Serpent

modestly.

Gamay grinned and swung the tiller to avoid the shoaling along the sides of the river, but she was far from sanguine. It occurred to her after her momentary elation that she had absolutely no idea where they were going. Or whether they had enough gas to get them there. She checked the tank. Half full. Or half empty if she were thinking like a pessimist. Which might be the more prudent frame of mind in their precarious situation.

After a hurried conference, they decided to go flat out for a time to put as much distance as possible between the pram and their pursuers. Then they would rely on river drift.

'Not to put too fine a point on our predicament, Professor; but do you have any idea where this river goes?'

The professor shook his head. 'This stream isn't even on the map. My guess is that we're headed south. Simply because, as you pointed out, there are few rivers in the north.'

'They say that when you're lost, following a river will eventually bring you to civilization,' Gamay said without conviction.

'I've heard that. Also that moss grows on the north side of trees. It's been my experience that moss grows all around a tree. You must have been a Girl Scout.'

'I always had more fun playing with boys. Brownie was as far as I got. The only woodcraft I recall is how to cut a stick to toast marshmallows over an open fire.'

'You never know when something like that will come in handy. Actually I'm not too eager to encounter civilization. Especially if it comes in the form of more chicleros.'

'Is that a possibility?'

'The ones who are chasing us arrived after we were put in the cave. This means they came from not very far away possibly a base camp.'

'Or they could have been on their way upriver when we ran into their buddies.'

'Either way I think it's best that we prepare for the worst, that we will be caught between two unfriendly groups.'

Gamay's eyes lifted to the patches of blue sky that were beginning to show through holes in the vegetation. 'Do you think that helicopter was working with this gang?'

'Possibly, although in my experience these thieves are very much lowtech. It doesn't take sophisticated equipment to dig up antiquities and transport them through the forest. As you saw from the ease by which we escaped the helicopter, the simpler the better.'

'We had nature on our side before. We're coming more into the open and might want to think about what to do if it comes back.' Gamay switched the motor off. 'We'll drift for a while. Maybe we can think up a plan if we don't have this thing buzzing in our ears.'

The boat ride was almost idyllic with the outboard silent. There were flashes of bright feathers in the impenetrable greenery that d them in. The high bankings on either side of the river showed that it was an old waterway that had cut its way through the limestone over a long period. As if mindful of its advanced years it snaked through the woods at a slow but steady pace, varying in width, the water bright billiard table green where the sun struck it, dark and spinachy in the shadows. It didn't take long for nature to lose its charm once Gamay's stomach started to rumble. She realized they hadn't eaten since the day before and remarked wistfully that it was too bad they hadn't made more Spam sandwiches. Chi said he would see what he could do. He had her pull over to the banking and whacked away at a bent' bush with his machete. The berries were tart but filling. The river was covered with a green algae. Once the scum was brushed away the. water was dear and refreshing.

Their idyll was ended by the whine of approaching outboard motors.

The boats reappeared a couple of hundred yards behind them. Again, one was in the lead. Gamay started the motor and gave it full speed.

They were on a straight, comparatively wide stretch of river that allowed for no dance at trickery. The chase boat inched forward, and the distance between them slowly decreased. It would be only minutes before they were in easy rifle range. The boats grew closer together cutting the distance by a third, then half. Gamay was puzzled. The chicleros had not raised their weapons. They looked like a bunch of guys on a river cruise.

Chi called out, Dr: Gamay!'

Gamay turned and saw the professor in the bow, staring straight ahead. She heard a low rumble in the distance.

'What is it?' she said.

'Rapids!'

The boat was beginning to pick up speed even though she hadn't touched the throttle. The air was cooler than before and damp with haze. Within moments the rumble changed to a roar, and through the mists hanging over the river she saw white foam and the sharp points of black shiny rocks. She thought of the boat's flat bottom and had a vague image of a can opener ripping through thin aluminum. The river had narrowed, and the tons of water squeezing into this natural funnel spout had essentially transformed a lazy stream into a raging sluiceway.

She looked back. The boats had stopped and were circling in the river. Their pursuers obviously knew about the rapids. That's why they hadn't shot at them. Why waste ammunition?

'We'll never make it past those rocks,' Gamay yelled over the earsplitting thunder of rushing water. 'I'm going to steer for land.. Well have to make a run for it in the forest.'

She pushed the tiller over, and the pram angled toward the shore. Thirty feet from the riverbank the motor coughed and conked out. Gamay tried to start it again, but with no success. She quickly twisted off the gas tank top. All that was left was vapors.

Professor Chi had grabbed a single oar and was trying to scull the boat. The current was too strong and jerked the oar from his hand. The boat's pace accelerated, and it began to spin around. Gamay watched helplessly as the pram was carried like a woodchip toward the toothlike rocks and the boiling white water.

It was Trout's idea to go back along the river. Moments before, the helicopter pilot had tapped the fuel gauge and the dial of his wristwatch, sign language saying they were running low and had to head back.

Trout's thoroughness as a scientist came from working as a youngster with his Uncle Henry, a skilled craftsman who built wooden boats for the local fishermen long after plastic hulls came into style. 'Measure twice, cut once,' Henry would say between puffs on his overripe pipe. In other words, doublecheck everything you do. Even years later Trout couldn't start a complicated computer task without hearing his uncle's voice whispering in his ear.

It was a natural reaction to suggest, through Morales, that they go back along the river, slowly this time, in case they had missed something on their first pass. They flew at less than one hundred fifty feet, cruising at a moderate speed; dipping lower when the river opened up. The JetRanger was highly maneuverable, having been designed as a light observation helicopter, and in its military incarnation saw duty as the Kiowa. Before long they came up on the rapids he had seen on the way out.

Trout looked down at the stretch of white water, then, beyond it to the calm river just above the cataract, where he saw a curious sight. Two small boats lay close together back from the rapids, apparently sitting there while a third drifted downstream. Someone in the bow was paddling furiously, but the strong current drew the third boat on a path toward the rapids. Trout spotted the flash of dark red in the boat's stern.

There was no mistaking that hair, especially with the sun glinting off it in rusty highlights. There was also no doubt in his mind of what was about to happen. Within seconds the helpless boat would pick up speed and be sucked into the toothy maw and ground to pieces.

Trout yelled at Morales, 'Tell the pilot to push them back with the helicopter's downdraft!'

Morales had been watching the unfolding disaster with fascination. Now he tried to relay Trout's statement to the pilot. The translation was beyond his grasp of English. He shot off a few words in Spanish, then shrugged in frustration. Trout pounded the pilot's shoulder. He pointed emphatically at the helpless boat, then twirled his forefinger in a circle and made a shoving gesture. To Trout's surprise the pilot caught on right away to his crude sign language message. He nodded vigorously, nosed the chopper into a glide, and cut speed to a walk until they had positioned themselves between the drifting boat and the crest of the rapids where the river narrowed. The hovering copter descended until the downdraft from the rotors whipped the surface like a giant electric egg beater and created a frothy dishshaped depression.

Waves rippled out in great concentric cirdes. The first undulation hit the pram, slowed its speed; then