by Mark McKay
‘You don’t have to answer right now. I suggest we get away from this spot. In about ten minutes the Peruvian police will be arriving in helicopters and they won’t be too fussy about who they shoot. Come on. Bring the bag.’
They moved into the protective shadows of the tree line and Nick made Torres walk in front of him while they slowly made their way around the compound’s edge. They had to be back at the rendezvous spot by the time Ibanez arrived with his gunships and they needed to deal with anyone who came looking for them in the meantime. Nick had a good view of the whole place now, and he brought them to a stop so he could take stock. There was a sudden exit of people from the tent Torres had mentioned, it looked like Mariko had eliminated the guard and released them. Now they were all running like hell for the safety of the jungle, on the eastern side of the compound. Mariko was coming this way and she was disposing of any opposition in the area with the bow before they had time to register the fact she was a hostile. She must be low on arrows by now, he thought.
Between them, they must have disposed of at least thirteen of the twenty soldiers and the remaining seven were pinned down or taking shelter behind the tents at the northern end. Their attention was completely focused on Alberto and Pablo, who seemed to be firing and moving and then firing again with unnatural rapidity. They must have thought they were being attacked by demons. Then they heard the real demons coming, the unmistakeable sound of helicopters and the sudden downdraft from the rotors. Shit, thought Nick. They’re early. He looked behind him and knew that he had to get as far into the forest as possible, no matter how dark it was or whatever might be lurking there.
‘We have to move, now,’ he told Torres. ‘If you try to escape, I’ll shoot you in the leg. Let’s go.’
He pushed Torres into the jungle. Torres was in front and was taking the brunt of any undergrowth that got in the way. He cursed and stumbled, but they were making progress. Nick realised that the firing had stopped. Alberto, Pablo and presumably Don Gilberto, were withdrawing. Mariko, who was quick on her feet and might have to do the hundred metres in nine seconds after all, would be close behind them. The sound of the approaching gunships was getting louder.
They came in from the northern end, which in retrospect was fortunate for Nick and his associates. They were at a low altitude, but not low enough so that a stray bullet from a rifle might do some damage. A rocket launcher might have been a different story. But if anyone there had a rocket launcher, they had no time to find it. The two gunships descended in parallel and then they fired four incendiary rockets into the compound. They detonated in one huge ball of yellow fire that swept across the area from north to south and burned through a large section of jungle beyond. The camp had been vaporised, along with its remaining inhabitants. A wave of heat blasted Nick and Torres where they stood.
‘Mother of god,’ whispered Torres.
Nick silently echoed those sentiments. He’d expected Ibanez to drop in armed troops, not effectively napalm the place. He wondered if Pablo and Alberto had known what was coming. They were out of harm’s way he assumed, but more by luck than anything else. The helicopters had gone as quickly as they had arrived, their job of devastation complete.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he told Torres. ‘At least now, you can see where you’re going.’
They started back to the rendezvous point. Finding their way was easier in the afterglow of the fire, which speeded their pace, but Nick couldn’t help feeling something wasn’t right. Then he realised what it was. The continuous buzz of cicadas and the calls of various other creatures that formed the background music here, had completely stopped. The jungle was in shock.
‘What’s in the bag?’ he asked Torres.
‘Lots of American dollars. But you know that, don’t you?’
‘What the hell were you thinking, Torres? You have your patent and you have your licence on these plants. Why enslave the local population? And use a bunch of terrorists to do it?’
Torres stopped then and turned around to face Nick. His face showed his contempt. ‘You call them terrorists, Mr Severance. It’s laughable, really. They are a political party, just like any other. And their methods are no worse than the people who just came here in helicopters.’
‘Do you belong to this political party?’
‘I am a sympathiser.’
‘And you were going to make a very large campaign contribution. I still don’t see what you gain by it.’
‘I make sure that my monopoly really is a monopoly. We have done our projections, Mr Severance, and in the next five years the natural health market will be worth billions. Until our drug is approved, the next best thing is “el semental de la amazonia”. Made exclusively in Peru. By me.’
‘After tonight, I think there might be a few government officials who want to review your licence.’
‘We will see.’
Torres had talked enough. He turned back and strode off in the direction Nick had indicated earlier. A little further on Mariko joined them, gliding out of the forest unseen and unheard until the last moment, like a ghost.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked her.
‘I didn’t expect the rocket fire,’ she said. ‘I’m OK.’
‘You think there are any survivors?’
She shook her head. ‘Well, only this one. Has he talked yet?’
‘Not about Julian. Wait till we get out of here.’
They walked the rest of the way in silence and they weren’t entirely sure they’d found the rendezvous until Pablo stepped out from behind a tree with his gun raised. Alberto and Don Gilberto were with him, and all three were unharmed.
‘This is him?’ asked Pablo, waving the rifle in Torres’ direction.
‘Yes, this is him,’ answered Nick.
‘You see?’ said Pablo to Torres. ‘Your friends came a long way to get you out of trouble. Try and look happy.’
Torres couldn’t, or wouldn’t, oblige. Pablo laughed.
‘We stay here tonight. It’s too dark to do anything else. Then at first light, we go home.’
They settled in for the night. Torres had his hands tied behind him and then the rope was tied to a tree. He was able to lean against the tree for support, but it was an uncomfortable position. That didn’t make him happy, either.
The next morning, Nick went back to the rebel encampment with Mariko. They weren’t expecting survivors but they moved with caution, anyway. They came out of the jungle on the northern side and looked across the wasteland in front of them. The tents were gone as if they had never existed, and the only thing to indicate a recent human presence were the charred remains of the rebel soldiers, blackened and twisted as they’d fallen. The earth around them was scorched and barren.
‘I wonder where the Indians went,’ said Mariko. ‘I think they all got out before the helicopters got here.’
There had been no sign of Don Gilberto’s people during the night. They had probably found somewhere to lay low during the hours of darkness and would now be making their way out of this area.
‘We might run into them on the way back,’ said Nick.
It took Nick’s party six hours to get back to their starting point, and they met no one on the journey. Don Gilberto wasn’t concerned about his kinsmen, he was just pleased that they had all apparently escaped. They knew their way home. Torres had been monosyllabic at best during the walk, even after they took the ropes off his wrists. It would have been futile for him to try and escape their company, there really was nowhere to go in the jungle. And Pablo watched him like a hawk. It seemed that he was just waiting for an excuse to shoot Torres, and Torres knew it.
Now that they were back where they started and seated in a circle around the gas ring, waiting for the water to boil, Nick thought it a prudent time to question Torres. But it was Pablo who got in the first question.
‘What’s in the bag?’ he demanded. Torres had been holding on to it for dear life on their way back.
Torres just stared at Pablo.
‘Give it here,’ said Nick.
Torres was reluctant, but then he sighed and slid it across the grass. Nick unzipped the bag. It was nearly full, with stacks of one hundred dollar bills.
‘Start counting,’ he said, throwing stack after stack at his mostly astonished audience.
‘Holy shit,’ said Pablo. Alberto said something similar, Don Gilberto said nothing.
Between them, it took fifteen minutes to count. Torres didn’t participate and sat watching it all with a kind of calm detachment. When they were done, Nick announced the result.
‘Four hundred thousand dollars,’ he announced. ‘Where’s the rest?’
‘There’s more?’ asked Pablo, looking even more astonished.
‘Like you said earlier,’ answered Torres, ‘I made a campaign contribution. This is what’s left.’
It hadn’t taken long to spend the other $350,000, thought Nick. What do you get from a bunch of left wing terrorists for that kind of money? He held on to that thought, for later. He looked at Mariko.
‘We should re-distribute some of this,’ he said.
Mariko just nodded, it seemed she’d been thinking the same thing. Nick took a moment to consider. Then he ordered the money into four piles of $100,000 each. The first one he gave to Pablo.
‘For the Peruvian National Police of Iquitos. Administration costs.’
Pablo grinned. ‘Gracias, senor.’
The second pile went to Don Gilberto.
‘As compensation for the inconvenience suffered by your people,’ said Nick. ‘Distribute it among them.’
The shaman nodded, once he’d had that translated for him. He stuffed the money in his pack, his face impassive.
‘And the last $200,000 will go to Isabella Delgado, who will put it into a trust for the less fortunate around here. Including Julia Ramos, whose husband this man’s employee murdered.’
Torres glared at Nick and made no comment. He’d seen Pablo’s face. The policeman was looking at him as though he were a piece of excrement just scraped off a shoe. The kind of look that told Torres he might suffer an unfortunate accident if he was careless with his words.
‘Before we lose you to the custody of the Iquitos Police,’ said Nick, ‘I have some questions.’
‘Ask your questions,’ said Torres, looking resigned. ‘I’m a captive audience.’
‘If Conrad didn’t kill Julian or Ray, who did?’
‘Ah yes,’ said Torres. ‘Your obsession. Conrad mentioned that to me.’
‘Well?’
‘I admit it was to our benefit. Mr Frost could have published material that would have jeopardised our patent. Maybe his friend Ray could have done some damage, also. Do you believe in co-incidence, Mr Severance?’
‘No, I don’t.’
Torres smiled. ‘Well, in this case, it was certainly co-incidence. Neither I nor anyone else at Hackett Pharmaceuticals had anything to do with their deaths.’
Nick groaned, inwardly. He saw Mariko gazing intently at Torres, reading the man. It was Conrad all over again, total denial.
‘Perhaps after you’ve been with the Iquitos police for a week, we could come and ask you again,’ suggested Mariko.
Torres shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter what these people do, the answer won’t change.’
They could hear the sound of an approaching helicopter. Pablo had radioed for a pick up while they were still in the jungle, and this was it. The same civilian chopper that had brought them here. They fanned out and gave it space to land. Once it was down they wasted no time in climbing aboard and the helicopter took off. In two and a half hours they’d be back in Iquitos and Edward Torres would be handed over to the tender care of Captain Ibanez. And Nick would be no closer to finding out who killed Julian Frost and Ray Curtis. It looked like they’d had a wasted journey.
Chapter 16
Two days later, they felt that their business here was concluded. On reflection, perhaps the journey hadn’t been a total waste of time. The proceeds from Torres’ cocaine sale had been re-distributed and with the possible exception of the police force, would be put to charitable use. Isabella had been delighted once she’d recovered from the initial shock of receiving so much money in cash. She assured Nick that it would go into a trust fund as stipulated and insisted on sending him an annual report on the fund’s activities. Valentina and Isabella were enjoying each other’s company, and the girl was going to stay with her and attend school in Iquitos. And maybe with a little financial assistance further down the line, university might be an option, too.
Nick went to see Ibanez for the last time. He was disturbed by the fact that the captain had altered the agreed plan of attack and instead of dropping ground troops, had fire-bombed the rebel camp. He wanted an explanation. They sat once more in Ibanez’s stuffy office with the windows open, the fan whirring, and a cloud of cigar smoke polluting the air. Ibanez was in an expansive mood and Nick supposed that $100,000 in cash had something to do with that. Money wasn’t mentioned, though. Nick had other things on his mind.
‘Why did you fire incendiary rockets?’ he asked Ibanez, who was sipping coffee and blowing smoke rings at the ceiling.
‘I was ordered to,’ came the reply.
‘I don’t understand. I thought we’d agreed on troops dropped by helicopter. I thought you were giving the orders.’
Ibanez looked at him, sharply. ‘To use two military helicopters in this way, I had to get authorisation from Lima. I advised them of the situation, namely that we had Shining Path rebels in the region and that your man Torres was financing them. They told me to destroy the site and not to waste time with troops.’
‘They?’
‘A senior commander at the main police headquarters, Oswaldo Mendoza. This man fought the Shining Path in the 80’s and 90’s and he is the kind of man you don’t argue with.’
‘Pity you didn’t warn us.’
Ibanez smiled. ‘I knew you’d get out. And you got Mr Torres, too. In fact, we are transferring him to Lima for further investigation. They will charge him with some kind of terrorist related offence and that will be the end of the matter.’
‘Will he rot in one of your prisons?’ Nick asked.
‘If he has money, he will live a relatively peaceful life in prison. Otherwise…’
That statement brought their meeting to a close. Nick bid Ibanez farewell for what he hoped would be the last time and returned to the hotel. Tonight, they’d invited Isabella and Valentina to dine with them. Tomorrow, they’d board a flight out of Iquitos and start the long haul back to England, and the next phase of the investigation. Which had stalled, once again.
That evening he sat with Mariko in their room. They’d done all their packing and Diego had instructed the chef to cook a sumptuous meal in their honour. There was no need to go to the restaurant, this feast would be delivered directly to the room course by course, by the manager himself.
‘I think Isabella must have told him about the money,’ said Mariko. ‘It’s the only reason we’re suddenly so popular.’
Nick thought so, too. Mariko could see that he was rather preoccupied, and asked him why.
‘There’s something missing,’ he said. ‘Something Torres isn’t saying.’
‘About Julian and Ray?’
Nick shrugged. ‘No, I don’t think it’s them. I just don’t understand why a man like Torres would risk his brilliant career just to make sure he had the monopoly on those plants. He told me that was the reason, but I don’t buy it.’
‘So what is it all about?’
‘I don’t know.’
They were interrupted by the arrival of Isabella and her house guest. Valentina looked as though she’d put on some weight, and tonight she was wearing a new outfit; a blue cotton dress and ballet pumps. The girl from the jungle seemed to be transforming, but there was still a hint of that sombre watchfulness in her gaze. She hugged Mariko
and smiled. She was doing a lot more smiling now, according to Isabella. The three adults sat at the kitchen table while Valentina reacquainted herself with the fortune cat dolls, which were all still lined up against the wall where she’d left them.
‘You will have to distribute the cats when we’ve gone,’ said Mariko.
‘If I can get Valentina to part with even one of them,’ said Isabella.
Diego arrived with the first course, a soup. That was rapidly disposed of and they moved on to course number two, a fish dish. Wine was opened and toasts were made. Then Mariko had a phone call, which she said she should take in her bedroom. When she came back, Nick was pouring Valentina more Coca-Cola and saying something to Isabella, which they were all finding amusing. Then they saw Mariko’s face.
‘What is it?’ said Nick. Mariko rarely looked shocked, but she did now.
‘That was a Mr Davidson, in London. He’s a lawyer, acting for Katsu.’
‘Why would Katsu need a lawyer?’
‘Because he’s been arrested. The police, who were acting on tip off, found the blood-stained sword used to murder Julian Frost at the cottage. Katsu has no idea how it got there. They’ve charged him with murder.’
They arrived back in England two days later. It was disconcerting to return to an empty cottage. Oyama had been refused bail on the grounds that he might abscond to Japan, and was being held on remand at Her Majesty’s Prison in Brixton, in South London. There was no trial date, as yet.
After the sticky heat of Iquitos, it felt almost cold in Sevenoaks. The afternoon sky was a mass of low heavy cloud that promised rain, and the temperature had dropped a few degrees. Nick got out of the taxi that had brought them here from the airport, and shivered. Mariko had a spare key and she wasted no time in opening the front door and getting inside, while he dealt with their luggage and paid the driver. She went straight to the kitchen, to make tea. He was right behind her.
‘It seems so quiet here, after the jungle,’ she said.
‘Quiet without its owner, too. I’m going to check the security system.’
