Waters of Doubt: DiPaolo, #3

By Steve Bartholomew

Waters of Doubt, third tale in the DiPaolo trilogy, a novella. Theodore Roosevelt has invited Martino DiPaolo to an exciting vacation in the Brazilian rain forest. The trip nearly proves the last of both men, as well as the rest of the expedition. They have chosen to follow the course of an unmapped river, the River de Duvidas, River of Doubt. But DiPaolo is shown an ancient, secret world.

Meanwhile at home, DiPaolo's arch enemy Kwanyin Luk is hatching his own plans. He has created the greatest confidence game of his career: the di Paolo estate con. He is making millions of dollars and can't be touched. Then he decides to go after DiPaolo himself, with a gun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Gopher Books
• Release date: Dec 15, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223363286

Steve Bartholomew

I grew up in San Francisco, joined the Army after high school. That's where I got my most valuable education. Since then I've lived in a few other places, such as Mexico City and New York. Now I inhabit a small town in Northern California, where we have a volcano and a lake. What more could I ask? I have been writing since age 9. What more do you wish to know?

Book preview

Dying

Martino DiPaolo knew he was dying. For several days - weeks - he had known, but had done his best to deny it. Now, this late in the day, he was lucid enough to accept what was. He raised his head from his litter enough to look around at the teeming jungle. The silence continued to amaze him. He had read books and articles about jungles. Always they described the sounds, calls of birds, rustle of leaves, screech of monkeys, native drumming. This Amazon was different. It was uncannily silent, like some vast monster waiting to pounce.

It had already done that - pounced. This expedition was likely doomed, dying though not yet dead. DiPaolo stared at the ceiling of green leaves above his head. Tiago appeared in his field of vision, silent as the forest around him.

Acordado? Sveglio? Portuguese and Italian. Awake? he asked. Tiago could manage English fairly well, but he was Brazilian. Early in the expedition he and DiPaolo discovered they could understand each other's Latin languages better than the Saxon. They were learning to communicate in a personal patois of their own. DiPaolo lifted an arm in answer to his question.

Acqua?

DiPaolo nodded. Tiago raised DiPaolo's head and lifted a jar of cold water to his lips. DiPaolo drank quickly, nearly gagging. His fever was down for the moment, but he knew it would return. He asked in Italian, What day is this? What is happening?

Don't know what day. We stalled. Rondon goes to look for portage trail. You been out for two, three days. Need food.

DiPaolo tried to smile. Is there any food left?

I got some dry fish and palm tops. I make you broth.

DiPaolo felt no hunger, only thirst. He said, I try to eat.

Tiago let DiPaolo's head down onto the rolled up blanket that served as a pillow. Then he disappeared from view. DiPaolo had been inside a tent, but found it too hot and airless, so he'd asked to be moved outside. Now his only shelter was a web of mosquito netting. He breathed deeply, trying to cool his lungs. He drifted off into a half doze, then awoke when Tiago returned. Tiago was a camerada, a bearer. The cameradas outnumbered the expedition men by two to one. They carried nearly all the equipment and supplies, as well as paddling the canoes. They bore most of the burden and never complained.

Tiago was spooning a steaming broth into DiPaolo's mouth after propping him up. Before night fell, he would transfer from his litter on the ground to a hammock. Away from all the creatures that crawled and crept. DiPaolo recalled the Colonel's remark, that in Africa there are large beasts like lions, tigers and hyenas that want to eat you. In the Amazon there are tiny things that want to eat you. Mosquitoes, biting flies, piranha fish.

DiPaolo remembered the letter that had come in San Francisco, the message that had got him into this. DiPaolo had been enjoying a day off, relaxing with his lover Benita Bernardi, in her parlor. Midsummer, and as usual the city was cold and foggy. They had decided to stay in that day, listen to the gramophone, read to each other. The letter came by special delivery. It was from the Colonel, Theodore Roosevelt.

How would you like to join me on a relaxing adventure to the Amazon jungle? I still appreciate your past service to me. I should like to reward you with a rare opportunity to visit one of the few remaining wildernesses. It should be a bully trip, canoeing down a lengthy unexplored river. I plan to bring some of those new fangled light canvas canoes. We plan to be away a month or so. I do hope you can make it ...

The letter was short and to the point. DiPaolo read it twice, then read it again, this time out loud to Benita. He shook his head. That man gets bored in civilization. I guess he assumes everyone else likes living in tents and shooting elephants for dinner. A crazy idea.

Benita grinned. No elephants in the Amazon, that I know of. Maybe he'll discover some. You should go.

At that he gaped. Do you want to get rid of me?

She giggled. Just for awhile, so I can enjoy my other six paramours. No, really, Martino. You deserve time off. You take your work too seriously. Getting away for a month will give you some perspective. When you come back I'll love you all the more.

Come to that, I wonder why this invitation doesn't include you.

She shrugged. Sounds like a boy's club sort of adventure, traipsing through the jungle, fighting off wild Indians and so on. I don't think I'd much care for it.

He sat down, giving the letter some thought. Reading it for a fourth time. I'm still searching for Kwanyin Luk. I want to see that man in prison.

He'll still be there, wherever he is, when you return.

And so it was decided.

IN HIS DELIRIUM, DIPAOLO did not so much remember the next scene as relive it. That had been back in Concepcion, that civilized port city. Colonel Candido da Silva Rondon had been appointed official guide to Roosevelt's party. The two colonels were still getting to know each other. Rondon had been there waiting at Bahia. So had Kermit, Roosevelt's son, who was also in the party. From there they had taken a boat to Concepcion, the lovely capital of Paraguay.

Rondon leaned over a map stretched out on a table, pointing. He said, We begin here, on the Paraguay side of the border. From there we begin our descent of the Tapajos. He went on to point out the other rivers they planned to visit, all clearly marked. Roosevelt leaned closer, adjusting his spectacles. He was notoriously near-sighted. After studying the map for half a minute he said,

Those rivers are all mapped.

So they are, sir.

Roosevelt took off his glasses, rubbed them with a bandanna, put them back on. He smiled, looking directly at Rondon. I see there are large areas of this map with nothing on it.

True, sir. Brazil is still largely unmapped.

Roosevelt still smiled. There is not much scientific value in exploring areas already mapped.

At that Rondon stared back at Roosevelt. For a moment it was as if they read each other's minds. Rondon nodded, said nothing. Roosevelt said, Bully. Let's do something difficult instead of an easy job. They shook hands. And so the itinerary was changed. They selected a different river to explore, one almost totally unknown. Il Rio de Duvidas. The River of Doubt.

A Strange Letter

When DiPaolo left San Francisco to join the expedition, he put his best man, Jack Harrow, in charge of the DiPaolo detective agency. He also left instructions in writing for him to comply with anything Benita Bernardi might ask. He didn't expect she would need to ask, but that was a normal precaution.

DiPaolo had become something of a celebrity since his involvement with the former President Roosevelt. So a brief note appeared in the Society pages of the San Francisco Examiner, headed DiPaolo to accompany Roosevelt. Subheading: Looks forward to exciting expedition.

Bernardi was looking forward to a few weeks of peace and quiet. With Martino around, there was usually more excitement than she wanted. About a week after his departure a strange letter showed up in the mail. It wasn't special delivery, though it was on expensive stationery. The return address was in London, England. It was addressed to DiPaolo, but he had left instructions for her to handle any business that came up. She opened the letter. It read in part,

Esteemed Mr. DiPaolo,

I am attorney of record working with Sr. J.C.T. Pascual, who is executor for the estate of the Marquis de Paolo. The Marquis passed away intestate some eighty-two years ago. Due to various social upheavals, it was impossible to probate the estate until recently.

In the meantime, the estate in question has been gathering interest and is now believed to be valued at nearly one billion dollars U.S.A. One of my tasks is to locate and verify all eligible heirs to this estate. My investigations show that you, Mr. DiPaolo, are one of these heirs.

Please respond to this letter as soon as possible. I am requesting any documents you may possess showing your line of familial descent for the last century. If you do not have such documents at once available, I may assist you in obtaining such. My preliminary estimate of your share of the estate would be approximately one million, six hundred thousand dollars after legal fees are deducted.

Looking forward to hearing from you,

I am your obedient servant,

Leon Leatherdale, Atty, Barrister

Benita Bernardi put down the letter, having read it twice. Something smelled wrong about it. That was quite a large sum of money. She could simply file the letter, awaiting Martino's return. But he might not be back for a month or two. If this letter turned out to be legitimate, she wouldn't want to risk him losing. And he had given her an order to handle his affairs while he was gone. Tomorrow she would go down to the DiPaolo Detective Agency. Let them do some detecting.

SEVERAL DAYS LATER Jack Harrow showed up at Bernardi's home, having first telephoned for an appointment. She could have gone to his office, but she supposed he wanted to show respect for his boss's lady. Harrow was in command of the agency while Martino was gone. She made him comfortable in the parlor while he produced his files. He had declined tea or coffee, but took a glass of water. He said,

"We couldn't find anything wrong, at least so far. This Leatherdale is licensed as both attorney and barrister in London. That's unusual. Most men make it a specialty of one or the other. Not like American law, where we don't make any distinction. In England it's different. Lawyers do criminal, barristers civil. At least that's how I understand it. Anyway, Leatherdale has been doing business for about twenty years. He's legitimate as far as we can tell. This J.C.T. Pascual is another matter.

He's an Italian. All we know about him is that he's from Naples, but currently living in London. At least we think so. Leatherdale wouldn't tell us his address, citing confidentiality. There really was a Marquis di Paolo. He was in Sardinia, and may have died intestate. Again, it's difficult to get details because of all the upheavals Italy has gone through. Apparently Leatherdale has found other possible heirs to the de Paolo fortune, but I don't yet have a complete list. I can give you a few names, if you want to contact them. Or if you want me to.

She shook her head. "I don't think so. You have done a good job, Johnny. More than I asked for. I'm