The Golden Paw

by Jason Lethcoe

  Andy’s eyelids felt like they had weights tied to them as he shouldered his heavy rucksack and began the trek through the jungle to the airport where, Rusty had said, they would receive further instructions. As he walked, Andy patted his pocket. Thankfully, he’d remembered to bring his Zoomwriter. He’d nearly forgotten it in his rush to leave the tent.

  Not having my pen would be a disaster, he thought. How could he ever succeed in his big second chance if he couldn’t defend himself?

  Besides, not only was the fountain pen weapon incredibly handy, but he was an avid collector of writing instruments. Who knew if he’d be coming back to this base camp? He never would have forgiven himself if he’d left it behind and not been able to get it back.

  The group walked quietly, trying to make as little noise as possible. “All the more difficult for Bartlemore,” Rusty had whispered.

  Andy hazarded a look over his shoulder. There was no sign that they were being followed.

  Bartlemore’s probably snoring away under a cashmere blanket right now.

  Andy smirked. A Hollywood actor like Bartlemore finding it in himself to get up before noon was probably impossible. Andy had heard that the rich and famous had it pretty easy.

  He’s in for quite a shock when he finds out that we already left. I wonder what he’ll say to his cameraman about that.

  The thought of an outraged Bartlemore perked him up a little as he followed Rusty down a winding path. The brush was thick, but the big pilot easily led the way, cutting swaths of undergrowth with his razor-sharp machete, hardly making a sound as he went.

  The group zigged and zagged through the jungle in what Andy assumed was an effort to thwart any attempt by Bartlemore to follow them. It might take twice as long to get to wherever it was that they were going, but Andy was content to follow Rusty’s lead.

  As the darkness gradually began to lift, Andy took in his surroundings. Tall fruit trees grew everywhere, their long, hairy vines dangling like tentacles from their heavy branches. The trees were much easier to handle when they weren’t smacking your face in the darkness, conjuring up images of pythons. Andy had nearly jumped out of his boots when the first one had grazed his cheek and had spent the next five minutes unconsciously brushing the side of his face at just the thought of the huge snakes.

  Finally, after hours of marching, Rusty’s big voice boomed out, “Ah, there it is!”

  Andy looked up. The tall trees had come to an abrupt end, and a wide swath of land had been cleared for a large wooden building with a huge tower.

  “The Jungle Navigation Company Airport,” Rusty said with a smile. “Spent many weeks at this place when I was in training as a bush pilot. Good times!”

  Upon closer inspection, Andy could make out a runway with a few shabby planes parked nearby. A tattered wind sock, a hollow fabric tube mounted to a bamboo pole for the purposes of indicating the direction of the wind, fluttered on top of the tower, and the faintest sound of big band music drifted on the breeze.

  Rusty glanced back down the pathway in the direction from which they’d come. “Let’s just see him try to follow us,” he grunted. Then, adjusting his pack, he led the way down to the airport.

  There was no possible way Andy could have been prepared for what he saw when he entered the airport. Even an army of gorillas or a giant crocodile would have surprised him less.

  Battered and sweaty from the long jungle hike, the group emerged into the clearing—only to find a clean-shaven Bartlemore lounging in a hammock waiting for them. His sycophantic cameraman, Charlie, sat in a chair beside him.

  Bartlemore leapt from the hammock and grinned. “About time!” he exclaimed. “Took you long enough to get here. Charlie, are you ready to roll?”

  Charlie shouldered his camera and gazed through the eyepiece. “Ready to go, J.B.”

  Andy could hardly speak. The only word that left his mouth was a small whispered “How?”

  “We were intending to follow you, but instead, you followed us,” Bartlemore said, grinning. “Leaving at the crack of dawn. Tricky.” He waggled a finger at Rusty. “But the fact is, I already knew where you were off to. We used the studio plane to beat you here.”

  Bartlemore smiled again at the confused look on Rusty’s face. “Oh, the studio plowed a landing field about a mile from your campsite months ago. And since this is the only real airport for miles around, we assumed this was where you were going. No other way to get out of the jungle, unless you want to go back upstream or over the waterfall.”

  Bartlemore laid his hand on Rusty’s shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look. “If you’d only asked, I’d have been happy to arrange travel for your little group on the plane. There’s plenty of space. My producer spared no expense on this little junket, and we have a fridge stocked with champagne and beluga caviar.”

  He gazed down at Rusty’s travel-stained shirt and ripped shorts. “Might have saved you a cleaning bill, too.”

  Rusty looked like he was about to explode. He shoved Bartlemore’s hand off his shoulder and stalked toward the door to the wooden building. Andy and the others quickly followed, glaring at Bartlemore as they passed.

  Inside, Rusty bolted the door. The bush pilot gritted his teeth but didn’t say a word as he led the group past a row of battered desks with typewriters. Andy and Abigail exchanged worried glances. Rusty seemed really angry. Angrier than either of them had ever seen him before.

  At the back of the room was another door that led to a spiral staircase. The group silently climbed the steps. At the top, Andy gazed around at a panoramic view of the jungle.

  This must be the control tower, he mused. Andy peered through the nearest pane of glass at the runway below. Then, looking around the large square room, he spotted a desk next to a bay filled with countless switches and buttons. A microphone and headset rested on the desk, and there was a faded picture of Queen Victoria on the wall.

  Suddenly, a door banged open and a very harried-looking woman entered the room.

  “You’re late! I was afraid something might have happened. Who’s that fellow with the funny-looking cameraman outside? His plane landed a few hours ago…an Armstrong Whitworth European twin engine. Very nice! You know him?”

  Andy noticed that the whole time the woman was speaking, she was smacking a piece of gum. Her blond hair was up in a fashionable bun, but her face was freckled and rather plain except for her lipstick, which was a startling pink. She wore a leather pilot’s jacket and high boots.

  The woman noticed the others staring at her and introduced herself.

  “Where are my manners? Yaw Ripcord,” she said, shaking everyone’s hand in turn. Andy noticed that she had a very firm grip.

  “When I’m not piloting a plane, I’m the local dispatcher for all the flights coming in and out of the jungle. Not that we get a ton of traffic, but when we do”—she paused to pop her gum with a loud CRACK!—“I’m the gal who gets the job done.”

  Without waiting for the others to introduce themselves, she wheeled back around to Rusty. “So? What kept you?”

  Rusty’s eyes narrowed. “That idiot downstairs is an actor from Hollywood who’s following us. How quickly can you get us airborne? Did Ned send you a communiqué?”

  Yaw patted the pocket of her flight jacket. “Got it this morning. First stop, Iquitos, Peru? He said that by the time we get to our destination in Cuzco, he should have complete mission instructions waiting for you.”

  She cocked her head and, after blowing a bubble, asked, “So what’s this all about, Bucketts?”

  “You know I can’t discuss Society business, Yaw. Ned keeps you on retainer for special circumstances, and we’re in a pretty special one right now.”

  Andy noticed him looking out the window toward the clearing where they’d left Bartlemore. “The sooner we can get in the air, the better.”

  “Cagey as always. Well, surprise, surprise, this time your boss asked me if I would join you as official pilot and guide for the expedition…s
aid you would be too busy to fly. Paid a pretty penny, too, I might add,” she said with a wink.

  Rusty looked surprised. But his expression quickly turned from concern into a grin. “Well, he couldn’t have gotten anyone more qualified.” Rusty turned to the group and gestured toward Yaw with his thumb.

  “Ripcord here went to piloting school with me. Top of the class! Although I did give you a run for your money on that medical run to New Guinea. Beat you there and back with thirty minutes to spare.”

  “Twenty-nine,” Yaw corrected with a smile. “Come on, let’s get aboard. I want to hear all about your motley crew and Mr. Fancy Pants downstairs. I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”

  Yaw turned toward a door Andy hadn’t noticed before. “Louie!” she shouted.

  There was a muffled reply from somewhere behind the wall.

  “Take over the tower. I’m off!”

  “You got it, boss!”

  Yaw turned to Rusty. “Ready?”

  Rusty nodded. “The sooner we can get away from Bartlemore, the better,” he said. Then, with a nod and a wave, he gestured for the rest of the group to follow.

  As they walked back down the stairs, Andy moved next to Abigail and whispered, “What do you think? Can we get out of here without Bartlemore following us this time?”

  Abigail shrugged. “Fat chance,” she said.

  But Andy couldn’t help noticing that when she said it, it wasn’t with the same negative feeling the others seemed to carry toward the Hollywood actor. It seemed like she wasn’t too upset at the idea of Dan Daring’s following them. In fact, it seemed like she might even like the idea. And knowing that made Andy like John Bartlemore even less than he already did.

  Yaw Ripcord got them up in the air within ten minutes. But it wasn’t fast enough to shake Bartlemore. Within an hour, Yaw received a radio message from Louie that Bartlemore’s plane was following them.

  “His plane is much bigger than mine,” she shouted to the group over the roar of the propellers. “It’s going to be hard to shake him.”

  “Do your best,” Rusty replied. He was sitting next to Yaw in the cockpit and functioning as her copilot.

  Andy and the others were sitting in the cabin. Their seats had been modified with comfortable cushions and old-fashioned upholstery. In fact, the entire interior of the plane seemed more like someone’s living room than an airplane.

  Betty and Dotty noticed Andy examining a china plate with a puppy painted on it that was fastened to the cabin wall.

  “I’ve heard that Yaw lives on the plane when she’s not working in the tower. That she’s got a bunk in the luggage compartment. She loves planes so much, I wouldn’t be surprised if it were true,” Betty said.

  Andy raised his eyebrows in surprise. “That would explain why it feels so homey in here. Funny, at first glance she doesn’t seem like a person who would like all this kind of…” He gestured to the floral-printed chairs and silk flowers on a small dining table.

  “Froufrou?” Betty asked. She laughed. “We’ve known her for years, and as tough as she seems on the outside, Yaw still has a softer side. When she’s not fixing the motor on her plane, she likes to do needlepoint.”

  Andy grinned.

  “Why do you think we’re going to Iquitos?” Abigail asked. “What’s waiting for us in Peru?”

  “We’ve arranged to meet Cedric there,” Dotty explained. “And since the Jungle Explorers’ Society has one of its main office headquarters in Cuzco, I assume we’ll be in touch with Ned Lostmore once we arrive to find out more about our mission.”

  Betty nodded and chimed in. “For now, you two should get some rest. Peru is more than six thousand miles away, and it’s going to take a while to get there. Once we land, we won’t have much time for rest. You might wish you’d taken advantage of the time to sleep.”

  Andy noticed something interesting: instead of chairs, the sisters were situated on a comfy-looking sofa. Betty smiled and handed him one of the pillows that was next to the armrest.

  “This plane seems pretty small. Will we have enough fuel to get there? What if we run out? Are there stops along the way?” Andy asked. He knew that traveling such distances usually required much larger passenger planes. But his question went unanswered. Betty and Dotty had already settled into the couch and lowered silken sleeping masks over their eyes. Abigail saw Andy’s nervous expression and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  “Relax, Andy. The J.E.S. has waypoints between here and there for refueling. Yaw knows what she’s doing. My dad told me about her. She’s worked with the Society for years.”

  Andy nodded. He was a planner by nature and liked to know all the facts about everything before diving in. Unfortunately for him, he was coming to realize that his grandfather Ned wasn’t like that at all. Ned preferred figuring things out on the go.

  Andy sighed and decided that he’d try to follow the sisters’ advice. He pulled his leather jacket over himself like a blanket and tried lowering his battered newsboy cap over his eyes. But as he leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes, his mind kept wandering to Bartlemore, the fact that their enemies had a head start, what exactly the Golden Paw was, and whether they could find it first.

  Stop thinking! he told himself. All you need to worry about is the here and now. The rest will figure itself out.

  But try as he might, it was several hours before Andy finally fell asleep. And when he did, his mind was filled with troubled dreams.

  Andy was awakened by a heavy thud as the landing gear of Yaw’s twin-engine plane touched the ground. The cabin was dark, but he saw glimpses of light speeding by outside the windows and then slowing as the air brakes were applied.

  When the plane finally shuddered to a stop, he yawned hugely and glanced around at the others. Betty and Dotty were quietly snoring in unison, seemingly unaware that the plane had stopped. Abigail was curled up in a ball, her legs tucked under her on the cushy seat next to him. Andy hesitated, then lightly touched her shoulder and shook it gently.

  “Wake up, Abigail,” he whispered. “We’ve landed.”

  The girl raised her head and squinted at him. “It’s probably just a fuel stop. Go back to sleep.”

  But now that Andy was awake, a strong desire to get off the plane and stretch his legs overcame him. He quietly unbuckled his seat belt and, moving as quietly as he could, made his way toward the front of the plane.

  The door next to the cockpit was open, and Rusty and Yaw were nowhere to be seen. Andy cautiously stepped through and onto the collapsible stairway.

  The air outside was warm and rather muggy. Andy could see that they were parked next to a long thatched hut with a large fuel truck next to it. Torches illuminated a sign painted in large block letters that read TRADER SAM’S FOOD AND FUEL.

  Andy couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten. His stomach growled and he made his way down the stairs toward the hut, wondering if they had a candy bar or something.

  If they do, I’ll pick up one for Abigail, too, he thought.

  Andy pulled open the rickety bamboo door and stepped inside. The interior of Trader Sam’s was lit with a string of ship’s lanterns that cast a warm glow over everything in the shop. The place was kind of dusty, and the shelves were crammed with all kinds of knickknacks and souvenirs. On a rack near the front of the store were several handmade postcards, each depicting a watercolor painting of the Amazon River with various animals and birds.

  These are pretty good, Andy thought. The illustrations were expertly done and were priced at just a nickel. He picked out one of a happy-looking water buffalo and wandered deeper into the store, searching for a snack area.

  He passed several carved masks and wooden chests, the kind that a pirate might use to bury treasure. There were ships in bottles and tin lamps, tattered books and tiger skins. Everything looked fascinating, and he couldn’t help examining each item and wondering how it had ended up in the shop. Had they been scavenged from shipwrecks? Or did this mys
terious Trader Sam get shipments flown in from somewhere?

  Judging from the amount of dust, he must not sell very much, Andy mused.

  Finally, Andy found a shelf filled with what he was looking for: rows of candy bars, with names he didn’t recognize. Fortunately, they didn’t look as dusty as the rest of the items in the store.

  After studying the various kinds, he settled on two gooey cashew-filled chocolate bars called Macaw Mud Pies and walked toward the counter.

  He’d just rung a small bell, hoping to summon a cashier, when the sound of voices shouting outside grabbed his attention. Andy gazed through a nearby window and saw with disgust that it was none other than Bartlemore shouting at his assistant about being careful with the camera equipment he was carrying. The Hollywood actor’s shiny plane was parked nearby.

  Andy rolled his eyes, ignoring the exchange, and turned back to the counter. Bartlemore seemed intent on following them no matter how hard they tried to get rid of him.

  “Hello? Anybody here?” he called. Peering behind the counter, he saw an open door leading to a back room. Andy walked behind the cash register and peeked through the door. A light was on at the bottom of a worn staircase. He paused for a moment, unsure as to whether he should disturb the person below, but then called down.

  “Excuse me!”

  There was no answer.

  “I’m just going to leave money on the counter,” Andy called. “Two candy bars and a postcard.”

  Still no reply.

  Andy shrugged and walked back to the counter. He took out his Zoomwriter and grabbed a scrap of paper from the receipt pad. Andy had just finished writing the note to let whoever was in charge know that he’d left the money for the items he’d purchased when he heard a sound that made him jump.

  ROOOOAAAAR!

  Andy whirled toward the window and saw, to his horror, that Yaw’s plane was starting up.