RACE AMAZON: False Dawn (James Pace novels Book 1) (4 page)

Pace heard a tap run briefly, as she cleaned her mug, and the rustle of her hands being dried on a towel before she re-appeared.  Pace was thankful she hadn’t chosen to call an hour or so before.

She was obviously going so Pace stood and walked her to the door, opening it and stepping out onto the landing. She followed, shook his hand again and began to descend the stairs.  Not pausing, she called back. ‘The contact numbers are all there on the front sheet, Mr Pace.  I really do need to hear from you by tomorrow morning at the latest.  Tonight would be better.’

‘As soon as I know, Miss McEntire, you will know,’ Pace sent the words down after her but she had already turned on to the next flight and was lost from view. 

Sarah McEntire just wanted to get in her car and head back into the city.  She had a mountain of paperwork to get through and she resented wasting time on what she considered to be a lost cause.  Hopefully dad will come to his senses and bring in one of the countless other professional athletes on my waiting list, she mused.  Time was running out.  Thoughts of a hot bubble bath also crept into her mind and she wasted no time gunning her car out of the little car park.

Pace didn’t see the sense in waiting out on an empty landing and returned to the comfortingly austere bosom of his home to study the proposals.

It took him about half an hour to digest all the details held within the pages, and about the same amount of time again to grasp the prospect of being personally involved in the race. He would have been daunted by the environmental problems, which appeared to make it a major endurance test, aside from the extra difficulties of working against other teams and the clock. The entire project appeared dreamed up by a madman but Pace had to admit the planning seemed perfect and the safety back-ups looked impressive.  The socio-political background to the country itself was also well researched.

Brazil. Of course Pace had heard of it, as had anyone who’d ever taken a passing interest in world-class football, or beach beauties. South America, somewhere in the middle, was the full extent of his knowledge so he actually found the background reading enthralling.

According to the cover sheet, Brazil was the fifth largest country in the world, covering a shade over eight and a half million square kilometres and comprising a complete range of environments and habitats within its vast borders. Discovered in 1500 by Pedro Alvarez Cabral, it was originally explored and settled by the Portuguese.  These Europeans either enslaved the native Indians to work on newly developed plantations or drove them deep into the dark interior.  They then shipped in more easily controlled slaves stolen from Africa.

Rich in minerals, Brazil exported industrial diamonds, oil, coal, iron and chrome while her flourishing industries produced high grade steel, paper, textiles, plastics and pharmaceuticals at an ever-increasing rate.  On paper it seemed a success story all around, unless you were an indigenous Indian or a wild animal.  The intense pressure of human development was having a dangerous effect on Mother Nature. The rainforests in particular were being destroyed at an alarming rate and with it the habitats of thousands of rare and endangered species.

The Brazilian authorities, to their credit, had become aware of the importance of the rainforests to the entire world and the felling of trees had slowed. The truth was that they couldn’t afford to do it alone. After all, hard woods from the forests still fetched a high price on the world market and their industries, although booming, were in dire need of continual modernisation if growth was to continue.  

Hence the race.

The Global Wildlife Trust was a massive charitable body, totally committed to highlighting the plight of the natural world and raising enough money to try and repair whatever damage it could.  It had been formed for over a decade and was well respected as a global voice.  

Like any charity the reality was that everything came down to money in the end and the need to always raise more.

Doyle McEntire was its largest single donor but it still wasn’t enough.  There needed to be increased exposure of the problems to the media and regular international investment geared to providing people living in the danger areas with jobs that wouldn’t necessitate them destroying the forests or poaching endangered species to survive. 

By staging such a well-publicised race in Brazil, with the sheer wealth of world media attention that it attracted, Doyle McEntire was more than doing his bit for world conservation.  Even Pace knew somewhere like the Amazon needed to be protected, the difference being he wouldn’t know where to start.  Fortunately other people did.

The race itself was to be staged in the remote heart of the rain forest, in an area known as the Amazon basin.  There would be sections on foot, mountain bikes, and also on water.  At certain points there would be challenges for the teams to overcome, above and beyond coping with the elements and terrain. Three teams, as McEntire had told him, would start.  They would set off several hours apart and the team that got through the entire course in the quickest time would win. 

Each team was to be comprised of five people, including the camera operator. Out of those five at least one had to be a doctor, one a linguist fluent in at least a couple of local languages, and another an experienced adventurer. Those were statutory conditions and Pace felt a buzz of excitement course through him as he thought about the things a person might see and do on such a trip.

If he caught some moments of triumph, despair, frustration and anger on film, it might lead to something really big for him.  It could even give him a foot in the door with one of the large television networks.

Pace telephoned for a pizza delivery at about eight o’clock. By ten-thirty it was gone, together with his confidence. From every angle something jumped out at him in the resoundingly negative, mainly linked to his own dubious fitness level. Add that to a general fear of doing something so wildly different just because he’d been unlucky enough to get himself shot by a child and he picked up the telephone knowing what his answer had to be.

The voice on the other end of the line did not belong to Sarah, or to her father.
The lawyer on the other end introduced himself as Max Hammond and began by telling Pace how pleased he was that staying late in the office, waiting for his call, had proved worthwhile.

He also asked whether the information supplied was enough.

‘The information was very thorough,’ Pace agreed, ‘but I think it would be fairer for everybody if Mr McEntire looks for somebody better qualified, or at least somebody healthier.’

‘We’ve had your medical files checked by several top doctors, if that’s what’s worrying you.  The consensus of medical opinion is that you’d be capable of tackling the course, subject to passing a rigorous medical before the start.’

Pace could hardly believe his own ears. McEntire had already spotted a weakness and so flouted every rule in the book, not to mention the law of the land, in illegally obtaining his medical notes. When he spoke again his voice was forced and level.

‘That’s very good of them to offer such words of wisdom, Mr Hammond but it’s not their life is it? If I could I would, believe me. As it is I’m still happy to offer myself as a publicity tool for the race if Mr McEntire can see any value in it.’

‘I’m sure we could find an angle,’ Hammond said slowly, doodling strange stick creatures on an expensive legal pad as he sat alone in his cavernous, dimly lit London office. ‘I will admit to being a little surprised you can afford to turn down such a lucrative offer but then that’s your business, not mine.’  And he was surprised, it was true.

‘Sorry?’

‘As I said, not my concern but I thought you’d have jumped at the chance to earn so much money.’

Money? There’d been mention of flights and accommodation being paid for, and a guaranteed hold on your job for the duration of the race but that was all. By all accounts people were paying large sums of their own cash just to be accepted as one of the competitors.  Pace said this to Hammond, who laughed aloud but stopped doodling abruptly at the turn of events.

‘They didn’t tell you about the offer?’ He was incredulous but quickly regained his composure. ‘Mr McEntire,’ he stated officiously, ‘has offered to pay you the sum of five hundred thousand pounds sterling.  You just have to agree to run in
the race and promote the ecological message behind it, of course.’

‘Half a million pounds?’ Pace heard his voice waver with uncertainty. ‘That’s ridiculous. Why would anybody want to pay me so much when nobody else is getting anything but expenses?’

‘Simple.  You aren’t like everybody else.’

‘How?’

‘The other competitors are all superbly fit, intelligent people but they don’t have the media value you do. In terms of sponsorship and extra media coverage in Britain alone that your involvement would bring, you more than justify the cost. And,’ he added softly, ‘because you’ve already donated all the money from your hospital fund to the hospital itself, the public won’t begrudge you a single penny of any race fee.’

Pace wasn’t worth that much money to anybody. He needed a little more convincing that this wasn’t an elaborate hoax, though for the life of him he couldn’t see why anybody of McEntire’s standing would go to all the trouble. ‘Why so much?’ He wanted something concrete and was about to get a lesson in raw economics.

‘There really is no secret to it.’ Hammond’s tone was tinged with mild annoyance. He wasn’t used to explaining himself to strangers but he, like Sarah before him, was doing what he was told.  ‘Your situation has made you a household name thanks to the frenzy against a failing society the press has seen fit to whip up.  The story’s been picked up by numerous countries and used to either praise or beat the government, depending on their view. At the moment your name is a very valuable commodity in the constant battle to secure press and media coverage without having to pay through the nose for it.’ 

Pace said nothing, just listened.

‘You’ve been marked as a hero and the donation of cash to the hospital has shored up that image. Getting you involved in a race such as this, especially so soon after leaving hospital, would guarantee us enough extra publicity to convince some of the more sceptical corporations to dip into their pockets. Having their name linked with conservation, and with you, will be good for their business.’

‘So they invest more, or for the first time, I get it.  Who gets the money?’ Pace was actually beginning to believe he might be worth something.

‘That’s the beauty of it.’ Hammond could hear the man’s reservations fading and he moved in for the kill. ‘It still goes into the pot and the split is the same. Twenty-five percent goes to the Brazilian government, to help them retain control over their environment. The remaining seventy-five percent goes directly to the Fund, to finance its many conservation projects around the globe.  More publicity means more investment.’

‘I understand,’ Pace countered lightly.  ‘But it’s a very large sum of money to throw at someone like me.  It’s a bit of a shock.’

‘To a man like McEntire it’s peanuts,’ Hammond said dismissively, ‘and he won’t be paying for it anyway. The increased investment in having you involved with the project has already been projected at well over six million pounds. Take off your fee and the kitty still overflows with an extra five and a half million.’  

Working for a huge corporation, Hammond was well used to speaking in large figures. Frankly, Pace was not. 

‘Look,’ soothed Hammond down the line, ‘Mr McEntire has a passion for staging events like this one and there’ll be more of them in the future.  He can be ruthless in getting what he wants in business but he is a fair man.  You should trust him. There aren’t any catches and nobody is trying to trick you.  All we want is for you to throw in with us.’  The voice paused dramatically and drew a breath.  ‘Everybody wins.’

‘It seems if I go I make for myself and do something for the greater good. Okay.  You’ve got me, Mr Hammond.  Let’s hope that everybody does win.’

‘That’s great news.  Mr McEntire will be delighted.’  

‘I hope so.’  Maybe this is just the sort of life altering break you’ve been waiting for, Pace told himself.  

‘I’ll have all necessary paperwork regarding your medical checks, insurance, travel arrangements, background on other team members  and such couriered over to your home by noon tomorrow.  Is that acceptable?’

‘That’s fine,’ said Pace. After all, he hardly had any plans to go out.  ‘I look forward to meeting you some day, Mr Hammond.’ It was just something to say.  Pace didn’t care if they ever met or not.  Hammond’s reply was yet another surprise.

‘Oh,
you’ll be meeting me all right,’ he answered brightly. ‘I may be a lawyer by profession but I also hold masters in tropical botany. I’m actually assigned to your team for the race, so we’ll be slugging this thing out together.’ 

Pace hung up his phone and poured himself the dregs of brandy from a bottle in the kitchen cupboard.  Then he crossed over to the window. It was still raining softly outside and the evening was dark and starless.

Looking down absently, he stared at the many puddles of water held captive by the uneven surface of the car park.  Each pool reflected the golden light of overhead sodium streetlamps to varying degrees and each was agitated by falling raindrops.  He swallowed a mouthful of the burning liquid and thought about the enormity of the decision he’d just made.