“You know me better than that. Any problem and I'll come running.”

Trout eased his lanky form out of the seat in front of the propeller screen and onto the deck. He had every confidence in his wife's ability to cover him. As a girl in Racine, she had been taught to shoot skeet by her father and was an excellent marksman with any kind of firearm. Paul contended she could shoot the eye out of a sand flea in mid-hop. He scanned the village and stepped onto the banking, only to freeze. He had seen movement in the dark doorway of the largest hut. A face had peered around the corner and disappeared. There it was again. Seconds later a man stepped out and waved. He shouted what sounded like a greeting and started down the slope toward them.

He arrived at the river's edge and mopped his damp face with a sweat-stained silk handkerchief. He was a big man, and the high flat crown of a wide-brimmed straw hat added to his height. His baggy white cotton slacks were held in place around his corpulent belly by a length of nylon rope, and his long sleeved white shirt was buttoned up to his Adam's apple. The sun reflected off a monocle in his left eye.

“Greetings,” he said with a slight accent. “Welcome to the Paris of the rain forest.”

Paul looked past the man's shoulder at the sorry collection of hovels. “Where's the Eiffel Tower?” he asked casually.

“Hah-hah. Eiffel Tower. Marvelous! Look there, it's not far from the Arc de Triomphe.”

After the long river journey in the damp heat Paul had little appetite for witty repartee. “We're looking for someone called the Dutchman,” he said.

The man removed his hat, revealing a tonsured mop of unruly white hair. “At your service. But I'm not Dutch.” He laughed. “When I first came to this blighted place seven years ago I said I was 'Deutsch.' I'm German. My name is Dieter von Hoffman.”

“I'm Paul Trout, and this is my wife, Gamay.”

Hoffman focused his monocle on Gamay. “A beautiful name for a lovely woman,” he said gallantly. “We don't get many white women out here, beautiful or otherwise.”

Gamay asked why the village was so quiet. Dieter's fleshy red lips drooped. “I suggested that the villagers go into hiding. It never hurts to be cautious with strangers. They will come out when they see that you are friendly.” The empty smile again. “So, what brings you to our poor village?”

“Dr. Ramirez asked us to come. We're with NUMA, the National Underwater and Marine Agency,” Gamay said. “We were doing some research on river dolphins and staying with Dr. Ramirez. He asked if we couldn't come in his place.”

“I heard through the jungle telegraph that a couple of scientists from the United States were in the neighborhood. I never dreamed you would honor us with a visit. How is the esteemed Dr. Ramirez these days?”