Past the middle of the swamp, the water fell to the horses' legs, then their feet. Safely on the other side, Nate relaxed. Then he laughed at himself. He could sell this back home. He had friends who were into extreme vacations-backpackers and whitewater rafters, gorilla trekkers, safari types always trying to outdo the rest with tales of near-death experiences on the other side of the world. Throw in the ecological angle of the Pantanal, and for ten thousand dollars they would gladly hop on a pony and wade through swamps, photographing snakes and alligators along the way.
With no river in sight, Nate decided it was time to turn back. He pointed at his watch, and Luis led them home.
THE COMMANDANT himself was brought to the phone. He and Jevy traded army talk for five minutes-places they'd been stationed, people they knew-while the battery indicator light blinked faster and the SatFone slowly ran out of gas. Nate pointed; Jevy responded by explaining to the commandant that this was their last chance.
No problem. A chopper was ready; a crew was being scrambled. How bad were the injuries?
Internal, Jevy said, glancing at Milton.
The fazenda was forty minutes away by helicopter, according to the army pilots. Give us an hour, the commandant said. Milton smiled for the first time that day.
An hour passed and the optimism faded. The sun was dropping quickly in the west; dusk was approaching. A nighttime rescue was out of the question.
They gravitated to the broken airplane, where Milton and Jevy had worked steadily throughout the afternoon. The fractured wing had been removed, as had the propeller. It was in the grass near the plane, still stained with blood. The right landing brace was bent, but would not require replacement.
The dead cow had been butchered by Marco and his wife. Its carcass was barely visible in the brush next to the airstrip.
According to Jevy, Milton planned to return by boat as soon as he could find a new wing and propeller. To Nate, this seemed virtually impossible. How could he haul something as bulky as an airplane wing on a boat small enough to navigate the tributaries of the Pantanal, then carry it through the same swamps Nate had seen on horseback?
That was his problem. Nate had other things to worry about.
Madam brought warm coffee and brittle cookies, and they sat in the grass next to the stable and chattered away. Nate's three little shadows sat close to him, afraid he might leave them. Another hour passed.
It was Tomas, the youngest, who heard the humming sound first. He said something, then stood and pointed and the rest of them froze. The sound grew louder, and became the unmistakable whir of a helicopter. They ran to the center of the airstrip and watched the sky.
When it landed, four soldiers jumped from the open bay and ran to the group. Nate knelt among the boys, and gave them each ten reals. "Feliz Natal," he said. Merry Christmas. Then he hugged them quickly, picked up his briefcase, and ran to the helicopter.
Jevy and Nate waved at the little family as they lifted off. Milton was too busy thanking the pilots and soldiers. At five hundred feet, the Pantanal began to stretch to the horizon. It was dark to the east.
And it was dark in Corumba when they flew over the city a half hour later. It was a beautiful sight-the buildings and houses, the Christmas lights, the traffic. They landed at the army base west of town, on a bluff above the Paraguay River. The commandant met them and received the profuse thanks he so richly deserved. He was surprised at the lack of serious injuries, but happy nonetheless at the success of the mission. He sent them away in an open jeep driven by a young private.
As they entered the city, the jeep made a sudden turn and stopped in front of a small grocery. Jevy walked inside, and returned with three bottles of Brahma beer. He gave one to Milton, and one to Nate.
After a slight hesitation, Nate unscrewed the cap and turned the bottle up. It was very wet, and cold, and thoroughly delicious. And it was Christmas, and what the hell. He could handle it.
Riding in the back of the jeep through the dusty streets, the humid air rushing against his face, cold beer in hand, Nate reminded himself of how lucky he was to be alive.
Nearly four months earlier he had tried to kill himself. Seven hours earlier he had survived a crash landing.
But the day had accomplished nothing. He was no closer to Rachel Lane than he'd been the day before.
The first stop was the hotel. Nate wished them all a Merry Christmas, then went to his room, where he undressed and stood in the shower for twenty minutes.
There were four cans of beer in the refrigerator. He drank them all in an hour, assuring himself with each can that this was not a slide. It would not lead to a crash. Things were under control. He'd cheated death, so why not celebrate with a little Christmas cheer? No one would ever know. He could handle it.
Besides, sobriety had never worked for him. He would prove to himself that he could handle a little alcohol. No problem. A few beers here and there. What was the harm?
Chapter Fourteen
I HE PHONE woke him, but it took a while to get to it. The beer had no lingering effect, other than guilt, but the little adventure in the Cessna was taking its toll. His neck, shoulders, and waist were already dark blue - neat rows of bruises where the harnesses had held him in place as the plane slammed into the ground. There were at least two knots on his skull, the first from a lick he could remember, the second from one he could not. His knees had cracked the backs of the pilots' seats-slight injuries at first, he'd thought, but their severity had increased during the night. His arms and neck were sunburned.
"Merry Christmas," the voice greeted him. It was Valdir, and it was almost nine.
"Thank you," Nate said. "Same to you."
"Yes. How are you feeling?"
"Fine. Thanks."
"Yes, well, Jevy called me last night and told me about the airplane. Milton must be a crazy man to fly into a storm. I'll never use him again."
"Neither will I."
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"Do you need a doctor?"
"No."
"Jevy said he thought you were okay."
"I'm fine, just a little sore."
There was a slight pause as Valdir changed speeds. "We're having a small Christmas party in my home this afternoon. Just my family and a few friends. Would you like to join us?"
There was a stiffness to the invitation. Nate couldn't tell if Valdir was only trying to be polite, or if it was a matter of language and accent.
"That's very kind of you," he said. "But I have a lot of reading to do."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, thanks."
"Very well. I have some good news. I rented a boat yesterday, finally." It didn't take long to leave the party and get to the boat.
"Good. When do I go?"
"Perhaps tomorrow. They're getting it ready. Jevy knows the boat."
"I'm anxious to get on the river. Especially after yesterday."
Valdir then launched into a windy narrative of how he'd played hardball with the owner of the boat, a notorious tightwad who had initially demanded a thousand reals per week. They had settled on six hundred. Nate listened but didn't care. The Phelan estate could handle it.
Valdir said good-bye with another Merry Christmas.
His Nikes were still wet, but he put them on anyway, along with running shorts and a tee shirt. He would try to jog, but if the parts wouldn't work then he'd simply walk. He needed fresh air and exercise. Moving slowly around the room, he saw the empty beer cans in the wastebasket.
He would deal with it later. This was not a slide, and it would not lead to a crash. His life had flashed before him yesterday, and that changed things. He could have died. Every day was a gift now, every moment was to be savored. Why not enjoy a few of life's pleasures? Just a little beer and wine, nothing stronger and certainly no narcotics.