Belmopan Page 14

It was quarter to four and a large black Escalade pulled into the parking area below. The light drizzle of rain had stopped from the passing low, cloud-cover. Magnus watched as the driver and a front seat passenger opened the rear doors for the occupants in the back to exit. Doug Baldwin, and a young woman gathered composure and stroked the wrinkles from their light-linen clothes. Slowly walking the sheltered, but slick, walkway with lush foliage to the upper reaches of the complex, they entered and exited his line of vision. One of the front-seat passengers, obviously a bodyguard, followed close, scanning the area for security. Cool and composed, Magnus sat near the top steps of the temple and waited for the couple to enter the courtyard. From the far end of the ball-court, they walked arm-in-arm; the woman’s sunhat drooped and danced as she aggressively clutched his arm, trying to navigate the grassy area in her stylish slip-on shoes. Their heads moved from side to side visually taking in what the lush, colorful surroundings had to offer. For a moment, Magnus almost imagined them as the Royals that once graced the complex, but not unlike the kings of the past era, there was much contempt for the opulent and lascivious lifestyle that this duplicitude embraced. In seeming slow motion, the two stepped onto the stone, tabled area that was positioned at the bottom of the half-dozen steps at which Magnus sat perched at the top.

  Slowing, as he approached the bottom step, Doug looked up to see the shadow of the man he had witness beaten all those years ago and recognized from the visual he had seen in the custodians presence. Uncertain as to motive, Doug gave Magnus reasonable doubt as to intent and proceeded up the steps to greet the prospective without alluding to his recognition.

  “Thank you for coming to meet with me,” sighed Magnus, gently releasing the pent-up tension from being face to face with his nemesis’ apprentice. It felt odd for him to be in Doug’s presence at this moment. Looking directly into his eyes, he could feel all emotion ease from himself as if a drain cock had been opened and all pressure had been released. Magnus felt no emotion at all; he could have killed him at this moment and not felt a thing, a coldness surged through his veins. Looking toward the young women at Doug’s side brought back a fleeting moment of recollection of all those years ago in Ek-Balaam. Magnus’s young wife of similar stature and complexion, stood before him as if to warn him of the coming calamity. Emotion began to leak its way into his psychic and he began to flounder. Setting his briefcase down on the top step, he fumbled with the latches and before he could open the case, a severe blow came to the side of his head. Tumbling headlong down the remaining stone steps, Magnus found himself prone and aching. Fading in and out of consciousness, he once again heard the familiar voice echoing through the dimness while he stirred to wakefulness. Screams through the numbness and haze, alerted him to the cool metal that had been pressed to his temple.

  “You are supposed to be dead,” came the growl to his ear. ”I’ll deal with Henry later.” Not moving, and forcing his consciousness to surface from the haze, Magnus wiped the blood that dripped from his bruised nose and rose to one elbow. Above him, Doug looked down at him through dark, cold eyes that shined with a desire to kill; the young women beat on his back profusely till he stood erect and swung the full length of his arm and weight across her face; she went sprawling onto the grass not two yards distant. Looking to the contents of his briefcase scattered down the cascade of steps, and his revolver now in Doug’s hand, Magnus, on all fours, collected the chards and figurines he had purposed for his scheme into the open case.

  “You bastard,” Amalia screamed, as she turned back to Doug, he cocked the gun ready to shoot.

  Magnus ignored the threatening sound and continued in subdued dignity to pick up the scattered remains.

  “Boss?” quarried the guard that had slowed from a run across the open court.

  Doug realizing the sensitivity of the situation and the openness of the site, grabbed Amalia by the arm. Dragging her to her feet, he forcibly pulled her in the direction down the path to the vehicles. “Bring him!” he commanded the subordinate.

  Snapping the briefcase shut, Magnus staggered in the direction that Doug and Amalia had taken to retrace their steps back to the parking lot. Within the dense underbrush along the path, a lone, dark figure waited patiently for the return of the couple, and the opportunity to strike.

  Juan crouched low, and waited with bated breath to make his assault on the lives that had so impressed his. As Doug strode by with Amalia dragging behind, Juan noticed the revolver being slipped into his pocket. With the guard-house and shop that were now closing due to the late hour, and with no tourists noticeably about, now was the time to act. He was about to pull the trigger when the shuffle of feet, and low voices, could be heard from up the path in the direction of the ruins. Juan, lowered his weapon as Magnus and his captor walked by, another revolver was visible and the likelihood of the attack being successful had halved. Juan recognized the slight figure of a man being corralled, and was curious to the purpose of this clandestine meeting. Time and opportunity were on his side, so for now, he would watch and wait as Magnus was shoved into the backseat of the oversized SUV. Doug’s black Escalade drove out of the lot heading in the opposite direction to San Ignacio, into the jungle.

  After twenty minutes of riding the rough, gravel road, and following at a safe distance in his van, Juan watched as the Escalade disappeared down an obscured laneway out of sight. Pulling off to the opposite side and into the underbrush, he shut the motor off and crossed the road to listen and determine the distance the truck had travelled. In the near distance, he could hear the slamming of vehicle doors and orders being shouted. Through the foliage, Juan could make out a break in the density of trees and the bright sun reflecting off of the bleached gravel in a clearing. Quietly, he crept to a vantage point and watched as Magnus and Amalia, were shoved through the doorway of a large, tin-covered building that looked like a warehouse for road building and maintenance equipment. Several other vehicles were in the lot, along with a white van now cream colored from all the dust and mud. Not noticing any guards posted, he crept through the ferns and bushes to a window along the side of the building to take a look. Thinking twice about accidently initiating a shadow of light to the interior, he chose to peek through a slight rip in the joint of the vertical, tin siding, close to the opening.

  While his eye adjusted to the light, Juan listened intently while one of the captors argued and cursed while he relayed the story of their demise at a jungle camp. The chase through the Macaw Bank, down past Spanish Water Hole, and the loss of most of his men had been difficult. He was demanding more money and raised his hand to assault another young woman bound and gagged till Doug, who was confronting the man, stopped him. Pulling a pistol from his waist band, the assailant jabbed the barrel against the woman’s head causing it to tilt away from the strike, and stood motionless in a fit of rage. Backing up immediately, Doug lowered his hands and began talking again. The pistol lowered from the woman’s temple and the man retreated momentarily, appeased from what was offered; the two continued in conversation. The bodyguards that had accompanied Doug and Amalia at the Cahal Pech ruins, were near the front entrance with Amalia now by their side; Magnus was bound and seated on the hardened, dirt floor by the door.

  Realizing he was greatly outnumbered, Juan decided to back away and wait for a more opportune moment to make his assault. Returning to the roadside, he restarted his vehicle and repositioned it to follow the Enclave when it reappeared from the sheltered drive.

  “You idiot, do you not realize what will happen if we do not deliver her tomorrow!” Doug half yelled at the kidnapper as he held the gun to Shawna’s head. “We will get squat and all of this will be for nothing if we fail to deliver.”

  The Mestizo thought for a moment, and lowered his gun to his side. His three compadres in the rear of the garage lowered their weapons also, but watched intently the movements of the two guards by the door, who had their semi-automatic rifles presently pointed at them.

  “Everything will be
fine,” Doug encouraged. “We will get you more money, just be patient. We have worked for the ministry before and have always been paid well.”

  Doug retreated to the doorway and nodded to one of the guards who nodded in return. Leaving Magnus on the floor, Doug, Amalia and the remaining guard retreated from the doorway back to the SUV and left the graveled lot down the drive to the road leading back to San Ignacio.

  Shawna exhausted, sore and tired, began to weep. San Ignacio:

  “Brian, get your ass over here!” Steve half yelled, as he folded his sunglasses, straining to see in the early evening light. A young woman, he thought he recognized from the Royal Reef Hotel, was slowly walking up the hill away from them. “Isn’t she that woman you told me about, and waited for, while that guy was at her door?”

  Having just exited from the sheltered doorway of a curio shop on Buena Vista Street, Brian caught a fleeting glimpse of Amalia’s facial profile as she disappeared behind a palm tree along the lighted walkway to the front entrance to the San Ignacio Resort Hotel. “Yeah,” he replied as he watched her being encouraged by Doug to continue walking.

  A short distance behind them, but staying out of sight, was a shadowy figure that remained close to the edge of the walkway.

  Brian motioning with his finger, “I think that’s the guy that was harassing her at the bar, and at her door.”

  They watched him disappear into the bushes as another pedestrian entered the walkway and followed in the same direction as Amalia and Doug. As the clandestine figure re-emerged from the darkness looking in the direction of the hotel, it was clear he was up to no good.

  “Let’s go ask him what he’s up to,” Steve suggested, without stopping for Brian’s approval.

  “Ok,” Brian replied to the vacant sidewalk, and followed several paces behind.

  On seeing the two Canadians approach from the opposite side of the road, Juan made no effort to run or hide, and stood almost defiant with his right hand in his jacket pocket. Noticing the fabric of Juan’s coat being stretched toward the pocket, Steve became cautious and aware of a heavy object being manipulated within its confines.

  “Buenos noches, senor,” Brian uttered as he came up from the rear behind Steve.

  Juan stood dazed as he wondered at the boldness of these two gringos. Without a word, he stood motionless, and stared at Steve who towered over him, in the protection of the palm trees. Once in the shadows away from the direct sunlight, Brian’s face became familiar to him.

  “What you doin here,” Brian questioned, motioning his head in the direction Amalia had walked.

  Through the haze that remained in his head from the half-bottle of rum he had drunk while in pursuit of Amalia and Doug, Juan became cautious at the inquiry, and wondered at the purpose of this confrontation. Motioning to pull the revolver from his pocket, Steve had pulled back and jabbed his fist, with all his weight behind it, toward Juan’s face. In the split second before contact, Juan lowered his brow and the full force of the punching fist landed on his forehead. Staggered from the sheer force of the blow, Juan fell back into the bushes and remained motionless, prone to the sky.

  “Yeoww!!” howled Steve. The unfortunate motion of Juan, brought bone against bone, and Steve hopped in agony as the center knuckle of his hand shot agonizing pain up his arm.

  “Wow, I’m impressed!” Brian crooned, walking to where Juan had disappeared into the shadows of the bushes complimenting the walkway.

  “He had a gun,” shuddered Steve as he joined Brian’s side. As a bluish egg began to rise on Juan’s forehead, Steve kicked him in an attempt to rouse him. With no response evident, the two looked about for witnesses and then toward each other, “We’d better leave him.” Dragging him a little further into the flower bed, the two retreated across the street from hence they had come and headed back to the car.

  “Let’s get back to the Aguada, and get changed,” Brian suggested, thinking of the resort and dinner. “Perhaps I can get Amalia alone and ask some questions.”

  The shack:

  The storage shack had become dark, and the only light to be seen was emanating from the antiquated, kerosene lamp that dangled from a beam above the square, wooden table where the four men intently played their card game. Shawna, released from her chair, snuggled close to Magnus trying to extract whatever heat she could from his frail body. The men had moved them toward the center of the room away from the exterior walls, and tied them to the support post. The crickets chirped to a near deafening volume and the rustling of mice and other nocturnals kept the two from nodding off into complete oblivion. Shawna had been able to get several hours of sleep after Doug had left and the leader of the Mestizo collapsed onto a slat bunk to sleep off the rum and the chase of the last days. Every once in a while one of the guards would look in their direction and quickly scan the interiors perimeter.

  “You are the girl that half of the Belize army, and British contingency, are looking for,” Magnus stated, shifting his numbing legs on the hard floor.

  “Yeah” Shawna sighed, taking some comfort that she was no longer alone.

  “You’re the Canadian girl that brought the Olmec bowl down from Seattle, aren’t you?”

  Without lifting her eyes or her voice, she sighed a “yes,” and then interjected, “I am Native American. There are no borders for me.”

  Securing his arm around her and cuddling her close, “You know there are a couple of Canadians fellows down here looking for you, and they are very persistent.”

  Shawna glanced up to his face wondering at the statement.

  “Yeah, a couple of guys I met a few years back in the Yucatan; Brian Alexander and his brother-in-law Steve.

  At the mention of Brian’s name, Shawna went slack. “What did they say?”

  “Nothing about you, but said they were down here taking photos of the ruins.” He looked down to her tears that were slowing edging down her face, “They couldn’t fool me though. Mr. Alexander was much too intense when he came to see me; I knew they were up to something.”

  Shawna said nothing and wiped away the tears on his shirt. After several moments, she gathered herself and began, “If it had not been for Brian, the bowl would never had been recovered and made its way back to Central America.” She fell silent for several moments. “My ancestors were kind of, guardians of the bowl and it needed to come back home to Central America.

  It started a long time ago as my grandmother told us, with one of my ancestors, a Mayan, receiving the bowl as a gift from a prince who wanted to betroth her. She did not like him and escaped while he was waiting in the procession at the ceremony. She liked the bowl and kept it; he was pissed. It was eventually lost when a mudslide buried our village. Throughout our family’s history, there have been tales of kidnappings, killings and intrigue with no other reason, or evidence of purpose, than that of the bowl. The latest attempt by the Jaguars, almost killed my cousin Peter, and my Uncle Daniel was possibly killed by them when he was a young man. This bowl has brought much unhappiness.”

  “You know, there may be an explanation to all this that you may consider,” Magnus interjected. “I do not think these Jaguars are after the bowl, I think they are after you and your family.”

  “But, why?” Shawna questioned, looking up to Magnus’s dark, but caring eyes.

  “I cannot be sure, but it is what you carry inside of you, that he needs.”

  “What do you mean?”

  ”I think he needs your DNA, and maybe more.”

  “What!” Shawna half yelled, and turned to the guards to see if they had noticed. “How do you know this?”

  “Because, whoever this man or thing is, he took my wife from me years ago, for the same reason.”

  “Do you think your wife and I were relatives?”

  “I don’t know, he replied looking toward the corrugated, steel ceiling of the shack. “There is a possibility.”

  Shawna, shocked, looked up at Magnus’s face to search for a line of jest or doubt, she f
ound neither. She hung her head and whispered, “Where he finds the bowl, he finds us.”

  Outside, the rustling of the trees in the wind became louder, and in the distance, thunder could be heard from the approaching storm - or was it something different.

  They both cuddled cold and shivering, silent in the darkness.

  TEN

  Daiz quatro, tardes (it comes together) By the time Edmundo and Ocho had returned to the Aguada, the sun had just set. Gizmo had taken up with Oz and Knobby, and were taking up the rear checking several, abandoned, military camps in the foothills of the mountains just north of Santa Elena. Exhausted, they entered the restaurant and placed their gear bags by the archway that led to the pool and their rooms.

  “Magnus arrived a few hours ago,” Jack piped from behind the bar, just loud enough for Edmundo to hear. Surprised, Mundie and Oz leaned in close and grabbed for the beers that Jack had instinctively put within their reach.

  “There were a couple of fellas asking for you as well, this afternoon.”

  Edmundo straddled one of the chairs and placed the bottle on the table. “What did they look like?”

  “You can see for yourself, they just pulled up.”

  Innocent and tired from the days ordeal, Brian and Steve entered the near, vacant restaurant through the screen door, only to be faced with a rifle pointed at them from no less than ten feet. Steve gently rubbed the raw and swollen knuckle on his right hand, more out of nervousness than comfort. Brian stood motionless, hands raised slightly looking to the man he had seen the day before coming from Maria’s office in Belize city, only there was a revolver sitting on the table with its USP.45 muzzle pointed at his privates.

  “Let’s not get hasty,” eased from Brian’s lips. Jack behind the bar stood motionless and watched. “Can I have a beer?”

  “What about me?” Steve squeaked, keeping his eye on the rifle held in Ocho’s clutches.

  “That depends,” eased Edmundo, watching Brian’s hands as he lowered them and slowly approached the table.