by David Faxon
De Santana was in the habit of using large quantities of cyanide to experiment with a gold extraction method known as cyanide leaching. Leaching aided in the recovery of microscopic pieces of gold from ore rocks. He used poisons indiscriminately. When the experiment proved to yield less than expected, he angrily dumped the remaining drums into the nearby river. The rusting containers were used for target practice. To relieve his boredom, he fired holes into them with his 306 caliber rifle, releasing cyanide downstream. Nearby tribes knew of the gold mining operation, but refrained from attacking the outpost until the time was right. Also, they feared the sound of gunshots.
The extraordinarily high concentration of mercury and cyanide caused them to develop the same symptoms as the Machi-te, except much more severe. The poisons absorbed into the village's eco system, plants and water, to a far greater extent than Teman-e's village. Animals, along with hundreds of fish, washed up on the river banks. People became sick, then confused, often exhibiting bizarre behavior before slipping into a coma and dying. Many had received twice the lethal dose of 300 milligrams of cyanide. Others fled, leaving relatives and friends behind.
Connery came to the river, bent, scooped a handful of water and brought it to his nose. The odor of almonds. The villagers were the victims of cyanide, and the source was near. The area was toxic. He didn't know how to explain it, but told Teman-e, simply:
“They have been killed by a deadly poison, a very powerful one. This is why your people have been sick. Tell them not to drink from the river, but find other sources. Bring together your most trusted warriors. We will find where this comes from and return within a few days.”
“How do you know of this?”
“It is used in my world for other purposes, but sometimes careless men use it wrongly and people die.”
“Your people are the cause of this?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me why.”
“I cannot explain, but as you have the Wakawakatieri, we too have people who destroy others. Some know they do it. Others don’t want to know.”
Teman-e thought for a moment before saying:
“Are we to die also?”
He stared intently. Until now, he thought his friend to be from some place immune from such evil. Now, he wasn't so sure, but accepted the explanation. He walked with a quick stride back to Guardara and explained.
CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE
Tapejo II project
Paulo De Santana was drunk, and noon was still an hour away. An empty bottle of expensive vodka lay beside the chair where he dozed, oblivious to flies circling his head, humidity soaking his shirt. Across his lap rested a rifle. It provided one of the few diversions he had remaining. He spent most of that morning taking pot shots at rusting cyanide drums and rambling incoherently to no one in particular.
“Another day in your shithole, Estevo! Are you happy? You had it figured. I’m not supposed to leave here alive am I? I will disappear. I know too much! Just like your friend, you miserable…”
He reached for the bottle, took a long pull and fired another shot.
In his lucid moments, he knew the drums weren't quite empty and placed the rifle shots toward the bottom, allowing the remaining cyanide to drain into the river. He was beyond caring about consequences. After a half hour, his aim got worse and he passed out.
He was a contemptuous man, angry with everyone. Seven months at a remote outpost had fueled his hatred. Especially for Castelo Branco. Then there were ‘the lazy son of a bitch Indians’ who he blamed for work stoppages. But at the top of his list was Lateri for her lack of response in meeting his insatiable appetite for her. The more he saw her, the more he ravaged her. Two, sometimes three times a night. Her reaction was always the same, mechanical, bored. Then he would beat her until her face swelled and her nose bled.
The once beautiful girl cowered in a locked room most of the day, dreading the next summons from the monster she detested. Her hatred grew. Mere anticipation of being near him, sickened her. Then she would be led, zombie like, to his room, that ugly place, knowing if she was sick in his presence, things would go even worse. Each night brought a restless sleep that left her exhausted. Deep circles formed under her eyes, her weight loss noticeable. One thought kept her going; paying back De Santana for taking not only her father, but every last shred of her dignity. That day she heard gunfire in late morning. He was preoccupied for the moment. She was safe for a while, then it would begin all over.
De Santana always drank, but his drinking had spun out of control over the past few months. His stock of expensive liquor was rapidly declining. Soon, he would have to resort to the stuff the Indians made, and he wasn't looking forward to that. It was a month since the last supply boat. It would be a while before the next one came. Tapejo II was a dismal failure from the start and he blamed his boss. It was too far up river to bring in the required supplies on a regular basis, and there was always the incessant rain. Add to that, his fear of the primitive tribes. They were out there. Why hadn’t they come before now? All of it made for a trifling yield of gold. What little was extracted, came at a high price and he thought Castelo Branco must be extremely dissatisfied with the paltry amount. Maybe he figured he was keeping some for himself. But there were ways of knowing. Senhor Maranza, Castelo Branco’s lackey, kept careful count of the precious metal taken from the sluices. At least Maranza worked on a rotating basis. He could go back with the next boat while De Santana was there indefinitely, at the whim of his boss.
Something was wrong. Maybe it was the silence from Brasilia. Months of pondering convinced him that he wouldn't leave that place alive. He was the only one who could link the Reyes' murder to Castelo Branco. He will have me killed! That fat pig! The more he thought about it, the more erratic his shots became, until some of the workers thought he was shooting at them and ran into the jungle. It was then that he passed out in a drunken stupor.
Besides De Santana and Maranza the gold counter, there were only eighteen others at the mining site, six of them Indian workers. Security was lax. They had hastily erected several structures, including an office, a bunkhouse for the company regulars, a supply shed for dynamite and chemicals, De Santana's quarters and a small, separate living space for Maranza. Several rifles were in a locked closet at De Santana's place, and he figured those, in addition to the weapons carried by armed guards, were enough to discourage any Indians who might have ideas of attacking. He was afraid. He knew they were out there watching, waiting. The sounds they made at night were almost indistinguishable from the wild animals, but he knew the difference. Years in the jungle had taught him that much. He assigned three men to guard duty at night, and they would rotate after four hours. The guards were nervous, hearing stories about what the Indians did to those who entered their territory. It was only a matter of time before they took some measure of revenge.
The small party wove its way through the jungle, staying close to the river. Sometime before noon, Connery heard the distinctive sound of rifle fire. The others heard it too, but it was not something they recognized. At first, he was elated. Hunters, perhaps workers, were close by. This could be what he hoped for. Someone to get him out. At the same time, he couldn’t ignore Teman-e and his people, struggling simply to maintain an existence that civilization was rapidly taking from them. Now their waterways were poisoned. It was something he never would have concerned himself with in the past.
“Teman-e, there are people ahead with weapons far more powerful than yours. Stay well hidden.”
Teman-e again thought that Connery must be part of a dangerous tribe. They possessed venom more potent than curare and sticks that could kill from afar. He and his men moved ahead. The sound of rifle fire grew louder. They came to a place where acres of once magnificent forest were denuded.
Connery spotted the rusted, riddled barrels, the compound strung hastily with barbed wire, the high-powered water cannons and sluices. He was sure this was where the cyanide came from. He crept closer to
the barrels and saw the international symbol for poisonous materials. Beyond any doubt, this is what caused the sickness of an entire region. He whispered to Teman-e, we have found it.
Teman-e thought the best place to observe was from a perch in the tallest tree. He chose one with just the right girth and height and began a quick ascent. Within minutes, he was eighty feet above ground, astride a thick branch, watching closely the activity within the compound. What he saw stirred anger; an ugly scar of land. A once beautiful forest turned hideous. What replaced it were several large huts of a type he had never seen, strange looking devices that bewildered him and an abundance of refuse. He saw brown-skinned people, like him, who seemed to work for the strangers, obeying their commands. Other men, fully clothed, resembled Connery in stature and appearance. Why have they come here? The forest belongs to us and they have no respect for it. Why do they poison us, and harm our children? They are worse than women stealers. What he saw, ignited the ferocity attributed to many of his land and beyond; a ferocity that at times was uncontrollable, as when he killed Chora. He made the decision to be rid of the place and the people in it.
In the space of a few hours, he learned many things about the mining site and was sure it could be taken easily. Just before dark, he would observe again, a third time in late evening. He wondered about the long sticks carried by several in the mining camp who acted as guards. Connery warned him of them, but he hadn’t fully understood, so he asked once more. He was astonished, but the attack would be a complete surprise and the enemy would have no chance to use their weapons. It would come when they least expected it. The advantage would be his.
CHAPTER THIRTY SIX
Julio Martinez closed his eyes, fighting to stay awake. It was warm by the fire he built from scraps of wood that littered the ground. Remnants of the land clearing that took place several months prior. Martinez was fearful ever since coming to Tapejo II. For more than nine years, he worked for the mining company, but never this far into the rainforest. De Santana convinced him that it was in his best interests to join him and leave his wife and child. There might be trouble ahead if he refused. He missed his family. Another few months and he’d be back. De Santana promised.
His fear stemmed from the reputation of tribes rumored to dwell in these parts. Few of his people had seen them, but those who had, told stories. The lost tribes were secretive and practiced terrifying rituals. Most were unforgiving to those who intruded on to their land. It made him shudder. But what did he know? Only what he heard. He was just a poor worker. In another six months he'd be home. He was weary; sleep would soon be upon him. Somehow, he always managed to awake with approaching footsteps, able to avoid having to answer to that maniac De Santana, whom he despised.
This was his week for the 2 to 6 am guard, the one he hated most. He sat motionless before the fire in an obscure part of the compound, wishing time would move more quickly. The night held myriad ways to spook him. Flames danced into haunting images, the high-pitched cry of a jaguar unnerved him, the rustle of leaves and branches made him think someone was creeping up from behind. Despite his fears, he couldn't overcome the urge to sleep after a ten hour work day.
It was four o'clock, dawn a little more than an hour away. The forest quieted. What sounds remained were almost soothing. Julio Martinez fell asleep; rifle cradled in his arms and dreamed he was home. While he slept, there was activity near the remote northeast corner of the compound where the forest came closest to cleared land. From Teman-e's observation, it was the natural place to breach the loosely secured perimeter. The men took turns digging with their hands until there was a hole large enough to crawl under the barbed wire.
Teman-e was first inside. He watched as each man followed, quietly awaiting his signal. The attack would be short, violent, and bloody; each would throw himself into the fray. At Connery’s request, people in the largest building would be spared. He would honor it. Connery sensed that his exit from the Amazon might be aided by people who had found their way in and would know their way out. Unknowingly, he had spared Lateri's life.
When the signal came, they rose as one, running swiftly across the compound, making no sound until almost upon the guard posts. Then the cry of battle came. Like nothing the guards ever heard. Connery followed close behind. The attacking tribesmen were more than ready to deal death and destruction to those who desecrated their land with poisons.
Martinez was jolted awake by the arrow entering his throat. It severed his jugular. Wide eyed, he fell, gurgling and spitting blood. The other guards threw their rifles away, ran toward the compound and were overtaken at the gate. One, however, got off several quick shots. Two tribesmen fell. A scene of savagery followed. Teman-e leaped and caught the guard full force, knocking the rifle from his hands before he could fire again. Maranza, the gold counter, was chased from his quarters, begging to be spared. Two warriors picked him up and threw him into one of the night fires. He ran, aflame, into the darkness.
It was over in minutes. All of the out buildings, with the exception of two, were on fire, illuminating surrounding trees, throwing sparks high into the night sky. The last building taken was De Santana's. The door caved under pressure and tribesmen burst into his room. A cowering De Santana cringed, holding his hands around his ears. Tears and snot covered his face as he pleaded for his life. This was to be his end. Payback for knowing too much or for the failure of Tapejo II, he didn’t know which. It didn’t matter, there was nowhere to hide. At any moment, he would feel a spear shoved in his ribs or maybe worse, they would torture him unmercifully.
Yanked to his feet, he was sure who was behind the attack, and this man was sent to do the job.
“Don't kill me! Please! I never said a word. I never will! I did as Castelo Branco wanted. No one knows, I swear!”
Connery’s ears perked. Did I hear right? That guy in Brasilia. What was he into…ore mining? Could it be the same person? He brought the torch closer to De Santana's face, studied him carefully, then searched the room. In a corner, was a desk covered with scattered papers, coffee cups and a half-eaten sandwich. He picked up several papers and held them to the light. All had another familiar name printed at the top.
Companhia do Azevedo Limitada
On the wall above the desk was a photo of two men. Connery looked at the picture carefully, then looked again. The one in the middle, heavy set, dark complexion, the same stare. He couldn't believe what he saw. It’s him! Castelo Branco, the man who promised to invest millions in Hawthorne, the one responsible for this nightmare, was some kind of a crime boss. I was lured to Brasilia on a pretense, but why? Something told him that if he had made it there, and hadn't done what was required, he'd be turned into another puppet, like this blubbering mess before him. He thought back to his initial elation after the New York meeting, then the skepticism that almost made him ditch the whole thing and go back. Ironically, if it all played out to whatever Castelo Branco had in mind, he may not be alive now. The more he thought, the more enraged he became. A year of my life! For what?
Despite his anger, he saw an opportunity. If it worked out, it might get him closer to home, or at least closer to civilization. De Santana was scared and obviously had mistaken him for someone else. He thinks I’ve been sent here to kill him. He’s got answers. It should be easy to squeeze him further and see what happens. He turned toward the man before him.
“Your boss is unhappy; says you've been shooting off your mouth.”
“No! No! I haven't! He told me to do it. If I refused, he would have me killed!”
“Refused to do what?”
A look of surprise shot across De Santana’s face; like he had said too much and wished he could retract it. But it was too late.
“Reyes, the senator. You know about it.”
Connery never heard of a Senator Reyes. Was he murdered? How was Castelo Branco involved?
“I know about it? The question is, who else knows? Because you have a big mouth.”
“No one els
e, senhor. I swear!”
“He thinks you botched the job. Worse, you do have a big mouth.”
“I’m telling you! I set it up too good. Someone else took the blame. They could never trace it back to him.”
“Who did you blame it on?”
“A lazy Indian, and he's dead. The police are satisfied, Estevo’s satisfied. I thought everyone was satisfied.”
The tribesmen were getting impatient. They understood nothing of the conversation, their blood was up and they wanted to get on with it. Connery couldn’t hold them much longer.
A noise came from the back of the building. Someone else had survived the attack but would be dealt with quickly. Teman-e sent four tribesmen. They attempted to break the door down but with no success. It wouldn’t give. They told Teman-e they were unable to get to whoever was inside.
Connery heard the exchange and asked De Santana:
“Who's in the room?”
“A girl. One I keep for myself.”
“Give me the key. And be quick!”
De Santana opened the top drawer, took out a key and gave it to Connery. From inside, he heard a female voice, crying loudly. Connery unlocked the door and pushed it open. Staring at him with pleading eyes, a girl with a swollen face, blackened eyes.
“Who are you?”
She reached for his hand. Gently, he picked her up.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
The night of the attack, Lateri survived another assault by De Santana. When it had ended, she heard the door slam, the lock click, ensuring her confinement in darkness for most of the next day. With luck, she might see daylight for an hour, two at the most. That's when she was fed, like a caged animal. Sometimes the rice had fish, always, it had worms. Increasingly, she refused to eat anything.