The Source - Michael Cordy [55]
Hackett pointed to a well-worn road that led down to the basin. 'Your priest's next few directions lead us east towards the river. That road's been the only passage down to the Amazon for centuries so I suspect the trail will follow it to Tarapoto, then on to Yurimaguas on the Río Huallaga, which eventually connects with the Amazon itself. I'm in radio contact with Juarez, our guide, and when we know exactly where on the river your priest's directions lead, I'll call him and get him to pick us up for the next leg of the journey.' He pointed towards the Amazon. 'I suspect the directions will come into their own when we find ourselves in that uncharted sea of green.'
For some moments both men stood in silence, gazing across the vast expanse, lost in their thoughts.
'Can you hear it?' said Hackett, eventually.
Ross listened to the breeze. 'Hear what?'
'The call,' Hackett said, a smile forming on his lips. 'The call to adventure.'
As the gleaming silver Land Rover drove away from Tingo, a mud-spattered Toyota Land Cruiser set off behind it.
'Why we follow these gringos? They know where to find gold?'
Marco Bazin put down the binoculars. 'You're following them, Raul, because I'm paying you to. Keep your distance but don't let them out of your sight.' He took off his Panama and scratched his head. In the rear-view mirror he caught sight of the man sitting behind him, oiling his gun. More boy than man, his long, dark face was ravaged by acne. 'You know what to do? All of you?' He had to keep the contempt from his voice.
'Sí,' they mumbled, and smirked at each other.
Bazin locked eyes with the man-boy oiling his gun. 'Remember, you only get the rest of the money when the job's done.' He was grateful to be unknown in these parts, but his reputation had had its uses in the past. If these amateurs had known who he was – who he had once been – they would show him more respect.
Bazin checked his expensive new phone for a signal, then cursed his stupidity: though no bigger than a cell phone, it used state-of-the-art satellite technology so it should work anywhere on the planet. He called Torino's identical phone. The Jesuit answered on the third ring.
'They're on the move,' said Bazin.
'Don't let them out of your sight. I'll follow when I've finished in Lima.'
30
Yurimaguas
'Which is your boat, Nigel?' asked Zeb, in a bored drawl. 'Let me guess.' She pointed to a gleaming white vessel that stood out from the other grubby ferries and dilapidated steamboats berthed in the sleepy river port. 'That one.'
'How did you know?' said Hackett.
'Call it a wild guess.'
The journey from Kuelap to Yurimaguas had taken the best part of two days, and the roads had been as rough as any Ross had encountered. Even in the Land Rover the last six-hour stretch from Tarapoto had been an unpaved, gut-wrenching ride. It wasn't just the length of the journey that frayed tempers but being stuck for so long together in a car. Zeb might have had an ordered mathematical mind but she cared nothing for tidiness and liked to stick her feet on the dashboard when she took her turn in the front. She seemed almost to enjoy provoking Hackett, who was too polite to retaliate.
Hackett parked by the boat, and when Ross opened the car door the air was a good five to ten degrees warmer and more humid than it had been in the mountains. He got out and stretched his legs. Looking at the immaculate boat, he understood for the first time what 'shipshape' meant. Brass letters spelt out the name Discovery on the blindingly white hull, and when they boarded every surface was polished brass or varnished teak.
'What a lovely