Medicine Cup (8 page)

Paul shook his head. “Well, I had luck, but it’s so bizarre, I don’t know where to start.”

“So, start at the beginning.”

Paul outlined his entire afternoon for Jennie, from the articles on the Baxter family to the history of Harbor View. When he finished, Jennie just sat with her mouth agape.

Finally she said. “It’s even weirder than I thought.”

“Thing of it is,” Paul said, “We still don’t know what this mystery substance is that he speaks of in his diary. Obviously, it has something to do with his trip to the Amazon.”

“There’s one way to find out,” Jennie said.

Paul furrowed his brow. “How’s that?”

“Go there.”

B
efore Paul even realized Jennie was serious, they were heading for a small airfield outside of Burlington, 20 miles away. Jennie had called ahead and arranged to rent a Cessna 120, a small two-seat airplane, great for short runways.

Paul was quiet while they were driving, until finally he said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a pilot?”

“I knew you weren’t fond of flying so--”

“So?”

“So, I didn’t think it was a pleasant subject for you.”

“And now you think I’ve suddenly lost my fear of flying, in the last hour?”

“If it’s any comfort to you, the plane we’re taking has the best safety record of any small plane there is.”

Paul rolled his eyes. “I’m impressed.” The sarcasm was apparent and Jennie didn’t like it.

“Look, Paul, if this was a bad idea, we can just forget it. But let’s just remember, there’s a lot at stake here.”

Paul relaxed his grip on the seat rest. “Alright. Just one question, though.”

“Yes?”

“Do you serve peanuts on the plane?”

A smile formed across Jennie’s face. “I’ll do you one better.”

“Oh?”

“Ever hear of the Mile-High Club?”

T
he compact Cessna pulled alongside a larger prop plane like a baby cowering under its mother’s protection.

Jennie explained they would fly to Ft. Lauderdale, refuel and pick up their guide, an old college friend who worked for the Peace Corps and frequently lived in the jungles of South America, tracking the native tribes and living among them.

In any case, things were happening very fast and Paul had other concerns. Baxter would be wondering what had happened to him.
How far would Baxter go to find him
? Paul decided it didn’t matter. He’d be long gone.

*   *   *

At 10 P.M., the Cessna landed at Ft. Lauderdale Municipal Airport to refuel and pick up their passenger. The local air traffic control officer boarded the plane with a clipboard and forms, asking their next destination.

Jennie said it was Costa Rica.

Paul frowned. “But we’re going to land somewhere in the–”

“Shh,” Jennie said, shaking her head. “Leave it alone.”

The traffic officer seemed content with the flight plan. Once Jennie signed the clipboard, the guy departed.

Jennie turned to Paul. “He just wants to know if we’re going out of the country. The rest is none of his business.”

Findley Drake met them at the snack bar of the small airport. Dressed in jeans and a Peace Corps t-shirt, he reminded Paul of Toby McGuire minus the Spiderman outfit. He smiled wide at Jennie and they embraced as old friends do.

“Jennie, it’s good to see you. This must be Paul.” Drake reached out and shook Paul’s hand. He had a king-size grip for such a bantam-size guy. “Good to meet you, Paul. So are you guys ready for some excitement?”

Over coffee, Drake explained he had joined the Peace Corps right after college and was assigned to help natives deal with a series of rampant diseases that had left many of them dead. After his service was up, he’d decided to stay and pursue his PhD in Anthropology. He’d spent an additional three years in every jungle he could get into, studying the habits and cultures of several native tribes. In short, Drake was acknowledged as one of the top guides for anyone who wanted to do research in the Amazon.

Paul sensed Drake and Jennie were an item at one time, but he wasn’t sure. Anyway, it didn’t matter. Even though Paul was attracted to Jennie, and she was obviously attracted to him, his mind was too preoccupied to ponder his love life, or
hers,
right now.

“Have you ever heard of a tribe called the Yohagi?” Paul asked.

Drake raised an eyebrow. “Yohagi? Yes, I have. They’re one of the most dangerous tribes anywhere. Cannibals. And they live in the most remote region of the jungle. Why do you ask?”

“Because that’s who we’re seeking.”

Drake took a deep breath. “In that case, I’m not your guy.”

A
fter some arm twisting by Jennie, Drake reluctantly agreed to accompany them to the jungle. They spent the night in a tiny hotel that sat next to the airport, then got back to the plane at 5 A.M. and taxied out.

Now, three hours out of Florida, the landscape changed. Once past Guatemala, near the Costa Rican border, they were soon flying over the outermost fringes of the Amazon rain forest. Paul stared out the window, fascinated. Here and there in the pale morning light, a few fragile wisps of fog clung like cotton to the canopy of trees. And occasionally, they passed the dark snaking curve of a muddy river, or the straight deep red gash of a road. But for the most part, they looked down upon an unbroken expanse of dense forest, extending away in the distance as far as the eye could see.

The view was calming, yet simultaneously frightening–it was frightening to be confronted by what Paul thought of as the indifference of the natural world. To view it from the relative comfort of an airplane seat was one thing. The reality was that this monotonous forest was a gigantic creation of nature, utterly dwarfing in scale anything Paul had ever seen. Each individual green puff of a tree had a trunk forty feet in diameter soaring 200 feet into the air; a spine the size of a cathedral was concealed beneath its billowing foliage.

*   *   *

It was a bone-jolting landing. The airstrip, that had looked so flat and featureless from the air, was surprisingly rugged when experienced up close, with long troughs and steep hillocks. Paul felt like he was in a boat that had crashed through choppy seas and finally ran aground.

Jennie turned the engine off and looked at Paul.

“You okay?”

“Peachy. I’ll feel better after I barf.”

J
ennie had slipped into a deep slumber by the time Paul had crawled into his sleeping bag and closed the mosquito net. She clung to his side throughout the night, her sleep frequently disturbed by feverish murmurings of cannibals and jungle creatures. Paul’s nerves were on edge as well. Several times during the night, Paul pried himself loose from Jennie’s hot grip and peered out from the tent. Except for the incessant buzzing of insects around the camp, all was still. But Paul was far from complacent.
Baxter had a long reach.

After a fitful night’s sleep, they were awakened by bright sunlight flooding their tent. They got dressed and went to the plane to get some supplies and fix breakfast. Fortified with a steaming cup of coffee, Jennie regained her usual sparkle. But Harbor View still weighed heavily on her mind, she confided in Paul.

Once past the initial shock of the humidity and heat, Paul enjoyed the walk through the dense forest. Parrots chattered high above, and monkeys jumped between trees the size of skyscrapers. Jennie walked quietly behind Findley Drake, who stopped periodically to check his compass.

After his last check, Drake looked up. “Enjoy the walk while you can. In another few minutes, we’re going to be cutting through some wetlands. It can get pretty messy. And don’t forget, watch out for the anacondas.”

“Anacondas! Wonderful,” Paul said. “Let me know when we get to the dinosaurs.”

The forest they walked through was not virginal. From time to time, cleared areas were visible, although no inhabitants could be seen. They passed a narrow inlet where water entered from the nearby Caribes River, a small tributary of the larger Amazon. A small herd of deer waded through the water nibbling at green vines, oblivious to the noise from the trail.

“There’s a small trading post a few hours away,” Drake said. “We should get there before dark.”

“What are we shopping for?” Paul asked.

“A small boat to rent. The only way we can get to the Yohagi is by boat. Twenty miles up river. We can camp at the trading post tonight and head up the river in the morning.”

*   *   *

An hour later, they were trudging across a marsh a couple hundred yards wide. Drake stopped and checked his compass. Paul came up next to him.

“What’s with all the marshland? I thought this place was mostly dry.”

“They have a rainy season and a dry season. After the rainy season, it leaves the open land flooded like this. It’s a bonanza for the wildlife here. They have more species of animals here than any place on earth. Tapers, deer, panthers, snakes, gators, you name it.”

“That’s comforting, maybe we better keep moving.”

Jennie smiled. “What’s wrong, Paul, aren’t you a crocodile hunter?”

“See that lump in the water there?” Drake said. “That’s an anaconda. A big one, too. I’d say about thirty feet.”

Paul swallowed hard. “Let’s go, please. I’m nervous enough.”

In another hour, they arrived at a clearing where cocoa was being grown. A crude wooden building stood in the center, with pale smoke billowing from a chimney and laundry on a line, flapping in the gentle breeze. But no one seemed to be around.

“This is it,” Drake said.

“Where is everyone?” Paul asked.

“Wait here,” Drake said.

A few minutes later, Drake came out of the building with a small dark-skinned man wearing a Motley Crew t-shirt and cut off jeans. Drake motioned for Paul and Jennie to come up to the porch.

“This is Remi,” Drake said. “He has a boat we can use. It’ll cost two hundred dollars, plus an extra hundred deposit, in case we don’t bring it back.”

Paul looked at Jennie. “I’ve got a hundred and fifty.”

“I’ve got the rest,” Jennie said. “Where’s the boat, Findley?”

“He says it’s up river about a half mile. He’ll take us there.”

“Has he heard of the Yohagi?” Paul asked.

“Yes, unfortunately he has.
They ate his brother
.”

T
he small boat was tied to the base of a rubber tree next to the river. Remi wished them good luck, turned and trotted back up river toward the trading post.

The first signs of dusk descended on them. Paul Grant peered up into the leafy canopy of trees and wondered what kind of aberrations would burst forth from the pitch-blackness that was sure to arrive soon. They sat near the riverbank and ate. Dinner was canned beef stew and crackers and they all chewed slowly, not sure when they might eat again.

“Tell me, Findley,” Paul said, “when the natives eat someone, do they prepare them like this beef stew here, or do they just eat them raw?”

Jennie rolled her eyes. “Paul,
really
.”

Drake finished chewing and took a long drink from his canteen. “No, actually they like to slow roast their meat over a spit. Just like the old Tarzan movies.”

Paul set his food down and heaved a sigh. “Do we actually know where we are? Or are we lost?”

“I know exactly where we are,” Drake said.

“Where?”

“We’re in Paratuba. This river empties right into the mouth of the Amazon. Then it’s ten miles down river to where the Yohagi have their village.”

Paul heard a rustling coming from a weedy marsh along the bank of a converging stream.

“What the hell was that?” he asked.

“Probably a leopard. They start hunting around dusk.”

“And you’re not worried?’

“They won’t bother us. Unless, of course, you interrupt them while they’re feeding.”

Paul stood up. “I say we get in the boat and head down river tonight. The sooner we get where we’re going, the better.”

“Suits me,” Drake said. “What about you, Jennie? You okay with that?”

Jennie nodded. “Sure. I’m so tired I could sleep in a tree.”

“Great,” Paul said. He began to load their things into the boat.

It had been easier being optimistic when he was in daylight, but as they plunged deeper into jungle darkness, Paul had to face the facts. It was unlikely anyone who didn’t know what they were doing could stay alive very long in this frightful place. And although Findley Drake had got them here in relative safety,
Paul had his doubts they could get back.

T
hree thousand miles away, Phillip Baxter entered a spacious vestibule, hung with tribal implements and ornate masks that stretched along one wall of the room and seemed to cover every square foot of space. Adjoining it was a smaller library of medical history, complete with Baxter’s pride and joy, a collection of medical implements, some dating back to the fifth century. A few, crude by today’s standards but effective nonetheless, were some of Baxter’s favorites. These were encased in a bronze and mahogany chest that sat in the center of the room. Light, streaming through an octagon oculus, illuminated the large display and glinted off some of the sharp stainless-steel devices housed inside. Margaret Melvin, wearing a dark business suit, sat at a nearby desk going over a pile of papers.

Melvin looked up upon Baxter’s entry and gazed at him with eyes the hue of burnished steel.

“Well, have you found out anything?” Baxter asked.

“Only that they were seen driving toward Burlington early yesterday.”

Baxter plopped into a Louis the Fourteenth carved chair that was worth a fortune. He raked his hands across his skull. “We have to find them. Paul Grant found something.”