The Shaman

  The Shaman

  A Novel

  David Nees

  Copyright © 2018 David E. Nees

  All rights reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by electronic, mechanical or any other means, without the express permission of the author.

  The Shaman is a work of fiction and should be construed as nothing but. All characters, locales, and incidents portrayed in the novel are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Please visit my website at www.davidnees.com

  Manufactured in the United States

  For Carla

  As always, you are my greatest supporter

  and encourager when courage falters

  My thanks go to Ed, Carla, Chris S. and Rob for their early (alpha) feedback. It helped to refine the story. Thanks also to Chris M. for his very helpful beta read. And many thanks to Eric, my writer friend. You didn’t let me rest until the book was the best it could be.

  It was a challenge to bring this book to completion with my cancer battle intruding in the middle of writing it. You don’t fight cancer without paying a price. Many of you know that. The disease comes in many forms, all pernicious, all evil, and all destructive. The treatments can be effective but are brutal. Recovery from them can be longer than the fight to kill the cancer itself. I can’t thank enough everyone who encouraged me to not give up, to win, and get back to writing. You all know who you are and how much I am indebted to you for your support.

  The Shaman

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Afterword

  The Shaman

  “We come here with no peaceful intent, but ready for battle,”

  William Wallace

  “The spirit-world around this world of sense

  Floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere

  Wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense.

  A vital breath of more ethereal air.”

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  Chapter 1

  ___________________________________

  T he dreams came, night after night. He had learned a long time ago to pay attention to them. Now he was having the same one every night. That was significant to the old man. He lived in the Mexican desert with only a raven and coyote for companions. He was ancient, uncounted years old. He had followed the path of the shaman learned from his father and his father’s father. They were all gone and he was alone. He was tired. He had fought many battles in his life; now the dreams called him to action once more. He would have to go to battle again.

  His name was Tlayolotl which means “Heart of the Earth”. He had watched his grandfather fight the battles, trying to stem the tide of darkness and evil that wanted to spread itself over all of creation. His grandfather had died in his last struggle against these forces. As a grown man he learned more under his father’s tutelage and had watched him spend the last of his life’s energies engaged in the same battle.

  Then he was alone for so many years he could hardly remember the company of humans. The raven and coyote were his only friends. He was getting more and more frail with each passing year. How many years did he have left and who would follow? Even though he had not the strength of his earlier years he knew he would respond to the call. While his body might let him down, he still had the shaman’s power. He would use it as he had learned over so many years. Would this be his last battle? He didn’t know but as a shaman, son and grandson of shamans, he could do nothing else. The forces of darkness were gathering and he had the ability to see, to understand, and to fight them. He would do his part.

  Someone was coming, someone evil, and they were bringing darkness with them. Yet there was another coming, from the north. That one would fight the darkness. That was what his dreams seemed to tell him. And that someone would drop out of the sky. He was called to find the one from the north and help him. He was to show the northerner his true role in the fight, to help him drive back the darkness. The wisdom of his years had to be imparted to this visitor. That was his purpose.

  The cargo bay of the C130 is a loud, uncomfortable place. Even with earphones on the sound assaults his senses. It’s a hollow metal tube and the roar of the plane’s four Allison turboprop engines, each developing over 4,000 horsepower, flood the space with their fury as they pull the plane through the air. The cacophony is only partially relieved by the load of supplies that help to dampen the sound if not the vibration.

  The cargo is tied to pallets and locked down on the loading rails that run front to back in the cargo bay. The plane is old and beat up, the result of years of hard work hauling men and equipment around the world. The engines and operating systems are maintained, but the rest of the plane has not received much attention. Dan Stone sits in a seat made from aluminum tubes with a canvas material strung between. The seats are arranged against the wall. Behind him is the uninsulated skin of the plane, cold to the touch. The heaters only slow down the encroaching chill from the outside air which at this altitude hovers around minus 25 degrees Fahrenheit. The metal ribs of the air frame run vertically up the walls of the tube and across to the other side. The sound is relentless, hammering his senses and, along with the uncomfortable seat, killing any hope of relaxing.

  The plane had taken off from Denver a half hour ago, headed for Mazatlán, Mexico where the cargo of relief supplies for the flooding taking place south of the city near Acaponeta are to be unloaded. A company named Disaster Relief Fund has leased the plane. They deliver relief supplies all over the world where needed. It just so happens that these relief missions are usually near areas of conflict.

  While en route to Mazatlán the plane will cross over the desert north of Chihuahua. It will fly at 21,000 feet and not be noticed from the ground. Most importantly, the flight plan will look normal to the controllers.

  Two men, a loadmaster and a jumpmaster, sit across the hold from Dan. They could all converse over their mics but neither man seems interested in small talk, which suits Dan just fine. He has his own thoughts to wrestle with.

  The Disaster Relief Fund is a front for the CIA. It allows them to get into or near areas of conflict while providing useful supplies. The pilots and the two men in the back are staffers of the agency. Even so they know nothing about Dan’s mission. All the pilots know is that they are to alert the men in the cargo bay when approaching a certain point on the flight. They have been t
old to expect the rear cargo ramp to be opened and then closed. The pilots have no idea what will be going on back there. Neither of them knows that the plane carries an extra passenger. The flight will continue to its destination, unload its cargo and return home to Denver.

  The two men in the back with Dan are also separated from him by more than the mission. They are employees of the CIA while Dan is a newly acquired asset, a maverick to be used in the field on almost suicidal missions. He is and will remain an outsider no matter how long he survives.

  Dan will jump out of the plane at its cruising altitude. He will perform a HALO, a High Altitude Low Opening maneuver. No one on the ground looking up or anyone looking at a radar screen will notice the jump. Dan has practiced this type of parachute jump only three times. While he is well-practiced in parachuting, this is a new endeavor, one with much risk attached. There will be no instructors waiting for him on the ground. He will be all alone: no support team, no extra resources, only what he can take with him. And if something goes wrong he is on his own. If caught, he will be completely disavowed by any agency in the U.S. There is nothing to identify him as an American agent. He is a man without connections.

  He has an insulated jump suit, sturdy boots, gloves, and a helmet. None of the gear bears any markings of U.S. Military. In addition to his parachute, Dan carries a separate facemask and oxygen bottle. He also has a fifty-pound rucksack strapped between his legs. The pack has a lanyard which when pulled releases from his legs allowing him an unimpeded landing.

  The bay is illuminated in red light. It paints the jumpmaster’s face a sickly green. Dan goes over his gear for the fifth time. It will be another two hours before he has to jump, plenty of time to worry. His mind goes over the jump repeatedly. This one will not be as straightforward as his practice ones, he reminds himself. It is a dangerous maneuver in uncertain terrain and he has no margin for error—no backup if things go wrong. Dan is worried.

  He is also worried about the mission. He hadn’t expected his first assignment to be in Mexico. He had listened to Jane’s explanations along with her boss, Henry. He understood the points they had made, but he felt this was a throwaway mission; something cobbled together quickly without much planning. That fact made him feel expendable. Is this how they think of me? He tries to sleep, his mind filled with troubled thoughts.

  He is jarred out of an unpleasant dream of being lost in the desert by words from the cockpit coming through his headphones: “Thirty minutes out.” The jumpmaster, who doubles as the Physiologic Technician, or PT, gets up and steps over to Dan.

  “It’s time to switch you over to pure oxygen.”

  Dan will breathe one hundred percent oxygen for the next thirty minutes to purge his system of nitrogen to protect against the bends from the decompression and rapid recompression he was going to experience. After checking the airflow and seal around the mask, he gives Dan the thumbs up. Dan responds in kind. The man goes back to sit down next to the loadmaster, leaving Dan alone on his side of the plane. The sitting arrangement exemplifies his isolation. He will be leaving the plane, stepping out into a dark void to disappear, perhaps forever, from the crew while they will complete the flight and return to Denver and their families, all known activities with known results. The outcome of Dan’s activities is far from known or assured.

  Oh, well. This is what I signed up for. It still feels lonely to him.

  “Two minutes out.” The voice jars Dan back to the present. A light near the rear bay door starts flashing amber. He goes over his harness again. He checks the heavy rucksack to make sure it was secure and the quick release isn’t fouled. The pack carries his survival supplies, food, water, and camouflage gear along with his weapons. He will be on his own so he has to pack in everything he needs to complete his mission.

  The jumpmaster comes over to him and sticks his face in front of Dan.

  “Tell me your name,” he shouts through the noise.

  “Steve Mason,” Dan replies using the alias he had been given for this mission.

  “Where are you?”

  “In a noisy C130.”

  “Where did you take off from?”

  “Denver.” Dan’s responses are crisp and clean. The man is looking for signs of hypoxia that, if detected, will cause him to abort the jump. He gives Dan a thumbs-up and sits back down. Then he and the loadmaster put on their oxygen masks.

  “One minute,” comes the announcement.

  This is it. On my own. My first mission. Dan quenches a sense of panic or dread, he isn’t sure which. Don’t think about it. Just execute. He stands up as the rear ramp begins to lower. The wind buffets him as it curls around the rear of the fuselage and strikes inside. They have slowed to around 220 knots. Dan knows it will be a shock to step into the abyss. He can see the end of the ramp and then…only darkness. An altimeter is strapped to his wrist. It’s illuminated. His chute is set to open automatically at two thousand feet if he passes out on the way down. He will be dropping at nearly 130 miles an hour and will open his chute at 2,500 feet. It will not be a vertical drop. The jump point is set to allow for his residual forward velocity exiting the plane, in order to put him on his target mark. From there he can navigate to his objective.

  “Thirty seconds.”

  The colorless voice drones over his headphones. Dan pulls them off of his head, hangs them on a hook behind him, and waddles towards the back of the plane. He carefully shuffles to the edge of the ramp. The jumpmaster is tethered by a safety strap but still grips a handhold. He flashes five fingers in Dan’s face. His hand curls into a fist; then he flashes four fingers, then three, two, one. He shoots his hand out to the rear and Dan flings himself into the dark.

  Chapter 2

  ___________________________________

  I nstantly the roar of the engines dropped as the plane receded away from him. It was replaced by the roar of the wind rushing past him. Dan twisted his body into a forward, partly face down position. His heart was racing and he had to force his breathing to slow so he wouldn’t hyperventilate. The night was pitch black. There were no lights on the ground. There was just desert somewhere below him; the desert and his objective. At his rate of fall it would take him less than three minutes to reach the ground. He kept his eye on the altimeter as the dials spun around. The hand measuring feet spun in a blur so he focused on the arm marking each thousand foot interval.

  It was cold. The exposed parts of his face felt frozen. He flexed his hands, trying to keep them loose. He had to be able to pull his chute open and drop the rucksack. It was critical to find an open spot to land without breaking a limb. A good landing was the last challenge of his jump. The night was dark and he would have very little time or light to see by before he hit the ground. He had to aim for a boulder-free spot. Small rocks, while painful, would not inflict serious injury, but twisting his ankle or breaking a bone by hitting a boulder would end his mission in failure.

  The twenty-five hundred foot mark came up. Dan pulled his lanyard and his chute opened with a slap, jerking his feet down under him. The ferocious wind dropped to a breeze. He grabbed the control lines and peered down, trying to penetrate the darkness. To his right he sensed more than saw a large rock formation; the shoulder of a hill. He looked left. The ground seemed flatter. As he closed in on a thousand feet, he could make out scattered large rock outcroppings reflecting up at him from the starlight. He steered to the left more and saw the ground open up. That’s the spot!

  As the ground rose up at him, he pulled the rucksack lanyard. It dropped away below and behind him. At the last minute he pulled both control lines to flare the chute and slow his descent. His feet touched the desert. His left foot twisted outward over a boulder he hadn’t seen. He dropped onto the sand and rolled. The chute collapsed away from him. There was little wind so no danger of it trying to drag him.

  “Damn.” Dan cursed under his breath. He lay on his back and pulled his left leg up with his knee near his chin. His ankle started to throb. After hold
ing it up for a moment to assess the damage, he got up, unclipped his rucksack and limped forward gathering in the parachute. With the chute bundled in his hands he shuffled back to his pack. He sat down, slipped off his parachute pack, and stuffed the chute back inside as best he could. Then he pulled his ankle up again.

  Got to keep it from swelling. He removed his facemask and took a deep breath of the desert air. It was clean and dry. The silence was so complete as to be almost a presence, having weight to it. From the top of his rucksack, Dan took out his Night Vision Goggles and clipped them to his helmet. He surveyed his surroundings. Nothing showed but rocks and sand. Nothing moved in the greenish light of the NVG goggles. Next he checked his position against his GPS mark.

  Crap. He was way off target. Two strikes and I’ve barely started the game. He was two miles off target. How the hell did that happen? That meant more walking. Something that now was going to be problematic.

  The first order of business was to tend to his ankle. He had no ice and limited bandages. The best course seemed to be to keep it elevated for the present and then put a wrap on it to support the joint. It would swell but he’d just have to live with that. It was important to not allow more damage to the joint. He had two days of hiking to complete over unknown and uneven ground.

  Still he should leave his landing site in case anyone saw or heard him. I don’t think that’s happened. But he remembered Jane’s admonitions to not take anything for granted. He dug into his rucksack and found some tape. Carefully he wrapped his ankle the way his high school football coach had done to keep him on the field. After twenty nervous minutes he hooked his parachute pack to the rucksack, gingerly stood up, and shouldered it. At fifty pounds, it was going to be a heavy load to carry, especially with his injured ankle.