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muttered. He'd seen John Wayne do it a hundred times. Culhane flicked the
rifle out of his right hand and roll-cocked it under his arm. It was dangerous
and you could shoot yourself in the armpit or worse, he knew, but it had the
desired effect. Faces turned, staring at him.
"Tell them what I want again nice and loud, Sebastiao," Culhane whispered.
Sebastiao repeated the request in Portuguese.
A voice in English but heavily accented came from behind the bar. Culhane
looked to the source. "I have one leg, senhor." The frame was immense; the
shoulders hunched over the bar at least a yard from tip to tip. Culhane
lowered the hammer on the Browning lever action and started across the room
toward the bar itself. "I want to know how to find the ranch of Sergio Celini.
I have a friend out there. My friend might be in trouble. The Uruentes are on
the warpath."
Culhane stopped at the bar, resting the rifle across it, his right hand on the
small of the stock, his right thumb near the hammer, his right first finger
against the trigger guard.
"He is a private man, senhor. Celini is a very private man."
"I don't care. Where's his place?"
"I cannot tell you. He is my friend, and he would be very angry if I told
anyone how to find his ranch."
"There is a mine there, no?" It was Sebastiao.
The big one-legged man said nothing.
Culhane thumbed back the hammer on the rifle. "I want to know. My woman she's
out there. I want to get her back before some Indian warrior chops her head
off."
The big man laughed. "They rape women first, I think."
Culhane moved the muzzle of the rifle fast. He touched it against the big
man's throat, the Adam's apple bobbing up and down crazily. Culhane's finger
touched the trigger. "All I have to do is twitch my finger, pal where is
Celini's ranch?"
"You will never reach it. The Uruentes are everywhere."
"Your concern touches me deeply. Tell me, and tell me the truth, or you'd
better hope I don't make it back." Culhane stabbed the muzzle of the rifle
harder against the one-legged man's throat.
The man swallowed hard, the Adam's apple moving very slowly and then very
fast.
Culhane decided the one-legged man could be an eloquent speaker if given the
opportunity and the right amount of persuasion.
Culhane moved the rifle. "Sebastiao, get to the door and cover my back."
"Sim, senhor." Culhane could hear Sebastiao's feet on the board floor, and
then Culhane started backing away....
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Culhane had let Sebastiao drive. He remembered the man's driving from his
other time in Brazil, and Sebastiao if anything drove even more recklessly,
the needle never dipping below eighty.
The needle on the speedometer finally dropped, and Sebastiao turned off and
went up into the mountains. Santini had agreed to baby-sit the two suitcases,
and the riverboat captain had pledged to pull out upstream to a point along
the river roughly parallel to Celini's mine in the event he and Sebastiao were
pursued by the Uruentes.
"How much is this car worth in American dollars in its present condition,
Sebastiao?"
"Perhaps four thousand dollars, senhor."
"If anything happens, I'll give you four grand toward a new one. Deal?"
"You are not angry anymore?"
"Angry at myself. I should have gotten on to her more quickly, then none of
this would have happened."
"If you do not mind me to say it, Josh Culhane, M.F. is a fine woman, I
think."
"Are you saying she can take care of herself?"
"Yes I think."
"She probably can. But where's she going to go? You said yourself this Celini
guy seemed pretty rough. And the Uruentes. I can't see this guy laying down
his life to save Fanny. Her only chance is the river. And we're her only
chance of getting there."
Culhane snapped his head right, toward the jungle growth beyond the even
narrower roadway climbing into the mountains. "Stop the car. Cut the engine!
Listen!"
The brakes screeched, dirt and rocks flying from beneath the tires, then the
engine stopped. Culhane jumped from the Bronco, the rifle in both hands,
listening.
It had sounded like a child, but the voice was too deep.
"Bang bang bang-bang! Bang!"
Culhane turned and looked into the dense rain forest. Sebastiao was beside
him.
Culhane, using the rifle to bat away the broad leaves of a vine, started in.
"Keep an eye out behind us," Culhane whispered hoarsely. The voice was getting
louder, Culhane homing in on it. "Bang bang-bang! Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!"
Culhane stepped over a termite-infested deadfall log. The voice was so loud
now he realized whoever belonged to it was close. He heard the familiar sound
of a submachine gun bolt being drawn back and he froze, the rifle down to his
hip.
But there was a click. "Bang! Bang-bang-bang-bang-bang!"
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Culhane pushed aside a hanging plant with yellow petals forming the shapes of
stars, then stepped into a small clearing.
A man a grown man, his white shirt drenched with blood and sweat, his blond
hair matted across his forehead with perspiration held a submachine gun in
his hands. Culhane saw the look in the man's eyes as he "fired," but the man
wasn't seeing them. "Bang! Bang-bang-bang!"
"Do you speak English?" Culhane called softly.
The man did not answer. He did not seem to notice them. Culhane walked across
the small clearing and stood beside the man who knelt there. "Sebastiao ask
him if he knows Sergio Celini."
But the face turned up toward Culhand, the eyes flickering. "Sergio him run
away far away hah-ha!"
Culhane dropped into a crouch beside the man. "We'll help you."
"Uruentes help Sergio and the Amazon and the American girl ha!"
"What American girl?"
The man only laughed again. Culhane grabbed the man's shoulders and shook him.
"What American girl? A journalist a writer? Mary Frances Mulrooney?"
"Mulrooney ha!"
The man fell back onto the matted leaves that covered the ground. He aimed the
submachine gun skyward. "Bang bang bang-bang-bang!"
"This is bad, Josh Culhane."
The man started shouting, this time in Portuguese. Culhane couldn't follow and
looked at Sebastiao. "What's he saying?"
"He says they are coming the Uruentes. They will never get Culhane!"
Sebastiao lunged toward the ground, Culhane wheeling around, but the neck of
the blond-haired man pumped blood and the eyes stared up at the sun.
Sebastiao fell back to his knees and crossed himself.
The blond man who had lost his mind had taken his own life.
If Sergio Celini had made it clear of the Uruentes, if Mulrooney and the
Greek-speaking girl had made it, they would head for the river.
Culhane, his voice low, his left hand resting on Sebastiao's shoulder, told
him, "Cut off toward the river as fast as you can. We're going to try and head
'em off. If it's just this Sergio Celini character, Fanny and her Amazon,
Celini at least should know his only chance is to try for the river."
Sebastiao nodded. "Yes, the only chance, Josh Culhane." He got to his feet and
walked to the edge of the clearing, then turned and looked at the corpse. He
climbed a rubber tree, and began hacking down some of the large leaves.
Culhane reached to his right shoulder, drawing the machete from its sheath,
and began doing the same. They would cover the dead man. And Culhane, as he
cut at the stalks, found himself praying that Fanny lived. Or if they caught
her, that she died very quickly....
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