"Of course, that's it."
"Could be the same," said Remo, edging close to Audrey as he spoke. "As I recall, they sank it in the final reel."
"It's not that bad."
"It's floating, anyway. How long until we reach Dampar?"
"A little over forty miles downstream," said Stockwell, joining them. "I understand we have to make some stops along the way."
And so they did. Their boat, the Babi Kali, was apparently on tap for everything from mail delivery to grocery drops, with better than a dozen ports of call along the route from Temerloh to Dampar, to the south. Some of the cargo squawked and cackled, trailing feathers on the deck, but most of it was bagged or crated, everything from fruit and vegetables to canned goods, medicine and a replacement motor for an ailing generator.
There were tiny sleeping cabins down below, next to the head, with bunks stacked one atop the other like a parody of summer camp, but Remo chose a spot on deck, along the starboard rail, from which to watch the jungle pass. It brought back memories, of course, but there were also things that he had never noticed in his other life, when he was focused on a kill-or-be-killed game to the exclusion of all else. A flock of brightly colored birds exploding from the treetops like a sentient rainbow. Fish that broke the surface, leaping up to snag a flying insect from the air. Small groups of natives peering from the reeds along the riverbank, believing they were perfectly concealed.
Sinanju went beyond the normal scope of martial arts, beyond the kind of David Carradine philosophy you got from watching whites portraying Asian mystics on TV. It was a way of life that harmonized the human form with Nature, giving up resistance and accepting what could be when body, heart and mind were one. It was not a religion, in the sense that any holy man or book dictated moral dos and don'ts to sheeplike followers, with promises of pain or pleasure based upon their willingness to grovel in the dirt. Instead, the Master of Sinanju taught his chosen students how to maximize potential, with a vengeance. Sloth, negligence, bad diet could hold them back, and proper breathing was the portal that opened up that other realm.
"It takes my breath away," said Audrey Moreland, stepping up to join Remo at the railing.
Remo glanced around. "Where's Dr. Stockwell?"
"Down below." She flashed a rueful smile. "He gets a trifle seasick, I'm afraid."
"We're on a river."
"All the same."
"And Chalmers?"
"Playing with his guns, I should imagine. Would you like me to go find him?"
"Not on my account."
She faced back toward the jungle, moved a half step closer, leaning on the rail beside him, with her shoulder touching his. "My fieldwork in the past has all been digs in the United States," she told him, lowering her voice to something like a confidential tone. "I can't believe I'm really here. It's like… "
"A fantasy?"
"Exactly."
"I could pinch you if you like."
"Why, Dr. Ward, is that a proposition?"
"Well… "
"You know, I really think I owe you something. For last night."
"Last night?"
"With Chalmers."
"That was nothing," Remo told her.
"Oh, I understand he slipped and hit his head. A funny thing about his nose, though, don't you think? I could have sworn he'd fallen on his back."
"It was dark," he said. "I didn't pay that much attention."
"Anyway, the point is you were willing to defend me, standing up to someone twice your size. If you hadn't come along… I mean, I'm sure he meant to… well, you know."
"It's done."
"I wish he wasn't coming with us, Renton. Anything can happen in a place like this," she said. "It would mean so much to me if I had someone to depend on."
Audrey turned toward Remo as she spoke, and edged a little closer so that one firm breast was pressed against his arm. She wore a bra today, but there was no ignoring the insistent pressure of her nipple, even masked by several layers of fabric.
"You've got Dr. Stockwell," Remo said.
Her laughter startled him—spontaneous, explosive. There was nothing shy or juvenile about it.
"Safford? Please!" Her nipple prodded Remo's arm for emphasis. "If we run into a Tyrannosaurus rex, he'll quote you all the vital stats before the damned thing swallows him alive. When it comes down to people in the real world, though, away from academia… well, let's just say he's no Clint Eastwood."
"Even in defense of someone special?"
Audrey blinked at Remo, with a hint of color rising in her cheeks, then laughed again. "My God," she said, "don't tell me that nonsense has traveled all the way from Georgetown to New Orleans."
"What nonsense is that?"
"About my 'hot affair' with Safford. Christ, I'd like to get my hands on the pathetic creep who started that one circulating."
"So you're not… involved?"
She struck a pose, with one hand on her hip, the other on the rail. "Do I look like a fossil, Renton?"
"Hardly."
"There you go. We work together, and we're friends. The past three years, we've gone to dinner maybe half a dozen times. He's nice, you understand? And safe."
"But you get tired of nice and safe."
"Who doesn't?" Audrey moved in again, her body heat washing over Remo.
"Well, there's always Chalmers."
"I refuse to mate outside my species, thank you very much." She hesitated, staring into Remo's eyes. "Oh, hey… you're not… I mean… "
"Not what?"
She raised a hand, limp-wristed. "You know."
His turn to laugh. "Not lately."
"No, I didn't think so." Audrey's hip was rubbing his now, just in case the rigid nipple didn't make her point. "A woman knows."
"The intuition thing," he said.
"That, too."
"Does Dr. Stockwell know you're just good friends?"
"He should. I mean, we haven't done it, anything like that."
"Sometimes a man sees what he wants to see."
"I don't know what he's seeing, Renton, but I haven't shown him anything. I'm not responsible for anyone's imagination."
"So you're up for grabs, then."
"I've been known to do some grabbing of my own."
"Empirical research?"
"The finest kind."
"I hate to change the subject—"
"Don't."
"A brief detour."
Audrey almost pouted. "If you must."
"About this dinosaur… "
"Oh, Renton. This is where you ask me whether I believe we'll find a world that time forgot?" She smiled and shook her head. "The truth is, I don't' have a clue."
"But here you are."
"Damned right. When was the last time you were in a classroom, Renton?"
"Oh, it's been a while."
"I teach four days a week," she said. "That doesn't sound like much, I know. The pay's all right—it's not some godforsaken high school where the students carry guns. I'm not complaining, really… well, I am, but it's a small complaint, okay? It's boring, Renton. Every twelve to eighteen months, I write another monograph on ancient spoors, whatever, and I play the game with office politics. But this… I mean, we're having an adventure, right? And if we do find something, think of it!"
"Like prospecting," he offered, dangling the bait.
"I never thought of it that way," said Audrey, "but I guess that's right. You go out looking, maybe strike it rich, or maybe come back empty-handed. But at least you did something."
"You're awfully young to be stuck in a rut," he said.
"I'm not that young, but thanks for noticing."
"I couldn't miss."
"It's hard to understand, I guess, unless you've been there, from a woman's point of view. I mean, if you want some excitement, all you have to do is milk your cobra."
Remo smiled at that. "You need a hobby," he suggested.
"Oh, I have one," Audrey told him, "but it needs discretion. Fraternizing with the students is a no-no, and I wouldn't touch most of my colleagues with a ten-inch pole, assuming I could find one."