Silent Enemy. Lois Richer
Читать онлайн книгу.
Sam wiggled a bit, winced when her body protested. “Fine, I think. Just a little sore. I hit my head.” She was drawn in by his eyes—kind, gentle eyes that promised understanding. “I’m sorry if I gate-crashed your compound. I—I was running away.”
“There has been unrest in the jungle today. Things are not as they seem.”
“Then I should go.” She tried to get up and felt his big hand under her elbow, supporting her until she could stand on her own. “Thank you for helping me.”
“My dear, we are all God’s children. It is our duty to help one another.” Again he smiled and Sam could not look away from the peace she glimpsed in his face. She found herself longing to experience it personally.
A few moments later a gunshot broke the silence of the place. Birds squawked, children cried, a woman thrust her head into the hut and, in a frightened whisper, muttered, “El Señor.” The padre’s face tightened, but otherwise he gave nothing away, merely touched her hand to calm her and murmured a few indistinguishable words. Then he handed Sam her sandals.
“You are not safe here. Put on your shoes and then go with Nonee. Hide until I have dealt with this. Do not give yourself away. A man with evil in his heart is near. He will hurt you. Be very careful.” He touched her cheek then left.
Nonee bent and pointed to a small hole in the wall of the hut. Samantha began to crawl through the opening. At the last moment she saw her cell phone lying on the ground and snatched it up.
They emerged at the back of a group of huts, behind most of the furor. Nonee led the way upward, darting from dense thickets of eucalyptus trees through waist-high ferns, past huts where women ushered their little ones inside. Sam was so busy looking she almost bumped into Nonee, who had stopped abruptly and was now clearing away some limbs and debris from the base of a huge tree. After a moment a carved-out spot appeared in the trunk. This was the hiding place?
Nonee allowed no time for examination. She crawled in, and yanked on Samantha’s hand for her to follow. Once they were both inside, she pulled back the branches and arranged them so that they had only the smallest peephole to see through.
Nonee looked through it just once. Apparently she didn’t like what she saw, for she crossed her arms around herself and rocked back and forth, eyes closed, lips moving. At first Sam thought she was praying, until Nonee held out her palm, offering some of the raw white paste lying on it.
“Bazuko,” she offered, her voice hoarse. The word was familiar. A by-product of the cocaine-making process, bazuko was often used as a tranquilizer by the natives. Sam shook her head, turned back to watch.
Sounds from the camp were dimmer inside this secret cave. Voices raised loud in argument echoed toward them in fits and bursts. She could see two men standing on either side of the padre. They shook their fists, demanded something. The padre shook his head, and glared at a man dressed in tall boots and khakis who stood to one side. This was clearly the boss. Perhaps this was the el Zopilote she’d heard about.
Whoever he was, he said something Samantha couldn’t hear. This time the priest waved his hand, encompassing the compound as he shook his head vehemently. El Zopilote or whatever his name was snapped out a command, ending the argument. Two men grabbed the padre and dragged him into the center of the camp where they bound him to a tree. The man she’d named el Zopilote stood with his back to Sam. In loud, clear Spanish he told the entire group that what had been stolen must be returned; he asked them to find it.
Furious and indignant, the padre insisted he leave, that they had nothing that belonged to him. The khaki man sneered, said something Sam didn’t catch. Moments later the sound of a gunshot rang through the forest. The padre’s head sank to his chest as the light in his eyes faded to nothing.
“No, oh no,” she breathed, flinching but unable to tear her gaze from the horrible sight. When the murderer turned, she saw his face head-on, felt the pierce of his stare as if he could see through the trees and branches to the very spot where she hid. The evil in those eyes stabbed through her. Sam knew she’d never forget the feeling.
He gave an order and men began to tear the camp apart, obviously looking for something. They worked their way up the hill toward her, so close she could have reached out and touched them. Sam crawled backward until she bumped against something. In the gloom of her tree-cave her fingers trailed over the impediment, identified a chest of some sort. She leaned against it, held her breath as the footsteps came ever nearer. Nonee was shaking, sweating. Samantha wrapped an arm around her until the steps moved away.
After a few moments the dank smell of smoke permeated the air. Sam peeked out, surveyed the devastation. Many of the huts were burning as the natives stood watching, helpless against this onslaught. Children cried, women wept. The men held fisted hands at their sides.
El Zopilote said one word, then he and his men left. The sound of high-powered boat engines cut through the forest, silencing even the birds. In fact, everything seemed to go still as if mourning the loss of the kindly padre—until the drone of an airplane overhead brought awful reality back.
Sam would have moved then, but Nonee held her back and pointed. Outside Varga scanned the compound. Sam’s fingers clenched into the dirt, startled at the cool press of metal against her palm. She glanced down, saw a small gold disk half-buried by the earth. As she turned to pick it up, she saw a second, then a third coin lying by the edge of the chest. It was too dark in the cave to examine them so she stuck them in her pocket. Nonee’s hand grabbed her arm. Varga was moving toward them!
They pressed themselves against the back of the cave as a machete shoved through the branches and plunged into the ground in front of them. He grunted, removed the blade and moved on. A snake slid down a vine less than a foot in front of them, moved through the leaves and disappeared. Sam held her breath to stop the scream.
They waited for hours.
Finally Sam heard Varga’s boat chugging back down the river. Through her peephole the compound looked deserted. Dusk dulled the atmosphere and smoke hung like wispy tapestries. El Padre lay where he had died. Though darkness was falling, no one lit a fire or set alight the torches. Murmurs and soft sobs filled the camp. It seemed the world was in mourning.
Nonee pointed to her sandals, made walking motions with her fingers. Sam nodded, glancing at the chest. Perhaps it had belonged to the padre, the treasure he couldn’t take to heaven. Before she could look inside, Nonee’s grip on her arm cut off all further thought as they slipped out of their hideaway.
Like thieves, they stole through the jungle, Nonee sure-footed as she found trails in the growing night. Weary, aching and heartsick, all Sam could do was keep following. Finally shards of light began to pierce the forest canopy. Nonee led the way onto a suspended bridge that spanned at least one-third of a mile and rose a hundred feet off the ground. Heights had never been Sam’s forte, but going back wasn’t an option. She gritted her teeth, looked straight ahead and tiptoed until she was sure the fragile construction would hold her weight. Connected by tree platforms, the bridge offered a spectacular view of the rain forest. Given other circumstances and more security, she might have admired the view. Today she could only think of the padre and the way his life had been snuffed out.
Like a band warming up, a cacophony of barbets, toucans and red-throated caracara joined the morning chorus of birdsong in swelling appreciation of dawn. The jungle steamed in reams of cloud upon the eyelash of the forest, as Peruvians termed it. Odors of decay and exotic floral perfumes mingled now, more pungent as heat mustered strength and crept up on the day. Drops of sweat pearled on Samantha’s body, yet still they pushed on through the jungle.
She reckoned it was near midmorning before they emerged on a road, at the outskirts of a small settlement. Nonee motioned for her to stay, to wait.
“Adios, mi amigo,” Nonee whispered in halting Spanish, touching Sam’s cheek with her fingertips. She smiled then she disappeared into the forest.
“Adios, chiquita. Muchas gracias.”
Too tired to walk farther and with no idea which