Heart of Fire (4 page)

"Ask around," he said carelessly, getting to his feet. "Like I said, I don't need a job, but you need a guide pretty damn bad."

It was real funny the way most people valued something more if they thought it was hard to obtain. Just as he'd thought, his indifference to the job convinced them that he was the best available.

"Don't be so hasty," Kates said. "You're hired."

"Fine," Ben said just as carelessly as before. "When do you want to leave?"

"As soon as possible."

He sighed. Damn. He'd hoped for a few days to relax, but twenty-five thousand was twenty-five thousand. "Okay." He glanced at his watch. Three-thirty. "Meet me back here at seven and we'll go over the logistics." That would give him at least two hours with Theresa, and time for cleaning up as well.

"We can do that now," Sherwood said.

"You can. I can't. Seven o'clock." Ben walked away and approached Theresa. "Give me your key," he said, and nuzzled her neck. "I'll clean up and be waiting in bed for you."

She laughed as she fished the key out of her pocket. "Well, all right, but I was planning to climb into the tub with you."

"Got things to do, sugar. If I'm already cleaned up, we'll have more time in the sack."

"In that case, get a move on." She winked and kissed him, and Ben sauntered out of the bar, aware of three sets of eyes watching him, but he was interested in only one. Women. Damn their sweet little hides, if they ever figured out just how wild men were for them, the power structure of the entire world would turn upside down. Maybe that was why men had been made bigger and stronger, just to give them a fighting chance.

Rick had given Jillian instructions to have their belongings stored while they were away; then he and Kates had left the hotel to find the guide they had heard about. She was glad of the time alone, because she had some things to take care of that she didn't want either of them to know about. First she arranged for storage, searching out the hotel manager, who didn't seem overly pleased with the idea of holding their stuff. But as they wouldn't be leaving a great deal behind and since she paid him for two months' storage in advance, he was willing. After a few moments of conversation in a mixture of Portuguese and English, she understood that he disapproved of her going on the expedition at all.

"Many men do not come back, senhora," he said seriously. He was very Latin in looks, short and stocky, with straight black hair and large dark eyes. "The jungle eats them up, and they are never seen again."

Jillian didn't correct his assumption that she was a married woman, for it would only have embarrassed him and didn't matter to her. It wasn't an unusual assumption, that she was Rick's wife rather than his sister. They didn't resemble each other at all, except that they both had brown hair. The manager seemed like a nice man, and she wanted to pat his hand to comfort him. "I understand your concerns," she said. "I share them. Believe me, I don't take the jungle lightly. But I'm an archaeologist, and I'm used to rough conditions. I've probably slept more nights in a tent than in a bed, and I'm very cautious."

"I hope so, senhora," he replied, his fine eyes worried. "Myself, I would not go."

"But I must, and I promise you I'll take every care."

She hadn't lied. Though she had done most of her work in dry, dusty climates, she knew the obstacles that faced them. Both flora and fauna could prove deadly. Her vaccinations were up to date, she had a good supply of antibiotics and insect repellent, a more than adequate first-aid kit, and was competent at stitching up minor wounds. She had also taken the precaution of getting a prescription for birth control pills and had brought along a three-month supply, smuggled into the country in her first-aid kit, disguised as antihistamines.

Still, she didn't try to fool herself that she could cope with everything the rain forest would throw at them. She would be careful, but accidents could always happen, as could illness. Despite every caution, snakebite could happen. She also had antivenin in the first-aid kit, but there were some poisons for which there was no antidote. Hostile Indians were also a possibility, since there were great stretches of the Amazon basin that had never been explored or mapped. They literally had no idea what they would find.

She quickly finished her business with the manager and left the hotel with one purpose in mind: to purchase a reliable weapon. She thought it would be a relatively easy task in Manaus; after all, the city, with its wide avenues and European ambience, was a duty-free port. Practically any mass-produced product in the world could be found in Manaus.

Living in Los Angeles probably helped her endure the heat better than if she had lived in, say, Seattle, but still she found the humidity enervating. They were here in the best season, the winter months of June, July, and August, which meant this was the driest time of the year and the heat was marginally less intense. She suspected that "dry" meant that instead of raining every day, perhaps it would rain only every other day. If they weren't so lucky, it would rain only twice a day rather than three times. She hoped for the first, but was prepared for the latter.

She walked around for a while, not straying far from the hotel but keeping her eyes open. She overheard at least seven different languages before she had gone two hundred yards. Manaus was a fascinating city, a deep-water port situated twelve hundred miles inland, with all the worldli-ness of any seaport visited by cruise ships. Indeed, the cruise ships probably accounted for the variety of languages she had encountered. So what if they were smack in the middle of a continent? The mighty Amazon was a law unto itself, so deep in some places that four hundred feet of water still lay beneath the hulls of the ships.

Rick was still sullen over her insistence on keeping the map to herself, scarcely speaking to her at all except to give orders, but she didn't let that sway her determination. This expedition was as much for their father as it was for her—more, in fact. She was strong and could fight her own battles, but the professor couldn't protect either his reputation or his memory. He would be forever remembered as a crackpot unless she could prove that his theory about the Anzar had been valid, and that meant not trusting Rick with the information.

She wished he weren't involved at all, but circumstances had been against her. Rick had reentered the room only moments after she'd realized what she had, probably to make certain she wasn't up to something, and she hadn't been able to hide her excitement. He had looked at the papers scattered around her, seen a general map of the area, and for once leaped to the correct conclusion, though he had called it a "treasure map."

He had badgered her for days to give him the coordinates, but she knew her brother, he was what in the old days had been called a ne'er-do-well. He would probably have sold the information to some ambitious fortune hunter without thinking or caring about the professor's reputation. He certainly wouldn't have been inclined to preserve the findings for careful excavation by trained archaeologists or to catalog the finds or to turn any valuables over to the Brazilian government as required by law. If she could have lined up any outside sponsorship she would have done so, and she'd have gotten the documents even if she'd had to resort to burglary, but all of her feelers had been either ignored or laughed at. She could just hear them all now: Crackpot Sherwood's daughter had gone off the deep end too.

In the end, it was Rick who had brought Steven Kates into the picture. For reasons of his own, Kates was willing to finance the project. Jillian had insisted on coming along to protect the find as best she could, but she couldn't help feeling bitter that she had been forced into such a position by the blindness of some members of her chosen profession. If they had given any credence to her father, or to her, the expedition would have been staffed by trained archaeologists and reliable guides rather than the unscrupulous riffraff she was very much afraid Rick and Kates had hired. If she had had any other option she would have used it, but she had to make do with the resources available to her. She was a pragmatist, yes, but she was a
prepared
pragmatist. She had committed the location of the Stone City to memory, so they
had
to take her along, and she would also make certain she was armed.

It was a logical precaution. She was competent with a firearm, a competence that came in handy in her profession. Snakes and other dangers were part of the job. She was concerned that this time the snakes would be two-legged, but that was a risk she would have to take. She only hoped she could contain the damage; after all, they were hardly likely to kill her or leave her behind in the jungle to die. Despite Rick's failings as both a man and a brother, he wasn't a murderer. At least, she
hoped
he would balk at any attempt to harm her. She reserved judgment on Steven Kates, but on the surface he seemed to be civilized. If he proved to be otherwise, she would be prepared.

Finding a weapon in any large city wasn't a difficult task, and Jillian wasn't timid about it. She would have brought one from the States if she had been confident of getting it through customs, but smuggling a weapon was rather different from smuggling birth control pills, especially if she'd been caught.

She walked slowly past the line of taxis in front of another hotel, studying the drivers without making it obvious. She was looking for one who didn't look quite as prosperous as the others, though none of them looked well off. Maybe "seedy" was the word. Finally she selected one; he was unshaven, a little more slovenly than the others, his eyes bloodshot. She walked up to the vehicle with a smile, and in her imperfect Portuguese asked to be taken to the docks.

The driver wasn't inclined to talk. Jillian waited a few moments as he negotiated the traffic in the crowded streets before calmly saying, "I want to purchase a weapon. Do you know where I can find one?"

He glanced quickly in the rearview mirror. "A weapon, senhora?"

"A pistol. I prefer an automatic, but it doesn't matter if it's a… a—" She couldn't think of the word for "revolver" in Portuguese. She made a circle with her finger and said "revolver" in English.

His dark eyes were both wary and cynical. "I will take you to a place," he said. "I will not stay. I do not want to see you again, senhora."

"I understand." She gave him a reassuring smile. "Will I be able to find another taxi back to the hotel?"

He shrugged. "There are many tourists. Taxis are everywhere."

By that she assumed she might or might not be able to catch another taxi. If necessary, she would walk to a public telephone and call for one, though she didn't relish the idea of walking in this heat. She had dressed sensibly in a thin cotton skirt, and her legs were bare, but a steam bath was a steam bath no matter what you were wearing.

He drove her to a rather seedy section of town, run-down but not yet a slum. She gave him a generous tip and didn't look back as she walked into the shop he had indicated.

Within half an hour she was the owner of a .38 automatic, easy to clean and maintain, and an impressive supply of ammunition weighted down her shoulder bag. The man who had sold it to her hadn't even looked curious. Perhaps American women bought weapons from him every day; it didn't take much of a stretch of imagination to visualize it. He even called a taxi for her and allowed her to wait just inside his door until the vehicle appeared.

When she got to the hotel she found that Rick and Kates still hadn't returned, but she hadn't expected them. Rick was still so put out that he might well leave her on her own all night, a prospect she knew he hoped would alarm her, but it didn't. She wasn't there to sightsee, and the room service menu was more than adequate; it wouldn't bother her at all to remain at the hotel for the rest of the day. She would even welcome the chance to rest.

But Rick and Kates returned to the hotel late that afternoon and came to her room, both of them smiling and in a good mood. Jillian smelled liquor on their breath, but they weren't drunk.

"We found a guide," Rick announced jovially, having finally come out of his sulks. "We're supposed to meet him at seven to do the planning."

"Here at the hotel?" It seemed convenient to her.

"Naw, at this bar where he hangs out. You'll have to come. You know more about this planning stuff than we do."

Jillian sighed inwardly. She could think of better places to discuss this than in a crowded bar where any number of people might overhear them. "Who is the guide? I don't believe I heard you mention his name."

"Lewis," Kates said. "Ben Lewis. Everyone we asked said that he's the best. I guess he'll do. If he leaves the bottle alone, he should be all right."

That sounded truly encouraging. She sighed again. "Is he an American?"

Rick shrugged. "I guess. He did have kind of a southern accent."

To Jillian's way of thinking, that pretty well nailed down the man's country of origin. She managed to keep the comment to herself.

"He was born in the States," Kates said, "but who knows if he still considers himself an American? I believe the term is 'expatriate.' No one seemed to know how long he's been down here."

Long enough to have gone completely tropical, Jillian would have bet. Slower, less concerned with detail. But most places in the world lacked the obsession with speed and efficiency that characterized the States, and she herself had learned to slow down when in other countries. She had been on digs in Africa among people who had no word for "time" in their language; the concept of putting themselves on a schedule would have been utterly alien to them. It had been a matter of adapt or go insane; it would be interesting to see which option Mr. Lewis had chosen.