“Well, the combo was enough to put me down hard.” She held up her arm, revealing a tiny needle mark inside her elbow. “After that, somebody must have topped us off. Faye woke up around the same time I did, so I figured we should get some air and clear the spider webs out of our brains.”
Micah set Faye down.
Tugging his sleeve, she pointed to a cluster of wooden crates, saying, “Look Dad, they’ve got monkeys!”
Six shrieking capuchin monkeys were locked in the crates. To Micah, their cries were like nails on a chalkboard.
Catalina handed Micah a plastic cup. “One of the boys squeezed us some fresh juice, it’ll help numb that power drill in your forehead hangover.”
Faye was already leaning close to the monkeys, offering them chunks of banana. “Dad look, there’re so many of them!”
“Don’t get too close to ’em, monkey girl, ’cause they bite.” Micah didn’t want to break the news to her that the monkeys were probably destined to be lab animals or bush meat. He emptied his cup, feeling renewed by the combination of juice and Faye’s laughter. After all they’d been through, his daughter should have been traumatized, yet there she was, giggling, engrossed in the monkeys.
Raising his cup to Catalina, he said, “Thanks for this, and for, well, everything.”
“No sweat. She’s a pretty resilient kid.”
Micah crushed the plastic cup, saying, “I can’t believe those bastards drugged a child.”
A familiar Austrian-tinged voice said, “I assure you the drug was medically approved for use on children and I personally monitored the dosage.”
Micah turned and saw Hans emerge from the throng and shouted, “I’ll give you a fucking dose!” as he lunged towards him.
Santos latched on to Micah’s forearm with a bone-crushing grip, effortlessly holding him back. Pulling Micah close, he said, “Batista needs your brain, not your hands. Next time you try something, I start breaking fingers.” Then he released his grip.
Fumbling with a cigarette, Hans said, “I can understand your anger, but try to remember we’re on the brink of changing the world.”
Batista stepped out onto the deck, resplendent in an ivory-white linen suit. The crowd parted, clearing his path. He approached Micah, saying, “Hans is correct, we’ll be reshaping mankind’s future while proving your theories in the process. Not a bad compromise.”
A shrill siren cut through the din, silencing the workers. A tender boat came alongside, blasting its police style siren.
The speedboat’s pilot held up a bullhorn, shouting, “We’ve got red flags behind us!”
Batista muttered, “Merda!”
Without a word, Santos rushed to the edge of the deck and vaulted over the railing, landing in the boat. It roared off, churning up a brown wake behind it.
Micah asked, “Problem?”
Batista replied, “Perhaps,” then strode off toward a ladder leading to the upper deck. He turned back to Micah. “You and Ms. Abril should come along. This could be entertaining. Don’t worry; Hans will keep an eye on your little one.”
Hans just nodded, clearly annoyed at being reduced to a babysitter.
Catalina whispered, “I say we tag along, maybe we’ll learn something.”
They followed Batista up the ladder. A gangway led them to the rear observation deck, where a crewman waited with two pairs of binoculars.
Peering through the binoculars, Batista said, “There it is, the small boat at three o’clock. It’s a scout for the Red Flag Fleet.”
Through the binoculars, Micah sighted a dilapidated speed boat displaying a red flag. It was clearly shadowing the flotilla. “Who are they?”
“The Red Flag Fleet are river pirates, though calling it a fleet is generous. More like a floating junkyard of stolen boats with a crew of half-starved bugre trash.”
Catalina asked, “So they’re not dangerous?”
Batista shook his head. “Very dangerous. They’re led by a psychopath calling herself Queen Caveira.”
Catalina told Micah, “That’s Queen of Skulls in English.”
Micah muttered, “Of course it is.”
The two gunboats made a beeline for the red-flagged boat. Santos’s speedboat was right behind them.
Micah said, “Is she a real queen?”
Batista said, “Only to her crew. Those wretches worship her, and she has a personal grudge against me.”
“Why?”
Batista shrugged. “The have-nots always hate their betters.”
He graciously handed his binoculars to Catalina who watched the battle.
The red flag boat turned sharply in retreat, black smoke belching from its exhaust. The first gunboat opened fire, sending up plumes of water around the escaping boat.
Ignoring the hail of bullets, one of the pirates stood up, firing an assault rifle. The pirate’s gunfire was accurate but merely ricocheted off the gunboat’s armored turret. The fleeing boat cut hard right—an evasive maneuver that put them squarely in the second gunboat’s crosshairs. The second gunboat’s initial burst cut down the armed man. A second destroyed the boat’s outboard motor. The pirate’s boat lost speed until it was drifting in a cloud of black smoke. One of the pirates returned fire while a second launched a skyrocket into the air. The gunboat fired again, cutting both men down.
Batista said, “He’s using that skyrocket to signal another scout further down, telling him he won’t be coming home.”
Micah lowered the binoculars, struggling to process what he’d just witnessed. He’d experienced plenty of danger in his life, but he’d never been exposed to this kind of savage violence.
Seeing the blank expression on Micah’s face, Catalina turned to Batista, asking, “Do you think they’ll attack us?”
“No. She’s probed our defenses and knows she’s outgunned. Now she’ll hang back, waiting for any boats that fall behind. God help any who do. If you ever meet Queen Caveira there’s only one thing you can do.”
“What’s that?”
“Dive into the river and let the black caimans get you. They’ll only take minutes to kill you, but the queen will torture you for days. Inflicting pain is like a hobby to her.” Batista let that sink in for a moment then added, “But as long as we keep our formation tight, we’ll be safe.”
Micah recovered his composure enough to ask, “Why are we using boats at all? Couldn’t we just go in by floatplane or helicopter? It’d be a lot faster and safer.”
“We already tried that. The first plane simply disappeared. The second time we sent a helicopter. It got out a radio message then vanished.”
“Saying?”
“It was a distress call declaring they’d lost all power near the outpost, as if something fused the electrical system. Even if they survived the crash, the natives probably got them. They’re an un-contacted tribe who eat strangers.”
Micah said, “Cannibals?”
“So the story goes. That’s why we’re going in by water. Armed men and gunboats are the most effective way to deal with … indigenous peoples.”
Batista’s tone gave “indigenous” a sinister edge.
Micah asked, “How long till we reach your outpost?”
“It’s another ten hours to our refueling depot then two days to the outpost. That’s two days on a caiman-infested river, crossing into the territory of a cannibal tribe while being shadowed by river pirates. Things you should remember if escaping crosses your mind.” Batista stared at him silently, letting the grim reality of the situation settle in.
Micah knew he was right—the boat was a perfect prison without bars.
Batista grinned, saying, “Ah, look who’s joined us.”
Micah turned around and saw Hans leading Faye over.
Pasting on a smile, Micah asked, “Did you feed all the monkeys?”
“Yup. And the donkeys too.”
Hans said, “And with that out of the way perhaps we can get to work. I recommend you grab some food and come with me. I’ve set
up a workspace in your cabin, and you’ll be happy to know it’s air-conditioned.”
Taking Micah’s hand, Faye said, “Dad.”
“What, baby?”
“You stink worse than the monkeys.”
Micah pulled at the soiled clothes he’d been wearing for two days and said, “You’re right. I better take a shower and change.”
Catalina said, “Someone’s probably laid out your ensemble by now,” then raised the binoculars for a final look.
Micah said, “Real five-star accommodations.”
Catalina watched Santos’s craft pull alongside the pirate boat. Santos hopped aboard, dragging a wounded pirate up onto his feet. After shouting a few questions, he drew a pistol and casually executed his prisoner.
Catalina tossed the binoculars back to the deckhand, muttering, “Yeah, all the comforts of home.”
#
Micah and Catalina spent the next four hours ensconced in their cabin, which Hans had repurposed into an office. The overtaxed air conditioner barely took the edge off the sweltering heat. The table was covered in aerial photographs and paperwork. Among the mess, Micah noticed a nautical chart, half buried beneath a stack of aerial photos.
Hans asked, “Any thoughts on what you’ve seen?”
Micah picked up a photo of a circular lake surrounded by a rim of ejected earth. A small, glittering dome was visible in the lake’s center. “This lake is definitely an ancient impact crater, like Lake Pingualuit in Québec. But the meteor should be buried hundreds of feet below the lakebed.”
Hans shook his head. “It isn’t. The earthquake must have pushed the Anomaly to the surface. Our first expedition began damming the river that feeds the lake, but we haven’t gotten any photos since then.”
Staring at the photo, Micah said, “The thing is that meteorites are mostly composed of iron ore, meaning they’re heavy as hell. An earthquake should have sunk it deeper, not pushed it to the surface.”
In truth, Micah’s eyes were focused on the chart the photo had been covering. His father had been an amateur cartographer, creating detailed charts of the remote locations they’d explored. From childhood, Micah had displayed a gift for reading and memorizing maps. This nautical chart showed where they were headed and he quickly committed every contour and bend in the river to memory.
Hans said, “Perhaps it has a hollow core.”
“There’s no such thing as a hollow meteorite, it just can’t happen naturally.”
“It’s a genuine mystery, which is why we brought you along.” Shifting his gaze to Catalina, Hans asked, “Any observations?”
“I concur,” was all she said.
Her lack of meaningful input wasn’t going unnoticed by Micah or Hans.
Micah thought, So she says she’s a grad student but clearly knows jack shit about geology, and she just witnessed men being killed but showed less emotion than someone watching a football game.
Micah glanced over at Faye, who was stretched out on the cot reading some novel about a vampire high school and asked, “You doing okay?”
“Yup.”
Batista had provided a stack of age appropriate YA novels to help occupy the nine-year-old. The man had thought of everything.
Faye set the book aside and asked, “Dad, can monkeys swim?”
“Yeah. They don’t like to, but they can.”
“Why don’t they like it?”
“Because they’d rather swing around in the trees where they’re safe from crocodiles and jaguars.”
“Crocodiles are nasty.”
“No they’re not, they’re just crocodiles.”
Micah relished these childish conversations, but to Hans they were exasperating. He dug into his pack of cigarettes.
Catalina said, “Uh, I know this is a hostage situation and all, but could you not smoke in a closed room with a kid?”
Hans got up, saying, “Fine, but when I come back we’ll analyze the remaining aerial photos in detail.” Glancing over at Faye, he added, “Uninterrupted,” and stalked out.
Faye muttered, “He’s meaner than the crocodiles,” and went back to her book.
Micah leaned closer to Catalina and whispered, “Did you really just say ‘I concur’? We’re not on an episode of Gray’s Anatomy here.”
“What’re you saying?”
“Okay, to be blunt, do you know anything about geology?”
“Huh?”
“Hans has been asking basic questions for the past two hours, and I can tell you don’t have a clue what he’s talking about. We’re playing for our lives here and keeping safe means staying useful.”
Catalina scribbled something on her pad and tapped the pen against it.
It read, “This room is probably bugged.”
Micah whispered, “True, but that has nothing to do with why you didn’t know an emerald from a cinder block.”
She scribbled again, this time writing, “Not a grad student.”
Glancing at the page, Micah muttered, “No shock there.”
After a frustrated breath, Catalina wrote again, this time in very small letters.
Micah stared at the paper, speechless. Catalina tore the piece off, balled it up and swallowed it.
Hans returned, renewed by the nicotine. Taking his seat, he asked, “Can we please get some work done now?”
Micah stood up and said, “Sure, but we need to grab some more juice.”
“Now?”
“Yes now. Next time you drug somebody for twelve hours you should feed ’em first. We’re hungover and in desperate need of some vitamin C. It’ll only take a few minutes. Come on, Faye.”
The little girl’s face lit up. “Monkeys?”
“Sure, you can visit the monkeys, but just for a few minutes. Let’s go.”
The trio left. Hans went back to analyzing the aerial photos, muttering Teutonic obscenities.
Micah walked along the deck holding Faye’s hand while struggling to process the three words Catalina had scrawled.
“I’M CIA, DUMMY!”
#
Once they reached the front deck, Catalina yanked a banana from an overhead basket and tossed it to Faye. “Go feed your monkeys, honey.”
The nine-year-old scampered off.
Catalina grabbed Micah’s wrist, guiding him over near the blaring tape deck.
He blurted out, “Are you saying the goddamn CIA’s watching me?”
“There’s a lot of international trafficking in rare earth elements. Langley figured if I was attached to you, I’d have access to some of the shady folks you buy meteorite chunks from. We didn’t know they were all just farmers.”
“So I was a… What is it you call them?”
“The term’s useful idiot. But don’t be insulted, there are some really smart useful idiots. They also needed to make sure you weren’t masterminding any illicit deals.”
“And?”
“I informed them you couldn’t mastermind anything.”
“Cute.”
“I meant you were an honest guy. And before you start acting all wounded, remember that you’re the one who forced grad students to do all your legwork, plus shoot your damn show for a whopping two-hundred dollar-a-week stipend.”
“Plus meals!” Micah took a breath and said, “Sorry, I know we need to focus on the situation.”
“Which is a lot worse than you think. I may know squat about geology, but I know all about Batista. He’s been all over Langley’s radar.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s a goddamn monster, a former cartel boss who seized control of the emerald trade by eliminating competitors and labor organizers; hell, he’s wiped out whole indigenous tribes around his mines, which are all pretty much slave labor camps. And he’s sure as shit going to eliminate us as soon as we’re done. That way nobody’ll know about his find.”
“What about Faye?”
“Do you think everyone in those tribes were grown-ups? On the plus side, he probably won’t do anything until h
e knows his treasure’s secured.”
Micah thought for a moment and said, “What about Hans? He’s intelligent. Any chance he’d take our side?”
“Forget it. Hans has been Batista’s right-hand man through all his evil shit. He drank the Kool Aid a long time ago.”
“So what do we do?”
Catalina shrugged. “I don’t know. If we see a chance, we might have to cut and run.”
“With a nine-year-old girl, in the rainforest?”
“It’s bad, I get that. This is all a work in progress. But I need to know one thing. If we have to run, are you really any good at that living in the jungle stuff you talk about on your show?”
“I’m a little rusty, but yeah. Being a survival expert is the only part of my TV image that’s not complete horse shit. I grew up traveling with my mom and dad. Jungles, mountains, you name it.”
“Good, ’cause we may need that.”
Micah watched Faye feeding the monkeys. Her complete innocence was heartbreaking.
Catalina squeezed his hand. “Just know this; I’m not going to let anything happen to your little girl on my watch, no matter what it takes.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and you’re still a really smart planetary geologist, even if it took you three weeks to figure out I was a fraud.”
“Well, you were pretty good with a camera, plus Faye liked you.”
A klaxon sounded, followed by a distorted PA voice announcing, “We are one hour from arrival at the fuel depot, prepare to dock.”
Catalina said, “Maybe this is our chance.”
Santos shoved his way through the crowd, pointed at them and announced, “You two are going ashore with the fueling detail.”
Micah couldn’t believe their luck but kept a poker face. “Okay, I’ll just grab Faye and get her ready.”
Santos grinned, shaking his head. “Uh-uh. The brat stays here.”
“Are you crazy?”
“No, not crazy, or stupid. Anytime we stop, I’m separating you. It’s just my way of making sure you don’t get any wild ideas.”
Chapter Six
“But Dad, why can’t I come with you?”
Micah looked down at his daughter, pasted on a smile and said, “We’re going someplace that’s a little too dangerous for you, but I swear we’ll be right back.” He bent down, kissing Faye’s forehead.
Primeval Waters Page 5
