"Three maybe."
They had fifteen hours of fuel, and Nate planned to count every minute of it. The Cabixa began again near an inlet where another, very identical, river also left the lake. It widened, and they were off, at full throttle.
Nate moved lower in the boat, and found a spot on the bottom between the box of food and the buckets, with his back to the bench. From there the mist couldn't spray his head. He was contemplating a nap when the motor sputtered. The boat lurched and slowed. He kept his eyes on the river, afraid to turn around and look at Jevy.
Engine trouble was not something he had spent time worrying about, yet. Their journey had enough little perils already. It would take days of backbreaking labor to paddle back to Welly. They would be forced to sleep in the boat, eat what they'd brought until the food ran out, dip water from it during the rains, and hope like hell they could find their little fishing buddy to point them to safety.
Suddenly Nate was terrified.
Then they were off again, the motor howling as if nothing had happened. It became a routine; every twenty minutes or so, just as Nate was about to doze off, the steady strain of the motor would break. The bow would dip. Nate would quickly look at the edges of the river to inspect the wildlife. Jevy would curse in Portuguese, fiddle with the choke and the throttle, and then things would be fine for another twenty minutes or so.
They had lunch-cheese, saltines, and cookies-under a tree in a small fork as rain fell around them.
"That little fisherman back there," Nate said. "Does he know the Indians?"
"Yes. About once a month they go to the Paraguay to trade with a boat. He sees them."
"Did you ask him if he'd ever seen a female missionary?"
"I did. He has not. You are the first American he's ever seen."
"Lucky guy."
THE FIRST SIGN of the settlement came at almost seven hours. Nate saw a thin line of blue smoke rising above the trees, near the foot of a hill. Jevy was certain they were in Bolivia. The ground was higher and they were close to the mountains. The flooded areas were behind them.
They came to a gap in the trees and in a clearing were two canoes. Jevy guided the johnboat to the clearing. Nate quickly jumped ashore, anxious to stretch his legs and feel the earth.
"Stay close," Jevy warned as he switched gas tanks in the boat. Nate looked at him. Their eyes met, and Jevy nodded to the trees.
An Indian was watching them. A male, brown-skinned, bare-chested, with a straw skirt of some sort hanging from his waist, no visible weapon. The fact that he was unarmed helped immensely because Nate was at first terrified of him. The Indian had long black hair and red stripes on his forehead, and if he'd been holding a spear Nate would've surrendered without a word.
"Is he friendly?" he asked without taking his eyes off the man.
"I think so."
"Does he speak Portuguese?"
"I don't know."
"Why don't you go find out?"
"Relax."
Jevy stepped from the boat. "He looks like a cannibal," he whispered. The attempt at humor didn't work.
They took a few steps toward the Indian, and he took a few steps toward them. All three stopped with a nice gap in the center. Nate was tempted to raise the palm of his hand and say, "Howdy."
"Fala portugues?" Jevy said with a nice smile.
The Indian pondered the question for a long time, and it became painfully obvious that he did not speak Portuguese. He looked young, probably not yet twenty, and just happened to be near the river when he heard their outboard.
They examined each other from twenty feet as Jevy considered his options. There was a movement in the brush behind the Indian. Along the tree line, three of his tribesmen emerged, all mercifully weaponless. Outnumbered and trespassing, Nate was ready to bolt. They weren't particularly large, but they had the home-field advantage. And they weren't friendly folks, no smiles or hellos.
A young female suddenly appeared from the trees and stood next to the first Indian. She too was brown and bare-chested, and Nate tried not to stare. "Falo," she said.
Speaking slowly, Jevy explained what they were up to, and asked to see their tribal leader. She translated his words and relayed them to the men, who huddled and talked grimly among themselves.
"Some want to eat us now," Jevy said under his breath. "Some want to wait until tomorrow."
"Very funny."
When the men finished their deliberations they reported to the woman. She then told the intruders that they must wait, by the river, while news of their arrival was duly reported to the higher-ups. This suited Nate just fine, but Jevy was a bit perturbed by it. He asked if a woman missionary lived with them.
You must wait, she said.
The Indians vanished into the woods.
"What do you think?" Nate asked when they were gone. Neither he nor Jevy had moved an inch. They stood in grass ankle-high and looked at the trees, thick woods from which Nate was certain they were being watched.
"They catch diseases from outsiders," Jevy explained. "That's why they are careful."
"I'm not touching anybody."
They retreated to the boat, where Jevy busied himself by cleaning the spark plugs. Nate removed both of his shirts and inspected the contents of his makeshift waterproof pouch. The papers were still dry.
"Those papers are for the woman?" Jevy asked.
"Yes."
"Why? What has happened to her?"
The rigid rules governing client confidentiality seemed less constricting at that moment. They were life and death in practice, but sitting in a boat deep in the Pantanal, with no other American even remotely near, the rules could be bent. And why not? Who could Jevy tell? What harm could come from a little gossip?
Per Josh's strict instructions to Valdir, Jevy had been told only that there was an important legal matter back home that required them to find Rachel Lane.
"Her father died a few weeks ago. He left her a lot of money."
"How much?"
"Several billion."
"Billion?"
"That's right."
"He was very wealthy."
"Yes, he was."
"Did he have other children?"
"Six, I think."
"Did he give them several billion?"
"No. He gave them very little."
"Why did he give her so much?"
"No one knows. It was a surprise."
"Does she know her father is dead?"
"No."
"Did she love her father?"
"I doubt it. She was illegitimate. It looks as though she tried to run away from him, and from everything else. Wouldn't you say so?" Nate waved his arm at the Pantanal as he said this.
"Yes. It's a very good place to hide. Did he know where she was when he died?"
"Not exactly. He knew she was a missionary working with the Indians somewhere around here."
Jevy ignored the spark plug in his hand and absorbed the news. He had many questions. The lawyer's breach of confidentiality was growing wider.
"Why would he leave such a fortune to a child who didn't love him?"
"Maybe he was crazy. He jumped out of a window." This was more than Jevy could handle at one moment. He squinted his eyes and looked at the river, deep in thought.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I HE INDIANS were Guato, longtime residents who I lived like their ancestors and preferred no contact with outsiders. They grew their food in small patches, fished the rivers, and hunted with bows and arrows.