Lost in the Jungle

by Bill Nye

  “I can’t believe it,” Alicia said.

  Hank closed the window showing the satellite photographs. “I know it’s hard to look at,” he said, “but now we have proof. Now the authorities have been alerted, and they can stop them from doing any more damage. But that only stops this one operation. If we want to prevent this from happening again somewhere else in the jungle, we have to stop Dona Maria.”

  “To kill the snake, you must cut off the head,” Pepedro said. He studied my reaction for a second before laughing. “No, no. You misunderstand me. I don’t think we should actually cut off her head.”

  “We need to show everyone that she is behind this terrible plot,” Alicia said.

  “We have to find her first,” Ava reminded them.

  “What about her factory?” I suggested.

  “I have a better idea,” Hank said. He opened the tracking program he’d written for his drive. A detailed map of the city appeared on his screen, with a green bull’s-eye blinking in what looked like the center of Manaus. “Joao said he was going to give it to his boss. Maybe if we find the drive, we find her.”

  Matt pointed to the bull’s-eye. “What’s there?”

  “Another one of her factories?” Pepedro guessed. “Or an office building?”

  Hank zoomed in.

  “That’s not an office building,” I said. The street names were familiar. We’d driven through that neighborhood on our first day in Manaus. “That’s the Opera House.” The memory of Dona Maria slapping my hand flashed into my mind. I could picture her desk, the beautiful business cards, and the tickets. “She was going to opening night at the opera.”

  Ava grabbed the computer from Hank and started typing. “Opening night is tonight,” she said. She switched to another page, then pursed her lips as she read. “According to Dona Maria’s twitter feed, she’s going to be there. She also tagged a few other people. I think one of them is the mayor. It looks like Joaquim is going, too.”

  “You think they’re in on this?” I asked.

  “Or maybe they just like the opera,” Pepedro said.

  “How are we going to get the drive back from her with all those people around?” Matt asked.

  The three geniuses looked to me for an answer. Why me? Well, I wasn’t just the tree-climbing, window-jumping, random button pusher in our group. Hank was a world-famous inventor and scientist. Ava could build anything and learn a new language in a plane ride. Matt had more scientific knowledge in his curly-haired head than most textbooks.

  All three of them were brilliant.

  But I could scheme.

  Down below, Bobby was knocking on his locked cabin door. I was supposed to bring him dinner and I’d totally forgotten. But my fishing buddy could wait. Holding my hands behind my back, I gazed out at the city. “I don’t know exactly how we’re going to get it back,” I said, “but I do know one thing.”

  “What’s that?” Hank asked.

  “You and I are going to need tuxedos.”

  The Amazon Theatre was a quick taxi ride from where we docked the Von Humboldt. Our split with Bobby wasn’t exactly emotional. He was just as happy to see us drive off in the cab as we were to see him walking away from the pier and out of our lives. Alicia knew of an upscale clothing store near the opera house, so after dropping Pepedro, Ava, and Matt at an electronics shop down the block, where they hoped to find a projector, she led Hank and me inside. She explained our situation in Portuguese—or our need for tuxedos, anyway. Within five minutes, we were surrounded by men in finely cut suits stretching measuring tape across our shoulders and around our waists. I tried to act unimpressed. Mature. You know, like I did this sort of thing all the time. But then this one bald guy got close to my stomach and I totally giggled. The highlight of the whole affair? They also had socks. Clean, dry, beautiful socks that made my jungle-soaked feet want to dance.

  I found a new pair of high-tops in a sports store on the same block, and when Hank and I hurried to the park across the street from the famous theater, my siblings and the boy with the million dollar foot were waiting for us.

  Hank adjusted my bow tie. “You look sharp,” he said.

  His tie was slightly crooked, but I didn’t say anything. I checked my part.

  “Your hair’s fine, Jack,” Ava said, “and I still don’t see why I don’t get to go.”

  “I told you,” I said. “One kid and one adult is fine. Two kids going in on their own? That would be suspicious. Plus you’re playing a super important role. Did you get what you need?”

  “Pretty much,” Matt said.

  “We’ll be fine,” Ava added. “Are you ready?”

  “We’re ready,” Hank said.

  “Should we huddle or something?” Pepedro asked.

  Scientists don’t huddle. Or not usually, anyway. But Hank threw one arm around my back and the other around Ava’s shoulders. Everyone else linked up, too. “What now?” Hank asked. “What does a soccer team do?”

  “If we were a team,” Pepedro said, “we would be the strangest team in the world.”

  “The world? We’re grander than that,” Hank said. “Here’s to the strangest team in the universe! Or maybe our solar system, anyway.”

  Our huddle broke, and the six of us left the cover of the trees and crossed the street to the front of the theater. The faded pink-and-white building could have been a palace. Wide stone steps curved up from the street toward the entrance. The rows of columns and stone arches belonged on a royal castle, and although we couldn’t see it from where we stood, I remembered reading that the domed roof was equally epic, covered with something like thirty-six thousand colored tiles arranged to resemble the Brazilian flag.

  “Wow,” Matt said.

  “Exactly,” Hank added.

  The opera had already begun, but the first act was scheduled to end in a few minutes. Before the start of the second act, there was a half-hour intermission. Alicia said many operagoers would step outside, either to smoke or to check the score of a big soccer match taking place that evening. That was when we’d slip into the theater.

  “How do you know so much?” Ava asked.

  “Sometimes I sneak in,” Alicia admitted.

  Hank and I approached the front entrance, with Alicia a few steps behind. The doors to the grand theater swung open, and a few dozen operagoers rushed outside, reaching for their cigarettes, cigars, and phones. We stood behind one of the thirty-foot-tall marble columns, waiting for the crowd to spread out. The smell of smoke was revolting, but I tried not to cough. As a middle schooler in a tuxedo, I stood out enough already.

  Behind us, I could see Alicia studying the operagoers.

  “What are you looking for?” I asked.

  A man with long, curly gray hair shouted as he stared at his phone. He turned it around to show another tuxedoed gentleman. The second man tilted his head back and screamed at the sky. “I’m looking for passionate soccer fans,” she explained, “and those two are perfect.”

  Alicia walked over to the pair. At first they didn’t even look up from the gray-haired man’s phone. Then she handed each one of them a small card of some kind. Both of them smiled like little kids. Alicia held up two fingers and the men reached into the pockets of their tuxedoes and each produced a ticket. She took the tickets, bowed in thanks, then pointed down toward the street. The two men hurried off at a jog, and our clever friend walked back with two tickets to the opera.

  “What just happened?” I asked.

  “There’s a very important match tonight,” she said. “No true fan of football would want to be inside the Opera House. I gave them autographed photos of Pepedro and told them where they should go to watch the game.” She handed us the small slips of paper. “And now you have tickets.”

  At the entrance, the usher glared at me but let us through. Inside, faded yellow light glowed from chandeliers. A stone balcony curved around the outside of the room, held up by more columns. The floor was polished marble and shiny enough to catch my re
flection. Ava was right. My hair looked fine.

  “Enough stargazing, Jack,” Hank said, tugging the elbow of my tuxedo jacket. We crossed the room and he pointed overhead, to a painting of gods and angels that stretched across the ceiling. “They brought the artist over from Europe to create that mural,” he said. Then he looked out into the crowd. “I don’t see Dona Maria.”

  Hank had loaded his tracking program onto a phone, then given it to me to use. I pulled it out of my pocket and opened the app. An usher approached and spoke in Portuguese. Once he realized neither of us understood him, he tapped my phone, then shook his finger. I pocketed it.

  “Let’s hope she’s still here,” I said to Hank.

  The theater itself was four stories tall. Giant curtains painted with a river scene hid the stage from view. A few hundred seats were spaced across the floor in front of the stage, and the rest were spread out among the small private booths that wrapped around the inside. As Hank and I walked down the center aisle, I scanned the seats on the floor, then looked up to the second level. A pair of wrinkled hands gripped the railing in a booth near the stage. Then Dona Maria leaned forward, watching the crowd. Joaquim, the chef and owner from Saudade, sat on her left. Behind them, Joao was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. The mayor of Manaus stood to Dona Maria’s right, talking to two other men.

  I continued down the center aisle.

  No one stopped me.

  I placed my hands on the wooden stage and jumped up.

  Still no one held me back.

  Then I turned and stood facing the growing crowd with my back to the giant curtains. My heart was beating faster by the second. I felt like someone was stepping on my chest. A light flickered on the highest balcony at the back of the room. Hopefully that meant my siblings and Pepedro were on schedule.

  Hank joined me on the stage. I glanced up at Dona Maria. She hadn’t moved, but she was watching me like a hawk eyeing its next meal. I gulped.

  “Ladies and gent—” My voice cracked. I coughed and tried again. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I shouted. The chatter and conversation stopped as the audience focused on the stage. “Before we begin the second act, I have an important announcement to make. We have a criminal in the audience. A liar and a thief.”

  Several people gasped.

  “I told you we wouldn’t need a translator,” Hank whispered. “Sorry, keep going. You’re doing great.”

  The empty seats were quickly disappearing. Three ushers were hurrying down the center aisle. I held out my hands and shouted, “Wait!”

  The ushers came closer.

  Up in Dona Maria’s booth, Joaquim leaned over the railing and yelled in Portuguese. The ushers stopped. He waved his hands and pointed at me as he spoke. A few people in the crowd were looking at me and nodding in approval. I waited.

  Joaquim cupped his hands around his mouth. “I told them to listen,” he said. “So, go ahead. Speak!”

  And so I did. My voice cracked a few more times. I kind of blabbered a little, and I probably should have rehearsed my speech, or at least written a few things down. But I managed to blurt out everything we’d discovered about Dona Maria and what she was doing to the precious rainforest. At one point, a man in the front row raised his hand. I hadn’t expected that, so I called on him. He stood. “Is this part of the opera?” he asked.

  “No, this is real,” I said. “Super Andar, or Super Floor—they’re illegally logging a huge section of the rainforest. And the woman in charge of it all is sitting right there.”

  I pointed. The mayor scooted away.

  Finally, Dona Maria stood. “You have no proof!” she yelled. “These are lies! Lies, lies, lies. Please, someone get these crazy people off the stage so we can go on with the opera.”

  “Oh, but we do have proof,” Hank said.

  The two of us moved to the end of the stage as my siblings and our two Brazilian friends switched on a projector at the back of the room, covering the curtain with multicolored light.

  As their slide show of Cheryl’s images appeared on the backdrop behind us, Hank began narrating. “This is what the jungle looked like two days ago,” Hank said, pointing to a green swath of the forest. “And this,” he said as the next image appeared, “is what it looks like right now, after Super Andar did its work.”

  Several people in the audience gasped. Others shouted up at Dona Maria in her booth. The mayor was shifting away from the old woman, and it looked like Joaquim was firing questions at her. But Dona Maria was staring only at us. Hank was finished. And although I hadn’t planned out my speech, I did know how I was going to wrap it up. I pulled my notebook out of my jacket pocket and studied her name one last time before staring up at her. “Dona Maria Aparecida Oliveiros Dos Santos,” I announced, “you are guilty of crimes against the Amazon rainforest and plain, old-fashioned theft. I demand that you and your loggers never return to the jungle and that you give us back what is rightfully ours!”

  The theater was silent.

  Against the wall, Joao was sliding closer to the booth’s exit. Joaquim pressed his hand to his heart, then began to clap. A few others followed. I kind of wanted the applause to spread the way it does in the movies. I’m not sure how that would’ve helped us get the drive back, but I liked the idea of being onstage, in a sweet new tuxedo, as seven hundred people in fancy clothes cheered.

  Unfortunately, Dona Maria killed my moment.

  Pleading with the other guests, Dona Maria pointed to me, then placed her hands on her chest. Clearly, she was begging them to believe her. And it didn’t look like it was working. She moved to the edge of the railing, lifted her cane, and yelled, “Mentiroso! Intrujão!”

  One of the ushers hurried to the edge of the stage. “She’s calling you a liar and a thief,” he explained.

  I was expecting her to yell at me again, call the images fakes, maybe even demand my arrest. Instead, Joao held open the door as the old woman spun around, crouched low, and sped out of her private booth in her rocket-powered shoes.

  This was not part of our plan. She was supposed to confess. Maybe even cry. “What now?” I asked.

  “I guess we chase her,” Hank said.

  The two of us jumped to the carpeted floor and sprinted up the center aisle as the ushers stepped aside. We burst into the lobby just as she was descending the last few steps of the winding marble stairway. Joao was at her side.

  Hank and I blocked the nearest exit as Matt, Ava, Alicia, and Pepedro hurried down the stairway on the other side of the room. A balcony wrapped around the room on the second level, and Joaquim and the mayor appeared at the railing.

  “Give us back the drive,” I said.

  On the balcony, Joaquim yelled down. “Return the inventions!”

  The mayor, standing next to him, applauded.

  Curious operagoers began crowding into the lobby.

  Pointing her cane at the balcony, Dona Maria said, “You support them? You support the Americans?”

  “We support what is right,” the mayor replied. “No one who cuts down our precious rainforest deserves to be called a Brazilian.”

  The operagoers cheered.

  My siblings and the others were standing beside us now. Joao was scowling at me. I moved behind Matt.

  “Give us the drive,” Ava said.

  A woman in a long sequined dress added, “Give them what is theirs!”

  Dona Maria edged forward, away from the steps. “So much trouble over such a little gadget,” she said, pulling the drive out of her purse. She twirled the tiny device in her crooked fingers. “Fascinating piece of technology. Joao and I were very impressed. Impossible to copy. And you are here, so I imagine you can track its location, too?”

  “Down to the square meter,” Hank said.

  Forty or fifty operagoers had now moved into the lobby. A dozen or two more had spread out along the balcony.

  The old woman eyed the device again. “How did you get the pictures if we control the satellite?”
/>   “We have another satellite,” Ava answered.

  Dona Maria turned to Hank. “You have two satellites?”

  “No,” I said, “the second one belongs to them.”

  Joao held his hands together, pleading. “Dona Maria, I didn’t know—”

  “Quiet! You were supposed to be so brilliant, and yet some children outsmarted you? I’m very disappointed, Joao. And as for the rest of you, well, you are all very clever. I’ve been told the designs stored in this little box could be worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Maybe more.”

  “They’re not your ideas,” I reminded her.

  “Yes, they are,” Dona Maria said. “They belong to me, and I am going to take this drive with me.” She glared up at the mayor and Joaquim. “Somewhere people appreciate my talents. Joao, let’s get out of here!”

  Her bleached-blond assistant moved toward us, then stopped. Sure, he was skinny, but I was still surprised. Normally we don’t inspire much fear in people, from a physical standpoint. Then I heard a noise behind me.

  Four large operagoers blocked the doors.

  Joao shouted something in Portuguese and darted for an exit on the opposite side. As Dona Maria crouched down, he burst out through the doors and escaped. The old crook cruised after him, then slowed. Before she reached the swinging door, she lurched. The four men were now hurrying to block the other exits. Panicked, she stomped her cane down on the marble floor. Then she slammed the heels of her battery-powered boots three times and crouched again, ready to race away. But Dona Maria wasn’t going anywhere. She was mumbling angrily in Portuguese.

  Alicia and Pepedro both began to laugh.

  “What is it?” I asked. “What’s so funny?”

  “She says the batteries in her boots are dead,” Pepedro said.

  “The drive,” Ava said, holding out her hand.

  Dona Maria reluctantly dug through her purse, removed the familiar drive, and flicked it into the air over Hank’s head. The inventor wasn’t quick enough to snag it. But my brother lunged back and snatched the precious device out of the air before it could fall onto the hard floor.

  “How did you grab that?” I asked. “You can’t even catch a basketball!”