Belmopan Page 10

  Late in the evening there came a knock on the door.

  “What do you want?” she screamed. Her voice muffled from beneath the pillow.

  “Si, Amalia.” came a low, male voice. “It is Juan.”

  “Go away!” she returned, throwing a pillow at the closed door.

  “Senior Doug is on da phone for jou. He has been trying to reach jou all mornin.”

  “What does that bastard want? To apologize for another night he didn’t show up!”

  “Please Senorita, you must talk to him.”

  Amalia got up from the bed and stormed to the door. Opening it quickly, she grabbed the cellular from Juan, “Leave me alone, you bastard, she yelled into the phone. “You did it again to me last night, and I have had it with you leaving me with this lackey you call a bodyguard.”

  She threw the phone at Juan, the culprit, and attempted to close the door behind her.

  “You take that foot of yours out of the door, or Doug will get an earful of what you did last night.”

  “But Senorita, I meant no harm, just to make you happy.”

  “Get the hell outta here, “she screamed, throwing a towel and slamming the door. Locking it and replacing the bolt, she crawled back to the bed and covered herself lightly with the sheet.

  In the early years, Doug had showered her with gifts and money, but now all she could think of was how wrong it had all gone. The abuse she had received from Juan when she was barely twelve years old, was foremost on her mind. She had been physically mature and beautiful for her age, although naive. Amalia was thankful to Juan for the attention he gave her and removing her from the poverty she experienced with her family. He had promised her clothes and an education in the big city and relished the attention flouted on her by his friends, but it was not long before his attentions turned to ulterior motives, and then came the favors he would ask her to do for the men he brought home. Juan had beaten her once, and that was all it took to be convinced that the occasional playful hour with a drunken stranger was better than losing the one asset that would get her from this bondage, her looks. He had continued to keep her in drugs and money; it helped to mask the mixed feelings she had for her life.

  One evening, Juan brought back an Americano, who had previously been quite enamored with her and offered to take care of her. Juan adamantly opposed, and the men accompanying this handsome, older man, helped persuade Juan of the opportunities that would open up for him, should he agree. She watched in glee while they continually encouraged him for an hour until an agreement was reached. Amalia had the impression that Doug, the Americano, was not desirous of a relationship with Juan any longer, but was convinced by Juan that the antiques, gleaned from the local forests would not be so readily available should he not be there to mediate. A deal was struck and Juan would continue, but now as an associate, of sorts, to keep an eye on local business proceedings. Doug had friends in the Government of Belize, that could pull many strings; including the one around Juan’s neck should he have rebellious thoughts. Juan would solicit Amalia’s services from time to time, but to no avail; she would play with him. He still found her very attractive and would use the drugs in an attempt to have his way with her. She hated Juan for what he had done to her, but had pity for what she considered a lost, lonely soul. Everything in the triad was kept functioning as long as she played the game with Doug, but, she was at her wits-end with both of them. She took care of herself, as best she could with Doug’s money and dressed in the finest clothes he bought for her, but she wanted more, a future. She was tired of the drugs and partying, the gaps in her memory, and all the men’s faces that drifted in and out of her mind; and now there was one more.

  A slight thud on the door stirred her from sleep. The lights from the walkway outside the door silhouetted the figure that entered the room. Barely awake, she swung her legs to touch her feet to the carpeted floor.

  “Why did you not call me back? I have been worried about you all night.” Doug’s voice was low with no hint of rebuke.

  Amalia said nothing as he closed the door and approached the bed where she sat. Easing himself beside her, he sat motionless and watched the faint sparkle in her eyes that darted back and forth as she searched his for the reason of his inconsideration. She was quick to raise her hand against his face, but his hand caught her wrist and forced it to her side. Again, she raised the other hand in retaliation, but he caught it and forced it down to the bed, inclining Amalia at the same time. She forced her knee up to meet his groin, but he was able to deflect it. She was helpless as he nestled his face down into the crevice of her neck and shoulder; he gently kissed.

  “You bastard,” Amalia protested, as the sensation brought shivers to her body. She giggled aloud in response to his continued impetus. She struggled to get free from his grip but the attempts exposed her vulnerability. He pressed himself against her nakedness.

  Dias tres (day 3) A sharp knock on the door woke them early from a deep sleep.

  “Who is it?” Doug shouted, releasing himself from Amalia’s embrace and grabbing for the gun he kept close in his jacket.

  “Juan, Senor Doug.”

  “Just a minute!” Doug responded, pulling a sheet to cover himself and proceeded to the door.

  “What is it Juan?”

  “There has been trouble Senor, in the jungle.”

  “Why, what’s happened?”

  “The girl,” he whispered. “The girl, she escaped.”

  “What!” Doug returned, opening the door to allow him in.

  “Si, Senor. The girl has gotten away.”

  Doug closed the door behind Juan and leaned up against the wall to consider the news’ implication. Juan’s eyes scouted the room and came to rest on Amalia’s half exposed body on the bed. He continued to look her way until Doug’s attention turned full back to him.

  “Change of plan,” he declared quietly under his breath looking over to Amalia.

  “We talked about the woman at the museum, remember?”

  “Si Senor. It will be difficult.”

  “Take one of the new figurines and use it as bate to get her from the museum. Tell her we have several items she may be interested in, including a butterfly.”

  “Ok! I’ll do my best.”

  “No!” You will do it.”

  Doug let Juan out through the door and proceeded to the shower. Amalia could hear the water as it splashed in waves against the walls of the enclosure. Her eyes darted back and forth as she considered what she had just heard and the affects it could have on her life.

  She pretended to sleep on, but Doug turned to her as he donned his clothes, “I will send for you later. We will be spending some time in Belmopan.”

  Amalia grunted a reply in recognition, and went back to sleep.

  Juan’s light, brown van blew plumes of bluish smoke as he drove through the cramped streets of the old quarter of Belize City. He was having a difficult time deciding on whether to enter the museum, or wait in the parking lot. The gate to the parking lot was attended, but knew from previous outings that the guard left the gate open while he did the rounds of Government buildings. If he could get to the clerk during this time frame, the kidnapping could be possible.

  “Museum,” Juan stated to the guard who flagged him by. He pulled passed the checkpoint and around to the far side of the tiny, two-story museum.

  Taking the small, leather pouch from the glove box, he unwrapped the contents to view a small, clay, stylized figurine. The little man had a plume that emanated from the top of his head and a large belly that protruded from above his folded feet. It was one of Juan’s favorites, acquired from a dig several years back. It would do the job nicely.

  There had been no one at the entrance to greet him, so he slowly walked to the stairwell. Not knowing which way to go, he chose up the stairs to the exhibits, watching for Maria along the way. From the top of the stairs, he could see down the long, exhibit hallway to an open door. There, as he’d hoped, Maria could be seen walki
ng back and forth through the opening, carrying papers and boxes.

  “Buenos dias, Senorita,” Juan announced, entering the room.

  “Well, hello!” replied Maria, surprised, not expecting visitors. “I do not believe we are open yet. Was there no-one down at reception?”

  “No there wasn’t, but it is you I wished to speak to,” Juan answered with a quiver in his voice. He looked at her full breasts and shapely hips and felt delight at the prospects of the abduction.

  “It really should wait till later,” she replied, returning to her duties. “I am just about to leave.”

  “No wait, please!” Juan insisted. “I have something that may be of interest to you,” reaching for the leather purse in his jacket pocket.

  “May I be of assistance to you sir?” came a voice from just outside the door.

  Startled, Juan slipped the purse back in his pocket and turned to face an unfamiliar, security guard.

  “Well, no thank you.” He turned to Maria, “may I contact you later?”

  “Perhaps, but you must make an appointment if you wish to submit a piece.”

  “Thank you, miss,” Juan responded. “I will return later.”

  Frustrated, Juan retreated down the hallway to the stairs with the guard close behind.

  Bewildered as to how to accomplish the deed at hand, he sat in the van and watched as the seagulls danced and sallied on the sea breeze that whisked its way through the maze of buildings surrounding the parking lot. The guard from the gatehouse slowly walked the perimeter of the lot and disappeared into one of the buildings. Taking the leather pouch from his jacket, he opened the side door of the van and placed the figurine, along with the bag, propped on the wipers of the sporty, compact next door. Sitting with his feet on the ground, he pondered his next move.

  Five minutes had not passed, when he heard the familiar sound of high-heels on the walkway close to the van. Squeezing by stopped, surprised to windscreen.

  “Interesting isn’t it?” Juan interjected, startling Maria.

  “Where did you get this?” she questioned, easing further around the open door.

  “Not so far from here. Would you like to see more?”

  “No thanks!” feeling uncomfortable with his reply.

  “May I have it back please?” Juan asked.

  Wanting nothing to do with it, Maria reached out to hand him back the piece, when all of a sudden he grabbed her arm with great force. Swinging hard with her free hand to strike him, she grazed the top of his head and lost balance. Taking advantage of the move, Juan dragged her into the van. Pulling as hard as she could, Maria’s footing slipped and she fell hitting her head on the sill of the van. Seizing the moment, he grabbed her hair with both hands and pulled her in. the open van door, Maria see the package on her With one quick blow, Maria was unconscious. For several moments, she lay motionless, but when she came-to she was lying on the pavement between the two vehicles. Inside the van, the young guard was overpowering Juan, holding him down to subdue him. Grabbing the nearest thing he could, Juan struck out. A short screwdriver wedged between the guards ribs. Falling back in pain out of the open doors, the young man tripped over Maria and fell against her car. Juan, taking advantage of the break in momentum, jumped into the van’s front seat, started the engine and drove over the grass to the open driveway. The tires screeched on the hot pavement and the doors flailed back and forth as he sped out the exit and down the narrow street. Unable to respond quickly, Maria and the guard gathered themselves; the young man pulled the stubby screwdriver from his side and noted the bloodstained shaft. No one in the area had noticed the mishap; no one came to their aid. Getting to her feet, Maria put her arm around the man and they both limped down the walkway and into the cool of the museum. Downstairs, in the office, they dialed for help.

  Panicking, Juan sped from the downtown area and out passed the city limits to a familiar spot in the mangrove forests. Sitting a short distance from the road, well hidden in the dense underbrush, he sat in the makeshift hut he had escaped to from time to time. Amalia was familiar with this place; he would bring her here to get her drunk, stoned and have his way. He was frantic in his mood and considered what could be done to ease the dilemma. Cracking open a bottle of rum, he sat and contemplated his next move. He would ditch the van and make his way to Belmopan to kill Doug, this was all his fault; or better still, kill Doug, find Amalia and run away. He dug for his gun beneath a stack of soiled burlap bags. He reasoned to keep the van for now, his only mode of transportation. He knew Belmopan would be the next stop. The message earlier to Doug, about the escaped girl in the jungle alluded to ample opportunities to do the deed. He needed a foolproof plan.

  Grabbing the half bottle of rum, Juan climbed into the old van and turned on to the highway heading west toward the mountains.

  It must have been mid-morning when a sharp rap came on Amalia’s door.

  “Who is it?” she requested from the bathroom.

  “Jose, from room service.”

  “I didn’t order anything.”

  “Si, Senorita. I have been asked to order a cab for jou.”

  “Oh. OK!” she returned. “Uno momento.”

  “Si, Senorita. I will wait for jou.”

  Amalia gathered a few things and her small, luggage bag and opened the door. She slowly passed Jose and gave him a concerted look, “Were you in my room the other night?”

  “No, Senorita,” he affirmed, his temperature rising slightly.

  “Are you sure?” giving him a second look.

  “Si, Senorita.”

  She fluffed it off. “Ok, let’s go.”

  “Si,” replied Jose, picking up her bags to follow.

  Out front of the Hotel, he placed her in the cab.

  SEVEN

  Dai Uno, por la tarde, (day one, evening) (Edmundo) The road out of Caracol, was a disaster of rocks and potholes; racing as fast as he could, Edmundo steered frantically to avoid the obstacles that would ultimately end up with a bent rim or a busted ty-rod end. All Edmundo could think was Shawna; time was of the essence. He had been given the task of caring for Shawna, by the Ministry of Tourism by direct order from the National Forensic Science Service. The Department of Archaeology, had been involved with encouragement from the Director of Antiquities, so with the outstanding pedigree of command, he was in deep do-do.

  Edmundo had trained with the Belize Defense Force, and had spent over a year with a special British ops-team making forays into Honduras, down to the border of El-Salvador. Media exposure to victimized civilians during one of their covert missions, created irreversible, collateral damage and an ill-feeling for the work that was going on, so he felt the time was right to leave the force with anonymity instead of disgrace. Archaeology, and collecting artifacts had been a boyhood hobby he shared with his sister Maria, that continued through to college; she now worked with the ministry in Belize City. With these credentials, Edmundo became the prime candidate for this cushy appointment of securing Ms. Brook’s safety.

  With Edmundo’s mind clicking into operation’s mode, options began to pop into his head; the one most realistic, under the circumstances, was of his companeros in special-ops, that was, if they were still working the area. If he could make it to Makah Bank, close to the Mountain Pine Training Area, within two hours in this weather, and locate their field command, he may be able to elicit more assistance from the specialized group; if he couldn’t find them, another hour to San Ignacio, with few options left, he would need to talk personally with friends at the Defense Force in Belize City.

  The time it took to get to Spanish Water Hole, was relatively quick, but the changing terrain with more severe up-thrusts Mountains, and drastically slowed progress. Entering Makah Bank from the south-west was like entering a maze. Further up the Bank, there had been more civilian developments and better roads to facilitate tourism, but in this area where the military staged outings, it was still pretty secluded. Trying several times on the field radio, he was not a
ble to raise a response. Slowing and doing short forays up several, familiar ravines also showed no signs of occupation and concluded in this rain, it would be like finding ‘a pottery chard in an acre to the foothills of the Mayan less travelled, winding roads tell’. San Ignacio, and a land-line telephone, was the next plan of action. Edmundo had suspicions that the abductors had no intention of taking Shawna into Guatemala, but right here, not too far distant. If he was right, and the celestial planets were lining up, the time would be right for another ceremony. He considered consulting a Doctor of Archaeology, he had met in college, a bit off the wall, but the doctor believed in the continuance, not reemergence, of the Jaguar Cult; it was from this man that Edmundo had developed a keen eye for artifacts and also the desire to be able to protect ones’ self, and their family.

  San Ignacio, a small town, was situated just east of the Guatemala border. At this time of night, even though the rain had stopped, navigating the slippery streets that terraced the north side of the town would be tricky. The streets followed no particular grid and led, at one time or another, to one of two bridges that crossed the river eastward to Santa –Elena, and on to Belmopan. Edmundo had frequented a local hotel called the Aguada, and befriended the American owner and his Belizean wife. At this time of night, he was hoping his friendship would hold firm.

  Banging softly on the front door to the restaurant of the inn, he hoped only to waken the Butlers and not their guests. Luck would have it, Jackson was in his office just off to the left down a short hallway leading to the ground floor rooms and pool. He did not have to knock twice, a tall figure of a man of middle age sallied through the dining tables to the glazier, front door.

  A muffled barrage of metaphors could be heard as he played with locks just on the other side, “What in blazes do you think,” then stopped short. “Edmund!” Jack spurted. “What on earth are you doin here? Come in! Come in!”