Free Commando by Lindsay McKenna Page A

boat, followed by another, more slightly built man. The big man was the one who had grabbed Shah!

    Scrambling out of the water, Jake leaped onto the bank. The big blond man was the one who had had him pinned down! Taking careful aim, he fired the pistol once, twice, three times. The man let out a cry and fell to the dock. Satisfaction soared through Jake as he scrambled to his feet and lunged forward. A tree root caught and captured the toe of his boot. With a grunt, Jake slammed down on the bank. Cursing, he got to his feet, but not in time. The canoe was leaving the dock, with both men in it. Damn!

    Jake stood, torn between going after them and helping the Tucanos put out the raging fires that were consuming several of their huts. Shoving the pistol back into its holster, Jake decided to help the Indians. Many were running back and forth to the river with buckets. As he angled through the trees and headed for the first hut, he heard a moan. Looking to his left, he saw a Tucanos man writhing in pain. The light was poor, but Jake knew the man had been wounded in the fray.

    He stopped, knelt beside the groaning Indian and tried to reassure him. He drew back his hand. It was covered with blood. Jake frowned. The wounded needed care first. Speaking to him in Portuguese, and trying to persuade the Indian that he was a friend, not his enemy, Jake picked the man up. The Indian was ridiculously light in his arms as he headed toward the hospital up on the knoll. Was Shah safe? Had a bullet found her, too? Jake hurried at a fast walk, weaving around the burning huts, dodging the running Indians who were trying to save their homes. He made his way up to the mission, where he handed the man over to Pai Jose for medical treatment. That done, Jake knew he had to locate Shah.

    Jake’s heart pounded unevenly in his chest as he approached Shah’s hut.

    “Shah?” he shouted as he neared it. “Shah? Are you okay? Answer me!”

    His heart rate soared along with his anguish when only silence answered him. He broke into a trot, his face grim, his throat constricted, as he tried to prepare himself for the scene he’d see. He envisioned Shah wounded and bleeding on the floor of her hut. Other scenes, scenes from his ugly past, bludgeoned him. He halted at the hut and tore the cotton barrier aside.

    Breathing hard, he stood in the doorway, looking frantically for Shah. She wasn’t there! Relief cascaded through him, and then, on its heels, sheer terror. What if Shah had been kidnapped by those men? What if she hadn’t listened to his orders and had run out of the hut? She could be hurt and bleeding anywhere in the village! The possibilities were too real, and Jake spun around.

    Half running, half stumbling back toward the center of the village, he saw that the Tucanos had taken the brunt of the attack. Firelight danced and twisted in grotesque shapes as the huts continued to burn wildly out of control. The Indians were doing their best to put the fires out with the buckets of water, but Jake knew they needed to conserve their efforts for the nearby huts, which could easily catch fire from the sparks floating like red, winking fireflies in the night air.

    He grabbed an older man, ordering him in Portuguese to use the water to save the other, vulnerable huts. It took a few minutes, but finally the Indian understood. Jake then raced to form a bucket brigade line, his arms waving, his voice thundering above the roar of the inferno for attention.

    The new tactics spread quickly through the populace, and soon buckets of water were being thrown on the roofs and sides of nearby huts. Jake blinked the sweat from his eyes and looked around. He saw several men lying wounded. Gesturing to a couple of Indians, Jake got them to help him take the wounded up to the hospital. Where the hell was Shah? The bitter taste of fear in his mouth wouldn’t leave.

    Dawn was crawling over the crimson-and-gold horizon as Jake made his last swing of the