by David Faxon
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
Lateri’s tribe, a branch of the Yanomami, became westernized in a relatively brief period of time, yet held to many of their beliefs and customs. Some were strikingly similar to those of the Machi-te. Their dialect had the same sounds, their gestures the same meaning, their innuendos much the same. Connery found it easy to converse with them. They responded lavishly. Each morning he found gifts of food, trinkets, even tamed birds, placed by his bed. They insisted on celebrating into the evening, and he drank their strange concoctions. It was almost as if he had never left the Machi-te.
Overshadowing all, however, was the presence of the mining company and its influence. It lay but a short distance from the village. For Connery, it was a constant reminder of Castelo Branco and the pledge he made to bring him down. Every day, he saw the company name emblazoned on a sign at the entrance. His hostility grew. What intrigued him the most, and he had seen it with his own eyes, was the crude airstrip carved out of the forest. Company planes must fly in. That meant he could fly out. He would have to take his biggest gamble yet; make himself known to the enemy. Did they have reason to conclude it was him who destroyed De Santana's operation? Surely, Castelo Branco was notified of what happened, and with his sudden emergence from the jungle with the Indian girl, Connery suspected that someone in his organization had to be putting facts together. It was inevitable they would be more than curious and their capabilities more than dangerous. He would have to invent a plausible story. One that would put him in the clear.
How inquisitive would Gomez be? From what he heard, he was no better, maybe even worse, than De Sanatana. Lateri was a witness to Reyes' murder. She could link that event to Castelo Branco and therefore become a real threat to him. A candidate for elimination. Before he could do anything, Connery would have to convince the tribal leader to move her and her family to where it was safe. Then he would speak with Gomez.
The next day, he requested a meeting with the chief, who greeted him as if he were an old friend. They called him a chief. In reality he was, but not in the sense that Guardara claimed the title. Change brought dilution to the position, and he became more of an ombudsman. His wrinkled face showed few teeth, his long hair splayed from under a battered straw cowboy hat. A faded plaid shirt and half- smoked cigarette completed the image. He symbolized what the once proud Yanomami had become; an ethnic group absorbed into a culture they really held no desire to join. The Machi-te, primitive as they were, at least possessed a purist culture. One yet to be diluted by outside influences.
Azanquara talked with a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth. Every so often he flicked the ash, put the but back in his mouth and inhaled deeply. Connery noticed the yellow stains on his fingers, wondering if his lungs had fared any better.
“I am happy at your visit. Welcome to my hut. Why do you wish to see me?”
Connery spoke a flattering salutation, then got straight to the point.
“I'm here because I fear for Lateri and her family.”
“Why? Everything is well, she has returned. We are most grateful.”
“There are things you may not know. Do you remember her father, Yeharau?”
“Of course. The garimpieros said he murdered one of their important men. We never saw him again.”
“And you never will. The same people who took him murdered him. Possibly dumped his body from a plane. Now Lateri may be in danger also.”
“Was it De Santana?”
“No, but he gave the order. There is someone above him that is far more dangerous. His name is Castelo Branco. He is powerful, his influence far reaching. Lateri witnessed things she will not mention to anyone until she is ready. These include the death of an important man. She knows De Santana killed him, and she can link him to this man Castelo Branco. He has grown rich from the pollution of your waters and land. He isn’t afraid to eliminate anyone who interferes. You must move her and the family to where they are safe. I will get word to you when I think it is OK for them to come out of hiding.”
“I know a place, but how will I explain. My people will be curious.”
“You are the chief. You will find an explanation. In the meantime, I will convince them they must leave soon. I know I can trust you. There is one more thing. It’s no secret why Lateri was at that site. She suffered badly at the hands of De Santana. He forced her into prostitution; you know this, her family knows this. She never changed; she never did anything for De Santana willingly.”
With that, Connery left. He found Lateri outside the communal hut with her mother. He greeted them warmly then repeated his request of the chief. She listened with growing apprehension. There was sadness in her eyes, but she understood. She knew what the garimpieros were capable of. Their situation extended far beyond the influence of Gomez. Connery told them that their exile would not be permanent. One day it would be safe to return. In a day or two, he would arrange to meet with Gomez.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Gomez was completing his morning inspection of water cannons and river mining barges, barking orders, shoving workers who didn’t react fast enough. He was in a foul mood when Vasquez approached, asking to speak with him.
“What is it Vasquez? This better be important!”
“Senhor, the man wishes to speak with you.”
Gomez’ mood changed. With it, came a wry smile. He would get to meet this mystery man after all. He’d better have the right answers.
“Tell him to be in my office at 11.”
By noon, Connery had been waiting for an hour. He sensed a cat and mouse game. His impatience growing, he looked around the cramped outer office; drab, gray and cluttered. Tiny mites scurried across desktop papers. Cigar ash was everywhere. On the wall, hung a dour picture of Castelo Branco, who seemed to stare at him suspiciously. You will get yours, he thought, then went back to rehearsing the story in his mind. It was plausible. Nevertheless, the fear that he overlooked something worried him. His confidence began to erode. Finally, the door swung open. Gomez strode into the room, trailing a plume of cigar smoke. Connery offered his hand, but there was no reciprocation. Instead, Gomez spoke in accented English, peppered with Portuguese slang.
“Why are you here?”
“I’ve been in the jungle for a year. It has taken me a long while to get this far. I’d like to get back where I came from, the USA. I see you have an airstrip”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Dan Templeton.”
Gomez methodically removed a cigar from his shirt pocket, unwrapped it, wet the end with saliva, then lit it. When he was ready, he sat behind his desk and put his feet up.
“First a few questions, eh, Mr. Templeton? I have heard stories that you were in a place where few men go. That’s of interest to me.”
“That's right.”
“No one goes there. Why did you?”
“I should have mentioned before, I am Reverend Daniel Templeton, a missionary seeking to bring the Gospel to indigenous tribes. I have been doing God's work for several years in the Amazon. I decided my calling was to reach souls who dwell far in the interior. I traveled with a fellow missionary. He was killed. I barely escaped with my own life.”
Gomez glared. The thought that this man could be anything other than an accomplice in the destruction of the company's mining site never occurred to him.
“So, its Reverend Templeton is it? You know by now, of our unfortunate occurrence down river. That’s a mystery to me, Reverend. Strange you should show up with a little whore from this village who just happened to keep our boys happy. Do I have that right, Reverend? You wouldn’t have been part of that, would you? And the boat. How did you come by it? It’s been identified as our equipment. How do you explain that little coincidence? If it's true you came from where you said, there's only one place you could have gotten it. I think you have more to tell, no?”
Gomez flicked ashes on the floor. Connery answered with glibness.
“I was at the place you d
escribe. I met your man. De Santana, I think was his name. With all due respect, he wasn’t the most pleasant person. Made me sleep outside when I asked for help.”
Gomez hadn’t expected that kind of admission from someone he thought to be an impostor. He walked to the opposite side of his desk.
“Go on.”
“You see, the same tribe that sacked your operation attacked my friend and me earlier. That’s how he was killed. I fled for my life and was lost for two days. I was surprised to come upon a place I thought offered protection, Tapejo, they called it. They could help me in exchange for information about the Indian tribe in the area. The next night, the same tribe attacked again. This time, your compound was over run in a matter of minutes. I was completely surprised. In the confusion, I ran into the jungle and hid-long enough to witness some of what they did. I assume no one survived. The boat was available, so I used it, or else I would still be out there.”
Gomez was intrigued. Here was an actual witness to the event. His story sounded plausible, but he was unconvinced. He had other questions.
“How do you explain the use of explosives? Were the Indians led by someone who knew how to use them?”
Connery continued lying adroitly.
“I don't know. It happened after I escaped. I was some distance away when I heard the explosions. The noise was deafening. I thought, if they had explosives stored in one of the sheds, the Indians had set fire to everything, and that must have set them off.”
“And the girl?”
“I saved her. We hid in the jungle two nights before she told me about the boat. We decided to go back and find it. The gasoline took us only a short way. We paddled more than two hundred miles. The journey took almost a month. If it weren’t for your company's boat, we never would have made it back. I'm in your debt and here to ask one more favor. That's all I can tell you. I have been gone a long while. I would like to get back to Brasilia and notify my family. Can you help by allowing me to fly out on your company plane?”
There was a long silence. Gomez stared straight into his eyes for what seemed an eternity. Connery thought he bought the story, but couldn't be sure. He decided to stay on the offensive.
“Is something wrong? Could you tell me when the next plane leaves?”
Gomez continued the game because he suspected something else. He was sure Castelo Branco would want Templeton interrogated. He could seize him now and do the job. The man’s stature with the Indians, however, could cause problems. He’d do it another way.
“Next Thursday, but don't count on it. They'll want to check your story. You'll know by Wednesday.”
“Thank you.”
“One more question. What did you say was the name of your church?”
It was a question he should have anticipated. The answer could easily be checked. He hesitated.
“We have no name. Five people, including myself, were inspired to do this work at our own expense. Three have since left. The fourth was killed as I mentioned before.”
“I see.”
Connery thanked Gomez again and left, fearful of what lengths Castelo Branco's men would go to check his story.
Gomez was quick to contact Brasilia and pass on the information. He called the number that would put him in touch with his boss directly. The phone rang several times before an impatient voice answered. Why is it that when I talk with this miserable bastard, I always feel like I have to kiss his ass?
“What is it?”
“Senhor, I am sorry to bother you, but I have information.”
“About what?”
“The one we talked about. He tells me his name is Templeton; says he is a missionary who fled from a rogue tribe. He asked De Santana for help. He was there when the massacre happened. Said he escaped that too, this time with the young Indian girl.
“What Indian girl?”
“Her father is the one accused of killing Reyes.”
Gomez heard a choking sound. He paused before continuing.
“De Santana took her to the new project. This Templeton brought her back, now the local tribe treats him as if he were a god. He wants to return to Brasilia. Asked if he could fly there in the company plane. He thinks I bought his story, but I don’t think he is who he says. Do you want me to handle this, or do you want him there?”
There was silence on the other end, then:
“I don't like it. I want to meet this person. You are right to suspect him, Gomez. He knows someone here. I don’t want him to know we suspect he’s involved. Let him think otherwise. He’ll lead me to the rest of his rat pack. Let him on board the plane. I will instruct my men on what to do from there. You make sure everything goes smoothly, then find out where that girl is.”
The loud buzz in Gomez' ear told him the conversation was over.
Within three days he sent word to Connery that he could fly to Brasilia in the company plane. He was to be at the office by 10:00 am, Thursday, for a ride to the airstrip. Connery was elated but apprehensive. Lateri was in a safe place. For the time being, he didn't have to worry about Gomez finding her. Before leaving, she and her mother thanked him many times. He promised that the disappearance of Yeharau would be avenged.
Things were about to change abruptly, as they had almost a year ago. He prepared to leave a wild, forbidding land and go to a city of over two million. He didn't want to look like a wild man when he got there. Since the crash, he had lost more than thirty pounds, wore a full beard with long hair. His skin had darkened considerably. His clothes amounted to a ragged pair of cut off pants and a green tee shirt, given him by Azanquara. That night he had two requests. Could the chief arrange for one of the women to trim his beard and hair? Secondly, where could he get some clothes? He knew the old chief had a son. Maybe he could borrow some of his. Azanquara said he would get it done.
He had one item that he counted on more than anything else- the gold medallion. Along with the money and small discs, he carefully sewed them into a false lining.
CHAPTER FORTY FOUR
Next morning, Connery left the village and walked about a mile to the compound. He was met at the gate by a listless guard who requested no identification. He smiled to himself. The security here was no better than the place he blew up.
He was twenty minutes early when he opened the door. Gomez glanced up, acknowledged his arrival with a nod and continued conversing with the men Connery assumed would accompany him on the flight. He waited patiently. Ten minutes later, he received an unexpectedly warm welcome. It heightened his apprehension.
“Reverend Templeton! You arrived early.” Gomez smile seemed forced. “Meet the men who will accompany you to Brasilia. I see you are looking a little more, shall I say, favorable since we last met.”
“Thanks. I did get some of the excess hair trimmed. I’m grateful for the arrangements you have made. I have borrowed some clothes too.”
“This is Roberto, Jaime and Santos. Roberto is the pilot, Jaime and Santos are company officials. Jaime has spent time in your country. You will have no trouble conversing. Please come this way.”
Connery looked at Santos, barrel chested, mustache, one ear missing. If he’s spent time in the U.S., it must have been in prison. Jaime was trim, lean, piercing eyes, shaven head. At the corner of his mouth, a white scar, another on his forehead. While he was neatly dressed, he looked like the type to avoid in a bar room fight.
The four got into a mud caked Land Rover. Gomez slammed the rear door shut then motioned the driver forward for the short drive to the airstrip. After nearly twelve long months, Connery was on his way and should have been elated. Instead, he felt trapped. This was too easy, Gomez too nice, these men too willing. They had to be on to him. Would he even reach Brasilia alive? Once aboard the plane, he would be completely under their control. He thought about reaching for the door handle, leaping from the car and bolting into the jungle, but the driver tripped the door lock mechanism. He was sure it wasn’t because of any safety concerns.
Fiftee
n minutes later, they pulled into a tiny airfield cut out of the forest. To the left, a small shack housed a fuel pump. That, and a few wind sockets, were the only visible signs that it was an air field. The runway was hard packed crushed stone. Its length looked short, almost too short for a takeoff. Connery noticed the drooping air sockets. Not even a slight breeze to provide adequate lift in the dense air. A man in dirty overalls stood next to the aviation gas pump, apparently the one who had prepared the plane for takeoff.
It was an older model Cessna twin-engine craft, fueled and waiting with the engines running. The same one that took Lateri’s father? The thought crossed Connery’s mind.
Santos put on a leather jacket and tossed a lighter one to Connery.
“Better put it on. We'll be flying above 10,000 feet. The heater doesn't work that well. Stow your gear in the back.”
“I'll take it with me, thanks. I have a notebook, some things I want to jot down before I forget.”
“Suit yourself.”
Connery climbed into the Cessna and sat directly behind Roberto, facing rear, Santos and Jaime opposite him, facing the front. An uncomfortable silence followed while Roberto checked the rudder, ailerons and flaps, then throttled the engines. He taxied to the end of the short runway, revved to max power until the craft shook, then released the brake. The plane, under full power, lurched forward, straining under a load of over a thousand pounds. Connery closed his eyes, glad to be facing the back of the plane. Roberto pulled the wheel toward his chest, gaining barely enough lift to clear the tall trees. Jaime noticed Connery’s nervousness.