Ramsey's Gold (Drake Ramsey Book 1) (27 page)

“Close enough, I’d say. Let’s follow the stream until we’re well away from the trail and, at the first hospitable looking area, set up camp. I don’t like that we had company, so I want to get clear of it. Follow me.”

The brook was only five feet across and no more than three or four feet deep most of the way, but around the second bend it deepened to where they couldn’t see the bottom anymore. Spencer stopped and pointed at a flat area twenty yards away, under the dense growth suspended from the tops of the tall trees. “That looks good as any.”

They pitched their tents, exhausted from the first day’s exertions, and lay in the shade. The heat drained from them any desire to move. In spite of the swelter, Allie decided to spend the remainder of the afternoon in the tent – a reaction to coming within a hair of being killed by the coral snake; everyone understood.

Eventually the sun dropped behind the distant mountain peaks, and Drake took his fishing line and a few small shiny spoons to see if the brook held anything promising for dinner. Allie emerged from the tent several minutes later and wiped the sweat from her face before moving in the opposite direction along the stream, rifle in hand, eyes roving over the ground in front of her, now fully alert to the myriad menaces the jungle held.

Drake returned with three fish – each at least a couple of pounds. Spencer looked them over and grunted. “That’ll do. I’ll cook them on the stove. I don’t want to risk a wood fire drawing anyone to our position. Let’s wait until dark. Nobody’s going to be roving around the jungle at night well away from any trail – there are way too many threats. Jaguars and snakes being the least of them.”

After nightfall they feasted on Drake’s catch, silent except for the sound of their chewing, the day’s events having reinforced the need for stealth and the suddenness with which danger could savage them. Jack argued for a three-hour guard shift during the night, and nobody had any objections. He would take the first watch, Drake the second, Allie the third, and Spencer the final that would lead into dawn, each waking the next when their stint was over.

When they retired for the night, the rainforest pitch black around their position, it was with a new appreciation for the hardships they’d taken on in their quest for the Inca city. As Drake shifted in his tent, trying to get comfortable, he was sure that the others were equally restive, and resigned himself to a long night with little sleep as the jungle around them rustled and creaked with unimaginable dangers.

~ ~ ~

The afternoon was drawing to a close when the wooden skiff beached itself on the riverbank and the captain killed the engine. He rubbed his face and yawned, glad to be home after the long day on the water following an uncomfortable night sleeping in the boat with one eye open. He was disconnecting the scarred red metal fuel tank when he raised his head and saw three Caucasian men moving cautiously down the path that led to the river’s edge. The area was deserted, the other fishermen gone, and for a moment a tingle of apprehension ran up his spine.

Gus sized up the old boat with a seasoned eye and nodded to his two younger associates. One of them stepped forward and fixed the local with a hard stare.

“You took some passengers up the river?” he asked in Spanish colored with a slight American accent.

“Yes…” the captain answered truthfully, his expression puzzled.

“We need you to help us. We’re supposed to join up with them, but we were delayed.”

“I can take you where I dropped them off. For a price…”

“How soon can you be ready to leave?” the American asked.

“Tomorrow at first light.”

The younger man relayed the information to Gus, who frowned. “We’re going to be too far behind them. Find out where he left them, and we can see about getting a helicopter. Worst case you can take him up on it tomorrow, but I’d rather get a bird in the air this evening.” Gus stared at the darkening sky with a sinking feeling, knowing that the odds of being able to arrange for transportation for a team into the Amazon at night were less than slim.

The man took out a wad of bills and peeled several high-denomination notes from it, and then handed them to the captain. “Where exactly did you drop them off?”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The next day began much as the previous one, up at dawn, trudging through the undergrowth trying to find a viable game trail, locating a promising one, and following it deeper into the jungle. It didn’t start raining until ten, and when the heavens opened up, everyone was relieved, the heat having built to an almost intolerable level in the interim. They marched along silently, occasionally pausing when Spencer would point out an animal or bird moving through the thickets, the downpour denting the leaves around them as they marched steadily forward.

They spotted several more snakes, most notably a large bushmaster, easily six feet long, that they startled as they came around a bend in a trail as they forged their way east. Spencer froze when he saw it, and held them back until the drowsy serpent had moved off the trail, preferring a less trafficked spot for its slumber.

At noon they entered an area with numerous waterfalls and took a break near one of the largest as Jack made calculations on his GPS.

He glanced at Drake as he entered coordinates using the keypad. “This area looks familiar. We’re half a mile from the first outpost your father and I located. It’s a little northeast of us, and as I recall, it was close enough to a stream to camp in.”

“Then that’s our target for the day,” Spencer said. “Half a mile shouldn’t take us more than an hour, unless everyone would prefer to stay here. Is there any reason we should go on to the outpost now, Jack?”

“Not really. There’s not a lot to see. A few remnants of stone walls overgrown with vegetation. I’d say this is as good a place as any to stop. We’re sixteen miles west of the spot where…where the final camp was located.”

Allie shook her head. “I want to see the outpost. We’ve come this far.”

“Why?” Drake asked.

“Because I trained my entire life for this, and I may see something that everyone missed.”

Jack nodded. “I suppose we can afford another hour. Let’s keep at it.”

The slog took forty-five minutes. When they made it to the outpost, everyone but Allie took a break while she explored the ruins. The stone outcroppings appeared unremarkable to Drake, but he went to join her later as she was still clearing an area beneath two piles of stone.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“This would have been the stone arch. It’s collapsed, but for our purposes, it’ll do.”

“Does it fit with my Dad’s theory about the paver stones that ran through the arch pointing to the next spot?”

“It’s interesting how they aligned them. A continuation of the path, but with enough variation so that anyone trying to chart a straight line between the outposts would be stumped – if you didn’t know that the pavers exiting the arch indicated the new bearing, you’d be wandering in the jungle forever. My guess is they used the stars as an orientation – you can see grooves cut into the arch base that probably coincided with the angle the sun would hit at a certain time of the year.”

“Were they advanced astronomers?”

“Yes, actually. They built observatories and timed their harvests based on celestial observations – often solar, but also of stars and planets, like Venus and the Pleiades,” Allie explained.

“Interesting. But how precise would that be for the purposes of plotting a course to the next outpost?”

“There would be a margin of error, sure, but it would be slimmer than you’d think.”

Spencer and Jack approached. “So? Anything unusual?”

Allie shook her head. “No, but the layout confirms we’re on the right track.” She pointed to where the stone arch had stood. “That would have stood about twelve feet high, and it would have established the direction of the next outpost.” She turned to Drake. “How far are we from the campsite?”

Drake did a quick calculation. “Seventeen miles.” He regarded Spencer. “Do you think we can make that tomorrow?”

“It’ll be a push. We’ve been averaging twelve per day so far. It really depends on the terrain. If we get lucky and there’s a clear trail most of the way, and it’s not too hot, it could happen. But it’s a long trek in these conditions. Don’t get your heart set on it.” Spencer looked around. “Do you want to stay here or keep going?”

“Let’s keep at it,” Drake said. “Maybe we can get another couple of miles under our belt before we stop for the afternoon. Every day of delay is another that the Russians have to catch up to us.”

“He’s right. We should keep moving,” Jack said. They spent another ten minutes resting before continuing east, leaving the outpost behind. Half an hour later they encountered a fair-sized game trail, and they were able to make it to a shallow stream two miles farther before stopping. It had begun raining again, which they were now used to, and they made short work of raising the tents far enough from the stream so anyone following it wouldn’t spot them – although the chances of that were slim given the overgrowth on both banks.

Once camp was set up, Spencer spent some time at the water’s edge. When he returned, he had a smile on his face – the first since the trip had started. He approached Drake, who was preparing to drowse in the shade of his tent.

“You got that big knife of yours handy?” Spencer whispered.

“Sure. Why?”

“I want to make a couple of spears. We’re going to eat well tonight.”

Drake unsheathed the knife and handed it to Spencer. “What are you planning to spear?”

“Pirarucu.”

“What’s that?”

“Big catfish. I saw a couple of them near some rocks. The smaller one looked like a good eighty pounder.”

“Eighty pounds? Are you kidding?”

“They get up to four hundred. But they’re not bad eating. And anything we don’t finish, the animals will take care of. Nothing goes to waste in the Amazon. I want to find a few sturdy saplings I can sharpen so once it gets closer to dusk we can spear one for dinner. Your knife’s got a better edge than my machete after a long day of hacking.”

Spencer returned in a half hour with three eight-foot staffs, their tips whittled to sharp spikes. He gave Drake back the knife, leaned the spears against a nearby tree, and wiped the sweat from his face.

“There. After
siesta
, we’ll spear us a fish.”

“Sounds good.”

Birds called to one another up in the canopy as the day wore on. The rain eased for an hour and then resumed with renewed vigor. Drake slept lightly for much of the afternoon, his prior night having been difficult, especially after his shift, when his adrenaline had been pumping with every stirring in the brush.

At five, Spencer’s voice called through the tent fabric. “You ready to play hunter?”

Drake roused himself and poked his head out. “Sure.”

They made their way down to the stream, spears in hand, and Spencer picked his way onto a jutting outcrop of boulders as the cloudburst eased to a drizzle. “There are three here,” he called softly, and Drake hurried to join him. Spencer pointed to the long, dark shapes in the water, the closest only four feet from the rocks.

“How do you want to do this?” Drake asked.

“Let me go first, and if I get him, you spear him too. Then we haul him out before the piranhas can get him.”

“Piranhas?”

“Of course. Water’s teeming with them. They’re attracted to blood, so we won’t have much time.”

“All right. Go for it.”

Spencer turned his attention back to the fish, which was immobile. Its odd tail waved lazily, keeping it stationary headfirst against the mild current. He hefted the sapling, as if testing its balance, and then drove it through the catfish’s flank in a fluid stroke. The creature bucked like a bronco as the water turned bright red. Drake followed Spencer’s lead and skewered it with his spear, and then they heaved the big pirarucu out of the water and up onto the bank.

Spencer went to work on the catfish with his machete, cutting long filets before tossing the carcass into the water. They carried the big slabs back to the camp and again used the stove as night fell. Everyone overate, the fresh protein a welcome change from the dry food they’d munched on throughout the day, and by the point Allie took the first watch, they were ready for sleep.

~ ~ ~

The sky was darkening when the captain pulled the fishing skiff onto the beach and pointed to the nearby jungle with a gnarled finger. The three hardened CIA operatives gathered their rifles and packs and followed the local guide they’d hired out of the boat – an expert in tracking who claimed to be as familiar with the rainforest as with his backyard. The captain reversed the bow off the sandy slope and returned down the river, leaving the four men staring at a wall of dense vegetation.

The guide walked along the edge of the jungle until he spotted a trail. He studied the surrounding branches, nodding and muttering to himself, and then turned to address the team.

“They went this way. But this won’t be easy. Too much time has passed.”

“How can you tell this was the route they took?”

“Some of the bark is scraped from that sapling where a pack or a rifle rubbed it.”

The leader relayed the information to his men. After a hurried discussion with the guide, he shook his head and shrugged out of his pack. He retrieved a satellite phone and placed a call as his men prepared to make camp.

“We should have gotten the helicopter. They’re a day ahead of us now, and the guide says that may be too much of a lead.”

“We tried. There was nothing available on short notice, and nobody who would risk setting down near there,” Gus said.

“We’ll do the best we can, but the guide’s already equivocating. Says he’s the best, but there may have been too much rain. And that if they’re sticking to game trails, it could make it impossible.”

Gus’s tone hardened. “I don’t need to tell you what’s at stake here. Best efforts won’t cut it.”

“Yes, sir.”

Chapter Thirty

Morning brought an eerie mist that blanketed the rainforest, and when they set out, visibility had fallen to twenty yards, making the first hours on the trail otherworldly. Spencer seemed especially apprehensive and stopped several times to listen attentively before waving them forward. The fog eventually burned off and they were treated to more of the humid heat that was now their norm, the daily rain that had made it at least somewhat bearable nowhere in evidence.