American Drifter

by Heather Graham

  River’s heart sped into overtime. They’d caught him. “But?”

  “Well, his lawyers have finagled something. He will go to trial—and I do think they’ll get him, and that it will be so publicized and world pressure will be so heavy that he will have to go away and do serious time. But…”

  It was an effort not to shout. River didn’t want to terrify the woman. “But?” he pressed.

  “They have him out on bail for now. He isn’t due to appear in court again for almost a month.”

  River stood. He didn’t care about his coffee anymore; he had to be on the first cog train up to the statue. Natal might not be there yet, but he’d wait. He’d wait there until he found her—because he had to find her and they had to get out of Rio together. He didn’t know where she had gone, but he was absolutely certain that she would come back to the one place they talked about so much, loved so much.

  “Thanks for telling me,” he said, trying to appear interested—but casually so. “Let’s hope they lock him away—for Rio.”

  “For Rio, for Brazil—for the betterment of man.”

  “Amen,” River muttered.

  He left money on the table and started out.

  “Sir, you’re welcome to the paper!” the woman called.

  River barely heard her. He hurried to the station. The windows had opened; he bought his ticket. That done, he bought water and sandwiches, since he didn’t know how long he’d be waiting. Within a few minutes he was on the platform, considering his situation.

  There was no question; Amato would now be after him.

  It didn’t really make any sense, though.

  Hadn’t Amato already been after him? Hadn’t he sent the men in the blue suits?

  Or were they police? Did he have to worry about police—and Amato’s revenge?

  There was only one thing for him to do—find Natal and get out of the city. He loved Rio, but … Brazil was such a big country. And he and Natal needed so little. She just wanted to write—and be with him. If they could get to one of the cities by the rainforest, she’d be in seventh heaven. She could write wonderful articles on the way the forests were being torn down; she could write on the native people. They’d be far from the crowds of Rio, where no one would look for them and they could idle the days away until Amato was in jail for good and his reign in Rio was over.

  People thronged into the station. He searched through the crowds for a glimpse of Natal.

  He didn’t see her.

  It was possible to take a complicated system of buses and vans or a taxi and a van to reach the statue. Then, as always, there would be a lot of uphill walking.

  Natal had no reason to take a number of modes of transportation. She would come the way they had come—she would love the view from the cog train.

  It came time to board the train and for a few moments, he looked around at the throngs of tourists. His heart sank. So many people. So many people in a city of millions—nearly doubled now with Carnaval at its peak.

  You will always find me.

  He would find her—or she would find him.

  He’d had a seat on the train but stood to accommodate an older woman. She thanked him and sat. Around him, people talked about their parties, about the shows they would go to that evening. A Japanese family talked excitedly and looked out the windows. He heard French being spoken, and he was certain that a group behind him was speaking Russian or another language from an Eastern European country.

  They stopped for the view, and it was indeed breathtaking.

  But it was nothing without Natal.

  Eventually they reached the station and he disembarked, looking up at the Christ the Redeemer statue.

  It was dazzling in the sunlight. It seemed to cast a benign and welcoming watch over the city below.

  He was jostled and realized that he’d stopped abruptly.

  He didn’t see Natal—but then, it was almost impossible to see anyone. He thought about the times they had come before as he began to circle the base. He was watchful, for Natal—and the men in the blue suits. This was, after all, Rio. Returning here was risky.

  But he’d risk anything for her.

  At one point River thought that he caught a glimpse of her and he hurried around the corner again, tapping her arm when he reached her. But the young woman who turned around wasn’t Natal; it was a pretty Chinese girl with long dark hair. He apologized and turned away.

  There were so many places she might be, and they could miss each other time and time again.

  She would have had to come by train or bus—private cars had to have permission from the parks’ department, and the parks’ department had to have permission from the Church for those who wished to drive up the mountain themselves.

  What about the men in the blue suits? If they were police, they’d have easy access, he thought. Authorities could usually get through to other authorities.

  A tour guide was speaking in English, mentioning that over two million visitors a year came to the statue.

  They came … and there were several ways up to the base.

  River began to walk, heading back to the cog train platform, and then to the bus parking lot. He realized that he was gauging the area surrounding the statue as well; if she didn’t come today, she would come tomorrow. He looked back to check the crowd—no Natal, and no men in blue suits.

  “Pardon!”

  River had stumbled into a man in an army uniform. The soldier was young, a private first class.

  “Sorry,” River said. “Hey, it’s busy up here.”

  “Yeah, my last fling. I head out in two days.”

  “Afghanistan?” River asked.

  “Yeah.” The soldier squinted at him. “You’ve been there?”

  River nodded. “Yeah. Two tours. But I’ve been out—medical discharge.”

  “Ah, man, you doing all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just … hanging around Brazil.”

  The soldier smiled. “Beautiful, huh. And the women?” Looking at River, he smiled. “Is that why you’re still hanging around down here?”

  River smiled. “Yes. I’ve found a woman,”

  “Good for you, man. Maybe I’ll have the same luck.”

  Luck?

  Something uneasy began to stir in River. But the soldier was smiling at him; River looked back at him and saw himself a few years before. Still so young. Still able to sleep without the sound of exploding bombs echoing in his ears.

  But it wasn’t the memory of serving that tore at him. He had done his duty. He had fought, and he had remained alive. And when he had been wounded, they’d tended to him and.…

  The memory stopped there.

  He waved to the soldier and moved on. He was looking for Natal.

  And this time, he was waiting until she arrived.

  At the rear of the statue, at the roadway below the retaining wall for the base, the forest of the mountain gained hold again. He made his way down the stairs to that level and then looked over the encompassing wall.

  It was impossible to wait until there was no one around.

  River made a leap over the wall.

  In areas, the ground pitched almost straight down. He’d avoid those.

  But there was an area that had nice spacing between the trees; he could see the one entrance to the statue, and he was in a good position to see up to the base. Natal could come and he might not see her right away.

  But he would see her.

  He sat in the trees, ate one of his little sandwiches, and decided to hop the wall again. Once again, he headed up and circled the base.

  Then he walked down the long pathway of steps toward the front of the statue, and then back up them.

  He circled the base. He looked at the sky. It was growing late.

  Even up the mountain, he could hear the celebrations in the city. It wasn’t dark yet but fireworks and explosions were rocking the sky.

  On an impulse, he went into the chapel located at the base o
f the statue beneath the black granite pedestal. Many people had come in. A priest was speaking softly to a young woman who held a baby. The priest blessed the baby.

  River slipped into a pew and went down on his knees. He couldn’t really remember ever praying.

  That night, he prayed.

  Let me find her. Let me find what I seek. Let us find truth …

  Some time later, River opened his eyes to find the middle-aged priest watching him with kind eyes.

  River walked over to him.

  “Father,” River said. He realized he’d spoken in English, but before he could switch to Portuguese, the priest replied.

  “My son. You would like a blessing.”

  “I’m not—sure. I’m not Catholic, I don’t, I’m not…”

  His words stumbled from his lips.

  “While it may be true that the Catholic citizens of Rio de Janeiro were the ones who raised the funds for Christ the Redeemer, you don’t need to be Catholic to enjoy the chapel, my son. All are welcome.”

  “Thank you.” The priest wasn’t Portuguese. He spoke with a different accent beneath his English. Priests, he remembered, went all over the world.

  The man might be Irish or Scottish.

  “Whether you believe or not, God is here,” the priest said. He gave River a blessing.

  River smiled. “And best wishes and good luck?” he asked.

  “Peace,” the priest told him. “That is the greatest gift. Inner peace.”

  “And love? What about love?”

  “When we’re at peace, we learn to love ourselves. Then we give love to all those around us, and find love in return. God go with you, son.”

  “And you, Father,” River said, and he turned, quickly leaving the chapel. The man had been kind, very kind. What a man of God should be.

  And yet …

  That very kindness had made River uneasy.

  It had grown late while he’d been in the chapel. The sun had begun to fall—a glorious golden globe to the west. There was nothing like a sunset—or a sunrise—here. Up in the clouds, the sun created beams of light in the most glorious colors.

  People would be forced down from the statue when the park closed. He wasn’t sure about the hours; they might start asking the people to leave soon.

  And it might take some time.

  For many tourists, it was an amazing trek to get to the statue—some tried taking taxis to the vans in the parking lot far below to the zillion steps to get to the statue.

  Some liked to take the escalators.

  Once there, some of them liked to lie on the ground while their friends tried to get them into pictures that placed them beside the statue, which was so much larger. There was plenty of space for that, but …

  River preferred the trees. The area where no one else went, from which he could watch the main path.

  At any other place here where he might find a place to rest for the night, he just might be seen.

  He wondered if others had hidden out at the statue before, anxious to enjoy its mysticism and beauty on their own.

  It didn’t really matter, he thought, amused. It was Natal’s place. It was his place.

  But they were both happy to share.

  He picked his time and leapt over the wall again. He was glad that he’d gotten food. He found himself a safe place to bed down among the trees and listened to people as they left, and to the sounds of the city, rising all the way up the mountain.

  Then he realized he and Natal would not spend the last night of the year’s Carnaval celebrations together. He wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t worried. He should have realized that she would wait until tomorrow.

  Tomorrow, the city would be quieter. People would be sleeping.

  Many of them would be nursing hangovers.

  Tomorrow, she would come.

  He lay awake a long time, studying his map of Brazil with the penlight he kept in his backpack. He took in the enormity of the country and figured different ways of going to the cities on the Amazon—and into the rainforests.

  Eventually, he slept.

  He thought about the soft-spoken priest in the chapel with his lilting accent.

  Peace.

  That was the greatest gift. Loving oneself, then giving love, receiving love …

  He wasn’t sure he loved himself. He was sure that he loved Natal. When she was with him, he was at peace. The encounter with the man of God, though, had been a nice one. River dozed off at last, thinking about the priest, about his words. They let him sleep well.

  When he woke, the sun was just beginning to rise. He wondered if any of the park employees had arrived at the statue yet.

  Standing, he watched the sun again. It was beautiful. There was a soft layer of clouds; the rising sun played upon them as if they were cotton in the air. Rays of pink and violet and gold shot through, while a streak of magenta stretched across the horizon.

  River headed to the wall, leapt up to get a hold, and crawled over it. Then he ran up the steps and circled around to the front.

  For a moment, he looked down at the city of Rio. Then he turned. The sun dazzled down upon her. She appeared almost as an angel, cast in a golden ray of brilliant light.

  “Natal!” he cried, taking a step toward her.

  The light shifted as he did so—and Natal was gone.

  But he wasn’t alone.

  No.

  He was staring at one of the men in the blue suits. The man with the blue hat. The man he had seen the night he’d been forced to stab another. Who had seemed to lead those other men who had been following him as well.

  And the man was staring directly at him.

  River looked around swiftly; Natal had been there. He had seen her. He knew that she was there.

  He didn’t draw his gun at first; there were other people coming up to the statue now. Not so many yet—but there were other people.

  “Where is she?” he shouted to the man.

  “River, please, don’t run. I need to speak with you.”

  His heart skipped a beat. How did this guy know his name? Angrily, he shook his head. “You will not speak to me until I know where she is. I demand to know where she is.”

  “River, if you’ll just calm down—”

  He wasn’t about to calm down. He drew his service revolver from his backpack and pointed it at the man in the blue suit.

  The man lifted his hands. River saw him shake his head—and then he realized that the two of them weren’t alone. The other two suits had arrived.

  One was by the wall; the other was angled at the edge of the statue’s base. He thought that they’d been about to draw their weapons and aim them at him.

  But the first man had stopped them.

  “River, my name is Ted. Ted Henley.”

  “I don’t care what your name is. Where is she?”

  “No one wants to hurt you, River.”

  “And I really don’t give a damn about me. Where is she?”

  “River, I don’t know where she is because I don’t know who ‘she’ is—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  River shook his head. “Don’t pull this crap on me. I know she was there; I just saw her. Believe me, I hate hurting people—I hated using this gun. But I will shoot if you don’t let her go. She has no part in this; she never hurt anyone.”

  “River, put the gun down. Sometimes, no matter our best efforts, innocent people wind up being hurt.”

  The innocent wind up being hurt …

  “River, listen to me. All we need to do is talk.”

  The man’s voice suddenly took on a faraway quality, almost like an echo to River’s ears. His head began to throb. All they had to do was give him Natal. She was everything to him.

  He blinked, hard, then opened his eyes again and looked toward the statue.

  She was there, in the sunlight.

  Yes, Natal was there. Beautiful, her dark hair curling around her shoulders, her big blue eyes on him. She was there, so love
ly, loving, and kind and …

  And then she wasn’t.

  She faded as if she were a wisp of cloud in the heights; there—and not there.

  The men in the blue suits remained.

  River stood still as the dead, a terrible, long-forgotten agony creeping into his soul.

  It had to be some kind of trick they had played with lights or projection.

  How could you play tricks with the sun? Where could a projector be?

  “River, no one is here to hurt you!” one of the other men called out, the bald one.

  River shook his head, becoming keenly aware of his finger on the trigger of his gun.

  “I don’t know why the hell you’ve been after me, following me, trailing me—but it ends now!”

  “We just need to talk,” the man, Henley, said.

  “No talking. I want her.”

  “Her who?” Henley demanded again.

  “Natal! Where is she?” River shouted. “Where is Natal? What have you done with her?”

  The two suits who faced him looked over to the third—the blond man—who remained hovering at the edge of the statue’s base.

  “Bring one of the friends, please,” the man who had called himself Henley said.

  River stood still. “No tricks!” he cried.

  He had a gun, yes, he had a gun. He was trained to kill; he knew how to shoot.

  But they weren’t pulling weapons on him. He was sure that they had them, that they were armed; but the man Henley, facing him, in his direct line of vision, wasn’t pulling a weapon. And he wasn’t allowing the others to pull weapons either.

  To his amazement, the blond man in the blue suit moved, allowing a man to pass by him. It was Beluga.

  Beluga—who came to stand next to the men in blue.

  Dismay rippled through River. Beluga had betrayed him. Yet, he’d seen the men at Beluga’s house, and Beluga had sent them away. He had stood with Maria and Convict—and he had sent the men away.

  But now it seemed that, despite everything, Beluga had betrayed him.

  “Beluga. How could you?” River asked quietly.

  It looked as if there were tears in Beluga’s eyes.

  “You have to listen to them, River,” Beluga said. “Talk to them. They need to take you home; they need to get you to your doctor—to your family.”