Ramsey's Gold

Chapter Twenty-Five

The handoff of cash took place without incident, leaving them with seriously diminished resources, but at least the outline of a plan. Spencer handed Jack a satellite phone for communication, and Jack told him to get to the tiny Peruvian town of Atalaya, in the Ucayali region of the country, smack in the middle of the eastern jungle, as soon as possible. Spencer agreed to join them there in three days — he said he needed to coordinate support for their journey — which gave Drake pause. But in keeping with his new philosophy of silence on the subject of Spencer, he didn’t voice his misgivings: that Spencer would never appear, preferring to make off with a huge amount of their cash. In Peru, Drake figured a smuggler like Spencer could easily vanish for years, leaving no trace.

Jack didn’t seem concerned, so Drake choked down his doubts and put on a brave face. Spencer arranged for a private plane to fly them to Atalaya, on the banks of the Tambo River, where they would be met by a car and driver to ferry them to their lodging.

The plane, an old Cessna 210, took off at 4:30 that afternoon, and after a bumpy ride over the Andes at thirteen thousand feet, by 6:00 they were dropping over the jungle and touching down on the distressed asphalt at the Lieutenant General Gerardo Pérez Pinedo Airport, a grandiose name indeed for a meager strip of battered pavement. When the pilot opened his door, the wet heat seeped into the tiny cabin with a vengeance, easily twenty degrees hotter than Lima on the coast.

They exited the plane and walked to a battered VW Beetle, where a man with deep brown skin stood waiting, a grin frozen in place. As they drew near, Drake realized that the man wasn’t being friendly — he was disfigured, and one side of his face was puckered with scarring that pulled the lip up in a morbid permanent smile. The driver introduced himself as Benji, and told them in halting English that he’d escort them to their hotel. They quickly packed their bags into the small front trunk and wedged themselves into the Volkswagen, which was about the temperature of molten lead from sitting in the fading sun.

The engine sputtered to life and they bounced down a furrowed dirt road, Benji swerving to avoid the worst of the potholes, many of which were nearly the size of the car. A scorching breeze drifted through the small open windows, cooling the interior’s infernal temperature to merely stifling. Benji was as talkative as the pilot had been, which was to say not at all, and the only thing he said in the entire trip was to confirm they wanted to go to the best of the three lodging choices in the small hamlet.

Atalaya was as shabby a town as any they’d seen, an impoverished outpost built just west of the riverbank. When Benji dropped them off at their temporary new home, Allie’s face was a study in horror at the filthy street and crumbling buildings, although she quickly recovered and assumed her normally placid expression.

Jack gave the place a sour look and shrugged. “Doesn’t look like much has changed in Atalaya since the last time I was here. Maybe a little bigger. But still about as welcoming as hepatitis. Come on. Might as well get some rooms. By the looks of this joint, though, we’re lucky if it’s got running water.” He shouldered his bags. “Which is going to seem like impossible luxury once we’re in the rainforest. So enjoy it while it lasts.”

Allie and Drake exchanged looks and followed him inside, where a wizened old woman greeted them in Spanish, which Allie spoke passably well. Each room was the equivalent of eight dollars a night, which, while highway robbery in the ass end of Nowhere, Peru, they weren’t in any position to argue about.

The rooms were more like jail cells than guest quarters, each with a creaky overhead fan and a second, smaller one sitting on a table near the open windows, whose mosquito netting sported gaps the size of a man’s fist.

“Hey, at least the toilet’s got a seat,” Drake called out upon opening the bathroom door and seeing a mold accumulation that was more in keeping with a science experiment than human habitation.

“It’s the little things,” Allie agreed from her room next door, the walls scarcely more than cardboard thickness.

After settling in, they went in search of sustenance — an easier task than they’d expected given that there were only a few establishments in town that sold hot food, assuming you didn’t want to eat from the back of a barbecue in someone’s driveway. The family-style shack they eventually chose had six tables, of which three were occupied by workers, their faces tired after a long day fishing or logging.

Jack sat at the one closest to the open window and Drake and Allie joined him. The owner, a small woman with well-padded hips, wearing pink plastic sandals and baggy jeans cut off at the knees, approached and handed them a laminated menu before asking what they wanted to drink. They all opted for bottled water, the heat already working its dehydrating magic, and Allie read off the various choices, which unsurprisingly revolved around fish, with some chicken and pork thrown in — all of it local, they were sure.

When the woman returned with their drinks, Allie ordered, and the proprietress disappeared into the kitchen, where presumably she would cook the meal herself. An ancient standing fan blew eddies of moist air from one side of the restaurant to the other, and by the time the food arrived they were soaked with sweat. Flies orbited throughout the establishment, and Allie spent much of her time swatting at the pests in a futile attempt to dissuade them from their attraction to her.

“Get used to it. This is as good as it’ll get. It’s jungle, which means heat and rain, rain and heat. It’s probably a good thing that we’ve got a few days to acclimate,” Jack said.

“And I thought Rio was uncomfortable,” Allie said.

“I told you then, that was nothing. This is like the Bataan death march compared to Rio, because there you have the wind off the Atlantic to cool things off. Here it’s going to be miserable. Only question is how many hours a day it’ll rain.”

Drake tried a forkful of fish, and his eyes widened, then began streaming. “Oh my God that’s spicy. My mouth’s on fire,” he said, reaching for the water.

“The locals do like a little bit of pizzazz to liven up their meals. I should have warned you,” Jack said. “I remember that from last time. Probably kills the parasites, so be thankful.”

Allie nodded after taking a bite of her chicken. “At least I don’t have to worry about gaining weight. This will burn any fat off.”

“Along with most of my stomach lining,” Drake agreed, taking another soothing sip. “Which reminds me. How are we going to get food and water once we’re in the jungle?”

“Water won’t be a problem. I’ve got some treatment pills, although with the amount it rains, we’ll probably just collect rainwater — that way there are fewer complications. As to food, other than our supplies, we’ll catch fish when we’re near a river, and hunt whatever we can. There’s plenty of wild boar, different varieties of deer, snake, monkey…”

“We’re going to be butchering Bambi?” Allie asked, frowning.

“Either that or chimp à la mode,” Drake quipped.

“I’m so not going to eat monkey,” she said.

“In some countries, it’s a delicacy. Or at least a staple. Parts of Africa, for example. They call it bush meat there,” Jack offered.

“Ew.”

“How are we going to bring down a deer or a pig without alerting the whole jungle with gunshots?” Drake asked.

Jack chewed his fish, then pulled a long bone from his mouth and set it on the plate. “Fair question. I asked Spencer to source a couple of crossbows. They’re accurate, good stopping power, and with a little practice, silent and deadly.”

They ate in silence, the heat draining them of any enthusiasm they otherwise might have had at being so close to beginning their journey into the unknown. The flies were already an accepted part of the experience — the least of their worries and only a minor annoyance compared to the mosquitoes, which came out en masse as dusk arrived.

“I see what you mean by needing insect repellent,” Drake conceded, glad he’d sprayed not only his skin but his clothes.

Jack nodded. “That’s the thing I remember like it was yesterday. If you leave even one inch unprotected, you’ll be eaten alive, and malaria and dengue fever are endemic to this area. Bug spray’s more valuable than water in the jungle. I honestly don’t know how anyone explored without it. Imagine being on a wooden boat five hundred years ago, going up the Amazon, wearing armor. Unbelievable, really, when you think about it.”

“I suppose we don’t have it so bad,” Allie said, waving away a particularly persistent fly circling her head.

“It’s all relative. The town’s grown some, but it doesn’t seem like prosperity’s singled it out. Look at the place. The poor are really poor, and the shopkeepers don’t have it much better. Amazing that people can live like this,” Jack said. “At least some of the streets are paved now. That’s progress.”

They paid a pittance for their meals before walking to the malecon that ran along the river, ambling down the sidewalk that meandered the length of the town along the bank. Now that night had fallen, only a few of the buildings in town had lights on — most were dark, the next work day starting when the sun came up, the residents already asleep.

After a cursory constitutional they returned to the hotel, which wasn’t any more inviting in the evening than it had been in daylight. On the street, two small motorized tricycles sat parked waiting for fares — the town’s taxi force, hardly more than motorbikes with a cab on the back large enough to accommodate a couple, like the tuk tuks of Vietnam and Thailand. The drivers lounged by the corner, trading jokes and anecdotes, nowhere to go, no customers, buoyed by the eternal hope that someone would happen along and want a ride.

Upstairs in the room, Drake took a tepid shower and then coated himself head to toe with bug spray before pointing the fan at the bed and pulling back the single sheet to confirm there were no insects lurking beneath it to feast on him. Satisfied he was safe, at least for the moment, he switched off the light and rested his head on the flat pillow, the only sound the occasional laugh from the drivers on the street below and the atonal hum of the fan’s motor.