The conversation raced around the table as the first course came, and then the second. Most of the SEALs had no idea which of the eight knives, forks, and spoons to use. The men and women who sat beside them gently hinted at the right utensils.
Jaybird had been lucky to be seated beside the eldest daughter of the ambassador.
“I’m Cynthia,” she said as soon as she sat down.
“Miss, I’m Jaybird, or David, I guess would be better. How come you’re here at the embassy?”
“Oh, my father is the ambassador. I’ve lived in eight different countries now, but I wish I could get back to school. Could you talk to my father about my going to San Diego State University? My mother always wanted to go there and she tells me such interesting stories about that area.”
Jaybird was without words for the first time in his life. The young lady couldn’t be more than eighteen, he decided, and had a soft white complexion that proved she didn’t take much of the African sun. He tried to say something, and stumbled. Her eyes were so blue and her smile engaging. He shook his head and tried again.
“Sorry, Cynthia. I don’t know what to say. I’m sure the ambassador wouldn’t have time to talk to me. Why do you want to go to San Diego State?”
“The pictures of the campus are so great. I sent for a catalog last year and it is exquisite. Then the climate is so great and I want to learn to surf and dive in the ocean. I love the ocean, but we don’t have one here.”
“I noticed that.”
They both laughed, drawing the attention of her mother. But the woman only smiled and went back to talking to Murdock about San Diego.
By the end of desert, Jaybird and Cynthia had gone through most of the ritual information exchange of a first-date dialogue, talking about where they’d grown up and what they liked and also about parents and family. Then the dinner was over. Jaybird tried to walk Cynthia back to her room, but a Sierra Bijimi guard at the stairway shook his head.
“Upstairs here is the private quarters of the ambassador,” he said. “Entry is by written order of the ambassador only.”
Jaybird caught her hand and held it a moment, then squeezed it and waved good-bye. He smiled broadly all the way back to his room, where Bill Bradford had just taken out his sketch pad.
“Have a whole potful of ideas I want to get down on paper before I forget them,” he said. Jaybird shrugged and rolled onto his bunk. He was used to going to sleep with the lights on while Bradford worked on a painting or a sketch.
The next day, Howard and Murdock were on the road a half hour before sunrise. They had full tanks of gas, three canteens each, and a packet of food the kitchen had prepared. There were mostly sandwiches that would last all day and lots of fruit. They had been warned against drinking any of the water in the streams no matter how clean it looked.
They cleared the city and took off on the dirt road that led alongside the Amunbo River. They had the road to themselves until daylight. Then they spotted small tractors pulling loaded flatbeds that held fruits and vegetables and firewood. As the morning brightened, more and more rigs hit the road, and the motorcycles were slowed as the carts pulled by horses showed up and nearly clogged the road.
“Must be market day,” Howard said. “We saw that big open market with stalls down at the edge of town yesterday. Lots of empty tables and booths. This must be the day.”
By the time they hit the end of the dirt road, the farmers heading into town had dwindled to only a few. The SEALs kicked into the wide wagon trail along the river and made better time. Now and then a ditch cut across the path where a stream worked its way into the mother river.
It was after 0800 when Murdock held up his hand and pulled to the side of the trail. “Chow stop,” he said. “I’m starved. Did we have breakfast before we left?”
“That we did, Commander. Bacon and eggs and hash browns with toast and jam and coffee. I ate until I almost popped my buttons. You did pretty well yourself with seconds.”
They worked on sandwiches and the first canteen of water.
“Figure we’ve made about fifteen miles,” Murdock said. “The going will be slower the fewer people travel this trail and the farther we get from the city.”
“Right. When do you think we’ll hit the first outpost? He’s got to have one along this trail.”
“My guess is about five miles from his main camp. If he’s at the twenty-five-mile marker, we have another five miles before we have company.”
“Will they be friendly?” Howard asked.
“Would you be?”
“Hell, no. Shoot first and talk later if anyone is still alive.”
“So we move cautiously that last three or four miles to the twenty-mile mark. Maybe even ditch our bikes and take the rest of it on a hike so we can bypass the outpost.”
“Sounds like a winner to me.”
They rode again. The going was rough with washouts, potholes, and sometimes large tree roots exposed from the ground clogging the trail. Murdock doubted if they were making more than ten miles an hour.
A little after 0930, Howard held up his hand to stop. “Commander, figure we shouldn’t make so much noise this far north. Maybe some hiking would be called for.”
“Agreed. We stash the bikes where we can find them and nobody will steal them, then take one canteen and some sandwiches and take a stroll down a country lane.”
A mile up the trail, Murdock paused. He was sniffing the air. “We haven’t seen a village for the past mile or so. But I smell something that shouldn’t be here.”
Howard moved up beside the officer and grinned. “Skipper, sir, you must have led a sheltered life. That, my friend, is good old Mary Jane smoke, pot, the weed, marijuana. Somebody is puffing up a storm up here not more than a hundred yards ahead. Wind must be blowing our way.”
Murdock chuckled. “Hell, you’re right. I wasn’t that sheltered. It’s just been a few years. How about a detour?”
Howard pointed to the side of the trail away from the river, and they moved into the tropical-rain-forest tangle of vines, trees, brush, and creatures slithering along the moist jungle floor. Murdock took the lead using his best silent-movement approach as he went under, over, around, and through the growth, trying not to disturb a branch or step on anything that would screech in terror or break with a crack.
Fifty yards later, he angled back toward the trail and peered through the last foliage that screened him from the path. Twenty yards ahead, he saw a native hut that had been built almost on the trail. It was made of branches and some woven reeds or fronds for the sides and roof. It had a window and a doorway. In the window he could see a man resting his arms on it and looking down the trail. Twice Murdock saw the man sneak a puff on a nub of a cigarette. The man said something softly and passed the smoke to someone else. Howard slid in beside Murdock and saw the exchange. They nodded and headed back into the growth until they were fifty yards past the outpost, then returned to the path.
Now it was little more than a trail, nearly hidden by new plants and in some places vanishing completely, being taken over by the voracious growth of the greenery. Murdock decided it would be a great place to raise tomatoes. Think how fast they would grow. Of course you’d have to cut down some trees and brush so the sun could get in to ripen the fruit.
They hiked steadily for another half hour, and then Murdock held up his hand and they stopped. They listened.
“Rifle fire,” Howard said. “Could be the flat crack of the old AK-47. Must still be a lot of them around.”
“Right, and as deadly as ever. Good range, too. So what are they doing?”
“Target practice. We hear firing for a while, then all is quiet as they check the targets, then more firing. Ready on the right, ready on the left, ready on the firing line.”