The road to the plantation, if it could be called a road, was five miles beyond Paracatu. It was a dirt road with deep ruts that cut into the jungle almost imperceptibly at a ninety-degree angle to the highway. The car moved slowly along with Zach behind the wheel. Branches from undergrowth scratched and pulled at the car and jabbed at us through the windows. Because we had to drive slowly, mosquitoes swarmed into the car and bit us on any exposed flesh. CIA's Thompson had informed me that the plantation was almost ten miles off the road. We intended to drive about halfway up the road, and it took almost an hour to get that far. Luckily, we didn't meet any vehicles coming out, for we didn't want any open confrontations at that point.
At about six miles in from the highway, we found a place where we could pull the BMW off the tiny road and into the undergrowth so that it was quite well hidden. As soon as we got out, we were attacked by the insects. We sprayed on some repellent and started walking.
There was a tall eucalyptus tree about a half mile from Adrian Stavros' rambling ranch-style mansion. The tree stood on the perimeter of the cleared land very near a high wire fence in an area that had apparently once been part of the grounds but which had since been reclaimed by the jungle. The tree had been used by the CIA as an observation post for some time. It was this tree to which I was leading Erika and Zach as we trudged through the damp, sticky heat. We moved at about the same speed as the car had and arrived there in less than an hour. Up in the top of the tree, hidden from view from the plantation, was a bamboo platform secured to the branches with pandanus strands. There were bamboo steps attached to the trunk and branches at various points to make the climb easier.
"Are we going up there?" Erika asked.
I slapped at a mosquito. "If it's any consolation, there probably won't be any bugs that high."
"Then let's go up and stay a week," Zach said. His blond hair was matted on his forehead, and his khaki shirt, like all our clothes, was stained with sweat.
I grinned at him. His whole attitude had changed since Erika had set him straight, and he seemed to accept the fact that she was not attracted to him physically. I looked at the Smith & Wesson.38 revolver resting in its belt holster on his waist and was glad I had him along. Erika was a smart agent, but Zach was muscle. He was a gun expert and had brought a case of assorted weapons along with him in the car.
We climbed the tree. About halfway to the top, I began having a new respect for the CIA agents who had had to do this regularly during their recent concentrated surveillance. When we arrived at the platform, we were exhausted. Erika was still nervous from the climb and from the height at which she now found herself.
"God, was it worth it?" she gasped.
I grabbed a pair of high-powered binoculars from around my neck and looked through them toward the plantation. Then I pointed to it. "What do you think?" I asked.
She looked at what Zach and I had already seen — an open view through the leaves of the entire farm area. From this point an observer, with the help of binoculars, could see what was going on anywhere on the plantation. Besides the main building, which was the ranch house, there was a cluster of other buildings around it, most of them to the rear, which looked like barracks structures and service buildings. It was an impressive set-up. The fenced area was entirely planted with trees and shrubs, and there were dirt drives and parking areas. Outside the fence lay an area that used to be planted with rubber trees when a previous owner had lived there, but the jungle had strangled them.
Erika had the binoculars and was scanning the place. "You were right, Nick. The mosquitoes can't fly this high." She sighed happily.
"Maybe we're going about this all wrong," Zach said after a while. "With that scope-sighted rifle I have in the car, I could sit up here and pick off Stavros' men all day. With you down at the fence pitching in, as you Americans say, we might be able to demolish them before we ever get inside."
"How are you going to get them all outside?" I asked. "And, having gotten them out, how do we keep them out there while we're picking them off?"
"Also," Erika added, "if we attack from outside, there is every chance they will get to Minourkos before we do and kill him."
"That's true," I said. "And if they kill him, we may not learn anything here."
"It's true that we can't jeopardize Minourkos," Zach agreed. "But I could make excellent use of the rifle up here. It seems such a pity."
Zach was just a little too eager to kill, I thought. It was too much like a hunting trip to him. I intended to dispose of anybody who really got in the way, but I saw no point in killing unnecessarily. You could not judge, sentence, and execute every man down there just because he happened to work for Stavros.
We watched the plantation for the next several hours, until mid-afternoon, taking turns with the binoculars. The CIA had estimated the small force at the place to be about a half dozen and no more than eight From spending those hours on the platform, seeing men come and go, our own observation confirmed that conclusion. We would be outnumbered by at least two to one when the confrontation developed.
We didn't see Minourkos until just before leaving the platform. Then his presence at the place was verified. He came out of a barracks building with another man, walked to the front entrance of the ranch house and went in. I had the binoculars on him all the time, and when he disappeared inside there was no doubt in my mind that the man I had seen was Nikkor Minourkos. At least we had not come here on a wild goose chase.
Just before we climbed back down the tree, I reiterated our plan of entry.
"All right," I said, "We'll go back to the car and drive right up to the place as if we're Stavros' best friends. Let me do the talking to the man on the gate. We'll say we're from the Brazilian League, and when we get inside we'll insist on seeing Heinz Gruber, the man in charge during Stavros' absence. I just hope they don't already know what I look like here at the plantation."
Erika opened a shoulder purse and removed a small snub-nosed Belgian revolver, a.25 caliber. It was a beautiful little gun with a pearl handle and fancy engraving. I knew she could shoot it from my past association with her. She checked its cylinder and replaced it in her purse.
"Everything will go all right," she said.
Zach was eager to go. "We will handle them," he said.
"Yes," I agreed. I wished I were all that sure.
Five
We drove the last fifty yards to the gate slowly. The man on duty there was already watching our approach. He was dressed in khakis like us, with a folding, automatic rifle slung on his shoulder. He took it off and readied it for action as he watched us come.
"If we don't get past this fellow, the ball game is over," I said to them. "So play it cool." Erika nodded.
"Yes," Zach added. He had his lightweight bush jacket back on, as I did, to hide his weapons. Mine were the usual, but Zach had an assortment that was incredible. In addition to the.38 revolver, he carried a small Sterling.380 PPL automatic in his pocket and had also secreted a throwing knife and garrote on his person. He was a walking arsenal. I hoped it kept him alive.
We stopped just ten feet from the guard. I was behind the wheel, so I spoke to him loudly and forcefully in English. "Hello, there!"
The guard came over near my window. He was a mean-looking young man with a heavy scar across his left jaw. He didn't return my smile.
"What is it you want here?" he demanded, looking into the car suspiciously. "You are trespassing on private property."
"Hey, really!" I said. "Don't use that on us. We're friends of Adrian Stavros."
He studied my face carefully. "I have not seen you before. Who are you?"