Operation: Amazon

- 13 -

“Mr. Wilkes was most fretful, almost immediately after you and your men walked into the jungle,” he began. “Several times I had to dissuade him from stomping off after you, and even almost half a bottle of my rum did not settle him — indeed, I believe it made things worse. Emboldened by the drink, he started to berate me, you, the company he worked for, everybody under the sun. Then he loudly proclaimed that he would ‘sort this shit out once and for all’ and before I could stop him, he took out his pistol and jumped up onto the quay. He ran off onto the trail before I even got off the boat. I knew it was madness to try and follow him, and I thought to warn you. I readied a flare, and fired. It had only just gone up, lighting the sky, when I heard shooting. Then, before I could give any thought to going to Mr. Wilkes’ aid, it came for me, out of the jungle, one of Boitata’s children, slithering so fast I did not see it until it was on me.

“I want you to know, my friend, that my first thought was of you, and your safety. I was glad that I had fired the flare. Although it alerted the snake to my presence and cost me this bite that will soon take me to the dark, I regret nothing. Although I did not wait there in the dark for you, you are here now, and safe, and I can go to the darkness with my honor intact.”

The effort of talking had taken what little strength the man had left, and he slumped down on the cot, his eyes sunk in deep black shadows. Banks saw that the black tracery of venom was now creeping toward his neck and across his chest. It would be all over when it reached his heart or his brain; it was only a matter of which went first.

“You did more than any man should be asked to do,” Banks said. “I owe you a debt, so you had better stay with us, for I intend to pay it.”

Giraldo tried to laugh, but all that come out was a dry rasp that turned into a coughing fit. Banks held the man’s head up while he gave him more water. The guide’s skin felt like a hot skillet, and there were flecks of black at his lips when Banks took the cup of water away.

“Thank you, my friend,” the man said. “If you really wish to repay a debt, then I have only one last thing to tell you. Listen to my tale. Perhaps there is something in it that will save you and your men from meeting the darkness yourselves.”

Banks thought the man was too spent for further talk, but Giraldo seemed determined, although Banks had to lean close to hear, for the guide’s voice was close to failing completely now.

“I have been on this river every day of my life,” he said, “but I only ever saw Boitata the one time. No one has ever believed me, but I ask you, in honor of our debt, to believe me now, my friend.

“I was no more than a boy, no older than my own lad is now, and it was a day much like this one. The fish were staying down, and I was hot and tired after a long day’s effort for little reward. The lack of fish had forced me farther upstream than usual, and I was in waters previously unknown to me, in parts I had been warned from even approaching. But hungry bellies needed filling, and drove me even farther from home. So it was, as night fell, I found myself under the very same high tower we have so recently left behind.

“And here is where I need you to believe, my friend, for you have been in that same tower, and know the breadth and height of it. Believe me when I say that I saw Boitata, a snake bigger than any other snake in history, a snake that seemed to take forever to come up and out of the river, a snake that wound itself up and around the tower, in coils thicker than the thickest trees. She looked down at me, great golden eyes in the huge head that was at the highest point of that dark tower, even while her tail was still in the waters of the river.”

And with that, Giraldo was indeed spent. He dropped back into the cot, his breathing hard and fast in little gasps. Banks would not have been greatly surprised to see steam coming out of the man’s throat, such was the heat he generated. A great black vein pulsed in his neck, and the man’s stared up at the canvas of the tent, once more unseeing.

For the first time in several minutes, Banks turned his attention away and back to the river. They were still traveling in the center, in the strongest part of the current, but it was getting close to dusk now, with dark shadows stretching across the surface from the trees on the left bank as the sun sank away to the west.

“Do you recognize anything, Wiggo?” he asked the private at the wheel. “Any clue how much longer until we reach the rig?”

To his surprise, it was Buller who answered.

“We’re about 20 minutes away, I’d guess. There’s a long sweeping turn ahead, then we’ll be there.”

Banks checked the sky and the position of the sun.

It was going to be touch and go whether they got back before it got full dark.