Operation: Amazon

- 14 -

Banks took over the wheel for the last stretch, and Wiggins went to join Hynd and McCally for more coffee and a smoke. Buller sat in the belly of the boat under the canvas, keeping his thoughts to himself and staying silent. Giraldo’s breathing got louder, seeming to take more effort, and the man’s condition, while not appearing to be immediately fatal, wasn’t getting any better either. The only thing that gave Banks hope was that the blackness in the veins in the guide’s neck and chest did not seem to be spreading any faster.

He kept the power at full throttle, and concentrated on maintaining the boat’s position in the center of the current as they negotiated the bend. There was enough light left as they turned the last curve to see the bulk of the dredger stretched out across the river ahead of them. The squad moved to prepare for docking without Banks having to prompt them, tidying away the stove, coffee, pot, and mugs and taking positions front and rear of the boat.

“Once we get to the dock, the sarge and Cally head inside and get kitted up first. Wiggo, you’ll help me and get us tied up. When the other two get back, we’ll get Giraldo here off and into a proper bed, I’ll call for evac on the laptop link, and Cally can rustle up grub and a beer for us all while we wait. Everybody clear?”

There was no dissent, and they all moved quickly once Banks got the boat around the downstream side of the dredger and lined it up against the small dock.

“Buller, you wait here,” he said as Hynd and McCally stepped out onto the docking area.

“Bugger that for a lark,” Buller said. “This is my rig, and I’ll do what I bloody well like.”

Not for the first time, Banks considered tying the man up and gagging him for the duration, but Buller had already stepped up and out of the boat, and was hurrying along behind the other two men toward the living quarters.

Banks spent the next few minutes helping Wiggins get the boat tied up, then preparing Giraldo to move the sick man into the dredger’s living quarters and a proper bed. Hynd and McCally were quick about getting kitted up and arrived back in their spare suits of camo gear and flak vests, rifles slung over their shoulders.

“All clear?” Banks asked.

“Just as we left it. But yon sneaky wee bugger we rescued is on the blower back home already, Cap,” McCally said. “He’s up to something.”

“Aye? Well, so am I,” Banks replied. “But first, let’s get this man inside and into a real bed. It’s the least we can do for him.”

The four of them each took a corner of the cot and, carrying it like a stretcher, got the sick man out of the boat and across the dredger deck to the main living area. The guide moaned softly, but the black veins were like tree roots through his chest and neck, pulsing darkly among the sweat. Banks had rarely seen a man more ill yet still alive.

“Hang on there, man,” he said as they gently laid Giraldo in a bed in what looked like it might be Buller’s own room. “Help will be here before you know it.”

He turned back to the squad.

“Sarge, Cally, make a quick sweep, just to make sure we’re still on our lonesome here. Then get back and we’ll get some grub and a beer inside us while I call for evac.”

“Fine fucking plan, Cap,” Wiggins replied with a smile.

It only took Banks a couple of minutes to get into his gear, but once dressed, and with a gun at his shoulder, he realized he was no longer an escapee fleeing a field of battle: he was a soldier again, just like that. The ritual of dressing and arming himself flicked a switch in his thinking and the events of the previous 24 hours were starting to take on a dreamlike quality, already fading from mind. He let them go — moving ahead was the priority now.

By the time he got back to the kitchen area, McCally was already working at the stove, and Hynd was in the fridge, getting out the beer.

“Nothing to report on the rig, Cap,” Hynd said. “All clear.”

He handed Banks a cold bottle of local lager that went down quick and smooth. Banks took a second, but only sipped at it; the temptation was to neck it as fast as the first, but he needed a clear head, for the next few minutes at least.

Buller was noticeable by his absence.

“Where’s the wanker?” he asked and Hynd motioned through toward the office area.

“Through there on the laptop. Still talking to somebody back home. He’s awfy excited about yon vein of gold we saw; I got that much before he shut the door on me.”

“Aye, well, the money side of things is his problem, not ours. I’ll be happy if we get him back to base without any of us strangling the bugger.”

Long minutes passed. McCally produced a steaming pot of spicy fish and vegetable stew, they all had another beer while eating, Banks made a check on Giraldo, who was still alive, but barely, and Hynd and Wiggo left for another tour of the facility, all before Buller emerged from the office. He went straight to the fridge, got himself a beer, and had a wide grin on his face when he turned back to Banks.

“I left the connection open. Your boss wants a word with you.”

Looking at the man’s smug smile, Banks knew even before he left the scullery that he wasn’t going to enjoy the next few minutes.

“But sir, I’ve got a dying man here,” Banks said five minutes later. “We don’t have the time, or the gear, to babysit a rich wanker who’s looking to get richer. It’s not worth the risk.”

The video connection wasn’t great, what with the colonel’s face often wavering in and out of a badly pixilated screen, but his orders came through clear enough on the audio.

“The word’s come down from on high, lad,” his commanding officer said. “They’ve called in some favors and we’ve got a pair of tooled-up local Brazilian Air Force choppers coming in to your position. E.T.A. four hours. One will get your sick man off and away to hospital, the other is for you. You’re to use it to do what Buller tells you. The job is to secure the gold seam you found for Queen and Country and rich bastards everywhere. So you’ll make sure it’s secured. You have your orders. I’ll expect a report when the job’s done. Is that clear?”

Banks had already tried explaining the situation, twice now, but the colonel wasn’t showing any sign of wavering, and Banks knew better than to push too hard, for his superior’s temper was legendary. But he had to make one last try.

“I’ve told you, it’s risky. This is another weird one, Colonel,” he said. “There’s some big bloody snakes up on yon hill.”

“And you’ve got big bloody guns, and more firepower coming. Do your damned job, Captain, or I’ll find somebody who will.”

Hynd took one look at Banks’ face when he returned to the kitchen and, without speaking, handed him another beer and a cigarette. Banks finished both, pointedly ignoring Buller, before telling the squad of the orders he’d got from the colonel.

“And you told him about the weird shite?” Hynd asked.

“Aye. All of it. But the gold trumps all of that. Your man here talked to his daddy, his daddy talked to a politician, the politician poked the colonel, and now we get to do babysitting duties while a bunch of other fuckers get rich.”

“Same as it ever was. This wanker’s really got that kind of clout?” Wiggins said.

“This wanker really has,” Buller replied, and smirked again. “So get used to it. You’re working for me for the duration. You’re all drinking my beer anyway; this only makes it official.”

Wiggins spoke to Banks.

“Can I no’ give him a wee slap, Cap? Enough to shut him up for a while?”

“You’d have to get in the queue for that one, Wiggo,” Banks replied. “But orders is orders, so we’re going up shit creek again, as soon as the choppers get here and we get Giraldo to a doctor.”

Buller looked up and smirked again.

“Four hours? He’s got half that, at the most.”

“You’d better hope you’re wrong,” Banks replied. “Because if the man dies before the doctor gets here, I’ll let Wiggo give you that slap.”

Banks was pleased to see signs of doubt in Buller’s eyes as he turned away.

What he really wanted was another beer, and another smoke. He was dismayed to notice that the old habit was back as if it had never been gone. He forced the craving down for now and instead sent McCally and Wiggins out on another tour of the dredger before going to the bedroom to check on Giraldo.

Much to his surprise, the man was awake. The guide smiled up thinly from a face that was otherwise a mask of pain.

“I thank you for the bed, my friend,” he said. “It is easier on my old bones than the cot.”

“Don’t speak. There’s a chopper on its way. Hold on.”

The guide smiled again, a great sadness in his eyes.

“I always wished to ride in one of those. But I am afraid it might be the last journey I ever take, and I might be too dead to appreciate it.”

He reached out and a sweat-laden, burning-hot hand gripped Banks at the left wrist.

“I can feel the snake, my friend. It slithers and creeps through me, looking for its way out of the dark. Promise me you will do the right thing, if it gets out? I have spent enough time on this river as a man; I do not wish to live in it as a snake.”

“That’s the venom talking,” Banks said. “Fight it.”

Giraldo coughed, thick black phlegm oozing at his lips.

“We both know better, my friend,” he said. “I see it in your eyes, in your heart. Promise me. One last favor for a dying man. Actually, I ask for two. Find my boy. Tell him I died thinking of him.”

Banks didn’t bother with any platitudes. He knew a dying man when he saw one; he’d seen far too many not to know. Instead, he patted his rifle, then gripped the guide’s hot hand in his own.

“You have my word, my friend, on both matters.”

The squad spent the next hours on patrols sweeping the perimeter, keeping an eye on Giraldo, and smoking an endless succession of cigarettes over a similarly endless flow of coffee in the kitchen and mess area. Banks kept the squad off the beer. Buller, after taunting them with a cold one, went quiet when Wiggins pointed his weapon at the man’s chest.

“Do that again, lad. Go on, I dare you. You might be rich, and about to get richer, but a bullet doesn’t give a fuck about your money.”

After that, the company man sat in silence, and after a time fell into a restless sleep upright in his chair, still cradling a beer in his arms. Banks started to hope that they would see out the time until the chopper’s arrived in peace, but all such hope was dashed when Wiggins and McCally left to do a sweep. It was less than a minute later when he heard Wiggins shout out.

“Heads up, lads. We’ve got incoming.”