Free The Portal (A Delphi Group Thriller Book 2) by John Sneeden Page B

a nightmare, and the driver’s cigarette smoking and incessant chatter during the ride over had been the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.
    The two-stop journey from Austin to Manaus had been fraught with problems. The first round of trouble came in Houston, when the airline published the wrong terminal for her connecting flight. Then in Miami there was the unexplained hour-long wait on the tarmac. And if that weren’t enough, her five-hour flight to Brazil provided the clincher: she spent the entire flight next to a man whose snores could drown out a foghorn.
    Then the hotel in Manaus proved to be only slightly better. It was clean and possessed a friendly staff, but a group of Dutch ecotourists in the suite next to hers had drunk and partied until the wee hours of the morning.
    The driver gave a little grunt of satisfaction, drawing Amanda out of her thoughts. After counting for the third time, he’d finally been able to get the money right. He handed her the stack of bills with a meaty paw and said, “It has been pleasure. I always like to practice English! Thank you!”
    “No, thank you,” Amanda said, handing a few of the bills back as a tip. She couldn’t help but like the man. Yes, his cab had been filled with smoke. And yes, he’d talked non-stop since she’d entered the car. But he seemed kind and had managed to get her where she was going.
    He pointed toward a boardwalk a block away. “The boats are just ahead. If you want a drink before you leave, try the Café Maria. It’s my cousin’s place. Tell them Tiago sent you and they might give you discount.”
    “Thank you again,” Amanda said, bending over to give him a little wave.
    As the Brazilian made a quick U-turn and headed back toward the city, Amanda let out a little sigh. Her body ached from head to toe, and she felt a migraine coming on, but she was finally here. In a few short minutes, she’d be with people she knew and the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours would be over.
    She pulled out the telescoping handles of her luggage and started down the boardwalk. On her right was a line of cafés and bars. Ahead and to the left was a long series of docks that stretched into the distance. She had exchanged a few texts with Zane that morning and knew that the boat would be all the way at the end.
    The smell of freshly cooked food assailed her nostrils as she walked. Several men stood in front of their shops, offering wrapped pieces of fish and skewers of cooked meat. She was tempted but resisted and continued on her way.
    As she neared the docks, she saw the sign for Café Maria. She hadn’t planned on stopping, but she was thirsty. Why not? It might be days before she had anything other than bottled water and MREs.
    The covered but open-air restaurant was packed with humanity. There were perhaps a hundred tables, all kept cool by twirling fans that dangled from the high ceiling. Pushing through the crowd, she was surprised to find two empty stools at the bar. She promptly sat down on one then scooted her luggage up as close as possible.
    One of the bartenders slid toward her, placed his hand on the bar, and asked something in Portuguese. Amanda did a double take, startled at the man’s appearance. He looked exactly like Enrique Iglesias, right down to the boyish locks combed across his forehead.
    The man raised an eyebrow and patted his hand gently on the bar. Amanda blushed as she realized she’d been staring at him. “Oh, sorry. An orange juice in a to-go cup, please.”
    Enrique lifted a thumb to signify he understood. As Amanda looked through her purse for some bills, a man stepped up to the other open stool and bent over the bar.
    Another American, she thought as she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was wearing a Carolina Hurricanes cap, and a pair of aviator sunglasses hid his eyes. His arms were well muscled and tan, as were the legs that stuck out of beige cargo shorts.
    “You know, I’m pretty sure he