“First, let me welcome you to this Huaorani village in the province of Sucumbíos, Ecuador. My name is Nancy Kelleson, and I’m your headperson for this SARE project. Over the next six months, we’ll all be helping this village become more self-sufficient, installing a new well, clearing and planting fields and teaching Spanish and English and their country’s history to the children.” She looked each person directly in the eyes as she spoke. “Make no mistake about it, this is not a vacation or pleasure trip. You all volunteered for SARE with the expectation of seeing the world and working hard, and I can guarantee that you’re going to get both in about equal measure.”
She extended a hand to encompass the cluster of single-story wooden huts with thatched roofs, all surrounding a cleared main square. In the back of all the houses, looming over all of them, was the thick, verdant jungle. “The first rule I want all of you to take to heart is that the moment you set foot here, you entered hostile territory. The jungle can kill you as easily as breathing. It will swallow you up without mercy, pick your bones clean and leave what’s left to bleach in the sun before being covered by the foliage in less than a week. Treat the jungle and its denizens with the respect they deserve—you won’t often get a second chance.”
All eyes were on Kelleson, the group’s shared fatigue forgotten for the moment as she spoke. “The second thing to remember is that we are in a Third World country, so things are done differently here. Always keep your identification papers on you at all times, and do not go anywhere without a native as guide. There are soldiers in the area, some from the Ecuadorian Army, some from the Colombian Army, as we are near the border between the two nations. If you are stopped for any reason, be patient and polite. Sometimes mentioning SARE might get you out of the situation, other times it might cost you some money, if you’re lucky. Either one is preferable to spending any time in a South American jail.
“Why don’t each of you take a moment to introduce yourself and tell the rest a little about why you decided to come here?” As each member of the group spoke, Kelleson evaluated them. There was a last-minute arrival with the group, a tall, well-built man in his late-thirties, with black hair and ice-blue eyes. He said he was Matt Cooper, a freelance journalist who was here to see how SARE was helping the indigenous population, but his intent gaze put Kelleson’s senses on alert. She’d seen that stare before and it never boded well for the people around a person like that.
Cooper was definitely older than most of the others, about Wilberson’s age, and also carried himself differently. Whereas the other members were staring around in surprise or awe, his gaze had seemed to size up the situation efficiently, almost as if he were checking for escape routes—or figuring out how to defend the place from an invasion.
Kelleson made a mental note to keep an eye on him as she addressed the rest of the group again. “It’s good to meet all of you. I imagine you’re pretty strung out from the travel, so the rest of the day is a light one, to give you time to become acclimated to the area. Two more tips that will make your stay here a more pleasant one. First, I know they harped on it during orientation, but I’m going to repeat it again—stay hydrated. The temperature here can reach a balmy forty degrees Celsius—that’s more than one hundred-five Fahrenheit—and you’ll sweat more than you might think. Remind yourself to drink often—and yes, you’ll get used to the taste of the chlorinated water soon enough. If the pump for the well works, there will be better water shortly.
“Second, although I know we’re in the rainforest, it can still be pretty cool here, especially at night. That combined with rain can cause a chill that could develop into something worse. Be sure to dress appropriately. That always means long sleeves and pants when going out into the jungle, as there are dozens of plants and insects that would like to get a piece of you. Are there any questions so far?”
Wilberson piped up again. “Where are we sleeping?”
“You’re fortunate enough to be staying in my old tents for the next few weeks, until you build your own hut. It’s part of the reclamation effort to expand the village, so I hope you all know one end of a hammer from the other. Take the rest of the afternoon to look around, introduce yourself and get the lay of the land. Again, do not go off into the jungle by yourself until you know your way around—it is far too easy to get lost here. Come on, I’ll take you to your temporary quarters.”
As they walked, she noticed Cooper already attracting attention from the children of the village, each of whom would shyly come up and take something from his hand, then dart away with smiles and laughter. When they reached the three surplus Army tents, Kelleson wasn’t surprised to see the looks of dismay on the volunteers’ faces.
“I know they don’t look like much, but the mosquito netting is intact, and trust me, most days you’ll be working so hard you won’t notice where you’re sleeping. Besides, just think of this as incentive to get your hut completed more quickly, right?”
One of the college students—Mike, she thought—pushed back the stained canvas flap with a whistle. “Boy, SARE wasn’t kidding when they said we were roughing it.”
“No, and even with the Amazon getting more of a priority lately, we’re still lucky to have this stuff.”
The South American Relief Effort, or SARE, was a small but growing Third World relief organization that had been founded and dedicated solely for providing assistance to the indigenous tribes on the continent. The non-government organization accepted volunteers with diverse skills to help out all across the continent. For Kelleson, it had been the perfect opportunity to escape her checkered past, leaving that old life behind to start fresh, which she had seized with both hands. Once involved, she discovered that she actually liked the amazing stress of helping people better their lives in some of the worst parts of the world. She had been here for three months so far and would stay as long as it took to complete her mission.
Best to at least better break these newbies in so they don’t accidentally kill themselves, Kelleson thought as she watched the group sort out who would bunk where. Once again, Cooper stood a few yards away from the rest, and she peeked around a corner of the tent to see him hunkered down in front of even more children, handing something shiny to one of the little girls, who snatched it with a giggle and ran off.
“Already making friends?”
He looked up, then stood to face her. “I heard bringing small gifts for the children here is a great icebreaker. I managed to keep a chocolate bar somewhat intact during the trip, but it melted as fast as I could hand the squares out.”
“Yeah, I hope you didn’t have any more in your backpack, otherwise you’re in for a runny surprise.”
A dismayed shout came from inside the tent, and Cooper grinned. “Sounds like one of the others just found that out.”
Kelleson was a big believer in being direct, particularly at the moment. “I was a bit surprised to find a journalist coming all the way out here, Matt.”
He smiled, a disarming grin that transformed his face from dead serious to something approaching charming. “I hope you don’t think of me that way while I’m here—just treat me like any other volunteer, so I can get the full experience. I’m not afraid of work, and I’m game to tackle just about whatever needs doing around here, from installing that well part Etienne told us about on the way over, to building that hut, working with the locals—you know, getting my hands dirty. It makes for a better story back in the world.”
“Glad to hear that. A lot of the people who come here don’t have any idea just what’s involved in keeping a village like this going, so it’s good to see at least one of you is prepared. As for the rest, we’ll see what happens. Why don’t you get your gear stowed—” of the group, he had traveled the lightest, with a frameless backpack and nothing else “—and dinner will be served in about an hour and a half. You’ll get your first taste of real Ecuadorian cuisine.”
“After that airline food, anything different will be a pleasure.” The big American checked his backpack for insects before hoisting it over his shoulder and disappearing into the tent.
Kelleson looked after him, an expression between a smile and puzzlement on her face. There was something about him, she thought, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Reaffirming her determination to keep an eye on him, she turned to find Etienne, go through the rest of the new supplies and figure out how to make them last for another month.
6
Kelleson blew a tendril of hair out of her face, then sucked down a large gulp of tepid water, barely noticing the chemical taste. Leaning against the Land Rover’s mud-spattered fender, she surveyed the bustling village.
The unpacking had gone well, with Cooper and the other guy—what was his name, Morgan?—pitching in to help. Although Kelleson was pretty sure he had been in the country a while, as he seemed far too comfortable. While the others constantly glanced around at the strange sounds of the jungle or stared at the dark-skinned, loose-jointed natives, he moved through it all as if he’d been here for months rather than a day. Another thing about him that doesn’t add up, she thought.
The sun was sinking into the western jungle, painting the trees, vines and foliage in shades of red and gold. This was one of her favorite times of the day—the oppressive heat was starting to fade and the inky blackness of night hadn’t yet overtaken them. A fire was being started in the central square, the villagers preparing their traditional meal and celebration to welcome the new arrivals.
The smell of cooking meat made her mouth water, and Kelleson pushed off the SUV to amble toward the pit. Spotting Etienne talking with a small group of villagers, she approached slowly, not wanting to be intrusive.
Upon seeing her, the wiry man’s face lit up. “Good evening, Nancy.”
“Hi, Etienne. What smells so good over here?”
“The elders have been roasting a pig to celebrate the arrival of the volunteers. They’ll serve it with yucca fries, rice and stewed vegetables. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. It’ll be ready…”
Bright lights flashed from the lone rutted dirt road leading to the village, along with the loud blare of a horn, making villagers start in alarm and kids scatter to the safety of their huts. Kelleson whirled to see a large, six-wheeled armored personnel carrier painted in camouflage green, brown and black roar into the village, its gun ports bristling with assault rifle barrels and a wicked-looking machine gun mounted on top.
The men and women of the village melted away, leaving Etienne and Kelleson alone near the well. She snorted in disgust as the throaty roar of the APC’s turbo-diesel made conversation impossible. The engine cut out and the back doors swung open, discharging soldiers in camouflage fatigues and helmets, their Galil ACE rifles held at port arms as they established a defensive perimeter.
“Jesus, he sure has to make an entrance, doesn’t he?” Kelleson mused. “I don’t see how that beast doesn’t get stuck on the road. What is it, ten tons at least?”
Etienne whistled in admiration. “More like twenty. That’s an Urutu—made in Brazil. See that angled undercarriage? It’s meant to protect the soldiers inside from mines. I wonder whose palm Medina greased to pick up that beauty?”
Kelleson grimaced. “I’ll see if I can find out for you.”
A man with sergeant’s stripes on his camouflaged sleeve checked the placement of the men, then went to the passenger door and knocked on it three times. The door opened and Major Andrés Medina stepped out.
Like his men, the major was dressed in fatigues, but where his men’s uniforms were sweat-stained and disheveled from their patrol, his pressed uniform was spotless and his boots were shined to a high gloss. Aviator sunglasses covered his eyes, and a bright blue ascot was carefully knotted around his neck. His unit was part of the Fuerza de Despliegue Rápido, or Rapid Deployment Force. They were supposed to carry out operations against insurgents or criminals, but as Major Medina spent more time busting smugglers and running guns, all that meant to Kelleson was that these thugs all wore the same outfit. The first thing she’d learned upon her arrival was that the idea of peace and safety along the border was as illusory as the idea of a protecting army. Anything and anyone was for sale here, and the price was often a single bullet.
Medina was one of thousands of the same kinds of men Kelleson had seen all over the world. He used his position of authority to get what he wanted, whether it was a new vehicle in exchange for allowing smugglers through the province he was supposed to be guarding, or shaking down villagers in exchange for his protection or fining oil drillers or prospectors for imaginary offenses. His hand was always out, and his gaze was always searching. He was quick to offer what the other person first thought was a bargain, only to later find out that Medina’s terms always benefited the major much more than his victim in the end.
When he saw Kelleson and Etienne, his mouth split in a wide smile, revealing white, even teeth, one capped in gold. “Ah, my friends, it is good to see you again.”
Kelleson smiled in return, showing no teeth. “You’re out rather late, Major. What can we do for you?”
“Is there someplace we can talk—privately?” His gaze flicked over Etienne with casual disdain. The shorter man showed no reaction, standing so still he might have been carved from one of the nearby trees.
“Of course. Please, come into my hut.” Kelleson led the way, knowing the officer was watching her ass as she walked. She moved the blanket aside and hung it on the peg to let the waning light in through the doorway. When Medina moved the blanket back to block the opening, the first tremor of alarm tensed her body. Like most men here, he viewed her as exotic—there simply weren’t many white women around, save for the two new arrivals—and she knew he had designs on her. Vowing to have that talk with the girls tomorrow, she decided that in the meantime, she could use it to her advantage—carefully.
“Something to drink? I have a bit of tea left.”
Medina carefully took off his beret, rolled it and slipped it through his shoulder epaulet before sitting in the chair. “No, thank you, I cannot stay long. We have another village to visit before heading back and the roads out here…” He shrugged, silently acknowledging that they wouldn’t improve in either of their lifetimes.
“Of course. So, why are you here?” Kelleson didn’t add that her village was about fifty kilometers off Medina’s normal patrol grounds—she didn’t want him to know she had been keeping tabs on his movements.
“My superiors have reassigned me closer to your village.” Medina glanced over his shoulder at the doorway. “Have you heard anything unusual happening in the area? Any of the other villages nearby reporting strange events?”
“Major, the nearest village is a half day’s drive away—we’re lucky if we see anyone from outside the area once a month.”
“Then I take it that’s a no.”
“You’re correct. What are you referring to? Are the rebels recruiting again?” That was one of Kelleson’s biggest fears—that one of the groups in the area would sweep through the village on a raid to bolster their numbers. Although FARC and other splinter groups preferred to have willing members, they weren’t above kidnapping kids and young men and indoctrinating them into the cause.
“No, nothing so simple. If that were the case, my men and I would have taken care of them already.”
Kelleson kept a straight face at the soldier’s boast; she knew he was working with half the militias in the area, trading arms for information, gold, cocaine, whatever he needed. The rest he had either already double-crossed, wiped out or had working for him without their knowledge. “Of course you would have. So, tell me—” sitting on her rough table, Kelleson crossed her arms under her chest and leaned forward “—what’s this all about?”
Kelleson nodded. “You have my word that I will be discreet.”
“No one around here has mentioned anything about strange events in their village—an entire population disappearing or getting killed all at once?”
Kelleson smiled and quickly wiped it off her face. “If you didn’t look so serious, I’d think you were trying to just scare me. I don’t recall hearing any such stories. Are you saying the villagers here could be in danger?”
“That is what I have been sent to find out. With the improvements we have been making in the area, we do not want ridiculous tales to be coming out of here, undermining our efforts.”
“Naturally you wouldn’t want that.” Unless it somehow served his purposes, Kelleson thought. “How can I help?”
“We’ll be patrolling in the area for the next few weeks, so any information that you might learn would be very helpful. Even with the natives supposedly in a state of war, they still manage to spread stories like wildfire.” He stood and walked over to Kelleson, who resisted the urge to shrink back. “I want to make sure you and those volunteers are safe, as well. It wouldn’t be good for anyone to get hurt while out here.”
A veiled threat or an honest offer of assistance? Nancy played it safe. “The volunteers know the risks when they come out here. However, I appreciate that you’ll be looking out for us, and if anything strange is happening out here, I’ll be sure to inform you of anything I might find out.”
The officer’s dark brown eyes bored into Kelleson’s blue ones. “I would be happy to do so much more—for you and the village, if you wish.”
Jungle Hunt Page 5