The world down below us was a hostile melange of towering trees, all
straining for the sky, while the ground itself was a dark tangle of
ferns, lianas, strangler vines, creepers--among which lurked Olympic
scorpions and some of the Earth's most poisonous snakes. If we had to
set down here--I didn't even want to think about it. To lower a
helicopter into the waves of flickering green below us would be to
confront the hereafter.
"It's just the lights, like he said." Dupre yelled back from the
cockpit's door, letting a tone of "I told you to chill out" seep
through. He was peering past the opening, at the long line of
instruments. He followed his announcement with a sigh as he moved back
into the main cabin. "Relax."
I wasn't relaxed and from the way his eyes were shifting and his
Gauloise cigarettes were being chain-smoked he was on the verge of a
nervous breakdown. In his case it wasn't just the weather. He was
fidgeting like a trapped animal, giving me the distinct sense he was
doing someone's invisible bidding and was terrified he might fail.
"Well, why don't you try and fix it?" Was he trying to act calm just to
impress me? "Can't you bang on the panel or something?"
"Okay, okay, let me see what I can do. Jesus!" He edged back into the
cockpit, next to Villatoro. The wind was shaking us so badly that, even
bent over, he was having trouble keeping his balance. Then he
halfheartedly slammed the dark instrument readouts with the heel of his
open hand. When the effort produced no immediate electronic miracle, he
settled into the copilot's seat.
"_Que pasa_? " he yelled at Villatoro, his voice barely audible over
the roar of the engine and the plastering of rain on the fuselage. Then
he looked out the windscreen, at the torrent slamming against it, and
rubbed at his chin.
"_No se, mi comandante_," the Guatemalan shouted back. I sensed he was
hoping to sound efficient and unperturbed. Dupre claimed his pilot had
personally checked out the Bell and prepped it. Now, though . . .
"_Mira_. Like I said the lights. On the nav station. Maybe the
electrical--"
"How about the backup battery?" Dupre was just barely keeping his cool.
Villatoro scratched his chin. "I'll tell you the truth. The backup is
_muerto_. I tested it before we left, but I couldn't find any
replacements in Provisiones. I figure, no problem, but now, amigo . . ."