Belmopan Page 6

  “I didn’t think there would be anything left after all these years, did you?” he asserted, slipping his mask from his face.

  “I always suspected there was still stuff here, but not human remains!”

  “Yeah,” he responded. “I think we better get out of here.” looking up to the overhang. “It looks a lot higher from down here, doesn’t it?"

  “Yep!” I sighed, the word whispering across the surface of the water.

  “Here let me go first,” he tendered.

  Slipping out of his tank and supporting it on the ledge, he grabbed the rope with both hands and slowly made his way up to the where the overhang met the wall. With his elbows supported against the wall, Steve tried to get foot leverage to force his way higher, but as he struggled, he bounced against the wall uncontrollably losing his grip on the rope. After several tries, he came crashing down into the water with a splash.

  “Here! Let me try,” I suggested.

  Making my way over to the rope, I placed my weight belt and tank on the rocks and proceeded up the rope to the same point that Steve had achieved. Struggling to get beyond the point, I forced my hand between the rope and the rocks and pulled myself hand over hand. I had almost made it to the cusp of the wall when the rope gave way and I too crashed back into the water. Disappointed and wondering why the rope had given way, I broke the surface to the face of Steve looking at me with a sardonic grin on his face.

  “Darn! I was almost there,” I yelled at him, slapping my hand on the water. He just looked at me and pointed to the sky.

  “Buenos dias amigo!” came from above.

  Looking up, all I could see was the dark silhouette and the militaristic uniform of the guard who leaned over the edge; a knife clutched in his fist, glittered in the morning sun.

  By the time they had hauled us, and all our equipment to the surface, it was almost noon. Chichen Itza had become overrun with tourist, and with the commotion of the police and military personnel, making us a spectacle was not difficult. They had loaded all of our stuff into the compact, rental truck that was gleefully driven by an officer, back down the gravel, service road. Steve and I, they loaded into a police jeep, and paraded us throughout the main plaza area for all to see. It was a long, dusty, sweaty ride back to the outskirts of Valladolid. Once inside the Police station, we were held separately in small, stifling-hot rooms with nothing to eat, and bottled water to drink; it was well into the evening before we knew at all what our fate would be.

  “Buenos noches, Mr. Alexander,” came a familiar voice. Looking up from the wooden, slat bed I had reclined on for the better part of the day, was Dr Magnus. “It appears to me you have some difficulty, you and your companero.

  “Yes, it would appear so.”

  “I had a call in the field several hours ago that the police had picked up some poachers in one of the cenotes. I would have thought you had more sense than choosing a site as popular as that.”

  “Well, I suppose you are right, but I assure you, we intended no damage and would have been gone in half an hour when we were accosted and relieved of our equipment.”

  “You know, it is a serious crime that you have committed.”

  “Yes, I am aware of that and would ask you, where do we go from here?”

  “Well, that depends on you, doesn’t it, Mr. Alexander.”

  “How much?”

  “How much do you have?”

  Shaking my head, I spoke to the concrete floor, “How much?”

  “Five hundred U.S. and they will release you temporarily into my custody. Your passports will be returned later.”

  “How much later?”

  “Let’s just say in a couple of days.”

  “Why into your custody?” I asked, wondering as to the purpose and extent of our infringed liberty.

  “From what I gather, you did not tell them much and asked to let you get in touch with the closest embassy.”

  “There was not much point in denying our circumstance, now was there,” I replied.

  “It is a good thing you had your camera with you. Poachers do not normally take pictures of their pilfery. It was not hard to convince them that I had hired you to catalogue some of the work sites in the area. You had just ended up at the wrong one.”

  “We are indebted to you, Doctor.”

  “Please, call me Magnus.” He stopped and turned as he was about to leave the small room. “I will arrange to have you released temporarily till you return with some ‘security money’. Mr. Grayson will remain here for the time being. Your jeep is being released to you.” He disappeared from my sight.

  We did not see him till the following morning when we were met at 7:00 a.m. outside our hotel with several of his work crew there to ensure our cooperation. Our equipment had been released to us, and all was apparently accounted for and kept in the compound overnight.

  “Well gentlemen,” he said with a tone of smugness, “you will be assisting us over the next several days with some excavating work. I trust you will find it very interesting and something you are familiar with.

  Within two hours, we found ourselves in the middle of secluded area being lowered once again into several cenotes. Only this time, we had lots of company at the edge of the holes to help us up and down with our equipment. There were underwater floodlights run by small generators at the surface to give us plenty of visibility to work in. Small cages and buckets on pulleys were lowered down continuously and filled with debris from the sloping bottoms, and filled as fast as we could manage. I was a little startled at the lack of archaeological protocol when it came to excavating the artifacts that were found immersed in the muck. I managed to take some pictures of the excavation sites, but was directed in such a way as to not reveal the local. I was happy to do so for a while, but after several days was beginning to feel somewhat uneasy at the work at hand and the legitimacy of the projects assigned to us.

  The following day, we were to go deeper into the forest and would be sleeping at a campsite with the local laborers. Some of them we had got to know and were friendly enough, but the majority held us with a level of contempt that bordered on hostility. The thought of spending a sleepless night on the hard ground, and in a forest that continually buzzed and croaked, did not appeal to either one of us. We had an alternate plan.

  That evening, after the waiter had taken away the supper dishes, we asked him to send for Antonio, one of the bellhops we had befriended. We had noticed that Magnus had several of the local police as close associates, but notably no military or Federalis. After several hours, and a bottle of San Miguel, we knew what we needed to do. It was a simple plan and with a little luck we would be able to pull it off.

  The day had been a tough one, and we were able to excavate a large section of a partially submerged pit and recovered a number of clay figurines and obsidian cutlery. We had packed away as much of our equipment into the little four by four as we could without being suspicious and returned with a case of beer and several bottles of rum that had been hidden in the back. For the next few hours, we had all the friends we needed, and even Magnus began to lighten up around the campfire. After several hours, a plate of refried beans and more than several drinks, we ran out of refreshment.

  “Come on Steve, What say we head back to town to get some more beer.”

  “Sure. It shouldn’t take too long, should it?” looking over to Magnus. “Why don’t you come for the ride Magnus? You can show us the way.”

  He looked around to the others who stared back with glossy fixed eyes.” Sounds like a good idea. I need to pick up a few things anyway.”

  Within several minutes, we were on our way out of the campsite close to Ek Balaam, bouncing on the trail heading toward the main road that would carry us back in the direction of Valladolid. Within twenty minutes, a half dozen military trucks heading in the direction we had just come, crossed our path. Without giving it a second thought, Magnus continued to puff on his cigarette staring out into the darkness beyond the headl
ights. Within the hour, we were pulling into the outskirts of Valladolid. Parking outside a well lit cigarette store close to the Police Station, we all entered in and picked up a few items. On exiting the store, we were confronted by a group of military personnel and an Officer de Archaeologic. Somewhat relieved at their sight, I noticed Magnus tense up and automatically reach for a cigarette. We were ordered back into our vehicle and directed to a parking lot a short distance from the station and cautiously got out of the truck. Within a moment, several soldiers surrounded us. The Military Commander approached us asking for our papers. Recognizing Magnus, he nodded in his direction and stood directly in front of us.

  “Your papers please.”

  “Uh, they are in the station,” I replied, looking in the direction of the building.

  “Why are they not in your possession?” he quarried, without taking his eyes from mine.

  “They are being held while a security check is being done on them,” chimed Magnus.

  “These gringos working for you?” the commander asked, looking toward Magnus.

  “For the time being,” he replied.

  “I will need to see their papers. Does the ‘principalmente’ have them?”

  “Si,” replied Magnus.

  The commander motioned to one of his subordinates to seek the papers. One of the Federal officers entered the station and returned outside after several moments. Striding up to the Commander, he handed him the papers and stood close to watch the inspection. “Are their papers in order?” the Commander asked the officer standing close.

  “They appear to be in order,” he replied, reaching for the papers to be returned.

  The Commander without taking notice, stood glancing at the passports and then to us, and then back to the passports.

  He handed them back to us with a nod, “You should not be without these.”

  “Thank you,” we both replied simultaneously.

  The Commander approached Magnus and stood directly in front of him. “There has been some illegal digging in the area,” he stated, flipping his hand in demand of his papers.

  Magnus pulled his leather pouch from his pocket and gave it to the commander. “We have just rounded up a half dozen ‘escoria’ about thirty miles from here. They seem to be working in the State Reserve without a permit. Would you happen to know ‘anyting’ about ‘dis’?”

  Magnus stood motionless, the commander inches from his face. “Non, Senior,” squeaked from his throat.

  The commander backed off and looked at several of the soldiers who began to laugh.

  “He has been with us,” blurted Steve.

  “And where might that have been, Gringo?” came the bold retort of the Commander.

  “We have been out site seeing for the day. We have all of our stuff in the truck,” Steve motioned waving his hand in the trucks direction. One of the soldiers began to approach the truck, but the Commander stopped him short.

  “It is your lucky day Doctor,” the Commander laughed, “But I will keep these.”

  Steve and I just looked at each other in relief. The commander waved at his men to proceed back to their vehicles and the policeman back into his office. A small crowd of children and curious onlookers had gathered around the periphery of the cigarette store parking lot, and were beginning to approach the jeep.

  “We’d better go,” cautioned Magnus.

  “But not to the site,” chimed Steve. “Non, Senor Steve, not to the site.”

  It was only later that we realized that the pouch did not hold Magnus’ papers, but something persuasively more lucrative. We wasted no time in making our way to the hotel compound with the truck and upstairs to secure the rest of our belongings. We spent a number of hours in the cantina, having a few drinks and thankful we were able to get away from the exploits of the good doctor. We saw Magnus with a suite case and all his papers stuffed under his arm, leaving the hotel. When we saw him again, the following morning before our departure, Magnus voiced his gratitude for our support with the Commander, which in one way proved our supposed innocence to him, not that it mattered.

  Now It was a pity things had not turned out as planned, and now, back in the present, years later, all Brian had on his mind was getting answers to the mysteries that plagued him.

  Whether it was fortune or misfortunate that, once again, he would cross his path would yet to be determined. He was in need of answers to the questions of the jade bowl, and the disappearance and whereabouts of Shawna, and it was Magnus who would most likely have some of the answers.

  As Brian lifted his head from the deck chair, he caught glimpse of an attractive, dark-haired woman in sunglasses, following the walkways to the pool. Her black purse swung militaristically beneath her arm as she strode in her black, platform shoes, dodging the cracks in the concrete floor slabs, her full thighs beat at the stretched sides of her tight, three-quarter-length, black skirt. It was Maria.

  FOUR

  Dai dos (day 2) When Bart dropped Brian off at eight, the streets downtown were crowded with shoppers and fun seekers. As he approached, the many colored lights surrounding the tabled court gave the inn a festive atmosphere. Flames of candles on each table illuminated the faces of the many patrons enjoying the gaiety and intimacy. One slight man sitting alone in the corner, was Magnus.

  “Buenos Noches, Senor,” the host chimed, as Brian walked by the front counter.

  “Buenos Noches,” he returned, pointing to the rear

  of the courtyard.

  The host nodded and went to collect a menu and

  his tray.

  Magnus rose as Brian came close to the table. “Magnus, thank you for meeting me. You look

  well.”

  “Thank you. I am pleased to do so,” he responded

  taking a deep drag on his cigarette and reached forward

  to shake Brian’s hand. “I was quite surprised at the

  notice that you were on your way.”

  “Yes, well I had little alternative but to come, and

  you are one of the very few people I know in Belize.

  Besides, if you are willing, as I mentioned in my letter,

  I would like your help in acquiring suitable locations

  for the filming. The documentaries budget is not too

  bad and could be profitable for both of us.” Magnus

  took another drag of his cigarette. “Who else better to

  contact when in need, than the good Doctor.” He smiled at the attempt of humor. “Possibly,”

  Magnus responded, taking another deep drag. He sat

  quietly and waited for the Canadian to continue. Brian’s calculation was to keep the doctor

  guessing and feed tid-bits to increase his appetite.

  Luckily, Magnus did not pressure him into more

  details, but by the sparkle in his eyes, Brian could see

  there was interest ignited. He was cautionary in regard

  to his true purpose; a ‘wait-and-see’ attitude was in

  order. Until Steve had arrived, and they had a chance to

  discuss a final plan of action, he would stay mum; not

  that they didn’t trust Magnus; it was just, ‘they didn’t

  trust Magnus’.

  The hour passed quickly. Having several beers,

  Magnus and he

  excavations and

  individually been involved in. Brian gleaned some info

  about excavations going on in and around Belize, but

  steered clear of the mention the bowl. Altun Ha, and

  Cuello, and the area close to where the jade originated,

  were only short drives down back roads and through

  the forest. Altun Ha was not as secluded as some sites,

  but would still be a challenge for a ‘gringo’ to get to

  without a guide. Bart had offered his services, and after

  consideration, became the likely candidate.

  talked about the past adventures, photography
projects they had A loud commotion by the door got every bodies

  attention away from their food and conversation. As

  Brian suspected, Steve had arrived from the airport and

  was feeling no pain. Dumping his luggage by the front

  door, he made his way through the tangle of chairs and

  tables to where the two were seated.

  “Hi Bri!” came a near shout from several tables

  away.

  Both Magnus and he stood to their feet to welcome

  Steve to the table. With one arm, he gave Brian a good

  solid hug, then reached for the hand of Magnus. “Magnus, it has been a while,” he said with a grin,

  then turned to see if the waiter had followed him to the

  table.

  Taking a seat, he waited till the server approached,

  “Hola Amigo, he directed at the server. “Tres cervasa,

  por favor.”

  “Si, senor,” the waiter replied.

  Moments later as the beer came to rest on the

  table, the toasts and cordialities began and the mood

  became relaxed and festive.

  Steve’s continual gaze at Magnus was not one of

  contempt but more of surprise. Magnus’ hair was

  noticeably grayer, and his build even more slight than

  it had been in the past, but his eyes still held that

  worldly sparkle that ignited at the prospects of

  adventure and money.

  Fact:

  Magnus was a character to deal with, but once his intent and desire was understood, he was very easy to figure out; at least in part. One thing Brian had discovered, as the conversation became less guarded, was although he did not always agree with Magnus’s methods, he had a heart for archaeology and a love for the Mayan people. As Brian was to later learn, money gleaned from his not so honorable exploits was often funneled into local colleges and schools to help with educating the local youth. The poverty and drug problem that raked Belize’s moderate and low-income earners, and the rural-regions, had hindered the young men from breaking the cycle of poverty. The artifacts, as far as Magnus was concerned, were a natural resource to be gleaned, from time to time, and the benefits channeled back to the descendants who needed it most. The government, recently well established and stable, struggled with the lack of capital to help support the infrastructure that consistent level of economically. As required by the World Trade Organization, this growth was to be active and relatively stable if a country was to reap the benefits of its association. Without a consistent tax base to feed the ‘machine’, the first programs to suffer were, and are, the social ones. Within the Government, there was noble intent, but with much corruption in many of the departments struggling to maintain budgets, there was little progress. For the Department of the Interior, field archaeology at many of the sites, and the selling off artifacts was a cash cow, bringing much needed money to a struggling economy trying to survive and save a national identity. There was much illegal trade, more lucrative than the licensed and traditional methods of distribution that has sent many pieces to the international market. This is where the good Doctor seems to have fit in. He never spoke openly of his official relationships, but one could tell there was a great deal more to Magnus than met the eye.