Алистер Маклин - River of Death

‘About Smith, Mr Hamilton, you know as much as we do – everything and nothing. His past is a mystery, his present an open book that anyone is welcome to read. The dividing line between the present and the past can’t be precisely delineated but it is known that he appeared – or, rather, emerged or surfaced in Santa Catharina, a province with a traditionally heavy Germanic settlement, in the late forties. Whether he is of similar origin is not known: his English is as immaculate as his Portuguese but, as far as is known, he has never been heard to speak German.

‘His first business venture was to produce a newspaper aimed primarily at the native German speakers in the province but printed in Portuguese: it was conservative and strongly pro-establishment and marked the beginning of a long and close association with the government of the time, an association that has persisted, despite changes of government, until this day.

‘He then branched out into the fields of early plastics and early ball-point pens. Smith was never an innovator – he was and remains a takeover specialist and a share manipulator of genius. Both the publishing and the industrial sides of his businesses expanded at a remarkable speed and within ten years he was, by any standards, a very wealthy man.’

Hamilton said: ‘He couldn’t have been without the odd cruzeiro to begin with.’

‘Agreed. Expansion on a scale such as Smith’s must have called for a great deal of capital.’

‘And the source of capital is unknown?’

‘Totally. But that’s nothing to hold against any man. In this country – as in many others – we don’t care to enquire too closely into those things.

‘Now we come to Tracy. He is indeed the general manager of Smith’s publication division. Very tough, very able, nothing known about him in the criminal line, which could mean that he’s either honest or very clever. The best you can say of him is that he’s a soldier of fortune. The police are certain that the bulk of his activities are illegal – diamonds have an odd habit of disappearing when he’s in the neighbourhood – but he’s never been arrested far less convicted. Serrano is a small-time crook, not too bright and a fearful coward.’

‘He can’t be all that cowardly if he ventures alone into the rainforests of the Mato Grosso. Not many white people would.’

‘That thought, I admit, has also occurred to me. I’m merely passing on reported reputation, accuracy not guaranteed. Now, Heffner. Heffner’s the joker. Wouldn’t recognise a camera if he tripped over one. Well known to the New York police. Associated with crimes of violence and alleged gangland killings, but he’s always beaten the rap. Not too surprising really – no police in any country are going to come over all zealous and excited when one hoodlum dispatches another. Curious fellow. Usually well spoken and civilised enough – look at those pillars of society, the Mafia bosses – but the veneer vanishes when he gets next to a bottle of bourbon. And he has a weakness for bourbon.’

‘And all this leaves Smith unaffected?’

‘Nothing known against him, as I said, but you can’t associate with characters like Hiller, Heffner and Tracy without some tar rubbing off. Could well be the other way round, of course.’ He looked up as a knock came at the door. ‘Come in, come in.’

Ramon and Navarro entered. The twins were clad in khaki suits and smiling cheerfully. Diaz looked at them and winced.

‘The famous Detective-Sergeant Herera and the famous Detective-Sergeant Herera. Or infamous. You are far from home, gentlemen.’

‘Señor Hamilton’s fault, sir.’ Ramon spread his hands apologetically. ‘He’s always leading us astray.’

‘Mary’s little lambs. Ah. Major.’

A young officer entered and unrolled on the table a map of Southern Brazil. It was marked with legends of varying kinds. Differently coloured flags in circles and squares indicated different tribes, races and languages. Other symbols indicated the state of hostility or friendliness of the tribes.

The major said: ‘This is the most up-to-date picture the Indian Protection Service can give you. There are some places, you understand, where even the Service do not care to investigate too closely. Most of the tribes are friendly – pacified, if you like. Some are hostile. Nearly always the white man’s fault. A very few cannibal tribes. Those are known.’

‘And to be avoided, of course. The Chapates, Horenas and Muscias especially.’

Hamilton pointed at a town on the map and looked at Diaz. ‘Corrientes. Smith has a hovercraft there – for obvious reasons. It’s at the junction of the Paraná and Paraguay rivers and he must be pretty sure the Lost City lies near the head-waters of one of those. I’m going up the Paraguay. I don’t know it well, there may be bad rapids for all I know, but the helicopter can help if there are.’

Diaz said: ‘Your friend has a helicopter?’

‘My friend, as you call him, has got everything. This is a giant – a Sikorsky Skycrane. Well enough named – it can just about lift any damn thing. We’ll base the helicopter at Asunción. The hovercraft can go up in three stages – to either Puerto Casado or Puerto Sastre in Paraguay, then into Brazil to Corumbá then finally to Cuiabá. From there the helicopter can airlift it to Rio da Morte.’

‘And you would like to have some units of the Federal army exercising near Cuiabá, is that it?’

‘If it can be arranged.’

‘That has already been done.’

‘I am in your debt, Colonel Diaz.’

‘It would be more accurate to say that we are in your debt. If, that is to say–’

‘If I come back?’

‘Precisely.’

Hamilton gestured towards the two young men. ‘With the heavenly two to watch my back, what harm can befall me?’

Diaz looked at him briefly and doubtfully then pressed a button. An aide came in carrying a brown leather case, extracted what looked to be a large movie camera and handed it to Hamilton, who pressed a button on the base. There came the faint whirring noise typical of an electric-powered camera.

Diaz said: ‘You won’t believe this, but it will even take pictures if you wish.’

Hamilton smiled but without humour. ‘I don’t think I’ll be indulging in any photography this time out. What’s the radio transmitting range?’

‘Five hundred kilometres.’

‘Enough. Waterproof?’

‘Naturally. You leave tomorrow?’

‘No. We have to get provisions and jungle gear and fly them to Cuiabá. We must get the hovercraft on the move. More important, though, I must go ahead and check on our friend Mr Jones.’

‘Back to the Colony?’

‘Back to the Colony.’

Diaz said slowly: ‘You are an extraordinarily persistent man, Mr Hamilton. God knows you’ve every right to be.’ He shook his head. ‘I greatly fear for the health of your travelling companions in your forthcoming expedition.’

Hamilton had rejoined his travelling companions-to-be. Outside the uncurtained windows of the Villa Haydn’s drawing-room the sky was dark: the room itself was brightly but not harshly lit by the light from the three crystal chandeliers. There were nine people in the room, most of them standing, most of them with aperitif glasses in their hands. Present were Hamilton, the twin Sergeants Herera, Smith and his entourage. Heffner, to whom Hamilton had just been introduced, was slightly flushed of face, slightly loud of voice and was sitting on an arm of the chair Maria was occupying. Tracy was regarding him with disfavour.

Smith said to Hamilton: ‘I must say your heavenly twins, as you call them, have an air of competence about them.’

‘They’re not much at home in drawing-rooms. But in the jungle, yes. They’re good. Squirrel-hunter’s eyes.’