"That's a bonobo," a fascinated Cardenas murmured to his colleague. "They're considered to be the most intelligent and humanlike of all the apes."

"How do you know all this stuff?" Hyaki's attention kept shifting from the bonobo to the far more suspicious baboons.

"I told you." Cardenas waited as the confident chimp drew near. "You need to watch more vit."

Standing, the bonobo was nearly as tall as Cardenas. Its expression was impossible to read. Slowly, it extended one powerful hand toward the Inspector's face. Cardenas tensed but held his ground. Dexterous fingers grasped one side of the human's drooping mustache and tugged gently. Letting go, the bonobo stepped back, scratched pointedly at his own whiskery visage-and grinned hugely. At this, the baboons and uakaris set up a howl of delight.

"Don't," Cardenas whispered tersely to his companion, "say anything."

"Who, me?" Hyaki studiously avoided his friend's stern gaze.

When the general laughter had died down, the bonobo slapped his chest and grunted. "Joe!"

Cardenas and Hyaki duplicated the gesture, following which Cardenas removed his ident bracelet from an inside pocket of his still-damp Willis and Geiger. With the loss of their spinners in the burned-out 4X4, it was all the official identification that remained to him. As a visitor to the CAF, he could carry but not wear it. Would the ape recognize it, and what it stood for?

The bonobo's response was as insightful as it was unexpected. Reaching around into his backpack, he removed a bracelet that was nearly identical to the Inspector's own. The colors and patterns were different, but there was no mistaking the significance.

"I'll be damned," a dumbfounded Hyaki muttered. "A fellow cop!"

"Si-yes," declared the bonobo proudly. Turning, he made an unmistakable gesture for the two men to follow. They did so without hesitation, pleased to see that their intimidating bodyguard of baboons had sheathed their weapons. Having swung effortlessly up into the trees, the uakaris were watching everything from above.

After walking for less than ten minutes, they came upon a small convertible truck. The top was down, exposing both the forward seats and the open bed. An elegant circular emblem on the passenger-side door featured rainforest trees, a floating sun, and an upreaching and distinctively hairy arm and hand. Hyaki kept thoughts of crossed bananas with coconuts rampant to himself. Pointing to the vehicle, the bonobo smiled again and indicated they should climb in.

"Sobres-all right!" Unable to fit in the front, Hyaki piled in back. "No more hiking in this humidity!" He plucked dejectedly at the front of his sodden shirt. "Not that we could get much wetter than we already are."

Cardenas slipped into the passenger seat up front. "Wonder where the driver is?"

His question was answered when Joe hopped into the seat behind the wheel. Activated by the broadcast unit that ringed his left middle finger, the engine hummed to life immediately. The truck bounced down the track, and soon picked up surprising speed. In the back, Hyaki found himself surrounded by half a dozen curious baboons whose front canines were longer than knives the sergeant had taken off street-skimming subgrubs. He smiled wanly while hanging on to keep from being jounced out of the vehicle.

Concentrating on his driving, Joe spoke without looking at his guest. "Angel police-Joe police!"

"Yes," Cardenas assented. "So is my companion. You are a policeman in the Reserva?"

"Ranger in Reserva," the bonobo replied proudly. "Policeperson in Ciudad Simiano. Protect and serve." Now he glanced over. "You and big friend have visitor permit?"

"In my pocket," Cardenas assured the driver, greatly relieved to have in his possession actual hardcopy documents. Had the permission to enter the Reserva they had obtained in San Jose been forwarded in purely electronic form, it would have been lost along with everything else on his spinner. Only by good fortune had he absently kept the relevant credentials in the back pocket of his pants.

The bonobo nodded vigorously. "Good! Not many human visit La Amistad. Only scientist, mostly. Even less come to visit Ciudad. We like it that way."

"We'll try to be good guests," Cardenas assured him, "and to leave as soon as possible."

His host shrugged. "You stay is okay with Joe. I like humans." He gestured back toward the bed of the rattling, bouncing truck. "Harder for lower types to make friend. You know history of experiments? Only few of the great apes smart enough to make real use of brain boost. Chimpanzees, mostly. Also orangutans and few more. These guys"-he indicated the baboons and then the uakaris who were following along in the trees-"not real bright, you savvy? Tamarins, squirrel monkeys, colobus-they all pretty simple folk." Changing tack, he asked animatedly, "You like Hundel?"

"You mean Handel? There are a few pieces that-"

Joe interrupted before Cardenas could finish. "Great human composer. Good stuff. We got small choir in Ciudad. Maybe you get to hear howler monkeys do 'Hallelujah, Amen, Amen' from Judas Maccabeus." He chuckled appreciatively. "Pretty special."

The road continued its gentle climb up into old-growth, primary rainforest, Cardenas listening to the spirited patter of their hirsute driver, Hyaki smiling uncomfortably at the sharp-toothed simian sextet with whom he was compelled to share the bed of the truck. Along the way they passed a number of signs. Cardenas remarked on one illuminated floater that dominated a fork leading off to the left.

"Storage facilities." Joe deftly avoided a pothole the size of a small fishpond. "Reserva headquarters ahead. We go to Ciudad." He looked over tentatively. "Unless you no want go now."

"No." Ride this out and see where it took them, Cardenas had long since decided. "The Ciudad is fine."

The bonobo's enormous grin reappeared. "Ciudad is best. Not many human visitors. You talk Sorong."

"Sorry," Cardenas replied. "I don't mean to bore you."

"No, no!" Joe slapped his chest in amusement. "Sorong head of Ciudad. Very bright guy, you see. Genius, some human research folk say. Nice fella, too-even if no bonobo."

It was disconcerting to see a guarded gate in the midst of so much magnificent, undisturbed jungle, but Cardenas supposed it could not be avoided. He remarked on the absence of fencing.

"Reserva," Joe explained as the truck began to slow. "Animals need freedom to move around."

Cardenas nodded. "The local Ticos don't kill them if they wander outside the Reserva boundaries?"

Joe shook his head. "Tourists come to see wildlife. No wildlife, no tourists. No tourists, no money. People know. Even humans understand."

As they approached the gate, the Inspector remembered his history. "They didn't always. Tell me, Joe: are you happy that some human scientists manipulated"-he almost said "monkeyed with"- "the intelligence of your ancestors?"

The bonobo shrugged. "Sure. As means for communication, speaking words beats screaming and throwing your excrement every time. Joe can still ouk-ouk with the best of them, but language better. Feel sorry for the little guys, though." With a jerk of a thumb, he indicated the baboons in back. "They just no get it." He tapped his throat with the back of his free hand. "Anyway, no room in here to lower their larynxes. Larynx stays up, no possible to have real speech. Just like in human babies in first three months."

Cardenas was not sure what to expect as they neared the Simiano compound. An absurdist vision of crenellated battlements manned by armored chimpanzees clutching crossbows and slings harked back to novels of fantasy he had read as a boy. The reality was far simpler and more prosaic. They passed a succession of signs warning travelers that they were approaching a restricted area that could not be entered without prior authorization, then an automatic gate that recognized the truck and rose to let them through, before finally crossing a narrow, well-maintained bridge. The modest river it crossed was no moat, but effectively served the same purpose.