“Agreed.” He added, “I’m not totally crazy.” He brought the boat around and they began gliding downriver, making, he thought, about ten knots. “Kavak in less than an hour.” Which sounded better than “From the frying pan into the fire.”
Just when he thought it was safe to be on the water, he heard the unmistakable sound of automatic rifle fire.
Taylor, who was scrambling back toward the bow, froze and turned toward him. They made eye contact, but neither of them had to say, “AK-47s,” whose sound they both knew well.
The firing was distant, about five hundred meters, the hollow popping echoing through the rain forest. Brodie said, “Training.”
Taylor nodded, but didn’t move.
He twisted the throttle to full open, and the boat picked up a little speed. He should have checked the fuel before they left, but the worst-case scenario would be paddling downriver with the current. He recalled the Army’s famous advice: “Lack of prior planning makes for a piss-poor performance.” Good advice for next time. But for this time, so far, so good.
“Scott…”
“What?”
She pointed at the elevated platform, about twenty meters ahead.
He looked, and he didn’t need his binoculars to see two men—not Pemón, but bearded, bad-looking hombres in jungle fatigues—standing at the edge of the platform, pointing AK-47s at them.
One of the men yelled something; then the AK-47 spoke and a stream of red tracer rounds streaked into the water less than a meter in front of their bow.
One of the men again yelled something, and Brodie didn’t need much Spanish to understand “Stop or I’ll shoot!”
They were totally exposed, in an open boat without cover or concealment, armed with two pistols that didn’t have the firepower or accuracy of an AK-47, and jumping into the piranha- and croc-infested river was not a good option.
He looked at Taylor, who was looking at him.
They were abreast of the platform now, and he glanced up into the muzzles of the two automatic rifles.
“Alto!”
Well… there is a time to fight and a time to run. There is never a time to surrender—but there is a time to bluff. This was that time. He put the motor in idle and said to Taylor, “Talk to them.”
“What should I say?”
“Maggie. We’rebird-watchers.”
She nodded, but didn’t say anything, and he saw she was staring past him. He looked over his shoulder at two boats, similar to theirs, coming toward them from the direction of the mudflat.
Taylor said, “This does not look good.”
“No.” He looked at her. “Sorry, Maggie.”
“Not your fault. I’ll do my best with the cover story.”
“Okay.” He glanced up at the two men still aiming their rifles at them, then looked through his binoculars at the approaching boats and saw that each boat had three armed men aboard. He said to Taylor, “I think we’re going to meet Captain Mercer.”
CHAPTER 43
They drifted downriver past the fishing platform where the two men stood with the AKs trained on them. One of the men shouted something and motioned them to get closer.
Taylor replied in Spanish, then said to Brodie, “We should drop our guns overboard.”
Brodie twisted the throttle and moved the boat slowly toward the platform. “We’re close enough now to use them.” He unsnapped the lower right pocket of his cargo pants where he kept the Glock. “You take the guy on the left. On the count of three…”
“Scott, there are two boats filled with armed men coming at us, less than a hundred meters away.”
Brodie moved the boat to within ten meters of the platform and stared up at the two men, who looked like tempting targets.
