The Frog Cypher: An Adventure Novel (Sam Harris Series Book 2)

by PJ Skinner

Sam shook her head in horror. She transferred her crayfish onto Alfredo’s plate. She lost all interest in her food and picked at her fried plantains. She looked up to see Alfredo happily munching on the crayfish. He winked at her. Sam realised that she might have fallen for one of Alfredo’s tall tales. But she could not shake off the idea of all those crayfish coming to eat breakfast. She would definitely check in the morning.

  Moises reappeared as they were finishing their food. He asked Wilson if he could have a chat with him. Sam was uneasy about the subservient way in which Moises behaved towards Wilson. It did not fit with Sam’s high opinion of Moises and she did not like the smug look that Wilson threw back at them as he left. Something was not right. But she could not figure out what it was.

  ‘Alfredo, I’m worried about Wilson. He’s behaving strangely and he seems to have Don Moises wrapped around his finger’.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sam. Don Moises is not the sort of man to let Wilson tell him what to do. I know you don’t like Wilson. You make it pretty obvious. We have enough problems without you inventing conspiracy theories.’

  Sam was hurt by his barbed comment but she realised that the empty plateau was the cause of his irritation rather than her theories and did not hold it against him. She was tempted to spy on the pair but since she was under the impression that all of the villagers were already suspicious of their motives in being there again, she decided against it. Instead she read a few pages of her book in the dim light provided by the bare bulb on the porch of the house, looking up only when the rain became torrential. Sleepiness overcame her. Soon she slipped off to bed where she instantly fell asleep, despite the pounding of the rain on the zinc roof.

  ***

  Wilson could not wait to get away from the others so that he could talk to Moises, who he presumed was going to discuss organising the disappearance of Sam and Alfredo. He congratulated himself on reading his man well. Don Moises was also expendable. But he would deal with him after Moises had eliminated the competition. The treasure was so close that Wilson could almost feel it. He was sure all his troubles were over. It was all within his reach now. They sat on the porch of an old house on the outskirts of the village. The roof only just withstood the rain, which was falling in sheets. Big drops fell on the rotten wood of the porch floor, turning it to mush. They sat on wobbly stools made from fat slices of tree trunk.

  When Moises offered him a bowl of chicha to drink, Wilson gladly accepted it as a sign of trust. Wilson was not very keen on chicha. Like many traditions, the truth about its manufacture was unpalatable. Chicha was made by the women of the village by chewing the cassava root and spitting the resulting liquid into a bowl. This mixture was left to ferment and then strained to capture the liquid. The alcohol content depended on the time of fermentation. Wilson found the whole process disgusting. But even he was not prepared to spoil the ritual by refusing. He took a good mouthful and swallowed it quickly before he could gag. The liquid was surprisingly tasty but he could not be tempted into a second bowlful. Don Moises made some small talk about the trip. Then he got down to the point of the conversation.

  ‘I’ve thought about what you told me in Riccuarte,’ he said in a low voice, ‘and I’ve decided that we need to take action straight away.’

  Wilson was thrilled beyond measure to hear this. He felt a frisson of excitement as he leaned forward on his stool to hear Moises better in the pouring rain. He wobbled and planted his feet wide for balance. As he did this, he felt someone grab him from behind with great strength. Although he wanted to struggle, his limbs suddenly felt like rubber. He tried to protest, but his tongue seemed to fill his whole mouth. He could not form any words. Don Moises smiled at his struggle.

  ‘Yes, we need to take action straight away alright, against you. You didn’t really imagine I was going to let you steal the treasure, did you? A man like you? I know all about you, Wilson Malvado, and none of it is good.’

  Moises spat at Wilson’s feet, which flopped about like stranded fish. Wilson had a disbelieving look on his face as he slumped backwards into the arms of Carlos, who picked him up and slung him over his shoulder like a scarecrow. Wilson’s arms and legs dangled from his body. He drooled down Carlos’s ancient t-shirt.

  ‘Take him away to the storeroom and tie him up, Carlos. Make sure he can’t shout for help.’

  ‘You can count on me, sir,’ replied Carlos.

  ‘I want you to put Wilson in your canoe before we leave for the plateau tomorrow morning and take him to Riccuarte to Dona Elodea. Be careful, Carlos. Wilson is a desperate man and will stop at nothing. I am eternally grateful to you for warning me. God will reward you.’

  ‘Is there really treasure in the plateau, Don Moises?’

  ‘No Carlos, there is not. Wilson is deluded and greedy, and he’s confused. This makes him a dangerous man, capable of killing to get what he wants.’

  ‘He won’t be able to move until morning anyway. The ayahuasca will give him sleep paralysis. I can’t guarantee sweet dreams, though,’ Carlos said. He knew of the reputation of ayahuasca for opening the mind to all sorts of horrors. He had never taken it himself. He was a Christian and avoided Indian medicine, believing it to be the work of the devil. He manoeuvred himself carefully down the soggy steps of the porch. Wilson’s head cracked against one of the struts holding up the roof. He made a low moaning sound.

  ‘Be careful, Carlos. We don’t want anyone to see you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, sir. This rain would keep anyone indoors.’ He was gone into the darkness with Wilson swinging over his shoulder.

  Don Moises sat on the balcony for a long time after Carlos left, considering his options and drinking unadulterated chicha. Finally, the lateness of the hour defeated even him. He slipped quietly across the village to his bed.

  ***

  Bound and gagged, Wilson lay on the floor in the dark hut. He could not move at all. He was conscious but his body was not under his control. He began to hallucinate. He saw large ants crawling across the floor of the hut toward him and swarming all over his prostrate form. He felt them biting him all over his body. But he could not scratch himself, because his hands were bound. He tried to scream but the gag nearly choked him. He saw El Duro laughing at him and holding out a pair of rusty scissors.

  He was assaulted by horrible memories of all the awful things he had done to women and understood what a monster he was. He lay in a heap on the floor, drowning in his own nightmares. But through it all, he knew somewhere in his head that the horror was only just beginning. He prayed for death but was rewarded by sleep only when dawn was breaking. By then, it was too late.

  XVIII

  First thing in the morning, Carlos pulled his canoe out from under the trees in the shallows. The leaves dripped chilly rain drops onto his back and made him shiver in the cold dawn light. He was determined to get away from Arenas before the others saw him. He had no idea what would happen if they came across him, because in the bottom of the canoe, trussed up like a turkey and pale as Christmas snow, was Wilson. He was still gagged. Carlos leant in to check on his cargo. Wilson was now awake with his eyes open.

  ‘Good morning, Wilson,’ he whispered. ‘We’re going to take a little trip to Riccuarte to see a friend of yours. If you promise not to shout, I’ll take off the gag and give you some water. If you shout, I shall drown you like a rat. It’s your choice. Nod if you want me to take it off for you.’

  Wilson nodded with relief. Carlos took off the gag. Supporting his prisoner with his hand, Carlos tipped some river water down Wilson’s throat. Wilson gulped it down, almost choking in his anxiety to quench his thirst. Carlos laid him back down in the canoe. Wilson was completely traumatised by his night in the hut. He would have agreed to anything in order to lie quietly on the floor of the canoe and to breathe normally. He had not given up, though. He needed to restore his strength so he could try to escape once they got to Riccuarte. He was sure that he was not out of the game yet. Someone as smart as him was not goi
ng to be outwitted by a bunch of primitive Indians. He felt his blood boiling as he remembered how Don Moises had deceived him but slowed his breathing so that Carlos would not notice the change in his awareness. He lay in the dirty water on the bottom of the canoe and bided his time.

  Carlos shoved a block of wood under his head to support it. Wilson grunted his thanks. Carlos pushed the canoe out into the rushing current, keeping an eye out for floating debris. He jumped aboard and glided off into the cool morning. It was a skilled job keeping the canoe on course in the strong current. But Carlos was an expert. They made good progress without mishap.

  ***

  Mike and Gloria flew in to the coastal airport the next morning to find a battered four-wheel drive with the engine running waiting for them outside the terminal building. The driver did not say much. He indicated that they should get in and showed interest only when Mike insisted on putting on his seat belt, which had been tied up and shoved under the front seat. It took a good five minutes of pulling and swearing to get it untangled and ready for use. It was filthy and oily. Mike put it on anyway.

  Gloria told the driver that all gringos were like that. He shrugged. There was not much danger of crashing on the way to San Lorenzo. The road was so bad they could not go above thirty kilometres per hour. The driver took exaggerated care with his passengers, as he knew he had the daughter of Señor Sanchez in his vehicle. He was hoping for a promotion and wanted good reports to get back to his boss.

  Gloria sat in the back of the car, puffing away at her cigarettes. She handed Mike cassettes to play in the well-used tape machine in the dashboard. The journey took a few hours, including a stop at a small beach restaurant for some delicious shrimp in coconut sauce on a bed of fluffy rice. They arrived at San Lorenzo in the afternoon. Here they parted company with the driver, who could not go upriver with them. He turned the vehicle around to go back immediately.

  Gloria was sure that Mike was not up for another bumpy trip that evening. The rain was sheeting down on the town. It was not difficult to persuade him to wait until morning. They set about finding a hotel for the night and settled on the same decrepit one that Sam and Wilson had stayed in on their last visit.

  ***

  In Arenas, Sam and Alfredo had woken up to find that Wilson was missing. Sam remembered that he had gone with Don Moises for a chat but she had fallen asleep shortly after that and did not hear him come back. She wondered if they had got drunk together and had slept where they were drinking.

  After a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and salty crackers, they picked up their rucksacks and fought their way through the mud down to the river’s edge. The usual crew of workers were there, indulging in horseplay that involved dumping each other in the mud and then throwing the victims in the river for a wash. Sam was struck by how carefree they were. She looked around to see if Wilson was having his usual pre-travel cigarette on the shore but she could not see him.

  Don Moises was checking their supplies and busying himself for setting off. He looked up as they approached.

  ‘What a storm!’ he said. ‘Did you get any sleep, Sam?’

  ‘What storm?’ asked Sam.

  ‘Bet that washed the barnacles off your boats,’ said Alfredo.

  ‘Where’s Wilson today?’ asked Sam. ‘I haven’t seen him since he left to chat with you.’

  ‘Wilson? Oh, yes. I think he left with Carlos to get some supplies in Riccuarte. I expect he’ll be back tomorrow.’

  ‘Honestly,’ tutted Alfredo. ‘That man is a law unto himself. If I’d known, I could’ve asked him to buy a few things that I need.’

  They got into the canoes and set off in the brown waters of the rain-swollen river to the site of the plateau.

  ***

  Mike and Gloria were both grumpy after a night in the awful hotel in San Lorenzo. Gloria was covered in red welts where the bedbugs and mosquitos had bitten her. They had travelled without mosquito nets, forgetting that these insect-ridden local hotels either had ancient nets full of holes or none at all. Mike had not been able to sleep because a pair of courting cats had chosen a spot beneath his window to sing the entirety of La Traviata cat-style.

  To make matters worse, the hotel did not offer breakfast. Gloria had to eat breakfast to keep her blood sugar at a sufficient level to maintain her sunny disposition. She was likely to have a sense of humour failure quite early on if she did not eat in the morning. After traipsing around for twenty minutes, they found a cantina that rustled up a couple of omelettes with peppers and onions, and some very stale bread rolls. The coffee was like a cross between engine oil and molasses. But it did the trick.

  Gloria went off to hire transport for their trip to Riccuarte, while Mike struggled his way through a second cup of coffee and paid the bill. He felt like a proper explorer and kind of macho, which he was enjoying very much. He had mentioned this to Gloria, who laughed and smiled at him the way a mother smiles at a small boy who has just announced his ambition to be an astronaut. He was not put off.

  Here he was, Mike Morton, a plump, middle-aged man, in the jungle on a rescue mission. Edward would love this. He lived a fantasy life through the tales Mike told him of where his money was being spent. He was sure to keep financing Mike now. His wife would be furious. How could life get any better? Mike let out a contented sigh.

  ***

  It was hard going on the path through the jungle to the stone steps. The hard, brown path had become a boot-deep quagmire of sticky mud, which sucked them down and slowed progress considerably. At one point, Sam lost a boot in the mud and had to stand on one leg with her socked foot in the air while they dug it out. Despite her valiant attempts to keep it off the ground, the sock was soon covered in mud, too.

  It was a relief to reach the steps and to climb up to the plateau. The stone steps were covered in debris, twigs and leaves that had washed down from the plateau. The leaves were as slippery as fish and not safe underfoot. The workers brushed them vigorously off the steps with their spades. Sam noticed that the stone steps under the debris had been washed clean by the force of the water cascading down them. The frog cyphers stood out more clearly than before.

  As they emerged from the trees onto the plateau, Alfredo gasped and ran forward. The earth covering the platform had been flattened by the storm due to the clearing of the vegetation. The straight lines and flat surface now made it more obvious that the plateau was a man-made structure. There was a discernible shallow depression in the centre of the plateau that had not been obvious the previous afternoon.

  Don Moises stood rooted to the spot. He appeared to be in a quandary but he quickly recovered. He beckoned the men forward, indicating that they should get their spades and dig in the depressed area. Alfredo appeared to be having some sort of panic attack. He gasped with excitement and could not speak at all. He sat down heavily with a bewildered expression on this face and hugged his knees to his chest, rocking to and fro like a lunatic. Sam realised that he had never really believed he would find the treasure and was struggling, as if trying to wake up from a strange dream.

  Sam was also feeling a little surreal. She pinched herself to check if she was dreaming. She could feel the pinch but she wondered how you knew you were not dreaming by doing this. If you pinched yourself in a dream, would it not feel the same? She sat down beside Alfredo and put her arm around his shoulders.

  ‘So, treasure hunter, how does it feel to be on the brink of a great discovery after all these years?’

  Sam did not expect an answer. Alfredo did not have one.

  ***

  Gloria and Mike had procured a lift on a pickup that was delivering groceries to Riccuarte. Squawking chickens flapped miserably in wooden crates on top of sacks of rice and sugar. Boxes of olive oil glistened in the morning sunshine, where the oil had spilled out onto the cardboard. They sat up front with Gloria in the middle and Mike squashed against the door.

  Gloria had to deal with the driver’s inability to keep his hand on the gearstick. S
he soon noticed that it kept slipping off onto her knee at the slightest bump in the road. Gloria had picked up some of Sam’s indignation at the casual sexism of men in Sierramar. She soon found a way to mistakenly burn the back of his hand with her cigarette when he got more daring and put his hand on her thigh. He got the hint and drove the rest of the way in a huff. Gloria felt like a proper liberated woman. She was dying to tell Sam all about it.

  Mike, being Mike, did not notice this drama and was leaning slightly out of the window, indulging in his heroic fantasies until he was hit in the mouth by a large insect that was almost as shocked as he was. He withdrew inside the cabin and tried to wind up the window but the handle just went around without catching, so it stayed down.

  ***

  Carlos reached Riccuarte at midday. He exhaled a big sigh of relief that he had arrived safely in town with his prisoner. The journey had not been without its frights and near misses, due to the huge thunderstorm of the night before. Thousands of tonnes of debris swirled downriver, presenting dangerous hazards to a one-man canoe. He leaned against his pole, recovering his composure, and took a cigarette out of a small plastic bag he had stuffed into his shorts. He lit one and took a couple of deep breaths while watching the pretty girls walk to market with their prominent bottoms wiggling in their tight skirts.

  His attention was distracted for only a minute but when he turned around, Wilson was gone. He shook his head and opened his eyes wider. Wilson had disappeared. He ran over to the canoe. The homemade jute ropes that had held Wilson were lying on the floor of the vessel, frayed and broken. This was a crisis. There were only two ways out of town. He saw Rijer up the road and whistled to him to come down to the river.

  ‘Brother, you must stay here and guard the riverbank. There’s a stranger in town: the one that Senor Segundo is looking for. He has escaped from me. I think he’ll try to get back up the river. Whatever you do, don’t let him take a canoe.’

  Rijer nodded and placed himself where he could keep an eye on the whole shoreline. Carlos knew he needed help. He ran towards the house of Dona Elodea, where he suspected that he would find Segundo enjoying some tasty snack with the handsome widow.