Operation: Amazon

- 2 -

“That went well,” Wiggins said laconically. They’d made their way back through to the relief of the air-conditioned office, and McCally had opened the kit bags.

“I thought so too,” Banks replied. “At least we can get on with our business without distraction now. First things first. Sarge, you and Cally get first dibs. Tour the perimeter, don’t lose sight of each other at any time, and Wiggo and I will join you at the door here in 20 minutes or so. Anything hinky, shoot first and ask questions later. Understood?”

Sergeant Hynd gave him a salute, retrieved his rifle and ammo from his kit bag, and left along with McCally to take the watch.

Banks turned to Wilkes. The man was opening a cupboard underneath where the laptop sat, and came out with a whisky bottle.

“Leave that alone,” Banks said. “Maybe later, but for now, I need everybody clear-headed; even you. Do I know everything you know?”

“I told you. Everybody went so quiet, so quickly, there’s nothing to know apart from the fact that they all fucked off without anybody noticing. And I’m worried that I might be next, so if you’re here to help, start helping.”

“And there’s really nothing else?”

“Apart from sharing the local superstitions, which are local, and superstitions, I’ve told you everything,” Wilkes replied.

Banks saw the truth in the man’s open, almost pleading, gaze. He wasn’t going to get much more than he already knew.

But I need more.

“Okay, what about a guess then? In your opinion, where would be the best place for us to start looking for your boss?”

Wilkes stood and went over to a large map on the wall. He traced the river further upstream with his finger, and jabbed at a spot to the west of their current position.

“I’d start here,” he said. “It’s higher ground, and rough terrain. It’s also where most of the gold gets washed down from, and where we’re ultimately headed once we’ve cleaned out the riverbed. And it’s an open secret about the source of the gold. I’ve heard a rumor, through Buller’s old man, that there’s a German outfit trying to get there first, and it’s my guess, my professional opinion if you like, that it’s them that’s causing us all this grief. Industrial sabotage, for want of a better term. They’ll have the missing men holed away somewhere,” he tapped the map again, “somewhere around here.”

“There’s been no ransom demands?”

Wilkes shook his head. It was all the reply needed. Banks went over to look at the area on the map. There were no roads marked, no settlements, only higher ground and snaking tributaries.

“Does anybody live out there?”

“Not that I know of,” Wilkes said. “There’s some chat of a curse among the workers but that’s more of their superstitious bollocks.”

Banks turned from the map.

“Okay then — how do we get there?”

“Your guide’s boat is the best bet, you know, the one you let him leave in. Failing that, we’ve got three canoes tied up front, but there are no outboards and paddling against the current would be a bastard of a job all the way.”

“A bastard of a job you say?” Wiggins replied with a smile. “In my experience, we never get any other kind.”

Banks gave the private a look that shut him up fast, then turned back to Wilkes.

“How long would it take us to get up there?”

Wilkes shrugged and showed his open palms.

“I’m no expert, but in the canoes? Four hours maybe, and you’d be faster coming back with the current in your favor.”

“And it’ll be at least six before our guide gets back here?” Banks said, calculating the return trip of the one they’d just made.

“If he bothers to come back at all,” Wilkes replied and went back to the desk, reaching for the whisky bottle again and pouring a three-finger measure into a tumbler. This time, Banks didn’t stop the man as he knocked it back in one smooth motion and poured another.

Banks turned back to Private Wiggins.

“Gear up, Wiggo,” he said. “Let’s go find these canoes.”

“Up shite creek again, cap?” Wiggins replied.

“Aye,” Banks said. “But at least we’ll have a paddle.”

They met Hynd and McCally outside by the rear docking area. Banks brought everybody up to speed and outlined the plan while the other three men had a smoke to try to keep the flies at bay.

“It’s only a reccy mission for now,” he said. “I want to get a look upstream a way, so we’ll take two canoes out for a paddle. It’ll be minimal kit for now. We go tooled up, but leave the bulk of our gear here with Wilkes and travel light; water, guns, and ammo only. I intend to be back here in time for our guide’s return, so fast and quiet is the order of the day. Let’s get going.”

As they walked up the center of the flat deck, Hynd pointed out what he and the corporal had seen on their inspection of the perimeter.

“What does it all do?” Banks asked.

Hynd waved a hand to the left, then right.

“That’s a fucking huge sucking thing that chews up the riverbed below us, and that’s a big blowing thing that sends all the shite flying to the banks,” Hynd said. “At least, that’s Cally’s opinion. But you ken how he is with technical terminology. Apart from the filters, which are also fucking huge, there doesn’t seem to be a lot else to it. And there’s no sign of any foul play; in fact, no sign of anything untoward at all to report.”

“Let’s hope we find something up river,” Banks replied. “It’s a fucking big jungle to lose somebody in.”

Hynd jerked a thumb back toward the living quarters.

“What about Wilkes?”

“He’s got a bottle, and a cigar. I doubt he’ll get out of his chair before we get back. It’s his boss we’re here to find.”

“Will you call it in?”

Banks tapped at the pocket at his chest where he kept the sat-phone.

“Maybe later. The first thing the colonel will ask is if we’ve done a reccy. So we’ll do a reccy, then get back and hope there’s some whisky left in that bottle.”

The canoes sat low in the water and were longer and thinner than the single person vessels which Banks was more used to. But it felt stable on the water, and very maneuverable once they coordinated their paddling effectively. With two men in each, front and rear, and both paddling, they made quicker time than Banks had expected, and were soon round a long bend, out of sight of the dredging operation, and into a different world entirely.

Here away from the rain of slurry that had cloyed and choked the banks downstream, the trees, green and vibrant, almost luminescent, crowded down to, and into, the water. The river flowed, not brown but a deep blue, crystal clear and the water was filled with a bewildering array of fish in all sizes and colors. Dragonflies as big as sparrows darted over the surface and every few seconds there would be a splash as a fish rose for lunch. Higher up in the canopy, birds screeched and something heavier which might have been a monkey or sloth caused large broad leaves to rain down into the water to float away like discarded umbrellas.

The sun beat down hard from a cloudless sky and heat washed off the river in waves that had sweat running in a film inside Banks’ suit. Although they were making good time on the water, he knew that hours of paddling in this heat was out of the question. It had only been fifteen minutes so far, and already he felt his strength ebbing away.

“How far do you mean to go, Cap?” Wiggins asked from up front, and Banks saw that, like himself, the private was already flagging. He knew the men would keep going until they dropped if he asked them to. But he also knew he shouldn’t be asking them to.

“A wee bit farther,” he called out, to ensure they’d hear him in the other canoe. “But we won’t make much headway in this heat, so 10 more minutes of this shite, then we’ll turn back.”

He heard the relief in Wiggins’ voice.

“Righty-ho, Cap.”

The slight surge of the canoe told him that the private had put a bit more effort into his stroke, now that he knew there was an imminent end in sight, and Banks followed suit. They cut through the water faster than before, but it didn’t get them any difference in the view to either side; there was still only the wall of green, like a solid barrier between river and sky. After the 10 minutes were up, he’d seen enough. As there was no possibility of getting anywhere near the higher ground marked on the map, and nothing to gain by trying and failing, he opted for a strategic retreat until they didn’t have to make the trip under their own power.

“That’s far enough. Hang a left, Wiggo,” he said loudly. “We’ll let the current help us back downstream.”

At almost the same time, McCally shouted out from the other canoe.

“Hang on. There’s something in the water up ahead, coming this way.”

Banks and Wiggins pulled their canoe up alongside the other, and watched as McCally leaned over and scooped something out of the water. The corporal held it up, still dripping, and showed them a zip-locked plastic bag, puffed up with air so that it would float. There was what looked like a recent model cellular phone inside it.

“Well, there’s something you don’t see every day,” Wiggins said.

Banks took the package from the corporal. The screen of the phone was blank, and stayed that way when he tried to switch it on through the clear bag.

“We can hope it’s only the battery needing charging,” he said, and slid the package inside his shirt. “Fuck knows who it belongs to or why it’s floating about on the river. But that’s a mystery we’re not going to solve out here — unless there’s more weird shite coming down to us?”

They held position in the same spot long enough for the squad to have a rest and a smoke, only having to paddle lightly to maintain position in a calmer spot near the left side bank. They kept a close eye on the water, but nothing else came down the river and once the smokes were done and the stubs sent hissing into the water, Banks gave the order to turn and head back for the dredger.