Now I’d have to risk exposing my mission to someone who just might deduce what I was after. Someone who might give Lawrence Daley the same information. This trip was getting more difficult all the time.
An hour later we piled out of a battered taxi and strode through a scattering mist toward the airstrip. A beat-up Cessna Caravan 675 squatted behind a sheet metal shed. At least the plane looked relatively new. Riding in it couldn’t be any worse than riding ten miles in a shockless Chevy over the pocked and jutted road to the airstrip. The runway, predictably, was a ribbon shaved out of the jungle, bounded by ever-encroaching forest currently being beaten back by a small army of machete-wielding Indians.
When we approached the shed, its crooked wooden door shoved open and a smallish Brazilian stepped out to yell at Carlos. Carlos started shouting back with equal verve in what I gathered was some kind of bargaining behavior.
Then a fresh-faced, good-looking young white guy bounded out of the shed, carrying a backpack, a tripod and a camera case.
“Oh no,” I said to Carlos, interrupting his shouting match and thumbing at the college boy as he joined us. “He’s not sharing my plane.”
College Boy pushed his wire frames higher on his nose and held his hand out to Carlos. After a shake, he launched into a spate of excellent Portuguese that, judging from Carlos’s raised eyebrows, surprised the pilot as much as it did me. The Brazilian stood back and grinned. Then College Boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills that could choke a horse.
“We had a deal,” I reminded Carlos. “You. Me. The plane. No one else.”
“Excuse me,” College Boy said in English, turning to me.
“What.”
His smile didn’t falter. “I’m Dr. Richard Kinkaid. I’m headed out to Ixpachia Research Station.” He shoved his glasses further onto his nose. “I’m an entomologist,” he added, as though that would somehow make a difference.
I looked him up and down. Right. A bug nerd. A Milquetoast bug hunter with an oversize camera and no idea how to take care of himself outside a graduate school laboratory. I read the tea leaves and didn’t like what I saw.
“No,” I said to him. “You may not share my plane.”
“If the pilot’s willing to take me, it’s not your concern.”
“And I won’t take you to your research station, even if I knew where it was.”
“I have a map—”
“And I won’t pull your ass out of the jungle when you get burned by fire liana.”
“Fire liana?”
“Or stung by Dresk’s beetles.”
“I have an antidote for that—”
“Or get a limb chewed off by a hungry jaguar.”
“Jaguars don’t—”
“Or get shot with a poisoned arrow by one of the several hostile indigenous peoples.”
At that his strong face solidified to stone. Arrogant jungle newbie on his first field trip. His presence was an unacceptable risk. We glared at each other.
“Not interested,” I clarified.
“But I am,” Carlos cut in. “Ixpachia Research Station is where we are going. However, my rates are rather steep.”
The bug nerd turned his back on me to juggle his tripod under one arm as he counted out bills. Carlos’s eyes widened.
“Hey,” I said to Carlos, grabbing his sleeve to take his attention off the cash. “I paid for your exclusive services.”
“You got those last night,” he said with an intimate leer.
My face heated up. “I paid you good money for a solitary trip. A flight in, five days working in the jungle, a flight out. I’m not sharing my plane.”
“But his money’s as good as yours.” Carlos’s perfect white smile would have dazzled me yesterday. Today it just made me mad. “And the flight is dangerous, is it not? Should I not be paid for the work as much as I can get?”
“We had a deal.”
He chuckled. “Gatinha, my word is true, but money is life.” He waved at the bug nerd. “Bring your gear, amigo!”
The Brazilian cackled as I stumped along behind Carlos and the bug nerd, fuming. I’d have a word with Chico next time I saw him. For now, I’d deal with it. But I didn’t have time to baby-sit anybody. Scooter was my priority. Everybody else would just have to get by.
Carlos jerked the Cessna’s cargo door open for us. A whoosh of stifling hot air fell out. The plane was just this side of a stripped-down drug runner: a pilot’s seat, electronics and little else. Even the passenger seats were gone. Good old Carlos must have a day job flying snow. Maybe dodging the joint Brazilian-American drug-enforcement guys had made him arrogant with the average sightseer. He was used to flying much richer cargo than what I’d bring back.
“Let me get that for you.” The bug nerd reached for my duffel bag.
Hell, why not let him play gentleman and throw out his back? Maybe I’d make this trip alone after all. But he easily swung the heavy duffel bag into the cargo bay with one arm. Then he hopped into the plane after it, holding out his broad hand for my day pack and smiling at me like this was a Boy Scout jaunt to Camp Okefenokee.
“I got it.” I kept my day pack and climbed into the plane. I settled down across from the open cargo door and hoped he wouldn’t start talking.
Up front, Carlos flicked switches and turned dials. A few minutes later, the Cessna’s single engine fired up. The bare metal wall I leaned against vibrated from my neck all the way to my butt. Even my ankles tingled from the jarring.
The bug nerd shoved his gear against one of the plane’s exposed steel ribs and scrambled up to the cockpit.
“The engine doesn’t sound right to me,” he shouted over the guttering noise.
Carlos shook his head. “This plane is safe, my friend. Go take a nap.”
“But the mechanical clatter—”
“It’s nothing!”
The nerd’s firm jaw tightened, then he yelled, “So where are the parachutes?”
Carlos flashed the nerd a dark look and jerked his head toward the cargo bay. Get out of my face. I could read the message from halfway down the plane. Carlos might be a good guy as far as illicit dealings in the jungle go—meaning he wouldn’t kill anyone without a good reason—but, like me, he was a mercenary who needed to eat. Mouthy pip-squeak “experts” got tossed out the cargo door at seven thousand feet.
Besides, the bug nerd had given him the full payment up front. Dumbass.
The nerd flopped down again across from me, mindless of the open cargo door to his left.
