Island of Thieves by Josh Lacey

right.”
    â€œWelcome. My name is Rodolfo, and this is my shop. Please, come, sit. You want to buy one more necklace?”
    â€œActually, no, I’m not interested in another necklace. I wondered if you could tell me a little more about this.” Uncle Harvey opened his blue folder and took out the piece of paper. “When you sold me that necklace, it came wrapped in this piece of paper. I didn’t actually look at it till I got back home. But once I did, I realized the words are English.”
    â€œ
Inglés?
Yes?” Rodolfo was intrigued. He held the paper carefully with both hands and carried it over to the light. “Very interesting. You want more?”
    â€œHave you got more?” asked Uncle Harvey.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œCan you get more?”
    â€œIs possible.”
    â€œOh, come on, Rodolfo. Let’s not play games. Where did you get it? Can you remember?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œSo where was it?”
    Rodolfo smiled. “For the necklace, you get a good price, no? How much? Two hundred dollars?”
    â€œSeventy,” said my uncle.
    â€œSeventy. That
is
a good price.”
    â€œOh, I see. It’s like that, is it? Well, here you go.” My uncle opened his wallet and pulled out a ten-dollar bill.
    (Here’s a piece of free advice from Uncle Harvey: Wherever in the world you might be going, it’s always best to travel with American currency. In an emergency, everyone wants dollars. He had five hundred of them in his wallet. Plus a grubby stash of the local currency—soles.)
    He offered the money to Rodolfo. “Will you tell us where you got it?”
    â€œOf course. But ten dollars . . . This is not a good price.”
    â€œHow much do you want?”
    â€œLet us say . . .” Rodolfo paused for a moment. “A thousand dollars.”
    â€œA thousand! Are you crazy? I’m not asking for much, Rodolfo. Just a little tiny piece of information. Go on, take my ten dollars and tell me what I want to know.”
    They went back and forth like this for a few minutes and eventually agreed on twenty dollars. Rodolfo pocketed the money, handed the page back, and told us what he knew. It wasn’t much. He had bought the necklace from an old man, a farmer, who came into the shop.
    â€œWhat’s his name?” asked my uncle. “Where does he live?”
    â€œI show you. Come, we will go there together, you and me.”
    â€œWe don’t need a guide,” said Uncle Harvey.
    â€œYes, yes. You must have guide. This place is difficult. Is dangerous. You need one guide. I will help you.”
    â€œJust draw us a map,” said Uncle Harvey.
    â€œIs not possible.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œIs not possible. Come, we go now. I will guide you.”
    â€œI’ll pay you for a map.”
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œHow about another twenty dollars?”
    â€œHow about five hundred?”
    They were going at it again, arguing over the price. Rodolfo also asked all kinds of questions, trying to discover why my uncle was so interested in the necklace and the paper, but Uncle Harvey told him nothing. Eventually Rodolfo seemed to realize that he wasn’t going to get anywhere and agreed on a fee of forty more dollars. Uncle Harvey handed over the money and Rodolfo drew a map for us, showing the rough location of the old man’s farm, four or five hours’ drive away. Before handing over the map, he made one final attempt to join us, saying that the mountains were very dangerous and without his help we would probably spend days driving up the wrong roads, getting lost, wasting time, failing to find whatever it was that we wanted so desperately. Uncle Harvey smiled, folded up the map, and said, “Thanks for your concern, Rodolfo, but you don’t have to worry about us. We’ll be fine.”

9
    We drove for hours along tiny roads that led us out of the lush valley and up into