One Grave Less (22 page)

“Diane?” said Garnett.

“Just thinking about network analysis. It’s one of Gregory’s favorite tools.”

“So,” said Garnett, cocking an eyebrow at the two of them and rising to his feet, “you’re thinking you can get Kevin Bacon to find the perps.”

The motor started in such a normal fashion that Maria found herself releasing the tension from her muscles. The beat-up truck had been through a lot the day before. Perhaps, like her, it had just needed a rest. The now-familiar noise of the engine was a relief to hear.

Rosetta let out the breath she’d been holding. Maria wished she knew some way to make the trip less stressful for the little girl. Not that Rosetta wasn’t accustomed to stress, but to be so close and yet so far from finding her mother must have her in knots.

Maria continued the story of Harry Potter as she drove from the burned-off clearing into the steamy jungle again, heading toward Benjamin Constant. A place she hoped she could find help.

She had to constantly check the compass. Finding ways they could traverse with the truck that always led north was getting more difficult. They may have to get out and walk sooner than she hoped. But if she could just get a little closer to a town while they still had wheels—while they had a cab to sleep in.

The thick plants surrounding their truck seemed to grow thicker. Maria was about to suggest they would have to abandon the truck. She checked her map again against the compass. Right direction—just no road. She looked on all sides for anything to indicate the jungle might be thinning out, or that there might be a large animal trail or something. She’d go for a rabbit trail at this point. They were obviously near water. The jungle was thicker near water, and it was really thick here.
We’re probably going to end up in a river
, she thought.
I can’t see ten feet in front of us.
She wondered whether she should get out and scout ahead on foot.

Just as that thought passed through her mind, she saw a face between the giant leafy fronds of the plants ahead. When she blinked, the face was gone. Maria didn’t doubt she’d seen a face. She had confidence that, if she saw something, it was there. She wasn’t imagining things, was she?

“Rosetta, do you speak some of the local languages?” she asked.

“Some. You talking about that guy in the forest?”

“You see him? Why didn’t you mention it? I thought we had a deal after the crocodile incident.”

Rosetta giggled. “I told you, I didn’t see the crocodile until you were already outside the truck. And I was afraid if I said anything while you were driving over the bridge it would scare you and you would drive off the bridge. You know how you hated the big snake.”

Rosetta looked at her and grinned. She didn’t appear to be scared. Maria supposed this was the kind of people Rosetta had stayed with when she was on her own. She looked at the child’s tan little face and black hair.
The kind of people she originally came from
.

Maria hoped Rosetta’s laid-back take on the situation was accurate.
I’m an anthropologist
, she thought.
If I can’t deal with indigenous peoples, then I need to turn in my degree
. Of course, as an archaeologist, she only dealt with the dead.

Without warning, there was a loud thump and the truck began rocking. Maria looked in the rearview mirror. She had a passenger. At least it wasn’t a snake. The new rider was an indigenous male, mostly naked except for a baseball cap and red body paint. He was going through the supplies in the back—examining the whiskey and things he probably couldn’t use but perhaps thought he might trade. It looked like it was market time.

Another man jumped in the back with him, and a third jumped on the hood. This one looked in through the windshield at the two of them and grinned. He appeared to be no more than a teenager. He banged on the hood and pointed off at an angle ahead. Maria drove slowly in the direction he indicated.

“I hope this is the right thing to do,” Maria whispered.

“I don’t think we have a choice,” said Rosetta.

“It’s nice to have directions for a change,” Maria said. “Think we could talk them into escorting us the whole way?”

She continued to drive at a slow rate, hoping the kid wouldn’t slide off the hood. In a few minutes the jungle opened up to a small clearing with long grass huts one after the other. Many more villagers wandered near, peering at them, chatting to one another, and pointing. In the distance, on the other side of the clearing, Maria saw a man, a Westerner in his looks, cut-offs and blond hair, but native in body paint.

“Don’t forget our story,” whispered Rosetta.

“I won’t, but we may have to alter it slightly. The guy looks vaguely familiar. If he’s an anthropologist, I may have to use my real name. Full-time anthropologists are a small community and we tend to run across one another at professional meetings.”

“You think you might know him?” said Rosetta.

“Possibly met him,” answered Maria.

“That’s good, isn’t it? He’ll like you,” said Rosetta.

“Perhaps. Unless he’s a postmodernist; then we may be in trouble. I may have had some harsh things to say about their approach to research.” Maria smiled. “We’ll see.” She paused as she watched the man come across the compound. “I’ll tell you what, I’ll attach Maria to my real name, so we can at least be consistent.”

“Okay, but don’t tell him where we are really going,” said Rosetta.

Rosetta had slipped from being a kid and into her shrewd, precocious adult mode—which she did when putting one of her plans into action was called for, and it was kind of scary. Maria went along. The kid was smart and had good survival instincts.

“Lock your door and slide over to me,” said Maria.

Rosetta did as she was told. Maria placed her gun in the back waistband of her jeans. She was getting as paranoid as the little girl. She turned off the truck and pocketed the key. She opened the door slightly, pushed the lock on, put an arm around Rosetta, and pulled her out with her. Holding Rosetta on her hip, she closed the door. Rosetta put her arms around Maria’s neck. Maria didn’t want to get separated from her.

The man wore leather sandals, faded blue cutoffs, and had a large red stripe painted around the middle of his body. If he was an anthropologist, it looked like he may have gone native. But perhaps he was simply in the role the villagers had put him in.

The villagers were chatting among themselves and occasionally shouting to the two newcomers in their midst.

“I sort of know the language,” Rosetta whispered in her ear. “A little.”

“What are they saying?” Maria whispered.

“I think they are asking if we’ve come to look at them,” said Rosetta.

Perhaps they think I’m another anthropologist come to study them
, Maria thought,
Or a doctor!

“Speak only English,” whispered Maria. “I don’t want him to think I’m stealing you.”

“Okay,” Rosetta said.

Maria scanned the compound as she waited for the man to reach them. The space consisted of three long structures with brown-gray grass roofs that looked like grassy tents thrown over a central beam. The jungle encroached almost up to the structures themselves. The largest part of the clearing was the one they were standing in at the moment. So far, the people looked friendly. Several of them were now in the back of the truck.

“We don’t get too many visitors,” said the man as he approached somewhat warily. He didn’t seem like he was too happy with visitors now.

He was older than he had appeared at a distance. He was probably well into his forties. She had thought him a good deal younger.

“I don’t imagine you do,” said Maria. “Are you an anthropologist, doctor, missionary?” Her voice was still raw and it came out sounding like she’d had too many cigarettes and too much whiskey.

“Anthropologist. How did you get here?”

With great difficulty
, thought Maria. He didn’t give her his name, so she didn’t feel the need to give hers, at least not her real name. She studied his face for a moment. She didn’t recognize him, but there was something familiar about him. She must have run across him at some point, probably at a professional meeting.

“My daughter and I were attacked while we were visiting some of the archaeological sites.” She pulled down her scarf to reveal her still-bruised throat. “We managed to get away, and we are trying to get to Manaus to meet up with people looking for us.”

He wrinkled his brow as he looked at her throat. “Who attacked you?” he asked.

“I don’t know. They looked like thugs, bandits. It was very frightening,” she said.

He seemed to be considering what she said. He gazed at her through narrowed eyes. Suspicious, she thought—more so than the indigenous people here.

“These people”—he gestured, taking in the villagers—“are a branch of the Yawanawa. They don’t see many outsiders.”

“They were kind enough to guide us here,” said Maria.

“They are very innocent,” he said.

“We don’t wish to disturb them, or you,” said Maria. “We just want to head in the direction of Manaus.”

“It will be dark soon,” he said. “You can stay the night and we can guide you to a road in the morning.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Maria smiled back. “We would like that. There are a few supplies in the back of the truck we can trade. I must tell you, when I got away, it was in my captors’ truck. The supplies are theirs.”

This time the smile reached his eyes. “It looks like Wanau has already found something he likes.”

Maria looked over and saw that they had a bottle of whiskey.

“I’m Maria, and this is my daughter, Rosetta,” she said.

“Hi, Rosetta,” he said. “My name is Ric Johnson.”

“Hi, Mr. Johnson,” said Rosetta in her perfect English.

“Follow me. We’ll be eating soon,” he said.

Maria put Rosetta down, but held her hand. She retrieved their backpack from the truck before they followed their host. There was something about him that bothered her, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Perhaps it was his basic less-than-friendly attitude. Then again, he was probably not used to talking with anyone other than the people here. And the outsiders he did speak with wanted to cut down the jungle.

At the first hut they came to, they walked up the few rungs of the entry ladder and stepped inside. It had a wooden floor and hammocks along the sides. Baskets of fruits and tubers sat near the door.

A child ran out, laughing, being chased by another child and into the arms of a woman. Just the brief glimpse told Maria the child belonged to Ric Johnson. He had gone native. She didn’t act as if she noticed, just followed him to the back end of the hut.

He pointed to a hammock. “You and your daughter can stay here tonight,” he said.

“We appreciate your hospitality,” said Maria.

“As I said, I don’t get many visitors. It’s nice to have company. You’ll have to tell me about the sites you were visiting over dinner.”

“I will. You wouldn’t happen to have a satellite phone, would you?”

He hesitated a moment too long. “I did,” he said. “I broke it. Or rather, one of the children did. They are curious about everything and tend to play with anything. The next time I hike to civilization, I was going to see about getting it fixed or replaced.”

He was lying, she thought. His explanation was longer than it had to be, especially since he was so taciturn on everything else. She held tight to Rosetta’s hand.

“How long have you been studying these people?” asked Maria.

“It seems like forever,” he said. “We will be eating just as the light starts to fade. You can rest here if you like. This is the time I write, so I’ll leave you here. Feel free to wander around. Other than being curious, they won’t harm you or your daughter.”

He continued his way out the back of the hut and into the next. It was when he turned away from them, his head going from full face to three-quarters to profile, that she remembered seeing him. It was from photographs in the
Chronicle of Higher Education
. He was supposed to be dead.

Diane sat alone in her office. Notes of her conversation with Liam were scribbled on a piece of paper in front of her. She called Gregory’s cell phone.

“Can you talk?” she asked.

“Yes. I’m waiting for Simone’s brother to come down to the coffee shop to speak with me. Simone is still in a coma. I fear it doesn’t look good for her.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I keep hoping for the best. I have some more names to plug into your network,” she said. She briefly related Liam’s research and read the list of names to him.

“I have no idea what these people have to do with me,” she said, “but I was thinking maybe they could be Ivan Santos’ people. Maybe currently, or maybe at one time they fought in his army.”

“I’ll see if I can find out,” said Gregory.“I have—or rather, WAI has—a database on Santos and his activities.” He paused as the hospital speaker came on with an announcement and waited for it to finish. “We are making progress,” he said. “It’s quite a little intelligence bureau you have in your museum there. Any number of resources at your disposal—human, machine, databases. MI-5 has nothing on you.”

Diane laughed. “Yeah, and we seem to have just as many situations that need those kinds of resources. I’m going to the crime lab. Call my cell if you need me,” she said. “I’ll be available. I’ve put my assistant director in charge until I can work this out.”

“Really, over this little thing?” he said.

Diane realized he probably hadn’t seen the local news.

“The news media got hold of the story. I’m afraid I’ve been outed as a mass murderer. It was quite an unpleasant little news report. The museum needs someone with less of a target on her back right now.”