Testing Lysander

by L. M. Somerton

  Inside Estrella’s, noisy chatter mixed with American rock music issuing from four corner speakers. As well as more tables, there was an area of comfy sofas, a couple of rocking chairs and low tables. Brock and Kyle received a few curious glances and some smiles.

  “Hey, look…” Brock pointed upward. “The roof is open.”

  “Must be retractable,” Kyle replied. “Good idea. I’ve seen something similar at a place in Cartagena.” He crossed to the bar. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Just mineral water please. I want to be able to taste the food. It smells fantastic in here.”

  “Grab a table. I’ll order.”

  There was one table open, in a back corner. Brock took a seat and surveyed the room. The chalkboard menu listed around twenty items, including flash-fried sweet peppers and a brochette of shrimp and diced tomatoes. Fried local cheese with onion marmalade sounded good to Brock, as did oxtail slider served with homemade potato chips.

  The relaxed vibe was helped along by a few eclectic touches in the decor. Pop art pictures made from bottle caps lined the walls alongside etched mirrors and colorful woven hangings. A range of mismatched lamps dotted around provided light. Brock smiled as Kyle joined him at the table. He clutched a bottle of water and another of beer labeled 3 cordilleras mestiza.

  “Food won’t be long. I ordered something of everything, so I hope you’re hungry.”

  “I am and that sounds great,” Brock said. “There are only one or two things on the menu that don’t appeal to me, so you can have those. The atmosphere is good in here. Seems like Santiago was right to recommend it.” He cracked open his bottle of water and took a long swallow. “Mmm. Needed that.”

  “It’s nice to have somewhere to relax before we get to the hard stuff. There’s no layover in Cartagena.”

  “No, we just take a helicopter into the interior and then continue overland to Antioquia. I hope I adjust okay to the altitude.”

  “You’re fit, which will help,” Kyle said. “Unfortunately we won’t have time to acclimatize thoroughly. Time is not on our side once we get to the area where the terrorists are active. We need to be in and out as quickly as possible. I won’t pretend otherwise… It’s going to be tough. The conditions are extreme, to say the least.”

  Brock leaned back in his chair and directed his gaze through the open roof to the starry sky. “This expedition was always going to be a challenging one, even without the detour. I can handle it.”

  “I know you can.” Kyle didn’t say anything more as a series of small plates began to arrive at their table, delivered by an affable waiter who appeared to be at least ninety years old. Between them, they sampled everything the bar offered. The food was delicious and by the time they were done, Brock felt full and lazy. Kyle paid the bill and they sauntered the short distance back to the hotel.

  When they returned to the room, the covers on the four-poster had been folded back and a single rosebud laid on one pillow. In the lounge area, a sofa bed had also been made up.

  Kyle chuckled. “That explains why Santiago wasn’t fazed by two men sharing one bed. Though he seemed pretty astute. I wouldn’t be surprised if the second bed is just for show.”

  Brock sprawled on the four-poster, luxuriating in the bouncy mattress and soft sheets.

  “We’d better set the alarm. This bed is so comfortable I’m not sure I’ll wake in time tomorrow.” Mind you, he thought, Kyle probably has an internal alarm with pinpoint accuracy. Sleeps with one eye open, knowing him.

  “Stop thinking and get naked.” Kyle disappeared into the bathroom and seconds later the sound of running water and the scent of oranges filled the air.

  “Yes, Sir,” Brock muttered with a touch of belligerence that melted away when Kyle reappeared in the doorway stark naked and gorgeous.

  “Bath, bondage and a blindfold, what more could a man ask for?”

  “You’re very good to me, Sir.” Brock couldn’t take his eyes from Kyle’s straining cock. “Can I add a little sucking to the list?”

  “It doesn’t begin with ‘b’ so I’m not sure.” Kyle fisted his dick. “I was trying to be poetic.”

  “Blow job!” Brock blurted out, and started yanking off his clothes.

  Chapter Eight

  Brock stared out of the helicopter’s windows. Even through the sound-dampening earphones he wore, the roar of the rotor blades was deafening.

  Below, a vast sea of green, shrouded in mist, spread to the horizon in all directions. From the air, it was as if the entire world were forest. The only breaks in the featureless expanse of the canopy were the occasional giant trees, which stood above the rest like sentinels. I’ll bet they make great nesting sites for harpy eagles and toucans. Shots of birds in flight above the canopy would be amazing. Brock took a few pictures, thinking that they might make good backgrounds for text boxes or the like in any future articles.

  His earphone radio clicked on with a hiss of static, and the pilot’s voice cut through the noise of the engine. “We’re less than ten minutes out. Hold onto your lunch, landing can be a bit of a drop with the thermals around here.”

  Brock peered ahead, yet all he could see was the same unbroken terrain below and to the side. Surely he’d be able to see a clearing soon. The helicopter banked then swooped into a rapid descent. A cleared area of ground appeared through the mist and before Brock could even wonder which direction his stomach was traveling in, the skids settled on the ground. The pilot gave them the go-ahead to disembark. Brock tugged off his earphones and winced at the growl of the rotors. He unbuckled his shoulder harness and climbed from the helicopter, following Kyle’s lead. Once clear of the whirling blades, he stretched and sized up their surroundings.

  A battered jeep was parked in one corner of the clearing. A man sat in the driving seat and another leaned against the side, smoking a cigarette. Brock grinned and waved. He picked up his bags from where they’d been offloaded from the helicopter.

  “My ground crew is here, Kyle. Want me to introduce you?”

  Kyle nodded and picked up his own bags. “Sure. No reason to hang around here. We might as well get on.”

  They walked toward the waiting jeep.

  “The driver is Milo. He’s Venezuelan by birth but his father’s American so he has dual nationality. The tall guy with the beard is Juan. He’s a local but he lives in Mexico when he’s not down here working. The two of them run a small outfit providing support to specialist expeditions. I’ve worked with both of them before. You know all this already, though, don’t you?”

  “You’re the only one aware of that. As far as they’re concerned, I’m just your assistant, along to do the grunt work.”

  As they approached the vehicle, the man Brock had identified as Juan walked toward them and took Brock’s bag after a quick handshake.

  “Good to see you again, picture boy. Glad to see all our hard work keeping you alive in Chile paid off. That was a fantastic spread in Wanderlust. Thanks for the plug, too. We’ve got work coming out of our ears.”

  Brock laughed. “Just so long as you keep taking my bookings. This is Kyle. He’s going to be helping me out on this one.”

  Juan tipped his wide-brimmed hat. “Nice to meet you.” He brought his attention back to Brock. “Are you sure you don’t need us after we’ve got you to the base camp? We have all our other bookings sorted with staff for the next few weeks.”

  “Thanks, but we’ll be fine. Kyle’s an experienced climber and I want us to be as inconspicuous as possible once we get farther up into the cloud forests. I just need you there to take us out.”

  “We’ll be there. We’re just going to hang at base camp. No point wasting fuel if we don’t have to.”

  They reached the jeep and clambered in. Kyle threw his bags in the back and sat in the rear seat next to Brock.

  “You’ll need to be careful. There have been some reports of bandit activity in the area you’re heading for.” Milo leaned back and shook both their hands.
<
br />   “I’m always careful,” Brock replied.

  “Like fuck you are,” Milo scoffed.

  Kyle gave Brock a thunderous glare. “He’ll be careful this time.”

  Milo and Juan looked at each other and broke into peals of laughter.

  “Good to see you’ve found yourself a babysitter, picture boy. Maybe Kyle here will curb your death-wish tendencies.” Juan guffawed.

  “Something you want to tell me?” Kyle growled.

  Brock batted his eyelashes and went for his best I’m-too-adorable-to-be-cross-with expression. “To get the best shots, I sometimes have to get into some awkward spots. You know that.”

  “I do. That doesn’t mean we can’t discuss how you should avoid taking stupid risks.” Kyle placed a proprietary hand on Brock’s thigh. Brock smiled. There was no way Kyle would be able to wrap him up in cotton wool for the next few days, but he was apparently going to try.

  * * * *

  From the landing field, it took the small team five hours to reach Antioquia. It was nearing midnight and the darkness had been virtually impenetrable since the sun went down, cut only by the jeep’s headlights. The slices of light attracted every bug in a ten-mile radius, it seemed to Brock, and he was thankful for the industrial strength repellent that coated every inch of exposed skin. He and Kyle had both applied it as soon as Kyle had finished glaring at him. When they broke through into an illuminated clearing, the sudden change was startling. A rumbling generator cut through the buzz of insect life and high-powered spotlights lit a semicircle of small tents and one larger central marquee. Blue tarps covered the ground and awnings fashioned from plastic sheeting protected piles of crates.

  Brock blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the light. Milo’s unerring navigation had taken them straight to their final base camp. As he paused to catch his breath, Kyle and Juan walked around him. Milo rotated the jeep in a tight circle, then he and Juan began to unload. Kyle gave Brock’s shoulder a quick squeeze and strolled toward the large central tent. Before he reached the structure, the flap pushed out and a figure emerged. Brock realized that this must be Kyle’s colleague, though he seemed very at home in his assumed role of scientist. A shock of dark hair and a few days’ growth of scruffy beard didn’t hide his beaming smile as he waved at Kyle, then moved toward Brock.

  “You finally made it. I was about to give up on you and hit the sack. I’m Dr. Jones. Everyone calls me Jonesy.” He held out his hand and Brock took it with a smile. The man’s good humor was infectious.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Lysander Brock.”

  “I know your work, Lysander. Very impressive.” Dr. Jones pumped Brock’s arm up and down. His grip was firm but he didn’t squeeze Brock’s hand too hard.

  “Please call me Brock, Dr. Jones.”

  “Jonesy will do for me. Nice and easy to remember.”

  “Okay, Jonesy. Let me introduce my assistant, Kyle Dawson.”

  Dr. Jones showed no sign at all that he knew what Kyle really was.

  “Welcome to camp. It’s basic but functional and we have a few luxuries. I take no credit for any of it. It was already set up when I arrived two days ago. Your ground team is very thorough, Brock. Juan and Milo know what they’re doing.”

  “This is much more than I expected. How the hell did you guys get a generator in here?” Brock asked Juan.

  “We cheated. This camp was being used by a bunch of American botanists. They’ve had people here for over a year on some kind of cataloging project jointly funded by the US and Colombian governments. We’ve been helping them out with supplies and they donated their kit to your expedition. Once you guys are done, we’ll just keep an eye on it. There’s another scientific expedition due here in a few weeks. It’ll get used by them too.”

  “I can understand the popularity of the location,” Dr. Jones said. “Las Orquídeas National Park is one of the single most biologically diverse places on the planet. But don’t get me started… You must be exhausted. I have some coffee going and I can manage fruit, cheese and crackers if you’re hungry?”

  Brock levered his pack from his back and put it down carefully.

  “Sounds good. I need to check my cameras first. Which tent is mine?”

  “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve put you and Kyle in together. Milo and Juan are sharing and I have the smaller single. I snore like a mountain gorilla but I’ll share with Kyle if you’d prefer the single?”

  “He’ll be fine with me,” Kyle interjected. “Check your gear, Brock, then we’ll have a quick snack and turn in. It’s been a fucking long day and we all need to rest.”

  If anyone noticed Brock’s obedient response to his supposed assistant’s orders, they didn’t comment.

  Once the gear was stowed and Brock had satisfied himself that his precious cameras were fine, the group gathered in the larger tent and settled into folding chairs with snacks and tin mugs of thick black coffee.

  “So, Jonesy, do you know what the researchers were doing here? As we’ve taken over their camp, I’d quite like to know,” Brock asked.

  “Apparently their remit was to collect as many species of flowering plants as possible. They were racing an environmental clock, too. Climate change and development are unstoppable, so it’s quite a scramble to understand what’s here before it disappears.” Jonesy sipped his drink. “It was a pretty big undertaking. What’s left of the camp is just a fraction of the base that was here.”

  Jonesy chuckled. “I could rant on about the situation for hours, but you would all fall asleep. Northwestern Colombia is a global biodiversity hotspot because of its location at the intersection of the Chocó and the Tropical Andes, two of the richest biogeographic regions in the world. But for the better part of two decades, Las Orquídeas—like many other ecologically important areas in Colombia—has been largely off limits to scientists because portions of the park became the unofficial territory of armed groups of bandits.”

  “I’m aware of the problem,” Brock said, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Kyle. “The British Foreign Office still doesn’t advise travel to this region.”

  Jonesy shrugged. “Regardless, all over the mountain tropics of South America, the race is on to identify unique species. Field expeditions can be dangerous, making funding hard to come by.”

  “Tell me about it. I’ve been trying to persuade National Geographic to fund a trip out here for years. They only relented because the conflict has retreated from Las Orquídeas over the past several years.”

  “Yet the high mountain ecosystems remain besieged in a different way,” Jonesy went on. “Mining, timber, agriculture and ranching are all contributing to massive deforestation. We scientists are still at war.” He raised his mug in an ironic toast. “What makes the northern Andes so special is that they have extraordinary concentrations of species within very small geographical ranges. Each one of these mountaintops has wonderfully different sets of species of plants and birds and butterflies and amphibians. Snakes, as well, of course. I’m still hoping to find a new species—or at least a variant of one.”

  “What kind of species might we come across?” asked Kyle.

  “In Las Orquídeas, the Andean spectacled bear, which is endangered—rare jaguar, puma, monkeys, deer, amphibians, snakes and an incredible variety of birds, bats and insects,” Jonesy listed species with enthusiasm.

  “And that teddy bear thing you mentioned on the plane?” Kyle asked Brock.

  “Oh yes, the olinguito. I’d love to get a shot of one of those. Not very likely, though.” Brock said, fighting back a yawn.

  “Large-scale mining and logging are the biggest dangers. Over seventy-four thousand acres of land in Antioquia get deforested every year,” Jonesy said. “The bandits can make more money for less risk in these industries and bribery and corruption are rife. You’ll need to take care, but who knows? Very few people venture where you’re going. You might get lucky.”

  Brock couldn’t do anything about his next yawn. “Sorry. I don
’t mean to be rude, but I think I need to turn in.” He stood and found his legs to be a little wobbly. Kyle was instantly by his side.

  “I’m pretty much fried myself. We can continue with this conversation tomorrow morning. Brock and I will be spending the day in camp getting acclimated and resting before we head off on foot.

  They said their goodnights and headed across to the small tent allocated to them. Brock stripped off his boots and socks, then his clothes and lay naked on his cot. He kept half an eye open and watched Kyle making sure that the insect nets were in place before he too stripped down.

  “Shows how tired I am that even seeing you naked is not increasing my energy levels.” He considered his flaccid cock.

  Kyle stretched out with a sigh. “I’m not offended. Don’t worry. You can wake me up with a blow job.”

  “In your dreams,” Brock muttered.

  “I sincerely hope that you on your knees will feature heavily in my dreams,” Kyle shot back.

  * * * *

  The last few days had been exhausting. Crossing time zones, sitting in airports and traveling on planes had all taken their toll. The high altitude and underlying stress further combined to make Brock feel like a wrung-out rag. Inside the tent, a blanket of heat lay over him, and, despite his exhaustion, he lay awake for a while, listening to the sounds of Kyle’s deep breathing and the exotic noises of the forest. He would soon get used to it. Years spent traveling around the globe had made him adaptable and resilient and, of course, the photographic purpose of the trip gave everything an exciting undercurrent. When he let himself imagine the pictures he might take, the other, less enjoyable aspect of the trip could almost be pushed to one side. Almost.

  “Stop thinking and go to sleep,” Kyle muttered.

  Brock snorted. “Is that an order, Sir?”

  “Does it need to be?” Quiet rustling told Brock that Kyle was moving to face him.

  “Perhaps. I have a head full of…stuff.”

  “Stuff? Sounds uncomfortable. You’re far too pretty to be deprived of your beauty sleep. Come over here.”