Free When The Jaguar Sleeps: A jungle adventure by J.A. Kalis

Cursing violently and screaming in pain he immediately pulled it out. A purple-red bug – at least eight inches long – was stuck to his skin, numerous bright yellow legs digging into the soft flesh of his calf. He pulled it out, furiously threw it to the ground and brutally crushed it with his feet.
    ‘Damn, this bloody thing bit me,’ he exclaimed, a sharp pain shooting through his leg as if someone had scorched it with a red-hot iron bar.
    ‘It’s just your bad luck again. You always get bitten by something or other. I have no idea what it is. How are you? Can you walk?’
    ‘No, not really. It feels as if my whole leg has swollen up.’
    ‘Lean on me. Is it the same leg that got hurt in the crash?’
    ‘Yeah, it had just started to heal, and now that damn thing had to attack me. I hope it didn’t inject some deadly venom into my bloodstream.’
    Although Florent was a head taller, Didier wrapped his right arm around him and held him tightly, supporting his weight. They kept walking, staggering between the shrubs and trees but had to slow their pace. Even so each step they took was becoming more and more difficult, because they both felt utterly drained. The additional dose of adrenaline produced by the fear of what they had seen and which had enabled them to redouble their efforts was all of a sudden exhausted.
    The day was coming towards its end.
    Soon it would get dark.
    They would stop somewhere and start building a shelter for the night.
     

8
    T he picturesque city of Cuenca surrounded by the green slopes of mist-veiled mountains was bathed in bright early morning sunshine. The temperature was increasing steadily and it would become hot later, but at this time of day it was pleasantly agreeable. Emilio Benitez Moreno was staying at his large colonial-style residence on the banks of the fast-flowing Río Tomebamba, one of the four rivers that crossed the town. He was sitting at a small wooden table on an open-air patio enclosed by shady arcades and filled with sumptuous plants. Having finished breakfast he stood up languorously and went to admire his unique collection of Pre-Columbian art.
    It had always been the biggest passion of his life, even greater than his desire for his second wife, Gabriela, twenty-five years his junior. He indulged his obsession with great devotion and determination, not counting the cost. He prized himself as having an exquisite sense of taste and an eye for beauty. He loved to surround himself with beautiful objects, and people.
    His collection – more a private museum – had grown so much over the years that it now occupied four large rooms on the second floor of the house. These rooms were always locked and Emilio carried the key constantly with him. The walls of these rooms – from the polished, waxed wooden floors upwards – were lined with glazed, illuminated display cabinets. Inside could be seen fine examples of Pre-Columbian art, including pieces of pottery. But the heart of the collection were golden artefacts often ornamented with emeralds and other precious stones, a glittering array of masks, figurines, necklaces, amulets, rings and vases.
    In his younger years Emilio had held a high position in the Ministry of Tourism. Later he opened his own luxury hotel. Now, nearly in his sixties, he had a whole chain of them in popular locations across Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands.
    His two sons from his first marriage were now totally in charge of their management – leaving him with more time to spend enlarging and taking care of his precious collection.
    This morning, having surveyed his precious assets in the glass cabinets, he headed to the room that served him as an office as well as a library. There he would wait for Brian Steinwall, who was supposed to be delivering him some new masterpieces. At half past eleven a young maid appeared to announce his arrival. Her jet-black, thick hair pulled straight back and pinned in a tight, small bun, contrasted sharply with