“Carlo Franconi the patient?” Siegfried asked.

Raymond nodded.

“Of course,” Siegfried said.

“Well, it started with him,” Raymond said as he began the complicated story.

“You think it is safe?” Laurie asked. She was looking at a huge hollowed-out log canoe with a thatched canopy that was pulled halfway up the beach. On the back was a sizable, beat-up outboard motor. It was leaking fuel as evidenced by an opalescent scum that ringed the stern.

“Reportedly it goes all the way to Gabon twice a day,” Jack said. “That’s farther than Cogo.”

“How much rent did you have to pay?” Natalie asked. It had taken Jack a half hour of negotiations to get it.

“A bit more than I expected,” Jack said. “Apparently, some people rented one a couple of days ago, and it hasn’t been seen since. That episode has driven the rental price up, I’m afraid.”

“More than a hundred or less?” Warren asked. He, too, wasn’t impressed with the craft’s apparent seaworthiness. “Because if it was more than a C note you got took.”

“Well, let’s not quibble,” Jack said. “In fact, let’s get the show on the road unless you guys want to back out.”

There was a moment of silence while the group eyed each other.

“I’m not a great swimmer,” Warren admitted.

“I can assure you that we are not planning on going into the water,” Jack said.

“All right,” Warren said. “Let’s go.”

“You ladies concur?” Jack asked.

Both Laurie and Natalie nodded without a lot of enthusiasm. At the moment, the noonday sun was enervating. Despite being on the shore of the estuary, there was not a breath of air.

With the women positioned in the stern to help lift the bow, Jack and Warren pushed the heavy pirogue off the shore and jumped in one after the other. Everyone helped paddle out about fifty feet. Jack attended to the motor, compressing the small hand pump on top of the red fuel tank. He’d had a boat as a child on a lake in the Midwest and had a lot of experience fussing with an outboard.

“This canoe is a lot more stable than it looks,” Laurie said. Even with Jack moving around in the stern it was barely rocking.

“And no leaks,” Natalie said. “That was my concern.”

Warren stayed silent. He had a white-knuckle grip on the gunwale.

To Jack’s surprise, the engine started after only two pulls. A moment later, they were off, motoring almost due east. After the oppressive heat the breeze felt good.

The drive to Acalayong had been accomplished quicker than they’d anticipated, even though the road deteriorated in comparison to the road north of the Cogo turnoff. There was no traffic save for an occasional northward-bound van inconceivably packed with passengers. Even the luggage racks on the tops had two or three people holding on for dear life.

Acalayong had brought smiles to everyone’s face. It was indicated as a city on the map but turned out to consist of no more than a handful of tawdry concrete shops, bars, and a few hotels. There was a cinder-block police post with several men in dirty uniforms sprawled in rattan chairs in the shade of the porch. They’d eyed Jack and the others with soporific disdain as the van had passed by.