Blue Gold (NUMA Files 2)

Francesca, whose serious expression had not changed since they left the village, ventured a slight smile. “The Hand of God beckons.”

With spirits renewed, they forgot they were tired and hungry and that their buttocks were numb and dug their paddles in once more. The roar grew louder, but it didn’t obliterate another sound, a quick whirr as if a river bird had taken flight, followed by a solid tunk.

Paul looked down in disbelief. A three-foot-long arrow was embedded in the side of his canoe. A few inches higher and it would have pierced his rib cage. He looked toward the shore. Flashes of blue-and-white–painted bodies could be seen darting between the trees. The ululating war cry filled the air.

“We’re being attacked!” Paul yelled unnecessarily.

Spurred by the arrows chunking into the water around them, Gamay and Francesca were bent low over their paddles. The canoes shot forward out of range.

Their pursuers had quickly caught up, making good time following the path along the river. At one point the trail turned inland to cut through the forest. The natives had to fight their way through thick growth to get a clear shot at the canoes. They made several attempts. Each time the canoes passed beyond the range of their arrows. Even the high-tech weapons Francesca helped forge had their limitations.

It was obvious that the cat-and-mouse game soon would turn in favor of the hunters. The paddlers were bone-weary. They were missing strokes and no longer paddled in a unified rhythm. When it seemed they could go no farther, they were out of the river and onto the lake. They paused for a minute to reconnoiter and to firm up their plan. They would cross the open expanse as quickly as possible, aiming for the outlet to the main river. The impenetrable forest growth along the river would protect them from Chulo arrows.

Heartened by the straightforward scheme, they paddled with renewed vigor, staying midway between the shore and the falls. The thunder of thousands of tons of water plummeting from the five cascades was unimaginable. The canoeists could barely see each other in the fine mist that was thrown up at the base of the falls. Paul vowed to tell Gamay that he had changed his mind about building a hotel there. They came out of the mist cloud into the open lake. Four pairs of eyes scanned the dense forest looking for the outlet.

Gamay, who was in the lead canoe, pointed with her paddle toward the shore. “I see it over there, where the tree line is broken. Oh, hell—”

They all saw the source of Gamay’s agitation: the flicker of blue and white as three canoes had come out of the river.

“It’s a hunting party,” Francesca said, squinting against the sun’s reflection. “They’ve been away and won’t know we’re escaping. I’m still their queen as far as they know. I’ll try to bluff my way. Head right at them.”

Gamay and Paul put their misgivings aside and kept the dugouts pointed toward the newcomers. The men in the oncoming canoes showed no sign of hostility, and a couple of them even waved. There was shouting from shore. Alaric and his men had burst from the forest. They were calling and beckoning to the hunting party. The canoes hesitated, then, as the yelling grew louder, they pointed the dugouts toward land. The craft had barely touched shore when the hunters were ejected and the chase party took their place.

Their prey had taken advantage of the slight pause and paddled madly for the river, but their pursuers quickly cut down the angle.

“We can’t make it to the river!” Gamay yelled. “They’ll cut us off.”

“Maybe we can lose them in the mists,” Paul replied.

Gamay spun the dugout around and pointed the bow toward the falls. Paul and Tessa were rig

ht behind. The water became choppy as they neared the falls. The Indians doggedly kept in pursuit. With their strength and skill they were rapidly closing the gap. The falls loomed closer and the mists enveloped them, but it became apparent that they would be pounded to pieces by the falls if they got closer to the torrents.

Paul shouted over the roar. “Francesca, we need help from your bag of tricks.”

Francesca shook her head.

Tessa picked up on Paul’s frantic plea. “I have something,” she said. She handed over the sack that had rested between her knees. Paul reached into the bag, and his fingers closed on a hard object. He pulled out a 9mm pistol.

“Where did this come from?” he said with astonishment.

“It was Dieter’s.”

Paul looked back at the oncoming canoes, then at the cascading falls. He had little choice. Regardless of Francesca’s wishes that her former subjects not be hurt, they were between the devil and the deep blue sea. Arrows were flying in their direction.

Paul plunged his hand into the bag again, looking for extra rounds. This time he came out with a GlobalStar satellite phone. Dieter must have used it to keep in touch with his buyers. He stared at it a moment before the significance of the find sank in. He yelled with joy.

Gamay had moved closer and saw the phone. “Does that thing work?”

He pushed the ready light, and the phone was on. “I’ll be damned.” Paul handed Gamay the phone. “Give it a try. I’ll see if I can scare those guys off.”

Gamay punched a number out on the phone. Seconds later a familiar deep voice answered.

“Kurt!” Gamay yelled into the phone. “It’s me.”

“Gamay? We’ve been worried about you. Are you and Paul okay?”

She glanced at the oncoming canoes and swallowed hard. “We’re in a hell of a mess, and that’s an understatement.” She had to shout over the roar of the falls. “Can’t talk, I’m calling on a GlobalStar. Can you get a fix on our position?”