by Gale Borger
"I agree. Now we only have to figure out what the heck he's up to."
"That's what I hope to do at the top of this mountain. How's our patient?"
"A pain in the butt."
"Good. That means he's feeling better. Got to go, I'll call you later. Could you keep puttering away at the computer and see if you can find any more recent 'discoveries' made by Hank?"
"Will do, and thanks. Bye, Buzz."
"See you later." I slapped my phone shut and stuffed it into a pocket. I pulled out a topographical map of the mountain, and pointed to where I thought we were. My companions both pointed to a spot much closer to the top. I gave them thumbs up, and they did the same back to me. The driver downshifted as the incline grew steeper and just when I became apprehensive about falling off the mountain we leveled off and drove into a large clearing at the opening of the mine.
Our driver pulled to the far left of the lot, followed by truck after truck until a rumbling diesel barrier formed across the only exit off the mountain. My companions and I scrambled down from the cab, and the rest of the small army exited the other semis. I had an assault rifle stuffed into my hands as they pushed and shoved me along with them. I hunched my shoulders and tried to look bigger as we stood shoulder to shoulder (in my case, shoulder to hip) across the front of the trucks, weapons at the ready.
One by one, the workers noticed us standing there, and one of them rushed into the trailer, probably Chavez's office. I looked for a security force around the mine, and felt a bit surprised to discover that the only men who held weapons were those patrolling the perimeter. This Chavez guy was way overconfident he wouldn't be caught.
I watched as Ramon Nunez led a group of men toward the trailer. I slipped out of line and a hand snaked out and grabbed my collar. I twisted around and freed myself-scurrying along to catch up with Nunez. I peeled off like a Blue Angel when they neared the trailer, and ran around the other side of the entrance where a crude road carved a path out of the jungle and ran along the north end of the mine.
I inched along, watching for guys with guns and large hungry reticulating snakes. My foot caught on something and I looked down. I almost gave myself a heart attack when I saw a three-inch diameter monster hovering over the toe of my boot. I almost shot the damn thing until I realized it wasn't an anaconda, but a muddy fire hose. When my blood pressure finally dropped and my breathing returned to almost normal, I took one final shaky breath and followed the fire hose.
What I found at the end of that hose put the final piece of the puzzle in place.
29
I heard it before I saw it. The sound of water cascading over a waterfall drowned out much of the noise around me. I scrambled, slipped, slid, clawed, and slithered my way up a huge mountain of mud and remembered to check for snakes before I lay on my belly watching the mining operation from above. Behind a monstrous glass enclosure, the waterfall poured over a mountain of stone. I was so confused by what I saw; I yanked out my cell phone and called Sam back.
"Buzz?"
"Yeah, Sam, it's me again. Say, how coherent is Evo? I need to talk to him."
"He's a grouchy old coot because he's refusing pain meds, and unfortunately for us, he's very coherent. Hold on."
I smiled at the affectionate tone in Sam's complaints.
"Buzz? Evo. What's up?"
"Evo, explain to me about how gold mines pollute the environment. I didn't retain all of our conversation, but you said something about acid and ores and heavy metals."
"Sure. A relatively cheap way of extracting gold from ore is called heap leaching. The crushed ore is piled up and a cyanide solution is sprayed into it. The cyanide reacts with the gold and is collected in leach beds and in overflow ponds. They re-circulate the ore and through a process 'cyanidation' the gold is extracted."
"That would make the product more pure for transport."
"And a lot less heavy."
"Evo, I'm sure I just found the source of our poison. I'm looking at a pile of rock being bombarded by what looks like water from a huge fire hoses. The water falls through the rock into a trough leading to collection ponds."
"It sounds like you hit the mother lode. You're with the cops, right?"
"Well, sort of. So cyanide is our poison? Didn't Ian find traces of more than one heavy metal in the fish and the water?"
"Yes, and that could be because when cyanide breaks down heavy metals it can form other poisons. When cyanide combines with other chemicals it can create substances which are even more toxic than the cyanide itself."
Sam yelled from the background, "Freshwater fish are especially sensitive to exposure to cyanide."
"Wow," I said. "Do you think that with the heavy rainfalls this season, those ponds overflowed and ran down hill to the village, into the water supply, and ultimately into the lagoon? That would explain why Ian couldn't find heavy metal toxins embedded in the tissues of the fish–only in their stomachs. If the fish weren't native to the area, they would have absolutely no immunity to a fouled water supply. Those dirt bags at the mine poisoned the people of the village and anything that came into contact with the water."
Evo was on a roll. "Right you are. The cyanide actually blocks the absorption of oxygen by the cells, and ultimately causes suffocation…" I listened with half an ear to Evo when I heard a round chuck into a chamber, and felt cold steel on the back of my neck.
"Uh, Evo? I think I have to go."
"…Parts per million, whereas sixty to seventy micrograms per liter of cyanide…"
The gunman pressed hard against my neck and his other hand pressed down on my shoulder. I tried to interrupt Evo. The gunman flopped me forward onto the ground and gently placed a foot between my shoulder blades.
"Uh, Evo, there's a bad guy with a big gun pointed at my head. I have to hang up now."
"But when you are talking about a contained water source like the lagoon…"
"Evo! I'm hanging up! No offense man, but there's a guy here who wants to shoot me!"
The man holding the gun nudged me and fired off orders, none of which I understood. He pressed his foot across my shoulders and exerted enough pressure to make it hard to breathe. I didn't have to be bilingual to know he wasn't inviting me to luncheon al fresco. He was trying to crunch-in my el-chest-o. I heard Evo still firing off statistics and ignored him.
"Two-hundred micrograms per liter would pretty much decimate anything which ingested–what did you say? Shoot you? Buzz, Buzz! Are you there?"
I puffed pretty hard, and couldn't get enough breath to answer. I remember some grunting and wheezing going on, but as the guy with the gun practically stood on me. "Evo, (puff) they got me. If I die, (wheeze) get these bastards!"
I dropped my phone without hanging up and someone booted me in the ribs and flipped me onto my back. Gasping for air, I found myself staring down the barrel of a very large rifle. Crap. I stayed perfectly still while two guys argued back and forth. My eyes were watering, but I could make out a total of three bodies–all of whom were armed and assuredly dangerous. Crap again. I was definitely in deep doo-doo. I heard the tinny voices of Evo and the girls coming from my cell phone. I didn't dare move to pick it up, but one of my captors must have heard the yelling and picked up my phone.
"Allo?"
I heard Evo on the other end and prayed he would distract these morons until I got a head start. The guy on the phone laughed and gave the phone to one of the others. Already on speaker, they carried on a four-way conversation with Evo. I started to squirm away, but the only way to go was downhill. I didn't want to risk falling into the leach pond, so I scooted back the way I came. Head first, I inched my way over the crest and began to slither down the hill.
One of the men threw back his head to laugh at something Evo said and happened to look to where I should have been lying on the ground. He spun around and looked around the immediate area and down toward the cyanide pond. I tried to squirm faster about the time the man spotted me sliding through the mud backwa
rd on my way down the opposite side of the hill. He shouted and shoved the others. I thought I'd better exit fast, stage left.
I flipped over onto my stomach and gave a mighty shove with my feet. I hit a slick spot and surged forward. Water from the leaking fire hose slicked the hill like an old Slip-n-Slide. I began picking up speed as the guys at the top dropped my cell phone and fumbled for their weapons. I positively flew down that hill. Paddling with my hands, I shot like greased lightning over a hump and caught some good air before I hit ground and scooped up a mouth full of mud. I heard gunfire, but felt nothing as I accelerated to warp speed. I swiped at my eyes and realized my new buddies from the plane and truck ride were firing on the guys at the top of the hill who were firing on me.
The bottom of the hill rushed up at me and I remember thinking that Dad always joked that a fall off a cliff wouldn't kill you, it was the stop at the end of the fall. I saw my doom approaching at breakneck speed and wondered fleetingly if death by anaconda would have been less painful than death by mudslide. Over my screams I heard a colossal boom and wondered briefly if I'd broken the sound barrier.
I hit the bottom of the hill and catapulted into the air. Lord knows how far I flew before I crash landed. I curled into a ball and hit the ground with tooth-jarring impact. Though I'd prepared myself for the stop, the collision knocked me into tomorrow. When I finally came to, I thought my eyeballs must have blown up because my head hurt like hell and I was stone blind. I soon realized that mud packed every orifice of my body and not only could I not see, I couldn't hear and could barely breathe. I shook my head like a wet dog.
Noise exploded all around me, and a stabbing pain in my chest made me suck in a much-needed breath. I clawed at my eyes to remove handfuls of mud. I reached down to wipe my face with my shirt and found only mud covered skin. Oh no! I was blind and deaf, and somehow my shirt burned off on my way down that hill. I felt someone wiping the mud out of my eyes, and when I could see again, I couldn't do anything but laugh, and it hurt like hell.
Surrounded by a battalion of grinning South Americans, I shook my head and sent mud flying like a retriever shedding water. Uproarious laughter followed and I wondered why they were so entertained by my predicament. I became decidedly uncomfortable and happened to look down to make sure my sport bra was still in place. What met my eyes was a bust that would have made Dolly Parton jealous. It seemed my sport bra had collected mud all the way down the slope and packed it into my bra, from below my chin half way to my navel. I saw Armand, among the crowd, snap a picture with his cell phone and laugh. I realized something else in that moment; I really did hurt like hell.
The pain was so sharp it turned my knees to rubber. I grabbed my ribs, and mud squirted out of my bra and onto my laughing audience. "Armand," I yelled as blackness swept over me. Then nothing.
When I came to we were the a helicopter heading back to Lima. I noticed several things at once. I could see, I was clean, no longer half naked, and my bust had shrunk back to regulation size (sigh). I looked up into Armand's smiling eyes and said the first thing that came to mind, "Do I have you to thank for this?" He nodded his head and I said, "Does this mean we're engaged?"
He laughed and patted my hand. "Unfortunately no, Buzz." He put the back of his hand against his forehead. "Alas, I am just the beast of burden who toted you and your mongo mud bazoombas back to the trucks. I had to fight off your new buddies for that right. They also insisted on slinging a hammock in the back of a truck so you wouldn't be jostled around on the way down. We got you off the mountain, but to my regret I didn't have the pleasure of being on the cleanup crew. The hospital staff did it."
I swung at him and the pain in my side took my breath away.
"Hold on old girl, you have broken ribs. I don't want to be responsible for one going through your lung."
"Crap, it must have broke when that Bozo kicked me, or from the ride down that mudslide Whatever, it sure stings."
"Stings? Right. I've had broken ribs. Bees sting. Broken ribs take your breath away."
I laughed, but the pain had me grabbing my side again. "Wait! What about the mine, Armand? Tell me what happened! Where's Nunez? Where's Chavez?"
"Whoa. Let me see. Chavez is in custody of the National Police. The U.S. wants his ass, too, but frankly I'd be surprised if he made it through the judicial system down here alive."
"Why do we want him?"
"Arms, baby. Arms! That's what he did with the gold. He bought up arms and smuggled them through Port of Miami, New Jersey, New Orleans, and Seattle. From those places he distributed them world-wide. Quite the operation."
"Evo. I said. Call Evo."
"Already did, and he told me what you thought about the fish and the toxins. When I confronted Hank, he broke down and spilled his guts. Chavez caught him stocking the lagoon with the Corys and the Endlers, and in return for not announcing Hank to the world as a fraud, he blackmailed Hank into shipping arms along with the fish. Hank also made some damn good money off the deal. It was a great set up for a couple of unscrupulous, and might I add arrogant characters, like MacRone and Chavez. They've been flying under the radar since they began. That is, until one lone scientist threw a monkey wrench into the works."
"And the aftermath, Armand? Do they have an EPA down here that will do the cleanup of the waters and the jungle?"
Armand ruffled his hair. "My agency is sending people. They'll work with the Venezuelans to neutralize the toxins and clean up the mess around here. Nunez is footing most of the bill. He's going to use the profits from the mine for the cleanup and to rebuild the village at a different location."
"So you're finished down here as well? What now Armand? Do you go home or what?"
"I have some time off coming to me, Buzz." He sighed and looked out the window. "I thought I might take a trip to the upper Midwest, maybe Wisconsin. Who knows? I might make it over to White Bass Lake. Got an extra cot for a good old Italian boy from Queens?"
I squeezed his hand. "You bet. One with your name on it."
Armand dug around in his pockets. "Wait! I almost forgot, I have something for you."
"A present? Oh, I love presents."
"Uh, not exactly," he muttered and patted his pockets. "Where the heck did I put it?" He grabbed his jacket and rummaged around in the pockets. "Aha. Here it is!"
With a flourish Armand presented me with the ultimate souvenir, my mud-caked cell phone.
30
Between Armand, Evo, and me, I think we had enough pain medication in us to anesthetize a small third world country. Thank the heavens we were traveling by private plane, otherwise we would have been detained at customs as drug dealers.
It was a beat up party of five that arrived in the wee hours of the following morning at Mitchell Field in Milwaukee. Though not physically injured, an exhausted Fred and Sam ran themselves ragged trying to take care of three invalids. Well, make that two invalids and a faker. Armand's nose looked just fine, but he basked in the attention he received and swore his broken nose was a debilitating injury.
Airport Security took one look at us and dispatched someone to retrieve Evo's truck from long-term parking. They even helped load our gear into the back. Sam drove and Fred navigated. It was clear sailing at that hour of the morning on the expressway, so we made good time getting to White Bass Lake. Sam stopped first at my house and she, Armand, and Fred helped me to the porch. My porch doesn't have a rail, so we were discussing the best way to get me up the stairs when the door flew open.
"Damn it, Buzz." We all looked up at the wild man who burst through the door, and I'd never felt anything that close to a sense of home than I did at that moment. The stress melted away, the picture of J.J. mad as hell standing with his fists balled on his hips blurred around the edges until I saw only him. I felt warm and safe and a little muzzy Tears filled my eyes and ran down my face–probably side effects from the drugs.
I was so busy soaking in the ambience; I never thought to warn Armand about Wesley. Armand
stood directly opposite the door when J.J. threw it open and in the direct line of fire when a one-hundred-and-sixty-pound ball of black fire came roaring through the air. Wesley's paws caught Armand squarely in the chest and knocked him off his feet and onto his butt. Wes was so happy everyone had come just to see him, he did the doggy dance on Armand's body while Armand sucked air like a vacuum cleaner and yelled about his nose.
Fred ran to Armand's rescue and hauled Wes off to the side. He treated Fred to big slurpy doggy kisses, which splashed off her and onto Armand. Fred let go of his collar, and Wes turned back to Armand. Hilary chose that moment to come through the door and stand patiently until Wesley finished sliming Armand. I noticed her when she leaned against my leg, and I grabbed hold of J.J.'s belt so I could lean down and rub her ears without falling on my butt.
Wes finally realized he was licking a stranger and abandoned Armand and started back on Fred. "Wes, no. Down. Off. Off!" Fred stumbled over Armand and fell backward, her hand connecting with Armand's nose. Armand wailed and Wes treated it like a new game. Wes crouched on his forelegs and lifted his butt high in the air, tail wagging, and mouth grinning.
I knew that stance as Wes's version of the "tiger pounce" and figured I'd better distract him. I still held onto J.J.'s belt and said out of the corner of my mouth, "Protect me, Green." I turned to Wes. "Wesley, I'm home."
Wesley's head shot up and he spun in circles. He finally saw me standing next to J.J. and bounded forward to greet me properly. A split second before take-off, J.J. yelled, "Down!" I dropped my teeth when Wes hit turf. King Wesley, Doggie School Dropout obeyed a command for the first time in his four years on earth.
"Holy crap," I said
"Holy Crap," Fred echoed.
"Wow," said Sam
"Wow," echoed Evo.
"Did someone get the plate number of that bus?" Armand, lay horizontal on the front lawn.
