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ELEVEN. 6 page

“I must warn you, though,” Valdir said, lighting another cigarette as he refolded the first map, “air travel is not without risk. The planes are small, and if there's engine trouble, well…” His voice trailed away as he rolled his eyes and shrugged as if all hope was lost.

“Well what?”

“There's no place for an emergency landing, no place to put it down. A plane went down a month ago. They found it near a riverbank, surrounded by alligators.”

“What happened to the passengers?” Nate asked, terrified of the answer.

“Ask the alligators.”

“Let's change the subject.”

“More coffee?”

“Yes, please.”

Valdir yelled at his secretary. They walked to a window and watched the traffic. “I think I have found a guide,” he said.

“Good. Does he speak English?”

“Yes, very well. He's a young man, just out of the army. A fine boy. His father was a river pilot.”

“That's nice.”

Valdir walked to his desk and picked up the phone. The secretary brought Nate another small cup of cafezinho, and he sipped it standing in the window. Across the street was a small bar with three tables on the sidewalk under a canopy. A red sign advertised Antartica beer. Two men in shirtsleeves and ties shared a table with a large bottle of Antartica between them. It was a perfect setting-a hot day, a festive mood, a cold drink enjoyed by two friends in the shade.

Nate was suddenly dizzy. The beer sign blurred, the scene came and went, then came back as his heart pounded and his breathing stopped. He touched the windowsill to steady himself. His hands shook, so he placed the cafezinho on a table. Valdir was behind him, oblivious, rattling away in Portuguese.

Sweat popped out in neat rows above his eyebrows. He could taste the beer. The slide was beginning. A chink in the armor. A crack in the dam. A rumbling in the mountain of resolve he'd built the last four months with Sergio. Nate took a deep breath, and collected himself. The moment would pass; he knew it would. He'd been here before, many times now.

He picked up the coffee and sipped it furiously as Valdir was hanging up and announcing that the pilot was hesitant to fly anywhere on Christmas Eve. Nate returned to his seat under the squeaking fan. “Offer him some more money,” he said.

Valdir had been informed by Air. Josh Stafford that money was no object during this mission. “He'll call me back in an hour,” he said.

Nate was ready to leave. He produced his brand-new cell phone, and Valdir walked him through the procedure of finding an ATT operator who spoke English. As a test, he dialed Sergio and got his answering machine. Then he dialed Alice, his secretary, and wished her a Merry Christmas.

The phone worked fine; he was very proud of it. He thanked Valdir and made his way out of the office. They would talk again before the day was over.

He walked toward the river, down just a few blocks from Valdir's, and found a small park where workers were busy arranging chairs for a concert. The late afternoon was humid; his shirt was stained with sweat and stuck to his chest. The little episode back at Valdir's scared him more than he cared to admit. He sat on the edge of a picnic table, and gazed at the great Pantanal lying before him. A mangy teenager appeared from nowhere and offered to sell him marijuana. It was in tiny bags, in a small wooden box. Nate waved him off. Maybe in another life.



A musician began tuning his guitar, and a crowd slowly gathered as the sun sank over the Bolivian mountains not far away.

 


Date: 2015-02-03; view: 526


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