Blue Gold

Chapter 5

"How do you like your meal?" Dr. Ramirez inquired.

Paul and Gamay exchanged glances. "It's wonderful," Gamay said. Indeed it was, she thought, surprisingly so. She would have to tell St. Julien Perlmutter, naval historian and gourmet, about this exotic dinner. The thin, tender slices of white meat were spiced with local herbs, accompanied by rich, dark gravy and fresh sweet potatoes. Dinner was served with a respectable Chilean white wine. Oh God! She'd been in the jungle so long she had developed a taste for roast tapir. Next she'd be craving howler monkeys.

Paul displayed his Yankee bluntness. "I agree. It's terrific. We'd never guess it would be so good after seeing the men carry that odd-looking beast in from the forest."

Ramirez put his fork down, a puzzled expression on his face. "Beast? The forest-I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The tapir," Gamay volunteered hesitantly as she glanced down at her plate.

Ramirez looked stunned, then his mustache twitched and he broke out into a deep laugh. He brought his napkin to his lips. "You thought . . ." He started to laugh again. "Excuse me. I am a poor host. Amusing myself at the expense of my guests. But I must assure you that this is not the animal you saw being trundled in from the hunt. I bought a pig from a neighboring village

for this feast." He made a sour face. "Tapir. I can't imagine what it is like. Perhaps it's quite tasty."

Ramirez poured more wine and raised his glass in a toast. "I will miss you, my friends. Your company has been most enjoy able, and we have had many delightful conversations around this table."

"Thank you," Gamay said. "It has been a fascinating experience for us. Today may have been our most exciting day, how ever."

"Ah, yes, the poor Indian."

Paul shook his head. "I can't get over the sophisticated nature of all those gadgets he had with him."

Ramirez spread his palms apart. "The People of the Mists are a mysterious tribe."

"What do you know about them?" Gamay said, her scientific curiosity aroused. Before she attained a doctorate in marine biology from Scripps Institute of Oceanography, she had been a marine archaeologist and had taken many anthropology courses during her studies at the University of North Carolina.

Ramirez took a sip of wine, nodded with appreciation, and stared off into space as he ordered his thoughts. The buzzing and chirping of millions of tropical insects came through the screened windows, and the concert provided a fitting back ground for tales of the rain forest.

After a moment's reflection, he said, "First you must realize as we sit here in this island of civilization, with our propane gas stove and our electrical generator, that only a few years ago we would have been dead within minutes had we strayed into this part of the forest. Fierce Indians inhabited the area. Head hunting and cannibalism were commonplace. Anyone, whether you were a missionary bringing in the word of God or a hunter searching for animal skins, was regarded as an intruder who must be killed. Only recently have these people been domesticated."

"Except for the Chulo," Gamay ventured.

"Correct. They retreated further into the forest rather than

be pacified. I must confess that I learned more about them today than I knew in the three years I have been living here. I have seriously doubted they even exist. With this tribe you must separate facts from legend. The other Indians avoid the forest beyond the Great Falls. They say people who go into Chulo territory never come out. Their fear, as you saw today, is real. Those are the scant facts." "And the legend?" Gamay said.

"They can make themselves invisible," Ramirez said with a smile. "They can fly. They can pass through solid obstacles. They are more like ghosts or spirits than men. They can't be killed by ordinary weapons."

"The bullet hole we saw puts that myth to rest," Paul said.

"It would seem so," Ramirez agreed. "There is another story, even more intriguing. The tribe is apparently matriarchal. A woman leads it. A goddess, in fact."

"An Amazon?" Gamay suggested.

In answer, Ramirez pulled an object from his pocket. It was the pendant that had been hanging around the dead man's neck. "Perhaps this is our winged goddess. It is said she protects her tribe and that her vengeance is terrible."

"She who must be obeyed," Gamay said dramatically.

"Pardon?"

Gamay smiled. "It's a quote from an adventure story I read when I was young. About a jungle goddess who lived for. thou sands of years without aging."

Paul took the pendant and studied it. "Goddess or not, she didn't do a very good job of guarding the native we saw."

The older man's face darkened. "Yes, but at the same time . . ."

"Is there something wrong?" Gamay said.

"I'm somewhat concerned. One of the village men came to me. He said there were stirrings of trouble in the forest." "What kind of trouble?" Paul asked. "He didn't know. Only that it had to do with the murdered Indian."

"In what way?" Gamay asked.

"I'm not sure exactly." He paused. "Creatures are being killed in this forest at this moment. Insects, animals, and birds are constantly involved in a violent struggle for life. Yet out of this bloody chaos there is an equilibrium." His deep-set eyes seemed to grow even darker. "I fear that the killing of the Indian has disturbed this balance."

"Maybe the Amazon goddess is about to wreak her revenge," Paul said, handing the medallion back.

Ramirez swung the pendant back and forth on its thong as if he were Svengali using it as a hypnotic device. '~As a man of science, I must deal with the facts. It is a fact that someone out there has a gun and has no hesitation about using it. Either the Indian strayed out of his territory or someone with a gun invaded it."

"Do you have any thoughts on who this person might be?" Gamay asked.

"Perhaps. Do you know anything about the rubber industry?"

Both Trouts shook their heads.

"A hundred years ago rubber trees grew only in the Amazon jungle. Then a British scientist stole some seeds to start vast rubber plantations in the east. The same thing is happening now. The shaman who accompanied us on our burial detail today is a bit of a fraud when it comes to chasing out evil demons, but he knows the medicinal value of hundreds of rain forest plants. People come here and say they are scientists, but they are really pi rates looking for herbs that have medicinal properties. They sell the patents to multinational drug companies. Sometimes they work directly for the companies. In either case the companies make fortunes while the natives who have harbored the knowledge get nothing. Even worse, sometimes men come in and take the medicinal plants."

"You think one of these 'pirates' tortured and shot the Indian?" Paul asked.

"It's possible. When millions are at stake, the life of a poor

Indian means nothing. Why they shot him, I don't know. It's possible he simply saw something he shouldn't have. These plant secrets have been with the forest inhabitants for generations." "Is anybody trying to stop these pirates?" Gamay said.

"It is a problem. Sometimes government officials are in collusion with the drug companies. The stakes are very high. The governments care little about the indigenous people. They are interested only in how to sell the natives' genetic knowledge of plants to the highest bidder."

"So the piracy goes unchecked?"

"Not quite. The universities are sending teams of true scientists to track down the pirates. They are doing research on plants themselves, but at the same time they talk to the Indians and ask if there have been strangers asking questions. Our neighbors in Brazil have tried to stop the theft of genetic resources in the court. They sued a scientist for cataloging seeds and tree bark the Indians use for cures and charged him with stealing knowledge from indigenous people."

"A difficult charge to make stick," Paul noted.

"Agreed. Brazil is also pushing legislation to protect bio diversity, so we are making progress, but not much. We are talking about taking on drug companies with billions of dollars in re sources. It is not an even match."

A thought occurred to Gamay. "Has your university been involved?"

"Yes," he said. "We have had teams from time to time. But there is little money for full-time police work."

It wasn't the answer Gamay was looking for, but she didn't persist. "I wish there was something we could do."

"There is," Ramirez said with a broad smile. "I would ask a favor. Please feel under no obligation to grant it."

"Try us," Paul said amiably.

"Very well. A few hours' travel from here there is another settlement on the river. The Dutchman who lives there has no radio. They may have heard about a Chulo being killed. In any event, they should be told, in case there are repercussions." He stuck his leg out. The ankle was heavily wrapped in a bandage. "I can barely walk. I don't think there is a break, but it is badly sprained. I was wondering if you could go in my place. You could make a quick trip of it." "What about the supply boat?" Gamay asked.

"It is due late tomorrow as expected. They will lay over for the night. You would be back before it leaves."

"I don't see why we can't do it," Gamay said, stopping short as she caught the quizzical look in her husband's eye. "If it's okay with Paul."

"Well-"

"Ah, I apologize. My request has created marital discord."

"Oh, no," Paul reassured him. "It's simply my New England caution. Of course we'd like to help you."

"Splendid. I will have my men gather supplies for you and fuel my boat. It will be faster on the river than your inflatable. She should make the round trip in the same day."

"I thought you had only dugout canoes in the village," Gamay said.

Ramirez smiled. "They serve most of my needs, yes, but occasionally more efficient transportation is desirable."

She shrugged. "Tell us more about the man you call the Dutchman."

"Dieter is actually German. He's a trader, married to a native woman. He comes here occasionally, but mostly he sends his men once a month with a list, and we relay it to the supply boat. He is an unsavory character in my opinion, but that is no reason not to warn him of possible danger." Ramirez paused. "You do not have to do this. These things are really none of your affair, and you are scientists, not adventurers. Especially the beautiful Senora Trout."

"I think we can handle it," Gamay said, looking at her husband with amusement.

She was not speaking with bravado, but as part of the NUMA Special Assignments Team she and Paul had been on any number of dangerous assignments. And as attractive as she was, Gamay was no delicate flower. Back in Racine, Wisconsin, where she was born, she had been a tomboy who ran with a pack of boys and later moved with ease among men.

"Well, then, we have an agreement. After dessert we will have a glass of brandy and retire so we can be up at the crack of dawn."

A short while later the Trouts were back in their room getting ready for bed when Gamay asked Paul, "Why were you hesitant about helping Dr. Ramirez?"

"Couple of reasons. Let's start with the fact that this little side trip has nothing to do with our NUMA assignment."

Paul ducked the pillow tossed at his head. "Since when have you gone by the NUMA rule book?" Gamay said.

"Like you, whenever it has been convenient. I've stretched the rules but never broken them."

"Then let's just stretch them a little by saying that the river is an integral part of the ocean, therefore any dead person found on it should be investigated by NUMA's Special Assignments Team. Must I remind you that the team was formed precisely to look into matters nobody else would?"

"Not a bad sales pitch, but don't put too much stock in your powers of persuasion. If you hadn't suggested looking into this thing, I would have. On similarly flimsy grounds, I might add. I have an aversion to someone getting away with murder."

"So do I. Do you have any idea where we might start?"

"Already handled that. Don't let my taciturn Cape Cod nature deceive you."

"Not in a hundred years, my dear."

"Back to your original question, the reason I hesitated was my surprise. This is the first time Ramirez mentioned his boat. He's given us the impression he used dugouts. Remember the fuss he made about how great our little putt-putt inflatable was? I was sniffing around one day and found a shed holding an air boat."

She leaned up on one elbow. "An airboat! Why didn't he say something?"

"I think it's obvious. He didn't want anybody to know. I think our friend Ramirez is more complicated than he appears."

"I have the same impression. I think he was being disingenuous about sending us scientific geeks off on a potentially dangerous mission. We've told him enough about the Special Assignments Team for him to know what we do when we're not counting river dolphins. I think he wants NUMA brought into this thing."

"Looks like we've played right into his hands, but I'm not sure why he'd be so Machiavellian."

"I've got an idea," Gamay said. "He was talking about the scientists from the university acting as bio police. He is a scientist from a university. He sort of side-slipped the implication."

"I noticed." Paul stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. "So you think he's actually a bio cop disguised as a botanist?"

"It would make sense." Gamay paused in thought. "I must confess that the real reason I want to investigate was in those bags we found with the Chulo. I'm intrigued at how a backward Indian got all those high-tech toys, aren't you?"

There was no sound from the other side of the bed except that of low breathing. Paul was exercising his famous talent for dropping off to sleep on command. Gamay shook her head, pulled the sheets over her shoulders, and did the same. They would be up with the sun, and she expected the next day to be a long one.