Jungle Up, page 17
“Well, the large earthen mound was most likely once a pyramid made from organic material, possibly bricks of clay and straw—mudbrick.” Andy went on a quick tangent explaining that nothing organic could survive the highly acidic conditions of the Amazon, and that over time those bricks had eroded into the large earthen mound they now saw. “On top of the pyramid,” he said, getting back on track, “you would have the stones we found, which would serve as the foundation. And on top of the stones would have been the temple—most likely made from wood, which is the most abundant resource in the jungle.”
“Great,” Libby said. “Now let’s talk about the altar. What would the significance of an altar be to this ancient civilization?”
“An altar is basically a communication port to a god or deity. Anything you put on the altar—prayer requests, good feelings, flowers, different offerings, sacrifices—will be transferred to the deity. Think of it as a Star Trek transporter to another realm, where the deities are.”
“Star Trek?” Libby said with a laugh.
Andy felt foolish for half a second—that is, until Libby flashed him Spock fingers.
“You a Trekkie?” Andy asked.
“Maybe,” Libby said, shrugging her shoulders lightly, then quickly moving along with the interview. She said, “Can you talk briefly about the sacrifices?”
“Sure,” Andy said. “The main reason behind sacrifices is the belief that you have to keep the deities alive. You have to keep them sustained, and the primary way they did that was by offering a blood meal. Mostly animals, but sometimes they offered children as sacrifice.”
“Are you saying a child might have been sacrificed on that altar?”
“It isn’t out of the question. But human sacrifices only took place on the most momentous of occasions: to pacify the gods during a time of famine or pestilence, the death of a ruler, or the accession of a ruler.”
Libby said, “That’s about all I had planned for today.” She paused for a moment then added, “But since we’ve got you here, could you spend a few minutes giving background on the Incas?”
Andy looked at his watch. It was 3:18 p.m. He still had fourteen minutes left. Plenty of time. He said, “Sure.”
“Okay, maybe just the basics. Assume the viewer has no idea who the Incas are. I might interrupt you with a couple questions, but feel free to pick and choose what you think might be captivating. And don’t worry if you slip up or need a minute to think, I can piece it together in post to look good.”
She would piece it together? Wouldn’t Roth be the one to edit the film?
Andy shook away this thought for the time being, then conjured Professor Depree from the mental rubble in which he’d been buried. “The Incas were an ancient civilization that flourished in South America from the early 1400s to around 1533. In less than a century, they built one of the largest, most tightly controlled empires the world has ever known. If you can believe it, at the height of their rule, the Inca Empire covered more than three thousand miles, extending from Ecuador in the north, into Peru, Bolivia, Argentina, and Chile in the south.”
Libby gave him a big thumbs-up.
Andy continued, “What most people don’t know is that the Incas were actually only a group of around forty thousand, but they governed a territory with ten million subjects speaking thirty different languages.”
“What language did the Incas speak?” Libby asked.
“The Incas spoke Quechua, a dialect of it anyhow.”
“Quechua is still in existence today, isn’t it?”
“Eight million people still speak it. Mostly in Cusco and the highlands of Peru, but in a few parts of western Bolivia as well.” Andy added, “I speak it pretty well. At least I used to.”
“Can you say something in Quechua for us?”
“Ch’inllamanta parlaykuway.”
Libby laughed. “What did you say?”
“Please speak more slowly.”
“What . . . did . . . you . . . say?”
It took Andy a minute to realize Libby was messing with him. Andy let out a small laugh.
“Okay, sorry,” Libby said. “Keep going.”
Andy spent the next few minutes talking about the many gods that the Incas worshipped, most notably, Inti, the god of the sun. When he was finished, Libby said, “When a lot of people think of the Incas, they think of gold.”
“And rightly so,” Andy said. “The Incas believed gold was the sweat of the sun, and it held a special place for them. It was reserved for the nobles, and it was a sign of imperial dominance across the entire empire. But even more prized by the nobles were the very finest textiles. The Incas were considered to be the most skillful weavers in the world, rivaling even the Egyptians. The best fabrics were considered the most precious gifts of all.”
“Really?” Libby asked. “Their clothes were more important than gold?”
“Yeah, that’s why when the Spanish showed up, the Incas gifted them fabrics rather than gold.”
“Let’s hold off on the Spanish for now. I’d like to get an in-depth interview in the next couple days covering the Spanish, the Inca’s demise, and of course, Paititi.”
“Gotcha.”
“But back to textiles. What kind of clothes did the Incas wear?”
“Females wore long gowns with a sash at the waist called a chumpi. Males wore loincloths and long sleeveless tunics that hung to their knees. Both males and females wore sandals and sometimes headbands. Depending on social status, their headgear might have an addition of feathers or jewelry.”
“I overheard Bernita and Alejándro talking about something called a quipu. Can you explain that?”
Andy nodded. “The Incas didn’t have a written language, so they used quipus—complex knotted cords—to keep track of important historical statistics and accounting records. In the last few decades, researchers have come to believe the quipu was used to record more than just numbers, perhaps even to send and receive messages.”
Andy checked his watch.
3:25 p.m.
Seven minutes.
Libby asked, “You have somewhere to be?”
“Sorry about that,” Andy said, shaking his left wrist and the small black Timex. “Just trying to figure out the last time I ate. My blood sugar is getting a little low.” Andy’s blood sugar was fine, but he wasn’t about to tell her the real reason he kept checking his watch.
“We can stop if you want.”
“No, I’m good for another few minutes.”
“Just quickly touch on the Inca’s architecture, roads, Machu Picchu, then we’re done. I promise.”
“Sounds good,” Andy said. “Yeah, so what the Incas are most noted for is their amazing architecture. They were master stone masons and constructed buildings and walls using finely worked blocks which fit together so precisely no mortar was needed. Usually you can’t even fit the blade of a knife between two stones. And the crown jewel of the Incas’ construction efforts is Machu Picchu.
“Machu Picchu was built high in the Peruvian Andes. It’s a large military citadel fortified with large-block walls and is a great example of the Inca’s hillside terracing. Flat land was rare in the Peruvian mountains, and the Incas were one of the first adopters of terrace farming. By building steps of flat land running down the mountainside, they could extend the land available for cultivation and provide better water and drainage for crops.”
“Great,” Libby said. “And their roads?”
“They built a bunch of roads,” Andy said, flatly.
Libby laughed. “Okay, I think we’ll stop there.”
≈
After finishing the interview, Andy had four minutes to spare. He found a spot to sit on a fallen log, ten meters from where Libby was now shooting an interview with Bernita Capobianco.
Andy leaned his head back and gazed upward at the tiny holes in the canopy a hundred and fifty feet overhead. He imagined several months earlier, when Roth flew the lidar survey over this area. Light rays from the lidar machine sneaking through those gaps in the near solid blanket of green and bouncing off the jungle floor. Had it not been for those light rays, they never would have stumbled on these ruins. Not in a million years.
Sure, a jungle native or indigenous Indian group might have at one time discovered the stones of the temple, but the chances of an expedition team or wayward explorer finding their way to this exact spot in one of the most isolated jungles in the world—it wouldn’t happen.
At least, it hadn’t happened in five hundred years. No, it was only through the advent of lidar technology that they made today’s startling discovery.
There was a soft beep from Andy’s watch, and he glanced down.
It was 3:32 p.m.
Andy wasn’t sure when or how the superstition had begun, but he’d been doing it for as long as he could remember. And of all his stupid superstitions—outside of his lucky flying shirt and trinkets—this was the one he took the most seriously.
He had to see his watch change from 3:32 p.m. to 3:33 p.m. If he didn’t, it was bad luck for the next twenty-four hours until he could again see the change.
Six years earlier, Andy had a dental appointment that ran long—even after he was assured by the receptionist he’d be done by 3:00 p.m. at the latest—and he wasn’t going to ask the dentist to stop drilling in his mouth so he could stare at his watch.
When he finally did look at his watch, it was 3:41 p.m.
He’d missed the change.
On his way home from the dental office, he got a flat tire. After AAA came, he made his way home only to find the Amazon delivery he’d been alerted to earlier that day had been stolen. And if that wasn’t enough, he ended up getting food poisoning that night from Thai leftovers and spent most of the night in the bathroom.
Since that day, he’d arranged his schedule around the changeover, even going as far as to take a ten-minute break during his Tuesday and Thursday lectures, so he could see it.
Andy continued to stare down at the cheap Timex on his left wrist. The digital watch gave only hours and minutes, so Andy never knew exactly how many seconds he had left. Like most days, the minute dragged on for an eternity, much like waiting for a pot of water to boil or, worse yet, for a girl to text back.
There was a snapping of branches, and Andy instinctively snapped up his head and gazed around. Nathan Buxton and Alejándro Cala were barely visible through the tangle of jungle to Andy’s left. The noise must have come from them.
Andy glanced down at his watch, but he was too late. It was 3:33 p.m.
For the first time in six years, Andy had missed seeing the two turn into a three.
“Aw, man,” he said under his breath.
The next twenty-four hours were going to be bad. Really bad. Andy could feel it.
What have I done?
There was another round of snapping branches. It sounded like an animal. No, a group of animals!
It’s starting!
Andy was going to get gored to death by a pack of tapirs or eaten by a jungle jaguar simply because he’d taken his eyes off his watch for two miserable seconds!
He ran toward a nearby tree, hoping to get to higher ground. There were several vines hanging near the tree, and Andy grasped one in his hands and attempted to pull himself up. A harrowing montage of unsuccessfully climbing the rope in gym class flooded his brain as his upper body strength failed him again seventeen years later.
His fingers slipped from the vine, and he tumbled backward to the ground. When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by several dark-skinned men. Each of the men held a large black rifle.
Andy’s first thought was the men must have been a group of jungle outlaws. Drug traffickers, illegal loggers, or illegal miners.
Andy put up his hands and said, “¡Por favor, no me hagan daño!” Please don’t hurt me!
The men began to laugh. One of them reached out his hand. On closer examination, Andy realized all the men were clad in fatigues.
Andy took the soldier’s hand and was helped to his feet.
Standing behind the circle of seven soldiers was the lieutenant from their meeting at the hotel in La Paz: Mauricio Goytia.
Andy had nearly forgotten that the lieutenant and a convoy of soldiers were scheduled to join the expedition on day three.
He let out a sigh of relief.
They were here to protect him.
Maybe he would survive the next twenty-four hours after all.
26
jungle
august 17, 11:56 a.m.
days since abduction: 12
Diego stopped suddenly and held his hands up. He put his finger to his lips and waved the four of us back. We retreated a hundred yards back the way we came, then huddled together.
“What?” I asked.
“Men,” Diego whispered. “And some kind of shelters.”
“Villagers?”
He shook his head. “They have guns.”
“Narcos?”
“I think so.”
There had been evidence of two different paths leading away from yesterday’s drug lab. One heading east, one north. As a group, we had decided to follow the northern trail, which was consistent with the narcos moving their drugs closer to the Brazilian border. For two hours last night, then another five hours today, Diego tracked the trail to these narcos’ doorstep.
I said what everyone was thinking. “This could be it. This could be where they’re keeping Gina.”
That’s assuming Gina hadn’t escaped after killing one of her abductors.
“I’m going to do a recon,” I said. “Give me the binoculars.”
Vern rummaged around in his pack and handed me a small pair of binoculars. Then he handed me one of the pistols. I took the gun, clicked off the safety, then asked, “You don’t happen to have a ghillie suit in there, left over from your time in Vietnam?”
A ghillie suit is a camouflage suit covered in vegetation to make you blend in. They are what snipers are usually wearing in the movies.
“Sorry, Charlie,” he said with a wry grin.
Though I would have happily welcomed some camouflage, I was confident I could get relatively close without being seen. I gingerly made my way to where Diego had stopped us and pushed aside the thick vegetation. Twenty yards away were two compact wooden shacks, one decidedly bigger than the other. They were well built and looked to be more of the permanent variety—Ruth’s Chris Steak Houses, as opposed to yesterday’s pop-up smoothie bars. I presumed this was the transshipment hub Vern alluded to yesterday.
There were three dark-skinned men. One of them was sitting in a chair in front of the farthest shack. An automatic rifle was lying across his lap, and he was smoking. The two other men were loading something into the back of a four-wheeler.
I brought the binoculars up, focusing them on the packages. They were rectangular and wrapped heavily in beige packing tape. I’d seen plenty of them in the SPD evidence locker—uncut bricks of cocaine.
I spent another few minutes scouting the area and formulating an attack plan. Whether that plan would be executed at day or night, I wasn’t yet certain.
I watched as the four-wheeler disappeared down a trail into the jungle, then I slipped out of my spot and jogged back to the group.
I said, “Two shelters and three narcos. But one of the narcos just headed out with a shipment on a four-wheeler.”
“Describe the shelters,” Vern said.
“Wooden shacks. One is fifteen feet square, the other is a little bigger.”
“Definitely a processing and shipment hub. They use the four-wheelers to move the drugs across the border. They have a network of trails they’ve carved through the jungle over the years.”
According to my GPS, which went in and out of service, we were currently less than seven miles from the Brazilian border.
“I would expect there to be more than just a few soldiers guarding it,” Vern continued. “There have to be sentries out somewhere. You’re sure there are only two of them?”
“That’s all I saw.”
“Could there be others inside the shacks?”
“Maybe, but doubtful.”
“Why?”
“The vibe felt pretty relaxed. Like the end of the workday. I’d be willing to bet there isn’t much product, if any, left to protect.”
“You think Gina is being held in one of the shacks?”
“Fifty-fifty.”
He mulled this over for a moment, then he slammed a sleeve of bullets into the semiautomatic he was holding. “Then what are we waiting for?”
I was leaning toward a more tactical nighttime mission, but if Gina was being held here, they could move her at any moment. Or the third narco could return.
Also, I’m very impatient.
“Nothing,” I said.
I was confident the ex-soldier and I could manage two narcos, but it wouldn’t hurt to have a third gun. I glanced at Juan Pablo and Carlos. They were just kids. There was no way I was risking their lives. And although I didn’t like the prospect of leaving little Camila an orphan, I nodded at Diego and said, “We need you on this.”
He blew out his chubby cheeks and then said, “Okay.”
≈
Our best bet was to hit them hard and fast. And with overwhelming force. I swapped out the pistol for a shotgun and loaded five rounds.
The three of us crept back to my scouting spot behind a thicket of vegetation. The two soldiers were sitting side by side, both smoking cigarettes. They were holding cards in their hands, and their automatic rifles were leaning against their chairs.
They were what you might call sitting ducks.
“On three,” I said.
After counting off, I shot forward through the remaining two feet of vegetation and brought the shotgun up. The narcos didn’t notice me until I was fifteen feet away from them. The one closest to me threw down his cards and went for his rifle.
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