Алистер Маклин - River of Death

Hamilton gestured to Ramon, who waved back. The three men vanished into the undergrowth.

The sentry, still leaning against the wall, had his head tilted back, a bottle to his lips. There came the sound of a muffled blow, the sentry’s eyes turned up in his head and three disembodied hands appeared from apparently nowhere. One took the bottle from the already powerless hand while the other two took him under the armpits as he began to sag.

In what was indeed the guard-house six more men lay trussed and gagged. Hamilton, alone in the middle of the room and engaged in rendering rifles and pistols inoperable, looked up as Ramon and Navarro, each with torch in hand, re-entered the room, shaking their heads. The three men left and began to move around the other huts. As they passed by each one, on each occasion Hamilton and Ramon remained outside while Navarro entered. Each time Navarro emerged, shaking his head. Finally, they arrived at the last building, the solidly constructed bungalow. All three entered. Hamilton, in the lead, found a switch and flooded the room with light.

It was a combination office and living quarters and furnished in considerable comfort. Drawers and filing cabinets were searched but they had nothing that interested Hamilton. They moved on to another apartment, a bedroom, and again a very comfortable place of accommodation. Pride of place on the walls were given to three framed and inscribed photographs – those of Hitler, Goebbels and Stroessner, a former Paraguayan president. The contents of the wardrobes were very sparse, indicating that the owner had removed the bulk of the contents. In one cupboard stood a pair of brown riding boots. The Nazis had always insisted on black riding boots, despising brown ones as being decadent: Stroessner, on the other hand, had favoured brown.

From there the three moved into what was Brown’s communication centre, containing two large multicalibrated transceivers of the latest design. They located a tool-box and while Hamilton and Ramon used chisels and screwdrivers to remove the faceplates and destroy the inner mechanisms, Navarro located all the spares and reduced them too to scrap metal and shattered glass.

Navarro said: ‘He’s also got a very nice radio and transmitting set here.’

‘You know what to do, don’t you?’

Navarro knew what to do. From there they moved on to the arched metal shed. It was rather a remarkable place inasmuch as there ran down the middle of it what must have been the Kolonie’s pride and joy, a genuine full-length American bowling alley. They paid no attention to this. What did attract their attention was a Piper Cub in a bay alongside the bowling alley. It took the men less than ten minutes to ensure that that particular Piper Cub would never fly again.

On their way back to the Paraná, this time walking openly in the middle of the road, Ramon said: ‘So your friend has gone.’

‘In that inelegant phrase, the bird has flown the coop, taking most of his hard cases with him – Nazis, renegade Poles, renegade Ukrainians. As fine a collection of war criminals as you’ll ever meet. This bunch here belongs strictly to the second division.’

‘Where do you think they’ve gone?’

‘We’ll ask, shall we?’

The three men entered the landing stage guardhouse. Wordlessly, they sliced the ankle-bonds of one of the prisoners, removed his gag, dragged him to his feet and led him outside down to the river edge by the landing stage.

Hamilton said: ‘Brown had three Piper Cubs. Where have the other two gone?’

The guard spat in contempt. At a signal from Hamilton, Navarro cut the back of the guard’s hand. The blood flowed freely. The guard was then led forward until he was teetering on the very edge of the landing stage.

‘Piranha,’ Hamilton said, ‘can smell blood at a quarter of a mile. Ninety seconds and you’ll be white bones. If a crocodile doesn’t get you first. Either way, being eaten to death is unpleasant.’

The guard looked in horror at his bleeding hand. He was trembling. ‘North,’ he said. ‘North to Campo Grande.’

‘And after that?’

‘I swear to God–’

‘Throw him in.’

‘Planalto de Mato Grosso. That’s all I know. I swear to you–’

Hamilton said wearily: ‘Stop your damned swearing. I believe you. Brown would never entrust his secrets to vermin.’

Ramon said: ‘What do we do with the prisoners?’

‘Nothing.’

‘But–’

‘But nothing. I daresay someone will happen by and free them. Take this character inside and hobble and gag him.’

Navarro looked doubtful. ‘It’s a pretty deep cut. He could bleed to death.’

‘Dear oh dear.’

Hamilton, Ramon and Navarro were in a taxi driving along one of Brasilia’s broad boulevards. Ramon said: ‘This woman, Maria, she comes?’

Hamilton looked at him and smiled. ‘She comes.’

‘There will be danger.’

‘The more, the better. It will at least help to keep those clowns under control.’

Navarro was thoughtfully silent for a moment then he said: ‘My brother and I hate all they stand for. But you, Señor Hamilton, hate so much more.’

‘I have the reason. But I don’t hate them.’

Ramon and Navarro looked at each other in lost comprehension then nodded as if in understanding.

A Rolls-Royce and a Cadillac had been backed out of Smith’s six-car garage to make storage room for what Smith regarded as being more important, however temporarily, than the two cars. Hamilton, in the company of the eight people who were going to accompany him, surveyed, with an apparently uncritical eye, the extremely comprehensive layout of the most modern and expensive equipments necessary for survival in the Amazonian rainforests. He took his time about it, so much so in fact that one or two of the watchers were beginning to look, if not apprehensive, then at least uncomfortable. Smith was not one of those. There was a slight tightening of the lips presumably indicative of a growing impatience. It was almost a law of nature that tycoons do not care to be kept waiting. Smith immediately proved that his patience was on a very short fuse indeed.

‘Well, Hamilton? Well?’

‘So. How the multi-millionaire – or is it billionaire? – travels into the boondocks. But good, really excellent.’

Smith visibly relaxed.

‘But there’s one exception, though.’

‘Indeed?’ One has to be very wealthy before one can – or is permitted to – raise one’s eyebrows in the proper fashion. ‘And what might that be?’

‘Nothing missing, I assure you. Just some items surplus to requirements. Who are those guns and pistols for?’

‘Us.’

‘No deal. Ramon, Navarro and I carry weapons. You don’t. None of you do.’

‘We do.’

‘Deal’s off.’

‘Why?’

‘You are children in the rainforests. No popguns for kids.’

‘But Hiller and Serrano–’

‘I admit they know more than you do. That doesn’t mean very much. In the Mato Grosso they might even rate as adolescents. Forget what they’ve ever told you.’

Smith lifted his shoulders, looked at the rather splendid armoury of weapons he had assembled, then back at Hamilton. ‘Self-protection–’

‘We’ll protect you. I don’t much fancy the prospect of you lot going around shooting harmless animals and innocent Indians. Even less do I fancy the prospect of being shot in the back when I’ve finally shown you where the Lost City is.’

Heffner stepped forward. He obviously had no doubt that the reference had been to himself. His fingers were actually clutching and unclutching, his face dusky with anger. ‘Look here, Hamilton–’

‘I’d rather not.’