to his seat to get it.
Chambers turned to Race. 'It's all very exciting, isn't it?'
“Exciting isn't exactly the word I would use,' Race said.
He was just glad that he'd finished translating the manuscript
before they had landed in Cuzco. If Nash was going to venture into
the jungle after the idol, he didn't want to be a part of it.
He glanced at his watch.
It was 4:35 pm. It was getting late.
Just then, Nash appeared next to him.
'Professor,' he said. 'If you're up to it, I'd like you to come
along with us to Vilcafor.'
There was something in his tone that made Race pause.
This was a command, not a question.
'I thought you said if I translated the manuscript before we landed
I wouldn't even have to get off the plane.'
'I said that that might be the case. You'll recall that I also said
that if you did have to leave the plane, you'd have a team of Green
Berets looking after you. That is the circumstance now.'
'Why?' Race asked.
'I've arranged for a pair of helicopters to meet us at Cuzco,' Nash
said. 'We'll be using them to follow Santiago's trail from the air.
Unfortunately, I thought the manuscript would be more detailed in
its description of the location of the idol, more precise. But now
we're going to need you for the trip to Vilcafor, in case there are
any ambiguities between the text and the terrain.'
Race didn't like the sound of this. He felt that he had ful filled
his part of the deal, and the idea of going into the Amazon
rainforest made him decidedly uneasy.
On top of that, the tone of Nash's request made him even more
apprehensive. He got the feeling that now that Nash had him on
board the Hercules and bound for Cuzco, his options—and his ability
to say no—were extremely limited.
He felt trapped, railroaded into going somewhere he didn't want to
go. This wasn't part of the deal at all.
'Couldn't I just stay in Cuzco?' he offered lamely. 'Keep in
contact with you from there?'
'No,' Nash said. 'Definitely not. We're arriving through Cuzco, but
we won't be leaving that way. This plane and all the U.S. Army
personnel waiting for us in Cuzco will be leaving the city shortly
after we head off into the jungle in the choppers. I'm sorry,
Professor, but I need you. I need you to help me get to
Vilcafor.'
Race bit his lip. Christ…
'Well… all right,' he said reluctantly.
'Good,' Nash said, standing. 'Very good. Now, did I hear you say
earlier that you had some less formal clothes in that
bag of yours?'
'Yeah.'
'Well, I suggest you get changed into them. You're going to the
jungle now.'
The Hercules flew over the mountains.
Race emerged from the lavatory in the plane's lower cargo deck, now
dressed in a white T-shirt, blue jeans and a pair of black
sneakers—the clothes that he'd packed for his lunchtime baseball
game. He was also wearing a cap—a battered, navy-blue New York
Yankees baseball cap.
He saw the Green Berets on the deck in front of him, preparing and
cleaning their weapons for the mission ahead. One of the
commandos—a red-headed older corporal named Jake 'Buzz'
Cochrane—-was talking animatedly as he cleaned the firing mechanism
of his M16o
'I tell you, boys, it was fucking apples,' he was saying.
“Apples. Sweet sixteen with cheap Doreen. Gentlemen, mark my words,
she is without a doubt, the most bang-fory6ur-buck whore in all of
South Carolina—'
At that moment, Cochrane caught sight of Race stand-
ing—listeningmat the lavatory door and he cut himself off.
All of the other Green Berets spun around and Race felt instantly
self-conscious.
He felt like an outsider. Someone who wasn't part of the
brotherhood. Someone who didn't belong.
He saw his bodyguard—the tall sergeant, Van Lewen—
hovering at the perimeter of the circle, and he smiled.
'Hey.'
Van Lewen smiled back. 'How's it going?'
'Good. Really good,' Race said lamely.
He walked past the now silent band of rugged Green
Berets, reached the steep flight of steps that led back up to
the main passenger
Chambers turned to Race. 'It's all very exciting, isn't it?'
“Exciting isn't exactly the word I would use,' Race said.
He was just glad that he'd finished translating the manuscript
before they had landed in Cuzco. If Nash was going to venture into
the jungle after the idol, he didn't want to be a part of it.
He glanced at his watch.
It was 4:35 pm. It was getting late.
Just then, Nash appeared next to him.
'Professor,' he said. 'If you're up to it, I'd like you to come
along with us to Vilcafor.'
There was something in his tone that made Race pause.
This was a command, not a question.
'I thought you said if I translated the manuscript before we landed
I wouldn't even have to get off the plane.'
'I said that that might be the case. You'll recall that I also said
that if you did have to leave the plane, you'd have a team of Green
Berets looking after you. That is the circumstance now.'
'Why?' Race asked.
'I've arranged for a pair of helicopters to meet us at Cuzco,' Nash
said. 'We'll be using them to follow Santiago's trail from the air.
Unfortunately, I thought the manuscript would be more detailed in
its description of the location of the idol, more precise. But now
we're going to need you for the trip to Vilcafor, in case there are
any ambiguities between the text and the terrain.'
Race didn't like the sound of this. He felt that he had ful filled
his part of the deal, and the idea of going into the Amazon
rainforest made him decidedly uneasy.
On top of that, the tone of Nash's request made him even more
apprehensive. He got the feeling that now that Nash had him on
board the Hercules and bound for Cuzco, his options—and his ability
to say no—were extremely limited.
He felt trapped, railroaded into going somewhere he didn't want to
go. This wasn't part of the deal at all.
'Couldn't I just stay in Cuzco?' he offered lamely. 'Keep in
contact with you from there?'
'No,' Nash said. 'Definitely not. We're arriving through Cuzco, but
we won't be leaving that way. This plane and all the U.S. Army
personnel waiting for us in Cuzco will be leaving the city shortly
after we head off into the jungle in the choppers. I'm sorry,
Professor, but I need you. I need you to help me get to
Vilcafor.'
Race bit his lip. Christ…
'Well… all right,' he said reluctantly.
'Good,' Nash said, standing. 'Very good. Now, did I hear you say
earlier that you had some less formal clothes in that
bag of yours?'
'Yeah.'
'Well, I suggest you get changed into them. You're going to the
jungle now.'
The Hercules flew over the mountains.
Race emerged from the lavatory in the plane's lower cargo deck, now
dressed in a white T-shirt, blue jeans and a pair of black
sneakers—the clothes that he'd packed for his lunchtime baseball
game. He was also wearing a cap—a battered, navy-blue New York
Yankees baseball cap.
He saw the Green Berets on the deck in front of him, preparing and
cleaning their weapons for the mission ahead. One of the
commandos—a red-headed older corporal named Jake 'Buzz'
Cochrane—-was talking animatedly as he cleaned the firing mechanism
of his M16o
'I tell you, boys, it was fucking apples,' he was saying.
“Apples. Sweet sixteen with cheap Doreen. Gentlemen, mark my words,
she is without a doubt, the most bang-fory6ur-buck whore in all of
South Carolina—'
At that moment, Cochrane caught sight of Race stand-
ing—listeningmat the lavatory door and he cut himself off.
All of the other Green Berets spun around and Race felt instantly
self-conscious.
He felt like an outsider. Someone who wasn't part of the
brotherhood. Someone who didn't belong.
He saw his bodyguard—the tall sergeant, Van Lewen—
hovering at the perimeter of the circle, and he smiled.
'Hey.'
Van Lewen smiled back. 'How's it going?'
'Good. Really good,' Race said lamely.
He walked past the now silent band of rugged Green
Berets, reached the steep flight of steps that led back up to
the main passenger
Similar Books
