headed for the first-floor restaurant.
After a sumptuous meal and heavy dessert, the Ecuadorian officials graciously picked up the tab, then excused themselves saying they had an early morning meeting. Diane, Raymond and Gabriel lingered in the opulent dining room sipping coffee.
Diane regarded the men’s wine-glazed eyes and wondered why she hadn’t slipped under the table by then.
The evening had begun with numerous champagne toasts before dinner, then proceeded with a different shade of wine for every course thereafter. She should have been comatose. But the long-distance friction with Vincent had kept her edgy and sober. She dreaded another sleepless night.
Diane said, “Have you ever heard of the Jivaro ceremony of spiritual healing?”
Gabriel and Raymond twitched out of their stupors.
“No,” they murmured.
“The ritual is part of the culture of an Ecuadorian tribe called the Jivaro. I missed their ceremony the last time I was here. Would you like to attend one with me tonight?”
Raymond declined, looking annoyed at her liveliness.
Gabriel suppressed a yawn. “That sounds interesting.”
Diane, Gabriel and Gabriel’s bodyguard, Michael, took a taxi to the edge of the old city. The driver knew exactly where to drop them off—the foot of a steep, cobbled alleyway with dim intermittent lighting showing the way up.
They began their ascent—with Michael several discreet steps behind.
When Diane was first introduced to the diminutive, red-headed Michael a few months earlier, she questioned Gabriel’s choice of a bodyguard who had not only the hair but also the physique of “Carrot Top.”
Gabriel laughed and told her how he had met Michael a decade before on a trip to Venezuela.
He and a business associate were leaving a restaurant in Caracas when they were accosted by a man who aimed a pistol at them and demanded their watches and wallets. Michael, a complete stranger, seemed to descend from the sky, wrestling the man to the ground and divesting him of his weapon.
He refused payment for his trouble. But he gave Gabriel his business card which identified him as a “security consultant” in Miami. Gabriel hired him on the spot, and they’d been together ever since.
Gabriel explained: “Michael’s size is deceptive. People don’t see him as a threat. But he moves like a monkey; strikes like a snake.” It also helped that he was fluent in Spanish.
Tonight, Diane found the bodyguard’s presence reassuring.
Just then, a primal shout erupted from the top of the stairs. Gabriel looked at Diane. “Are you certain about what goes on up there?”
She gave him an impish grin. “If I were, there’d be little reason to go.”
Gabriel smirked and kept climbing. Whistles and chants grew louder with every step.
Gabriel turned to Diane. “You handled the negotiations well, as usual. I have watched you closely. If you can do business in Central and South America, you can do it anywhere.”
Diane felt grateful for the shadows that hid her blush. “Thank you.”
They reached the top where they found a round hut surrounded by torches. Peeking inside, they saw a large circle of fire on the dirt floor and an assortment of shrunken heads suspended from the ceiling.
Diane and Gabriel looked at each other, shrugged and stepped inside. In the center, a robed shaman sipped from a cup, then rolled his head and passed the drink into a small audience sitting on the dirt floor. Someone motioned for Diane and Gabriel to sit. The whistles and chants resumed.
Diane watched the healer and listened to his songs. She had seen many such rituals on her jungle treks. The cup of natema was passed to her. Without hesitation, she sipped, hoping it wasn’t made with saliva, as many primitive libations were. Gabriel bravely followed suit.
Almost immediately, the fire blurred, then broke up into small torches that floated about and whistled. Diane turned to Gabriel. He had morphed into a fanged creature with soft eyes.
After a sumptuous meal and heavy dessert, the Ecuadorian officials graciously picked up the tab, then excused themselves saying they had an early morning meeting. Diane, Raymond and Gabriel lingered in the opulent dining room sipping coffee.
Diane regarded the men’s wine-glazed eyes and wondered why she hadn’t slipped under the table by then.
The evening had begun with numerous champagne toasts before dinner, then proceeded with a different shade of wine for every course thereafter. She should have been comatose. But the long-distance friction with Vincent had kept her edgy and sober. She dreaded another sleepless night.
Diane said, “Have you ever heard of the Jivaro ceremony of spiritual healing?”
Gabriel and Raymond twitched out of their stupors.
“No,” they murmured.
“The ritual is part of the culture of an Ecuadorian tribe called the Jivaro. I missed their ceremony the last time I was here. Would you like to attend one with me tonight?”
Raymond declined, looking annoyed at her liveliness.
Gabriel suppressed a yawn. “That sounds interesting.”
Diane, Gabriel and Gabriel’s bodyguard, Michael, took a taxi to the edge of the old city. The driver knew exactly where to drop them off—the foot of a steep, cobbled alleyway with dim intermittent lighting showing the way up.
They began their ascent—with Michael several discreet steps behind.
When Diane was first introduced to the diminutive, red-headed Michael a few months earlier, she questioned Gabriel’s choice of a bodyguard who had not only the hair but also the physique of “Carrot Top.”
Gabriel laughed and told her how he had met Michael a decade before on a trip to Venezuela.
He and a business associate were leaving a restaurant in Caracas when they were accosted by a man who aimed a pistol at them and demanded their watches and wallets. Michael, a complete stranger, seemed to descend from the sky, wrestling the man to the ground and divesting him of his weapon.
He refused payment for his trouble. But he gave Gabriel his business card which identified him as a “security consultant” in Miami. Gabriel hired him on the spot, and they’d been together ever since.
Gabriel explained: “Michael’s size is deceptive. People don’t see him as a threat. But he moves like a monkey; strikes like a snake.” It also helped that he was fluent in Spanish.
Tonight, Diane found the bodyguard’s presence reassuring.
Just then, a primal shout erupted from the top of the stairs. Gabriel looked at Diane. “Are you certain about what goes on up there?”
She gave him an impish grin. “If I were, there’d be little reason to go.”
Gabriel smirked and kept climbing. Whistles and chants grew louder with every step.
Gabriel turned to Diane. “You handled the negotiations well, as usual. I have watched you closely. If you can do business in Central and South America, you can do it anywhere.”
Diane felt grateful for the shadows that hid her blush. “Thank you.”
They reached the top where they found a round hut surrounded by torches. Peeking inside, they saw a large circle of fire on the dirt floor and an assortment of shrunken heads suspended from the ceiling.
Diane and Gabriel looked at each other, shrugged and stepped inside. In the center, a robed shaman sipped from a cup, then rolled his head and passed the drink into a small audience sitting on the dirt floor. Someone motioned for Diane and Gabriel to sit. The whistles and chants resumed.
Diane watched the healer and listened to his songs. She had seen many such rituals on her jungle treks. The cup of natema was passed to her. Without hesitation, she sipped, hoping it wasn’t made with saliva, as many primitive libations were. Gabriel bravely followed suit.
Almost immediately, the fire blurred, then broke up into small torches that floated about and whistled. Diane turned to Gabriel. He had morphed into a fanged creature with soft eyes.
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