Free Lethal Misconduct by C. G. Cooper Page A

per capita rates of cancer in the world. That interested Dr. Price, not because of the articles outlining superstitious rumors and old wives’ tales referenced by the talented author, but because of the raw data she’d provided. Reports from traveling missionaries and reputable health organizations. The occasional census by Colombia’s government. And yet, no one had ever made more than a passing note of the extremely low incidence of cancer among the population. They’d never connected the dots.
    Sheila thought along the same lines as Price, hypothesizing that no one had ever taken a moment to step back and gather the correct information. They were too busy feeding the hungry or providing much needed medical care to orphans and the impoverished. Or worse, fighting the constant battle against narco-traffickers.
    Dr. Price sat back and let the first inkling of possibility seep in. It wasn’t time to alert his superiors. They wanted concrete evidence, results to back up his team’s assumptions. Price yawned into his hand and glanced at his calendar. He had some leave time coming, and he’d just earned another grant, a portion of which could easily support a small expedition down to South America.
     
    Two weeks later, Dr. Price, Sheila and a three-man security team hopped a commercial flight from Washington, D.C. to Bogota, Colombia. From there they boarded another plane bound for Alfredo Vasquez Cobo International Airport, located in Colombia’s most southern city of Leticia. Price hadn’t told his boss the true nature of the trip, still not convinced that the stories were real. Instead, he’d submitted the request citing an increased need for local contacts in the region that could source potentially life-saving resources from the Amazon basin.
    Leticia’s location made things a bit complicated, mostly because the city sat on the border of Brazil, and was at the tip of the cocaine pipeline, hence the added security.
    Luckily for Price, the trip down proved uneventful. He found the Colombians to be gracious hosts and it seemed as though they’d made major progress in their battle against the drug cartels. Or maybe it was a happy truce after the heavy bloodshed of the 1990s. Either way, they reached Leticia without incident, their local guide waiting in the hotel lobby as they entered.
    They left the next morning in their guide’s mud spattered Toyota Landcruiser. More than once Price had wished he’d brought a mouth guard what with the near constant jostling as Antonio sped them toward their destination. Finally, after almost six hours of driving, they unloaded their gear and stepped into the rain forest. Price had never been to South America except on vacation, and the sheer grandeur of the place enticed his senses. It made him feel alive. Sounds he’d never heard called from all around. Smells both fresh and damp mingled in the humid air.
    Where others might have been overwhelmed by the heat and the oppression under the tree canopy, Price marveled at the greenery, the flecks of bright color here and there, from lichen and animals alike.
    Antonio led the way, guided by the worn GPS Price was sure had a whole roll of duct tape keeping it together. It didn’t seem to worry their guide, who picked his way effortlessly through the tangle.
    Two hours of trudging got them to their first destination, one of three known camps used by the tribe they were looking for. They were all soaked as they made their way to the center of the small village. Crude huts made from roughly cut tree branches and covered in foliage made a ring around the fire pit in the middle.
    No one was there.
    “Where are they?” Price asked their guide.
    “Maybe hunting, señor. We wait and see,” said Antonio.
    Apparently the entire tribe usually went out on daily hunting parties, the men doing the finding, and the women and children doing the prepping on the way back to camp. Antonio said by the looks of the camp he might have picked the