Belmopan Read online

  The reception area was rather nicely decorated with exotic wood and burgundy, leather chairs and setae. Artifacts lined the walls on shelves and tables. Figurines and vases from notably different areas of the world were on display and in pristine condition. Doug was tempted to lift and view these treasures, but was ever aware of the dark, smoke-colored domes that covered the security cameras. He began to wonder at the odds of being able to route the security and enlighten the archives of just a few of the copious treasures.

  In the background, whilst he was daydreaming, he slowly became aware of a shuffle and a light knock that became progressively louder. Inquisitive, he stood erect just in time to see a stooped figure enter the reception area and stand at the threshold to one of the halls.

  “Greetings,” escaped quickly from Doug’s lips, more out of nervous reaction than cordiality.

  The figure stood for some moments without utterance and stared unflinching in Doug’s direction.

  “I hear there has been a setback in procuring the specimen.”

  “Umm, yes.” not wishing to contradict the custodian. “I’m confident she, I mean it, will be found in short order. The British have started the search just across the border and the US military are on standby should they fail.”

  “For your sake, I hope they do not.” The custodian slowly shuffled to one of the chairs and took a seat on its front edge. “My time is coming soon; I only have days for the procedure to take positive effect.” He shuffled a little in his seat; Doug remained silent as the custodian appeared to want to continue. “Have I not been good to you?” the custodian asked, his voice in smooth, low tones. “You have a lovely estate close by.”

  “Yes, my Lord, more than generous.”

  “We have been together for a number of years now, have we not?”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “Do you remember all those years ago when we first initiated the terms of our agreement, and you went to the northern palace and took care of an inquisition that had begun to plague me?”

  Struggling to remember back thirty years to the Yucatan, Doug began to falter, “I think so.”

  “Perhaps, I can refresh your memory.” With that, he taped his cane on the floor and the portrait of a face came on to the monitor embedded in the wall opposite where he sat.

  The face on the screen bore a familiar resemblance, but he could not be sure.

  “Ek balaam, some thirty-two years ago, you procured a specimen for me; a woman who has served me well these years, but you were to remove the obstacle that plagued me somewhat, from previous years.”

  “The young archaeologist and his wife!” Doug entreated, remembering a younger Magnus.

  “Yes, you were to take care of the situation, and yet I find him on the compound not several hours ago.” Sitting silent for mere moments, he then tapped the floor once again. The sheepish, spectacled man appeared in the reception area and stood off to one side silent. “Thank you, Andreas.”

  Not sure what to say or do, Doug walked over to a sealed, glass case which supposedly housed one of the lost books of the Maya.

  “Do you still have the ring?” asked the custodian.

  “Yes, I do,” Doug replied, looking down to the jaguar face, black embossed on gold.

  “Then wear it well.” The custodian turned and slowly returned down the hall he had previously come, the aid by his side.

  “It will be done my Lord,” Doug replied. “It shall be done”.

  NINE

  Diaz Quatro (day 4) Santa Elena It was hard to figure where Magnus might go. He knew the area well and Steve and Brian had no idea where to begin. Magnus had many friends and could be in a number of areas, he was no fool and they figured that he knew as much about the little jade bowl as anyone; Magnus had access to most of the archaeological sites in Belize, if not formally, then by attrition and association. He also must have ideas as to who kidnapped Shawna.

  Santa Elena, was a quaint town on the banks of the Macal River, which divides it with its sister town San Ignacio. Driving through the town center and across the draw bridge to San Ignacio, they watched and waited for someone or something to point the way to Magnus. After an hour of perusing the sloping, hillside streets, they continued through and around the downtown area of San Ignacio watching the quaint shops and outdoor merchant stalls.

  Agitated by their lack of resolve, Brian and Steve decided to re-cross the river and spend time in the sister. Tired, they grabbed some beer and enchiladas at one of the local restaurants and headed down to the little park by the secondary bridge over the Macal. Sleepy after their meal, they lay considering their options and drifted in and out of sleep while the sounds of playing children, birds chattering, and the babbling water as it washed the shore-line pebbles, lulled them to serenity. The sun dodged the clouds and started to lift the moisture from the grass forming a blanket of steam that dispersed in the breeze, as trailing wisps.

  Memories of French’s Beach, on the southern coast of Vancouver Island, drifted into Brian’s mind; a peaceful place he visited on occasion to take photos, write and relax. The sound of the pebbles being washed in the stream reminded him of the surf and warmth of the sun that beat on his face as he lay on that far-away beach, and of quieter times. Cardinals, instead of squawking seagulls, sounded their arias in the immediate trees. The Olympic Peninsula panorama of Washington State, to the south of the beach, was etched in his mind. Below Cape Flattery, at the peninsula’s tip, was the site of the ancient Makah tribal village of Ossette, where the Olmec jade bowl had been recovered nearly a century ago. The night of selfdiscovery, with the native, hallucinogenic tea for him, and the ‘circle of stones’ that brought back unsettling feelings, were culprit. This had been the last night he had seen Shawna. Agitated, he woke from his daydream with a renewed energy to continue in the search for her.

  “Wake up. Let’s go!”

  With a grunt, Steve was up and back in the car preparing to drive the spacious, back streets of Santa Elena’s suburbs. The dusty roads offered nothing of interest to the two who were resigned to heading further up out of town, toward the Guatemalan border, when a blue streak caught the corner of Brian’s eye. Down at the end of one of the sun bleached, gravel streets, with a quaint, hotel-like building beside an open field, was the familiar, small, blue pick-up truck.

  “Steve, stop! Back-up a little.” As they pulled alongside the pick-up, Brian realized that they had indeed found the truck of the young man that was visiting Maria at the museum. A Department of Tourism sticker, affixed to the corner of the windshield, confirmed his suspicions. Easing himself from the car, Brian slowly paced around the blue spectacle and wondered at the man’s relationship with Maria.

  “Is there something I can help you with,” came an abrupt question from behind the shade of the screendoor of the Aguada Hotel?

  The door opened slightly, and then remained stationary while Brian withdrew from the vehicle. Approaching slowly, but unreserved, he responded. “I was wondering if I might talk to the fellow who owns the truck.”

  Jackson remained quiet behind the shelter of the door and fingered the handgun hidden in his pocket. Not certain how to reply and wondered at the peculiar, language accent, he waited for a further response.

  “We are from Canada, wanting to film some of the archaeological sites. We needed a guide and noticed the tourist sticker on the windscreen. Is this fellow available?”

  Steve peered from the driver’s seat with his elbow resting on the sill and gave no response to the lack of rebuttal apart from raising his sunglasses to his forehead.

  Silence hung for several moments. “I’m not sure if I can help you,” Jackson replied from behind the screen.

  “May I come in,” reaching his hand to the door? Backing away, Jackson made no effort to welcome Brian in and moved to the side to allow him entry to the cool interior of the restaurant. Reserved but confident Brian harbored no ill will, he turned to the bar area at the rear and asked, “Can I get you something?”r />
  “No, we are not stopping for long. You have no idea when the Tourist rep will be back, I’d definitely like to talk with him?” Brian could see through the window, that Steve was out and leaning against the side of the car; Jackson continued behind the bar.

  “What sites would you like to see?” Jackson asked in his southern US accent, scrutinizing the two from mirrors at the back of the bar.

  “We would like to see Caracol and Xunantunich, but not sure of the directions. What’s your name by the way?”

  “Jackson, but you can call me Jack.” Thinking for a moment as to how to answer the first part of the question, Jackson had to consider the search party, and the fact Edmundo had asked him to watch for anyone suspicious coming through the area. He had pairs of eyes everywhere throughout the twin sisters, who, for the price of a couple of beers, were diligent. His brother-in-law’s friend could keep tabs on, and perhaps glean more info from, these fellows on the trip across the Mopan River at the crossing to Xunantunich. There was also Magnus, who had taken a room, and had left at once, having been told that Edmundo had returned from Belize City, looking for him. Magnus had dropped his bag and left in a hurry with directions for Edmundo to wait for him. Perhaps Magnus could figure these two out. It was odd that they were here right when the girl was kidnapped, Edmundo and the commandos where on maneuvers and Magnus, who he had not seen in years show up, all at the same time; not a coincidence.

  Steve came through the door. “I think I’ll have another beer Bri. It’s getting awfully hot out there.”

  “Yeah, OK. Sounds good,” Brian replied. “Dos cervasa, por favor,” he yelled at Jack.

  “Would you like an American Beer,” Jack questioned. “I have Bud and Coors, sent down once a month.

  They looked at one another, “Sure, one of each.”

  Jack dropped them lightly on the table just as Steve began to speak in private. “So you think the guys that tried to get Maria are the same as Shawna’s.”

  Jackson not hearing all the conversation caught the name Maria only, and strained from behind the bar to hear the rest. In low tones, Brian and Steve carried on the conversation and sipped on their beers. Contemplating the unlikely chance of another coincidence, Jack waited for them to finish. “You guys got a place to stay for the night?”

  Steve looked up at Jack and then whispered to Brian, “You know, that guy in the pickup has to come back sooner or later to get his vehicle, right.”

  “Yeah,” Brian considered. “Maybe we can at least find out what he knows.” Steve nodded in agreement.

  “Do you have any rooms?”

  “Give me an hour and I’ll have clean linen and towels in a couple of rooms,” he replied.

  It was midafternoon when the two left the Aguada, and headed south out of San Ignacio towards the Guatemalan border. Within twenty minutes, they were at San Jose Succotz and crossed onto the small handpropelled ferry. Driving down the steep incline onto the wood-planked ferry, the operator gave greeting and started to crank the wheel.

  “Where you from?” he quarried, pumping the wheel with a smile.

  “Canada. My brother-in-law and I are here on a holiday, taking in some of the sites,” Steve replied. “We were in Mexico a few years back, but never made it down here. The ruins here are just great.”

  “How many have you visited so far,” he asked?

  Stammering unprepared for the question, “None, as of yet. I just arrived yesterday, but with any luck we’ll catch a few more and,” turning with a smile toward the upcoming shore, “we’re here now!”

  The Mopan River was a short crossing that had sharp tree-covered banks on either side. Bamboo and swamp Cypress trees canopied the shallow river that disappeared in either direction into damp, dark jungle. Brian prepared his camera and checked the batteries before they bounced off the ferry and started up the mile-long laneway to the parking area of Xunantunich. Surprised at the number of vehicles in the lot, they stopped first at the kiosk and shop, to relieve themselves of the incumbent beer. Perusing the copied artifacts that adorned the glass covered case, Brian retreated to another display area that highlighted archaeologists and excavators of the past. Interested in the history of the site, he was intrigued by the written fable of the Mayan Maiden who had been betrothed to a prince from a distant region, and had chosen to escape the union by disappearing into the temple, never to reemerge. To the by-standers and local priesthood, this was deemed a miracle and the young woman was deified as the ‘Stone Maiden’, and the site was eventually renamed in her honor, Xunantunich.

  The pathway, of several hundred yards to the temples and courtyards, led steeply up, but was paved making the incline manageable. Entering the grand courtyard from between two lesser temples was impressive. The largest temple was at the far end which, apart from its rear, was excavated and somewhat rebuilt to reflect the enormity of the architectural undertaking. Its towering pinnacle stood high above the forest and was adorned with an ornate frieze. Around the outer court of this large edifice there were no less than six other lesser temples still in disarray, but showed signs of defoliation and excavation. This was considered a lesser site of the preclassic period, and was not as popular as others, but within time it too would yield all its secrets from centuries past. Neglect of these sites was in some ways a saving grace and kept the mystery and romance of this civilization alive.

  ‘El Castillo”, the largest of the temples receiving most of the attention, was rebuilt with some measure of proficiency and showed ongoing signs of excavation. Its face was cleared with the large stones being replaced in their original foundations. Other areas around the sides were cleared, but were in disarray with some of the walls and hallways being partially rebuilt. The temple’s facade was grand with a wide stair case ascending to a central plateau, and holding rooms for sacrifices of animals and defeated ball players who gave everything they had to the sport, including their heads. Above that, the temple rose to a band of frieze that skirted the upper plateau, then extended up to a crowned pinnacle that overlooked the entire area for miles. This lookout area was crucial for security of the region and doubled for celestial reading and mapping.

  As the sun came out once again, the air became heavy-laden with scents from the orchid blossoms and the thick underbrush that adorned the perimeter of the clearing. The trees were alive with the songs of birds and the drone buzz of jungle insects, outdone only by the musicians and dancers that paraded in native regalia celebrating at the foot of the large temple. The two Canadians sat, out of breath, drenched in sweat, watching and enjoying the ambience and quaintness of their surroundings.

  Only a few short miles away, at another archaeological site, an acquaintance sat, sipping on a bottle of water. Waiting for the arrival, and perhaps the ending, to a decades long enigma that had haunted him

  Magnus’ endeavors:

  Cahal Pech was a well-preserved, ceremonial, archaeological site of the late preclassic (200AD). Just a twenty minute walk uphill from San Ignacio, it was an ideal spot for the doctor to scrutinize and manipulate the greedy Mr. Doug Baldwin, into an area deeper in the jungle not so far away, where he could do away with this parasite. Doug’s blood-letting, now recognized as an enigma to Magnus, had through the years skimmed enough profits from Belize’s natural and manufactured resources to bring the small Caribbean country up to relative prosperity. Doug Baldwin, had been implicated in the court proceedings by looters that were caught and tried; he, of course was exonerated, but the name Baldwin and the proceedings stuck in Magnus’s mind. Apart from this, up until a day ago, Magnus had not been able to place the familiarity he felt for this American businessman. He had recognized Doug’s voice from the televised political wrangling that had occurred ever so often from this shoot-from-the-hip country, but was never able to place the familiarity to a particular occurrence; it was only when he heard his natural, vocal cadence whilst inside the darkened closet at Henry’s office, that he recognized the fine instilled. From the encompassed him twen
ty years ago, he remembered lying semiconscious, helpless and listened while that voice stripped him of the very reason he rose each morning and went to bed at night; it was Doug Baldwin that had been present at the kidnapping of his wife Angelina, at Ek Balaam.

  details and accent the voice shrouded, painful haze that

  At three thirty, an hour before the closing of the site, Magnus grabbed his leather briefcase from the front seat of his jeep and headed up the slick walkway to the ruins that had once housed royalty. Henry had arranged for Doug to meet an antiquities dealer from the area who needed backing to finance an unexcavated tell within the Mountain Pine Ridge Reserve, close to Black Rock. Within his briefcase, Magnus carried several, miniature, clay figurines and obsidian cutlery to embellish the ruse to an acceptable level of trust and finance: a small revolver, wrapped in thick linen, was also there to ensure the proceedings developed into a fruitful and rewarding encounter. If he was able to lure him away into a reclusive area, all the better, there would be a chance his greed would be the catalyst to his own demise; if not, the meeting could end right here.