As they walked up the center of the flat deck, Hynd pointed out what he and the corporal had seen on their inspection of the perimeter.
“What does it all do?” Banks asked.
Hynd waved a hand to the left, then right.
“That’s a fucking huge sucking thing that chews up the riverbed below us, and that’s a big blowing thing that sends all the shite flying to the banks,” Hynd said. “At least, that’s Cally’s opinion. But you ken how he is with technical terminology. Apart from the filters, which are also fucking huge, there doesn’t seem to be a lot else to it. And there’s no sign of any foul play; in fact, no sign of anything untoward at all to report.”
“Let’s hope we find something up river,” Banks replied. “It’s a fucking big jungle to lose somebody in.”
Hynd jerked a thumb back toward the living quarters.
“What about Wilkes?”
“He’s got a bottle, and a cigar. I doubt he’ll get out of his chair before we get back. It’s his boss we’re here to find.”
“Will you call it in?”
Banks tapped at the pocket at his chest where he kept the sat-phone.
“Maybe later. The first thing the colonel will ask is if we’ve done a reccy. So we’ll do a reccy, then get back and hope there’s some whisky left in that bottle.”
The canoes sat low in the water and were longer and thinner than the single person vessels which Banks was more used to. But it felt stable on the water, and very maneuverable once they coordinated their paddling effectively. With two men in each, front and rear, and both paddling, they made quicker time than Banks had expected, and were soon round a long bend, out of sight of the dredging operation, and into a different world entirely.
Here away from the rain of slurry that had cloyed and choked the banks downstream, the trees, green and vibrant, almost luminescent, crowded down to, and into, the water. The river flowed, not brown but a deep blue, crystal clear and the water was filled with a bewildering array of fish in all sizes and colors. Dragonflies as big as sparrows darted over the surface and every few seconds there would be a splash as a fish rose for lunch. Higher up in the canopy, birds screeched and something heavier which might have been a monkey or sloth caused large broad leaves to rain down into the water to float away like discarded umbrellas.
The sun beat down hard from a cloudless sky and heat washed off the river in waves that had sweat running in a film inside Banks’ suit. Although they were making good time on the water, he knew that hours of paddling in this heat was out of the question. It had only been fifteen minutes so far, and already he felt his strength ebbing away.
“How far do you mean to go, Cap?” Wiggins asked from up front, and Banks saw that, like himself, the private was already flagging. He knew the men would keep going until they dropped if he asked them to. But he also knew he shouldn’t be asking them to.
“A wee bit farther,” he called out, to ensure they’d hear him in the other canoe. “But we won’t make much headway in this heat, so 10 more minutes of this shite, then we’ll turn back.”
He heard the relief in Wiggins’ voice.
“Righty-ho, Cap.”
The slight surge of the canoe told him that the private had put a bit more effort into his stroke, now that he knew there was an imminent end in sight, and Banks followed suit. They cut through the water faster than before, but it didn’t get them any difference in the view to either side; there was still only the wall of green, like a solid barrier between river and sky. After the 10 minutes were up, he’d seen enough. As there was no possibility of getting anywhere near the higher ground marked on the map, and nothing to gain by trying and failing, he opted for a strategic retreat until they didn’t have to make the trip under their own power.
“That’s far enough. Hang a left, Wiggo,” he said loudly. “We’ll let the current help us back downstream.”
At almost the same time, McCally shouted out from the other canoe.
“Hang on. There’s something in the water up ahead, coming this way.”
Banks and Wiggins pulled their canoe up alongside the other, and watched as McCally leaned over and scooped something out of the water. The corporal held it up, still dripping, and showed them a zip-locked plastic bag, puffed up with air so that it would float. There was what looked like a recent model cellular phone inside it.
“Well, there’s something you don’t see every day,” Wiggins said.
Banks took the package from the corporal. The screen of the phone was blank, and stayed that way when he tried to switch it on through the clear bag.
“We can hope it’s only the battery needing charging,” he said, and slid the package inside his shirt. “Fuck knows who it belongs to or why it’s floating about on the river. But that’s a mystery we’re not going to solve out here — unless there’s more weird shite coming down to us?”
They held position in the same spot long enough for the squad to have a rest and a smoke, only having to paddle lightly to maintain position in a calmer spot near the left side bank. They kept a close eye on the water, but nothing else came down the river and once the smokes were done and the stubs sent hissing into the water, Banks gave the order to turn and head back for the dredger.
- 3 -
The journey back took less than half the time and they only had to paddle enough to keep them in the fastest part of the current. Even then, the heat sapped what little strength they had left, and Banks was glad to glance up and see that they were on the last bend before the facility’s position.
Once they navigated the river bend, Banks looked toward the dredger, almost hoping to see their guide’s boat moored at the rear dock, but the whole operation sat as quiet and dead as it had been when they’d left. It would be some hours yet before they could realistically hope for the boat’s return.
“I hope Wilkes has saved us a beer,” Wiggins said. “I’m bloody gasping here.”
Banks shared the sentiment; his shoulders and arms felt heavy as stones and every breath was like breathing in steam; they were going to need the guide’s boat if they wanted to penetrate deeper upriver. And the finding of the phone had now made that a priority rather than a possibility, for Banks had already made a good guess as to its owner.
After docking, they walked quickly back to the living quarters where, to Banks’ surprise, they found Wilkes, still sober, and preparing a pot of fish stew in the mess area.
“We expected to find you pished on the floor,” Wiggins said.
“We’re not all Scotsmen. The whisky is back in the cupboard,” Wilkes replied with a wry grin. “I only had what you saw me take. Purely medicinal, I assure you.”
“Aye, well I might take some of that medicine myself later,” Banks replied. “But first, do you have any beer left?”
“Oh, we have plenty of that,” he replied. “We run out of fuel before we ever run out of beer.”
Wilkes went to a fridge and came out with a six-pack of beer that the squad took gratefully. Banks rubbed the cold bottle against his cheek as he took the zip-locked packet from inside his shirt and passed it across to Wilkes.
“Is this his?” he said. They both knew who Banks had referred to, and Wilkes nodded, suddenly agitated.
“He bought it new on his last trip home. It’s his pride and joy. You didn’t find him, did you? Tell me he’s not dead.”
Banks took the packet and handed it to McCally.
“We only found the phone,” he replied. “My corporal here will see what he can get from it. All we know is that it came down, in the plastic packet, from somewhere farther upstream.”