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Back Jungle Up Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
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  63. Author’s Note

“And Buxton was the last to sign on?”

Roth nodded. “By the end of June, it was no longer a secret I was putting together financing to shoot a documentary in search of Paititi. National Geographic called and asked if they could send down one of their writers to cover the story. They kicked in a hundred grand, so I said of course.”

“And still no one knew exactly where you were going?”

“Right, just that it was northeastern Bolivia. But everyone had seen the picture of the jaguar statue and the scans. I had to convince them we were onto something big.”

“So when do you start revealing to people exactly where you’re going?”

“I told the TAFLS guys the last week of June. They needed as much info as possible so they could start planning.”

“I’ve only talked with them for a few minutes, but they seem like good guys.”

“I’d have to agree.”

Of course, this didn’t actually mean one of them didn’t sell the scans to the highest bidder.

I asked, “What about the expedition team? When did they know the coordinates of the ruins?”

“Not until we landed. That’s when I handed out the six Trimble GPSs I bought that had been synced with the lidar scans.”

It sounded as if Roth had done a good job of compartmentalizing the information. “What about the helicopter pilot?”

“He’s local, out of Guayaramerín. He only knew the coordinates of the landing zone. And he didn’t know that until a week ago.”

The timetable alone eliminated him.

I took a few seconds to process everything. “Before two weeks ago, the only people who knew the precise location of the ruins were you, the TAFLS crew, possibly the cameramen, and your production assistant.”

“That sounds about ri—” He stopped midsentence. “You know what? There was one more person who knew.”

“Who?”

“Lieutenant Goytia.”

“Who’s that?”

“Our military chaperone. He and a convoy of Bolivian soldiers hiked in and joined us a few days after we arrived.”

“When did you show him the scans?”

He grimaced. “Three weeks ago.”

Three weeks.

“I’m going to need to talk to this guy,” I said. “How far away is their camp?”

“Not far, maybe fifty meters east of us.” He turned and glanced back at command central. “But that’s him right there. The guy with the mustache.”

I followed his gaze to a mustached man sipping from a blue cup.

I recognized him. It was the guy who’d sprung me from the El Alto detainment room. The guy who Vern had bribed to get me into the country.

MM.

Military Mustache.

32

32

base camp
august 19, 6:16 p.m.
days since abduction: 14