"How long will you stay here?"
"I don't plan to leave."
"So the Indians will bury you?"
"I suppose. It's not something I worry about."
"Do most World Tribes missionaries die in the field?"
"No. Most retire and go home. But then, they have families to bury them."
"You'd have lots of family and friends if you went home now. You'd be quite famous."
"That's another good reason to stay here. This is home. I don't want the money."
"Don't be foolish."
"I'm not foolish. Money means nothing to me. That should be obvious."
"You don't even know how much it is."
"I haven't asked. I went about my work today with no thought of the money. I'll do the same tomorrow, and the next day."
"It's eleven billion, give or take."
"Is that supposed to impress me?"
"It got my attention."
"But you worship money, Nate. You're part of a culture where everything is measured by money. It's a religion."
"True. But sex is pretty important too."
"Okay, money and sex. What else?"
"Fame. Everybody wants to be a celebrity."
"It's a sad culture. People live in a frenzy. They work all the time to make money to buy things to impress other people. They're measured by what they own."
"Am I included?"
"Are you?"
"I suppose."
"Then you're living without God. You're a very lonely person, Nate, I can sense it. You don't know God."
He squirmed and considered a quick defense, but the truth disarmed him. He had no weapons, no punches, no foundation to stand on. "I believe in God," he said, truthfully but weakly.
"It's easy to say that," she said, her words still slow and soft. "And I don't doubt you. But saying is one thing, living is another matter. That crippled boy under the tree over there is Lako. He's seventeen, small for his age, and always sick. His mother told me he was born early. Lako is the first to catch every disease that comes our way. I doubt if he'll live to be thirty. Lako doesn't care. Lako became a Christian several years ago, and he has the sweetest spirit of anyone here. He talks to God all day long; in fact he's probably praying right now. He has no worries, no fears. If he has a problem, he goes straight to God and leaves it there."
Nate looked at the darkness under the tree where Lako was praying, but saw nothing.
She continued, "That little Indian has nothing on this earth, but he's storing riches in heaven. He knows that when he dies he'll spend eternity in heaven with his creator. Lako is a wealthy boy."
"What about Troy?"
"I doubt if Troy believed in Christ when he died. If not, then he's burning in hell right now."
"You don't believe that."
"Hell is a very real place, Nate. Read the Bible. Right now Troy would give his eleven billion for a drink of cold water."
Nate was ill-equipped to argue theology with a missionary, and he knew it. He said nothing for a while, and she took the cue. Minutes passed as the last infant fell asleep in the village. The night was perfectly black and still, no moon or stars, the only light coming from the thin yellow flame near their feet.
Very gently, she touched him. She patted him three times on his arm, and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that you are lonely. How would I know?"
"It's okay."
She kept her fingers on his arm, as if desperate to touch something.
"You are a good person, aren't you, Nate?"
"No, I am actually not a good person. I do lots of bad things. I am weak, and fragile, and I don't want to talk about it. I didn't come here to find God. Finding you was hard enough. I'm required by law to give you these papers."
"I'm not signing the papers and I don't want the money."
"Come on - "
"Please don't beg. My decision is final. Let's not talk about the money."
"But the money is the only reason I'm here."
She removed her fingers, but managed to lean an inch or two closer so that their knees were touching. "I'm sorry you came. You've wasted a trip."
Another gap in the conversation. He needed to relieve himself, but the thought of stepping three feet in any direction was horrifying.
Lako said something and startled Nate. He was less than ten feet away, still unseen.
"He needs to go to his hut," she said, rising to her feet. "Follow him."
Nate unfolded himself and slowly stood, joints popping and muscles reluctantly stretching. "I would like to leave tomorrow."
"Good. I'll speak to the chief."
"It won't be a problem, will it?"
"Probably not."
"I need thirty minutes of your time, to at least go over the papers and show you a copy of the will."
"We can talk. Good night."
He practically breathed down the back of Lake's neck as they shuffled along the short trail and into the village.
"Over here," Jevy whispered in the dark. He had somehow managed to secure the use of two hammocks on the small porch of the men's building. Nate asked how. Jevy promised to explain in the morning.
Lako vanished in the night.
Chapter Thirty
EPARR WYCLIFF was in his courtroom, running late with a docket of dull motion hearings. Josh waited in the Judge's office with the video. He paced the floor of the cluttered room, gripping his cell phone, his mind in another hemisphere. There was still no word from Nate.
Valdir's assurances seemed well rehearsed-the Pantanal is a big place, the guide is very good, the boat is large, the Indians move about, the Indians do not wish to be found, everything is fine. He would call when he heard from Nate.
Josh had considered the idea of a rescue. But getting to Corumba seemed enough of a challenge; penetrating the Pantanal to find a missing lawyer seemed impossible. Still, he could go there and sit with Valdir until they heard something.
He was working twelve hours a day, six days a week, and the Phelan matter was about to explode. Josh barely had time for lunch, let alone a trip to Brazil.
He tried Valdir on his cell phone, but the line was busy.
Wycliff entered the office, apologizing and removing his robe at the same time. He wanted to impress a powerful lawyer like Stafford with the importance of his docket.
It was just the two of them. They watched the first part of the video without comment. It began with old Troy sitting in his wheelchair, Josh adjusting the microphone in front of him, and the three psychiatrists with their pages of questions. The exam lasted twenty-one minutes, and ended with the unanimous opinions that Mr. Phelan knew exactly what he was doing. Wycliff couldn't suppress a grin.
The room cleared. The camera directly across from Troy was kept on. He whipped out the holographic will, and signed it four minutes after the mental exam had ended.
"This is where he jumps," Josh said.
The camera didn't move. It caught Troy as he suddenly pushed back from the table and stood. He disappeared off-screen as Josh and Snead and Tip Durban watched in disbelief for a second, then bolted after the old man. The footage was quite dramatic.
Five and a half minutes elapse, the camera records nothing but empty chairs and voices. Then poor Snead takes the seat where Troy sat. He's visibly shaken and on the verge of tears, but manages to tell the camera what he just witnessed. Josh and Tip Durban do the same thing.
Thirty - nine minutes of video.
"How are they going to unravel that?" Wycliff asked when it was over. It was a question with no answer. Two of the heirs-Rex and Libbigail-had already filed petitions to contest the will. Their lawyers-Hark Gettys and Wally Bright respectively-had managed to attract significant attention and get themselves interviewed and photographed by the press.