by Mark McKay
‘So, we are no closer to finding out who murdered Julian, or why.’
‘All we do know is that they’re keen on killing me, too,’ said Nick. ‘Which means we might be closer than we think. But we need more to work with.’
‘What are your plans?’
Nick smiled. ‘Sensei, can I ask a favour of you?’
‘You can always ask.’
‘I would like you to buy a small greenhouse.’
Oyama looked at Nick as though he’d suddenly taken leave of his senses. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘I only gave Henderson half the seeds. You need to plant the rest in hot and humid conditions and see if they grow.’
‘Is that strictly necessary?’
‘I just want to know what this plant looks like. And the other part of the favour is more of an experiment, to verify something.’
‘Yes?’
‘Take one teaspoon of powder per day with orange juice, at breakfast time. And tell Shauna to do the same thing. Then record the effects after one week.’
Oyama was lost for words, but only for a moment or two. ‘The aphrodisiac powder. Now you have gone mad.’
‘Well, it’s entirely up to you, of course. Maria Frost highly recommends it.’
Oyama grunted, his emotions unreadable. ‘What will you be doing while I grow exotic plants and test aphrodisiacs for you?’
‘I will be continuing my investigations, of course. But not here. I think it’s time I retraced Julian’s footsteps. I’m going to Peru.’
Chapter 5
It was a long flight to Peru; fifteen hours plus to Lima and then another two hours to Iquitos. A long way to go on the off chance he’d find Emilio at home, and that the Peruvian would have no reservations about talking to a complete stranger from England. What he did have that might prove useful was the name of the Sanderson-Phillips representative in Manaus; Julian had written it in his notebook. If Emilio wasn’t around, Nick could conceivably try to trace Julian’s movements from his Brazilian starting point.
On the flight, he thought about the shooting in Regents Park. He could only assume that someone had been watching him when he visited Ray’s flat and had been keeping tabs on him ever since. How that person knew where he’d be at any given time though, was something of a mystery. He hadn’t been aware of anyone showing undue interest in him and had to conclude that maybe his radar wasn’t as efficient as he thought it was. It had worked in the park, though. Saved his life. And then there was the killer’s modus operandi; murdering people with swords and sniping at them in the centre of London was a bit over the top. As though the killing had to be carried out as creatively as possible, and with a touch of flamboyance. It was assassination as an art form, and you’d probably need to be a psychopath to approach it that way.
He’d run all of this past Oyama, who said that if this person was tracing Nick’s movements then they must also know where he was staying. They swept the house and the cars for bugs, but found nothing. Nick had designated his phone as the prime suspect and had bought a replacement with a new number, which he shared with those who needed it. The murderer had his old number and it looked like he had the technology to track it, as well. The new phone should throw him off the scent. Oyama said he would increase his security around the house and stay alert for anything out of the ordinary while Nick was away.
‘Perhaps he will follow you to Peru,’ said Oyama.
‘There’s no way he or she should know that’s where I’m going. But I’ll assume you’re right anyway, and stay focused.’
He was pretty sure the killer wasn’t on this flight. Not that he had any guarantee, of course. He had a seat right at the back and there was no one sitting behind him. The girl next to him was young and dark-skinned, from somewhere in South America, he supposed. She’d said a few words to him in Spanish and when he told her he didn’t understand she’d lost herself in the in-flight magazine. She seemed harmless enough. There was no point in getting paranoid about the passengers, he was unlikely to be attacked on a plane. He closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.
They arrived in Lima mid-afternoon. Nick killed time in the airport before boarding another flight to Iquitos. Two hours later, he was there. Iquitos was situated in the heart of the Peruvian Amazon rainforest, with a climate to match. When Nick left the plane, the heat and humidity was like a slap in the face. The tarmac was still wet with the aftermath of a thunderstorm and the dark clouds overhead held the promise of more rain. This would take some getting used to after London.
He’d booked a hotel in advance and had an airport pick-up arranged. It meant he didn’t have to contend with the scrum of taxi drivers who would try to take him to a hotel of their choice, so they could collect a commission. He slung his cases in the back of the moto-taxi, which was basically a rickshaw pulled by a motorcycle, and they were on their way. As they came into town it became clear that moto-taxis were the prime form of transport around here. The streets of Iquitos were crawling with them and the incessant noise of their engines gave the place a chaotic feel. As they moved out of the town centre, things became a little less frantic.
The hotel Epoca was situated on the outskirts and had a view over a river which Nick thought must be the Amazon, but in fact turned out to be a tributary. The taxi driver helped him with his cases as far as the lobby, where he was greeted by the hotel manager.
‘Mr Severance. Welcome, I’m Diego.’
Diego was in his thirties; slim and olive-skinned. His facial features showed traces of both European and Indian ancestry, no doubt attributable to the interracial mixing that had taken place with the arrival of the Spaniards, back in the 16th century. After checking him in, he accompanied Nick to his room.
‘This is a small hotel,’ he said, opening the door. ‘We hope you like it. Do you speak Spanish?’
Nick shook his head. ‘Do people speak English here?’
‘In the tourist places only. I can recommend a translator if you need one.’
Nick said he’d think about it. He told Diego he’d be down for dinner later and the manager left him alone. He checked out the room. It had cool stone floors and was spacious and clean, with a balcony and a view towards the river. It even had a kitchen area. Nick approved. He decided to have a short siesta and then he’d spend a leisurely evening here quizzing the staff about what tourists did in Iquitos, before embarking on the serious business of finding Emilio, in the morning.
He woke early. Iquitos was asleep but the dawn chorus from the river was in full swing. Even from here he could hear the humming of cicadas, interspersed with several different bird calls. He got up and walked across to the window, where he caught sight of a flock of what looked like parrots, rising from the trees. They had long, flowing tails and their wings were a kaleidoscope of red and green and blue. They shone with an almost neon intensity in this early morning light. At the moment the sky was clear, but he could see a bank of rain clouds in the distance, headed this way. And already, it was warm.
After breakfast, he took Julian’s notebook to reception. Diego had been replaced by a girl wearing what looked like a traditional garment; a long white dress that flared outwards from the waist down. She was dark-haired, dark-eyed and dark-skinned, and when she smiled her teeth were very white.
‘How far away is this address?’ he asked her, holding up the opened notebook.
She looked. ‘That is maybe twenty minutes from here by taxi. Close to the hospital. You want to go there now?’
He did, so she ordered him a taxi. Five minutes later, one of the ubiquitous moto-taxis pulled up and collected him. They drove most of the route alongside the river before turning towards the hospital and then turning again into a side-street. The houses down here were mostly one storey brick constructions, with corrugated iron roofs. Some of them were quite ramshackle, but the area itself was clean and well-kept. When they stopped outside Emilio’s house, Nick employed an improvised sign language t
o tell the driver to wait for a while. He walked up to the door and knocked.
It was opened by a young diminutive Peruvian woman, who was more than a little surprised to see a gringo on her doorstep. She took it in her stride, and smiled at him. Then she rattled off something in Spanish which went straight over his head.
‘No hablo espanol,’ he hurriedly replied. ‘Does Emilio Ramos live here?’
‘Ah,’ she said, sympathising with his predicament. ‘I speak no English. Momento, por favor.’
She turned back inside and shouted something, in which the name of Emilio figured. A moment later someone who answered to that name appeared. He was only marginally taller than the girl, with long black hair and deep brown eyes. Somewhere in his thirties at a guess. He looked as momentarily surprised as she had been by Nick’s arrival and then he ventured a shy smile.
‘Did Sanchez send you here, senor? If you want a boat trip, you must wait till tomorrow. Today, I’m not working.’
‘I don’t want a boat trip. I want to ask you about a friend of mine. Julian Frost. You met him in Brazil.’
The smile broadened. ‘Yes, I remember. We did ceremony together. We came back here and then I took him up the river to the ayahuasca retreat centre, to meet the ayahuascero and to find his special plant. They grow it there.’
‘Ayahuascero?’ asked Nick. ‘What’s that?’
‘A medicine man, a healer. Do you know about ayahuasca, senor?’ He laughed. ‘This is Iquitos, the ayahuasca capital of the world. People come from everywhere to taste it.’
Nick knew of this hallucinatory plant, but only because Ray Curtis had mentioned it. ‘Why do they come?’
‘To be healed, of course. It is for the spirit.’
‘I see.’ It sounded intriguing, but they were drifting off the subject. ‘When did you last see Julian?’
‘I left him there. The retreat centre is run by gringos. And they also employ local people to grow the plant that Julian saw in a vision. It’s called “el semental de la Amazonia”, or “the stallion of the Amazon” in English. Very good for married couples.’ He said something to the woman by his side, which made her grin.
‘Will you take me there?’ asked Nick.
Emilio rubbed a few days’ stubble while he thought. ‘It’s a two-day journey. Then we walk through the jungle for a few hours.’ He gave Nick a long, hard look. ‘Perhaps Julian isn’t there, now. Could be a wasted trip for you.’
‘Let’s go and find out, shall we? When can you take me?’
‘Tomorrow. After you pay me. Where are you staying, senor?’
Nick told him. Emilio said he should be ready to go at 7am. ‘I will bring supplies. You just need to bring long-sleeved shirts and wear some good walking boots. Sometimes, the jungle bites.’
Nick had all the prescribed clothing the following morning, when Emilio arrived. He’d also acquired a pack for the trek through the jungle. He told Diego that he wasn’t checking out, just taking a riverboat trip. He’d be back in a week or so.
Emilio had a small riverboat, with two cabins on the lower deck. He told Nick that he did day trips and took no more than twenty people out at a time. The upper deck was mostly given over to a wooden seating area with a bar, and the bridge was situated above this, towards the stern. Usually there’d be two other crew members; one to man the bar and one to do anything else that needed doing. But as Nick was the sole passenger, they’d stayed at home.
They slipped their moorings and made a leisurely pace out of the harbour towards the Amazon river. Ten minutes later the sky suddenly darkened and there was a torrential downpour. It was gone almost as soon as it had arrived and the sky was clear again. Other boats of all sizes appeared as they navigated the Amazon, everything from tiny fishing boats to huge luxury cruisers. Iquitos was the only major city in the world that was inaccessible by road. You either came in from the air or by river. And there was certainly plenty of traffic on the river.
Nick spent the first day up front while Emilio steered from the bridge. He spent most of the time gazing at the forest and the bewildering array of colourful birds flying around. For a while they had pink, long-beaked river dolphins for company. About midday, Emilio called Nick up to take over, while he prepared lunch. Later, when the light began to fade, they stopped for the night at a mooring point, with several other boats. Emilio recommended eating inside to avoid the mosquitoes, so they sat at a little table used for that purpose, on the bridge.
‘So, senor,’ said Emilio, who was clearly curious. ‘Is Julian in some kind of trouble?’
‘Call me Nick. What makes you ask that?’
Emilio waved his hand, in an all-encompassing gesture. ‘You pay me to be the only passenger on this boat and then to take you through the jungle to find your friend. I can only think you must be worried about him.’
‘Do I have anything to be worried about?’ When Emilio didn’t answer, he went on. ‘Tell me about the “Stallion of the Amazon”. Does everyone around here know about it?’
‘In Iquitos, many people. In the whole country, not so many. But the gringos at the retreat centre want the world to know about it.’
‘Who are these gringos?’
Emilio explained. He’d known the ayahuascero, a man named Don Gilberto, for ten years or more. When increasing numbers of tourists began visiting Peru for the ayahuasca experience, Don Gilberto had partnered with two Americans and an Englishman and opened up the retreat centre. Up to ten people would come for two weeks and indulge in the ceremonial ingestion of the plant in liquid form. It was legal in Peru and regarded as a medicine by the locals. The centre had been up and running for the last three years, and business was brisk.
‘Maybe eighteen months ago,’ said Emilio, ‘Don Gilberto told the owners about the Stallion. When they understood its properties, they began growing it. They want to sell the powder in America and Britain. A natural aphrodisiac is what they call it.’
‘Do they give it to the people who go on retreat?’
Emilio laughed. ‘No, Nick. Mixing ayahuasca with el semental is not a good idea. And I think they want to keep this knowledge secret, at least from the gringos. Until they have their product ready.’
‘But they told Julian about it?’
‘Yes. They had no choice, really. I’d already told him, myself.’
‘And is that why you think he might be in some kind of trouble?’
Emilio gazed at the floor. ‘Perhaps. I could see they weren’t happy about it, at first. But they took him to see the plants. I only stayed for two days and Julian wanted to drink more ayahuasca with Don Gilberto, so I left him there. But that was weeks ago. He must have gone by now.’
So, thought Nick, these guys were sensitive about their product. Understandable, if you wanted to get it to market ahead of anyone else. And unless Julian had gone into business with them, they’d be very annoyed if he absconded with samples. Annoyed enough to follow him back to England and kill him?
‘When we get to the retreat centre, just say I asked you to bring me for the ayahuasca ceremony. Don’t mention the Stallion.’
‘And what about Senor Julian?’
‘If he’s still there, no problem. If he’s not, we say nothing about him. I can stay on and try some of your local medicine for myself.’
Emilio looked concerned. ‘Is there something you aren’t saying, Nick?’
Nick grinned. ‘I don’t want you becoming unpopular because you brought a second person in asking about the Stallion. Do you?’
‘No, of course not. You are just another ayahuasca tourist.’
Nick could tell that Emilio wasn’t buying this story, but it looked like he was prepared to play along.
‘You take people to the retreat centre all the time?’ he asked. The Peruvian nodded. ‘Then we’re just looking after your business interests. I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.’
Emilio brightened up a little. ‘You are right.
And if Julian has gone, we can ask Don Gilberto about him. I know him well. He won’t speak to the others if I ask him not to.’
We’ll soon find out about that, thought Nick.
They spent another day on the river and Emilio let Nick take the boat’s wheel for a few hours. Even though at certain points of the river there was a lot of other traffic to contend with, the Amazon’s width made it easy to stay out of their way. Emilio had strung up a couple of hammocks on the foredeck and he occupied one of them during those hours. He told Nick to shout if anything looked like hitting them.
That afternoon, they steered off the Amazon and entered a smaller tributary. Here, the jungle lining the banks on both sides was much closer to the boat. Its green, lush impenetrability made Nick feel a little claustrophobic. This was no place to get lost in. There was the occasional bird-call and what he thought might be monkeys screeching at each other, but apart from the non-stop buzz of the insects it was relatively quiet. After an hour of steady cruising, he saw a little jetty ahead. There was a wooden hut set into the foliage just behind it, but there seemed to be nobody home. Emilio guided the boat in and cut the engine. Nick jumped on to the jetty and quickly tied them up with the mooring ropes. Once Emilio had checked the knots and re-tied them both, they were officially berthed.
The hut was actually a waiting room. If people got to the jetty before the boat arrived to collect them, they had somewhere to sit, away from the elements. Behind the hut was a straight and clear trail into the jungle and once the two men had shouldered their packs, they set off. After a few minutes, the brightness of the day was reduced to a semi-twilight by the canopy high above them. It was like entering a new world. As they got in deeper the trees soared ever higher, many of them covered with thick vines that snaked around their trunks and were lost to view in the thick leafy foliage overhead. The track was narrow but unobstructed and Emilio led the way. He had a rifle with him, which he had strapped over one shoulder.
