ONE<br >Against billowing white clouds， the blue Learjet ap-<br >peared to be but a misplaced speck of sky as it jetted<br >an arrow-straight line above the forest.<br > In its sumptuous interior was a single passenger， a<br >young man who was plainly a branco， one of the<br >whites， and just as obviously of the moneyed class.<br >Garbed in a suit of unbleached silk shantung， he was<br >tall and rather roughhewn， with heavy dark brows，<br >somewhat unruly dark hair， and blue eyes that could<br > dark and stormy in anger; his face was both<br >aristocratic and sensual. He sat close to a window<br >surveying the vista below.<br > Viewed from five thousand feet， the world seemed<br >to be an endless green ocean stretching in every<br >direction. Beyond imagination， beyond human com-<br >prehension. The only tangible evidence of solid<br >ground was a tenuous day-red scratch bisecting the<br >impenetrable density.<br > The red scratch vanished suddenly， engulfed by the<br >forest， and the young man turned and called to the<br >pilot.<br > "Tio， the highway seems to have ended. How much<br >farther will it have to go to reach my land?"<br > The pilot shrugged. "I would guess about a hun-<br >dred more kilometers."<br > "Then it should be only a few more weeks before it<br >gets there.~<br > "It could be many more weeks. Maybe many<br >months. The jungle is not friendly to civilizados."<br > Baul de Carvalho laughed. "You re a pessimist， Pio，<br >llke my old man. Maybe that s why he keeps you<br >around."<br > Pio， a lean young moreno， half Indian and half<br ><br >