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Authors: Alistair MacLean

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BOOK: River of Death
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River of Death i o i
In- what was indeed the guard-house six more men lay trussed and gagged. Hamilton, alone in the middle of the room and engaged in rendering rifles and pistols inoperable, looked up as Ramon and Navarro, each with torch in hand, re-entered the room, shaking their heads. The three men left and began to move around the other huts. As they passed by each one, on each occasion Hamilton and Ramon remained outside while Navarro entered. Each time Navarro emerged, shaking his head. Finally, they arrived at the last building, the solidly constructed bungalow. All three entered. Hamilton, in the lead, found a switch and flooded the room with light.
It was a combination office and living quarters and furnished in considerable comfort. Drawers and filing cabinets were searched but they had nothing that interested Hamilton. They moved on to another apartment, a bedroom and again a very comfortable place of accommodation. Pride of place on the walls were given to three framed and inscribed photographs — those of Hitler, Goebbels and Stroessner, a former Paraguayan president. The contents of the wardrobes were very sparse, indicating that the owner had removed the bulk of the contents. In one cupboard stood a pair of brown riding boots. The Nazis had always insisted on black riding boots, despising brown ones as being decadent: Stroessner, on the other hand, had favoured brown.
From there the three moved into what was Brown's communication centre, containing two large multicalibrated transceivers of the latest design. They located a tool-box and while Hamilton and Ramon used chisels and screwdrivers *to remove the faceplates and destroy the inner mechanisms, Navarro located all the spares and reduced them too to scrap metal and shattered glass.
Navarro said: 'He's also got a very nice radio and transmitting set here.'
'You know what to do, don't you?'
Navarro knew what to do. From there they moved on to the arched metal shed. It was rather a remarkable place inasmuch as there ran down the middle of it what must have been the Kolonie's pride and joy, a genuine full-length American bowling alley. They paid no attention to this. What did attract their attention was a Piper Cub in a bay alongside the bowling alley. It took the men less than ten minutes to ensure that that particular Piper Cub would never fly again.
On their way back to the Parana, this time walking openly in the middle of the road, Ramon said: 'So your friend has gone.'
'In that inelegant phrase, the bird has flown the coop, taking most of his hard cases with him — Nazis, renegade Poles, renegade Ukrainians. As fine a collection of war criminals as you'll ever meet. This bunch here belong strictly to the second division.'
'Where do you think they've gone?'
'We'll ask, shall we?' '
The three men entered the landing-stage guardhouse. Wordlessly, they sliced the ankle-bonds of one of the prisoners, removed his gag, dragged him to his feet and led him outside down to the river edge of the landing stage.
Hamilton said: 'Brown had three Piper Cubs. Where have the other two gone?'
The guard spat in contempt. At a signal from Hamilton, Navarro ,cut the back of the guard's hand. The blood flowed freely. The guard was then led forward until he was teetering on the very edge of the landing-stage.
'Pirhana,' Hamilton said, 'can smell blood at a quarter of a mile. Ninety seconds and you'll be white bones. If a crocodile doesn't get you first. Either way, being eaten to death is unpleasant.'
The guard looked in horror at his bleeding hand. He was trembling. 'North,' he said. 'North to Campo Grande.'
'And after that?'
'I swear to God -'
'Throw him in.'
'Planalto de Mato Grosso. That's all I know. I swear to you —'
Hamilton said wearily: 'Stop your damned swearing. I believe you. Brown would never entrust his secrets to vermin.'
Ramon said: 'What do we do with the prisoners?'
'Nothing.'
'But -'
'But nothing. I daresay someone will happen by and free them. Take this character inside and hobble and gag him.'
Navarro looked doubtful. 'It's a pretty deep cut. He could bleed to death.'
'Dear oh dear,'
CHAPTER FIVE
Hamilton, Ramon and Navarro were in a taxi driving along one of Brasilia's broad boulevards. Ramon said: 'This woman, Maria, she comes?'
Hamilton looked at him and smiled. 'She comes.'
'There will be danger.'
'The more, the better. It will at least help to keep those clowns under control.'
Navarro was thoughtfully silent for a moment then he said: 'My brother and I hate all they stand for. But you, Senor Hamilton, hate so much more.'
'I have the reason. But I don't hate them.'
Ramon and Navarro looked at each other in lost comprehension then nodded as if in understanding.
A Rolls-Royce and a Cadillac had been backed out of Smith's six-car garage to make storage room for what Smith regarded as being more important, however temporarily, than the two cars. Hamilton, in the company of the eight people who were going to accompany him, surveyed, with an apparently uncritical eye, the extremely comprehensive layout of the most modern and expensive equipment necessary for survival in the Amazonian rainforests. He took his time about it, so much so in fact that one or two of the watchers were beginning to look, if not apprehensive, then at least uncomfortable. Smith was not one of those. There was a slight tightening of the lips presumably indicative of a growing impatience. It was almost a law of nature that tycoons do not care to be kept waiting. Smith immediately proved that his patience was on a very short fuse indeed.
'Well, Hamilton? Well?'
'So. How the multi- — or is it bulti-? — millionaire travels into the boondocks. But good, really excellent.'
Smith visibly relaxed.
'But there's one exception, though.'
'Indeed?' One has to be very wealthy before one can — or is permitted to — raise one's eyebrows in the proper fashion. 'And what might that be?'
'Nothing missing, I assure you. Just some items surplus to requirements. Who are those guns and pistols for?'
'Us.'
'No deal. Ramon, Navarro and I carry weapons. You don't. None of you do.'
'We do.'
'Deal's off.'
'Why?'
'You are children in the rain-forests. No popguns for kids.'
'But Hiller and Serrano -'
'I admit they know more than you do. That doesn't mean very much. In the Mato Grosso they might even rate as adolescents. Forget what they've ever told you.'
Smith lifted his shoulders, looked at the rather splendid armoury of weapons he had assembled, then back at Hamilton. 'Self-protection -'
'We'll protect you. I don't much fancy the prospect of you lot going around shooting harmless animals and innocent Indians. Even less do I fancy the prospect of being shot in the back when I've finally shown you where the Lost City is.'
Heffner stepped forward. He obviously had no doubt that the reference had been to himself. His fingers were actually clutching and unclutching, his face dusky with anger. 'Look here, Hamilton —'
'I'd rather not.'
'Stop it.' Smith's voice was cold and incisive but when he spoke again the tone had changed to one of bitterness and left no doubt that he was addressing Hamilton. 'If I may say so, you have a splendid capacity for making friends.'
'Oddly enough, I do. I have quite a few in this city alone. But before I make a man my friend I have to make sure he's not my enemy or potential enemy. Very sensitive about those things, I am. But so's my back - sensitive, I mean, sensitive to having a knife stuck in it. I should know, I've had it done twice to me. I suppose I should have you all searched for flick-knives or some such toys but in your case I really don't think I'll bother. The ha'rmless animals and innocent Indians are safe from any ill intentions you may develop, for, quite frankly, I can't see any of you lot taking on an armed Indian or a jaguar with what is, after all, little more than a pen-knife.' He made a small gesture with his right hand, as contemptuous as it was dismissive, and from the sudden tightening and whitening of Smith's lips, it occurred to Hamilton, not for the first time, that Smith might well and easily be the most dangerous man of them all.
Hamilton gestured again, this time towards the very considerable pile of equipment lying on the garage floor. 'How did those arrive — the packaging, I mean?'
'Crates. We crate them up again?'
'No. Too damned awkward to handle aboard a helicopter or hovercraft. I think —'
'Waterproof canvas bags.' He smiled at the slight surprise on Hamilton's face. 'We thought you might require something like that.' He pointed towards two large cardboard boxes. 'We bought them at the same time as we got the equipment. We're not mentally retarded, you know.'
'Fine. Your plane, a DC6,1 understand — what's its state of readiness?'
'Superfluous question.'
'I suppose. Where are the hovercraft and helicopter?'
'Almost at Cuiaba.'
'Shall we join them?'
The DC6 parked at the end of the runway of Smith's private airfield may not have been in the first flush of youth but if the gleaming fuselage were anything to go by its condition would have ranked anywhere as immaculate. Hamilton, Ramon and Navarro, aided by an unexpectedly helpful Serrano, were supervising the loading of the cargo. It was a thorough, rigorous, painstaking supervision. Each canvas bag in turn was opened, its contents removed, examined, returned and the bag then sealed to make it waterproof. It was a necessarily lengthy and time-consuming process and Smith's patience was eroding rapidly.
He said sourly: 'Don't take many chances, do you?'
Hamilton glanced at him briefly. 'How did you make your millions?'
Smith turned and clambered aboard the aircraft.
After half-an-hour's flying time out from Brasilia the passengers, with the exception of Hamilton, were all asleep or trying.to sleep. No-one, it seemed, felt philosophical enough or relaxed enough to read: the clamour from the ancient engines was so great as to make conversation virtually impossible. Hamilton, as if prompted by some instinct, looked around and his gaze focused.
Heffner, sprawled in his seat, appeared, from his partly opened mouth and slow deep breathing, to be asleep, a probability lent credence by the fact that his white drill jacket, inadvertently unbuttoned, lay so as to reveal under his left armpit a white felt container which had obviously been designed to accommodate the aluminium flask inside. This did not give concern to Hamilton: it was perfectly in character with the man. What did concern him was that on the other side of his chest could just be seen a small pearl-handled gun in a white felt under-arm holster.
Hamilton rose and made his way aft to the rear end of the compartment where the equipment, provisions and personal luggage were stored. It made for a very considerable pile, but Hamilton didn't have to rummage around to find what he was looking for - when loading he had made a mental note of where every item had been stored. He retrieved his rucksack, opened it, looked casually around to see that he was unobserved, removed a pistol and thrust it into an inside pocket of his bush jacket. He replaced the rucksack and resumed his seat up front.
The flight to Cuiaba airport had been uneventful and so now was the landing. The passengers disembarked and gazed around them in something like wonder, which was more than understandable as the contrast between Cuiaba and Brasilia was rather more than marked.
Maria was gazing around her in apparent disbelief. She said: 'So this is the jungle. Quite, quite fascinating.'
'This is civilisation,' Hamilton said. He pointed to the east. 'The jungle lies over there. That's where we'll be very soon and once we get there perhaps you'd sell your soul to be back here.' He turned and said sharply to Heffner: 'Where do you, think you're going?'
Heffner had been walking in the direction of the airport building. Now he stopped, turned and looked at Hamilton with a languid, insolent air.
'Talking to me?'
'I'm looking at you and I don't squint. Where are you going?'
'Look, I can't see it's any of your business,-but I'm going to a bar. I'm thirsty. Any objections?'
'Every objection. We're all thirsty. But there's work to be done. I want all the equipment, food and luggage transferred to that DC3 there, and I want it done now. Two hours on and it will be too hot to work.'
Heffner glared at him, then looked at Smith, who shook his head. Sullenly, Heffner retraced his steps and approached Hamilton, his face heavy with anger. 'Next time I'll be ready, so don't be fooled by last time.'
Hamilton turned to Smith and said, almost wearily: 'He's your employee. Any more trouble or threats of trouble and he's on the DC6 back to Brasilia. If you disagree, I'm on the plane back there. Simple choice.'
Hamilton brushed contemptuously by Heffner who stared after him with clenched fists. Smith took Heffner by the arm and led him to one side, clearly having trouble keeping his anger in check. He said, low-voiced: 'Damned if I don't agree with Hamilton. Want to ruin everything? There's a time and a place to get tough and this is neither the time nor the place. Bear in mind that we're entirely dependent upon Hamilton. You understand?'
'Sorry, boss. It's just that the bastard is so damned arrogant. Pride cometh before a fall. My turn will come and the fall is going to be a mighty big one.'
Smith was almost kind. 'I don't think you quite understand. Hamilton regards you as a potential troublemaker — which, I have to say, you are — and he's the sort of man who will eliminate any potential source of trouble. God, man, can't you see? He's trying to provoke you so that he can have a reason, or at least an excuse, for disposing of you.'
'And how would he do that?'
'Having you sent back to Brasilia.'
'And failing that?'
'Don't even let us talk about such things.'
'I can take care of myself, Mr Smith.'
'Taking care of yourself is one thing. Taking care of Hamilton is another kettle of fish altogether.'
They watched, some of them with evident apprehension, as a giant twin-rotored helicopter, cables attached to four lifting bolts, clawed its way into the air, raising a small hovercraft with it. The hovercraft's rate of climb was barely perceptible. At five hundred feet, it slowly began to move due east.
Smith said uneasily: 'Those hills look mighty high to me. Sure they'll make it?'
'You'd better hope so. After all, they're your machines.' Hamilton shook his head. 'Do you think the pilot would have taken off unless he knew it was on the cards? Only three thousand feet. No trouble.'
'How far?'
'The head-waters of the Rio da Morte is only a hundred miles away. To reach the landing-strip? Perhaps eighty. In half-an-hour's time we'll leave in the DC3. We'll still be there before them.'

BOOK: River of Death
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