“Re-gather and repack our chutes. Base jump off when we’re done.” Ajax sat back, smirking.
“We encountered a massive updraft as the doorway or portal began to close. You jump into that, you’ll end up being blown a hundred feet back into the jungle.” Emma smiled. “But you’re not far off.”
“Come on, darling, the suspense is killing me,” Fergus said, chuckling.
“We use our first ever mode of air travel. And one that doesn’t care about magnetic interference.” Emma smiled. “A hot air balloon.”
There was silence for a few seconds before Ajax slapped his huge thigh and guffawed with his head thrown back. “Seriously?” He rocked forward. “A freaking balloon? We’re all dead, just kill me now,” he said, braying again.
Fergus rubbed his face, and Brocke also wouldn’t meet her eyes. Emma’s jaw jutted out, and she saw Drake Masterson watching her closely, assessing her.
Ajax sat forward, grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, maybe she’s Mary Popp—”
“Excuse me.”
Ajax stopped talking and looked around.
“Excuse me.” Everyone turned to where Cynthia was sitting forward, with the perfect lines of her eyebrows arched. She pointed one thin finger at Emma.
“This woman not only survived but walked out of the Amazon jungle all by herself. She is one of the bravest, toughest, and smartest people I know.” She turned to Drake Masterson. “My son, Ben, will be there waiting for you. Help her get him and bring him home.”
Drake’s eyes were unwavering. “Yes, ma’am. That’s the plan.”
Ajax cleared his throat. “But seriously, just how long do you think we have? Riding in a balloon will take weeks, and we have to rely on the right winds and weather. Plus, fuel tanks are heavy.”
“Not unless we get real close first,” Drake said. “Good-sized balloon, that will take up to a dozen people, can be broken down quite small — bag, basket, burner, and fuel tanks. I know the commercial bags of about the size we’d need weigh in at 155 pounds.” He thumbed at Ajax. “The big guy here could carry that on his back and not break a sweat.”
“Easy.” The young soldier grinned with confidence.
“He’s right.” Emma paced. “Baskets are wicker or aluminum. We don’t expect to be in the air for that long, so we won’t need many propane tanks — average of fifteen gallons in a high-pressure tank will buy us eight to ten hours air time. More than enough.”
Drake nodded slowly. “Doable.”
“But what happens if the wind is blowing in the wrong direction?” Andy asked. “Emma’s notes said there was near cyclonic winds and low clouds. We could be blown off course.”
“Yeah, balloons are a little like sailing ships,” Drake agreed. “It doesn’t help if the wind is in your face. But, also like sailing ships, you can tack across wind, using flaps and vents in the canopy, and also lower or raise the balloon to chase the best thermals.” He bobbed his head, as he seemed to be thinking out loud.
“I do some sailing; up and down the west coast.” Andy had his hand up. “Catamarans to dinghies, and even acted as a deckhand on a seventy-foot racing sailboat during the last America’s Cup.” He grinned and looked around, but no one seemed to care. “Um, and yeah, you have to chase the wind. But you follow it by watching the water, seeing where the breeze is going, and you have white caps or ripples to indicate its direction and strength. But tip over in a boat, you just swim or hang on. Tip over in a balloon… ” He shrugged.
“Without a doubt, it’s going to be a challenge, and the cloud might be an issue,” Drake agreed. “We can bring it in to come down real gentle in a balloon, but if you snag the bag and rip it, it’ll take time to repair. Not great if we’re under time pressure.”
“Very true.” Emma was delighted someone had read her small report, and also seemed to be in her corner. “The cloud was damned thick, but it lifts as the day progresses. Also, I remember it opens at the center, directly over the plateau. A little like the eye of a cyclone. I remember seeing the sky — I know I did — it was calm and clear.”
“Good. Every second we can preserve is one more second we can spend looking for Ben.” Drake picked up his coffee mug. He toasted Cynthia, who nodded her approval.
“You took days to get there,” Fergus said. “I understand you were following the clues, searching for the right pathways and tracks. But now you know the basic ways there, can we not shortcut some of the legs? I don’t see why we need to travel by boat.” He shrugged. “Why can’t we use a seaplane?”
“Works for me.” She paced a little closer. “Some of the hidden streams were very narrow and might present a problem if we have a lot of equipment.”
Emma remembered the coffee-dark hidden streams, and then finding the sunken idol that led the way to the beautiful Rivers of Paradise. She also remembered how that brief hiatus had then led on to the miasmic swamps. It had all taken them days to traverse.
“So I agree it’d be advantageous if we could leapfrog over some of the thicker jungle. But where we finally emerged from the swamps, we had no GPS, satellite, or even compass, as the magnetic effects of Primordia were kicking in. Plus, when you added in the thick, low-cloud cover, we had line-of-sight navigation only.”
She moved the images along to the tabletop mountain, but it was a picture taken when not in the wettest season. The plateau rose up monolithic, impressive, and imposing from the jungle floor.
“This is what we’ll be looking for. And in the wettest season, its top is hidden by the cloud cover.” She left the image up and turned to the group.
“You said there was a small clearing on the bank of the Rio Caroní River, before you turned inland, correct?” Drake asked.
“Yes, it was where I was found… after.” Emma looked up.
“And you still had electronic capability there?” Drake lifted his chin.
Emma nodded.
Ajax sat forward. “Then we don’t need to tell you, but in the dense jungle, you can spend a day going just a couple of miles. Much better to be above it, if only to lower the risk of running into snakes, spiders, poisonous plants, and all manner of creepy crawlies that a big jungle hides in its belly.”
“Then that coastal clearing will be our base camp and launch point. Should be enough water for the flying boat to land and get us to the bank. Plus enough clearing for us to prepare our balloon and electronically mark our position.” Drake held his hands wide. “Save us a helluva lot of time.”
Helen leaned around her brother. “Mr. Masterson, just how fast can a balloon travel?”
“Call me Drake.” He saluted her with a couple of fingers.
“Helen,” she replied.
“Nice to meet you.” His eyes gave her a quick appraising look as if he just noticed her, and he smiled as he spoke. “Balloons don’t quite travel as fast as the wind, but on a good day can scud along at between five and eight miles per hour. Sure beats hacking or paddling all day for a few miles.”
“Are they safe?” she asked.
“Mostly. Accidents happen when they’re overloaded, or the fuel mix isn’t right, or the heat blaster is set too high.” He kept smiling. “Or if you go up when the winds are too strong.”
Helen frowned and he waved her down.
“But these days, the package is pretty tight. We play by the rules, and the balloon will probably be the least of our worries.”
“I suppose we can wear parachutes,” Andy added hopefully.
Drake nodded. “Sure, you can wear one. But as we won’t be going up that high, by the time you yell rip-cord, you’ll be eating jungle.” He chuckled.