The pair bolted laterally along the dirt walkway scarcely three feet wide, and Drake drove himself harder. The boys were almost in his grasp. He sprinted with all his remaining energy and dove at the one with the purse and got his hand on it. Drake ripped it free as the boy kept going, neither of them quite up to tackling a full-grown man, even if the one with the razor had clearly been considering it before he’d locked eyes with Drake and seen something that had made him think twice.
Drake sat panting for several seconds, winded. A rustle behind him came from one of the shanties of crumbling red brick with a blue tarp for a roof, and a young man stepped from its entrance. His clothes were filthy, but the nickel-plated revolver in his hand looked clean enough.
The gunman pointed the pistol’s barrel at Drake and said something in rapid-fire Portuguese. Drake shook his head, and the man drew closer, his intent clear – he was robbing Drake and wanted the purse.
When he was only a few yards away, Drake twisted and simultaneously threw a baseball-sized chunk of brick he’d palmed at the would-be thief. It connected solidly with the thug’s forehead and nose, making a sound like a melon being hit with a bat, and then blood gushed down his shirt.
But he didn’t drop the pistol.
He was bringing it up to fire even as he bellowed in pain, and Drake launched from the ground and tackled him as he pulled the trigger. The shot missed by a hair, and then he was on top of the gunman, slamming his wrist against the ground with all his might in order to break his grip on the pistol. He felt it loosen and caught the man on the jaw with his elbow while he smashed his wrist again. The pistol fell harmlessly a few feet away and Drake lunged for it, making it a split second before the mugger.
Drake slammed the gun butt into the man’s cheek and his eyes rolled into his head, his face ruined as he blacked out. Drake lay panting by him and then caught movement up the hill. More youths – at least three, and all carrying weapons.
Drake leapt to his feet and sprinted down the alley, the gun gripped in his hand as he ran, his heart hammering in his chest as he fought to get some distance between himself and the thief’s friends. He was just turning to take the dirt path back down the hill when an explosion sounded from behind him and part of the wooden rail shattered. Drake didn’t like his odds, trying to make it down the hill with the punks shooting at him from higher ground, so he spun and dropped, simultaneously slowing his breathing. With Jack’s words reverberating in his head, he cocked the hammer back, drew a bead on the first gunman, and squeezed the trigger. The little revolver bucked like a panicked animal, and he fired again. The second pursuer grabbed his abdomen and dropped his gun, and Drake used the opportunity to throw himself down the hill, sliding down the path.
He began rolling and tumbling, and his downward trajectory was only stopped by a brick wall – another shanty. The collision knocked the wind out of him, but he quickly recovered when he saw the remaining two attackers at the top of the alley, pointing their weapons down at him. Four shots rang out. The rounds hit the wall behind him as he brought the barrel up and emptied the revolver at them, remembering Jack’s warning about how hard it was to hit someone in a combat situation with a handgun. None of his shots found a home, but they did seem to take the enthusiasm out of the thieves. In any case, they didn’t follow him as he rolled and lunged for the stairs, bolting down them three at a time, figuring the tradeoff of risking a shattered ankle was more than warranted by the circumstance.
Thirty seconds later Drake was crossing the garbage-strewn field at the base of the hill. He tossed the useless revolver into the heaping bags of refuse as a shambling vagrant dug through a nearby pile, oblivious or unmoved by the sound of nearby gunfire – likely an hourly occurrence in his life. Drake’s ribs were throbbing from the encounter with the brick building and his ears were ringing from the gunfire, but he had Allie’s purse, and he was alive.
Drake glanced back up at the hillside, but he didn’t see anyone chasing him. The predators had returned to their familiar haunts to prey on easier victims, or perhaps to help their downed friend. He jogged to the street and continued at that pace until he reached the beach – a world, with its G-strings and heady aroma of coconut suntan oil, as distant from that of the nearby hillside as night and day. Several passersby looked at him with alarm, and he realized he was filthy, his clothes torn from his fall down the hillside, dirt smeared on his sweating face and arms. Something about the situation made him grin and then laugh out loud as he moved along the famous strand toward the hotel. His fellow pedestrians gave him a wide berth, his lunatic smile and unaccountable mirth as disturbing as the gun would have been if he’d been brandishing it and screaming.
The security men barred him from entering the hotel until he was able to convey to them what had happened. Even once Jack emerged from the elevators and approached, they hovered close by, as though he might attack the other guests at the slightest provocation. Jack took one look at him and shook his head. Drake held the purse aloft in triumph.
“You weren’t kidding about this being a rough place,” Drake said.
Jack eyed him expressionlessly and then steered him to the elevator. “Come on. You’ve got a cut over your eye. I’ll patch you up after you return Allie’s purse.”
“Is she okay?”
“He sliced her pretty good, but it’s not critical. We’ll get a couple of stitches later. The hotel already called a doctor. Should be here in a few minutes.” Jack turned to look at Drake as he stepped into the elevator. “Maybe we can get a two-for-one deal. Looks like you could use a stitch or two, too.”
“I won’t even tell you about the gun battle.”
Jack’s eyebrow rose as the door slid closed. “Tell me you’re kidding,” he said, then saw the look in Drake’s eye. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“At the rate things are going, you’re right.”
“Kid, you only have one life. No more stupid risks, okay?”
“Says the man who’s about to go into the jungle with me.”
Jack chuckled in spite of himself. “Touché. But seriously. Ease up. This will be dangerous enough as it is.”
“The lady needed her purse back. Tell me you would have done anything different.”
They rode up in silence, and when the floor indicator pinged, Jack sighed and shook his head. “Just like your father.”
“Maybe. Only I’m going to walk out of that jungle. That’s a promise.”
Jack eyed him. “You know what? I believe you.”
Drake nodded.
“Bank on it.”
Chapter Nineteen
The driver picked them up the next morning at ten, and by eleven they were on the road to Teresópolis, north of Rio. The highway was modern until they turned off onto the smaller road to Cachoeiras de Macacu, where it became a two-lane strip of asphalt winding through open fields, the rainforest held at bay by the hand of man. The sky was brilliant blue, the road framed by vivid green on both sides, and the air humid, redolent of wet earth and pollen.
An hour more and they arrived at their destination: a small winding dirt track leading through a clearing to a gate a quarter mile off the road. An ancient man, wearing a black baseball cap and brandishing a shotgun, sat in a security hut. After several moments of back-and-forth with the driver, the guard swung the gate wide and beckoned to them to enter.
The driver revved the motor and the little car lurched forward. Ten minutes later they neared the foothills, where a large two-story house hulked near a cluster of trees, a guest cottage and service quarters near the separate four-car garage. The home’s bright yellow paint had faded in spots, and a young man worked near them with a brush. He turned as they eased to a stop, curiosity in his eyes as they opened their car doors and stepped from the vehicle.
“Paolo?” Jack asked as he approached.
“Yes,” Paolo answered in heavily accented English.
“I’m Jack. Solomon should have called you to let you know we were coming.”
“He did. I’ve prepared rooms in the main house for you. Let me get your bags and I’ll show you the way,” Paolo said, closing the paint can and balancing his brush on the lid.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it,” Drake said from the trunk, hoisting his backpack and putting it on before lifting Jack’s and Allie’s bags free. Jack reached out and took one from him, and they followed Paolo inside through the front door.
The house was simply furnished with heavy pieces crafted from native wood, rustic and sturdy, in keeping with the locale. Paolo led them up the wide stairway to their rooms, which looked comfortable, if basic.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he said. “I’ve filled the refrigerator with food and drinks, and was told to assist you with whatever you want.”
“Thank you, Paolo. I’m expecting a visitor tomorrow or the next day. I’ll give you his information later. Other than that, we’re not to be disturbed. I’m conducting training exercises with my pupils here. Other than my single guest, nobody is to be allowed on the grounds,” said Jack, his tone eliminating any argument before it started.
Paolo nodded assent. “Enjoy your stay. I’ll be painting most of the day, so you’ll know where to find me.”
They quickly unpacked and, after stowing their gear, met downstairs, Drake with his father’s knife, Jack with a small black nylon bag.
“Come on. Grab some water and let’s go for a walk. I see no reason not to start on this now. The sooner you understand the basics of what I’m going to show you, the sooner we can begin our search,” Jack said.
They set off down a trail that led from the rear of the house into the brush, and ten minutes later emerged into a wide clearing surrounded by tall trees, a stream running through it fed by the nearby hills. Jack set his bag down and, after scanning the periphery to ensure they were alone, turned to Drake and Allie.
“I’ll begin with hand-to-hand combat techniques. We’ll start with defensive, then move to offensive. Allie already knows most of this, but there’s no time like the present for a refresher course. Most of this is based on street fighting, my Special Forces training, and Krav Maga – an Israeli specialty that combines the best of all worlds.” Jack considered Drake’s sweating face. “You said you studied karate? To what belt level?”
“Black. Second Dan. Not a master, but I was the best in my class. I know the pressure points, the various strikes and blocking techniques, kicks, punches… I participated in some competitions, but that was years ago.”
“Okay. And how useful did your training prove in the real world? I’m gathering you had to get physical with some of your bail skips.”
“I did, and the answer is, of limited help. The problem was your opponent doesn’t react the way you’re taught he will. And sometimes he’ll have a weapon. I’d say my wrestling skills did me more good. A full nelson usually quiets down even the most agitated skip.”
“That’s right. All the theory’s fine, but what typically happens is you have an adversary who’ll do anything necessary to survive or escape. What I’m going to teach you is what you should master in a few days. Which isn’t much.”
“Then why don’t we take more time?” Drake asked.
“Because it wouldn’t make any difference. To really see any improvement, you’d have to practice for years. So it’s the basics. The first is that in any engagement, survival is your priority. I know that sounds obvious, but believe me, when some crazy SOB is coming at you like they’re going to kill you, all your training can get forgotten in a heartbeat. So rule number one is that everything you do should be oriented toward surviving. Not on the best way to disable your opponent. Not on some specialized technique that will work every time.” Jack gave Drake a hard stare. “Instead, on doing whatever you can so you can get the hell out of there and live to fight another day.”
Drake nodded, as did Allie, who’d obviously heard it all before.
“The best way to survive is to avoid the fight altogether. If you can’t do that, then you have to focus on ending it as quickly as possible while inflicting maximum damage. That often means attacking preemptively and disabling your adversary before he knows what hit him. Krav Maga focuses on strikes to the most vulnerable areas of the body – the eyes, groin, neck, face, knees, solar plexus, and so on. But the overarching idea is to destroy your opponent in seconds, and discard any notions of a fair fight. What’s fair is what has you surviving. Clear?”
Drake nodded again. “Yup.”
Jack beckoned to him. “All right. Drake, come at me. Don’t hold back. Come at me however you want, with the goal being to put me on the ground. Don’t deafen or blind me, but beyond that, anything goes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Just do it.”
Drake spun without warning and leveled a kick at Jack’s chest, intending to follow it up with blows to his abdomen. The next thing he knew he was lying in the grass, blinking, the wind knocked out of him. Jack stood over him, breathing easily.
“Not bad. But you’d be dead. Now I’ll show you what I did, so you understand what you did wrong, and how you should respond to that kind of an attack.” He held out his hand to Drake, who took it shakily. Jack hauled him to his feet. “You okay?” Jack asked.
“Yeah. I’m just…kind of shocked that you were able to do that. I was thinking about how to pull the punches to avoid breaking your ribs.”
“That was one of your first mistakes. I wasn’t thinking about anything except how to take you down. And you’ll notice I didn’t waste any time trying to parry or block your blows. I avoided your kick and used your energy to allow you to turn past the point of no return, and then attacked. If I’d wanted to kill or blind you, you’d be dead or blind. Now let’s take this in slow motion. You do your kick, I’ll demonstrate how to avoid it and neutralize the attacker.”
Drake did as asked, and paid close attention to the sequence of blows Jack used – only two, with a sweep kick that knocked him flat. They practiced a few more times, with Jack taking the role of Drake, allowing him to perfect the timing and the strikes, and then they separated and drank some water.
They continued throughout the day, pausing only to eat a fast lunch, and by the time the sun was sinking behind the green hills, Drake was bruised and panting, exhausted – although now he was landing as many blows as he was taking. As they made their way back to the house, Jack patted his shoulder, Allie padding alongside him.
“You did well. Tomorrow we’ll concentrate on knife work, then some more hand-to-hand, and then I’ll show you some knots that could save your life in a pinch. Obviously the hope is that you’ll never have to use any of this. Especially the knife work. Because I can tell you firsthand, the scariest thing in the world is someone coming at you all out with a knife. Mainly because there’s almost no way to defend against it.”
Allie smiled when Drake caught her eye. “Which is why he’s not going to focus on defending against a knife attack. More on how to deliver one that will inflict maximum damage. Only problem is that if your adversary has a knife, too, you’re probably not going to come out of it all that great, no matter what happens.”
“Sounds like avoiding a knife fight should be rule number one,” Drake said.
Jack chuckled. “Damn right. But you’ve got that machete of your father’s, so might as well show you how to use it. Thing’s almost big enough to cut a man in two. If you get into a pinch, it could save your life. But only if you know the basics.”
“Which would be, get a gun and shoot first. Early and often,” Drake replied.
“You’re actually not far off. That’s exactly what I’d advise.” Jack paused. “The only other problem being that when people are shot and stabbed, they don’t just fall over dead. I mean, they can, but more often than not, they keep coming. Because unless you get a clean head shot or one right through the heart, it takes time for the body to realize it’s hit. When you have a ton of adrenaline racing through your system, it actually numbs you. A lo
t of combat veterans who were pretty horrifically wounded didn’t even realize they’d been hit until minutes, or even hours, after it happened.”
“So it’s not like the movies, is what you’re saying,” Drake observed.
Jack laughed again. “You know what? Nothing in life is. And that’s the end of today’s lesson. Let’s get cleaned up and make some dinner. I’m starving.”
The house was quiet upon their return. Drake shed his clothes within moments of getting into his room, and then realized he didn’t have a private bathroom. He rooted around in the closet, found a blue towel, and wrapped it around his waist before walking down the hall. He knocked on the bathroom door, and Allie’s voice called out from inside.
“I got to it first.”
“How long are you going to be?” he asked.
“Not long. Maybe an hour.”
“Are you serious?”
“Okay. Fifteen minutes. I’ve got a lot of hair to wash.”
Drake returned to his room and studied himself in the mirror. Bruising from the day’s lumps was already appearing, but overall he looked fit, the wrestling and karate having sculpted his upper body.
He checked his watch, dropped to the floor, and forced himself to do a hundred pushups, the practice session having convinced him that he’d allowed himself to get soft. Bands of muscles on his arms and shoulders seemed to strain his skin, stretching it to the breaking point. When he finished, he gulped the remainder of the liter of water in his room and then returned to the bathroom, hopeful that Allie was done.
When the door opened, he almost gasped at how good she looked with her hair wet, sporting a towel wrapped around her body, smelling like floral shampoo and soap. She stood in the doorway for a few seconds as Drake moved aside, and graced him with a smile as she brushed past.
“You can put your eyes back in your head,” she called softly behind her.
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