indigenous people.”
“A difficult charge to make stick,” Paul noted.
“Agreed. Brazil is also pushing legislation to protect bio diversity, so we are making progress, but not much. We are talking about taking on drug companies with billions of dollars in re sources. It is not an even match.”
A thought occurred to Gamay. “Has your university been involved?”
“Yes,” he said. “We have had teams from time to time. But there is little money for full-time police work.”
It wasn’t the answer Gamay was looking for, but she didn’t persist. “I wish there was something we could do.”
“There is,” Ramirez said with a broad smile. “I would ask a favor. Please feel under no obligation to grant it.”
“Try us,” Paul said amiably.
“Very well. A few hours’ travel from here there is another settlement on the river. The Dutchman who lives there has no radio. They may have heard about a Chulo being killed. In any event, they should be told, in case there are repercussions.” He stuck his leg out. The ankle was heavily wrapped in a bandage. “I can barely walk. I don’t think there is a break, but it is badly sprained. I was wondering if you could go in my place. You could make a quick trip of it.” “What about the supply boat?” Gamay asked.
“It is due late tomorrow as expected. They will lay over for the night. You would be back before it leaves.”
“I don’t see why we can’t do it,” Gamay said, stopping short as she caught the quizzical look in her husband’s eye. “If it’s okay with Paul.”
“Well-“
“Ah, I apologize. My request has created marital discord.”
“Oh, no,” Paul reassured him. “It’s simply my New England caution. Of course we’d like to help you.”
“Splendid. I will have my men gather supplies for you and fuel my boat. It will be faster on the river than your inflatable. She should make the round trip in the same day.”
“I thought you had only dugout canoes in the village,” Gamay said.
Ramirez smiled. “They serve most of my needs, yes, but occasionally more efficient transportation is desirable.”
She shrugged. “Tell us more about the man you call the Dutchman.”
“Dieter is actually German. He’s a trader, married to a native woman. He comes here occasionally, but mostly he sends his men once a month with a list, and we relay it to the supply boat. He is an unsavory character in my opinion, but that is no reason not to warn him of possible danger.” Ramirez paused. “You do not have to do this. These things are really none of your affair, and you are scientists, not adventurers. Especially the beautiful Senora Trout.”
“I think we can handle it,” Gamay said, looking at her husband with amusement.
She was not speaking with bravado, but as part of the NUMA Special Assignments Team she and Paul had been on any number of dangerous assignments. And as attractive as she was, Gamay was no delicate flower. Back in Racine, Wisconsin, where she was born, she had been a tomboy who ran with a pack of boys and later moved with ease among men.
“Well, then, we have an agreement. After dessert we will have a glass of brandy and retire so we can be up at the crack of dawn.”
A short while later the Trouts were back in their room getting ready for bed when Gamay asked Paul, “Why were you hesitant about helping Dr. Ramirez?”
“Couple of reasons. Let’s start with the fact that this little side trip has nothing to do with our NUMA assignment.”
Paul ducked the pillow tossed at his head. “Since when have you gone by the NUMA rule book?” Gamay said.
“Like you, whenever it has been convenient. I’ve stretched the rules but never broken them.”
“Then let’s just stretch them a little by saying that the river is an integral part of the ocean, therefore any dead person found on it should be investigated by NUMA’s Special Assignments Team. Must I remind you that the team was formed precisely to look into matters nobody else would?”
“Not a bad sales pitch, but don’t put too much stock in your powers of persuasion. If you hadn’t suggested looking into this thing, I would have. On similarly flimsy grounds, I might add. I have an aversion to someone getting away with murder.”
“So do I. Do you have any idea where we might start?”
“Already handled that. Don’t let my taciturn Cape Cod nature deceive you.”
“Not in a hundred years, my dear.”
“Back to your original question, the reason I hesitated was my surprise. This is the first time Ramirez mentioned his boat. He’s given us the impression he used dugouts. Remember the fuss he made about how great our little putt-putt inflatable was? I was sniffing around one day and found a shed holding an air boat.”
She leaned up on one elbow. “An airboat! Why didn’t he say something?”
“I think it’s obvious. He didn’t want anybody to know. I think our friend Ramirez is more complicated than he appears.”
“I have the same impression. I think he was being disingenuous about sending us scientific geeks off on a potentially dangerous mission. We’ve told him enough about the Special Assignments Team for him to know what we do when we’re not counting river dolphins. I think he wants NUMA brought into this thing.”
“Looks like we’ve played right into his hands, but I’m not sure why he’d be so Machiavellian.”
“I’ve got an idea,” Gamay said. “He was talking about the scientists from the university acting as bio police. He is a scientist from a university. He sort of side-slipped the implication.”
“I noticed.” Paul stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. “So you think he’s actually a bio cop disguised as a botanist?”
“It would make sense.” Gamay paused in thought. “I must confess that the real reason I want to investigate was in those bags we found with the Chulo. I’m intrigued at how a backward Indian got all those high-tech toys, aren’t you?”
There was no sound from the other side of the bed except that of low breathing. Paul was exercising his famous talent for dropping off to sleep on command. Gamay shook her head, pulled the sheets over her shoulders, and did the same. They would be up with the sun, and she expected the next day to be a long one.
Chapter 6
The Mexican customs agent leaned from his window and checked out the two men in the white Ford pickup truck. They were wearing beat-up shorts and T-shirts, Foster Grant sunglasses, and baseball caps with bait shop logos on them.
“Purpose of your visit?” the agent asked the husky man be hind the wheel. The driver jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the fishing rods and tackle boxes in back. “Going fishing.”
“Wish I could join you,” the agent said with a smile, and waved them on into Tijuana.
As they pulled away, Zavala, who was sitting in the passenger seat, said, “What’s with the Spies Like Us routine? All we had to do was flash our NUMA IDs.”
Austin grinned. “This is more fun.”
“We’re lucky our clean-cut appearance doesn’t fit the profile for terrorists or drug runners.”
“I prefer to think that we’re masters of disguise.” Austin glanced at Zavala and shook his head. “By the way, I hope you brought along your American passport. I wouldn’t want you to get stuck in Mexico.”
“No problem. It wouldn’t be the first time a Zavala sneaked across the border.”
Zavala’s parents had waded across the Rio Grande in the 1960s from Morales, Mexico, where they were born and raised.
His mother was seven months pregnant at the time. Her condition didn’t stand in the way of her determination to start life with her newborn in El Norte. They made their way to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where Zavala was born. His father’s skills as a carpenter and woodcarver brought him steady work with the wealthy clients who built their fashionable homes there. The same influential people helped his father when he applied for a green card and later for citizenship.
