The Source - Michael Cordy [47]
Ross and the others declined four times, but had to walk a whole two blocks before the man got the message and went in search of other prey.
Despite being steeped in history, set in the spectacular Andean cloud forests, and surrounded by the magnificent ruins of ancient pre-Incan cities, Cajamarca didn't boast many tourists. It was too far north of the popular trail and its world-famous sites: Machu Picchu, Cuzco and Lake Titicaca. Nevertheless Cajamarca still had its fair share of tour companies. After a frustrating day spent in most of them, they ended up in Amazonas Tours.
'Are you haqueros?' The man with the bad suit and worse teeth spoke loud enough for everyone in Amazonas Tours to hear.
Ross gestured to his companions sitting alongside him: the frail Sister Chantal in her olive fleece and pressed khakis, the red-haired, fresh-faced Zeb in jeans and a baggy sweatshirt. 'Do we look like grave robbers?'
'Are you gold hunters?'
'No.'
'Are you oil prospectors?'
Ross shook his head.
The man from Amazonas Tours scratched his head. 'Then why do you want to explore outside the usual tourist areas and national parks? The Amazon is a dangerous place. People who leave the known trails get lost and are never seen again.'
'That's why we need an escort.'
The man frowned. 'It's not just the danger to you. This area is full of ruins and graves, and in the past people plundered our treasures. The government has made laws to protect our culture. If you want to go outside the designated tourist areas you will need a permit. Amazonas Tours can arrange one within four to six weeks.'
Ross glanced up at the ceiling fan, exasperated. He was sitting before one of three desks in the open-plan office. The others were busy with tourists and a queue of four people was waiting by the large window, which overlooked the gardens of Cajamarca's scruffily elegant Plaza de Armas, the town square where Pizarro's men had slaughtered the Incas and captured the Emperor Atahualpa all those centuries ago. 'I don't see the problem. We just want to hire some equipment, transportation and a guide to help us navigate the cloud forest, the river and the rainforest.'
'But, señor, you don't know where you want to go. How can a guide help you?' He lowered his voice marginally. 'Unless you are haqueros and you have an illegal map.'
'We're not haqueros.'
'Then why do you need to go outside—'
Ross didn't let him finish. He stood up and shook the man's hand. 'Thank you, Señor Hidalgo, you've been a great help.'
As he led the other two out of the office, he brushed past a dapper man in a safari suit.
'God, this place is so bureaucratic,' said Zeb, as they emerged into the late-afternoon sun bathing the square. 'Perhaps we should use an unofficial guide.'
Ross groaned.
'That's the fourth tour company who've told us we can't go off the beaten track without permits,' Zeb said. 'They want to know what we're looking for.'
'Which we can't tell them,' said Ross, 'so we need to agree on a cover story. It seems they don't like grave robbers or treasure hunters, so I suggest we're oil prospectors.'
'I'd much rather be a treasure hunter,' said Zeb. 'Sounds way more romantic.' She turned to Sister Chantal. 'You said you'd been here before. What did you do?'
'It was a long, long time ago. I was younger and things were very different.'
I bet, thought Ross. He reached into his rucksack and took out a small palmtop computer, complete with geological maps and a global-positioning satellite system. 'We could follow the directions ourselves,' he said. 'Stock up on provisions and equipment, hire a car to the river, then a boat from there.'
'Do you even know what provisions and equipment to take? Or how much? What about when we're in the middle of the jungle?' said Zeb. 'Do you have any experience of surviving out there?'
'Some,'