“Ew.”
“How are we going to bring down a deer or a pig without alerting the whole jungle with gunshots?” Drake asked.
Jack chewed his fish, then pulled a long bone from his mouth and set it on the plate. “Fair question. I asked Spencer to source a couple of crossbows. They’re accurate, good stopping power, and with a little practice, silent and deadly.”
They ate in silence, the heat draining them of any enthusiasm they otherwise might have had at being so close to beginning their journey into the unknown. The flies were already an accepted part of the experience — the least of their worries and only a minor annoyance compared to the mosquitoes, which came out en masse as dusk arrived.
“I see what you mean by needing insect repellent,” Drake conceded, glad he’d sprayed not only his skin but his clothes.
Jack nodded. “That’s the thing I remember like it was yesterday. If you leave even one inch unprotected, you’ll be eaten alive, and malaria and dengue fever are endemic to this area. Bug spray’s more valuable than water in the jungle. I honestly don’t know how anyone explored without it. Imagine being on a wooden boat five hundred years ago, going up the Amazon, wearing armor. Unbelievable, really, when you think about it.”
“I suppose we don’t have it so bad,” Allie said, waving away a particularly persistent fly circling her head.
“It’s all relative. The town’s grown some, but it doesn’t seem like prosperity’s singled it out. Look at the place. The poor are really poor, and the shopkeepers don’t have it much better. Amazing that people can live like this,” Jack said. “At least some of the streets are paved now. That’s progress.”
They paid a pittance for their meals before walking to the malecon that ran along the river, ambling down the sidewalk that meandered the length of the town along the bank. Now that night had fallen, only a few of the buildings in town had lights on — most were dark, the next work day starting when the sun came up, the residents already asleep.
After a cursory constitutional they returned to the hotel, which wasn’t any more inviting in the evening than it had been in daylight. On the street, two small motorized tricycles sat parked waiting for fares — the town’s taxi force, hardly more than motorbikes with a cab on the back large enough to accommodate a couple, like the tuk tuks of Vietnam and Thailand. The drivers lounged by the corner, trading jokes and anecdotes, nowhere to go, no customers, buoyed by the eternal hope that someone would happen along and want a ride.
Upstairs in the room, Drake took a tepid shower and then coated himself head to toe with bug spray before pointing the fan at the bed and pulling back the single sheet to confirm there were no insects lurking beneath it to feast on him. Satisfied he was safe, at least for the moment, he switched off the light and rested his head on the flat pillow, the only sound the occasional laugh from the drivers on the street below and the atonal hum of the fan’s motor.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Again.”
Jack’s face was beaded with sweat and red from sunburn as he stood in a fighting stance, waiting for Drake to make his move. The field on the far edge of town was vacant in the late morning, the inhabitants all busy on the river that sustained them, be it with trade or food. They’d watched from their breakfast perch at a hut near the malecon as long, thin wooden boats eased into the flow of muddy brown water while young men tossed nets from their knee-deep positions along the bank, hoping to trap some of the fish apparently teeming in the noxious soup.
“Come on. That last pass was pretty good. Let’s see if you can do it again,” Jack said, having risen and dusted himself off after Drake had downed him for the fourth time that morning. Drake had improved as they’d practiced, to the point where he was now giving almost as good as he received. Allie sat beneath a tree fifteen yards away as the two men slowly circled each other, their T-shirts drenched with sweat as well as the remnants of a momentary cloudburst that had hit fifteen minutes earlier, before they’d had a chance to find cover.
The sun filtered from between the clouds, raising the already blistering temperature another few degrees. Drake eyed Jack, waiting for a tell — something that would give him an indication of what he was expecting, so he could do the opposite. The sparring had come naturally to him after years of karate and wrestling, yet he was consistently surprised by how fast the older man was.
Drake feinted left with a blow and followed with a sweep kick with his left leg, crouching as he spun, hoping to knock Jack’s legs from under him with the sudden change in tactics. His shin connected solidly with the side of Jack’s knee and he felt it buckle. Drake was already up as Jack tumbled backward, and it was over before it started as the ground knocked the wind out of Jack with a loud “oof.”
Jack lay flat on his back and looked up at Drake. “Looking good. I never saw that coming.”
Drake leaned over and offered his hand to pull Jack to his feet. “I got lucky.”
“No, that was actually a great move. And it worked. My only caution would be that if I’d had a knife, it would have been sticking out of your back before you had a chance to finish the kick.”
“Which is why we agreed that getting into a fight with a guy with a knife is a losing proposition.”
“So you were paying attention.”
“I told you, I have a good memory.”
Jack checked the time and stretched his arms overhead. “Let’s call it quits. I’m getting hungry.”
“What about Allie? When does she get the crap beaten out of her?” Drake asked.
“Son, I wouldn’t say that too loud. She’s about as good as any I’ve seen, and I’m not kidding. Lightning fast, and a lot of power behind her strikes.”
Allie’s voice rang out. “I heard you. Just let me know whenever you feel like you’ve graduated, and I’ll take you for a few rounds, tough guy,” she called from her position, the smile on her face belying her words. “I used to take down Dad with regularity.”
The two men gathered their backpacks, and Jack hefted the rucksack with the guns, which Jack hadn’t thought prudent to leave in the room for whoever cleaned to discover. The last thing they needed was to land in a Peruvian jail for possession of illegal weapons. He shouldered it and led the way back into town, taking long, economical strides. Drake hung back and chatted with Allie, who’d apparently warmed up to him again and was being increasingly friendly as they spent more time together. But even as they walked, in the back of Drake’s mind was the tension Spencer would bring with him. With an act of will, he decided not to worry about it — Allie was an adult, and if she preferred Spencer over Drake, that was her choice.
They tried a different place for lunch, a large palapa by the river, where several groups of laborers from the boats were digging into their food with gusto. Allie read them their choices and all three opted for the fish after eyeing the neighboring tables, where heaping plates of fresh catch were being devoured.
Training continued until another rainstorm passed through at 5:30, this one sustained. They soldiered down the muddy roads back to the hotel, soaked but at least not baking. That night passed much as the prior night had, and when Drake collapsed onto the bed after covering himself with a film of insect spray, every muscle in his body was sore. His last thought as he drifted off was of Allie taunting him.
The following afternoon, after another long session, this time with knives as well as more unarmed technique, Jack powered up the satellite phone just before they left the field and called Spencer. He had a hurried discussion and stabbed the phone off before rolling his head around to loosen the stiffness in his neck.