For the first time, Otero felt a streak of nervousness run through him. He had secured support at the highest level. From the office of the President. And he was told Salazar was nothing but a pawn, whose sole purpose would be to help him reach the Acarai Mountains.
But something wasn’t right. Such as why Salazar was notified of the air drop instead of him. It made Otero wonder. The economic collapse in Brazil had left the country teetering on the brink of civil war, with the current government in tatters. A grim realization began to wash over him. Perhaps those Otero had aligned himself with… were no longer in control.
Which would mean neither was he.
64
Where we go?
Dulce was struggling to keep up through the dense foliage, even as DeeAnn pulled her along.
“We have to hurry.” DeeAnn’s breathing was labored, but she still managed to reply in a hushed tone. She gripped Dulce’s furry hand tighter and tried to stay behind the figure of Steve Caesare, hacking his way through the heavy growth.
When her vest translated her words, she cringed at the speaker volume, which blared loudly.
“Jesus,” growled Corso behind them. “Turn that thing down! Everyone’s going to hear us.”
Caesare halted in front of them and spun around. “He’s right.”
“Uh…” DeeAnn looked down at the blue light on her vest, searching.
“She can’t,” Juan answered, from behind her.
“What?”
“There’s no way to turn down the volume.”
“There’s no volume?”
Juan turned from Corso and looked at Caesare’s silhouette. “No. When we designed the vest, we didn’t think we needed one. Besides, changes in amplitude complicate things with the translation.”
Corso looked over the top of Juan’s head to Caesare. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Yeah, well, communication doesn’t work very well if one person can’t hear the other.”
Caesare stared at them, then finally nodded. He wasn’t happy about it, but he understood.
From the ground, Dulce looked back and forth between them. We stop.
DeeAnn placed a finger over her lips. “Dulce, quiet.”
Dulce quiet.
DeeAnn cringed again as the translation seemed even louder now that they were standing still.
Caesare watched Dulce, but spoke to DeeAnn. “Turn it off.”
“What?”
“Turn it off.”
“But…”
“We can’t take any chances.”
DeeAnn looked at Juan, hoping for another option, but he simply frowned.
Reluctantly, she squatted down in front of Dulce so she could see her face. She placed a hand gently on Dulce’s head and again put her fingers to her lips.
Dulce watched her curiously, unsure of why they had to be quiet. No one else was talking. With a troubled expression, she watched as DeeAnn made the blue light go off.
The screaming of the capuchin monkeys from their cages began even before an angry Hugo pushed his way through the thick brush. He stormed into their small camp, followed by the other three, and dropped his gun on a fold-out table. In frustration, he then turned and kicked dirt into the smoldering embers of their fire.
Behind him, Vito approached the truck and pulled an empty cage up onto the flatbed. He pushed the limp body of his prize into the cage and closed the wooden door, securing it with a clasp and cable.
He suddenly stopped. One of the cages was empty.
“Merda.”
The others looked up, including Hugo, who was now searching for something to stem the bleeding from his cheek. He grabbed a piece of cloth from his bag and pressed it in place before turning back to the truck.
Without moving his head, Vito’s eyes stared across the bed. “Another one gone.”
“What?!”
“Another one is gone,” he repeated.
Hugo stormed over to the truck and glared at the crate in disbelief. “How the hell…” He moved around to the back, keeping the cloth pressed hard against his cheek. “I told you to lock it right this time!” he bellowed.
“I did!”
“Then it’s broken.” Hugo pushed him out of the way and studied the cage. Primates, even capuchins, could be stronger than they looked. Especially when locked in an enclosure and panicking.
He spun the cage around with one hand, examining it closely in the dim light of a nearby lantern. He couldn’t see anything wrong. The thick wood frame still felt strong. He refastened the clasp and cable — they locked securely. Finding nothing broken, he yelled and threw the crate, sending it tumbling over the ground.
“I saw him check it,” one of the others said.
Hugo shook his head, scowling. “Then you’re both idiots!” He glanced at the amount of blood on his cloth and threw it away.
“What the hell is happening?” he yelled. The night had already been a waste, with only a single capture between them. Now another was lost.
He didn’t know how the capuchins were escaping, but they were. Somehow.
“ETA?”
“About fifteen minutes,” Caesare replied.
Tiewater nodded from his hiding spot less than sixty feet from the poacher camp. Their faces painted black, both he and Anderson watched the poacher’s outburst from a distance.
“What’s happening?” Caesare called over the radio.
Tiewater spoke quietly. “Our friends are home and one of them seems to have gotten his panties in a wad.” He continued his reconnaissance, motionlessly.
From the other side of the encampment, Anderson also lay watching, listening to Tiewater through his own headset.
“How many are there?”
“Four. The big one is in charge. Camp is probably a couple thousand square feet, with two vehicles. One small and the other larger for cargo. Observable weapons are sidearms and some tranquilizer rifles. Doesn’t look like they’ve been here more than a few days.”
“Any defenses?”
“None.”
A few minutes later, Tiewater slid backward out of position and stood without a sound. Remaining low, he moved back through the trees where he found Caesare and Corso waiting in the darkness.
“What are they doing?”
Tiewater shrugged. “Eating. But it sounds like their poaching isn’t going too well.”
“What a shame,” Caesare remarked sarcastically. “We’re out of time. Otero is here. We need to find the monkey in a hurry.”
“Well, I suspect these guys have a pretty good guess as to where.” Tiewater motioned over his shoulder and turned back, followed by Caesare. But as Corso took a step forward, he suddenly paused. He felt something stuck in his collar and reached up to grab it.
It was soft, and only when he examined it closely could he make out the shape. One of Dulce’s flowers. He shook his head. Then, glancing forward to make sure he wasn’t seen, Corso raised it up and sniffed it.
Hugo was still stewing from his seat on a fold-out chair. He took another bite of dried meat and shook his head, keeping his eyes on the fire.
The other men were also seated around the fire, eating silently. They’d had a definite streak of bad luck. One that was refusing to break, leaving the last few hunting trips as complete losses.
“We need to try something else,” Vito replied, after dropping his metal plate to the ground. “They’re learning our ways.”
“They hear us coming,” Claudio, the third man, replied.
“Then what do you suggest?”
Vito turned around and faced the cages on the back of the truck. “Maybe we can use the ones we have… to catch more.”
“You mean as bait?”
“Yes. Maybe we tie one up in the forest to lure the others.”