‘Will that be sufficient for my journey?’
‘Yes, now you just need to survive it.’
Looking at the boat Archer did not disagree, a zodiac would be much preferable right now, but as a former Ranger he was used to forced adaptation.
The three travellers pushed the old boat into the surf, its yellow painted boards groaned against the water. The hull complained as it suffered the second pounding of the day. The young teenager rowed with a strength and rhythm that belied his slim build, and they cleared the rough surf and inshore rocks swiftly. The grandfather started the stubborn diesel engine and rested himself at the tiller.
The engine puttered comfortably, coughed on occasion from neglect, it carried them straight out to sea.
‘How far to this ship?’
‘About twenty miles straight, the current will carry us to her from here; she has engine trouble so making repairs.’
‘Great so I am leaving one wreck for another?’
‘Something like that, by wreck do you mean me, or my boat?’
They both laughed, the old man had a pleasant manner, and was very fluent in English.
‘Where did you learn to speak English so well?’
‘I used to teach it in Mogadishu to the parents of diplomats, but that was another life. Now I just teach my grandson here, in the hope that he will escape this place.’
‘Do you want to escape?’
‘My chances of that are slim, too old to change now.’
Archer and the old man looked out towards the deep blue of the Indian Ocean, one escaping, one resigned to never doing so.
Jones returned to the hut as evening drew in, the sun casting the last heat onto the dry sand. With anticipation he looked for Archer in the barn, but only discovered the corpse of his guard, the flies already enjoying a meal.
In a rage Jones called his men, he asked who else had checked on their prisoner, unhappy with the response he shot one of the men in the head and dismissed the rest to search the area.
Archer had already boarded the ship, the Santa Real a Spanish cargo ship supplying food aid for Tanzania, well South of Mabalia. She had been stopped for almost a day, the Captain nervous, having been attacked by pirates further up the coast before. Archer had negotiated passage, his American accent actually calming someone for a change.
In exchange for servicing their weapons, and training their men in how to repel pirates more effectively, he would get a cabin and meals during their journey. With favourable weather Archer would be south in Dar Es Saleem in Tanzania within a day and a half. The American Embassy was there on Bagamovo Road, he could get paperwork to get him back to the States, and meet President Uncotto at the summit in New York in three days.
NINE
The airstrip was on the coast, the fresh sea breeze eased the humidity. Katherine and Debra dressed in fatigues and t-shirts, with baseball caps protecting their heads. The ladies sat down in the shade for a well-deserved drink. One of the research team was nearby, working with Debra on fitting new sensor equipment. Katherine knew that Debra liked him, teasing her for the past week. Juan Garcia Moreno walked over, his solid tanned frame striding over the thin grass. He smiled at the pair, Debra hiding any hint of emotion at his approach, her heart racing inside her chest.
‘Juan, nice of you to join us, all the sensors sorted?’
Debra was attempting to sound business like, but didn’t fool Katherine.
‘Yes thank you Debra, we can use the new sensors to scan any cavities within the stone circle wall, narrow our search and detect any other hidden structures.’
‘Really? Fascinating.’
Katherine stood up, eyeing Debra as she did so, ’Juan why don’t you run through the diagnostics with Debra, just to familiarise yourself, I have to return to camp.’
Debra glared at Katherine, out of Juan’s eye line, Katherine nodding her head towards him.
Juan began to walk towards the plane, very aware of Katherine’s actions, and smiled to himself as Debra’s boots echoed just behind him.
‘You have a good friend there Debra, you know that?’
‘Oh yes, she can be real buddy!’
Debra tidied her long black hair, rapidly plaiting it and tucking the strands she missed under her hat, when they stopped to inspect the aircraft, Juan noticed.
Katherine laughed quietly as she moved towards the waiting boat, one of the many locals would return her up the Cayapas River to the main excavation; see what progress they had made.
The boat ride was pleasant, apart from the insects, but it was the rainforest. The debris left from the tsunami forcing its way up the river estuary from La Tola was still evident. Trees, beach sand, and flotsam deposited for miles inland. The local team with them had cleared any trees that blocked the river, enabling them to transfer all their equipment from the Arcadia support ship to the site, thirty miles inland. She had never seen so many shades of green until she came here, the variety of leaf shapes, masses of vegetation all intermingled to produce a vast undulating green blanket. From the air she felt privileged to see how far this spread, uninterrupted by any form of major civilisation.
The local people had large towns up near the mountains and ancient volcanoes, the fertile land establishing crops centuries ago. The area she was travelling to was unpopulated, except for the motley group of insane foreigners currently camped out in the jungle. The locals stated that the mud, humidity and insects were too much for them to tolerate, and they returned to their comfortable beach homes in the evening. Leaving the archaeology team to be eaten by the local wildlife.
Her driver Sucré was very quiet, polite but quiet, during the hour journey he barely uttered a word, the occasional ‘sostenga firmemente’ for rough water, but nothing more, so she enjoyed the peace and quiet of the trip.
They rounded the last familiar bend, and the site came into view, the stilted structures erected by the Arcadia team rising ten feet above them. They had decided that with the river height being unpredictable, having any habitable structure at ground level had two disadvantages. The local wildlife would probably move in, and any change in water level would flood and damage anything they excavated. Therefore, the chief of the Arcadia had suggested using the damaged and downed trees to provide sturdy legs, sinking them a few metres into the dense rainforest floor. The deck above had walkways, canvas and tin roofs protecting them from the frequent rainfall, they had latrines, composting toilets with a unique odour, water collection and purification equipment, powered by generators and solar panels. They had to bring in supplies of food, and the Arcadia’s helicopter provided weekly food drops for the camp.
Katherine thanked Sucré and climbed the ladder to the first deck, the reception deck they called it. It was little more than an equipment dumping ground, a meeting point for the walkways. Evelyn was at the top of the ladder greeting her with a hug, and informing her of their finds, ‘Where is Christophe?’
‘He is up river at your stone circle, with Marianne.’
Katherine did not respond, and Evelyn knew the contempt felt for Marianne by the camp.
‘We have some finds from the ship, wanna see?’
‘Yeah sure, can I just get some water?’
‘I have some in the lab, and it is much cooler.’
They strode to the makeshift lab, the walkway undulating and flexing as they moved, and glimpse of the forest floor below through the planks. The lab was a combination of tin roof, acrylic sheets and timber, letting light in, keeping the bugs out. It had been assembled on site; an air-conditioning system rigged up to cool and purify the jungle air, and protect the valuable finds uncovered in the past few months. There was an airlock of sorts, positive airflow keeping the pressure inside higher than outside, so when you walked in air was forced out, no uninvited bugs here.