The Source - Michael Cordy [56]
Hackett beamed with pride. 'The Discovery's a custom-built seventy-footer, powered by two hundred-and-fifty horsepower Detroit diesels.'
'How many berths?' said Ross.
'Six cabins.'
Ross breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone would have their own space.
A small, wiry man with smiling brown eyes, honeyed skin and thick black hair stepped from the engine room. His white T-shirt and blue jeans were as spotless as the boat.
Hackett introduced him as Juarez. 'The irony is that I left England to come to the jungle and seek out ancient ruins, whereas Juarez comes from the jungle and wants to visit the great cities of Europe and North America. He hates ruins, regards them as dead places. Nevertheless, he helps me with the boat and acts as our guide. He speaks fluent English, Spanish and Quechua and knows the Amazon – river and jungle – as well as anyone. He's also a damn good cook.' Hackett pointed down one of the side aisles. 'Follow me. I'll show you to your cabins.'
As Hackett took them round the boat, no one noticed a tall man in a Panama walk past the Discovery. Twice. The second time he came so close to the edge of the dock that when he bent to tie his laces, he could easily have touched the hull.
Each tiny cabin was as neat and clean as Ross had expected, and had an adjoining shower room. A neat pile of equipment and supplies was laid out on each bed, including a tightly rolled hammock and mosquito net, with cans of full-strength insect repellent. 'Use it liberally,' said Hackett, 'even in your cabin. Before we leave the boat and go into the jungle Juarez will explain how to use the hammock and the mosquito net to stop yourself being eaten alive.'
'This boat looks expensive. How often is it chartered?' Ross asked, when Hackett had shown the others to their rooms.
'Not often enough. I survive by renting it to the oil companies and occasionally the pharmaceutical giants. It seems everyone's looking for treasure in the Amazon, whether it's gold, oil or the next cure for cancer.' He pointed to a chest on the deck. 'That's full of tennis balls and baseball caps with company logos on them. Tennis balls are all the rage with the kids around these parts and the oil companies give them out as freebies. It's good PR, apparently. Alascon Oil's red ones are the current craze.'
Ross groaned inwardly at the thought of Underwood and Kovacs.
'I'll leave you to freshen up,' said Hackett. 'Yurimaguas is one of the gateways to the jungle. If my reading of the next directions is correct we'll follow the Río Huallaga through Lagunas, then join the Río Marañón and head east. Eventually we'll join the main river, the Amazonas, which will take us into the heart of the jungle.'
Hackett left and Ross slumped on to his bed. He reached into his wallet for a photograph taken on his honeymoon: Lauren smiling in the glow of a Hawaiian sunset. She had a flower in her hair and looked tanned and well. He wondered if he would ever see her smile again. The rumble of the boat's powerful diesel engines interrupted his thoughts. He got up and looked out of the porthole. As the brown river water churned below him, the faded, raffish charm of Yurimaguas receded into the distance and the river snaked into the heart of the largest jungle on earth.
As Ross gazed down the winding waterway, he felt his quest had truly begun.
Bazin watched the Discovery leave Yurimaguas, then checked his handheld computer screen, which showed a map of north-east Peru. When he activated the GPS transmitter he'd attached to the boat's hull, a beeping dot appeared on the screen, moving out of Yurimaguas. He adjusted his Panama, then turned to the others in the dinghy.
'I like the girl with the red hair,' said the one who had been oiling his gun in the Land Cruiser.
Bazin glared at him. 'Forget her. You know what you have to do. I can't allow any of you to make a mistake. Understand?'
Raul laughed. 'You worry too much.'
Bazin suspected he wasn't worrying enough. He gunned the powerful outboard and the boat sped off in the wake of the Discovery.