Against All Odds Page 4

  “Not sleepy?”

  I looked longingly at the beds. Other than a few winks on the plane, I hadn’t slept since the day before.

  “The room is fine,” Dad said, “but we really need to speak to the owner. It’s Frank, right? Is he around?”

  “He sleep. Still few hours. You sleep too, yes? I wake later?”

  Dad wanted to keep moving but his eyes were red and tired, and I guessed he needed to get some sleep as much as me. The mini could keep him going for only so long.

  A boy walked in with a bowl of sliced papaya and pineapple. He set it on the dresser, grinned, and hurried outside to join the other kids.

  Dad sighed and dropped his pack on the ground. “I guess a little shut-eye will do us both some good.” He looked out the window at the expanse of forest across the river. “Talk about off the grid…”

  I couldn’t answer because my mouth was full of the best pineapple ever.

  Dad yawned and stretched his back. “Yeah. No one will ever find us here.”

  ***

  Lucy and her entourage of kids woke us five hours later. After a quick shower and change of clothes, we followed her downstairs.

  She pushed through the swinging doors and we stepped into a space that was part gathering place and part saloon. At one end there were four long tables with bench seats that could easily seat sixteen people each. At the other side was a long bar with bamboo stools, and a wall filled with an assortment of liquor bottles. Open windows brought air and light into the room, and a string of belt-powered ceiling fans turned lazily. The long tables were empty, but a scatter of half-filled cups, bowls of colored beads, and several unfinished strands suggested some folks had left in a hurry.

  The kids quieted, instantly subdued in the presence of the huge man standing behind the bar. He was a white man in his fifties, with weathered skin, a thick mane of graying hair swept back from his forehead, and a nose that looked like it had been broken. He wore an unbuttoned, sleeveless denim shirt that had no chance of containing his bulging chest and stomach, where a stretched-out tattoo of a fully-rigged sailing ship sat for all to see.

  “Welcome aboard! Step up to the bar, lads.” His voice boomed in a cockney accent, and his gap-toothed smile revealed several shiny gold teeth. He carried himself with an air of friendliness, but something about his shifty blue eyes made me uncomfortable. “Me name’s Francis but you can call me Frank, like the sign says.” He held out his hand.

  I felt my dad’s tension as they shook hands, but he hid it well. “Great to meet you, Frank. I’m Jake, and this here’s my son, Alex.”

  “And a great how-do-you-do to both of you! Pull up a stool and make yourself at home.” We dropped our packs and sat down. Frank slapped two short glasses onto the bar. He leaned over and looked at me. “What’ll you have? Milk or whiskey?”

  “Uh, you have milk?”

  “Sure enough. It comes on a boat once a month, rain or shine.” He reached under the bar and came up with a half-filled bottle of milk that was beaded with condensation. He poured me a glass and I took a drink.

  “It’s cold,” I said, smacking my lips.

  “Of course it is. Where’d you think you are, laddie, in the middle of nowhere?” He grinned.

  Dad asked, “How do you manage to get power way out here?”

  “We’ve got a solar and wind farm up top o’ the hill o’er there. And then there’s hydro from the river. It’s easier than you’d think, if you got a little money to spend. I was lucky. Got all I needed from the treasure find back in 2000.”

  “You found treasure way out here?” I asked.

  “Not likely, laddie. Not unless you believe the old tales about the Lost City of Z in these parts.” His eyes went distant. “Like so many other folks do…” He blinked, then poured a shot of whiskey into Dad’s glass, and another for himself. He held it up. “Bad luck to talk of treasure without a snip. Good health!”

  Dad shrugged, but kept a wary eye on the man. “Good health.” They clinked glasses with me and downed their shots. I sipped my milk.

  Frank licked his lips. “Worked trawlers most of me younger life, until I hooked up with a brother-and-sister team searching for sunken treasure. The young pups were wannabe adventurers, and their rich pop was glad to fund their dreams. If you ask me, he just wanted to get the spoiled brats out of the house. What did I care? The pay was double what I’d been making.” He shook his head. “And wouldn’t you know it? With all their fancy equipment and computer research, they struck pay dirt.” He pointed to a wall of photos of Frank, a young couple, and their crew on the deck of a boat, celebrating the find.

  “A Spanish galleon, wouldn’t you know, sunk off the Brazilian coast of Recife over three hundred years ago. It was mostly cutlery and such, until we found the chest. A big one. Filled to the brim with golden artifacts. Amulets, necklaces, statues, and the like. Stuff of dreams.”

  “Wow, that’s quite a story,” Dad said. “But with your share of all that loot, why on Earth did you choose to settle here?”

  Frank’s eye twitched. “It’s a long story, mate. And I’ll be glad to share the grisly details with you later over a bottle or two. But for now, suffice it to say me treasure-finding friends weren’t satisfied with uncovering a chest of artifacts. Their research told ’em the gold came from the Lost City of Z and they were determined to find it.” He waved toward the river and the jungle beyond. “And that there’s the gateway to the darkest part of the entire Brazilian rainforest, where all the myths and rumors seem to point. So I set up a base camp here, and the young pups and their expedition team set off. They weren’t the first to go lookin’ for it. And they certainly weren’t the last. But like everyone else who traveled into that hellhole, they were never seen again.”

  He poured another couple of shots and drank his without bothering to toast. Dad shook his head politely and pushed his glass away. Frank shrugged and downed Dad’s shot as well. He recorked the bottle, slid it aside, and placed his meaty palms on the bar. “Now then, what brings you to these parts?”

  I noticed from the wall mirror behind the bar that the kids had vanished, except Lucy, who stood behind us. She was rubbing her wrist, and as the long sleeve of her dress shifted, I saw a deep bruise on her forearm. She edged closer, like she was eager to hear Dad’s reply.

  “We’re here to find the lost city. What else?”

  Lucy’s shoulders dropped.

  Frank nodded as if he’d known the answer all along. “Been here fifteen years and the answer’s always the same.” His smile broadened, but once again I sensed a feral quality that made me uneasy. He slapped the bar so hard, the glasses jiggled. “And that’s why I’m still here. Because folks like you never stop coming. And who better to outfit ’em but me, right? I suppose you’ll be needing gear and a guide?”

  Dad nodded.

  “You realize the guide will only take you to the outskirts of the territory. After that, you’re on your own?”

  “Understood.”

  Frank rose to his full height and crossed his arms. “That’ll cost you twenty thousand US dollars. Up front.”

  Dad’s right eyebrow climbed his forehead. “Twenty K for a little gear and some directions?”

  “Yep.”

  They stared at each other. Dad didn’t have that kind of money on him. He pointed out the window at the airplane. “How about two thousand cash, and you can hold my airplane as collateral until I pay you the rest?”

  “Sorry, I already assumed the plane would be forfeit if you don’t return. But I still want twenty grand up front just in case you happen to make it out of there.”

  Dad shifted on his stool, so I butted in. “If you have internet access, we can wire the money to you without a problem.”

  Frank’s eyes twitched again. “Well, normally, sure, we have internet. But it’s on the fritz today. It happens sometimes but no worries, laddie, because it always works again in the morning.”

  I knew he was lying, and the confu
sion on Lucy’s face in the mirror confirmed it. Dad’s hand moved unconsciously toward the mini in his pants pocket. He’d seen through the man’s words as well. The question was, why would Frank lie about something as simple as that, especially at the cost of getting so much money wired to him? My mind raced as I knew Dad’s was, and I feared we’d both come to the same conclusion.

  Frank extended his hand. “So it’s settled, then? We’ll get your gear together today, set you up with a guide, and we can settle up before you take off in the morning. In the meantime, Lucy can show you around.”

  Dad smiled and shook the man’s hand. “You strike a hard bargain, Frank. But who can blame you? After all, this is the only gin joint in town, right?”

  “Sure enough.”

  “Then it’s a deal,” Dad said.

  “Why don’t you and I work on getting the gear together while I get someone to throw together a little welcome meal for you? In the meantime, Lucy can give Alex the five-guinea tour.”

  ***

  Lucy’s tension eased as soon as we left the bar. She took my hand. Hers was warm and gentle, and the connection felt good. We strolled up the hill toward the village, pausing here and there as Lucy pointed out the names of various plants and animals. She was particularly delighted to spot a family of white-chested monkeys swinging in the distant trees.

  She pursed her lips, and her eyes squinted as she recalled the appropriate translation. “Capuchin,” she said, drawing the word out. I’d seen that kind of monkey in movies, and remembered a scene where one turned the handle on an organ grinder. They were cute little guys.

  Lucy patted her stomach. “Good, yes?” She licked her lips.

  My jaw dropped, wondering if she meant what I thought she meant. I grunted, and we kept walking.

  A couple dozen solid-looking, round mud huts with thatched ceilings surrounded a clearing, and there were more hovels scattered in the forest beyond, many made with fresh-cut wood and thatch. Smoke drifted from a long, open-air structure that I guessed was a gathering place, where women fussed around several open-pit stoves, and younger children waited eagerly behind them. The air smelled of cooked fish and roasted vegetables, making my mouth water. Other adults strolled about attending to daily chores, while a group of kids kicked a soccer ball around. A few of them shared Lucy’s lighter skin tone. The scene was picturesque, except for the fact that many of the people wore Western shorts and T-shirts. That saddened me for some reason. I also wondered about the absence of smiles among the adults. When the first of them noticed my approach, their expressions were pained before they averted their gazes.

  The kids, however, streamed toward me with wide smiles. Several brushed my arm with the back of their hands in a gesture of welcome, rattling on in their native tongue.

  I’d read that Amazonia was one of the most linguistically diverse regions of the world, with over 330 native languages. So there was no way for Dad or me to speed-learn one, no matter how unique our brains were. I was glad Lucy knew a little English.

  “Who taught you English?” I asked, as we walked on and the children resumed their game.

  “Papa Frank. A few speak. A little. Mama much better.”

  Papa Frank. I’d suspected he was her father. There was probably a long story behind that, but the fact it ended with a young girl needing to wear a dress to cover her bruises made me angry. I wanted to know more, but the language barrier made it impossible. Anyway, it wasn’t my job to pry right now. Something was going on with Frank, and Dad and I needed to figure out what it was. Before morning. Dad had ushered me away for a reason, and until he signaled otherwise, I intended to explore and learn as much as I could.

  “How many are in your village?” I asked.

  “One hundred mouths last season. Two hundred now. More coming. Forest falling.” Her eyes were sad.

  We passed a garden of sweet potatoes, and beyond was a clearing with rows of woody shrubs. A woman approached carrying an overloaded basket of the shrubs, and thick bunches of roots the size of small bananas swung over the edges.

  “Is that manioc?” I asked, taking a closer look as the woman walked past.

  Lucy tilted her head. “Mandioca.”

  When I turned back, a different woman was stepping toward us. She had long, dark hair and moved like a jungle cat. She wore shorts, a buttoned shirt with the tails tied high on her waist, and a concerned expression. “It is also known as arrowroot,” the woman said as she appraised me. She exchanged an aggrieved look with Lucy. “He is so young.” Her English accent hinted of Frank’s, and I wondered if she’d learned from him.

  Lucy nodded, her lips a thin line. We still held hands, and she took mine and extended it toward the woman. “My mama. Her name is Mandu.”

  The woman took both my hands in a strong grip, crouching to look me in the eyes. If she hadn’t been holding me so tightly, I would’ve taken a step back. “You will not survive.” Her accent was strong but her English was perfect. “There is nothing but danger here. Leave while you still—”

  The physical connection between us suddenly expanded into a rush of sensations. My mind opened up to her on its own, and when she blinked and leaned closer to search my eyes, I knew she felt it, too. But instead of pulling away in fear, she seemed to embrace the feelings, and I had the odd sense it was familiar to her. She smiled. It seemed as if her mind had invited me in, and the next thing I knew, her memories were flashing across my mind.

  In that brief exchange I knew the truth of Lucy’s mom—her love for her daughter and her tribe, her determination to do whatever she must for their sake, her sorrow at being uprooted from her ancient homelands that now stood barren under the hooves of cattle, and her hatred for the man who’d fathered her child, and whose ill-gotten wealth provided the only means of support for a growing tribe of disenfranchised people, shackling them all.

  The connection expanded, and a distant image flashed of Mandu on the shores of a lake beside a towering waterfall, a kindly man holding her hands the same way she held mine now, and the sense of peace she’d felt when he wrapped his mind around hers.

  Mandu’s eyes went wide. “It’s the same sensation,” she whispered, her words breaking the connection. “You’re here to see him?”

  Could it be? Was the man from her memory the same person—or alien being—who had summoned us here? “Uh, I’m not sure. Perhaps.”

  She pointed across the river toward the source of the pull I still felt. “He’s that way. I can take you.”

  My heart skipped, and I was about to hug her when Frank’s voice thundered from down the hill. “Lucy! Tour’s over. Time for supper.”

  Lucy tensed, her mom clenched her fists, and the kids stopped playing.

  “You must go,” Mandu said. “Both of you. Quickly. Speak nothing of this to Papa Frank.” She ushered us off. As she stood there with her arms crossed watching us leave, I sensed her fear for my safety.

  Chapter 5

  JAKE DIDN’T TRUST THE GREEDY BASTARD. The man was hiding something. It could’ve been any number of things. Frank had a colorful history that likely shrouded more than his share of secrets. But Jake’s gut suggested the man’s shifty behavior had something to do with Jake. Or Alex. And that had kept him on full alert while he and Frank sorted through the equipment stored in a padlocked room behind the bar. They’d done it under the watchful eyes of two tribesmen who worked for Frank. They wore Western clothing, but that did little to tone down their fierce nature. They weren’t tall, but the way they moved—and watched—marked them as warriors, the likes of which Jake wouldn’t want to go up against. They each wore handmade tomahawks on their belts, and the tightly wound grips appeared worn from use. The markings on their faces were different from those he’d seen on the boys earlier. These were swirling patterns surrounding their eyes like a mask, and Jake guessed they were from a different tribe than the boys.

  There’d been a wide assortment of trekking gear, tents and sleeping bags and cooking and fishing parapher
nalia, plus framed backpacks to lug it all in. Everything was top-notch, and the prices were ten times what they would’ve been at a sporting goods store. But Frank had Jake over a barrel so that was that.

  Jake had found everything he needed, except for .45-caliber ammo for the SIG he’d taken from Lieutenant Garcia. Frank had smiled at that, then returned ten minutes later with a 9mm version of the same weapon, along with spare mags and two boxes of ammo. “I get that it’s a downgrade,” Frank had said, which was true. The 45 was a meaty slug that would drop a man and make him roll over a couple times. But an accurate shot with the 9mm would get the job done. Plus, the mag held a lot more rounds. With the mini fueling him, Jake’s aim was second to none, so it was a fair trade as far as he was concerned. He felt better now that he had a loaded weapon holstered to his thigh, especially since Frank had also dug up an AR-15 assault rifle with top-of-the-line ACOG scope. The price for the entire bundle was insane, but Alex had whispered to Jake that money wasn’t going to be a problem once the internet was up, so Jake went for it. He had no idea what awaited them in the jungles.

  Jake wanted to take the equipment to his room to start organizing everything. But Frank had balked at the notion of releasing the goods without first getting paid. “No problem,” Jake had said. “Is the internet up?”

  Frank’s eye had twitched the same way it had earlier. “Like I told you. Don’t expect it up ’til morning.”

  The question had put Frank off his game, and Jake had taken advantage of it by tossing him the keys to the Cessna as collateral. “This should suffice until then.”

  Frank had reluctantly agreed. He’d rattled off incomprehensible instructions to the tribesmen, who then helped Jake haul the gear to his room. They didn’t utter a word, and the flat looks they gave him when they departed reminded him of hunters on the prowl.

  He was about to begin organizing the gear when he heard Frank’s shout for Lucy. That meant Alex would be returning, and Jake wasn’t about to leave him down in Frank’s bar alone. As he headed downstairs, he noticed two tribesmen squatting on the dock next to the plane. Frank was not taking any chances.