Jungle Hunt. Don Pendleton
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all, letting Hachtman and his team do their job in relative peace.
“Fine, except my tent’s leaking again. How’s the perimeter? Any trouble recently?”
“That’s what I came to talk to you about. Those bastards at that village nearby are trekkin’ closer to us all the time. Pretty soon they’ll be stomping all over the place.” Kapleron’s lip curled at the thought.
“What would you suggest we do about that, keeping in mind that our employers want this operation to keep a low profile?”
“Ja, I remember, otherwise the problem woulda been solved already—a few of my maats and I woulda paid them a daylight visit. However, since that ain’t an option, perhaps a different approach is in order.”
“Oh?” Hachtman lengthened his stride, making the shorter man hasten to catch up. It was a faint jab at the other man, but he took his pleasure where he could.
“Yeah, look, apparently these Huaorani are attacking each other all the time—they stab their enemies with spears. We go in at night and take out the village, then it looks like one of the neighbors did it, not us. Just another hazard of living in the jungle, right? The locals all suspect each other, and we get off scot-free. Heh, if you wanted to live on something more than coconuts and guava, we could even hire ourselves out for ‘protection.’”
Pondering the rough plan for a moment, Hachtman was surprised to find he liked it. “That’s not a bad idea—it certainly covers all of our bases.”
“So, when do you want us to move on them?”
“Let me get back to you on that, okay?” Leaving the small man behind, he headed for a cab on one of the deuce-and-a-half trucks and climbed inside. Unzipping the case again, he connected his laptop to the battery of the truck and extended a small satellite transmitting dish. He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, waiting for the interminable lag as the satellite connection uplinked to his superior at the company.
“Good afternoon, Alec.” His boss, known only as Mr. Ravidos, never appeared on screen—the only thing Hachtman saw was the logo of Paracor, two crossed swords on a crimson field.
“Good afternoon, sir.”
“I assume you’re calling with an update.”
“Yes, sir. The first phase of the operation has been carried out, however, there is another village nearby that may need pacifying, as well. We’re checking into it right now.”
“Of course, you know that PSSI cannot be connected to any sort of wet activity in the area.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll have this section of jungle cleared and ready for companies to move into in the next five to seven days.”
“Good. Now that we have the rights to resell, our sales force is already lining up leasers for that swath. We’re making history here, Alec. Not only are we supplying the security for an area, but we’re also controlling the rights to exploit it—two income streams off one assignment.”
“Well, sir, you’ve always said that good business is where you find it, right?”
“Excellent memory, Alec. You pull this off smoothly, and there’ll be a big promotion for you when you come back to headquarters. You just make sure that there’s no one there to raise a stink about it, okay?”
“No problem, sir. By the time Piet and his boys are finished, there won’t even be a parrot to squawk about what’s going on down here.”
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