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

The image of Patrick holding a gun to Gina’s head made the small hairs on my neck go stiff. The fact that Patrick’s motive was finding his son and not the cure for cancer mattered little to me. I was brainstorming exactly what my plans were for Mr. Sewall, whether I was going to let the justice system take care of him, or if I was going to deliver my own vigilante justice—I was leaning this way—but first things first.

I asked, “What about your son?”

“I was about to have Martin ask just that,” he said, though his body didn’t match his words.

Patrick didn’t look ready.

I knew why.

This was it. His last hope. If these villagers hadn’t seen his son, it was over. Daniel was lost forever. Patrick wasn’t ready for that finality.

“Don’t let me stop you,” I said, shaking my gun at Martin. “Ask him.”

The ethnobotanist respectfully approached the elderly shaman with the feathers in his hair, and the two men spoke briefly.

After several exchanges, Martin turned to Patrick and said, “Good news. They have seen him.”

“Really?” Patrick’s eyes tripled in size. “When? Where did they see him?”

“Actually,” Martin said, “Daniel is here.”

≈

The shaman said to follow him.

“Keep your gun up,” Rix said to me as we trailed behind the group. “Who knows what the soldiers might try.”

I nodded.

Patrick was a few steps behind Martin and the small shaman. I watched as Patrick flexed and reflexed his hands.

As much as I hated the man—and trust me, I did—part of me was looking forward to seeing him and his son reunite. It would be like watching one of those videos on the internet of soldiers coming back and seeing their dogs. Only I’d get to witness it live. And then shoot one of them in the knee.

Stopping at the edge of the jungle, the shaman pointed down a narrow trail running through the trees.

Martin said, “He says your son is in there.”

Martin and Patrick led the way. Gina and I were directly behind.

We’d only gone thirty meters when the two men stopped.

“No,” Patrick said.

I followed his gaze. Just off the path was a mound of dirt. There was a small cross sticking out of it.

Patrick stumbled to the edge of the jungle grave and fell to his knees. His body rocked back and forth as he sobbed.

51

51

tribal village
august 23, 3:08 p.m.
days since abduction: 18

The man with tinted glasses and a comb-over—who I assumed from Patrick’s story was Bill Wyeth, CEO of Belippa—joined Patrick at his son’s grave. He put his hand on Patrick’s left shoulder.

The rest of us took a few respectful steps backward.

I felt Gina’s fingers intertwine with mine, and I gave her hand a few soft pumps.