“I checked online, and their flight arrived on time last night.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?” Amanda asked. “You seem concerned.”
Zane finished the last of his frozen drink and threw it into a nearby bin. “Not necessarily concerned about their safety. I’m sure they’re fine.”
Brett looked at Amanda. “Let’s just say he’s not a big fan of Dr. Mills’s colleague.”
Zane shot him a glance.
“Dr. Maxwell Cameron?” she asked. “What’s wrong—”
“I’m sure nothing is wrong with Dr. Cameron,” Zane said. “Just an old soldier’s intuition.” He patted her on the shoulder. “My big concern is actually you. Pretty girl from Austin trying to survive in the jungle.”
She laughed. “Look, I’ve traveled all over Africa and the Middle East. I’ve been bitten by nasty bugs, crawled on by spiders, struck at by snakes, and I even survived a dust storm in the middle of the desert. I think I can take care of myself.”
“Not bad for an academic,” Zane said. “Unfortunately I think we’re going to run across some things that will make that look like child’s play.”
“You sure you aren’t the one who’s scared?” Amanda shot back with a smile.
Zane winked at her.
“He’s right, you know,” said someone behind her.
Amanda turned to see a man in his fifties or early sixties standing on the boat. He must have slipped up quietly while they were talking. He had dark hair flecked with gray, a bushy mustache, and a pleasant but weathered face.
The man lifted a cigar and took a slow draw. After blowing a plume of smoke in the air, he said, “The jungle can be a terrifying place for those who visit for the first time. You must give it all the respect it deserves.”
Zane gestured toward the man. “Amanda, I’d like you to meet Jorge Salvador. He’s the captain of the Izabel.”
She extended a hand. “Hi, I’m Amanda Higgs.”
“The pleasure is mine,” he said with a smile. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I’ve always found it better to let people know just how different the jungle is from what they’re accustomed to.”
“The good news is that I’ve been in a few rainforests before, just not here,” Amanda said.
Jorge nodded as he took another draw. “That’s good. Just remember that we’re going deeper than any tour group would ever go.” His eyes narrowed. “In fact, we’re going deeper into the jungle than most scientists go. And for the unprepared, it can be a frightening experience.”
“I can assure you I have the deepest respect for the jungle.”
He nodded, although she couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. He seemed like a nice guy, but more importantly, he seemed like the kind of guy you’d want watching your back out in the middle of Amazonia. He was the kind of man who knew secrets, the kind that could kill you.
Zane nodded at the boat. “Brett, why don’t you introduce Amanda to the crew?”
“I’d be happy to,” Brett said, swinging a section of the railing back. “Welcome aboard.”
Amanda stepped up onto the craft and wondered how long it would be before she’d step off again.
As Brett escorted Amanda onto the boat, Zane heard a man speaking loudly from the boardwalk. “So they expect us to travel on a small—”
“Are you sure this is the right one?” the woman next to him asked.
“Of course I’m sure. The name is right there.”
Zane watched as the two stepped onto the dock, pulling wheeled luggage behind them. The woman was wearing a solid-red T-shirt, snugly fitting jeans, and running shoes. Zane immediately recognized Dr. Katiya Mills from her pictures. The photograph hadn’t done her justice, he mused. The woman was a classic beauty. Her lush brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her smooth, cream-colored skin made her seem even younger than her thirty-seven years. She was even wearing her trademark red lipstick.
Standing next to her was a man who needed no introduction. Maxwell Cameron’s shaggy dark hair looked longer than Zane remembered. What did look the same was the permanent sourpuss expression on his face.
As the two approached, they seemed surprised to see Zane and Jorge standing there.
Pushing back from the rail, Zane and Jorge walked down the ramp. The Brazilian extended his hand. “My name is Jorge, and I’ll—”
“Cameron Maxwell,” the man said, shoving the handles of their luggage at the Brazilian. “Let me just say right up front that Dr. Mills and I won’t be staying in a room below deck. You can put our luggage—”
“There are no rooms below the waterline, senhor,” Jorge replied.
The woman stepped forward and extended her hand. “I’m Katiya Mills. You’ll have to excuse both Cameron and me if we seem a little tired. It’s been a long trip.”
“Zane Watson,” Zane said. “I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“I know. I’m so sorry. I had the cell turned off, trying to save my battery.”
She seems sincere, Zane thought. The excuse is a little lame though.
Maxwell looked at Zane. “Well, you told us to be here today, and here we are. No harm, no foul.”
Zane thought about reminding him that they were supposed to arrive by noon but decided to bite his tongue. He was determined to keep things as peaceful as possible, even if the guy was a jerk.
“And here you are indeed,” he said.
“Allow me to show you to your rooms,” Jorge said. He grabbed the handles of Katiya’s two suitcases, ignoring the ones Maxwell had thrust toward him.
The linguist muttered something under his breath and followed them up the ramp.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The man sitting outside the café took another slow sip of coffee and set the cup down on the table. He picked up the Manaus newspaper and held it in front of him, using it as a shield while he watched the two men on the boat about fifty yards away.
Squinting, he watched their lips move in unison with the voices that crackled through his earbuds. His English was poor, so he found it difficult to follow everything they said. In the end, it didn’t matter whether he understood them or not. The entire conversation was being transmitted to a remote location, where it would be translated later that day.
There was a bit of static, so the man adjusted the position of his listening device, which was constructed to look like an MP3 player. It was a design feature that allowed the user to operate only a few yards away from the target. The Americans always boasted of their superior technology, but as far as he knew, they had nothing like this.
Despite the tactical advantage, the man still felt a bit unsettled operating so close to his targets. He was old school and would’ve much preferred conducting surveillance the old-fashioned way, from a distant rooftop or from inside a communications van.
Suddenly the man’s eyes narrowed. Two more people, a man and a woman, had approached the boat. He recognized them immediately from the photographs he’d studied over the last several days. Both were professors from NYU. If his information was correct, that meant the entire American team had arrived. It also meant they’d likely be departing soon.
His work now complete, the man stowed the listening device and earbuds inside his rucksack. He threw a few bills on the table, stood, and stepped out onto the boardwalk. The crowds were still thick, allowing him to blend in without fear of detection. Everything had gone off without a hitch.
Two minutes later, he arrived at dock fifteen. A Brazilian teenager stood from a bench as he approached. After paying the boy, the man walked until he found the skiff moored where he’d left it that morning.
After climbing in, he untied the rope and pushed away from the post. Once the craft was clear of the other boats, he started the engine. It sputtered to life, sending plumes of acrid smoke into the air. He puttered past the end of the dock and turned west, easing through the no-wake zone.