Blue Gold (NUMA Files 2)

“They told you that?”

“They don’t have to. I know these people in

timately. In addition, Tessa’s been picking up whisperings. They’re talking about burning you. The smoke from your bodies will take you back into the sky. Problem solved.”

Paul ventured a sidelong glance at the guards, but he failed to detect any change in their stony expressions.

“I can’t argue with their logic, but that solves the problem for them, not for us,” he said.

“I agree. It makes it all the more urgent that we escape as soon as possible. Come with me. We’ll be able to talk about a plan without the palace guard peering over our shoulders.”

They had arrived at the white stone walkway that led through the forest to the shrine. With the Trouts following, Francesca walked to the circular clearing with the plane at its center and sat down on a polished wooden bench facing the nose of the Learjet. The Trouts sat cross-legged on the tiled ground.

“I come here to be alone. Only the priests are allowed at the shrine otherwise. The warriors will be in the forest watching our every move, but we’ll be able to talk about our escape plans.”

Gamay glanced toward the jungle where the warriors had melted out of sight.

“I hope you’ve got something up your sleeve, because we don’t,” she said.

“Your original instincts were on the mark. Our only way out is by water. Up the tributary and canal to the lake, then follow the main river. We would never make it through the forest. They would catch us in an instant, or we’d become lost.”

“I’ve seen your boys handle a canoe,” Paul said. “We’d need a substantial jump on them.”

“We would have a few hours. But they are skilled and strong paddlers. They would be getting their strength just as we were tiring.”

“What would they do if they caught us?” Paul asked. “Theoretically speaking.”

“No theory about it,” Francesca said. “They would kill us.”

“Even you, their goddess?”

She nodded. “Leaving them would constitute a demotion in my status, I’m afraid. My head would be up there on the stockade fence along with yours.”

Paul involuntarily rubbed his neck.

All at once they were no longer alone. An Indian had stepped into the clearing followed by eight armed warriors. He was taller than the other Chulo by a few inches, and unlike the flat facial features typical in the tribe, his profile was almost Roman. His muscular body was painted red rather than blue and white. He stepped over to Francesca and spoke, gesturing from time to time at the Trouts. Francesca stood like a rearing cobra and cut him short with a dagger-sharp reply. He glared at her, then bowed his head slightly. His companions followed suit. They backed up several steps, turned, and quickly strode away from the shrine. Francesca watched them go, her eyes blazing with heat.

“This is not good,” she said.

“Who were those people?” Gamay said.

“The tall man is the son of the chief I killed in the plane crash. I have named him Alaric after the Visigoth king. He’s quite intelligent and a natural leader, but he tends to be a bully. He would like to depose me and has gathered a group of young Turks around him. The fact that he set foot on the forbidden shrine shows that he has become bolder. He is obviously exploiting the questions raised by your arrival. We must get back to the palace.”

As they left the shrine the guards materialized from the forest and took their places alongside. Francesca walked briskly, and they were back at the compound within minutes. Something was different inside the stockade fence. Knots of Indian men stood around. They averted their eyes when the procession passed. There were no friendly smiles as on the way out.

About twenty armed warriors were gathered in front of the palace with Alaric at their center. They parted with sullen looks at a wave of Francesca’s hand, but Gamay noticed that they took their time doing it. Tessa greeted them inside the door. Her eyes were wide with fright. She and Francesca talked in their language for a minute, then the white goddess translated for the Trouts.

“The priests have made a decision. You’re to be killed in the morning. They’ll spend the night getting their courage up and building the pyres to burn you.”

Gamay’s mouth hardened. “Sorry we can’t stay for the barbecue,” she said. “If you would point us to the nearest canoe, we’ll be saying good-bye.”

“Impossible! You wouldn’t get ten feet now.”

“Then what do we do?”

Francesca mounted her dais and sat on her throne, her eyes glued to the chamber door. “We wait,” she said.

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