Captive Dove

by Leon, Judith

  “You know, life is very slow here at the falls. I’ve grown ever so comfortable with my days, not like when you took me to the Galápagos and you saved Solange. That experience taught me something, made me a better man, made me see that the world is a much bigger place than just Iguazu or even Brazil.”

  She sipped, he talked. “I’ve grown complacent in my comfort. And I see that people who come here and stay in the familiar comfort of this Western hotel don’t grow much, while the ones who venture out do. We—I—don’t get many opportunities to get out of the rut and grow. I’m eager to help. Besides, I owe you for saving Solange. But I don’t quite understand how I can help. And what will you do if you find her?”

  “Now that’s one of the questions I can’t answer.”

  A long silence followed as he studied her. He downed the last of his cappuccino. Bebe might have been born in an obscure part of the world, but she knew he read everything he could get his hands on and was as smart as they come. His guests were people from all over the globe, many in extremely powerful positions. That she wouldn’t tell him what she intended to do he must consider as more than odd.

  “What can I do? Of course I pride myself on knowing a great deal of the ins and outs of my world. But a kidnapping is quite something else. Information about such a thing would be closely held. Ten people taken? That is an enormous operation.”

  “Yes, but they’re asking a huge ransom which, if paid, would be worth it.”

  “So your prime suspect is Martinez. Have you considered that Martinez is very close to Tomas Escurra? Rumors, entirely unconfirmed and apparently unprovable, are that Escurra is the big crime boss here.”

  “I do know their connection. Martinez is the son-in-law. And it seems to me that Martinez wouldn’t mount such a major operation without the big man being in on it.”

  Bebe frowned. “Don’t be so sure. Martinez is also powerful and is thought to be his own man, despite the marriage. I think it might be a mistake to assume Escurra’s involvement.” He tapped his cup. “Do you want another?”

  “No. Thanks.”

  He continued. “I know someone who works in the stable at the Martinez rancho. He owes me a favor or two. I shall contact him today. Have him do some snooping, ask some questions. Early tomorrow I may have something for you. Shall I call you?”

  “Call as soon as the man has anything. The minute he does, Bebe. Time is critical. They might kill Linda. But we won’t use the phone for details. I’ll come here.”

  “You should know that many police around here are in Escurra’s pockets. The chief is my friend. I know he wants to nail Escurra, but you may receive little help from the police if Escurra or Martinez is involved. Better to stay away.”

  “It’s one of the reasons I so need your help and inside knowledge.”

  “Something else. Tomorrow night is Christmas Eve. Escurra throws an enormous fiesta every Christmas Eve at his hacienda. Everyone who’s anyone comes. I myself have gone several times. The parties are great fun, music, dancing, food, fireworks. And on another part of the property, behind three very substantial guest houses—he has a fighting arena where he throws a party for his employees. Rumors are that the entertainment includes cockfights and dogfights. Maybe things much worse. It’s an enormous drunken brawl, that’s what I’ve heard. No one in polite society knows exactly who attends the ‘outback’ parties and no one asks.” Bebe chuckled. “It’s our local version of don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  “If you think of anything else, you will call me?”

  “Of course. Before you leave, please, you must stop and talk to Solange. You will find her on the terrace. She was having a late breakfast. I told her you were here.”

  Nova stood. Bebe came around his desk, and they hugged. Bebe had the safe feeling of her real father. She tightened her grip. He wasn’t her dear father, of course, but old feelings of love and security flooded her. “It’s good to be with you again.”

  Doing a recon of the Escurra place was imperative. She retraced her steps to the terrace. She couldn’t refuse to see Solange, but she must keep their conversation brief.

  She had to ask a waitress to point out Solange Garcia. Stepping up to the young woman’s table, Nova said, “Good heavens have you ever grown. I didn’t recognize you, Solange. You must be six inches taller. You look like an Amazon.”

  Chapter 25

  Solange jumped to her feet. Nova stood five feet, eight inches tall. Now grown into a beautiful, bronze-skinned Amazon, Solange had to be at least six foot two. Nova smiled to herself, thinking that two days ago she had been on the Amazon River and how most Americans who knew that name thought that Amazons came from South America. The fact was, early European explorers, familiar with Greek mythology, had thought they had glimpsed spear-and-bow-carrying women in the jungle—Amazons they had thought—and so they had named the river after these powerful women of Greek fame.

  The Greeks had been fascinated with mounted women warriors from the Black Sea and a frieze depicting a Greek battle with Amazons even graced the Parthenon. In Greece and Turkey, Nova had visited the tombs of several such women: Penthesilea, Derinoe, Melanipe and Hippolyta. Recalling that Solange’s grandfather had come from Norway, Nova thought that might explain the girl’s unusual Amazonian height.

  “Papa said you were here.” Solange’s fully mature voice brimmed with pleasure. They hugged. “I just ordered coffee—but please, join me for lunch.”

  For a second Nova hesitated, a refusal on the tip of her tongue. She must go out to the Escurra place, but eating was necessary. She looked at her watch. Eleven thirty.

  Nova took the chair opposite Solange. “I am so pleased to learn from Bebe that you are graduating from Berkeley Law. How wonderful.”

  “Did he tell you about Mama?”

  “Yes. I’m profoundly sorry for your loss.”

  Solange gestured and a waitress hurried to their table. “A menu for my friend.”

  “I’m sorry but I’m rushed. Please order something they can put together quickly.”

  Solange ordered salads.

  “Won’t you have time to walk with me down to the falls?”

  The falls’ edge wasn’t more than a short city block away. The roar and the mist once more made Nova feel like she had arrived at the throne of the Wizard of Oz. Solange continued as their salads arrived. “The butterflies simply overrun everything this time of year. Yesterday in one water puddle alone, I saw six different species drinking. I was on the path to the Isla San Martin overlook. Papa has told me you love to go there.”

  “I’ve had four transcendent experiences in my life, Solange. One in Grand Canyon. One in Africa. And twice here on the San Martin overlook.”

  Solange frowned. “What does transcendent feel like?”

  “The overlook is halfway down to the river and very close to the water. You feel your bones vibrating. It felt like I was being held in the arms of the goddess Gaia—a sense of mind-blowing power and largeness beyond anything I can put into words. I felt humbled, and at the same time I felt one with an immensely powerful force.”

  Nova forked down the salad as though a gun were at her back. In truth, the gun was at someone else’s back. A glance at her watch. Eleven forty-five. If the kidnappers kept their word, in fifteen minutes a hostage would die.

  “But I’ve been rude,” Solange suddenly said. “I haven’t let you explain why you are in such a hurry.”

  “I must ask you to keep what I say in secret.”

  “Whatever you say.”

  “I’ve lost contact with my sister. I believe she is somewhere here in the area of Iguazu, but I am sick with worry for her. I was hoping Bebe could help me.”

  “Star?”

  Here she was, lying again, now to Solange. “No. Star is fine. It’s my sister Linda.”

  “I don’t remember you having another sister.”

  “I’m going to the police, I think, after I leave you.” She took a last bite of avocado. “And I fear that
must be now.”

  She used the napkin and stood. Once again she hugged the tall beauty. Before leaving the hotel, she asked the concierge if the hotel had maps of the area that included the Escurra ranch. They did not. Her best bet, she was told, would be the tourist office in Ciudad del Este.

  On her way to the tourist office, Nova crossed the bridge back into Paraguay. She must also stop at the Blue Parrot to change from the white pants and silk top into something that a bird-watcher might wear: the lightweight, easy-dry jungle-green pants and shirt that many tourists adopted. The sweat already beading on her forehead whenever she stepped outside called for a French braid pinned up off her neck, a bandanna worn as a headband, and her camouflage hat. Her high-top hiking boots were unusual because a GPS transponder had been built into one heel and the other heel contained a single-edged razor blade, useful for cutting all sorts of things. It released into her hand when she touched a spring latch on the front edge of the heel.

  She thought about the Hill boy—the diabetic—wondered how the heat might be affecting him. If he hadn’t been allowed to take his insulin with him or was kept from taking it, he might already be dead. Lord, everything was taking so damn long!

  The woman in the tourist office spoke good American English. When Nova explained that she wanted to do some birding but had lost her luggage with all of her maps and field glasses and cameras, the woman took charge. She said she loved talking to bird watchers, they were such a polite group of people.

  She gave Nova a remarkably detailed map of both Ciudad del Este in Paraguay and the outlying land around the falls, including Argentina and Brazil. Outside Iguazu National Park, this rugged part of the world had long ago been broken up into fiefdoms, ranches of one hundred thousand acres being not uncommon. Escurra’s was a kingdom of nearly half a million acres carved out of Brazilian territory.

  The woman knew exactly where Escurra’s house was located and marked it on the map with an X. She suggested a place where Nova could buy field glasses and a camera and rent a four-wheel drive. When her helpful tourist agent asked, frowning, if Nova was alone, Nova lied and said, “Three friends.”

  By two o’clock, she had what she needed and had changed clothes. She put the four-wheel drive, an open-top Jeep in gear, studied the map for a moment, and headed out of Ciudad del Este for Brazil. She text-messaged Joe. He wouldn’t like that she was going alone to Escurra’s, but he would have to accept it. Time was against them. Something had to break, and soon. Splitting up increased their odds of getting a lead.

  Traffic in the town crawled, but once back into Brazil and onto the two-lane graded dirt road that should take her to Escurra’s place, she made better time—she would reach the northern edge of the property, the location of the house, in thirty minutes.

  Chapter 26

  Given that the dirt road meandered through unfamiliar territory with a wall of jungle on either side, Nova considered that getting lost only once qualified as success. She’d made a right turn too soon and had ended up at a small beach on a branch of the Iguazu River. The road hadn’t been marked on the map.

  She turned around and when she took the next right, the grading of the dirt immediately improved. Soon gravel replaced dirt. She had to be headed for Escurra’s front gate.

  The map indicated that a network of roads led to various scenic sights, or tourist trailheads, and small ranches. On the map she had sketched out a route that looked as if it might let her work her way around the property’s edges.

  At three fifteen she pulled off the road, about two football fields east of the main entrance. Most of the jungle had been cleared away between the road and the house. Keeping within tree cover, she found a strangler fig with vines wrapped around it like a ladder, which made it easy to climb. Nestled into a comfortable perch amid lianas and orchids, and steadying her arm against a branch, she trained the ten-power glasses onto Escurra’s home.

  She would give this thirty minutes. From a leg pocket she fetched out a pencil and steno pad and sketched what she could see, estimating distances and occasionally shooing away a butterfly attracted to the salty sweat on her hands or face.

  At the top of her sketch she drew the hacienda. Its American Southwest look was familiar: adobe with red tile, two stories and lots of sprawl. Green grass all around it. A square of blue had to be a swimming pool. A separate building with electrical lines between it and the mansion housed one or more electrical generators.

  To the south lay three smaller houses. She remembered Bebe saying that Escurra had built three guest rancheritas. A bit beyond the rancheritas, a circular, two-story structure rose, which she took to be Escurra’s cock- and dogfighting pit. Next to it stretched a single-story row of what was either one long shed, or a bunch of sheds strung together. Now there, she thought, was a place where a man could hold ten hostages. Well away from all these structures lay five buildings that appeared to be bunkhouses—a few battered jalopies in front, chairs on the verandas, open doors.

  She nibbled her eraser’s tip as she tried to figure out how to get a look inside the shed. A strip of jungle ran across the property behind them. The sound of howler monkeys reached her all the way from the trees as she penciled in the strip of green.

  She checked the map. The ribbon of jungle probably ran along a small tributary of the Iguazu River that crossed through Escurra’s property. If she could find where that jungle strip began, she could most definitely use it as cover to approach the sheds from the rear.

  Activity near the entry road caught her attention. A battered truck with an empty bed drove through the massive wooden gates and parked at the hacienda. A woman climbed out, went inside and after ten minutes returned to the truck and left the way she’d come.

  At twenty minutes of her allotted thirty, Nova felt a rush of anticipation when she heard the familiar sound of beating helicopter blades. Sure enough, a four-seater Bell & Howell swooped in, a clone of the helicopter she’d once flown over Iguazu Falls. It landed on a helicopter pad. Three men hopped out and dashed into the house. At this distance she wouldn’t be able to identify them later even if her life depended on it. Which it might.

  After thirty minutes, she slithered down and headed the Jeep farther east. The jungle on her right soon gave way to tall grassland and fences designed to keep cattle from straying. Judging from their snowy flanks and scimitar-like horns, the cattle were the same humpback, well-mannered zebu she’d seen all over the Paraguayan Pantanal. A bit farther along she heard a trumpet, and scanning the grass she spotted a lone mounted cowboy on the far horizon. She heard the trumpet sound again. Every zebu between her and the cowboy that hadn’t already done so lifted its head. Several started a slow walk in his direction. Salt, she thought. Pantanal cowboys used a trumpet to signal their cattle that a salt lick had been refilled and was ready for customers.

  When she arrived at a strip of jungle and then a bridge crossing the river, her pulse sped up again. She drove off the road as far as she could into dense undergrowth. How often, if at all, did Escurra’s guards check the various parts of the property? If they found the Jeep, they would certainly hunt for its owner. The risk was unavoidable.

  Her watch said four o’clock. She moved west rapidly over the gnarled bases of the looming trees, welcoming the jungle’s shade. In the perpetual gloom of a tropical rain forest’s understory, undergrowth has little chance to get a foothold. Even without a trail she moved quickly over spongy, earthy-smelling groundcover left by decades or even centuries of undisturbed decaying vegetation.

  Butterflies. Begonias. She stepped over a quivering line of leaf-cutter ants. Any other time she would have stopped to watch them trudge their way home with their little green sails, bits of leaves to supply their ant farm. But not today.

  In the roughly twenty minutes she’d estimated it might take her to reach the area of the sheds, the river—more accurately, it was a modest creek—suddenly expanded into a small lake of perhaps five acres. She doubted the lake was natural. More lik
ely, something Escurra had created with a dam. Why would he want a lake? The size was too small for sailing or boating. Besides, water lilies thrived in big patches; they weren’t compatible with boating. Maybe fishing.

  She skirted the lake, the sheds in sight about the distance of a couple of football fields away. Along the lake’s muddy edge, the jungle gave way to brush, short trees and a swampy shore. Birds, drawn to the water, abounded. Two rusty-red female jacanas picked their way daintily, like prissy ladies, across lily pads on their territories at opposite ends of the lake. A white great egret peered intently into the water, looking to stab a fish with its rapierlike bill. Two black-headed, white-bodied jabiru storks took off, their massive eight-foot wingspans breathtaking as they beat the air.

  A startling bang and clatter of the thick brush. A small chestnut body and tiny antlers exploded from the thicket as a red brocket deer took off deeper into the jungle. Nova rocked backward and pitched into the water, her hat sliding off her head.

  Her first thought, as she gasped for breath and kicked frantically seeking footing, was, piranha! The dreadful little South American fish, half of whose body was teeth and schools of which were known to consume an entire cow in less than two minutes. In panic, she gulped in bitter, warm water. She spat it out, choking, as her kicking feet found something solid.

  Piranha could nibble her to a quick and nasty death.

  Arms flailing, her feet slipped again on the mud. A caiman slipped from the shore into the water, headed for her at top speed, his long tail making curves in the water, his nose and eyes peeking up above the water line along his crocodile-like body. She guessed him to be five feet of obviously hungry reptile. Paddling to get her balance, she once more found footing and pushed off toward the water’s edge but up a slippery, steep bank.