Thirty seconds later Drake was crossing the garbage-strewn field at the base of the hill. He tossed the useless revolver into the heaping bags of refuse as a shambling vagrant dug through a nearby pile, oblivious or unmoved by the sound of nearby gunfire — likely an hourly occurrence in his life. Drake’s ribs were throbbing from the encounter with the brick building and his ears were ringing from the gunfire, but he had Allie’s purse, and he was alive.
Drake glanced back up at the hillside, but he didn’t see anyone chasing him. The predators had returned to their familiar haunts to prey on easier victims, or perhaps to help their downed friend. He jogged to the street and continued at that pace until he reached the beach — a world, with its G-strings and heady aroma of coconut suntan oil, as distant from that of the nearby hillside as night and day. Several passersby looked at him with alarm, and he realized he was filthy, his clothes torn from his fall down the hillside, dirt smeared on his sweating face and arms. Something about the situation made him grin and then laugh out loud as he moved along the famous strand toward the hotel. His fellow pedestrians gave him a wide berth, his lunatic smile and unaccountable mirth as disturbing as the gun would have been if he’d been brandishing it and screaming.
The security men barred him from entering the hotel until he was able to convey to them what had happened. Even once Jack emerged from the elevators and approached, they hovered close by, as though he might attack the other guests at the slightest provocation. Jack took one look at him and shook his head. Drake held the purse aloft in triumph.
“You weren’t kidding about this being a rough place,” Drake said.
Jack eyed him expressionlessly and then steered him to the elevator. “Come on. You’ve got a cut over your eye. I’ll patch you up after you return Allie’s purse.”
“Is she okay?”
“He sliced her pretty good, but it’s not critical. We’ll get a couple of stitches later. The hotel already called a doctor. Should be here in a few minutes.” Jack turned to look at Drake as he stepped into the elevator. “Maybe we can get a two-for-one deal. Looks like you could use a stitch or two, too.”
“I won’t even tell you about the gun battle.”
Jack’s eyebrow rose as the door slid closed. “Tell me you’re kidding,” he said, then saw the look in Drake’s eye. “You’re lucky to be alive.”
“At the rate things are going, you’re right.”
“Kid, you only have one life. No more stupid risks, okay?”
“Says the man who’s about to go into the jungle with me.”
Jack chuckled in spite of himself. “Touché. But seriously. Ease up. This will be dangerous enough as it is.”
“The lady needed her purse back. Tell me you would have done anything different.”
They rode up in silence, and when the floor indicator pinged, Jack sighed and shook his head. “Just like your father.”
“Maybe. Only I’m going to walk out of that jungle. That’s a promise.”
Jack eyed him. “You know what? I believe you.”
Drake nodded.
“Bank on it.”
Chapter Nineteen
The driver picked them up the next morning at ten, and by eleven they were on the road to Teresópolis, north of Rio. The highway was modern until they turned off onto the smaller road to Cachoeiras de Macacu, where it became a two-lane strip of asphalt winding through open fields, the rainforest held at bay by the hand of man. The sky was brilliant blue, the road framed by vivid green on both sides, and the air humid, redolent of wet earth and pollen.
An hour more and they arrived at their destination: a small winding dirt track leading through a clearing to a gate a quarter mile off the road. An ancient man, wearing a black baseball cap and brandishing a shotgun, sat in a security hut. After several moments of back-and-forth with the driver, the guard swung the gate wide and beckoned to them to enter.
The driver revved the motor and the little car lurched forward. Ten minutes later they neared the foothills, where a large two-story house hulked near a cluster of trees, a guest cottage and service quarters near the separate four-car garage. The home’s bright yellow paint had faded in spots, and a young man worked near them with a brush. He turned as they eased to a stop, curiosity in his eyes as they opened their car doors and stepped from the vehicle.
“Paolo?” Jack asked as he approached.
“Yes,” Paolo answered in heavily accented English.
“I’m Jack. Solomon should have called you to let you know we were coming.”
“He did. I’ve prepared rooms in the main house for you. Let me get your bags and I’ll show you the way,” Paolo said, closing the paint can and balancing his brush on the lid.
“That’s okay. I’ve got it,” Drake said from the trunk, hoisting his backpack and putting it on before lifting Jack’s and Allie’s bags free. Jack reached out and took one from him, and they followed Paolo inside through the front door.
The house was simply furnished with heavy pieces crafted from native wood, rustic and sturdy, in keeping with the locale. Paolo led them up the wide stairway to their rooms, which looked comfortable, if basic.
“Let me know if you need anything,” he said. “I’ve filled the refrigerator with food and drinks, and was told to assist you with whatever you want.”
“Thank you, Paolo. I’m expecting a visitor tomorrow or the next day. I’ll give you his information later. Other than that, we’re not to be disturbed. I’m conducting training exercises with my pupils here. Other than my single guest, nobody is to be allowed on the grounds,” said Jack, his tone eliminating any argument before it started.
Paolo nodded assent. “Enjoy your stay. I’ll be painting most of the day, so you’ll know where to find me.”
They quickly unpacked and, after stowing their gear, met downstairs, Drake with his father’s knife, Jack with a small black nylon bag.
“Come on. Grab some water and let’s go for a walk. I see no reason not to start on this now. The sooner you understand the basics of what I’m going to show you, the sooner we can begin our search,” Jack said.
They set off down a trail that led from the rear of the house into the brush, and ten minutes later emerged into a wide clearing surrounded by tall trees, a stream running through it fed by the nearby hills. Jack set his bag down and, after scanning the periphery to ensure they were alone, turned to Drake and Allie.
“I’ll begin with hand-to-hand combat techniques. We’ll start with defensive, then move to offensive. Allie already knows most of this, but there’s no time like the present for a refresher course. Most of this is based on street fighting, my Special Forces training, and Krav Maga — an Israeli specialty that combines the best of all worlds.” Jack considered Drake’s sweating face. “You said you studied karate? To what belt level?”
“Black. Second Dan. Not a master, but I was the best in my class. I know the pressure points, the various strikes and blocking techniques, kicks, punches… I participated in some competitions, but that was years ago.”
“Okay. And how useful did your training prove in the real world? I’m gathering you had to get physical with some of your bail skips.”
“I did, and the answer is, of limited help. The problem was your opponent doesn’t react the way you’re taught he will. And sometimes he’ll have a weapon. I’d say my wrestling skills did me more good. A full nelson usually quiets down even the most agitated skip.”