“This canoe is a lot more stable than it looks,” Laurie said. Even with Jack moving around in the stern it was barely rocking.

“And no leaks,” Natalie said. “That was my concern.”

Warren stayed silent. He had a white knuckle grip on the gunwale.

To Jack’s surprise, the engine started after only two pulls. A moment later, they were off, motoring almost due east. After the oppressive heat the breeze felt good.

The drive to Acalayong had been accomplished quicker than they’d anticipated, even though the road deteriorated in comparison to the road north of the Cogo turnoff. There was no traffic save for an occasional northward-bound van inconceivably packed with passengers. Even the luggage racks on the tops had two or three people holding on for dear life.

Acalayong had brought smiles to everyone’s face. It was indicated as a city on the map but turned out to consist of no more than a handful of tawdry concrete shops, bars, and a few hotels. There was a cement-block police post with several men in dirty uniforms sprawled in rattan chairs in the shade of the porch. They’d eyed Jack and the others with soporific disdain as the van had passed by.

Although they had found the town comically honky-tonk and litter strewn, they’d been able to get something to eat and drink as well as procure the boat. With some unease, they’d parked the van in sight of the police station, hoping it would be there on their return.

“How long did you estimate it would take us?” Laurie shouted over the noise of the outboard. It was particularly loud because a portion of its cowling was missing.

“An hour,” Jack yelled back. “But the boat owner told me it would be more like twenty minutes. It’s apparently just around the headland directly ahead.”

At that moment, they were crossing the two-mile-wide mouth of Rio Congue. The jungle-covered shorelines were hazy with mist. Thunderheads loomed above; two thunderstorms had hit while they’d been in the van.

“I hope we don’t get caught out here in the rain,” Natalie said. But Mother Nature ignored her wish. Less than five minutes later, it was pouring so hard that some of the huge drops splashed river water into the boat. Jack slowed the engine and allowed the boat to guide itself, while he joined the others under the thatched canopy. To everyone’s pleasant surprise, they stayed completely dry.

As soon as they rounded the headland, they saw Cogo’s pier. Constructed of heavy pressure-treated timber, it was a far cry from the rickety docks at Acalayong. As they got closer, they could see there was a floating portion off the tip.

The first view of Cogo impressed everyone. In contrast with the dilapidated and haphazardly constructed buildings with flat, corrugated metal roofs endemic to Bata and all of Acalayong, Cogo was comprised of attractive, tiled, whitewashed structures reflecting a rich colonial ambiance. To the left and almost hidden by the jungle was a modern power station. Its presence was obvious only because of its improbably tall smokestack.

Jack cut the engine way back as the town approached so they could hear each other speak. Tied along the dock were several pirogues similar to the one they were in, though these others were piled high with fish netting.

“I’m glad to see other boats,” Jack said. “I was afraid our canoe would stand out like a sore thumb.”

“Do you think that large, modern building is the hospital?” Laurie said while pointing.

Jack followed her line of sight. “Yup, at least according to Arturo, and he should know. He was part of the initial building crew out here.”

“I suppose that’s our destination,” Laurie said.

“I’d guess,” Jack said. “At least initially. Arturo said the animal complex is a few miles away in the jungle. We might try to figure out a way to get out there.”

“The town is bigger than I expected,” Warren said.

“I was told it was an abandoned Spanish colonial town,” Jack explained. “Not all of it has been renovated, but from here it sure looks like it has.”

“What did the Spanish do here?” Natalie asked. “It’s nothing but jungle.”

“They grew coffee and cocoa,” Jack said. “At least that’s my understanding. Of course, I don’t have any idea where they grew it.”

“Uh-oh, I see a soldier,” Laurie said.

“I see him, too,” Jack said. His eyes had been searching along the waterfront as they came closer.

The soldier was dressed in the same jungle camouflage fatigues and red beret as the ones at the gate. He was aimlessly pacing a cobblestone square immediately at the base of the pier with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder.

“Does that mean we switch to plan C?” Warren questioned teasingly.

“Not yet,” Jack said. “Obviously, he’s where he is to interdict people coming off the pier. But look at that Chickee Hut built on the beach. If we got in there, we’d be home free.”

“We can’t just run the canoe up onto the beach,” Laurie said. “He’ll see that as well.”

“Look how high that pier is,” Jack said. “What if we were to slip underneath, beach the canoe there and then walk to the Chickee Hut? What do you think?”

“Sounds cool,” Warren said. “But this boat is not going to fit under that pier, no way.”

Jack stood up and made his way over to one of the poles that supported the thatched roof. It disappeared into a hole in the gunwale. Grasping it with both hands, he pulled it up. “How convenient!” he said. “This canoe is a convertible.”

A few minutes later, they had all the poles out, and the thatched roof had been converted to a pile of sticks and dried leaves. They distributed it along both sides under the benches.

“The owner’s not going to be happy about this,” Natalie commented.

Jack angled the boat so that the pier shielded them as much as possible from the line of sight from the square. Jack cut the engine just at the moment they glided into the shade under the pier. Grasping the timbers they guided the boat toward shore, being careful to duck under crossbeams.

The boat scraped up the shady patch of shore and came to a stop.

“So far so good,” Jack said. He encouraged the women and Warren to get out. Then, with Warren pulling and Jack paddling, they got the boat high on the beach.

Jack got out and pointed to a stone wall that ran perpendicular to the base of the pier before disappearing into the gently rising sand of the beach. “Let’s hug the wall. When we clear it, head for the Chickee Bar.”

A few minutes later, they were in the bar. The soldier had not paid them any heed. Either he didn’t see them or he didn’t care.

The bar was deserted except for a black man carefully cutting up lemons and limes. Jack motioned toward the stools and suggested a celebratory drink. Everyone was happy to comply. It had been hot in the canoe after the sun came out and especially after the canopy had come down.

The bartender came over immediately. His name tag identified him as Saturnino. In contradiction to his name, he was a jovial fellow. He was wearing a wild print shirt and a pillbox hat similar to the one Arturo had on when he picked them up at the airport the previous afternoon.

Following Natalie’s lead, everyone had Coke with a slice of lemon.

“Not much business today,” Jack commented to Saturnino.

“Not until after five,” the bartender said. “Then we are very busy.”

“We’re new here,” Jack said. “What money do we use?”

“You can sign,” Saturnino.

Jack looked at Laurie for permission. Laurie shook her head. “We’d rather pay,” he said. “Are dollars okay?”

“What you like,” Saturnino said. “Dollars or CFA. It makes no difference.”

“Where is the hospital?” Jack asked.

Saturnino pointed over his shoulder. “Up the street until you get to the main square. It is the big building on the left.”

“What do they do there?” Jack asked.

Saturnino looked at Jack as if he were crazy. “They take care of people.”