No Angel Read Online Helena Newbury

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Suspense Tags Authors: Helena Newbury Advertisement

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“Estoy perdido,” I tried. I’m lost. I had no idea how I was going to find Gabriel but getting to the bridge would be a start. Except…I couldn’t remember the Spanish for bridge. I pointed in the direction of the river and mimed walking. Then I tried miming crossing the swaying rope bridge, and they got it and motioned for me to follow them.

The men seemed to slide through the jungle effortlessly and I had to walk fast to keep up. I had no idea how they navigated but a half hour later, we emerged into a cleared area with dozens of small wooden buildings and one big one. Children were chasing after a ball on a soccer field, and through the open door of the big building, I could see more children sitting in rows: a school. The sun was high in the sky now, but a soft breeze was blowing. People carried baskets of squashes and bunches of plantains, a little girl was being followed around by a flock of ducks, and two old men sat mending shoes. There were no cars—there wasn’t even a road—and the chatter of people was the loudest sound by far. The place was idyllic.

The conversation paused as I passed: It didn’t feel hostile, just intensely curious and a little cautious. The men took me to a small building at the center of the community, where a man in a soft pink shirt sat behind a table. His hair was silver but it was difficult to peg his age: he could have been anything from fifty to seventy. The men introduced me in their own language and he smiled warmly at me. “American?”

“Yes,” I said in relief. “Si!”

He introduced himself as Antonio, and between my patchy Spanish and his shaky English, I managed to explain how the soldiers had captured my friends. He spread out a map on the table and showed me where we were, and where the rope bridge had been, another mile or so upriver.

When I told him what had happened and that something shady was going on, possibly involving the government, he nodded grimly. The government, he told me, was too friendly with big corporations. He pointed to the map, where several areas were highlighted in red pen. “Oil,” he told me, almost spitting the word out. “Under our feet.” Then he pointed out of the window.

At the edge of the cleared area, amongst the trees, there was something ugly and man-made. A fence, sagging and half-overgrown.

“Welamco. One of the big oil companies. They want to drill,” Antonio told me. “But we protest. And the journalists, they help. Newspapers. TV. We stopped them.”

I walked over to the window, a chill creeping up my spine. I shielded my eyes from the sun and squinted at the sign hanging on the fence. Two triangles, side by side. A stylized W, I realized now. A logo I’d seen before.

“Oh my God,” I whispered. Suddenly, it all made sense.

Welamco, the oil company, had found oil, but couldn’t drill it because the Shuar were on this land. So, Welamco had made a deal with someone in the government. Major Zamora and his men had posed as cartel members and kidnapped me and the other doctors. That had scared everyone out of the area: journalists, charity workers…anyone who might be a witness.

I let out a groan of horror as I remembered the military convoy we’d seen being prepared at the army base. Major Zamora and his men were coming here, to wipe the Shuar out. The government would blame the cartel and there’d be no witnesses to say any different. And with the Shuar gone, the oil company would be free to drill.

I turned to Antonio and explained as best I could. His face paled and I followed his gaze to the window: to the children on the soccer field, to the little girl with the ducks.

A noise from outside made us both look up: the clattering drone of a helicopter. Antonio looked panicked. “¡El ejército!” The army. Were they here already?

But I hadn’t seen a helicopter at the army base. I thought hard…then I realized what time it was.

I ran out of the hut and sprinted through the village, drawing curious looks from the locals. I plunged into the jungle, barely slowing down, ducking under vines and scrambling over fallen trees. My legs, still rubbery from all the swimming and walking, screamed for relief and my lungs burned. But I kept going. I could hear the helicopter getting louder and louder, it would be there in minutes, and if I missed it, it was all over.

I stumbled out of the trees and onto the riverbank just as the helicopter descended. It was an old, green-painted thing that looked like it had come straight from the Vietnam war. I staggered to a stop and shielded my eyes as the rotor blades kicked up dust and spray from the river. As the engine shut down and the blades slowed. I walked over to the cockpit, my legs shaky and my chest heaving.

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