Lost City of the Sun

5

"NOW THIS IS WHAT the Amazon rainforest is supposed to look like," said Skip, as they flew across the southwest corner of Para State, somewhere west of Highway 163, the only thread of civilization in a rich green fabric of unspoiled nature. Looking at the unbroken forest below, he felt at last like he was getting "into the wilds."

"How did Fawcett end up all the way over here," wondered Zane, "if they were supposed to be heading east? This is far to the northwest. It makes no sense."

"Hey, I'm just the pilot. Jack Fawcett's quipu is our navigator," Skip joked.

After the drive yesterday back to Cuiaba, they'd taken off this morning on a scouting trip, following a heading toward that second set of coordinates. For safety, and to extend their range, Skip had stopped in Sinop, about two hours into the flight, to top off fuel. Since then, their heading had taken them steadily away from Fawcett's proposed route.

"Yeah, I've been wondering about that too," he continued. "By now, we're out of the Xingu River system entirely. We're following the Rio Teles Pires and its tributaries. What could have happened to make him change course so drastically?"

"Maybe he was kidnapped by hostile Indians."

Both Skip and Nusiri shot Zane disapproving looks.

"Indigenous," said Skip, a fraction of a second before Nusiri could. "And don't forget, you are half Shuar yourself. Be proud of your roots." He looked over to Nusiri. "I'm sorry. We should have come down more often, so he would have a better appreciation of where his heritage lies."

"It's okay. I'm glad he's growing up American. And I'm also glad that you were willing to move down to Ecuador with me. As it is, we have had the best of both worlds."

"But, getting back to Percy Fawcett, he was known to treat the native peoples he met with respect, and had a reputation for getting along with them. He was familiar with the Kayapo, whose territory he was entering. That's an Indigenous Preserve now. Same for the Menkragnoti. There was a reference to a tribe called the Morcegos, who were to be feared, but outside of Brian Fawcett's book, I couldn't find out much about them."

"Morcego is Portuguese for bat," said Nusiri. "It was probably a nickname. The Bat People. Our own people, the Shuar, that's not what we called ourselves. We were Untsuri Suara, Many People." She looked out the window to the wilderness below. "Most of these tribes, they just want to be left alone."

Skip scanned the view ahead. Narrow rivers snaked between thickly forested low hills. In the distance, rocky ridges rose above the surrounding terrain. "I think we're over the Munduruku Indigenous Territory now," he said.

A few minutes later, Zane announced, "We're here. According to the compass and my GPS, we should be right on top of Fawcett's coordinates."

"Nothing out there but more of the same. Nothing to see but jungle."

"If Fawcett had found ruins of a lost city or something, couldn't it be hidden under the jungle growth? We could come back with ground-penetrating radar or LIDAR and find it."

"Those things only work if you have access to them and know where to aim them. We'd probably need a trained archeologist on board. But I'll fly a bit lower and slower and circle around for a couple of passes. Another thing. Sometimes there are things out there that even modern technology doesn't show."

Skip did a slow, inward spiral, coming down another thousand feet over the course of two complete circles. He was halfway through the third, and about to call it a wild goose chase, when Nusiri called out.