Sitting in a lounge chair on the other side of the deck was his wife, Professor Laura Palmer. They had married not even two months before, finally managing to find time to gather their closest friends and family, and not have some terrorist group or ancient cult interfere with their plans.
It had been wonderful.
Laura had been stunning in her dress, a simple yet elegant affair that he had no doubt cost a fortune, but not audaciously so. His wife was rich, unbelievably rich. Though both archeology professors on opposite sides of “the pond”—both making modest salaries as such—her late brother had been an Internet pioneer, divesting himself of his company before the bubble burst, leaving him with hundreds of millions of dollars, and leaving it to her when he had been killed on a dig in Syria.
He had no idea she was rich when he first met her several years ago, and when he had found out she was “well off”, he had no clue just how much so for some time. Their first meeting was anything but romantic, but when he had caught his first real sight of her, standing in front of her classroom, lecturing her students at University College London, he had felt a flutter.
It had been love at first sight, though it took a few more looks to realize it, what with half the city trying to kill or capture him.
They had fallen in love, she secretly confessing to having a bit of a crush on him for years, following his work from afar after reading a spread done on him in National Geographic. He had been flattered, and somewhat embarrassed to have to admit he had never heard of her before he had found that damned crystal skull and discovering she was considered the expert in them.
It was during that first day together that they met Detective Chief Inspector Hugh Reading, who occupied a second hammock at the far end of the rear deck. Mosquito netting covered the entire deck, the bugs far too thick at times to make their journey enjoyable if left exposed. They were designed to be raised and lowered, but had been lowered most of the time, Acton now firm in his belief that Reading simply wasn’t an outdoorsy type.
Happy Hugh, Happy Cruise.
Laura had coined the phrase, much to Reading’s annoyance. The aging ex-cop, now an INTERPOL Special Agent, had become a loyal friend, helping them out over the years on many occasions, and though they rarely saw each other, they often talked on the phone, Acton now considering Reading one of his best friends. Laura adored the man as well, and Acton was certain Reading thought of her like a daughter, though he’d never admit it—it would mean he’d have to admit he was old enough to be her father.
After honeymooning in South Africa—a ten day safari the highlight—Laura had surprised him with four all access passes to the World Cup in Brazil. He had to admit he wasn’t a soccer—football!—fan, though he had slowly begun to develop an appreciation for the sport since Laura and Reading would talk about it non-stop when they were together, and he had been forced to watch umpteen matches on the “telly” as they called it, and on a few occasions had actually seen the games live, Laura getting the three of them tickets to see her favorite, Manchester United.
At times the game was so slow it reminded him of a particular Simpsons episode, leaving him wishing a soccer riot would break out, but usually the games were actually exciting, though low scoring. After seeing a few games he could see why the crowd would go nuts when a goal was finally scored.
Boredom relieved?
The World Cup had been fantastic, and not the fiasco he had feared might happen. He had been disappointed for his British friends on how their team had done, but was happy to have watched several of the US team’s better performances. He turned his head to look at the possessor of the fourth ticket—his best friend and confidante, Gregory Milton. Milton had been his best friend since college, and had been his boss for over five years—and it hadn’t affected their friendship in the least. During the crystal skull business Milton had taken a bullet in an assassination attempt but luckily survived, relegated to a wheelchair he had been told he’d never leave.
They were wrong.
Determination, hard work, and a loving support network had him now walking, though for short distances. The poor bastard had toughed it out through the entire wedding, keeping his promise to himself that there wouldn’t be a single picture of him in his wheelchair. It still brought tears to Acton’s eyes when he thought of the text message his friend had sent when he thought he was dying.
And it had been days before he had discovered his friend was actually alive, saved by an off-duty ER surgeon who had stopped for gas at the same station.
Milton sat in his chair, his head lolled back as he gently snored, his Kindle sitting in his lap, his once skinny legs now healthy and propped up on a stool.
This is the life.
Four friends, together, cruising up one of the source tributaries of the world’s mightiest river in its biggest rain forest, in silence. No need to talk, just enjoying each other’s company, a mix of classical guitar playing through an iPod docking station nearby, the volume low so the sounds of Mother Nature surrounding them could still be heard.
Reading swatted at a bug on his arm and muttered a curse about one of the bastards getting through. Acton took a swig from his water bottle as his friend swung his legs to the floor then stretched with a groan that could wake the dead, the forest protesting at the disturbance. Transferring to a chair, Reading looked over at Acton.
“You seem pleased with yourself,” he observed.
Acton chuckled, swinging out of the hammock a little more elegantly than his friend, then walking over to give Laura a peck. He sat beside her, taking her hand in his. “Just enjoying the company,” he said, squeezing Laura’s hand.
Milton stirred, bolting upright in his chair before gaining his bearings. “What did I miss?”
Laura shook her head. “Nada, just a bunch of lazy folks doing and saying nothing.”
Acton decided to have a little fun with Reading. “You know, I was doing some checking and if I’m not mistaken, England has never won the World Cup.”
Reading’s eyes widened and his chest expanded as he leaned forward, his finger raising to jab his point home. “I don’t know where you get your bloody facts, but we won in 1966, on home soil!”
Laura squeezed Acton’s hand, already realizing what was about to happen. “1966? You mean the one where the Soviet referee gave you that goal that never actually went in?”
Acton had to bite his tongue to prevent himself from smiling as Reading jumped to his feet. “That was a goal! Everyone knows that was a goal! Only the damned Germans say it wasn’t, and that’s because they lost!”
“Are you sure?” Acton waved his iPad as if it were the key piece of evidence in a murder trial. “On here it shows how it was impossible for the ball to have actually gone in. They say it bounced on the line and back out.”
Reading walked over and snatched the iPad away, turning back to his chair as Acton and Milton exchanged grins. “I saw that bloody match and I know it was a goal. Whoever is feeding you these lies is a bloody Hun!” He paused. “Sorry, that was uncalled for. But whoever they are, they are bloody anti-British!”
His fingers flew over the iPad and he held it up triumphantly, a clip of the 1966 World Cup final against Germany playing. “Look at that, it clearly goes over the line!”
Laura leaned forward, gasping. “Hugh! Do you realize how much that costs to download from here! That’s tethered to the satellite phone!”
Reading blanched, his jaw dropping, clearly aghast. His finger flew at the pause button.
“It’s still downloading, Hugh!” exclaimed Milton as he leaned forward, joining in on the fun.
Acton pointed at the iPad. “You have to close the browser window!”
“How the bloody hell do I do that?”
“My God, that must be, what, a thousand dollars already?” Milton bit down on his thumb as he exchanged glances with Acton and Laura.
“There!” cried Reading triumphantly as he simply turned off the device, his face red. He looked
at Laura. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea—”
The three of them burst out laughing and Reading realized he’d been had. Acton rose and took the iPad, grabbing his friend’s shoulder and shaking him. “I’m sorry, Hugh, that was just too damned easy!”
“Fowk off!” muttered Reading under his breath as he shook his head. Acton returned to his chair as Reading calmed himself slightly. “Okay, you got me. So how much did that cost, anyhow?”
“Oh, Greg’s about right,” replied Laura. “Probably about a grand.” Reading’s jaw dropped again but before he could say anything Laura waved her hand to dismiss any apology. “And I don’t care. James watched Netflix last night. It probably cost us ten times that.”
Acton suddenly felt the same guilt and shame his friend had moments before. He turned to Laura. “My God, Laura. I’m sorry. It didn’t even occur to me!”
“Love, if it mattered, I’d have said something. I just want us all to be happy, and God knows we can afford it.”
Acton shook his head, still feeling guilty. He smiled at her slightly. “At least I selected lo-def! I bet Hugh didn’t!” He spun his head at Reading, his eyes glaring at him. “J’accuse!”
“Don’t try that Frenchie shit on me, old boy. Besides, I wouldn’t know lo-def from low-jack. It’s all bloody Greek to me.”
Acton took Laura’s hand in his, kissing her wedding ring and winking at her. “I guess we’ll never know if England really should have won that soccer match.”
“Football!” cried Reading and Laura at the same time.
They all roared in laughter, their happiness carrying across the water, when Reading pointed. “Hallo! What’s this? Looks like a good place to hole up for the night.”
Acton looked to where his friend was pointing to see a shallow inlet with a clearing on the shore. Reading was right, it was perfect.
Laura shouted for the captain of their boat, Fabricio, who appeared moments later. “Yes, senhora?”
She pointed at the inlet. “What do you think?”
Fabricio looked and smiled. “Perfeito!” He disappeared, shouting orders, and the boat slowly turned toward its resting place for the night.
Acton turned toward Reading. “So, when are the FIFA Oscars announced.”
“Huh?”
“For all those dives the players take during the match.”
Reading shook his head. “Bloody Americans. Just wait until I start in on baseball and see how you feel.”
“Bring it on!” Acton suddenly stopped, the smile disappearing from his face. “What’s that?”
Northern Amazon
Second day of the Third Moon
Three days before the attack
Tuk’s shoulders heaved, the heaviness in his heart overwhelming. The woman he loved barely knew he existed, so much so she was pledged to another man. A man who was his friend. A man he had envied his entire life, and now even more so that he had captured the heart of the beautiful TikTik.
TikTik!
He screamed her name in his head, his eyes closed as he pictured her smile. To say she barely knew he existed wasn’t fair. She knew him—she knew him well. After all, their tribe barely numbered thirty so it interacted closely with the neighboring tribes, hers only an hour’s walk away. They had grown up together, played together, and because of his slight size, he hadn’t roughhoused with the boys as much, instead preferring the company of the girls.
I’m a woman with a penis!
It was his own insult to himself—he was his worst tormentor. Some from the other tribes would tease him, especially when he was younger, but now that he was a man and dealing mostly with adults, the teasing was mostly gone, unless the alcohol started to flow, then the teasing began anew. He would usually make an excuse and leave beforehand, returning to his village should there still be enough light, or to his guest quarters, pretending to sleep, instead wincing with each barb at his expense as it sliced through the laughter and darkness, the truly vicious insults delivered at an ever increasing volume.
Too often he cried himself to sleep.
He was so lonely it hurt, and he knew his face revealed his pain every time his mother looked at him. His father had died years before saving a young hunter from a charging boar, and it had opened a void in his life, his father his constant companion. His friend Pol had filled that void, an older boy who took him under his wing, and in time a friendship developed that was so close the two became each other’s confidants, no secret too great that wouldn’t be shared.
Even his longing for TikTik.
Pol had always been there for him, day in and day out, filling the void. When he needed someone to listen, Pol was there, when he needed advice, Pol would oblige. If he just needed to sit in silence, but with a companion, his friend was there.
And now he wasn’t.
He had become sick a few weeks ago and no one knew of what. A vicious cough turned into fever, shaking and sweating. Eventually he had begun to see things, to imagine people and creatures around him, and in a moment of lucidity had called out for Tuk, but Tuk had been at the next village trading, assured by their medicine man there was no hope of ever speaking to Pol again.
But he had been wrong.
And Tuk blamed himself for missing his one last opportunity to say goodbye to his friend, and it broke his heart every time he thought of his friend calling for him, and he not there to answer, to take his hand in his and just let him know he wasn’t alone, and that he was loved.
Tuk wiped the tears away from his face with the back of his hand and looked up as a sound carried over the waters of Mother’s River. It was a three day’s hike from his village, and he had only seen it once before when he was younger, but when Pol had passed, he had run away lest anyone see his tears, and after much indecision, eventually decided to visit Mother’s River. The last time had been with his father shortly before he had died, and now he sat on the very spot where he had once relaxed with his father as he told tales of strange people and stranger boats that carried them. His father had never seen them himself, but the stories were passed on during visits from tribes that lived closer to the great river.
The Spirit People.
And there was one thing they all agreed upon.
Never approach these strange creatures, and never be seen by them.
Lest death befall you.
It was believed they were from the next life, the one after this, when the great Mother reclaimed her children and rewarded them with everlasting life. Some believed that was a life of joy on the Mother River, others believed it was in the sky at the firesides that twinkled in the night. Tuk wasn’t sure what to believe, but he did believe in prudence.
He rose slightly and stepped back into the forest, abandoning his perch at the side a small inlet of calm water and pleasant shade. The cool breeze that had at one moment helped keep the bugs away now carried curious smells, and sounds that continued to get louder.
Laughter.
Several people were talking and laughing, their voices carrying across the water, and as his curiosity overcame his fear, he edged forward, peering around a large tree as the oddest looking boat he had ever seen came around a bend in the river. It was massive, at least the length of five men if not ten. And tall, rising out of the water higher than the tallest building in their village.
It was completely white, as white as the eyes in his head, and seemed to be moving without any sign of oars, the only way he knew to propel a boat, though he was no expert, his own tribe rarely venturing this far.
He heard a woman’s laugh, it so casual and genuine, it lifted his soured spirits. He peered across the water and finally caught sight of the source of such a beautiful sound.
A woman whiter than any he had ever seen.
And more uniquely beautiful than he could have ever dreamed.
And in that very instance, he knew he had to possess her.
Somebody on the boat yelled and pointed to his position. Tuk’s heart leapt into his throat and he
plunged back in the woods as the boat turned toward him.
Rio Negro, Northern Amazon, Brazil
Present Day
“What is it?” asked Laura as they jumped to their feet, all eyes on the shore.
“I saw someone, or at least I think I did.” Acton had to admit he wasn’t sure. It was more of a shape, small, slight, sort of reddish brown. As soon as he had pointed it had disappeared. “It must have been an animal.”
“Are you sure?” Reading sounded concerned. “Perhaps we should find another place to weigh anchor.”
Acton shook his head, motioning toward the western horizon. “The sun’s low already. The chances of us finding another location like this are slim to none before nightfall, then we’re stuck in the middle of the river. I’d rather get off the boat and set up camp where we can stretch our legs.”
Reading frowned but acquiesced. Acton suppressed his smile, knowing damned well that Reading would enjoy any excuse to stay onboard, the eight legged and no legged creatures he hated in far too great abundance on land for his liking. Even Acton had to admit to a little bit of trepidation, the insects large, numerous and exotic in appearance.
Especially when they were sitting on your chest staring at you when you woke up, and you could physically feel them walking away.
That was the first night and from then on he made certain the tent was sealed up tight every instant it was ashore. There had been no more bedtime surprises, but many campfire ones. He was loving the trip, of that there was no doubt, but he had to confess he was looking forward to getting home and back into his comfortable bed.
Or Laura’s.
They still hadn’t settled on living arrangements, though there hadn’t been much time since the wedding. After their two week honeymoon, they had split some time between his house and her flat, then came to Brazil for most of June, and then straight to this cruise.
Thank God it’s summer break!
The subject had been avoided the entire time, and Acton wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not. All he knew was that it would need to be settled soon, since this little trip was over in four days, the Venezuelan-Colombian border less than half a day away at which point they would turn around, return to Manaus and take Laura’s private jet home.
Amazon Burning (A James Acton Thriller, #10) Page 2
