by PJ Skinner
Sanchez enfolded his now weeping daughter in his arms and kissed the top of her head. Mike was struck by how tenderly he held her, as if she were a small child, and he supposed that for Sanchez, Gloria would never grow up. She would always be his little girl. He wondered how it would be to hold your own child like that. Mike had to turn away before emotion got the better of him. He was very upset by this turn of events and blamed himself for listening to Sam but not hearing what she was saying. The treasure had lost its allure all of a sudden, and he felt very tired and hung over. Sanchez, on the other hand, was unaffected by his sleepless night. He shook Mike’s hand and kissed Gloria goodbye.
‘I’ve got to organise some things now, hija de mi alma. Stay with Mike and Marta, so I know you are safe. Mike, do you mind if Gloria stays with you for the time being? I’d feel a lot better knowing where she is, and I’d prefer she doesn’t get further involved with this business. I’ll deal with it my own way.’
Mike was sure that Sanchez was perfectly capable of dealing with Wilson and was also pretty certain he didn’t want to know what that entailed. He felt honoured to look after Gloria, on whom he had a large crush, despite her defection to Alfredo. He would protect her with his life.
‘Of course, Señor Sanchez. It’d be my pleasure. We’ll be fine here. Please keep us up to date with any progress you make.’
‘Excellent. We’ll speak later then.’ Sanchez squeezed into the lift and was gone.
Gloria sniffed loudly and was comforted by Marta, who had sat very quietly in a corner observing the whole process. Mike told them to go and make some breakfast, as Gloria’s maid had not yet arrived. He started going through all his files on the trip, trying to find clues to the location of the steps. There was also a pile of Alfredo’s files in the office, which had potential as a source of good leads. Mike spread the information onto his bed and started going through it systematically piece by piece. He made notes on some scraps of paper that he had stored in a jar so they wouldn’t get lost. He had made good headway by the time the two women had prepared a breakfast of eggs, bacon and fried bread. They were starving and devoured everything. Mike hoped that Sanchez was having better luck than him at finding clues to their whereabouts.
After breakfast, Marta appeared at the door of the bedroom. Mike had the feeling that she had something to say and felt irritated at being distracted from his review of the papers.
‘Yes?’ he said. ‘What is it, Marta? Can’t you see how busy I am?’
Marta looked like he had slapped her in the face, and tears threatened to escape from her un-made-up eyes. Mike felt embarrassed, as he hadn’t meant to be so brusque.
‘Come on now, Marta, this is upsetting everyone. It’s been a long day already.’
‘Oh, Mr. Mike,’ she said, ‘I’m such a fool. You’ve been so good to me, and I have rewarded you by being silly and allowing myself to be seduced into a confidence.’
‘Whatever are you on about?’ asked Mike, who was flummoxed by this confession.
‘I told him,’ she whispered. ‘I told Wilson about the secret. I feel like such an idiot, and now I’ve put dear Sam and Alfredo in danger. I’ll never forgive myself.’
Mike felt a wave of anger run through him, which was quickly replaced by compassion. He was as guilty as Marta of putting Sam in danger. ‘I’m sure he knew already. Wilson is a desperate man who will stop at nothing to pay back his debts. Maybe Alfredo let the cat out of the bag when he was drunk. I don’t want you blaming yourself and getting upset. Sam is tough and clever, and Alfredo is very resourceful. They’ll get through it together. Don’t worry.’
‘Are you sure? I feel like such a fool.’
‘I’m sure. Now go and help Gloria clean up the breakfast.’
Marta was as deep as a puddle, and nothing bothered her for long. She sniffled and tried to smile and went to the kitchen to help Gloria wash up. Soon, she was putting her war paint back on, applying thick coats of mascara to her bare lashes and lacquering her quiff.
Mike knew that he should ring Edward and tell him what was happening, but he couldn’t face it. After Black Monday, Edward would be desperate for good news and this was not going to help. He didn’t consider himself a dishonest man, but he was economical with the truth at the best of times. He was very generous with good news, spreading it thick and fast, but bad news was always parcelled out in small portions. He had the entrepreneur’s faith in his schemes that they would turn out right in the end. He had a superstition of uttering bad news out loud, as that made it real, and until then it was only one of many possibilities. He would wait a couple of days before he rang Edward, in case everything was sorted out quickly.
***
Sanchez had gone straight home to find Agatha the maid in a state of distress, as he had not been out all night for a number of years. He had long ceased to seek comfort for the death of his wife from cancer in the arms of certain courtesans in Calderon and she had feared that some horrible fate had befallen him. He calmed her down and asked her to make his favourite lunch. She bustled off, pleased with this return to normality. Then, Sanchez rang Segundo’s number from memory. The man answered straight away.
‘Hello, who is calling?’ he asked.
‘It’s me, Hernan Sanchez. I’ve another favour to ask of you. It’ll be very well rewarded.’
‘Boss, of course. I’m always at your service. What can I do for you this time?’
‘There’s been a change in plans. I want you to travel to San Martin tonight and take the train to San Lorenzo tomorrow morning. From there, you should travel to Riccuarte where you’ll try and locate our Mr. Ortega before he does any more harm. I believe he’ll be travelling in the company of a certain Don Moises, an Indian from upriver. Wilson believes, incorrectly I understand, that the expedition is a treasure hunt. I need you to find him as soon as you can. I’ll provide funds from the usual source. Ask for as much as you need. Any questions?’
‘What should I do when I find him, Señor Sanchez?’
‘You’ll think of something, Segundo. I leave it to your good judgement. I hear that he’s a dead man walking in Calderon. El Duro has a contract out on him if he fails to pay a certain debt. Perhaps we could gain some advantage if we deliver Wilson to him? I’ve always thought that an alliance with El Duro could be highly favourable for our businesses.’
‘I hear you, boss. I’ll not be able to send you any news, but you can be assured that when it comes, it’ll be good.’
‘Thank you, Segundo. I’m grateful to have such a man on my side.’
‘You do me a great honour by confiding in me, boss. I won’t let you down.’
Sanchez replaced the telephone on the receiver and then picked it up again to call his intermediary about giving money to Segundo. There was never any direct contact between the men. It was a matter of principal for Sanchez that he didn’t get his hands dirty in these matters. He could smell his lunch being cooked in the kitchen. This galvanised him into taking a quick shower and putting on some fresh clothes. He was pretty sure that he would be taking an extended afternoon nap, so he told Agatha that he wasn’t to be disturbed after lunch. He then sat down to enjoy his potato soup.
***
The train wended its painfully slow way through the countryside, inducing Sam into a torpor. She glanced over at Wilson and Alfredo and discovered that they had both fallen asleep, and Alfredo’s head had fallen onto Wilson’s shoulder. She managed to get her camera out of her rucksack and took a photograph of the sleeping beauties. It cheered her up a bit, and she started to enjoy the trip again. The large palm leaves swished over the roof of the train, depositing bizarre and interesting insects in Sam’s lap. Ever the scientist, she photographed them before flicking them back out of the window with her pencil.
At one of the stops, she bought a big bag of banana crisps, which she shared with her cheerful neighbour. The two women made a dash for the nearest bush when the train finally pulled into a siding to let the oncoming train pass.
They took turns to shoo away nosey villagers. Her neighbour got off a couple of stops later, and Sam bought some sweet fried plantain with bits of over-cooked pork, which she ate with relish. Sam always felt better after having something to eat. By the time they pulled into San Lorenzo, she was very cheerful, unlike her travelling companions, who were dehydrated and grumpy.
Sam sat with the supplies while Alfredo and Wilson went to buy some refreshments and commandeer a pickup truck. When they got back with the truck, Sam was surrounded by a large group of children, sucking boiled sweets and giggling. Wilson shooed them away and made sure he got to ride up front in the truck by getting in and staying there, while Sam and Alfredo loaded the supplies into the back. Alfredo had got hold of an old foam mattress, which he folded up against the cabin and floor of the truck.
‘Madam, your throne awaits,’ he said, hopping up into the back and offering Sam his hand.
‘Thank you, kind sir,’ said Sam, climbing over the piled-up boxes and sitting heavily on the improvised sofa.
Alfredo sat down next to her and gave her one of his big smiles. He was in his element. She had never seen him look so content.
‘We’re going to do it, Sam. We’re going to find the lost treasure of the Incas,’ he said.
With that, the truck started for Riccuarte, throwing them both in the air and making them giggle like small children. Alfredo’s good humour and the two helpings of banana, which were both sweet and savoury, made Sam feel like a new woman. She dismissed the snub of the previous evening as two men looking for an excuse to get drunk together and do some bonding. She felt protected from Wilson by the merry presence of Alfredo. They were on a real adventure, and the fun was just starting.
They finally pulled into Riccuarte in the late afternoon and were welcomed by Don Moises, who showed them to a different house from their first visit. It was a lot more habitable. Sam had her own room at one end of the house with a primitive bed strategically placed to avoid any leaks from the rather ratty looking palm-leaf roof. Wilson and Alfredo shared the other bedroom, and the supplies were stored in the middle room. Doña Elodea came to the house with a pot of rice and some fresh fried fish for their supper. No one spoke as they ate their fill of the delicious crispy fish with forkfuls of fluffy rice. Wilson, muttering something about organising things for the morning, walked off down the street immediately afterwards, leaving Sam and Alfredo to clear up.
‘He appears to think he’s coming with us,’ said Sam after Wilson left.
‘Oh, yes, didn’t I tell you?’ asked Alfredo. ‘I decided that we might need him, so he’s coming to Arenas with us.’
Sam was nonplussed. ‘But didn’t Mike say that Wilson should only come as far as Riccuarte?’
‘That was the original plan, yes, but I decided to change it. I haven’t told him about the treasure. He thinks it’s a historical trip. Anyway, Mike put me in charge,’ said Alfredo in a way that challenged Sam to disagree.
Sam took a deep breath and decided to go with the flow. After all, Wilson would never attack her now that Alfredo was on the trip. She suspected that Don Moises might also have something to say on the subject. She was determined to enjoy the biggest adventure of her life and not let Wilson spoil it.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘You’re the boss. I’m going to bed now. See you at the crack of dawn.’
***
Wilson was not ready for bed. He needed a drink. He had already started on his emergency bottle, and he had to save the rest for the trip. He walked through the village looking for the inevitable cantina. He heard footsteps behind him and turned to see Don Moises, who was clutching a bottle of cheap rum and a couple of glasses. Wilson was not fazed by the sudden appearance of alcohol when he was feeling desperate. He was as superstitious as most of his countrymen and a great believer in fate.
‘Good evening, Wilson,’ said Moises, ‘can I offer you a drink?’
‘Now that sounds like an excellent idea,’ said Wilson. ‘Where can we sit?’
‘I know the perfect place. Follow me.’
Moises led Wilson to an abandoned house with a raised porch overlooking the river. There were two wooden chairs on the porch and a log table. The two men climbed the rickety stairs and sat down in the chairs. Wilson’s chair creaked and threatened to collapse, but ultimately it held up. Moises poured them both a generous helping of rum.
‘Your very good health,’ he said, handing Wilson the glass.
Wilson took the glass and drank like a man rescued from the desert. Moises refilled his glass without comment. He sat in his chair and waited for the alcohol to take effect, watching the river glint in the moonlight. It was dark on the porch, and Wilson was very well camouflaged in his black clothes; so much so that when he eventually spoke, Moises was startled by his teeth appearing in the gloom like disembodied dentures.
‘You’re a man of the world,’ said Wilson. ‘Have you ever heard of the lost treasure of the Incas?’
‘Of course. Why do you ask?’
‘Aren’t you surprised that we’re here so soon after our last trip?’
Moises grunted noncommittally.
‘Has Alfredo told you why we’re here?’
‘He said something about an Inca ruin that Sam found last time she was here.’
‘Ha! That girl couldn’t find her own arse. I don’t know why we have to have useless women hanging around when this is men’s work. They’re trollops. Didn’t you see the way she led me on last time she was here? She’s nothing more than a prick tease. I bet she slept with her professors at university to get her degree.’
‘Oh, yes, I know what you mean. I saw her. They’re all the same,’ said Moises.
There was a loud creaking sound as Wilson threw himself back in his chair and drained his glass. He leaned forward and thrust the glass out to be refilled, which it was. Moises waited. Wilson gulped down most of the rum. He was sighing and snorting, considering whether or not to confide in Moises.
Wilson was in a quandary. He needed support for his plan, but he wasn’t sure if Moises would support him. Perhaps it was too early to find out. He considered himself utterly superior to the man sitting opposite him and thought that, like most humble people, Moises would accept the orders of an educated man with a degree without question. He had thrown in the comment about Sam to gauge his support. The fact that Moises had not defended Sam, but had recognised her for what she was, encouraged him to believe that he was ripe for conversion to the Wilson Ortega philosophy of life.
‘It’s not only her,’ he said. ‘That Alfredo is a typical example of a spoiled rich brat who belongs to those few families that rape our country and take everything for themselves. Don’t you agree?’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Moises. ‘He makes me feel sick. Those rich kids are all the same. Over-privileged and under-educated. Disgusting.’
Wilson warmed to his theme.
‘It’s the rich who get richer, while we labour for them. It’s time we stood up for ourselves.’
‘Ah, but how do we do that?’ asked Moises. ‘They’ve the power.’
There was a silence as the glasses were filled again by the little mestizo. Both men sat contemplating the river. Wilson emptied his glass again and sat forward, moving his chair so that his knees almost touched those of Moises. He looked him straight in the eye.
‘This expedition is about a lot more than history,’ he said.
Torrential rain thundered down on the tin roof of their house. Sam watched through the window as lightning pierced the treetops, illuminating the dark foliage. It could have been taken as an omen of some sort, but she was not superstitious and had very good memories of a particular thunderstorm spent with a French exchange student at university before she met Simon. She lay in bed, letting her mind roam back to those passionate nights. What was his name, anyway? Jules. That was it. Jules, with the sexy French accent and cheeky smile. Sam hadn’t even considered turning him down when he propositioned her out of the blue in the pub one night. He
was not exactly deep, but he was sincere in his passion, and she spent a few torrid weeks under the sheets with him. She could still feel the thrill of his marauding tongue. Smiling to herself as she dropped off to sleep, she moaned instinctively as the thunder cracked outside and the rain poured off the roofs.
***
Moises, who had been watching over her in case Wilson got any new ideas in his drunken state, leaned against the doorframe and wondered who on earth she was thinking about that made her smile and sigh like that. There was no doubt that she was an attractive young woman and he could imagine why Wilson wanted her. He watched her fall into a deep sleep, her breathing so shallow she looked like a corpse. He made sure that everyone else was asleep, too, before he curled up like a dog on a blanket outside her door and fell asleep himself.
Chapter XVIII
It was pitch black inside the house. Moises had already slipped away to the riverbank to supervise the packing of the canoe. Sam had trouble finding her things in the gloom, which was scarcely penetrated by the dim light generated by the single candle in her room. She cautiously felt around for her penknife, which she had heard fall off her bed during the night. She used her feet in case there were any millipedes or scorpions waiting to give her a nasty nip. She heard Wilson and Alfredo shuffling around doing similar explorations in ‘braille’ in their room. She found a small packet of peanuts in her rucksack and ate them to prevent her losing them. The salty taste made her even more hungry and thirsty than she had been before. She tried to rationalise her feelings of excitement but found no reason to quell them. How many of her peers were about to embark on a real-life treasure hunt? Alfredo poked his head around the door.
‘Are you ready, Sam?’ he asked.
‘More than ready.’ She smiled brightly at him.
Alfredo’s answering smile told her everything she needed to know about his mood. It filled the room and illuminated the dark corners where the scorpions had gone to hide. He handed her a couple of finger-sized bananas.