She whirled from the room and left the twins to themselves. The men remained there unmoving, their glittering eyes looking at the screen with the hungry expression of a cat choosing the fattest goldfish in the tank for his dinner.

NUMA 2 - Blue Gold

CHAPTER 8

The river scenery had changed little since Dr. Ramirez waved good-bye from his dock and wished the Trouts a safe trip. The airboat followed mile after mile of the twisting and unbroken ribbon of dark green water. An unyielding wall of trees hemmed the river in on both sides and separated it from the eternal night of the forest. At one point they had to stop because the river was blocked by debris. They welcomed the break from the mind-numbing drone of the airplane engine. They tied lines around the entangled logs and branches and unclogged the bottleneck. The job was time-consuming, and it was late afternoon when the leafy ramparts gave way to brief glimpses of open space and cultivated fields along the river's edge. Then the forest opened up to reveal a cluster of grass huts.

Paul reduced speed and aimed the airboat's blunt prow between several dugout canoes drawn up on the muddy banking. With a quick goose on the throttle, he slid the boat onto the shore and cut the engine. He removed the NUMA baseball cap he had been wearing backward on his head and used it to fan his face.

“Where is everybody?”

The unearthly quiet was in sharp contrast to Dr. Ramirez's settlement where the natives bustled about their business throughout the day. This place appeared to be deserted. The only signs of recent human habitation were tendrils of gray smoke that rose from fire holes.

“This is very weird,” Gamay said. “It's as if the plague struck.”

Paul opened a storage box and pulled out a backpack. Dr. Ramirez had insisted that the Trouts borrow a long-barreled Colt revolver. Moving slowly, Paul placed the rucksack between them, reached inside, unclipped the holster, and felt the reassuring hardness of the grip.

“It's not the plague I'm worrying about,” Paul said quietly, scanning the silent huts. “I'm thinking about that dead Indian in the canoe.”

Gamay had seen Paul reach into the bag and shared his concern.

“Once we leave the boat it might be tough getting back to it,” she said. “Let's wait a few more minutes and see what happens.”

Paul nodded. “Maybe they're taking a siesta. Let's wake them up.” He cupped his hands to his mouth and came out with a loud “Hallooo!” The only reply was the echo of his voice. He tried again. Nothing stirred.

Gamay laughed. “They would have to be sound sleepers not to hear a bellow like that.”

“Spooky,” Paul said with a shake of his head. “It's too damned hot sitting out here. I'm going to look around. Can you watch my back?”

“I'll keep one hand on the cannon Dr. Ramirez gave us and the other on the ignition. Don't be a hero.”