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