Jesse heard the sound keep building, unlike anything else Hannah had ever made. Too dark to see anything, so he flicked on his NVGs.
A sizeable wooden motorboat was idling downstream. It was a battered old Chris Craft complete with a pointed bow and a windshield, though what it was doing on the Rio Naya he couldn’t imagine. It had rounded a bend and come into view less than fifty meters away. The middle of the night didn’t seem to be a likely time for fishermen. However, a load of severely ticked NERC guerrillas would make perfect sense.
The boat seated a dozen men tightly, most scanning the banks with flashlights—several had their weapons at the ready.
He and Hannah were again completely exposed on their tiny beach, except this time a diversionary sound wasn’t going to make any differe
