César did not reply.
Well, they could steal the boat, or up the offer to a hundred bucks, but either solution would arouse suspicion. Or they could take the guide upriver and feed him to the piranha. He hadn’t come this far to run into bureaucratic bullshit. He said to César, “We are bird-watchers. We need silence.”
César shook his head.
Well, they’d come to an impasse, so Brodie said, “We’ll think about it. Meanwhile, Captain Collins would like to see his room.”
César stood, as did Collins, who took all three bags, as per instructions, with no help from César.
Taylor smiled at Collins. “We’ll see you for lunch, John.”
He returned the smile, and he and César walked off toward the guesthouses.
Brodie looked at Taylor. “Do you think we’ll see Collins or those bags again?”
“We will very shortly if we can’t get a boat.” She added, “And if we do get a boat, we will not be returning here with a bird.”
“Right.” Brodie suggested, “Let’s go down to the river. I need to walk off that breakfast.”
“All right…” She stood and they began walking through the village toward the river.
Taylor said, “We are not stealing a boat.”
“No, but maybe we can buy a boat from a local who doesn’t care about the rules.”
They continued down the slope, and they could now see the small, murky river. The tepui rose up on their right.
Taylor asked, “Can I make a suggestion?”
“Of course.”
“I think the gods who live on that tepui are telling us to get the fuck out of here.”
Brodie smiled. “You may be right.”
“We’ve gone above and beyond the call of duty, Scott, and we have been very lucky so far. We’ve seen and learned enough here and in Caracas to make a convincing case that Kyle Mercer’s camp is about ten miles up that river. I will take a few photos of you standing on the riverbank, pointing upriver. Okay? Then we go back to the village, find Captain Collins, get on his plane, and get the hell out of here before people from that camp come to Kavak.” She asked, “Sound rational?”
“It does.”
They reached the bank, and Brodie stopped and looked at the river, which was about a hundred feet wide. He said, “The water is flowing at maybe four or five knots. It’s a little deeper than I thought, but no more than chest-high. We could actually wade upriver.”
“The piranha would enjoy that.”
“Right… well…” He looked to his left, where he saw the mudflat that he’d glimpsed from the air. There was a scattering of wooden canoes in the mud, all about fifteen feet long with square sterns and small outboard motors. “So near, and yet so far.”
“Ready for your picture?”
“Let’s get the boats in the shot.” He walked down to the mudflat and stood by the canoes, which he noted had wooden plank seats every few feet, and were wide enough to hold two Pemón or one hog-tied Captain Mercer, stretched across the seats. The canoes had nylon bow lines, and that should do the trick. Then all they had to do was call Collins with a heads-up, get Mercer ashore away from the village, cut through the grass to the landing strip, and board the plane. It’s all about planning and logistics.
“Scott? Hello? Smile for the camera.”
He smiled, and pointed upriver. Taylor took three shots and said, “Okay, let’s go.”
“Hold on.” He noticed a bamboo platform on which was a pile of wooden oars and also yellow life vests, which weren’t needed in this chest-high water unless the piranha and crocs had made off with your legs.
He walked over to one of the canoes. The small, gas-powered engine had a recoil starter that Brodie was familiar with. He guessed it was about two horsepower, and given the speed of the current they’d be going against, he thought his initial estimate of seven or eight knots was about right.
“What are you doing?”
