BooksBarbecue
Back Jungle Up Save as PDF
Chapters (63)
  1. 1
  2. 2
  3. 3
  4. 4
  5. 5
  6. 6
  7. 7
  8. 8
  9. 9
  10. 10
  11. 11
  12. 12
  13. 13
  14. 14
  15. 15
  16. 16
  17. 17
  18. 18
  19. 19
  20. 20
  21. 21
  22. 22
  23. 23
  24. 24
  25. 25
  26. 26
  27. 27
  28. 28
  29. 29
  30. 30
  31. 31
  32. 32
  33. 33
  34. 34
  35. 35
  36. 36
  37. 37
  38. 38
  39. 39
  40. 40
  41. 41
  42. 42
  43. 43
  44. 44
  45. 45
  46. 46
  47. 47
  48. 48
  49. 49
  50. 50
  51. 51
  52. 52
  53. 53
  54. 54
  55. 55
  56. 56
  57. 57
  58. 58
  59. 59
  60. 60
  61. 61
  62. 62
  63. Author’s Note

“My dad never went into the details, but yeah, I think so. The last time my father mentioned him, he’d set up shop in Bolivia.”

“Do you think you can get ahold of this guy?”

“My dad might have his contact info in his old Rolodex.”

“Where is it?”

“In a box in a storage unit twenty minutes away.” He didn’t wait for my urging and said, “I’ll head out right now.”

≈

The sound of my cell phone woke me up. I shook my head groggily and squinted at the screen.

It was Garret.

The time in the corner said it was 12:31 a.m. I’d fallen asleep next to the laptop an hour earlier after doing internet searches for a myriad of topics: Search and rescue in the Amazon, How to find someone in the Amazon, Narcotrafficking in Bolivia, Flights to Bolivia, Where to get a yellow fever vaccine, and How to sneak into a country, among countless others.

“Hey,” I answered.

“Sorry it took so long.”

I ignored him, straightening myself up in the chair. “Did you find your dad’s Rolodex?”

“Yeah, I did. But he didn’t have this guy’s contact info.”

“Dang,” I said, leaning my head back.

“However, I did find a number for a motel in La Paz.”

“And . . . ?”

“And, well, I don’t speak Spanish, but my wife used to speak it fluently—she even went to Spain in college—”

“Get to the point,” I interrupted.

“Oh, right. Anyhow, my wife got on the phone with the owner of the motel, and through some fumbling Spanish, she mentioned Papagayo and the lady on the other end knew who he was. She wouldn’t give us his number, but she took down mine. Twenty minutes later, he called me.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No, he did. And better yet, he can help.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he said he can get you into Bolivia on Monday, which I guess, technically, for you is tomorrow.”

I pumped my fist.

Garret wasn’t finished: “And he said he would find a tracker and even put a team together.”

For the first time since hearing Gina’s plea for help, I felt the slightest bit of encouragement.

“Okay, so how does this work? Is this Parrot going to call me or what?”

“He prefers to go through me. Because of my father.”

“Fair enough.”

“So the deal is, Papagayo has been helping out one of these jungle expedition teams—greasing the right palms to get permits and licenses—and they are the ones flying into Bolivia on Monday. You can hitch a ride down to La Paz with them, then meet up with Papagayo and go your separate way. But if you don’t somehow get on that expedition flight, he probably can’t get you in until the following week.”

“I’ll be on it,” I assured him. “How much is this going to cost?”

“Three hundred thousand dollars.”

“Done.”