by John Sneeden
He pointed toward a boardwalk a block away. “The boats are just ahead. If you want a drink before you leave, try the Café Maria. It’s my cousin’s place. Tell them Tiago sent you and they might give you discount.”
“Thank you again,” Amanda said, bending over to give him a little wave.
As the Brazilian made a quick U-turn and headed back toward the city, Amanda let out a little sigh. Her body ached from head to toe, and she felt a migraine coming on, but she was finally here. In a few short minutes, she’d be with people she knew and the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours would be over.
She pulled out the telescoping handles of her luggage and started down the boardwalk. On her right was a line of cafés and bars. Ahead and to the left was a long series of docks that stretched into the distance. She had exchanged a few texts with Zane that morning and knew that the boat would be all the way at the end.
The smell of freshly cooked food assailed her nostrils as she walked. Several men stood in front of their shops, offering wrapped pieces of fish and skewers of cooked meat. She was tempted but resisted and continued on her way.
As she neared the docks, she saw the sign for Café Maria. She hadn’t planned on stopping, but she was thirsty. Why not? It might be days before she had anything other than bottled water and MREs.
The covered but open-air restaurant was packed with humanity. There were perhaps a hundred tables, all kept cool by twirling fans that dangled from the high ceiling. Pushing through the crowd, she was surprised to find two empty stools at the bar. She promptly sat down on one then scooted her luggage up as close as possible.
One of the bartenders slid toward her, placed his hand on the bar, and asked something in Portuguese. Amanda did a double take, startled at the man’s appearance. He looked exactly like Enrique Iglesias, right down to the boyish locks combed across his forehead.
The man raised an eyebrow and patted his hand gently on the bar. Amanda blushed as she realized she’d been staring at him. “Oh, sorry. An orange juice in a to-go cup, please.”
Enrique lifted a thumb to signify he understood. As Amanda looked through her purse for some bills, a man stepped up to the other open stool and bent over the bar.
Another American, she thought as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was wearing a Carolina Hurricanes cap, and a pair of aviator sunglasses hid his eyes. His arms were well muscled and tan, as were the legs that stuck out of beige cargo shorts.
“You know, I’m pretty sure he saw you blushing,” the man said.
Startled, she turned toward him. “Excuse me?”
The man sported a week’s growth of beard, but his features seemed vaguely familiar.
He gave her a wry smile and said, “I just need you to know I’m a little hurt that you don’t recognize me.”
And then it hit her. Why hadn’t she recognized him immediately? “Zane?”
“The one and only. How are you?”
“I’m great!” she said, throwing her arms around him.
After the long hug, he pulled back and rubbed the stubble on his cheek. “Not a bad disguise, eh?”
“You had me fooled.” She noticed he didn’t have his customary long locks. “Did you cut your hair?”
Zane patted his cap. “No, just tucked away. You look great, by the way.”
“Thank you.”
The bartender returned with Amanda’s orange juice. She fished in her pocket for money, but Zane waved her off. “This one’s on me.”
“Why thank you.”
He then turned to the bartender and ordered something in Portuguese.
“Wow, you speak the language. I’m impressed.”
“I know about fifty words, and that was probably a third of them.”
“So what did you get?”
“Some frozen pineapple concoction. It’s my second one. Figured it would put me in the mood. How was your trip?”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t ask.”
Zane laughed. “Uh-oh. I won’t, then.”
The bartender returned with the drink. Zane thanked him and placed several bills on the counter.
Turning, he grabbed the handles of her luggage. “You ready?”
She held up her orange juice. “As I’ll ever be!”
As they walked along the docks, Amanda marveled at the number and variety of boats. Everything from kayaks and motorized canoes to a few large yachts and cruise boats sat moored to the docks. There wasn’t an inch of unused space anywhere.
“Is everyone here?” she asked.
“No, we still haven’t heard from two members of the team.”
Amanda could sense frustration in his voice. “I hope nothing is wrong.”
He paused a moment before answering. “I was supposed to speak to our two anthropologists last night and never heard from them.”
“Did you call them?”
He nodded. “No answer. I’m sure everything is fine.”
Amanda decided to change the subject. “I have to tell you I’m so looking forward to meeting Dr. Mills.”
Zane’s brow furrowed. “You know her?”
“Of course. Well, I don’t know her… I know of her. She’s a big name in academic circles. One of the biggest—”
“Well, well, look who’s here,” said a male voice ahead.
Amanda looked up. A man with dark hair stood on one of the docks next a large cruise boat. He held a box, and a huge grin was plastered on his face. She recognized him immediately. “Brett!”
The technology specialist leaned over and set the box down next to some others. “Glad to see you made it all safe and sound.”
Amanda ran over and hugged his neck. Pulling back, she said, “I’m safe… not sure about the sound part.”
“Well, at least you got here in one piece.”
“Amanda, I’d like to introduce you to some members of our team,” Zane said.
She turned and noticed that four men were standing on the deck of the boat just a few feet away. There were all dressed the same in multi-pocketed cargo pants and dark gray T-shirts. One of the men was African-American and bald. Another had close-cropped blond hair. The remaining two wore full beards and hair down to their shoulders. The shorter one had wavy red hair and the other dark brown.
Despite their garb and varied appearance, she knew immediately they were all military. The two with longer hair had probably grown it in order to blend in. She had seen pictures of SEALS in Afghanistan who had done the same thing.
Zane gestured toward the African-American soldier. “This is Corporal Desmond Wilson.”
He smiled and offered his hand to her. “You can call me Dez.”
“Nice to meet you, Dez,” she said.
Zane next indicated the one with the close-cropped blond hair. “This is Corporal Paul Nash.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“The pleasure is all mine.” His eyes roamed a bit much for her taste. Need to keep my eye on him, she thought.
“And finally,” Zane said, gesturing toward the other two men, “we have Sergeant Landon Tocchet and Sergeant First Class Rod Bennett.”
The two men leaned over the rail and shook her hand.
“Nice to meet you, ma’am,” Sergeant Bennett said. He tugged on his hair and said, “I apologize for our appearance.”
“No worries. I’m sure after a few days in the jungle, you guys won’t even want to look at me.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” Zane said.
Amanda popped him on the arm as the soldiers returned to their duties. She noticed that Nash looked at her as he walked away. He gave her a little smile, but she quickly turned to look at Zane.
Brett lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the early-morning sun. “Still no sign of Dr. Mills?”
Zane frowned. “Not that I saw.”
“I checked online, and their flight arrived on time last night.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” Amanda asked. “You seem concerned.”
Brett looked at Amanda. “Let’s just say he’s not a big fan of Dr. Mills’s colleague.”
Zane shot him a glance.
“Dr. Maxwell Cameron?” she asked. “What’s wrong—”
“I’m sure nothing is wrong with Dr. Cameron,” Zane said. “Just an old soldier’s intuition.” He patted her on the shoulder. “My big concern is actually you. Pretty girl from Austin trying to survive in the jungle.”
She laughed. “Look, I’ve traveled all over Africa and the Middle East. I’ve been bitten by nasty bugs, crawled on by spiders, struck at by snakes, and I even survived a dust storm in the middle of the desert. I think I can take care of myself.”
“Not bad for an academic,” Zane said. “Unfortunately I think we’re going to run across some things that will make that look like child’s play.”
“You sure you aren’t the one who’s scared?” Amanda shot back with a smile.
Zane winked at her.
“He’s right, you know,” said someone behind her.
Amanda turned to see a man in his fifties or early sixties standing on the boat. He must have slipped up quietly while they were talking. He had dark hair flecked with gray, a bushy mustache, and a pleasant but weathered face.
The man lifted a cigar and took a slow draw. After blowing a plume of smoke in the air, he said, “The jungle can be a terrifying place for those who visit for the first time. You must give it all the respect it deserves.”
Zane gestured toward the man. “Amanda, I’d like you to meet Jorge Salvador. He’s the captain of the Izabel.”
She extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Amanda Higgs.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said with a smile. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I’ve always found it better to let people know just how different the jungle is from what they’re accustomed to.”
“The good news is that I’ve been in a few rainforests before, just not here,” Amanda said.
Jorge nodded as he took another draw. “That’s good. Just remember that we’re going deeper than any tour group would ever go.” His eyes narrowed. “In fact, we’re going deeper into the jungle than most scientists go. And for the unprepared, it can be a frightening experience.”
“I can assure you I have the deepest respect for the jungle.”
He nodded, although she couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. He seemed like a nice guy, but more importantly, he seemed like the kind of guy you’d want watching your back out in the middle of Amazonia. He was the kind of man who knew secrets, the kind that could kill you.
Zane nodded at the boat. “Brett, why don’t you introduce Amanda to the crew?”
“I’d be happy to,” Brett said, swinging a section of the railing back. “Welcome aboard.”
Amanda stepped up onto the craft and wondered how long it would be before she’d step off again.
***
As Brett escorted Amanda onto the boat, Zane heard a man speaking loudly from the boardwalk. “So they expect us to travel on a small—”
“Are you sure this is the right one?” the woman next to him asked.
“Of course I’m sure. The name is right there.”
Zane watched as the two stepped onto the dock, pulling wheeled luggage behind them. The woman was wearing a solid-red T-shirt, snugly fitting jeans, and running shoes. Zane immediately recognized Dr. Katiya Mills from her pictures. The photograph hadn’t done her justice, he mused. The woman was a classic beauty. Her lush brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her smooth, cream-colored skin made her seem even younger than her thirty-seven years. She was even wearing her trademark red lipstick.
Standing next to her was a man who needed no introduction. Maxwell Cameron’s shaggy dark hair looked longer than Zane remembered. What did look the same was the permanent sourpuss expression on his face.
As the two approached, they seemed surprised to see Zane and Jorge standing there.
Pushing back from the rail, Zane and Jorge walked down the ramp. The Brazilian extended his hand. “My name is Jorge, and I’ll—”
“Cameron Maxwell,” the man said, shoving the handles of their luggage at the Brazilian. “Let me just say right up front that Dr. Mills and I won’t be staying in a room below deck. You can put our luggage—”
“There are no rooms below the waterline, senhor,” Jorge replied.
The woman stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m Katiya Mills. You’ll have to excuse both Cameron and me if we seem a little tired. It’s been a long trip.”
“Zane Watson,” Zane said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. I had the cell turned off, trying to save my battery.”
She seems sincere, Zane thought. The excuse is a little lame though.
Maxwell looked at Zane. “Well, you told us to be here today, and here we are. No harm, no foul.”
Zane thought about reminding him that they were supposed to arrive by noon but decided to bite his tongue. He was determined to keep things as peaceful as possible, even if the guy was a jerk.
“And here you are indeed,” he said.
“Allow me to show you to your rooms,” Jorge said. He grabbed the handles of Katiya’s two suitcases, ignoring the ones Maxwell had thrust toward him.
The linguist muttered something under his breath and followed them up the ramp.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE MAN SITTING outside the café took another slow sip of coffee and set the cup down on the table. He picked up the Manaus newspaper and held it in front of him, using it as a shield while he watched the two men on the boat about fifty yards away.
Squinting, he watched their lips move in unison with the voices that crackled through his earbuds. His English was poor, so he found it difficult to follow everything they said. In the end, it didn’t matter whether he understood them or not. The entire conversation was being transmitted to a remote location, where it would be translated later that day.
There was a bit of static, so the man adjusted the position of his listening device, which was constructed to look like an MP3 player. It was a design feature that allowed the user to operate only a few yards away from the target. The Americans always boasted of their superior technology, but as far as he knew, they had nothing like this.
Despite the tactical advantage, the man still felt a bit unsettled operating so close to his targets. He was old school and would’ve much preferred conducting surveillance the old-fashioned way, from a distant rooftop or from inside a communications van.
Suddenly the man’s eyes narrowed. Two more people, a man and a woman, had approached the boat. He recognized them immediately from the photographs he’d studied over the last several days. Both were professors from NYU. If his information was correct, that meant the entire American team had arrived. It also meant they’d likely be departing soon.
His work now complete, the man stowed the listening device and earbuds inside his rucksack. He threw a few bills on the table, stood, and stepped out onto the boardwalk. The crowds were still thick, allowing him to blend in without fear of detection. Everything had gone off without a hitch.
Two minutes later, he arrived at dock fifteen. A Brazilian teenager stood from a bench as he approached. After paying the boy, the man walked until he found the skiff moored where he’d left it that morning.
After climbing in, he untied the rope and pushed away from the post. Once the craft was clear of the other boats, he started the engine. It sputtered to life, sending plumes of acrid smoke into the air. He puttered past the end of the dock and turned west, easing through the no-wake zone.
He smiled as the boat skimmed across the water and the wind beat against his face. The Americans had chosen a small team, perhaps emphasizing mobility over strength. That would be a fatal mistake. Yes, there were current and former US Special
Forces soldiers in the group, but most of the others looked soft. American soft.
Now out on the river, he opened the throttle. Seconds later, he passed the Izabel. An excited shiver ran through his body as he stared at the people he would soon kill.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Amazon River, Brazil
AFTER A LIGHT dinner of broiled fish and fruit, the group gathered on the bridge of the Izabel. Zane and Jorge stood at the front next to Marcos, who was at the helm. The others were seated in folding chairs arranged in a semicircle.
A storm raged outside, rocking the boat slightly as it chugged downriver. Rain pounded the roof so hard that it sounded like the beating of a hundred snare drums, while wind swept across the bow, carrying with it small tree limbs and leaves.
As the rain hit a momentary lull, Zane cleared his throat and said, “First of all, I’d like to thank each and every one of you for coming.”
Max Cameron leaned toward Katiya. “What is this, The Love Boat?”
Zane looked over at him. “Excuse me?”
“Thank you,” Katiya said, digging her elbow into Max’s side. “It’s a pleasure to be here.”
Zane nodded but let his eyes linger on Max a moment before continuing. “As I was saying, thanks to each and every one of you for coming. We have a long, tough journey ahead, and I need you to pay close attention to what we’re going to cover tonight.” He nodded at Brett, who typed out a command on his laptop. A satellite map of the Amazon River appeared on a wall to the operative’s left. He lifted a laser pointer and hovered the dot over a city. “We have just left Manaus, which is here. Sometime tomorrow we will take this tributary north toward our destination.” He moved the red dot along the route. “We’ll follow the tributary for another day before finally anchoring somewhere along in here.” He hovered the dot over an area near where the tributary disappeared into the green of the jungle. “That means we’ll be in the boat for about two days before starting our trek across land.”