’s window silently slid down. St Claire leaned forward, expecting the driver to ask for directions. Instead the driver looked at him silently, as though evaluating him. He said something to someone in the back of the SUV, and the back doors swung open. Before St Claire had a chance to realise what was happening, two big men had jumped out of the SUV, grabbed him by both arms and bundled him into the back of the vehicle. Before St Claire had a chance to protest, they were driving quickly but within the speed limit.

‘Monsieur St Claire. I apologise for the abrupt manner in which we asked to speak with you. We are, however, busy men, and this is an exceedingly busy time.’

St Claire looked at him. He looked like any middle-manager in Greenergy, neatly dressed, unprepossessing. The men beside him were different – big, muscular, each pointing a gun directly at St Claire. They were frightening.

‘What the hell is this?’ St Claire blustered. ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

‘Information, Monsieur St Claire, just some information.’

‘What information?’ St Claire asked.

‘For example, what is written on the notepad in your pocket? Where did you get that information from? What were you planning to do with it?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

A nod from his questioner, and one of the men grabbed his arms, immobilising him, while the other effortlessly reached into his jacket pocket and extracted his notebook. He handed it to the other man with a quiet, ‘Here you are, Mr Black.’

Mr Black opened the notebook, looking at the last page of writing. He tut-tutted gently, looking at St Claire with a disappointed expression.

‘Have you anything to say for yourself?’

‘No. Nothing.’

‘OK. You spied on your own colleague, your own company. You stole this information. And I have no doubt you intended to pass it onto Ms Williams. Which explains how she has known so much about Greenergy and its Amazonian operations in recent months. How she was able to organise protests in areas that the environmentalists weren’t even supposed to know we were operating in. You, Monsieur St Claire, are a spy. Reprehensible. Do you know what happens to spies, Monsieur St Claire?’

A mute shake of the head.

‘They are executed. Executed as the traitors that they are. You will be killed, and your body disposed of, never to be seen again. Just another missing person statistic. Now, have you any final words?’

‘Just this. I am … afraid. I have never been brave. I have never been a hero. But at least I know that my death is useful. That I have tried to make some small amends in my life. What about you, Mr Black?’ the words spat out. ‘What about your life?’

Mr Black simply nodded again, and one of the men leaned forward and thrust a long, slender blade between St Claire’s ribs, puncturing his heart. St Claire gasped, his body contorted, and he slumped sideways with a speckle of blood on his lips. Within an hour his body had been buried deep in the municipal dump, never to be seen again.

CHAPTER 28

The Hunter Is Caught

˜

Amy reached for the oranges, peeling one and breaking off segments as she sat deep in thought. It was nineteen days since Diego had left this life, and she still felt a sharp stab of grief when she thought of the sacrifice he had made. She could feel him in the air around her, encouraging her and consoling her without words. He was dead, but his essence was still in the world, though it was growing weaker as each day passed. She sensed that this weakening was like an absorption – Diego was not disappearing, but he was being amalgamated back into a Universal Consciousness where individual thoughts, memories and perceptions were simply not relevant.

She didn’t get the impression that Diego felt a sense of loss on his own behalf. Instead, he seemed to be solely concerned with her, and with the struggle she was engaged in. She often woke before the others, and spent this quiet time in the soft gloaming of pre-dawn, not doing a formal meditation, but simply Being. She found this gave her a grounding at the start of the day, and her thoughts and feelings seemed to be able to order themselves as she left them to their own devices. It was also the time when Diego seemed closest and clearest to her, reassuring and encouraging her without words.

She felt guilt as well as grief. Diego had been a young, successful, rich entrepreneur, with his whole life in front of him. He could have done anything, been anything. But because of her, he had lived in the forest for the last years of his short life, fighting for a cause that she had inspired him to support. He had died in the jungle, his vibrant life cut short, all his hopes and plans for the future arrested, permanently. As she sat and pondered his death, she again felt the grief welling to the surface, and tears fell unheeded from her eyes.

‘Why do you cry?’

She didn’t ‘hear’ those words, but she felt the essence of the question forming in her brain, as though from an external presence. She recognised the feeling of warmth and love that identified Diego.

‘Because you died. Because you died for my cause. Because you died for me.’

‘No.’ Strong, firm, yet kind and understanding at the same time.

‘Why did you die?’

‘Because it was right. It was my time. And, what is Death anyway?’

‘What is it? You are not here, that’s what it is. I miss you, Diego. I need you.’

‘No.’ Again, firmly but with love. ‘No. That’s the point, Amy, my Love. You do not need me. And I am here. Death is a mystery, my Love. But I am not gone away. In time, I will not be able to talk to you. Not because I am gone, but because I will grow now. I will leave behind the physical world completely. I will re-join Consciousness, absolutely and entirely. But even then, when you commune with Consciousness, you will commune with me.

‘Death comes to all physical things, my Love. It is a natural and inevitable part of being a physical being. But do not allow it to perturb you. In the blink of an eye, in a time to come, you too will have the privilege of dying. You too will be able to re-join Consciousness. And with your knowledge, with your wisdom, at the moment of your death you will rejoice, you will weep tears of happiness. Because you will know that you are finally reaching perfection.’

‘Oh, Diego, I hope that is true, I really do.’

‘It is true, my Love. It is Truth. You must recognise this. You must hold this knowledge in your heart with true certainty as you continue to change the physical world. You are a bright flame in a dark world, throwing light into the corners of people’s hearts, making the world a better place. Your fight in the Amazon is preparation for what is to come. For the real change. And you are key to that. Your enemies now are falling and fading, more than you know. Be in peace that you are safe in the Amazon, hunted no more. Be in peace that you are in my love. Be in peace that as I re-join Consciousness, even though we will no longer be able to talk as clearly as this, I will be in every raindrop, every particle of sunlight, with you for all of time.

‘Goodbye, my Love.’

Amy echoed his goodbye, whispering it in her mind and on her lips. As the sense of his presence started to fade, she knew she was losing him again. Diego was going where she could not follow, not yet. She leaned back in her chair with a deep sigh. What was she to do? She had finally overcome the fear and hurt that she had suffered from Greg’s betrayal. She had finally learned to love again. And now, after so short a time, she had lost her love. And yet she could still feel a vague sense of Diego’s presence. As she took solace in that, she still felt the pain and the loss, so keenly. And yet, at the same time, she felt a thankfulness. Thankfulness that she had been able to love Diego, properly and fully as he deserved, before he died. A gratefulness that she had been able to surrender into the beauty of that vulnerability. Recognition that she had shared a beautiful love, and that even with Diego gone, she was a better person for having loved him. Acknowledgement that she and Diego had shared something that had been unique to the two of them, as true love is always unique to those who share it. He had given up his life to save the world, and she loved him as much now as she ever had.

Diego was right – she missed him, but she still had a job to do. If her perception of what Diego had communicated to her was correct, she had more time to fight, with a bigger and more important fight in her future. But for now she had to concentrate on this struggle, on her beloved Amazon. And according to Diego, her enemies were ‘falling and fading’, whatever that meant. She would continue the fight, and let Consciousness decide the outcome.

*

The seat-belt sign went on, and Rousseau fastened himself into his seat as he heard the pilot announce that they were starting their descent into Houston airport. He wondered what the hell was going on. He had received a coded message from the PCIA, ordering him to stand down his operation in the Amazon, and return to Houston immediately, where he would be met at the airport. He had questioned the order, and received double confirmation that this new order was a priority, to be executed within forty-eight hours, maximum. He had disbanded his cohort of mercenaries, dispersing the men and equipment back to where they had come from, and booked himself onto this flight.

After the plane landed and rolled to a stop, Rousseau joined the business travellers and tourists as they wound their way through the tedium of passport control and baggage reclaim. He emerged in the Arrivals Hall, looking around to see if he would recognise the PCIA contact who was to meet him and provide further instructions. It felt good to be back in the civilised world and the air-conditioned interior of a modern building, and he stretched as he wandered into the middle of the Arrivals Hall. He didn’t see the two men coming up behind him, and only detected their presence when they each took light hold of an elbow and kept walking. Rousseau jerked one elbow away in surprise, and one of the men spoke.

‘Don’t cause a scene, Jean-Pierre. This airport is locked down tighter than a camel’s ass in a sandstorm. You have no weapons, and you are surrounded. Just keep walking.’

As the man spoke, ‘Luc’ automatically swept his eyes around the Hall. He could see a significant number of the supposed travelling population of the airport straightening, looking at him, watching with professional eyes. And the man at his elbow had used a name that no-one had called him for a long time. He sighed, realising that there was no escape for the moment, and surrendered to the realisation that he had no choice. Nevertheless, he wasn’t going to roll over for these people, whoever they were.

‘Jean-Pierre? Who is this Jean-Pierre? You have the wrong man, mon ami. My name is Henri Chevalier. I can show you my passport.’

‘We don’t need to see your passport, Jean-Pierre Parmentier. Don’t make trouble now, or you won’t live to see the inside of a cell. Keep walking.’

They knew his real name. He had used many aliases in his life, travelling now as Henri Chevalier, and mostly using Luc Rousseau during the last few months when he had tried to track down Amy Williams in the Amazon. This was bad.

He allowed himself to be shepherded into an armoured truck outside the Arrivals Hall, where he was searched and stripped of his outer clothing. He sat alone as they drove for two hours, wrapped in a blanket that had been left on the seat, and wondering who had captured him and what they knew. They must be law enforcement, judging from the amount of men they had been able to deploy in the airport. Had they intercepted the PCIA messages and waited for him, or worse, had they sent those messages themselves – if so, it was the most serious breach of their security that he could think of.

The truck pulled to a stop, and the back door opened. Parmentier climbed down, finding himself in what looked like an underground cavern. The walls were of rough stone, but the floor layout and equipment was state of the art. He was walked through a scanner, ordered to turn slowly as he went through. He was brought to a plain room with a table bolted to floor, three chairs on one side and a single chair on the other, all bolted to the floor. One wall was dull glass, which Parmentier immediately knew was one-way glass. So he was in a holding cell, almost certainly being watched from behind the glass, no doubt with every move and every sound being recorded.

With no watch, he couldn’t be exact about the passage of time, but he reckoned it was at least two hours before the door opened and a middle-aged, muscular man in army fatigues put a plastic beaker of water on the table in front of him before leaving again without speaking a word.

More hours passed, and Parmentier woke from an uncomfortable doze as the door opened again. Three men, all in plain army fatigues, with no identifying insignia, sat in the three chairs opposite him.

‘Jean-Pierre Parmentier, you have been accused of multiple crimes against the United States of America, including but not limited to, terrorism, money-laundering, murder, attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, conspiracy to subvert the course of justice, and many more. You have been tried under military law in your absence and found guilty. The sentence is death by lethal injection. Do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?’

Parmentier gasped. What the hell were they talking about? One of the strengths of the PCIA was that democratic nations were hobbled by their notions of justice and civil liberties. The PCIA flourished in part because law enforcement agencies around the world were made ineffective by the many restrictions placed on them in the name of civil liberties. They had to be bluffing.

‘I do not know what you are talking about. I am a French citizen. My name is Henri Chevalier. I have rights. I demand to speak to my lawyer. You have to allow me to make a phone call to speak to my lawyer.’

‘Now, Jean-Pierre, you know as well as we do that you’re full of shit. Ever since 9/11, the military has new powers. That’s why we can perform rendition from foreign states, fly the suspects back to the States, and lock them up here for as long as we like. Do you really think Guantanamo is the only one? And do you really think that we are going to hold scum like you indefinitely? You’re guilty as hell, you deserve to die, and die you will. Now, for the final time, do you have anything to say before the sentence is carried out?’

The blood drained from Parmentier’s face. The PCIA had been taken by surprise by the 9/11 attacks, with no pre-warning from their network of agents and unwitting stooges around the world. But they had taken full advantage in the aftermath of the attacks, using their influence within the Bush administration and the military-industrial complex to drive an agenda of war, encouraging a climate of fear through media coverage so that they could cement their position of de-facto power within the national policy-making functions of the state.

They had not foreseen however the emergence of a legal-military cohort that answered to no-one, including any of the power-mongers of the PCIA. Created by Executive Presidential Order, this sub-section of the military didn’t even have a formal name. Some of their activities, such as a small number of renditions from foreign states and the imprisonment without trial of some suspects in Guantanamo bay, were known to the public. But Parmentier knew that a lot of their activities had never been subjected to public scrutiny, had never been discussed within any of the legislative arms of the state. And he knew that what this man was saying was not only possible, but given their knowledge of his real name and the list of offences that the man had just reeled off, was highly probable. He listened as the man continued.

‘Let me make it easy for you, Parmentier. We got a tip-off from a source that you were using Greenergy as a front for terrorism. We investigated, quietly, and we were pointed towards Wilkinson, whom you know so well. When we explained to him just who it is that he was dealing with, when we told him that his life, and the lives of all of his family, were in mortal danger, he crumbled. We offered him a new identity and lifetime protection if he’d give evidence against you, and he sang like a songbird. We know you’ve been trying to kill off that girl in the Amazon, though God knows why. We know you’ve had St Claire murdered – even though we’ve no body. He hasn’t been seen in weeks, with no explanation.

‘Our source had told us much more about you, though. Like about your connections with Sebastian Mueller. About your money, much of which we have traced. There is no legal way you could have amassed that much, not to mention the frankly phenomenal sums of money you have channelled through those accounts. If you want to talk, you might, just might, buy yourself a reprieve. No promises. No guarantee. Except this – if you choose not to talk, you will be executed tonight.’

The man leaned back in his chair, looking as though he didn’t really give a damn whether or not Parmentier chose to talk or die. Parmentier thought furiously. He knew he was in the clutches of a small but powerful force that the PCIA had been unable to penetrate or influence – his colleagues in crime and power couldn’t help him now. And he knew enough about the rules to know that these men could try him, find him guilty, and sentence him to death without the involvement of civilian courts. As the minutes dragged by, his thoughts careened – there was no way out.

‘You say no guarantees. But why would I talk if you do not incentivise me? I’ll die tonight, yes I will. Because I won’t talk. Unless you tell me that I’ll live. I wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want something. Information, presumably. What is it worth to you?’

‘I hate to admit it, but you’re right. I want information. You’re operating as part of something bigger, that we know. Though we haven’t been able to get the details. Our source tells us that you won’t be able to tell us everything – that you don’t know everything. But they have also told us that you can point us at some people, at least. Other people like you – scum who subvert the American Way. Give us names, information, tell us about the money trail, so that we have something. There are no guarantees. But if you tell us enough, then your sentence will be commuted. You will serve a minimum of ten years in a military jail. At the end of your incarceration, we will buy you a one-way ticket to any country of your choosing, subject to veto by us. And that’s it. When you are eventually let out, we will escort you to your flight, make sure you are on it, and then forget about you.’

‘You drive a hard bargain, Monsieur. But I see no alternative. My name is Jean-Pierre Parmentier. I was born in Varennes-le-Grand in France.’

With that, the flood gates opened, and he told them everything that he knew. About how he had started dabbling in smuggling as a teenager, and how he had started to work for an organisation called the PCIA in the seventies. He told them all the names that he knew, all the secret codes, the meeting places, the bank accounts. Everything was recorded, and his defection would be one of the severest blows dealt to the PCIA in recent years. He didn’t have a cause, a mission, as these men did, or as Amy Williams did. Faced with death, he thought only to save himself.

*

Amy and her band continued to hide in the Amazon. After her last communing with Diego, she could no longer sense the malevolent eye searching for them. Yet she remembered one of her dad’s favourite sayings: ‘Hope for the best, plan for the worst.’ And so they stayed hidden.

CHAPTER 29

One War Won, Another One Begun.

˜

A month later, Amy once again looked around at her companions. They had just finished a session online, having spent most of the day updating various websites, talking to Michael, and assessing progress. They still weren’t used to the fact that they could stay logged on for hours without having to be slaves to the “write and run, write and run” tactic that they had followed for three months, until only a few weeks ago. But Amy assured them that it was safe, that no-one was actively chasing them anymore. At the same time, she insisted they stayed isolated, deep within the Amazon. She said this was both to avoid opportunistic attacks if they made themselves visible to the external world, but also to keep them focussed totally on the task that they had set for themselves.

As they logged off and powered down their laptops, Amy walked over and turned off the generator, returning their semi-permanent camp to near-silence, with just the noise of the birds and the wind in the trees providing a peaceful background symphony. The five of them, the five musketeers as they had taken to calling themselves, relaxed and half-sat, half-lay on the soft grass.

‘Well, guys, it appears that we may just have done it. We’ve been working for almost three and a half years, and it’s three months since we launched the campaign. But it now looks as though we have prevailed. The rallies around the world were definitely key to forcing the politicians’ hands. The Earth Protocol summit looks as though it might actually deliver meaningful results when it kicks off next month – I’ll be watching you all from a distance as you give your keynote addresses in Geneva. Watching you, and proud of you.’

‘Amy, are you sure you can’t come? I still think it would make a real difference to have you there,’ Philip said.

‘No, Philip, no. We have accomplished so much, together. But now it is time for you guys to carry the banner, to see it through to the end. As I said before, I can feel the change in the air. The fundamental shift has already happened – the policymakers just need time to catch up. Whether it was that magic one per cent of the population, or just the overwhelming forcefulness of the call for change, the fundamental paradigm by which Humanity will co-exist with the environment has now changed. You just need to shepherd it in the right direction. That’s your job going forward.’

‘I’m still dazed,’ Annemarie said. ‘In the end, it all seemed to happen so fast. I’m almost afraid to trust it – afraid that I’ll wake up and find the last month or two has been a dream, that we’re still being chased, that we’re still a lone voice calling for change.’

‘I understand how you feel,’ Amy answered. ‘But I think sometimes that is just the way it works. Some change is gradual, barely noticeable. But sometimes the need for change builds up, especially if it is being suppressed the way it was for the last few decades. More and more people felt the way humanity was abusing the environment was wrong, but there was no clear alternative that they could point to. And so as it happened, fortuitously, our timing was impeccable. Not that we should try to take the credit – I think the Universe itself, Creation, Consciousness itself, was guiding events as we went along.

‘Now we have had action, results, all thanks to the irresistible force of society’s calls for change. The Brazilian government has ordered the immediate cessation of all commercial activities in the Brazilian territory of the rainforest, and it looks as though Peru and Columbia are about to do the same. The multi-nationals are threatening legal action, but now that the World Bank has agreed to fund a compensation scheme, thanks to that US pressure that you heard about, the multinationals are already pulling out. The threat to be excluded from compensatory payments if they didn’t immediately comply with the cessation order really seems to have done the trick.

‘The fact that UNESCO has already landed people on the ground at Compass City and the other two significant sites that we announced has also had a huge impact. They’ll be making certain that there’s no interference with any of the sites that they’ve claimed management of, so those areas are doubly safe.

‘I think we can now state with conviction that our campaign to protect the Amazon Basin environment has been an unqualified success. Not just here, but around the world, sustainable and cooperative exploitation of the environment is the new social, political and economic norm. It is truly extraordinary, what we have accomplished together.’

‘Like AnneMarie said, I’m still a bit shell-shocked as well – I have that “Oh no, I hope this isn’t a dream” feeling going on as well!’ John said.

‘It’s not a dream John; that is one thing you can be sure of,’ Amy answered. ‘Just think about what we’ve done in the past two months, how you’ve all grown. Like you, AnneMarie. You can do things now that you couldn’t have dreamt of only a couple of months ago. Things that a few years ago, you wouldn’t even have thought were possible for anyone. But now you have The Sight. Now you have The Connection. And that makes all things possible.’

‘I know! And the really weird thing is how effortless it is. Like last night, I sensed Susie wasn’t comfortable in her sleep,’ AnneMarie said, turning to Susie. ‘You were tossing and turning a bit. And I felt that it was because the ground was a bit hard under you, so that you could feel it even through the bed of leaves. So I asked the grass under you – asked, not ordered, which would have been totally wrong of me – I asked it if it would mind growing a little bit so that you would have a softer bed. I could feel the grass answering me, saying that it didn’t mind, and it grew an inch or two within a few minutes and then stopped. And then you were able to sleep a little more peacefully.’

‘That’s awesome,’ Susie said to AnneMarie, before turning to Amy. ‘Amy, I feel so bad. Why is it that AnneMarie and Philip and John seem to have developed your superpowers, but I haven’t? What is wrong with me?’

‘Oh, Susie, please don’t feel bad. There is a time and a place for every person. Every person has his or her own story to live, his or her own path to walk. Yours is different from theirs, that’s all. Please try not to worry about it. Remember that it was your friendship with Michael that made this possible – without his programme, we could never have had the impact we did. So don’t fret over it.’

Susie nodded, though she was clearly not satisfied. ‘Well, if you say so, Amy. I will wait and see. Though even John is doing your Dr Doolittle thing now, talking to the animals. I just don’t want to be left behind.’

‘You’re not being left behind,’ John said. ‘As Amy says, you either have a different time to us, or a different purpose. That’s all. Though I have to admit, it was super-cool to be able to help that monkey the other day. The way it came over to me and looked at me – I knew immediately that there was something going on. Then I felt that “help me” feeling from the poor little thing, and so I followed it – or rather she led the way. And when we got to the tree where her baby had gotten entangled in the vines – there was no way either the baby or the mother could have freed it. It just felt so good to be able to reach up and cut the vine with my knife – and then the feeling from the mother! The baby was just afraid, but the mum knew that I had saved her baby, as she had hoped I would when she came to me. Humbling.’

‘Yes, it is all happening now, as we speak. In fact, so much is happening, and so quickly, that I need to take some time out myself, just to let everything settle in my head. If you guys will excuse me, I’m gonna take a walk, mull over things for a while, give my head some space. I’ll be back in a while.’ With that parting comment, Amy got up and walked away from the group.

Amy walked until she reached a spot where a large flat rock covered part of the ground on the bank of one of the many tributaries of the Amazon. She sat in the centre of the outcropping and crossed her legs, relaxing into a state of quiet peacefulness. Deciding to leave her thoughts to their own devices for a while, to give them space to sort themselves out, she reached out to connect with the world around her. She extended her sixth sense far and wide, feeling the relief in the forest that the destruction was slowing down. The forest knew her now, as she knew it.

Reaching further outwards, Amy followed the tributary to the point where it met the great Amazon. She then followed the mighty river to the sea, and sent her senses out into the ocean. There she felt the ceaseless movement, the tides and currents endlessly working to shape the earth. Her perception widened, so that she was holding the entire oceans of the earth in her mind’s eye. She could feel the slow, thoughtful consciousness of the seas, focussed on maintaining the delicate balance in the earth’s biosphere that allowed the development and sustainment of plant and animal life. She could still very faintly feel traces of Diego, but she knew that he was now almost totally absorbed back into Consciousness – he was no longer Diego, he was now something infinitely greater. She still desperately missed his physical presence, his voice, his touch; but she knew he was around her now in a more profound and precious way than had ever been possible in life.

As she contemplated the awareness of the oceans, she heard a voice inside her mind, calling to her. She turned her attention to the voice, and saw an image of her cherished Jopl. As she looked at his boyish face, she sensed a message from the forest. The forest knew Amy, but it knew Jopl as well. And it was telling her that he was here! Her darling was in the Amazon, come to see her! With a cry of delight, she jumped up and ran back to the camp.

‘Gang, gang, has anyone been here?’ she called out as she ran between the homemade shelters into the centre of the clearing. ‘Have you seen anyone?’

The others looked at her, wondering what she was talking about. ‘No, Amy, no – we haven’t seen anyone. Who would we see out here?’

‘An old, dear friend of mine. He is coming, coming here, to see me. To see us.’ She called out to the sky, ‘Jopl. Jopl? Can you hear me?’

Her friends wondered if she had suddenly gone crazy. They had been hiding in the forest for months, and hadn’t laid eyes on another human other than themselves ever since Michael’s TV crew had returned to the UK. Yet now, Amy was calling out as though a friend was dropping in from the house next door. As they watched and wondered, two people walked into the clearing behind Amy.

She spun around and ran to them, crying with happiness. She reached down and hugged the younger man who looked like a teenager. She hugged him as though he was life itself, with a joy and delight that was plain to see. After a minute or two, she released him and looked at him from arm’s length for a moment before turning to the man beside the boy. ‘Rob,’ she whispered, before reaching out and hugging him as well.

Again she stood back, looking at them both, but her attention clearly focussed on the boy.

‘Jopl. What are you doing here?’

‘I have come for you, Amy. It is time for you to move on. It is time for you to leave your beloved forest behind, for now at least.’ He looked at her the way a father might look at his only child – proud and protective. ‘You have grown so much. Changed so much. Learned so much. I felt you were destined for great things, but even I did not foresee how much you would do. Rob sometimes asked over the last three years - three and a half years, since we saw you last - he sometimes asked if we could call you back. But always I knew that no, we could not call you back. You were fighting your war, even as we were fighting ours.’

She reached out and hugged them both again, before turning to her four friends who were still sitting in the clearing, mouths open, not knowing who these people were or how they had found the campsite.

‘My friends, I want you to meet someone very special,’ she said, taking Jopl by the hand and pulling him over to stand with her in front of her four companions. ‘This is Jopl. I know he looks like a child, but in fact he’s older than any of us. Jopl is the person who started me on the path to enlightenment, to fulfilment. It was Jopl who awoke the sixth sense within me, who taught me so much about myself, and my place in the world. While we have been fighting our campaign, Jopl and my other dear friend Rob here have been fighting another war – against the people who helped Greenergy and organised the attacks on us. And killed Diego.

‘Jopl, Rob – I want you to meet AnneMarie.’ AnneMarie jumped to her feet and warmly hugged the two men, or the man and the boy as it seemed to her. She knew that any friend of Amy’s was a friend of hers, and Amy seemed to hold both men, especially the one who looked like a boy, in the highest regard. ‘Susie, Philip, John,’ Amy continued, as each one of her ‘musketeers’ hugged or shook hands with Rob and Jopl.

They all sat down around the smouldering fire, Amy seating herself between Jopl and Rob, reaching out to them to squeeze an arm or shoulder as they talked. Amy wanted to hear all their news, but Jopl insisted that she tell her story first. As the hours passed, Amy talked about all that had happened to her since she had left them three and a half years earlier. As she spoke, and as her companions grew more comfortable with the new arrivals, they interjected with extra detail, funny stories, and more information on some of Amy’s exploits, such as rescuing Diego, than Amy herself was inclined to give.

When the story had come up to the present moment, Amy finished by telling Rob and Jopl about the upcoming Earth Protocol summit, explaining that her four friends would be attending and speaking at it, while she herself felt it was time for her to leave the campaign behind and return home to the US.

‘And that is why we are here,’ Jopl said to her. ‘We are here, to bring you home, Amy. It is time. But before we tell you about the future, let us tell you about the past. You have told us all that has happened to you since we last met, some of which was known to me, through different sources, and much of which I had but vaguely sensed. Now we will tell you what has happened with us, since we last met.’

Jopl and Rob shared the telling, effortlessly picking up the dialogue from each other as they related their news, with Amy explaining the background to her other friends as the story unfolded. They told her that Professor Symington was well, and looking forward to seeing her, as the jungle trek would have been too much for the old man. They explained that they had worked against the PCIA without rest or respite for the three and a half years since they sent her away for her own safety. They had big successes in the early weeks and months, but then it became more difficult as the PCIA realised that there was an organised group of people working against them.

Nevertheless, over the months and years, they had continued their work, with Jopl being able to uncover PCIA activity through his extra-sensory perceptions. Sometimes Jopl had been able to simply talk PCIA figures into leaving the organisation, and sometimes had even been able to persuade them to help in the fight against their former organisation. At other times, they had spied on PCIA members, building up dossiers of evidence, mostly around unaccounted wealth, and handing it over to the authorities.

It was in the course of that work that they had come across Luc Rousseau, a senior PCIA figure who had become actively involved in the hunt for Amy. It was only a little more than a month previously that they had managed to gather enough evidence against Rousseau to have him arrested on a range of charges from tax evasion and money laundering, to terrorism and murder.

By the time the full story was told, it was evening time.

‘So what next, Jopl? I feel I have more work to do, a different war to fight, but I am not sure where to start. Or how to start. Can you help me?’

‘Yes. We have made many allies over the past three years. They are continuing our work, to manage the PCIA out of existence entirely. And so it is that we have come for you. You have wrought momentous change in the world, Amy. And yet, you have so much more to do. Much of this is outside my vision. It is unclear. But change, even greater change, is possible. I believe this is your destiny. Not what you have done, but what you have yet to do.’

‘Oh, Jopl, I feel so much better now that you are here. I hadn’t realised how much I missed you, how much I need you, until this moment. I have felt the change that you are talking about. I have heard it calling to me. I believe that Consciousness has another task for me. But I wasn’t sure exactly what, or where or how. Or when, or who with. But you are here now, so I feel better.’ She smiled.

‘I am here to help, Amy. Maybe even to guide, at times. But that is all. You do not realise how much you have grown. You are more evolved than I am. You will lead this war, this revolution, if that is what it will be. You will have the revelation, and you will pass it on. That is your role, be it revolution, revelation, or both. I have just prepared the way for you. Creation awaits you, not me.’

‘Now you’re frightening me. I’m not sure how much more I can do, Jopl. I am tired.’

‘I understand. But trust me. I know how much more you can do. There is no limit, because of who and what you are. It may seem at times as though you cannot go on. But you can. And you will. Until all is done. Because You Are All.

‘Now, we have all had a long day. It is late, and we are all tired. So now we will rest, sleep. In the morning we will walk out of the Amazon.’ He looked at AnneMarie, Susie, Philip and John before continuing. ‘You will carry forward your campaign. At the Earth Protocol Summit. And through every other avenue you can.

‘Amy, you will come with Rob and me. As your colleagues will continue the campaign that you started, for you; so our colleagues will continue and finish our campaign against the PCIA. In the meantime, you, Rob and I will rest before the next phase of change.’

There was a little further conversation, mainly around the logistics of returning to the so-called civilised world. AnneMarie, Susie, Philip and John were clearly emotional at the prospect of having to part company from Amy, but she reassured them that it would take more than the next day to get back to a populated area, so they still had a little time together. Eventually everyone went to their shelters to sleep, after the group had hurriedly constructed an extra hut for Rob and Jopl.

The next morning dawned clear and bright, a day full of promise. Everything was packed, the clearing was left pristine, and they prepared to start the long trek out of the Amazon. Amy and Jopl led the way, arm in arm. The sun shone down, and Amy could feel the circle of Life all around her as the plants soaked up the sunshine. As they walked along the path leading out of the clearing, small blue and pink flowers appeared and blossomed under their feet.

Amy smiled contentedly, silently thanking the forest for this parting gift of a multi-coloured flowering carpet, and offering a promise to return.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

˜

As always, my first and most heartfelt acknowledgement has to be to my three children. As many parents know all too well, we often learn more from our children than we teach them. And so it is with me – my three children have taught me about responsibility, about love, about truth. When I look at them, I know there is more to this world than being born, growing up, and dying. I see in them the light of the world – the ineffable underlying reality that they are more than just physical creatures. Born of their mother and myself, they contain part of us, and I am all the better for that.

You light my life. I am proud of all of you. I love you.

A special thank you to AnneMarie – I hope you forgive me naming one of the characters after you (though your name is the only resemblance!). You have informed my thought process as this second book evolved. Much of the content is a reflection of our long debates, and your insight into Amy’s heart helped her to overcome her fear of commitment, allowing her to truly love again. For the inspiration, for the companionship, for the love – I thank you.

To my proof-readers, Ammo & Nono, thank you for not leaving a single page untouched! Your input, suggestions, and eagle eyes have saved me from many unintentional errors. Thank you for the support, and apologies for the late introduction of such demanding deadlines.

Many thanks to Ann Creel, my Editor. Ann has taken a rough work and expertly assisted and guided me in developing and polishing it to this finished article. Any remaining flaws are my own!

Of course, the problem with writing an Acknowledgements page is that you inevitably leave someone out. This is unfortunate, though most probably unavoidable. And so it is that I humbly and genuinely wish to thank everyone who has been or is part of my life – those who I perceived as positive elements of my life and also those who I perceived as negative elements of my life. Because we learn from everyone, and every interaction presents us with an opportunity to grow, to develop, to reach ever closer to our potential. To all my family, my friends, my colleagues, my acquaintances – thank you.

Finally, I would like to both acknowledge and recommend a book that I happened upon by chance while writing ‘Amy’s Amazon’ – ‘The Last of the Ancient Sunlight’ by Thom Hartmann. Even though it was originally published in 1998, ‘Ancient Sunlight’ is still today a thought-provoking and indeed provocative look at our global society and economy, and is most definitely recommended reading.

Other authors well worth looking into include Deepak Chopra, Mitch Albom, Paolo Coelho, Dale Carnegie, Norman Vincent Peale and Oriah Mountain Dreamer, to name but a few. I hope to have the time and opportunity to keep my website updated, so drop in to any of the forums listed below to say hi, and to see what we are talking about as time goes by.

Be Good.

Anthony.

Contact the Author at the following:

Web: www.anthonywhelan.ie / Email: anthony@anthonywhelan.ie

Skype: Thrillosophy / Facebook: Anthony Whelan /

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