Factory controller, p.2
Factory Controller, page 2
Eight hours later we arrive in Ipixuna.
I’m hungry, hot, and my lower back aches.
I’m in a foul mood and would like nothing more than to go to bed. Right now, I could crash for a good night of sleep, but I won’t do that. I now sincerely believe she didn’t expect me to come all the way here, and I do not want to give her an opportunity to get her act together while I rest. No sleep for me tonight; I need to go right to work and keep at it until my eyes close.
Ipixuna doesn’t boast any of the big chains of fast food, but there are restaurants and bars and what looks like brothels to service the largely dam-worker population. I read many of them are displaced local people, forced to labor for the very industry destroying the way of life of their ancestors.
According to my research, the place is a dangerous hotbed of crime and roughhousing, connected to the rest of the world only by the Amazon. There are no roads leading out of Ipixuna other than the one lane dirt trail the construction workers take to the dam site.
“I can’t stress enough that you shouldn’t wander around the streets here at night, Ms. Duncan,” Isabella cautions while glancing frantically around us after we’ve left the boat. “We should hurry.”
She takes me to the charity’s headquarters, a converted Spanish mission on the very edge of the town. There’s a small trailer attached to the main building by a short hallway. I believe it constitutes the daycare center she bragged so highly of.
“My office is through here,” Isabella says, leading me through the kitchen. Tired-looking native women are preparing large vats of some kind of soup or stew. I guess this is the hot meal Isabella mentioned earlier.
Isabella takes me into a tidy office, decorated with her awards and commendations. She’s arranged her office so that anyone sitting in the very low chair opposite her desk can’t help but look up and see them right behind her.
I ruin this scheme of hers by taking her seat behind her desk.
“Show me the files, starting with the invoices.”
“You want to do that now? Aren’t you tired?”
“I’m exhausted, but I think you agree that we want to make my audit as short as possible, so yes, I want to do it now.” I rub my face and sigh. “I’m pretty sure I saw a coffeemaker in the kitchen. I’m sure you can see to it that a pot is brewed. We’re in for a long night.”
Isabella walks out in silence, hopefully to get the coffee going, and I set to work. Many of the invoices that were scanned and sent out to the Factory’s headquarters are what one would expect. Kitchen supplies, utility bills, maintenance work done on the charity’s buildings, but numerous invoices have no designation. None of them mention a product, or a service, or an individual. In short, they’re like blank checks the Factory has been writing for Isabella.
If the results of her work had been fabulous, the Factory would have looked the other way—no one enjoys studying invoices, but since it’s not, I was sent here for a thorough investigation.
When Isabella returns, I confront her about the poetic nature of the invoices in the files. She immediately grows defensive.
“I don’t know why you’re being so hard on us, Ms. Duncan. We work hard to make these people’s lives better, and to tell you the truth, I’ve had a very long day. I’m too tired to have that discussion tonight.”
Okay, so I’m not going to get anything else out of her tonight.
“Then I guess that will be all for now, Isabella, thank you.”
“But—”
She stops talking, and I can see plain as day in her eyes that she wants me out of her office right away. That’s not going to happen. Not a chance.
I act as if I don’t understand and smile as I say, “I understand. We’ll start fresh tomorrow, but I will stay up a bit longer. Don’t worry about me, you can leave now.”
Isabella closes her mouth and stands again.
“I guess I still need to get a room ready for you,” she says as she walks out of her office.
“Perfect,” I say, looking back at my notes. “How much time do you need? Let me know when it’s ready, please.”
She doesn’t answer. Or maybe she nodded while I wasn’t looking. I don’t really care.
As soon as the door closes behind her, I pore over the invoices and try to match them to expenditures on her Excel sheets, to no avail. This might be worse than I thought.
More than an hour passes, and Isabella doesn’t return.
Needing to stretch my legs, I step outside to take a break. I gave up tobacco years ago, so now I only smoke clove cigarettes. I was told that it would help curb my nicotine cravings. It doesn’t, but the ritual does give me time to think.
As I smoke, I stroll along the building, not daring to walk away from it.
A scuffling noise draws my attention to an alley right behind the mission. A dark figure stands there, murky and sinister in appearance.
“Hey, lady,” the figure says in broken English. “I’ve got something for you.”
I turn to face the shadow-drenched figure, arranging my clove cigarette so it hangs between my index and ring fingers. I’m not above putting it out in someone’s eye if I have to.
“Relax, lady.” A skinny, bare chested boy of about twelve or thirteen steps into view, his hands splayed wide. “Not trying to rob you. Not taking your money. Giving you money.”
He reaches into his muddy, patched up blue jeans and withdrew a wad of Brazilian reals, offering them up to me. “You take this money, and then bring me to America.”
I relax, taking another puff from my cigarette and sighing. “Sorry, kid. It takes a lot more than just money to get you into America. Money definitely helps, but you’ll need several times what you have here just to hire an immigration lawyer.”
The boy’s face falls. “So, you can’t get me to America?”
“I’m afraid not, sorry.” I cock my head to the side. “Why are you so eager to get to the United States, um…what’s your name?”
“Aberto,” he thumps his chest. “I’m one of the People, but my mother thinks speaking good English and using a Spanish name make people hire me easier. I have to get to America so I can talk to Anderson Cooper.”
I repress a chuckle, not wanting to insult the boy’s sincerity. “Why would you want to talk to him?”
“He goes around the world to places where bad things happen and points it out. I want him to come here, to Ipixuna.”
I’m rapt with attention now.
“What bad thing is happening around here, Aberto?”
“People go missing; you know, kids. The prettiest girls and young women, the strongest boys and teens. They got my sister a month ago. That’s why I need Anderson Cooper.”
I consider Aberto for a long moment. His dark-eyed face seems haunted. I don’t think he’s lying to me. He has a swath of white paint along the sellion of his wide nose, and the bowl haircut popular with the indigenous tribes. My heart instantly goes out to him. How desperate must he be to ask for help from a total stranger?
“Aberto, I’m not going to lie to you. People like Anderson Cooper aren’t going to get involved unless we have proof.”
His eyes narrow. “Why? I’ve seen white men carrying off kids. Isn’t my word enough? Why do we need proof?”
“Because that’s just the way it works.” I rub my eyes. It’s been a long day, and a longer evening. “Look, Aberto. I’m very tired. I wish I could help you, but I just can’t.”
I stuff the wad of reals back into his hand and head back toward the office. Aberto rushes after me, sputtering.
“Wait. Don’t go, please. I need your help.”
“I can’t help you, Aberto.”
He’s beyond my help. It’s an unfathomably callous thing to say, but it’s true. I crush out the butt of my cigarette to ensure it’s extinguished and flick it into an overflowing rubbish bin.
As I turn back to retrace my steps, I try not to think that I’m discarding Aberto just the same.
Coming around the corner, I freeze. Isabella stands in the darkness outside the kitchen, speaking with a large figure whose features I can’t see. But even before I can make out what they’re saying, I know I’m in trouble.
“…leave dealing with our new arrival in your capable hands,” Isabella says in English. Her eyes are hard as ice as she speaks. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal,” replies a deep male voice with a heavy accent. “You want to send a message, or just, how do you say…poof, gone?”
Isabella chuckles coldly. “Poof gone is fine. Better than fine, in fact.”
My heart thuds in my chest. I feel like I can’t breathe. When she says ‘new arrival,’ there’s no doubt in my mind she’s talking about me. The certainty of it cuts clean through my ribs and makes my spine prickle with fear.
Poof. Gone. And, down here in the Amazon would be an easy place for a woman like me to vanish. The local authorities wouldn’t bat an eyelash. This place isn’t safe.
I thought I was okay, but now I understand she’s desperate enough to make me vanish. It won’t solve her problem, but it will give her time to get better organized.
I watch the two of them go to a beat-up minivan and drive away toward Ipixuna. My head is swimming, and I’m momentarily grateful that they’ve headed off. If the big fella had headed straight for where I’m supposed to be lodged, there’d be no time for…what? What the hell am I going to do?
I need to get out of here. Fast.
I turn around, half surprised to see Aberto has followed me like a lost puppy. If I can’t stay here, he might be my way out. But out where? I’m not sure but, I need out of the rainforest.
“When do these abductions normally happen?”
“At night, mostly. Used to happen to people who lived by the water more, so we moved the families closer to our village. It didn’t help any. In fact, it is getting worser.”
“Worse,” I say, on reflex. I dig out my phone and turn on the screen. “Do you know what this is?”
“It’s an iPhone X with extra-wide screen, it’s got a lot of memory storage,” Aberto says icily. “I’m not stupid, and I know things.”
“Sorry.”
What have I become? One of those Americans traveling the world as if they own it, always underestimating the natives. Come on, Heather, check yourself.
“I was thinking I can use it to take pictures of these men you spoke of, then we just might get Anderson Cooper or the equivalent to take notice.”
Aberto cocks an eyebrow. “It’s a mile’s walk to my village, through the jungle.”
I suppress a shudder. I don’t like creepy crawlies, and the jungle swarms with them. “I’ll do what I must, Aberto. Can someone in your village give me a ride back to Macapá?”
Aberto nods. “Yeah, my cousin has a motorboat. It won’t be a nice ride, not as nice as the ferry, but he will take you—if you can help us.”
“I can help you, Aberto. We’ll get your proof.”
And I’ll get safely back to Macapá before I go ‘poof, gone.’
“Give me ten minutes to get changed. I’m not traipsing about in the jungle wearing heels and a skirt.”
I head into the office, close the door and unzip my suitcase on Isabella’s desk. I slip out of my clothes and into jungle gear: cargo pants and a tank top, with lace-up boots to protect my feet from forest brambles.
I bring along my backpack as well. This bag weighs a ton, but it’s stuffed with basic survival gear and a personal mosquito-netting hammock.
On a whim as I walk out of Isabella’s office, I check the groundskeeper’s shed and find a machete. There’s dried mud clinging to the blade. After knocking it as clean as I can against my boot, I sheathe it across the small of my back, and return to Aberto.
“Ha, you look like Indiana Jones,” Aberto says. “I see you have a machete. You got a gun, too?”
“No.”
“Too bad. A gun is better. We could use one.”
“We’re not going to confront the kidnappers, Aberto. We’re just going to observe and record.”
“You talk like a spy. Are you a spy?”
“Not really.”
Aberto chuckles. “If you were a spy, you couldn’t tell me though, right?”
That makes me smile. The kid is smart, and funny too.
The second we walk away from the mission, we’re in the jungle. I’m amazed at how fast Ipixuna vanishes from view. Literally a dozen steps into the rainforest and I can no longer see it. Aberto knows his way, or at, least, he seems to. He picks a path through the densely packed flora until we reach a narrow game trail.
“Don’t go off the path here,” he says. “It turns into mud after a couple of steps, and the caiman are everywhere.”
“Caiman? Those are like alligators, aren’t they?”
“I don’t know, do alligators eat people?”
“Yes.”
“Then yeah, they’re like alligators. They’ll probably leave us alone as long as we stay on the path.”
“Probably?”
“There’s no guarantees in the Green.”
Swaggering little sucker. I think I just might like him.
HEATHER
A couple of steps behind Aberto, I try to concentrate on following the path instead of what will happen to me if I don’t.
We reach the outskirts of his village about an hour after midnight. I’m exhausted. The adrenaline rush that spurred me away from the mission is gone.
Aberto takes me to a rise in the land where he says an ancient flood tumbled fallen trees into a dam. The dam has since turned into a moss-encrusted hill. The undergrowth is soft.
We stop and I squeal when I put my hand down on something which wriggles.
“Shh!” Aberto hisses, putting his finger to his lips. “You’re going to get us caught.”
“Sorry.”
We sit atop the hill.
“Now we wait,” he says.
And we do. Minutes feel like hours. Looking down on the dozen or so huts of Aberto’s village, I struggle to keep my eyes open. I didn’t get enough sleep on the plane.
Are those the displaced people Isabella’s charity is supposed to be assisting? Probably.
I sip water from my canteen and glance over at Aberto. “Are you sure they’re coming tonight?”
He shrugs and says, “They usually come on a night when there’s no moon.”
Aberto leans forward and squints down at the village below. “You might be right, though. Maybe they’re not coming tonight.”
I sigh, rubbing my aching hamstring and shift positions on the hill. I slather a little more insect repellent on my arms and legs, even my face. It’s not one hundred percent effective, but the forest does teem with winged, biting horrors. Any protection is better than none.
“Let’s watch a little bit longer and then pack it…”
Aberto motions for me to be silent, but my voice has already trailed off. I see the figures creeping into the village as well as he can. There are at least six of them that I can make out, moving off to the different huts like they’ve rehearsed a strategy.
One of the men goes to the hut closest to Aberto and me. He lays a bowl on the ground outside the hut’s grass curtain-shrouded door and lights it. At first, I think he means to burn the hut down. The glow of amber from the bowl briefly illuminates his features enough that I can tell he’s wearing a gas mask.
The man shoves the smoking bowl under the grass curtain and moves on to the next closest hut.
“What are they doing?” I ask.
“There’s a wasp that makes magic honey. If you let it dry, you can burn it. The smoke, it puts you to sleep.”
Live and learn, Brazil has its own version of the mad honey people eat in Nepal, and they’re using it to drug a village so no one can’t fight back.
I use my phone to snap photos, using the night vision feature. They still don’t turn out very well.
“I need to get closer, Aberto.”
“They’ll catch us.”
“Not if we’re careful.”
I glance over at Aberto, but his eyes remain locked on the village below. “That’s my cousin’s hut.”
I turn back to the village. One of the men exits a hut carrying the limp body of a young girl on his shoulder. He lays her down on the dirt next to other captured children. Another man moves through the line, zip-tying the captives’ hands and feet.
Something boils in my belly. I can’t abide this. I move down the hill carefully, taking video the entire way.
“Where are you going?” Aberto hisses. “Come back!”
He steps out of our hiding space and rushes after me. Startled, my foot slips on the slippery moss-covered branches, and I fall hard to the ground. My yelp of pain echoes through the night.
The men look our way. I scramble to my feet and shove Alberto hard. “Go, run! I’ll lead them off.”
“No,” he whispers. “You run. Take the pictures to Anderson Cooper. I’ll tell them I was alone.”
“Aberto, this isn’t a game.”
“I know, it’s not a game. The’ve taken my sister. I want you to find her. You are my only hope.”
It tears me up inside, but he’s probably right. No one will listen to him, while every one will listen to me, or at least to the spokesperson of the Factory, if I bring them the data.
I turn away from him and run.
Shouts indicate we’ve been spotted. I panic but I don’t freeze; if anything, fear spurs me.
Brambles tear at my skin, and leaves slap me in the face as I flee through the forest. I nearly stumble right into a spider’s web eight feet across, a hand-sized arachnid sitting cheerfully in the center. I freak out thinking some of the vines wrapping about the forest limbs could in fact be snakes.
Somewhere on my right, I hear a noise…I can’t tell if it’s my overactive imagination or really the roar of a jaguar, but it’s quickly covered with the angry shouts of the men who pursue me.
They’re getting closer.
I turn back toward the water, and a miracle happens: I stumble onto a hitched canoe. No time to analyze the situation and weigh my options. I yank the stake out of the ground and leap inside. Working the paddle like mad, I push off into the middle of the muddy Amazon.
