Curse of the Condor (4 page)

Then it was clear to her he must have seen her glancing at the timepiece. He hadn’t even been looking in her direction, yet he’d been aware of her action. Just like an animal, true to his senses.

"Why not?" she asked.

"Time means nothing in the jungle. You may as well just take it off now and throw it to the piranhas."

She clutched her watch with her spare hand, letting go of the side of the canoe in the process. "Never," she answered. "And what piranhas?" She found herself subconsciously checking her fingers to make sure they were all there.

"Just don't go swimming anywhere until you check with me first."

"I don't swim," she bit off. "And I don't plan on being bait by dangling myself in the water, so don't worry."

She started to put her hand back on the side of the canoe when some water splashed over the rim. She pulled back and rested her hands - and all her fingers - on her lap instead.

"You'll be welcoming the water after a hot sweaty day in the jungle. There's nothing like a nice cool bath when the sun goes down."

"Really?" she mumbled, surveying his sweaty, dirty body. He looked directly  at her now, and she wished she could take back her remark.

"Pardon me?" he said in a tone that sounded a lot like her own words earlier.

“I - I meant you would really know - living out here in the jungle. I'll make sure to ask about the water before I go in."

"Good." His eyes left hers. She couldn't wait till they got to shore and met up with Ryder. She'd tell her brother they should leave right away. There was no way she was going to spend a night in the jungle let alone bathe in the Amazon.

He continued rowing, never seeming to tire. The stamina the man had was incredible. Especially in this heat. She was dripping with sweat under the wool poncho, finding breathing a chore in the humidity. But she wouldn’t remove it after noticing that hungry look in his eyes.

What she’d give now for a pair of slacks and a long-sleeved blouse. She pulled the Panama hat closer to her head. She fidgeted, then glanced at her wrist which was white as snow. Then she looked at his skin. Golden, kissed by the hot Amazon sun. They were like day and night, the differences between them. She didn't belong in this land, or in this man’s culture.

She took in the beauty around her once again, letting out a deep breath and willing herself to relax. She noticed the huge lily pads that lined the water. She'd never seen such big leaves. They scattered across the surface creating a carpet. They looked so solid she had the urge to step over the side of the boat and see if she could walk on them.

Colorful flowers in blue, red and pink hung like clusters of grapes from the branches above. Their sweet essence filled her senses, reminding her of the last letter she’d received from Ryder. Hadn’t he described the beauty of the jungle as a diamond in the rough? Hidden treasures, he’d said. Treasures beyond her wildest dreams. So unlike Ryder to choose those words. It made him sound so materialistic. Her brother wasn’t that way at all. After all, he’d given up basically all he owned when he joined up as a missionary, vowing to help those in need.

Birds chirped and animals she couldn't identify called out, seeming to warn the other inhabitants of the land of their approach. She was a trespasser venturing into their domain, and she could tell they weren’t happy about it.

"What's that?" she asked, seeing movement up high in the trees. So high she could barely make out the pod-like dark clusters that hung there.

"Bats," he answered, barely turning his head to look up.

"Bats?" she asked,  noticing the tremor in her own voice.

"Don't worry, they're sleeping. They only go out hunting at night. Look there." He spoke softly and pointed to the brush ahead of them.

"What?" she asked, squinting her eyes and looking hard. "I don't see anything but trees."

"Not there," he said, and reached over and cradled her chin softly. He tilted it up at the right angle but she still wasn't looking at the place he directed her gaze. She was looking at him instead. His eyes were filled with something she couldn't explain. A sense of fear. Danger. Sorrow, and yet kindness. She felt a small tingle flit across her skin. A whisper of a promise of things to come? She told herself it was only the setting sun against the cool breeze, as night was closing in.

"See the spider monkeys?" he asked, and turned his head slightly to look at her.

His face was close - too close - for her comfort. She jerked away and glanced up, surprised to see a whole group of monkeys sitting in the trees quietly, just watching.

"I see them," she said excitedly. "Where did they come from?"

"They've been here all along. Just like all of the animals of the rain forest. Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they can't see you."

"Kind of like a jaguar, watching his prey as he blends into his surroundings?"

"Something like that." He turned to get something from behind him, exposing a huge jaguar tattoo on his back. Not the thing she wanted to see at the moment. She wondered what he’d done to earn it, then she decided she’d rather not know.

She thought about it for a second, suddenly feeling a hundred pairs of watching eyes boring into her. She wrapped her arms around herself and looked up to the trees, but the monkeys were gone.

"Are we almost to your home?" she asked, not able to hide the anticipation in her voice. She wanted to get inside and lock the door behind her. She wanted to go where she’d be safe from nature, and from Conrado Nievez and the strange tingle he'd sent sprawling over her skin.

"
Sí,
" he answered and steered them toward the shore. He jumped out of the canoe, water up to his knees, and pulled the boat to the land. He then held out his hand to help her, but Jetta refused him. She didn't want to feel the tenderness of his touch. She was there to find her brother.

Conrado watched as Jetta struggled to stand in the small space. The boat rocked and she lost her balance. Just what he suspected would happen. She screamed, scattering a flock of
mealy
parrots with bright green plumage out of a nearby bush. Conrado reached out his hand, but not for her. He grabbed for the supplies before she dumped them into the Amazon and left him with soggy toilet paper. He steadied the boat and dragged it ashore.

When he turned back he could have laughed. Jetta Fitzgerald, proper Miss Schoolmarm sat waist deep in the water, pushing her wet, sandy hair from her eyes. The poncho he’d lent her was wet, and his Panama hat smashed as she pulled it out from under her bottom.

"Need some help?" he asked, holding out his hand again.

She sat there and glared at him with a little pout on those full lips of hers. Her blond curls were now limp, and the water of the Amazon dripped down her face, smearing her mascara. She still clutched her straw purse which had turned a new shade of tan at the bottom where the water had touched it.

"I wouldn't accept your help if you were the last man in the world!"

"Have it your way," he chuckled and started to unload the supplies. "But I wouldn't sit there too long if I were you. Piranhas have very sharp teeth you realize. A school of piranhas can strip the meat from a full-sized tapir in less than a minute. But being a school teacher and all, I'm sure you know all about that. Not to mention, a caiman or two have been spotted recently around these shores. You do know what a caiman is, don't you?"

She darted from the water so fast Conrado thought she was going to knock into him. He found it amusing and laughed aloud.

"You don't have to lecture me on caiman, Mr. Nievez. I'm well aware they are similar to a crocodile. After all, they do have them in places besides the Amazon, such as Florida," she stated.

"Yeah, well, don't go getting any ideas of bringing home a pet. After all, how do you think they got to Florida in the first place? They sure as hell didn't swim there from here."

"You don't scare me with the caiman talk," she told him. "After all, I know they're becoming extremely rare even around these parts."

"Want to bet?"

She stepped away from the water quickly, and Conrado just smiled. He watched her wring out her mop of wet hair, as he tied up the boat to an exposed tree root in the ground. She looked like she'd just stepped out of a bath. Fully clothed that is. He half wondered how alluring she'd look without the clothes, but stopped himself from visualizing that. He was safer this way.

"Like your little bath?" he asked.

She stiffened her spine and smoothed down her wet, limp hair. Then she took the smashed hat and pulled it over her head with a soggy slap.

"Refreshing!" she said and forced a smile. "You really
should
try it sometime."

He handed her a box, and she snatched it from his hands and headed up the embankment. He watched her go, though she hadn't any idea where she was heading.
Chatter
, his pet spider monkey swung down from a tree and landed on a box. He chattered away, and Conrado pulled out a fig from a pouch he wore at his waist and handed it to him.

"Here," he said. "Now stop that chattering. You're starting to sound like her, and it's giving me a headache." Then he looked down at his bare chest and his armpits, and sniffed. "You think I need a bath?" he asked the monkey. "She can't seem to stop mentioning it."

The monkey clapped as if it agreed.

"Oh, what do you know, anyway?" he asked. "Now go follow her before she gets lost. I'm going to finish unloading and then I'll come make our supper."

The monkey jumped up and down and scurried off after the woman. Conrado grabbed the last of the packages and tied them together with string. Then he hoisted them up to his shoulder and started for home, wondering which box held the deodorant soap.

Chapter 4

Conrado followed the easy trail Jetta had left through the brush. He knew she'd stop as soon as she made it to the clearing. She was standing there hugging her wet purse to her chest as well as the box of supplies he'd given her to carry.

"Thought you'd wait for me after all?" he asked.

"Where's your house?" She looked all around them, never even spotting his hut hidden high up in the trees.

"My hut's right ahead. Follow me. And stay close as it's getting dark."

Chatter chose that moment to swing down on a vine and land atop the box Jetta carried. She screamed and dropped the box, then screamed again. At the sound of her voice, Chatter started screaming, imitating her. Then hundreds of screeches came from above them as the rest of the monkeys joined in on the chorus.

She grabbed his arm in a half-hug and stared up at the trees. "What's going on?" she asked. "What's happening?"

"Nothing," he answered. "Nothing out of the ordinary, so get used to it." He looked down at her hands gripping his bare arm tightly, and rather liked the way it felt to be needed. Protected. Then he thought of the irony of it all. Him, protecting the sister of the man he killed. He disgusted himself and didn't want her to look to him for protection. He didn't want her to be dependent on him when he couldn't even depend upon himself.

"Let's go." He looked at her and her eyes met his for a brief second before he pulled away. He heard her picking up the parcel and her light footsteps following behind him rapidly.

Chatter crawled up his leg and perched on his shoulder. Conrado found himself thinking of his good friend Ryder, and how the man had trusted him and looked to him for protection. Now he was dead. Damn, why couldn't he remember that night clearly and exactly what happened?

"He's a good friend of yours?" came Jetta's voice from behind him.

He stopped and turned around, feeling the blood pumping through his veins.

"Ryder?" he asked, guardedly.

"No." She pointed at his shoulder. "The monkey."

"Oh,” he said in a breath of relief. “Chatter is one of the only friends I have out here. You don't need to fear him. If he landed on your box he likes you. Feel honored."

The monkey showed his teeth as he chattered away, and then scurried to the ground and basically led the way.

"But now that you mention Ryder," she said, "is he waiting at your home?"

"No," he said solemnly and chose not to answer further. "Here's the hut." He lowered his packages from his shoulder to the ground.

Jetta just stood there with her mouth wide open. She had thought he had a house he was living in out here, but instead she saw a thatched hut up on stilts.

"This is your home?" she asked, hoping she’d misunderstood him.

"Home sweet home." He busied himself with ripping open the boxes and looking through them. She watched as he placed several four-packs of toilet paper and a deodorant stick aside, and then dug through till he found what he was looking for. Cigarettes. She watched him rip open the package with his teeth and pull one out, sticking it between his lips. He picked up a lighter out of the box and lit it. He then looked up to her and held out the pack.

"Care for one?"

"Absolutely not! I don't smoke. It's a filthy habit."

He took a deep drag and leaned against the trunk of tree, slowly sliding downward until he sat on the ground.

"Nothing's clean in the jungle," he said. "Get used to it."

"I didn't think Tarzan would smoke," she retorted.

"Tarzan?" He chuckled and then reached into the box and pulled out a bottle.

"Well, honey I got news for you. Tarzan likes an occasional beer as well."

"Warm beer?" she asked in surprise, feeling her stomach convulse at the idea. Or was it hunger? She hadn’t eaten since the plane ride.

"Well, I don’t have a refrigerator out here. I'm lucky to have this."

"I hope you have a shower," she said, feeling hotter and stickier than she’d ever felt even on the hottest summer day back home.

"Right next to the hut."

Her eyes scanned the hut, settling her gaze on the big rubber bag filled with water and a hose running from it, just underneath the structure. No enclosure. No walls. Just a bag and hose in the wide open jungle.

"Forget the shower,” she said with a sigh. “So where's my brother? Will you be able to take me to his camp tonight?"

He sat up straight and looked at her with those piercing eyes. He then took the cigarette and smashed it into the dirt to put it out.

"We can start on our trek to see him in the morning."

"Oh, so we'll get there tomorrow? He must be doing missionary work somewhere deep in the jungle."

"It'll take at least four or five days to get to him on foot."

"Four or five days?” she repeated in a near shriek. “I'm not going to live in the jungle for four or five days."

"Do you want me to take you to your brother or not?"

She clutched her purse to her wet chest, glad the bag was lined with plastic and only the bottom had gotten wet. Her poncho was drenched, the wet llama wool emitting a strong, musty odor. She figured she smelled worse than him right now. Her feet ached and her head pounded. This trip was not turning out at all how she'd planned. And to make matters worse, Conrado avoided telling her any information about her brother. She hoped he really knew where to find him, and wasn’t leading her on a wild goose chase. And she hoped she hadn't done the wrong thing by coming with him in the first place.

She yawned, her eyelids drooping from her long travels that day. All she wanted was to get a good night's sleep. Maybe after she got into some dry clothes and had something to eat she'd feel better.

"All right," she agreed. "We'll leave tomorrow. How about something to eat?"

"Sure." He looked up toward the sky which had turned dark quickly. She could barely see his face as he spoke. "Why don't you get out of those wet clothes and I'll cook us up some manioc root and wild yams."

Suddenly she wasn't all that hungry. And the thought of her taking off her clothes anywhere near this man was out of the question. Plus, she didn't have anything else to wear since her luggage had been stolen. She glanced at her waterproof watch and could see the numbers lit up and glowing in the dark. She felt something bite her on the arm, and then another two bites on her legs. She slapped furiously knowing the mosquitoes in the Amazon were twice the size of those back home, and also twice as hungry.

"On second thought, it's getting late. If I can just go inside, I think I'll retire for the evening."

"Of course. Follow me."

Chatter led the way, scurrying up the coarsely made ladder that led to the small porch of the hut. Then Conrado crawled up like an animal, effortlessly, landing quietly upon the porch, holding out his hand to help her.

"You'd better stop clutching that damned purse and hold on to the ladder or you'll fall."

She knew he was right. She didn't take his hand, but slipped the purse over her shoulder, and holding on to the ladder tightly, followed him.

"Why did you have to make it so high, anyway?"

"It's to discourage wild animals from visiting me at night. Not to mention, when the rainy season comes you'll be glad to be up off the ground."

"Oh."

"You've never set foot in a rain forest before have you?"

"No," she admitted, pulling herself up onto the platform. She teetered in the darkness, and he held his hand on the small of her back to guide her into the doorless hut. She heard the subtle click of his lighter, and a soft glow lit up the small enclosure as he lit an oil lamp.

Her shock at what lay inside the hut made her almost wish he’d left them in the dark. A hammock supported by two huge branches of the roof took up the center of the room. One hammock to be exact. One chair, and a homemade dresser were the only other pieces of furniture. On the far end of the small room there hung a thin curtain from ceiling to floor.

"What's through there? The bathroom?" she asked hopefully.

"Exactly."

She let out a sigh of relief, having had to use it for quite some time now.

"Oh good," she said and headed over toward the curtain. She had her hand on it to go within when he warned her.

"Watch you step."

She whipped open the curtain and stopped abruptly as she saw the hole in the floor.

"Is this your idea of a joke?"

"If you don't want to use it that way, you can use this." He handed her a big metal soup pot.

She felt sick to her stomach, and was wondering if she should use the hole or pot to retch in. "I hope you don't use this pot to cook in."

"I won't anymore, if it’s going to bother you."

"I guess I should say thank you?"

"No need."

He handed her the lamp and walked over to the hammock. With a pull of a string, a mosquito net fell around it.

"Stay under the net tonight or you'll get eaten alive." He went over to the dresser and pulled out a long-sleeved shirt and placed it atop the chair. "You can wear this until your clothes dry. Just throw them out the door when you get them off and I'll dry them by the fire."

"Oh,” she said, not knowing just what to say to that. “All right."

"You may need a blanket as the nights get chilly. He reached into another drawer and pulled one out and laid it on the dresser. "You can use my pillow. It's already in the hammock."

She looked over and noticed the small lumpy bundle he considered a pillow. It was probably stuffed with caiman teeth and river rocks. "Oh, that's not necessary."

"Your choice. But there’s no soft mattress, and you may be reaching for it by morning. Anything else you need to know before I leave? Like where the sink is?"

She saw the empty wooden washbasin sitting in the corner of the so-called bathroom and didn't need to ask. But she could think of one thing. And though she hated to mention it, she had to know.

"Where . . . where will you be sleeping?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be out there with the jaguars and mosquitoes. I wouldn’t want to tempt you into ravishing me while I slept."

"Thank you." She realized how dumb that sounded, and bit her lip to keep her foot out of her mouth. He didn’t respond, but hustled down the ladder with his little monkey right behind him.

"Sleep tight, don't let the bed-bugs bite," she heard him reply as he disappeared from sight.

* * *

Prospero banked his boat in the dark, motioning for his two men and the native tracker he’d hired to unload the supplies. They’d keep hidden, and far out of sight. They wouldn’t even make a fire. If Conrado had truly been raised by the Jivaro after that horrid day of his parent’s death, then he’d be aware of their presence. He could only hope the American woman would distract him enough that he wouldn’t notice they followed, until he unknowingly led them straight to the Cave of the Condor.

“Do you think he knows we’re here?” asked Arlo, adjusting his gunbelt under his missionary robe.

Prospero rubbed his withered hand, his souvenir of the lightning that had killed his companion fifteen years earlier.

“Not yet. But just to make sure, we’d better follow a day behind. I don’t want him finding out we’re here until he leads us to the treasure.”

“But how can you be sure he’ll go there?” asked Fermin, stuffing bread into his mouth.

“I didn’t give up that little trinket around the girl’s neck for nothing. I knew she’d come looking for her missing brother sooner or later. And as soon as Conrado realizes she’s got part of the cursed treasure, he’ll make a beeline to the cave to return it.”

“But how do you know he considers it sacred like the Jivaro do?” asked Arlo.

“He’s managed to keep himself sparse, and the cave’s location a secret for fifteen years, that’s how I know. If it wasn’t for his friend Ryder Fitzgerald, he’d never have slipped up. Too damn bad Ryder died before he could tell us where to find the treasure.”