Operation Southern Cross - 02 by Jack Shane

Author:Jack Shane [Shane, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2009-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

THE PLACE WAS CALLED TRANERAS MONTANA NATURALEZA Reserva—the Traneras Mountain Nature Reserve. But it had a nickname: Prehistórico Criatura Cine Parque. Loosely translated: Movie Monster Park.

A vast nature preserve located seventy-five miles southwest of Caracas, its nickname was well deserved. The place looked so prehistoric, that back in the 1950s, Hollywood used shots of the area as background for its dinosaur movies. One studio wanted to shoot an entire monster movie in the park, but the place proved too isolated and treacherous for filmmaking.

The fifty-square-mile reservation was virtually empty of animal life. No one came near it, not Venezuelan citizens, not the Indians, as they considered it cursed. There was a volcano in its center, still smoldering after its last eruption 10,000 years earlier. The airspace above the park was off limits to civil aircraft, as the air currents from this hissing mountain were thought to be dangerous. For the same reason, the Venezuelan military rarely flew over the area.

This strange place was the destination of George Owens and the two SAS men. They arrived at the foot of the volcano after several hours of driving over some very rough roads. Parking the Rover alongside a glorified dirt path, they covered the vehicle with vegitation, just in case they’d been followed. The SAS men retrieved their climbing gear and machetes. Then, on instructions from Owens, each man tied a Union Jack flag around his shoulders. Owens did the same with an American flag. Sergeant Jordan said they looked like bargain-basement superheroes. They started to climb.

It was eerie exercise from the first step. Owens realized why Hollywood had been enamored with this place. It really was right out of the Jurassic Park. If a T-Rex or a pack of raptors were to come flying out of the jungle at any second, it wouldn’t have been that much of a surprise. Lots of vines, lots of heavy ferns, monstrous spider webs and green slime everywhere. The place was positively antediluvian.

It was already past noon by the time they began their climb, yet they were so quickly surrounded by thick jungle, it seemed like dusk had fallen already. There were no sounds around them—that might have been the strangest thing. No birds, no signs of animal life. Barely a bug flying about or insects beneath their feet. It was a jungle with no life in it. Maybe the local Indians were right, Owens thought. Maybe this place was haunted.

The three men were soon soaked in sweat. The grade was steep and the overgrowth so dense, it took them thirty minutes just to reach the bottom of the volcano itself. There was still jungle here, but the ground was not made of soft earth and vegetation anymore, but rather reddish rock and pumice instead.

Still Owens amazed himself by holding his own with the SAS men. His early morning jogs through the safer parts of Caracas back in the good old days had paid off—until he looked at his hands and realized they were both bleeding and covered with the disgusting green slime.

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