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The Price of Eden
The Price of Eden
The Price of Eden
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The Price of Eden

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THE PRICE OF EDEN is an entertaining blend of action, adventure and intrigue. Equico, a charitable organisation operating in northern Ecuador is plagued by theft, sabotage and ultimately murder. A work camp is attacked and all present are killed. Among the victims is a young Red Cross nurse. This act of the beast draws many others to the region. They include a Colonel of the Ecuadoran Army, a retired SAS Captain, a pretty opal dealer from Lightning Ridge and a former soldier, now struggling farmer, from Gloucestershire. They are all on a mission but now another beast also lurks in the shadows. It must be patient, play the game, tread softly among men but is barely contained and soon its time must surely come.

LanguageEnglish
Release dateApr 20, 2017
ISBN9781925595475
The Price of Eden
Author

John Douglas Gwyn

If you're looking for a bright, young, highly polished author then I'm afraid we are all out of luck. I am old, irritable and relatively ugly. I've lived most of my life in the bush and I've tried my hand at many different things over the years. Perhaps the most enjoyable, although for me, not very rewarding in the financial sense, was opal mining around Lightning Ridge, in northern New South Wales. As a young man I'd always enjoyed an entertaining story and in my less lucid moments I'd even contemplated trying to write one. It was many years later, with a little more time on my hands, before I finally made the effort. My first story, although read by a relatively small number of people, attracted enough favourable comment to encourage a second. I write primarily to entertain but even a small contribution towards paying the bills would be a much appreciated bonus.

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    The Price of Eden - John Douglas Gwyn

    Prologue

    The young woman watched in disbelieving horror, the carnage that was taking place outside the small hut in which she and her patient were sheltering. A moment earlier the scene had been one of peace and relaxation as the loggers sat around the camp talking, laughing, waiting for their evening meal. Now they, her driver and the cook lay dead or dying, cut down by a murderous burst of automatic weapon fire. Immediately following the shooting a rag tag bunch of men led by a big bull headed man in a faded olive uniform had charged out of the forest. They were now, with obvious relish, hacking and clubbing the bodies of their victims, even though few showed any sign of life.

    The big man watched the butchery for a moment before walking to a nearby jeep. The vehicle, fitted out as an ambulance, was clearly marked as belonging to the Red Cross. An ugly smile creased his face as he turned and started towards the hut. The lightweight screen door crashed inwards under the weight of his boot. When he spotted the woman his malicious anticipatory leer chilled her to the very core of her being. Despite her terror she moved to try and protect her patient. Her efforts were countered by a brutal shove that slammed her painfully against the wall. The injured man squealed in fear and pain, as a hand gripped his hair and dragged him effortlessly to the door. At the door his squeal was replaced by more gruesome sound as a knife was dragged across his throat. The body was flung from the hut and raised dust as it flayed briefly but violently on the loose ground. When it was still, the man turned. He glanced meaningfully at the bed before moving towards the woman. She looked about desperately but there was no way out and nothing she could use as a weapon. She knew with sickening certainty that her own life was also nearing its end. She envied those who were already dead.

    Many days later and many thousands of miles away, a man walked slowly towards the freshly turned earth. Although only lightly clad he was oblivious to the chill of the early morning air and equally oblivious to the beauty of the slowly unfolding panorama being presented by the rising sun.

    He’d been at the funeral the previous day but so had many others. He’d come this morning to be alone with her and to try and assuage, at least to some degree, his own feeling of guilt. He stood by the wreath-covered mound for over an hour never once ever glancing at a neatly tendered double grave nearby. There were no tears and there was no gentle ‘goodbye Libby’, before he finally turned and walked away. He could not do that. He still carried grief and guilt but it was the rage that had been growing in him since he’d learned the manner of her death that dominated his emotions. It would have to be contained for some time yet but he knew it would continue to burn white hot. It would not cool, would not be sated, until it had bathed in blood.

    Part 1

    Despite feeling frustrated and depressed Bob Mason returned the receptionist’s smiles as she moved to open the door for him. She was very pretty, one golden thread in a dull weave of grey. Although Bob felt her smile had been a touch restrained when he’d arrived a few minutes earlier. Perhaps she’d already known what he now knew. He wasn’t going to get the job. He hadn’t been told that as an absolute fact but he’d been to enough failed job interviews over the past couple of months to recognise a brick wall when he saw it, no matter how subtly he was being bashed around the ears with it. Advertising all positions may have been company policy but Bob suspected this position had been filled possibly even before it had been advertised. The supercilious plonk, he’d just been talking to, had made little effort to conceal the fact that he was just going through the motions and if he had any concerns Bob’s pointless inconvenience didn’t rank high among them.

    Although cleverly disguised at the time, Bob’s problems had begun a little over four years earlier. He’d gone from school straight to the army and he’d been on the verge of signing on for another stint when his father had informed him that Harry Laws, a neighbour and long time friend, had suffered a stroke. Harry was in his seventies and having no children who were interested in taking over the farm, he’d been toying with the idea of selling anyway. The disabling effects of the stroke had made that an imperative. He’d offered the farm to Bob’s father at a very reasonable price. Bob had always harboured a dream of returning to the land and he agreed with his father that he’d never get a better opportunity.

    Harry’s farm though a little rundown was a prime piece of land and being next door offered both labour and economy of scale efficiency. The only negative, most of the purchase price would have to be borrowed. Although cautious by nature, Bob’s father took what he considered a small risk and using Katlow Meadow, the home farm as security Harry’s farm was purchased. Bob returned home and enjoyed the challenge of getting the place back in order.

    Within two years Harry’s farm had been substantially rejuvenated and Bob was pleased and proud of his accomplishment. Then an outbreak of foot and mouth disease had shattered Bob’s and his family’s world. Within weeks their lovingly bred and highly productive dairy herd had been shot, pushed into a windrow and burned. Bob doubted the stench of burning flesh would ever leave him. It seemed for a time the whole country had become a smoky, stinking charnel house.

    The Masons had no option other than to fight back. Pastures were ploughed and sown to crop. In time, sheep purchased at considerable cost dotted paddocks that for years had been home to cattle. These changes came at a price and despite some help from the government they’d been forced to borrow more from the bank.

    For a time things had gone reasonably well but then the flood had come. Torrential rain had fallen for days and water had risen to levels never previously recorded. Bob’s dreams for Harry’s farm had drained away even before the water. Buildings, fences and machinery had been either destroyed or severely damaged. Most of the sheep had gone and crops, once full of promise, had been turned to a slimy, stinking mess of rotting vegetation. The farm was back on the market and in such a state now that Bob feared they’d be lucky to recover even what they’d paid for it.

    Before boarding the train home to Swindon and almost as a small act of defiance, Bob purchased a paper. Some may not place value on his military experience but at least it had taught him that self-pity was a pointless exercise. It was only mid afternoon and the train wasn’t crowded. He found a seat near a window, sat down and opened the paper. He went straight to the classified section, reasoning that he’d had bad enough day already. He really didn’t need to read the news. The job column offered little of real promise. More out of desperation than expectation, he tore three ads from the paper. Stratton Security had placed the last and the one that engendered the least enthusiasm. The name was familiar to Bob. He had no doubt that it was a respected security firm. He’d seen any number of buildings that claimed to be protected by Stratton Security. Even so, the security industry was not one that appealed to Bob. The ad wasn’t strong on specifics. It simply stated that the organisation was looking for people to undergo training and that they would be well paid during the course of the training. Physical fitness was essential. Experience in the military or security industry was desirable but not essential.

    At Swindon a cold northerly wind buffeted him as he walked slowly to where he’d parked the old Landrover. The five-mile drive home was undertaken with the same lack of urgency. He wasn’t the bearer of any glad tiding. Over dinner Bob explained that he’d had no luck with the job at Reading, but he’d picked up a paper on his way home and he’d check another couple of possibilities the next morning. His father made no comment. His mother reassured with a smile saying that she was sure something would turn up before long.

    A little after nine the next morning Bob made three phone calls. The last very reluctantly. A man named Collins answered his call. Bob introduced himself and explained that he was ringing in response to the ad. Collins seemed an agreeable type. He asked Bob quite a few questions about his background and why he wanted the job. Bob recounted his experience in the army and was honest about his present predicament. Collins listened patiently and expressed sympathy for Bob’s position. He then surprised Bob by asking about his physical attributes. He asked Bob’s height, weight, what sports if any he enjoyed and how he rated his fitness. Bob informed him that he was six feet three, weighed fourteen stone and considered himself to be in pretty good shape. He’d played rugby in the army. He also enjoyed tennis, swimming, and clay pigeon shooting.

    Bob’s efforts to find out more about the potential of the job and the exact nature of the training met with limited success. He was told that the training would last six weeks and would be rigorous. Its purpose was to get the recruits into top physical condition and at the same time allow their prospective employer to ascertain their potential. As far as the job itself was concerned, Collins said only that it would involve providing security for a certain organisation. Bob thought that had already been patently obvious. Collins reticence disappeared completely when it came to the matter of remuneration. He said the trainees would be paid one thousand pound a week. Bob was astonished. He thought possibly he’d misunderstood but Collins reaffirmed ‘Yes, I’m looking for good men, and I’m willing to pay accordingly.’ He went on to say that if Bob was sufficiently interested, he could travel to London for a more personal and in-depth interview. Bob was definitely interested, despite a nagging suspicion that it was just too good to be true. Even so he gave no commitment saying only that he’d think about it.

    He decided to make a cup of tea before returning to the joyless job of repairing flood damaged fences. His mother joined him before the jug had boiled. She was carrying the morning mail. At her insistence he let her take over the tea making duties, sat down and flicked through the mail. The best of it was junk. There were also a couple of bills and a letter from the bank. Although the latter was liberally splattered with crocodile tears, it said in essence that unless the Mason family performed a bloody miracle and came up with five thousand pounds by the end of the month, the bank would foreclose on Harry’s farm. Bob feared if that happened the Bank would be quite happy to cover only its own losses. He was acutely aware that, even if he had the resources, he would not have anywhere near enough time to restore Harry’s farm to its pre-flood perfection. Bob also worried that if the worst happened and the bank didn’t recover all that it was owed, even Katlow Meadow, the farm that had been home to four generations of Masons before Bob, could itself be in jeopardy. As soon as he’d finished his tea he returned to the telephone.

    Bob arrived at the address Collins had given him with twenty minutes to spare. It was a decrepit looking four storey office block. Bob thought, short of simply dropping them in a heap, it would have been difficult to arrange a million bricks in a more indecorous fashion. It was not at all what he’d expected, but it was definitely the address he’d been given. Once sure of his destination, Bob walked a short distance back to a Pub he’d passed and ordered a beer. He enjoyed the ale. Since the flood visits to the pub had become a very rare treat. He arrived back at Collins’ office still a couple of minutes early. A laminated sign on his door read simply Captain E Collins. There was no mention on that door, nor on any other that Bob had passed of Stratton Security. Collins had not mentioned that he was a Captain on the telephone but a quick check revealed that he was the only Collins on the floor.

    The Captain was a fit looking, well built man a little under six foot. He had close-cropped brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a generally agreeable demeanour. Bob guessed he’d be about forty years of age. He invited Bob in and gestured to a chair that appeared more than old enough to be antique but whose designer had gone to some length to ensure it would never excite a collector. With Bob seated, Collins occupied what could have been its older brother. The desk between them blended well with the decor generally. Collins seemed to read Bob’s thoughts. He smiled disarmingly, ‘Yes, it is a bit Spartan isn’t it? I only have a very temporary lease, so I see little point in major refurbishment.’

    Bob said, ‘I would have thought a firm like Stratton Security could have run to something a little more up market.’

    Collins laughed. ‘I can assure you that Harry Stratton has been in a lot worse places than this in his time. However that brings me to what has proved to be something of a sore point with some of the men I have interviewed over the past few days. The job on offer has absolutely nothing to do with Stratton Security.’

    Bob was puzzled. He said, ‘But the ad –.’

    Collins cut him off. ‘Yes, I know that’s what the ad implied, but the ad was deliberately misleading.’

    Bob asked irritably, ‘Why was that?’

    Collins answered, ‘I wished to attract the attentions of people like yourself, without at the same time attracting unwanted attention.’

    Bob’s irritation was growing. He asked curtly, ‘What unwanted attention?’

    The Captain seemed amused at Bob’s irritation. ‘You may be aware Mr Mason, that our government takes a somewhat jaundiced view of people like me recruiting people like you for what might be described as private military purposes.’

    Bob was incredulous. ‘You mean mercenaries?!’

    Collins was unmoved by Bob’s outburst. He shrugged. ‘I’m not sure I like that word Mr Mason, after all, anyone who works for a personal gain could be described as mercenary. Personally I don’t think it’s a fair description of the men I’m trying to recruit.’

    Bob said coldly, ‘Perhaps not fair, but accurate.’

    Collins smile broadened. ‘Aah … I see you’re a stickler for detail Mr Mason.’

    Bob was now genuinely angry. He stood, ‘Well it looks like I’ve wasted my money and a considerable amount of my time coming to London, Captain. If you don’t mind, I won’t waste any more of yours.’

    The Captain also stood. His face still registered amusement but his voice held a sneering edge. ‘Did you really believe Stratton Security was going to pay you a thousand pounds a week for six weeks when the average monkey could be adequately trained for the same job in three?’

    Bob turned back to Collins stifling a strong urge to drive his fist into that half amused, half challenging face. Instinct cautioned. Something about the man reminded Bob of a relaxed but watchful cat. There had always been cats at Katlow Meadow. Bob knew the difference between a relaxed but watchful cat and a deadly cat was an almost indefinable instant. He also knew that at least some of his anger should have been directed at himself. He forced himself to relax and said, somewhat lamely, ' I didn’t know what the job entailed.’ The Captain was right. It had always been too much money. Something had smelt.

    The Captain reclaimed his seat as if sensing any possible threat had passed. He said, ‘Sit down Mr Mason. If you are worried about your time and money don’t be. I will reimburse you for any expense incurred and throw in an extra fifty pounds to redress your inconvenience. In return you might be kind enough to listen to me for a few minutes. After all you’ve come this far and if nothing else it’s an intriguing story.’

    Bob sat, with a slightly exaggerated air of reluctance. He asked, ‘Before you start Captain, would you tell me what branch of the services you were in.’

    Collins replied, ‘I retired from the SAS two years ago. Since then I’ve spent some time working for Harry Stratton, but mostly I freelance.’

    Bob asked, ‘Would that be a euphemism?’

    The Captain smiled, but continued. ‘That fact is well known in certain quarters. Even so I was rather surprised when Equico approached me. Equico is a charitable organisation operating in Ecuador.’ The Captain was unperturbed by Bob’s outburst, ‘Bloody Ecuador!’ He continued, ‘It runs a couple of hospitals and is involved in a number of other projects. Its basic objective is to help people to help themselves. In that vein Equico tendered for a lumber concession in the North of the country. There were only two tenderers and Equico’s tender was successful. They spent a substantial amount of money developing infrastructure, roads, bridges, a mill of course, and accommodation for their employees. Equico looked forward to providing training and work for a large number of people. As well, they expected to make a substantial profit that could be channelled into their other projects. In short they anticipated a bountiful harvest but it proved to be a bitter harvest indeed.’

    The problems began as soon as the logging started. Initially it was only sabotage. Machinery was vandalised, fuel contaminated, and anything that could be stolen was. However as Equico persisted, the violence escalated. There were several shooting incidences. One man was killed and three others injured. A few months ago this violence culminated in nothing short of mass murder. Equico’s main logging camp was attacked. Everyone at the camp was massacred. This included twelve of Equico’s men and by tragic coincidence, a young Red Cross nurse and her driver.

    A few hours before the attack, one of the loggers had been struck by a falling limb. He’d suffered a broken arm and chest injury. Because of the chest injuries his workmates had been reluctant to move him. They had managed to contact the small hospital in San Bernadette who had agreed to send a nurse. The foreman had driven to meet her. The nurse and her driver had followed him back to the camp. Collins paused, All the bodies had been mutilated. There’s little doubt that the woman was raped repeatedly before having her throat cut. He added quietly, I believe she was English.

    Despite his soft voice Bob thought he detected a hint of bitterness in the Captains eyes. Bob wasn’t surprised. He was angered and sickened that anyone, least of all someone dedicated to helping others, could be treated that way. He asked, Couldn’t the Police, the Army, some bastard already in Ecuador help Equico?

    The Captain answered, The Army has tried to help, but their resources are limited and the area is pretty much an isolated wilderness. Unfortunately their efforts to date have accomplished nothing.

    Bob sympathised with Equico, still he wondered how in the hell Captain Collins could help them when the Ecuadorian Army couldn’t. He said, So, you intend to recruit a bunch of men and go running around the jungle looking for the perpetrators of these acts of bastardry despite the fact that the entire Ecuadorian Army has been unable to find them.

    The Captain replied, Only a relatively small part of the Ecuadorian Army has been looking for them. He then asked, Have you ever been in a jungle Mr Mason?"

    Bob answered, I’ve been in Brixton.

    The Captain acknowledged, At times, one of the worst Mr Mason. I’ve been in any number of jungles. Some look very attractive on a picture postcard, others don’t. Although they do all have something in common. Jungles are invariably rather inhospitable places. All sorts of nasty creatures tend to inhabit them.

    I should imagine the jungles of Ecuador are infested with leaches mosquitos, spider, snakes –

    Do you know anything about snakes Mr Mason?

    No, Bob replied.

    Surely you know something. I thought there was one thing about snakes that almost every British school boy knows.

    The penny dropped. Bob said, I know the best way to kill a snake is to chop off its head.

    Precisely Mr Mason. Another thing you should know about snakes, they’re very adaptable. Many live comfortably in or near urban areas. I think that’s where we’ll will find at least the head of the serpent that plagues Equico.

    Bob didn’t get a lot more out of the Captain. He confessed that intelligence was still being gathered. By the time the training was finished he hoped he could be more forthcoming with the men that completed the course. He once again stressed that the training would be rigorous. He expected it would be something of a winnowing process. Bob asked how many men the Captain had recruited and how many he expected to complete the training. He was told that between twelve and fourteen men would start the training. Despite the generous pay, the Captain didn’t expect much more than half that number to complete the course. Even then he said, giving Bob that half amused look, he wasn’t sure they’d all accompany him to Ecuador. Bob thought, even if they did, six or seven men seemed a pitifully small force to try and solve Equico’s problems. They’d need to be bloody good men. He questioned, So you’re looking for a small bunch of super men?

    The smile was still there but there was no doubting the challenge. Yes Mr Mason. What affect do you think kryptonite would have on you? Although he didn’t say as much, Bob accepted only part of the challenge. The last thing he did before leaving Collins’ office was to sign several documents that would help the Captain facilitate a trip that he had no intention of making.

    Part 2

    Bart cursed as he pulled the vehicle to a stop. A quick glance confirmed that the front offside tyre of the big wagon was dangerously under inflated. The hiss of escaping air only added to his chagrin. He didn’t bother with the UHF, just paused and listened intently for a moment. Hearing nothing other than the common place sounds of the jungle that crowded in on each side of the track. He moved to get the spare tyre and tools. The sides of the road were slippery and wet. Only the crown, a strip little wider than the wheels of the big lumber trucks, the most regular users of the road, had been dressed with crushed basalt. Bart decided to risk leaving the vehicle where it was so as to have a firm base for the jack.

    It was only midmorning, but the heat was oppressive. The air was still and Bart could feel the sun’s heat on his back as he bent beside the vehicle. His shirt was quickly soaked and he had to wipe stinging sweat from his eyes several times in the four odd minutes it took to do the job.

    By the time he re-entered the vehicle his shirt was soaked with sweat. The wet shirt, combined with an efficient air conditioner quickly cooled him. These days Bart spent most of his time in the hotter parts of the country, but he was really a man of the mountains. In a perfect world that’s where he would choose to be. Bart was already acutely aware that he didn’t live in a perfect world, and that awareness was soon to be brutally reinforced.

    Bart slowed as he approached the first of the two major, still unbridged, waterways between the village of San Bernadette and what was now Bart’s and Equico’s home base in the region. He had built two bridges and had planned two more. He had also intended to construct causeways for some lesser streams. Bart thought grimly, there was a time, not very long ago, when he had dreamed grand dreams, but those dreams had been shattered by the blackest of nightmares – ongoing nightmares. He offered a prayer for small mercies. At least the rain that had fallen heavily for several hours last night had stopped early this morning. What had obviously been a raging torrent a few hours ago had subsided sufficiently for him to cross. He turned on the UHF and was almost immediately informed that one of the lumber trucks was also approaching the waterway. If a truck was near, Bart always allowed it to cross first. Often the wait annoyed him but on this occasion he was happy to wait. A huge quantity of crushed basalt had been dumped in the stream to form a solid base for the ford. Even so, a big flood had once carved a channel through the basalt. It hadn’t been deep enough to stop the trucks but it had stopped Bart. He was happy to wait and watch the truck cross. If it had a smooth crossing then it would be safe for Bart to cross. On the previous occasion the trucks had still belonged to Equico. He was by no means certain they would be as helpful now as they had been then.

    He pulled the wagon onto the side of the road a few metres from the water’s edge. There was no

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