CHAPTER 21
Chief Zharan lay on his belly, propped on his elbows with binoculars focused on the huts in the clearing below. As Raven had expected, he made his assignments and ordered his men in teams to surround the village. They awaited the final go ahead. The chief spoke Portuguese softly into his headset, gathering intel and communicating his orders. She didn't have to speak the language to understand.
A few things had gone in their favor. The dense foliage and the treeline provided adequate cover for the operation. And the village looked preoccupied with a celebration. The chanting and activity proved quite a distraction. Another good cover for Zharan's maneuverings.
Yet something bothered her.
She didn't want to make an assumption, but these people appeared to be amateurs compared to other South American abductions she had read about.
Hard to believe they had any connection to the city of Cuiaba at all, much less staged a kidnapping there. Could they have pulled it off without help? It made her wonder about the accuracy of Zharan's intel.
She watched the village using Jasmine's binoculars. The huts were made of rudimentary materials indigenous to the area—pliable tree limbs, layers of grasses, sod walls—but some were made from bits of corrugated metal and plywood. She estimated forty adult inhabitants, with twenty or more varying under the age of fifteen years. Younger dark-skinned children with swollen bellies and bare bottoms were harder to count. They ran among the adults, playing games in bare feet around the communal fire blazing in the center of the village. And in a separate pit, the villagers cooked a hog carcass.
Raven counted thirty huts with three other structures of unknown purpose. The openings to the dwellings faced inward, making it easy for the tribe to defend the core of the community, yet the arrangement made them vulnerable to more sophisticated surveillance, as the police were doing now.
So far, everything had gone better than expected, except for one thing. They had not found Nicholas Charboneau. Raven hugged the ground next to Christian and handed him the binoculars.
'Don't think they're expecting company,' she whispered.
'Good for us.' Christian stared through the field glasses, muttering under his breath. 'Any signs of Charboneau?'
'No. None so far.' She nudged her chin. 'He might be in one of those smaller huts, there and the two over to the left.' She pointed to the three small huts that didn't look to be inhabited. 'But if he were held in one of those, you'd think there'd be a guard out front.'
'Yeah, I agree.'
'And I haven't seen a weapon either.' She grimaced. 'But that doesn't mean they don't have them.'
'Yeah.' Despite his reply, Christian didn't sound convinced. He looked through the binoculars with renewed interest.
Villagers circled the big fire pit, strolling and dancing in one direction. And they chanted, a rhythmic repetitive sound of mostly male voices building to a crescendo. Painted faces, bright colors, and festive robes; Christian felt an air of anticipation running through the village like an electrical charge.
'Something's going down ... up ahead there.' He shifted his focus. 'What are they up to?'
The large communal hut was comprised of a woven mat of grasses pitched over the top of a wooden frame. The covering had the texture of dense hemp. One side, facing them, was completely open. They saw hammocks stretched along the back wall inside, hung between heavy wooden stakes pounded into the ground. A man standing in front of the opening waved for a couple of men to follow him. Dressed in an elaborate tunic, with his face almost completely painted, he had the look of a medicine man or native chief.
The three men left the encampment and headed for a well-worn trail—straight toward them. Within minutes the natives would be right on top of their position.
Christian got to his feet and hunched down, turning toward Zharan. 'They're bringing food and water to Charboneau. We gotta follow 'em.'
'You don't know that for sure.'
'It doesn't matter. We can't let them go without someone on 'em,' Christian said, pleading his case. 'You have your men assigned, you can't afford to send more than one or two men to tail these guys. Let Raven and me do it.'
A stern look spread over the chief's face and he narrowed his eyes at the native men on the trail below. Christian knew what he was thinking. The path crossed near enough to their position to matter. And if the natives deviated from it, there would be greater risk. Either way, the men would be upon them soon. Zharan had no time to waste.
'Your woman will stay here,' he said in a hushed tone. 'Take Fuentes.'
Christian caught the move. Raven raised her chin to protest, no doubt upset over getting shot down for the assignment by an overdose of testosterone and chauvinism. To her credit, she kept her silence and only glared at the chief. But the man ignored her and gave an order to Fuentes over the headset without hesitation. They exchanged words in Portuguese. Clearly, Zharan welcomed authority and wielded it with an iron hand, no questions asked.
Within seconds, Fuentes crept up behind Christian, stone quiet and with a grim face.
'Fuentes will stay in touch on the com set.' Then Zharan glared at Christian and pointed a finger. 'And you'll follow my man's orders without question. Do you understand?'
All business, Christian nodded to the chief. Before he left, he shot a sympathetic gaze at Raven, followed by a subtle wink. She raised an eyebrow and the corner of her mouth twitched, her version of a smile under duress. Time to go.
If the man wearing the war paint and fancy duds was someone in a position of authority, or even Mario Araujo himself, Christian and Fuentes had a shot at ending this battle before it had even begun. Without a head honcho, the tribe may not resist. And if he and Fuentes found his father alive and unharmed, perhaps this operation might end without bloodshed. They could slip away without the natives knowing they'd been there until it was too late.
Even with the good thoughts, Christian couldn't shake the anxiety welling in his chest. He had no idea what triggered the feeling. And to complicate matters, it began to rain. Dark clouds cast shadows along the ground and deepened the reach of its steamy fingers into the jungle. From experience, he knew drizzle could turn into a deluge in short order. Dirt would dissolve into a slick stream of mud.
One last time, he glanced over his shoulder at Raven, and found her staring back. Although he wasn't a mind reader, he'd double down on his bet that she felt the same way.
Something felt off, but he had no tangible reason to turn back now.
'Caves can be sacred to these people,' Fuentes whispered, binoculars up. Raindrops pelted his helmet and shoulders. 'The path to the waterfall is well worn. And now they climb. They've got a cave up there.' The loud drone of the tumbling water almost made it impossible to hear him.
Christian hunkered down behind thick undergrowth next to the Brazilian detective. His drenched clothes clung to his body like a second layer of skin he didn't need. He watched as the three native men traversed a rock ledge near the base of the waterfall. The boulders were slick with rain, and the men tread with slow deliberate moves. A cave made sense. He couldn't think of any other reason for these men to make such a treacherous climb.
Eventually, the men disappeared behind the thick sheet of water and did not emerge again. If a cave did exist, they had found it.
'Come on. Let's go,' Christian prompted. 'That cave. We might lose 'em in there.'
'I've got night vision gear. You don't.' Fuentes turned to face him, rain beaded on his cheeks and drizzled off his chin. 'Perhaps you should stay near the base of the waterfall and wait for me to
