Collins didn’t reply for a few seconds, then said, “She’s a former beauty queen.”
More likely a cocktail waitress, thought Brodie. “No offense, Captain, but the world is full of beautiful women who live in nicer places.”
Collins didn’t respond to that, but said, “I own a place in Pensacola. That’s my plan—and it will become her plan too.”
“Good plan.” A better plan would be not to let a woman fuck up your life, and he would have said that to Captain Collins, but Maggie Taylor was in the back seat, probably thinking about how she could fuck up Scott Brodie’s life.
Collins asked, “Still want to circle?”
Brodie called out to Taylor. “What do you think?”
She lowered the binoculars. “I don’t think so…” She snapped a few pictures with her smartphone. “Can’t really see anything through the canopy. But maybe go upriver another mile or so.”
Collins again glanced at his fuel gauge. “These maneuvers burn a lot of fuel. But… okay. Then we need to put it down.”
“You’re the captain.”
Collins came out of his turn and took an easterly heading, farther up the river.
Brodie looked out the front windshield as the unbroken expanse of rain forest passed under their aircraft. He was convinced now that Kyle Mercer was down there—somewhere. Or Mercer was in Kavak, waiting to see who flew in.
Taylor shot pictures of the riverbank and the adjacent jungle, then called out, “Do you see those boats?”
Brodie looked at the narrow river and spotted three small boats headed downriver, toward Kavak. He wondered if that was their welcoming committee.
Collins said, “Could be Pemón. Or tourists with Pemón guides.” He advised, “The best way to travel in this terrain is by boat. Unless you’re real jungle experts.” He expanded on that: “You got venomous snakes down there. Howler monkeys, who can be aggressive, plus the big cats. Then you got bugs and slugs and all kinds of things that bite.” He added, “The mosquitoes can drive you crazy. And give you malaria.”
Brodie called out to Taylor, “Screw the bird-watching. We’re going to Aruba.”
Collins laughed. “That’s a layover I wouldn’t mind sharing with you. I could pick up my girlfriend in Caracas.”
Or find a new one in Aruba. Brodie was about to tell Captain Collins that they weren’t going back to Caracas, when Taylor called out, “Two o’clock.”
Brodie and Collins looked out the windshield. Up ahead, Brodie saw a break in the jungle canopy—a long gash that was obviously man-made.
Collins said, “A jungle airstrip.” He added, “You see them now and then. And nearby, you usually see where a patch of trees has been thinned out. That’s where they grow the coca, and close by is the lab where they make the white stuff.” He added, “You don’t want to land at those airstrips.”
Brodie asked, “Anyone ever ask you to do that?”
“I make an honest living, Mr. Bowman.”
“So do we. You want to hear about it?”
Collins stayed silent, then replied, “I think it’s time to turn for Kavak. We can talk on the ground.”
“You can turn, but we need to talk up here.”
Collins didn’t respond, but put the Cessna into a one-hundred-eighty-degree right turn.
Brodie said, “Mrs. Bowman and I are not actually with the Department of the Interior, and all I know about geology is what I learned in the eighth grade. Got a C in the course. But Mrs. Bowman and I did actually serve in the Army, me in Iraq, her in Afghanistan. I got a star in that course. Bronze. She got a silver. We both have Purple Hearts.”
“Thank you for your service.”
“You’re welcome. Now we’re working in an official capacity for our government. Yours and mine. We’re not looking for any more Purple Hearts, but we have a job to do here.”
Collins nodded as he stared out the windshield.
Taylor said, “We may—or may not—need your help.”
