Collins chuckled and continued his tour spiel. “The plane stayed up there for over thirty years before it was brought down and put on display in front of Tomás de Heres Airport.”
“So did he find gold?”
“No. But he got the falls named after him. Angel Falls.” Collins added, “Better than gold. That’s immortality.”
More like a consolation prize. Well, thought Brodie, that might be the story of human exploration—looking for one thing and finding another. Looking for gold and finding a waterfall. Looking for the fountain of youth and immortality and finding death. The great cosmic joke.
Collins said, “The indigenous people say the gods live on top of the tepuis.”
Well, thought Brodie, they damn sure didn’t live in the mountains surrounding Caracas.
They flew in silence for a few minutes, and Brodie could see Devil’s Canyon, which was a few miles wide and mostly in shadow at this early hour. Thick jungle filled the valley and climbed up the base of the tepui’s sheer rock walls.
As they descended into the canyon, they saw the towering waterfall on their right, its source obscured by clouds, making the water appear to be tumbling out of the sky as it cascaded down the steep face of the tepui, plunging thousands of feet into a river below that cut through the valley’s jungle floor.
Brodie thought about Kyle Mercer, who was down there somewhere.Captain Mercer’s journey had taken him from the dead mountains of Afghanistan to here, the dwelling place of the gods. Could this place heal him? It didn’t sound like it had.
Collins continued his tour: “These tepuis are so old and so isolated that they have their own unique species of flora and fauna that don’t exist anywhere else.”
“That’s why we’re here,” said Brodie. “To find a rare bird.”
Collins made a tight one-hundred-eighty-degree turn in the canyon, then exited and rounded the eastern side of the massive tabletop mountain. To the south they could see a break in the jungle where miles of grassland fanned out from the tepui’s southern base.
Collins asked, “Ready to land?”
Brodie called out, “No—but fly around Kavak before we go on.”
“Okay… Any reason for that?”
“My wife wants to take pictures.”
“Okay.”
“Mind if I borrow your binocs?”
“Not at all.” Collins retrieved his binoculars from his flight bag, which he’d returned to the co-pilot seat, and handed them back to Brodie.
Brodie looked out his side window and adjusted the binoculars as Collins rounded the south side of the tepui and began his descent toward Kavak.
After a few minutes of flying over the expansive savanna, Collins said, “Kavak coming up on your side, Mr. Bowman. One o’clock.”
Brodie looked out at the grassland and spotted a small, winding river, then to its east a group of about twenty thatched-roof huts—a mixture of round, square, and oval—about half a mile away. On the south side of the village was the airstrip, which was actually just a swath of cut grass with a wind sock and some markers, about six hundred yards long.
Collins said, “Kavak is not really an indigenous village. It’s more like a tourist place. Seven or eight guesthouses, a storage hut for stuff that people order and have flown in, and a few transient huts for the Pemón natives who are either guides or caretakers for the guesthouses, boat landing, and airstrip.”
Brodie asked, “What’s the best bar and restaurant in town?”
“There’s one communal dining hall.”
“How’s the food?”
“Fresh. There’s no refrigeration. No electricity.” He added, “There’s rum and beer for sale. Sometimes other stuff.” Collins began a right bank over the village.
“Get a little lower over the airstrip so my wife can take some pictures. Mind if I come forward?”
“Okay.”
Brodie squeezed into the cockpit, moved Collins’ flight bag behind the seat, and sat in the right-hand seat while Collins began a corkscrew descent over the airstrip. Brodie peered through the binoculars out his side window, focusing on the tall grass around the airstrip, then on the scattering of huts, which appeared to be painted yellow, as per Carmen. There didn’t seem to be any unusual activity down there. In fact, no activity except a few people down by the river, fishing. He spotted a mudflat, on which sat about ten small watercraft. “Can I rent a boat?”
