Belmopan Page 7

  was required to sustain a growth, technically and

  “Well gentlemen,” Magnus chimed, swigging down the remainder of his beer, “I have a young lady waiting for me, and it is time to take your leave.”

  “Thank you, Magnus for taking the time to come,” Brian stated, standing to take his hand. “I will be in touch with you in several days to discuss the details of the operation.”

  He nodded and looked over to Steve, who also stood to bid farewell. Both watched as he sallied around the tables of the crowded little restaurant, out past the gated eat-in portion of the inn, to the street beyond. A tall woman in a colorful shawl met him just beyond the gate, grabbed his arm and walked with him out into the playful darkness of the street.

  Magnus, strolling with his lady friend, brought memories to Brian of walking arm in arm with Shawna through the woods near Ossette, all those months ago. He could still feel her hand grasping his arm as they struggled over the gnarly, root-laden pathway; her curt laugh that pierced the air as they almost fell to the side, sent shivers of delight down his spine even then. His mind wandered to sitting in Vincent’s office, gleaning his papers for leads to the jade bowl’s whereabouts and thinking of her. He had more questions than answers. If it had not been for the chance sighting of her in a group picture with her colleagues at Cuello, near Orange Walk, here in Belize, he would never had discovered the connection to the University of Albuquerque, and the on-going work here. From what Brian could gather, she was quite the respected archaeologist with ties to several universities. She had been involved in a number of sites in the area years ago. Working with several notable, female archaeologists, Shawna had helped them to uncover discrepancies in the theories, put forth by their predecessors. Lifestyle and preclassic Mayans, became more remodeled after solid evidence. The jade bowl, by not so great a stretch, could have been a part of that scenario, not so much in the present tense but the antiquated one. Regardless, the two, Shawna and the bowl, were connected, and if he were to find the one, he would find the other.

  origins of the precise and

  The ride back to the hotel was a quiet one. Block by block, as they drove to the Haulover Creek Bridge, Steve watched out the window of the cab as the streets and people of festive disposition drifted to the more somber. There was very little affluence in this part of Belize City, and what little existed was well hidden behind high walls. The hurricane that had swept through the area, all those years ago, had left its card in the guise of quickly, rebuilt buildings and sprawling, slum-like neighborhoods.

  When they arrived at the Royal Reef Hotel, Brian had discovered Maria had left a message stating a possible location west, by the Mayan mountains, close to the Guatemalan border. Caracol, an active dig of which Shawna could have been a part, was several hours away, and not easy to get to. If not there, the only other possibility would be Xunantunich, closer to San Ignacio, but less likely. From the staff photograph Brian had offered to Maria, found in Vincent’s office, she had not recognized any of the undergrads, but all their names had come across her desk at one time or another; Shawna Brook’s had not. In passing, Brian asked her if she could recall any extraordinary packages having had arrived, via a courier, from the States approximately a month ago. Maria remotely recollected muted excitement from the director of the museum, over an artifact that had been placed in the vault at the Department of Antiquities in Belmopan. She could not elaborate on the incident but noted that every month, or so, there was always a find, or locate, that would send the office into jubilant celebration. This information had not been all that promising, but a lead that could be followed up at any rate. He was to visit her again the following morning to get written permission from the Department of Archaeology, and also from the Forestry Department in Augustine. Brian had been depending on the indiscrete episode of their first meeting to get information and now decided that Maria had paid penance; besides, she had turned out to be quite genuine in her dealings with the counterfeit doctor, and went more than the extra mile to prove herself, which meant friendship, not obligation. Brian would meet her in the morning.

  Jose’ greeted us near the front door to the restaurant. “Hola, Brian,” he half yelled toward him, then looking over to Steve with his bags, “Allow me Senor, and let me take dose for jou.”

  “Could you take those up to the room Jose,” Brian asked? “I’d like to take Steve out the back for a nightcap.”

  “Jure,” he replied, “I’ll catch up with jou a little later.”

  “Thanks Jose’,” Steve chimed with an appreciative smile.

  They walked back around the side of the building from the front. Several of the hotel employees leaned up against the stucco wall by the service entrance and puffed away on lighted cigarettes. The air was warm and the sky void of clouds, as they continued to the boardwalk along the ocean’s edge. The bright, starsprinkled canopy overhead, along with Ichtel, the mythical, moon goddess, lit their way. A gentle breeze played the palm trees back and forth in the rhythmic motion of the Caribbean.

  “Why don’t you sit here and I will get us a couple of beers,” Brian suggested, motioning to a bench at the edge of the walkway.

  “No thanks Bri. I think I’ve had enough.” He seated himself by the water’s edge. “I would just like to sit for a while. It has been a long time since I’ve been able to relax and breathe the tropical air.” Taking a deep breath, “and this is great.”

  Sitting down beside him, Brian stretched out his legs and watched as a shooting star arched the sky.

  They sat without talking for some time, taking in the moment.

  “Have you been able to find Shawna yet,” Steve finally asked?

  “Nope, not yet. I have only one lead to follow, in Belmopan. Hopefully, with Magnus’ help, I will have some luck.”

  “She appeared to be quite a woman,” he sighed. “at least from what I remember. She seemed to know what she wanted.”

  “Yeah, very independent,” Brian grunted as he bent over to search for a blade of grass to place in his mouth.

  Steve, noticing his motion reached in his pocket for a small pack of tipped cigars, “Here!” handing one to Brian. He just looked at it in surprise. “Yeah, I know, I was hoping to find some good cigars while I am here.”

  Leaning over to take a light from Steve’s sheltered hands, he sat back and puffed. At a distance, from in front of the bar, a commotion began to stir and within five minutes, a scuffle had broken out. At a glance, Brian recognized the one fellow as Amalia’s friend from the previous night, who now broke away and slowly staggered his way towards the front of the hotel.

  Throwing the remains of his cigar into the surf, Brian got up and motioned to Steve, “Let’s go.”

  Steve, with the short remains of his cigar still stuck in his mouth, followed without hesitation. In through the foyer, Brian met Jose’, slipped him a fiver and motioned him to follow with them passed the elevator to the stairs leading up. All three followed the drunk at a distance, up to the third floor and stood back unnoticed.

  ‘Knock, knock, knock,’ the fellow pounded on the door of Amalia’s room, a cell phone visible in his other hand. After another series of knocks, the door opened and they could hear the recognizable muffle of an argument. After some loud, objectionable screams and what appeared to be a white shirt thrown in his face, the door slammed and the fellow walked down the opposite way and disappeared down the elevator.

  Steve, taking a short puff on his stogie, looked at Brian, “What was all that about?”

  “His cell phone worked.” Brian chimed “Com’ on, let’s go to our room. I’ll try to explain.”

  “Good night, Jose’”

  “Good night, amigo.”

  Dia tres (day 3)

  After an almost sleepless night and a hot shower, Brian left Steve, still snoring, to go visit Maria at the museum. Bart quickly met him after a phone call, out in front of the hotel foyer; within minutes they were on their way to the downtown area.

  Th
ere was a multitude of locals and tourists milling about the streets, doing their early morning shopping. Bart, with his window open, slapped the side of his car and honked his horn repeatedly to encourage slow, encumbered pedestrians out of their way. A half hour passed till the cab cleared the shopping area and pulled up to the gates of the museum, ‘an approximate fifteen-minute walk from the hotel.’

  An ambulance and several police cars blocked the entrance through the gates while a small group of people crowded the steps up to the doors.

  “Boy, I wonder what’s going on here,” Bart voiced, as they slowly pulled passed the stopped vehicles.

  “Yeah. Could you pull up ahead and park while I find out what’s happened.”

  “Sure,” Bart replied, without hesitation.

  Climbing out of the car and walking over to the steps and the people waiting there, Brian snuggled in beside several American looking women waiting in line for the way to clear.

  “What’s up?” he asked openly to the two of them but looking to the policeman at the top of the stairs.

  “We are not sure, but we think someone has been hurt in a robbery,” the eldest of the two replied.

  “Oh! That is not so good, is it?” he returned.

  They both shrugged and went back to waiting patiently in line.

  Looking around for a way to by-pass the police, Brian thought of the back entrance he had used to exit at his last visit. Slipping passed a guard, waving his camera case and a portfolio as a purpose, “Delivery!” He walked boldly by and headed directly for the souvenir shop without a second look. Brian could see the guard through the glass portion of the shop’s inner door and waited for him to turn so he could slip out, unnoticed, and up the stairs to the left. Once there, he could see no people at the end of the hall; the door to the butterfly storage area, where he had first met Maria, was closed. Feeling a little confused, he re-entered the stairwell and faintly heard voices from below. Waking down the two flights of stairs, he was confronted by a plain clothed officer at the entrance to an office in the basement.

  “Parada!” came the command of the fellow at the door.

  “Is everything alright?” Brian questioned, wondering about the situation inside.

  Just over his shoulder, Brian could see Maria being cared for. She was sitting in a chair facing him, talking to a young man while an attendant gently patted her face with gauze. He could see that she was flush and had been crying. Her face appeared bruised and her clothes torn as if she had been in a struggle. Maria’s young companion, of several days ago, lay prone on a gurney, talking with an interrogator.

  “I am afraid you will have to go,” the sentry cautioned to Brian in English.

  A young man, a national, with a Department of Tourism identity card attached to his lapel, said a few words to Maria and darted out between the two of them.

  Without hesitation, Brian retreated out passed the clay statues, and figurines, as they watched from their glass tombs and cluttered shelves.

  Outside once again, Brian observed as the young man that had just blasted by the guard and he, climbed into an older, blue, pickup truck and speedily drove off. Realizing this fellow might know the circumstances of Maria’s assault, Brian signed Bart to where he stood. Hopping in, they immediately took chase. Within moments, they were once again surrounded by early morning shoppers, and carts loaded with produce, and watched helplessly as the little, blue pickup headed west across Haulover Bridge and out of sight.

  “Darn!”

  “Where to,” Bart asked?

  Defeated, Brian replied, “The Royal Reef.”

  Steve lay by the pool, sipping on a coffee, covered in sun block. He looked touristy in his shades and sun hat, an oddity if you considered his style back north. He looked very relaxed, and Brian was reluctant to crash into his party-for-one, but felt it necessary if they were to locate Shawna. Brian felt disturbed at Maria’s demise, and with the young man in the pickup, a greater sense of urgency was now setting in.

  “We have to get in touch with Magnus again, Steve.”

  “Oh! OK!” he replied, without moving a muscle. “Maria, at the museum, has been hurt, I think a

  robbery. I have a sneaky suspicion there is more to come. We need to get to Belmopan, and talk to some people at the ministry. We have to get some answers.”

  “Ok!” Steve replied again, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m going up to the room to get the number. Why don’t you come and get some of the equipment packed.”

  “Ok,” he replied, unmoving. Impatient, Brian turned back and motioned him to get going.

  “Do you think you could give me a hand?” Steve sheepishly asked. “I’m stuck to the chair!”

  Magnus was unavailable by phone and knew by this time of the day, there was little chance of finding him. They would have to venture off to Belmopan with little more than a phone number and a pocketful of concern.

  The compact, yellow car the two had rented, stuck out like a sore thumb as they navigated the crowded streets of the city. For the most part, they looked like a couple of garish, red-faced tourists down for some fun…The backseat and trunk were loaded with equipment, along with bags of chips and beer, the necessities of tropical traveling. The sun had not been particularly friendly on Brian’s northern skin and Steve was just beginning to pink-up from his morning session at the pool. The road was busy with fully loaded, produce-trucks and taxis, their drivers trying to avoid the many potholes that dotted the worn pavement. Further out of town, the Western Highway, became smoother and more navigable, the scenery more pleasant. The journey to Belmopan would take an hour.

  The beer had gotten better over the last few years, but still carried that underlying taste of skunk. After draining the remains of the can, Brian tossed the crushed ball into the back seat with the others. It was extremely hot and with the air-conditioning not working in the car, a slight dizziness was all that could be accomplished by drinking the fluid. The mountains had steadily grown in the distance as they headed inland. The road, for the most part, carried very little traffic and they often found themselves the only vehicle on the open two-lane highway. The mangrove swamps either side only added to the monotony, but gave, from time to time, the distraction of work-crews hacking away at the gnarly encroaching branches. Steve, the conversation king, slept in the seat beside and gave no entertainment except to grunt when they encountered an intrusive bump in the lengthy road.

  It was mid-afternoon by the time they entered the outskirts of Belmopan. The Canadians had not decided on a plan of action, but knew they would have to visit the Government Archives, and Department of Archaeology. Driving the streets, they were astounded by the appearance and size, or lack thereof, of Belmopan. It was rather unassuming and totally out-ofcharacter for a city, let alone the Capital of a country. Within twenty minutes, they had driven around the city, gotten lost, and found themselves again at the cities’ entrance from the main highway roundabout. It was pleasant enough, but not at all what the two had expected. Returning back by the main road into town, they passed the bus-station and turned right into a wellmanicured open field. There was a large stately building at its rear with several, three-story, older buildings to the right, but nothing to denote whether these were indeed the Government offices. With Steve straining to see whether the structures held titles adhered to their walls, Brian navigated the newly paved and curbed roadway.

  “Yes, this must be them.” Brian attested, reflecting on the nicest roads they had encountered since their arrival in Belize.

  “Wait! What’s that over there?” Steve pointed out another three-story, brown building.

  Swinging around, they followed the roadway to an unpaved, gravel parking lot and slowed to view any inscriptions that may denote the nature of the buildings purpose. There, above a narrow doorway leading into the building, was a faded, unobtrusive sign, “Archaeology Department”.

  They slammed their car-doors simultaneously and curiously walked toward the building that was, suppos
edly, to house some of the most valuable artifacts the Mayan Civilization had to offer. Upon entering the narrow entrance way, they proceeded up a short flight of stairs to a cramped foyer and a wooden door with a plastic “Archaeology” nametag below its frosted pane of glass, and back-in-a-few-minutes note stuck crudely on the side with masking tape. With a what-can-we-loose look on his face, Steve tried the door and found it unlocked. Within, was a high counter barring their way from entering further, several chairs were located off to one side. A ‘please wait, we will be with you shortly’ sign on the counter-top directed them to ‘wait’ and they took a seat.

  After several moments had passed, Steve asked, “What are we doing here?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  After several more minutes had passed, “Do you think we should ring a bell or something?”

  “I don’t know.” Brian replied.

  After several more minutes, Steve got to his feet and stretched as far out over the counter as he could to see into the far reaches of the office. Hearing no sounds within its confines, he slid the rest of his body over the counter and proceeded deeper into the area.