by Darren Hale
36
Thursday 19th October:
‘So how much further do we have to go?’ Juliet whined.
‘Not far…’ said Martin unsympathetically.
‘It’s just that if I’d known we were going to be out hiking all morning, I might have come better prepared.’ She pointed to her shorts. A maze of tiny scratches criss-crossed her bare legs, punctuated here and there with red spots that itched like crazy: a legacy of the jungle’s many bloodthirsty insects.
‘You know, you spend more time whinging than my five-year-old son.’
‘You have children? I find that hard to believe…’
‘Just the one…’
‘Let me guess – then she left you,’ suggested Juliet sardonically.
Martin nodded. ‘Something like that…’ He paused to check the compass. Its tiny dial was meticulously crafted into the face of his watch. The needle flickered a few times before coming to a rest. ‘Okay… we’ll stop here and give you a moment to get your breath back.’
Juliet spied the broken bough of a dead ceiba tree arching across the ground. The desiccated wood had become a home to soft mats of emerald-coloured mosses and exuberant growths of fungi. She tentatively tested it with her weight, then sat down.
‘Look, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that crack about your wife…’ she said finally.
Martin nodded in acknowledgement but didn’t answer. The subject was evidently off-limits.
She tried a different tack. ‘So where exactly are we going?’
‘I had to leave a few things behind when I came to find you. And the way things are going, they are likely to prove rather handy.’
‘You mean we aren’t trying to get out of here?’
‘Get out of where?’
‘Here!’ she said, flourishing her arms. ‘This jungle. Get some help for our friends.’
Martin snorted. ‘And just how do you propose we do that?’
‘We hike back to the jetty… We have boats… We can make our way back to the Napo and get some help.’
Martin shook his head. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. I’ve already been to the jetty and it looks like they’ve taken care of the boats. And besides, even if we made it back to the Napo, it wouldn’t be long before one of their patrols found us.’
‘We have to do something…’ Juliet shouted. ‘Those are our friends back there!’
‘Were our friends… For all we know, they’re dead already.’
‘You complete bastard! Just who in the hell do you think you are?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh - come on! Surely you don’t expect me to go on believing you are nothing more than a lowly botanist! I mean, look at you. You have more in common with Rambo. And you know way too much about those… those… thugs! Maybe the professor was right about you after all…’
‘Oh yes, and just what did the wise old professor have to say on the matter?’
‘That you were working with someone to try and steal the treasures we’ve discovered.’
Martin chuckled. ‘And what on earth might have led him to that conclusion?’
Juliet hesitated, a guilty expression on her face. ‘After the radio was sabotaged, we made a search of the tents. Angus and Oki found a bullet beneath your hammock…’
‘That’s it? That’s your incontrovertible evidence?’
‘Well, according to Angus it wasn’t any ordinary bullet. And the way you killed that man… I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life. But you… you… barely seemed to care…’
‘They were bad men,’ he replied, almost sympathetically.
‘Yeah… yeah… And if it hadn’t been them, it would have been us… But that doesn’t mean I could have done what you did… Who are you?’
Martin heaved in a deep breath. He could see Juliet staring as she waited for an answer. ‘My name really is Martin Bennett. I am on attachment with the DEA.’
‘DEA?’
‘The Drug Enforcement Administration…’
Juliet looked puzzled. ‘And what on earth does the Drug Enforcement Administration want with us? We’re not exactly hardened criminals you know.’
‘We’re not after you…’
‘Then just who were you after?’ Then it dawned on her. ‘You really are a complete bastard, aren’t you? How could you do it? You knew they were here… You knew about these terrorists all along, and you let us come anyway!’ Her eyes blazed with anger.
‘It wasn’t going to make any difference… We’re based in the United States. We have no jurisdiction over a British expedition. Besides, your Professor Ellis was made fully aware of the risks and chose to come anyway. And there was nothing we could have said that was going to make him change his mind. So, it was decided that as long as you were coming, we would use the opportunity to insert an agent.’
Juliet’s brain was reeling. ‘The professor knew about you all along?’
Martin shook his head. ‘No. As far as he was aware, I was just who I said I was – a biologist with Cenes Pharmaceuticals. If he’d known the truth, he would never have allowed me to join the expedition. Besides, we didn’t want to attract any attention, if we could avoid it. You never know who might be sympathetic to the rebels.’
‘And what about the Peruvian Government? Surely, they knew of the dangers? And yet, they were happy to issue visas regardless?’
‘It was in their interest… As you probably know, the bulk of cocaine imported into the US comes from South America. It used to be from Colombia, but with increased co-operation from the Colombian Government, we’ve started to have some impact on their operations. So, the Colombian cartels have turned their attention to Peru. The Huallaga River valley is one of the richest cocaine producing areas in the world, and its produce is almost exclusively under the control of FARC, who have been shipping the cocaine up and across the border to Colombia and then selling it to the cartels in exchange for weapons. But, until now, we had no idea how they were managing it, though we suspected that most of it was coming up the Napo River by boat and was then travelling overland to Colombia. So I was sent here to investigate. The US government is keen to stop this trafficking, and the Peruvian government will assist in anyway it can. Anything to keep those weapons out of the hands of the FARC.’
Juliet’s face remained like thunder. She did not appear to have been swayed by his explanation. ‘And why would the Peruvian Government be worried about a Colombian paramilitary organisation?’
‘Because paramilitary groups don’t respect the usual borders. Out here, they’re as much a Peruvian problem as they are Colombian.’
‘So,’ she said, returning to the burning issue, ‘you pulled a few strings to get our visas approved…’
‘The professor can be quite persuasive. He didn’t need much help from us.’
‘If that’s true… Who sabotaged the radio and why, after all this time, have FARC suddenly taken an interest in our expedition?’
‘As you said, it probably has something to do with the artefacts you’ve found. Money is money, and the FARC doesn’t really care where it comes from. If these items you’ve discovered are as valuable as you think, then the FARC is going to be very interested in them indeed.’
37
Thursday 19th October:
Eduardo lay in his hammock, chilled despite the blankets pulled tightly around his neck, his mind wandering the no man’s land between reality and delusion. Mired in his dreams, he was unaware of Enrique standing over him, watching impassively as his body trembled with convulsions.
‘You found him like this?’ Enrique enquired dispassionately. Having received word of the man’s condition, he’d come to investigate.
‘Sim camarada Barrera…’ Fabio replied. At seventeen years of age, he was the youngest man under Eduardo’s command, though his eyes had seen just as much loss and pain as any one of them.
‘Malaria?’
Fabio shrugged. ‘It is possible… I’m afraid I am
no doctor.’
‘But he has spoken to you?’ Enrique asked.
Fabio shook his head. ‘Nothing that makes sense. He says a little, but mostly it is the rambling of a madman.’
‘About anything in particular?’
‘He mentions Paititi, but I have never heard of such a person.’
‘Paititi…?’
‘You know of her?’
‘Paititi is not a person… It’s a place… A legendary Incan city filled with gold and gems.’
Enrique’s smile had become infectious and Fabio beamed widely as he replied. ‘Gold…’
‘Does he say where?’ Enrique asked.
‘Nenhum camarada. He has said nothing more than Paititi is here…’
‘You’ve searched the tents?’
‘Sim camarada.’
‘And have you found anything of this treasure he mentions?’
‘Nenhum Camarada Barrera. We have found a good deal of pottery, and some pieces of jade and obsidian, but no gold. Perhaps he was already with fever when he informed you of its existence? Maybe it is just a delusion?’
The thought dangled upon a brooding silence. Then Eduardo started to cough, expelling each breath with a vigour that sent errant flecks of blood-stained sputum flying in Enrique’s direction.
Grimacing in disgust, Enrique wiped them from his cheek.
‘Water…’ Eduardo groaned, his eyes still vacant.
Enrique nodded to Fabio. ‘Let him have a drink from your canteen.’
Fabio hesitated. He did not like the way the man looked and was in no hurry to share his flask. ‘Are you sure? He does not look well…’ Then, fearful of what Enrique might say, if given the chance, he reached for the bottle at his hip, unstopped it, and held to Eduardo’s lips.
Almost oblivious to the gesture, Eduardo took a few sips, then sagged back into his pillows.
‘One of the prisoners claimed to be a doctor. You will bring her here at once and have her take a look at him. I want you to stay with her at all times. She is not to be left unguarded. Is that clear?’
‘Sim camarada…’
‘And if our friend here should recover consciousness enough to speak, I am to be informed at once. We have much to talk about.’
‘Sim camarada…’
38
Thursday 19th October:
‘So, this is it? This is your camp?’
Juliet was less than impressed. A rather drab, olive-coloured tent stood on the verge of a small clearing. Its simple lozenge-shaped design had clearly been intended for just a single occupant.
‘Ah-ha…’ Martin replied.
‘You had me hike all the way for this?’
‘You had somewhere better to go?’
‘No – I guess not.’ Her head sagged wearily on her shoulders, aches creeping into her muscles as pain-numbing endorphins were purged from her system. She turned and gazed at him with a girly affectation. ‘So, who gets the tent then?’
‘Well, maybe if you behave yourself, I’ll let you share…’
It wasn’t the answer she’d hoped for. ‘You are joking! There’s barely enough room for one in there.’
‘That’s okay. I think I have a spare blanket around here somewhere. I’m sure you’ll find it quite comfortable on the ground. Although… you might have to watch out. There are some pretty big spiders out here during the night.’
‘Verrry funny…’
Martin reached amongst the bushes and lifted a backpack from its impromptu hiding place.
‘I don’t suppose you have anything to eat in there?’ asked Juliet hopefully.
Martin produced the remains of a bread roll wilting inside layers of cellophane and handed it to her.
‘Thanks…’ She tore the roll in half and offered him his share.
‘That’s okay – it’s all yours.’
Without offering him a second chance, she wolfed down both halves. ‘So, what else do you have in there?’ she asked between mouthfuls.
‘Not much… A tin of macaroni and cheese, a couple of packets of vegetable soup, and half a flask of water…’
‘Yummy.’
‘Well, I suggest you make the most of it, because, when it’s gone, we’re going to have to live on whatever we can scavenge from the bush.’
Juliet licked her fingers, mopping up the last of the sticky juice that had trickled between them. ‘So, what now?’
‘I suggest we lay low here for a couple of days. I’m sure it won’t take them long to discover the body of the man we encountered, and when they do, they’ll be looking for us. With a bit of luck, we’re far enough away here and can double back once the heat has settled.’
‘And what happens to our friends in the meantime? We can’t leave them to the mercy of those… those… thugs!’
‘I’m afraid there isn’t all that much we can do. If you hadn’t noticed, we are rather badly outnumbered,’ Martin observed.
Juliet brightened, inspired by a sudden flash of inspiration. ‘We can call in some backup. You’re a spy, aren’t you? Surely you have some kind of radio we can use.’
The radio – a rather bulky military issue handset – lay snugly nestled within one of the side-pockets of Martin’s backpack. He removed it and tossed it across to her. ‘You mean this… I’m afraid it’s not going to do us very much good – the battery’s dead.’
Juliet turned the radio over in her hands. There was a volume dial set into the top of the handset. She switched it on and turned up the gain. It hissed back at her like a startled viper, spitting out gasps of white noise as it sucked the remaining life from the battery before falling silent. ‘Grrreat! I’m surprised you ever made it through spy school. Don’t they teach you to carry a spare?’
‘As a matter of fact, they do. It’s back at the tent. Unfortunately, your supply shipments have been less than reliable, and like the rest of you, I’ve had to make do with what little I’ve got.’
‘But your friends… They know where you are… right?’
‘Yes…’ he said warily. He could see where this was going. If they knew he was here, they would surely send in the cavalry to rescue him; dozens of DEA officers rappelling from helicopters, armed to the teeth in true Hollywood fashion? But it seldom worked that way in real life.
‘Well if they don’t hear anything from you, they’ll come looking – won’t they?’
‘I’m afraid it’s not that simple. We are on the verge of closing a major drug-trafficking network here in South America. An operation that’s already consumed a great deal of time and manpower. No one is going to risk jeopardising everything we’ve achieved for the sake of one man. At the end of the day, I volunteered for this operation, and they know it.’
‘Ahh, don’t give me that sanctimonious bullshit. If you hadn’t noticed, my friends’ lives are in danger. If we’ve got a way of getting in contact with the outside world, we are going to take it. We need that battery pack. And you are going to help me get it…’
39
Thursday 19th October:
‘Ouch! Is that really necessary?’ Catherine protested.
The guard smiled malevolently, then struck her again, slapping her between the shoulder blades with the butt of his rifle.
Knocked off balance by the force of the blow, she stumbled and fell to the ground.
‘Get up!’ he ordered. Grabbing her roughly by the arm, he hoisted her to her feet. He was strong, though nothing more than a boy to her eyes – sixteen or perhaps seventeen years of age at most, though any evidence of his youth had been scoured from his soul. His features were as passionless as granite and he showed no compunction when it came to beating women…
He shepherded her toward a tent that had until recently belonged to Eduardo and Arno, and nudging her with the muzzle of his gun, ushered her inside.
She stalled. The weapon’s touch had chilled her through the thin sweat-stained fabric of her blouse, nevertheless, paralysed by premonitions of rape and murder, she hadn’t dared to mo
ve.
He jabbed her harder.
‘Entrar!’
And then, stepping forward, he planted his hand roughly in the small of her back and shoved her inside.
Eduardo was lying in his hammock, tightly cocooned in layers of blankets. Her eyes fell upon him almost immediately. ‘Oh my God! Eduardo. Have they hurt you?’ She started to approach but stopped a few short paces from where he lay. He wasn’t moving, and for one chilling moment she thought he was dead. His face bore the mottled complexion of a corpse and his breath passed his lips with barely a whisper.
She turned and faced her guard accusingly. ‘What have you done to him?’
He gave her a bland stare. ‘You help him.’
‘Well, you know I would like to… But I can’t do very much with my hands tied behind my back, now can I?’
He didn’t move.
Catherine turned her back to him and waved her hands up and down. ‘My hands…’
There came the dispassionate rasp of metal on metal as her guard drew his knife from its scabbard, followed by the cold caress of its blade against her wrist. Then, with one forceful movement, he drew the knife upward, severing her bonds. ‘Now you will help him,’ he asserted.
Catherine took a moment to massage her hands, squeezing the blood back into her numb fingers before examining her patient, taking his wrist as she hunted for a pulse. His skin felt hot and clammy to her touch, flushed pink with stagnant blood, and his pulse fluttered almost impalpably beneath her fingertips. She timed it with her wristwatch – one-hundred-and-twenty-four-beats-a-minute – weak and thready… Much faster than the plodding sixty to eighty beats it should have been.
And then she inspected his arm...
The infection had spread beyond the edge of the bandage as the bite had become a puckered ruin of flesh, surrounded by red, swollen skin. A quick check of his temperature confirmed her fears. The infection had entered his bloodstream. She started tearing away the sheets and blankets, throwing them to the ground at her feet.