The cockpit curtain slid aside and Paul leaned out. “You think you can do better, get your ass up here.”
Eddy and Steve laughed at Kevin, who they knew had just received an uncommon defeat in the virtual world in which he reigned supreme. Even his own son couldn’t keep up. Kevin shook his head and continued playing, eager to exact his revenge on the red player who had dared to kill him.
Eddy stood and wandered away from the excitement of the game. He looked back and surveyed the thirty additional crew members who were comprised of heavy laborers and Nicole’s additional film crew. They looked tired, but he knew they would work hard for the money Norwood was paying. He took his seat next to Eve, who was sound asleep. Eddy looked at her closed eyes, which fluttered with sleep, then her long legs, crossed elegantly. She was one of his oldest and truest friends. Her golden hair hung over her face, tickling her nose, which she scrunched during sleep. Eddy eased the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. His hand lingered, letting her smooth hair slide between his fingers.
He sighed, sat back in his seat and closed his eyes. He was asleep next to Eve in ten seconds.
Across the aisle, Nicole peeked at Eddy, looking past the latest addition of Documentary Maker. She put the magazine down and motioned to Mark Vincent, her camera man.
Mark saw the look in Nicole’s eyes and knew to be quiet. He scurried over to Nicole and she spoke in a hushed voice. “You see those two?” she asked, pointing at Eddy and Eve.
Mark nodded.
“You ever see them alone, I want you to be there. Got it?”
Mark nodded.
“Even if they’re in a sealed tent, I want you to find a shot through. Something’s gonna break between those two, and I want you to get it on film. The best angle for any of these boring science things is to find a little humanity among the crew and exploit it—turn them into celebrities. Are we clear?”
Mark nodded again.
“Good. Now shut up and go sit down.”
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
A series of metal buildings protruded from the solid white expanse of snow, like a fortress in the desert, five buildings in all. Base Camp Alpha. The buildings were well-maintained, as several expeditions came through every year; some thrill seekers, some naturalists and some, like those hired by Brian Norwood, seeking the ultimate scientific prize.
But Sam and Mary, the caretakers and owners of Base Camp Alpha, were wary of this new crew coming in with all the fancy equipment and hoopla. Others had come with high tech gizmos and lots of cash and had marched off onto the frozen tundra. Some never came back. It was the way things were up at the top of the world, where everything nature had to offer meant death to a man: the unforgiving ice, the frigid sea and even the wildlife. In the dead of winter when food was scarce, killer whales and polar bears would devour a man without blinking an eye. Sam was fond of saying to new adventurers in search of a thrill, “This ain’t no place to be losing your wits, and if you had any wits about ya, ya’ll wouldn’t be here.”
Of course no one ever listened, but when they came back dead or not at all, Sam’s conscience was as clean as his crew-cut gray hair. Sam spent the morning clearing off the runway for the massive C-130, which was just now touching down. “More food for the bears,” Sam said to Mary.
She shook her head, keeping her bright blue eyes on the landing behemoth. “Damn fools, coming out here this time of year.”
Mary put a pipe to her chapped lips, took a long drag, and held it in, letting the smoke warm her lungs. She’d been married to Sam since he escaped Texas and found her living with a tribe of Inuit, hunting whales out of umiaks at the end of winter when the ice was splitting and floating free. They’d fallen in love and called the barren tundra their home ever since. That was thirty years ago and while age had set into their faces, their bodies were still strong and agile. This year would mark their thirtieth whale hunt together.
The pair stood still as a breeze kicked up by the C-130 whipped snow across their faces. As the red striped plane slowed to a stop, they headed forward to give the damned fool leading the group a piece of their collective mind.
The back of the C-130 opened up and a wide ramp descended to the landing strip pavement. A man strode out of the plane’s rear dressed in a flashy orange jacket, the kind that made people stand out to potential rescuers, and to polar bears. His head was covered with a tight woven winter cap, and his eyes were hidden by stylish, reflective sunglasses. His face seemed familiar, but with the man’s eyes covered and the bitter cold causing Sam’s eyes to water, it was impossible to discern the man’s identity.
Sam leaned over to Mary as the man approached, smiling wide. “Ten to one says they’re all dead by tommora night.”
Mary nudged him to hush up.
“Sam, Mary, good to see you,” the man said happily.
Mary squinted her wrinkled eyes and let some smoke out of her nose as she took the man in. “We know you?”
The man said nothing. Just stood there looking confused.
Sam slowly reached into his coat pocket, so the man wouldn’t become aware of it. He placed his hand on an old Smith & Wesson revolver and slid his finger around the trigger.
The man’s smile faded.
Sam pulled the revolver from his pocket and brought it up toward the man. But the man was fast. In a flash, the man had brought his hand around, grabbed the barrel of the gun and twisted it just so, pulling it free from Sam’s hand and turning it around on the pair. Sam smiled wide at the gun in the man’s hand; they knew of only one man who had reflexes that fast.
Sam moved toward the man, past the gun, knowing it would never be fired. “Eddy!”
Eddy pulled his sunglasses up to reveal smiling eyes and hugged Sam like he was hugging his father. In times past, that’s what Sam had been to him: a father, and Mary his mother. Mary placed her cracked lips against Eddy’s check and squeezed him tight.
Eddy stood back, beaming. “So, what are my odds now?”
Sam chuckled. “Ten and two, maybe.”
“Actually,” Eddy said, “I think they might be even better.”
A roar from the plane caught their attention and the first in a long line of Sno-Cats barreled out of the C-130, followed by a steady stream of snow-mobiles.
“You come into some money?” Mary asked.
“Something like that,” Eddy said, not explaining any further.
Sam patted Eddy on the shoulder. “So what happened to you, my boy? Last we heard you were in South America, then, nothing. We don’t hear from you in two years, and now you show up with an army at your beck and call. What’d you do, son, save some rich guy’s kid or something?”
Eddy’s smile faded. “Actually…something much worse.”
Eddy walked past Sam and Mary and headed for a large building two hundred feet off the landing strip. They watched him leave without another word. They could read Eddy like a dirty magazine in the hands of a teenager. Eddy had changed, and not for the better, by their estimations.
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
Tears rolled down Steve’s face as he writhed in his chair, laughing. Stories of the old days always got him laughing, especially when it was he and Paul doing the telling. The stories always included appropriate embellishment and wit.
The group was seated around a long dinner table that Mary had made twenty years ago. They were eating a veritable feast, the best Sam and Mary could scrounge up. Had they known it was Eddy coming, they would have flown in wine, not that anyone minded the beer. Eve, Kevin, Sam, and Mary listened with smiles on their faces, remembering the exploits of a younger Eddy. At the end of the table Eddy sat listening, face burning with embarrassment.
Two film crews—a camera man and a boom mike operator—circled like vultures, panning from side to side, focusing on one speaker, then the next, capturing the action like a two-camera sitcom crew. Nicole half listened to the stories and half whispered orders. She hadn’t touched her food; whale meat and arctic hare were
n’t in her diet. The stories of old adventures were a nice touch…but she was waiting for the opportunity to dig deeper. The way things were going, she knew she wouldn’t have to wait long.
Paul held his hand up, motioning for his captive audience to remain silent as he finished chewing. “So then Eddy says to the guy, ‘Hey man, I'm from L.A.’”
Steve chirped in. “Which isn’t really true.”
Paul continued, “…and the guy suddenly thinks Eddy must be packing or something and takes off.”
“He’s got balls of steel, man,” Steve said. “Eddy’s fearless.”
Nicole couldn’t wait any longer and decided it was time to lead the conversation. “You’re not from L.A.?” She asked Eddy.
Steve answered. “He grew up in the valley! I lived in tougher neighborhoods than Eddy, and I’m from New Hampshire!”
“All right,” Eddy said. “Time to give it a rest, Steve. How about we talk about Buck Rogers instead.”
“Buck Rogers?” Nicole said. “Isn’t that an old TV show or something?”
“It my nickname,” Kevin said with pride.
“Kev’s a space cadet,” Steve said. “A wanna-be super hero.”
“These cretins think that intelligent people can't enjoy the pleasure of space adventures and super heroes,” Kevin said, as though he were giving a lecture on the topic.
Steve laughed. “And super chicks with giant hooters. Let's talk about Eddy again; he's more interesting than Buck.”
Nicole had learned to loathe Steve, with his messy hair and loud mouth, but now she had to thank the man. He was keeping this conversation right on track.
“I’d prefer we didn’t,” Eddy said, and a serious tone emerged in his voice.
Steve didn’t hear it. “C’mon, man. We have so many cool stories about—”
“I’m not that person any more.”
The table went silent. Everyone knew when to stop pushing.
Nicole did not.
“Um, why not?”
Every head turned to Nicole, amazed that she had asked the question. The heads craned back to Eddy, waiting to see if there was going to be an answer. Eddy stared at the table, at the hard lines of the wood, remembering the past.
5
THE PAST
The air was thick with moisture. And with moist, clean air, came very wet bodies. Eddy rarely sweated, but here, in the jungles of Venezuela, he was soaked like a man who had just played a vigorous game of dunking for apples. He cut a swath of brush aside with a fast swipe of his machete then wiped the sweat from his forehead with his soaked sleeve.
Eddy stepped through the newly carved jungle and on to a clear path leading north. It was perfect. They had been at the dig site for only two weeks, working day and night to uncover the remains of a giant sloth that had been preserved in a rare underground cavern. They had excavated the cavern, segmented, labeled and wrapped the bones with meticulous care and were now trekking through the sauna-like jungle in search of their pick-up zone. Helicopters would be flown in to a clearing in the jungle and the crew would be carted out with a great scientific find, a still-perfect record and with time to kill on the beach before heading home to the States.
But when a river rose too high and obliterated their original path, Eddy was determined to make the LZ on time. He began cutting into the jungle, following his compass, and led the team forward with little argument. It was only when they reached the clear path that someone spoke in protest.
“Eddy,” Norwood said, “I think this is a bad idea.”
Eddy looked back, past Norwood, past Eve, to Jim and Kat, a married couple who had joined them for the adventure of a dig and the filling of their scientifically-inclined minds. Kat had curly, long black hair and scribbled notes in a drawing pad everywhere they went. Eddy suspected she wanted to be a writer. Jim was a computer programmer specializing in Linux, fingers smooth from working a keyboard all day, but rugged and adventurous nonetheless. A scar across his check from a run-in with an African lioness gave testimony to that. “Jim, Kat, why don’t you scout ahead. See where this leads.”
Eddy knew that Jim and Kat loved to be given responsibilities. It made them feel like a real part of the team. But he couldn’t let them go off by themselves, no matter how resourceful they had proved to be in the jungle. “Harry, go with them.”
Harry moved past Eve and Norwood to head north on the path with Jim and Kat. Harry’s muscles were tight and his skin was thick; he was the kind of man whose charcoal eyes some would work hard to avoid in a bar. He had been on every jungle expedition Eddy ever mounted. While he wasn’t a scientist, he knew the jungle and understood its sounds, its mood. Harry had never been to Venezuela before, but they all counted on him to keep them alive, which was why they allowed him to carry his specially made AK-47.
“Did you hear me?” Norwood asked, stepping in front of Eddy so he had no choice but to acknowledge him.
“Norwood,” Eddy said, “I’d appreciate it if you’d—”
“If you’re going to call me by my last name, please put the word, ‘Doctor’ before ‘Norwood.’ I’ve earned that much. But this isn’t a novel, and we’re not at a university, so can call me by my first name.”
No man on Earth knew how to push Eddy’s buttons harder and quicker. Eddy made it an exercise in patience. “Sorry, Brian… What did you have on your mind?”
“This path is too clear,” Norwood explained. “It’s been used recently and frequently. We should head back into the jungle before anyone sees us.”
Eddy watched as Jim, Kat and Harry followed the path to the right, out of sight. They had just crawled through five miles of thick, wet jungle full of mosquitoes and other blood craving pests. Morale was down and Eddy had no intention of backtracking. “Not a chance.”
Norwood looked up at the lush emerald canopy hanging above the path, obscuring their view of the sky. “Eddy, what kind of people use a path in the middle of the Venezuelan rain forest with an overhead canopy so thick that if anyone came looking for them in a plane or helicopter, it would just look like more jungle?”
Eve stepped forward, her eyes weary and her legs covered with crimson bug bites. She put her hand on Eddy’s shoulder. “He could be right.”
Maybe it was fatigue. Maybe it was pure stupidity. Either way, he didn’t hear his crew’s warnings. “It’s a footpath,” Eddy said. “If it were used by drug runners, it would have to be wide enough for vehicles. This is just a few feet wide. Drug runners don’t carry a thousand pounds of cocaine on their backs.”
Paul exited the jungle and headed south on the path for about ten feet. He knelt down and stared at the mud. He motioned to Steve, who joined him on the path.
“Eddy, this is stupid! Even for you! We need to get off this path!” Norwood was fuming now.
“Hey, Eddy.” Paul’s voice went unheard.
Eddy was about to fail his exercise in patience. “You’re a rich geneticist, Dr. Norwood, and that’s all you are. I suggest you leave the decision making to me.”
“Eddy.” Paul put as much authority into his voice as he could. Still no response.
“Damnit, Eddy! Take your head out of your ass and—”
“Hey!” Paul shouted, as he stepped between Eddy and Norwood. It was uncommon for Paul to show anger. He had Eddy’s full attention. “Eddy, come check this out.”
Paul led Eddy to the patch of mud he and Steve had been inspecting. Steve was still bent down. He met Eddy’s eyes as he crouched over the spot. “We got several sets of tire tracks here, man.”
Eddy looked at the mud. Several tracks were thin and shallow; others were deep.
Paul crouched next to Eddy. “The thin tracks are probably from dirt bikes, not heavy enough to dig in deep. But these other tracks, in sets of two…could be from a loaded trailer…a heavy trailer.”
Eddy looked Paul in the eyes, “Give it to me straight.”
“Eddy, I think Brian’s right. This is a drug trail.”
Stev
e stood up. “And from the depth of these tracks, they’re hauling some huge loads of cocaine.”
Eddy looked down the path where he had sent Harry, Jim and Kat. He started walking. “The rest of you get back into the jungle. Walk three hundred yards in, stay low, and wait for me to get back.”
Norwood looked relieved and headed into the jungle first. Everyone else followed. Eve waited at the jungle’s edge, watching Eddy walk north on the path, quickening his pace with every step. He was worried. That made her worried.
☼ ☼ ☼ ☼ ☼
Eddy was already running before the first gunshot shattered the air, sending a flock of red-fan parrots into the air. He recognized the sound of the weapon: Harry’s AK. Not good.
The following shots that rang through the jungle bounced off the trees and told Eddy it wasn’t an animal at all. They were under attack. Eddy felt his feet burning beneath him, blisters tearing, but he continued forward and rounded a bend that led to a steep incline. Why had they gone so far ahead?
Eddy bounded down the incline, leaping roots and rocks on his way down. The gunfire was closer now, almost deafening. It was just around the bend. Eddy burst out from the path and into a clearing. Twenty feet ahead of him, huddled behind an overturned table, were Harry, Kat and Jim…but something was wrong.
Harry was holding his AK-47, his eyes wide. Eddy knew he had fired the weapon. Next to Harry, Jim was sitting—no—he was rocking back and forth, like he was trying to console a baby. Only Jim wasn’t holding a baby, he was holding Kat. A bullet wound in her neck pumped warm blood over Jim’s hand as he held it tight over the wound in a futile attempt to slow the bleeding.
Eddy’s eyes widened and he took in the rest of the dire scene. It was a large camp, five buildings in all, one of them very long, with massive trees planted throughout, growing tall and covering the entire area under a canopy of thick foliage. Norwood had been right. At the far end of the camp, Eddy saw some men dressed in jungle fatigues dragging away two bodies. Harry had been a good shot.
Raising the Past Page 5