One of them shouted and Taylor replied, then said to Brodie, “He asked if we have an anchor, and we don’t.” She looked at him. “Scott?”
He glanced at the approaching boats. Sixty meters. He looked again at his two targets, working out the math. The first shot is a big surprise to everyone except the guy who fired it. The second target has a split second to react before the second shot surprises him when it punches through his chest. Then the AKs are just heavy metal objects on the battlefield, waiting for new owners. Guns don’t kill people—people with guns kill people.
One of the men shouted at them and motioned them closer.
“Scott—”
“I think I can take both of them. Get ready to jump on the platform and grab an AK.”
Taylor glanced up at the two men, then at the approaching boats. “Won’t work, Scott.”
“It’s either this, or something you don’t want to think about.”
She took a deep breath, then said, “We’re bird-watchers, Mr. Bowman. That has a better chance of getting us out of here than a zero-odds firefight.”
He didn’t reply, but he moved his right hand along his leg toward the open pocket and his fingers felt the butt of the Glock. In five seconds or less he could be pulling an AK out of a dying man’s hands—just like in the Hen House.
Taylor said to him in a calm, controlled voice, “Scott… no. You wanted to meet Kyle Mercer. Mr. and Mrs. Bowman will do that.”
He looked at her.
One of the men threw a nylon line into their boat and shouted something.
Taylor looked at the line, then at Brodie, who nodded, and she tied the line around the bow cleat. Brodie shut off the engine.
The two other boats were approaching the platform, and Brodie could see that each held three men—one piloting, and two with AK-47s, which were aimed at them.
The moment to fight, if it had ever existed, had passed, and with no more options to consider, Brodie found himself in a strangely calm state of mind.
The two boats pulled alongside theirs and Brodie thought that he and Taylor were going for a boat ride, but one of the men in the boats motioned them to climb onto the platform. Taylor grabbed the line with both hands and pulled herself onto the bamboo deck. Brodie followed, and they both stood facing the two men with the AKs as two men from each boat also scrambled onto the platform. So now there were six men with AKs around them, with two men left in the boats, and Brodie didn’t even bother to compute the odds.
One of the men from the boats, a tall, muscular guy with a black T-shirt and a bad face, who seemed to be el jefe, was shouting something, and Taylor put her hands on her head, so Brodie did the same.
Brodie heard the two boats rev up, and saw them making their way back upriver, toward the mudflat. The good news, if there was any, was that their boat was still tied to the platform. So if this was just a stop-and-search—or a stop-strip-search-and-steal—Mr. and Mrs. Bowman, the stupidest touristson the planet, could be back to Kavak in an hour or so. Not likely, but still possible.
Brodie glanced around and noticed a green plastic table and four matching chairs on the bamboo deck, which seemed oddly out of place in the middle of the jungle. He recalled what Collins had said about the Pemón gathering on these fishing platforms to socialize, but he had no doubt that this platform, which lay between Kavak and the mudflat, doubled as Captain Mercer’s observation post. In fact, he saw a pair of binoculars on one of the chairs.
El jefe handed his AK to one of the other men and came over to Brodie and glared at him, then pulled the binoculars from around his neck, examined them, and handed them to one of his men. El jefe then went through Brodie’s cargo pockets, pulling out cash, his cell phone, and his Swiss Army knife, all of which he pocketed. He looked through Brodie’s fake passport, then handed it to another man. He then reached into Brodie’s lower cargo pocket and found the Glock, which he pulled out and exhibited to his men as though he was really good at finding stuff. They all began talking and looking at Brodie with renewed interest. El jefe stuck the Glock in his waistband, then continued his search and found the extra magazine, which he held up in front of Brodie’s face as if to say, “Take a last look, gringo, you’ll never see this again.”
Brodie glanced at his Glock in el jefe’s waistband. The asshole was putting options back on the table.
El jefe now turned his attention to Taylor, but he patted her down first, enjoying himself, before he then went through her pockets. He pulled out the Glock and magazine first, then her cash, cell phone, and passport, which he looked at, then glanced at Brodie, realizing that Sarah and Clark Bowman were husband and wife. He handed Taylor’s Glock and extra mag to one of his guys and then pulled out the final item, the sat phone; he stared at it as though it was more interesting than the Glock, then showed it around to his men. He said something to Taylor, who replied, and el jefe didn’t seem satisfied with the answer.
He spoke again to Taylor and she hesitated, then pulled off her T-shirt and dropped her pants, which Brodie knew was eventually going to happen.
Taylor stood there in her bra and panties and kept eye contact with theman, who then turned from her and said something to the other men, who laughed. One of them whistled, and another yelled, “Bella!” El jefe turned back to her and noticed the scars on her thigh and leg. He pointed: “Qué es esto?”
She replied, “Accidente… vehículo.”
He looked at the heat and shrapnel scars as though he recognized them for what they were. He glanced at her, then said something in a commanding tone of voice.
Taylor shook her head firmly and replied, then nodded toward Brodie, who understood that she was refusing to take off her bra and panties in front of all these men with her husband standing there.
El jefe looked at Brodie, then smiled and motioned for Taylor to get dressed. She pulled up her pants and put on her T-shirt.
The men made exaggerated sounds of disappointment—though maybe not so exaggerated.
Brodie wondered if Maggie Taylor was now thinking that a firefight would have been a better option than this.
