by Seeley James
“No,” I said and grabbed his arm. “I have video of the Knights. I’ll explain things to them. They’ll be reasonable.”
“This is Guatemala, Jacob.” Rafael grabbed my arm. “Not New York City. Reason does not reign where corruption rules.”
It took me a second to translate that into American. Facts didn’t matter, only the benevolence of the local ruler.
I said, “You were a left-wing radical. You were hassled by the Man. I get that. But I’m American. I believe in the rule of law. And I have an embassy to back me up.”
He gave me that knowing, patient grandfather look again. As if I were hopelessly naïve.
Jenny gave me the same look.
The flanking cops reached the sliding door before our driver got to us. They yanked me out and threw me on the ground and cuffed me and gave me a kick. I think the kick was preemptive.
Minutes later, we were in the back of a pickup truck again. This time cop-trucks. Minutes after that, we were in a one-room cinderblock building with three worn-out desks and two wooden chairs in an open area with a cage made of chain link at the back.
Rafael and the ladies were shoved into the cage. I was handcuffed to the main man’s desk. The main man leisurely paged through my passport. His men dug through our packs. I quickly realized the three of them were the entire force. Each man had a desk but, due to shift changes, they only needed two chairs.
One officer went through Jenny’s pack while the other went through Rafael’s. As long as they didn’t go through mine, we were OK. But they would get to it eventually. Having a very real pre-Columbian stone altar might be considered motive by some cops. I started thinking up excuses, because Given to me by god wasn’t going to fly.
The main guy tried to stare me down. While he may have run into a few tough guys in his corner of the rain forest, I’d been through well over a decade of combat duty. I gave him my soldier stare. The one that comes from facing death so many times you’re not entirely sure you survived. This could be the afterlife for all I know. If it is, it’s boring. But, should the need arise or my mood swing, I could always rip his trachea out with my bare hands.
He flinched.
The guy working on Jenny’s pack found my pistol and laid it on the desk. The main guy’s eyebrows rose. Next, he found my M9 bayonet knife and tossed it on the counter. Then, my extra magazine.
The guy rifling through Rafael’s things froze. At first, I thought he’d found something. Instead, he looked over his shoulder at me. He peered at me, tilting his head. He rose and went to the main man and started to speak.
Having regrouped from his flinch, the main guy introduced himself to me in Spanish, cutting off his officer’s words. I shrugged. He understood the language barrier and looked back to the cage. He called something to the others in Spanish. All three answered him. He chose the professor.
The guy rifling through Jenny’s underwear ran to the cage to retrieve the old man. Since that stopped him from moving on to searching my pack, I was relieved.
Rafael said, “Our good lieutenant, Carlos Soto, has concerns about your extensive travels.”
I said, “Work.”
Rafael elaborated. I could tell because he used a whole lot more words than the one I gave him. The lieutenant asked his next question. Rafael answered without consulting me. They went back and forth.
While they talked, the cop who stared at me hadn’t stopped staring. Without taking his eyes off me, he tapped his lieutenant’s shoulder with a light, tentative knuckle.
I tapped Rafael.
The professor glanced my way, then gave me an update. “He wants to know your business with Hidalgo. I took the liberty of telling him.”
“Did you tell him I was the one who reported the shooting?”
“Indeed. The problem appears to stem from the facts. You see, you and Jenny were the last known travelers in the region.”
The cop who kept staring at me moved his focus to his phone while Rafael and Soto continued their discussions. When he found something, he tapped his lieutenant’s shoulder again. Lt. Soto batted him away as if he were an annoying fly.
I interrupted to insist they look at the video on my phone. When Rafael translated, they handed it to me. I unlocked it and dialed up the video. I’m not a professional photographer. I didn’t know videos taken in the dark, backlit by bright lights, would turn into a sea of indistinguishable silhouettes. They could’ve been dancers at a jungle rave. Fail.
Rafael and Lt. Soto turned their attention to my pistol. The lieutenant’s voice rose in anger as he stabbed a finger at my Glock 18C. That could be a problem. Any weapons enthusiast would know Glock sold the pistol only to the Austrian counter-terrorism unit, EKO Cobra. A handful of people knew the only other company to secure the pistol was Sabel Security. It was fully automatic and capable of emptying its seventeen-round magazine in less than a second. Judging by the look on his face, Lt. Soto recognized the model.
The staring-cop returned his gaze to me and tapped the lieutenant again. He was brushed off again.
Rafael turned to me. “He has grown somewhat stubborn about your choice of firearms. It’s not about the one you have with you but rather what you might’ve left behind in the rain forest.” Rafael went on to explain their deliberations and how Soto didn’t care that I was the one to alert the authorities of the tragedy.
While he spoke, the staring-cop shoved his phone in front of the lieutenant and started talking. The two of them looked at me, then at the phone. The lieutenant tugged at Rafael. They went on at length in Spanish with one word standing out amongst the rapid-fire words, “París.”
An hour wait in the bowels of Élysée Palace, twelve minutes of etiquette instructions from Sabel Security’s protocol officer, four and a half minutes with a photographer and the French president—and six months later, half a world away, my life was saved. Guess it was worth it after all.
The cops took selfies with me, the Hero of Paris. I smiled.
The negotiations turned to where we would stay the evening. While the cops were nice, they never completely bought into our story about the Knights of Mithras. They thought it sounded like a telenovela. So, Rafael changed the story to the drug cartels the Mexicans were famous for and the cops nodded with grave concern. Lt. Soto wanted us to stay in town while he cleared things with his chain of command and the Mexican Federales in the morning. We wanted to get as far from the Knights as possible, but we opted for staying on the good side of law and order. They repacked our bags and dropped us at a nearby hotel.
We checked in, paid for two rooms, walked back out, and took a cab to a different hotel—in case Mr. Baldy showed up and persuaded Lt. Soto to tell him where we were.
Our final hotel was nice, freshly painted, and sprawled along a lake. It was a jumble of two-story buildings with eight rooms each, laid out resort-style for privacy, with a wandering path connecting everything. A pontoon boat and a water taxi waited for guests at the end of a long pier.
Feeling good about having the cops on our side and looking for Mr. Baldy, Jenny and I decided to take another shower. This time, just for fun.
CHAPTER 9
Anxious about our pursuers, I slept like a rabbit at a coyote convention. Visions of turning the tables on a platoon of disciplined, aggressive soldiers were dampened by reality. While I knew I could and would take down Mr. Baldy, I still lacked the right firepower. As Jenny slept, I got up to wander. I holstered my Glock at the small of my back and covered it with my untucked t-shirt.
Rafael wasn’t any better off. I found him wandering aimlessly down by the lake in the navy-blue pre-dawn light.
I didn’t want to tip my hand about taking out Mr. Baldy, so I said, “I want to get out of here. Get back to the USA. When will Soto let us go?”
“You assume the Knights won’t follow you to the States?” he asked. “Or follow me back to my hallowed campus?”
The first one was a good question. The second raised a different question in my
mind. When did the professor become my problem?
“You and Cherry should come with us.” I visualized Sabel Gardens, a guarded compound sprawling over a hundred wooded acres along the Potomac. “I have friends with lots of resources. We’ll be safe.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized that would entail crawling back to Ms. Sabel, begging for help after my second final goodbye-no-I-won’t-reconsider on her yacht just three days ago.
Mercury walked on the lake next to us. Don’t go getting all proud about it, homie. Just cut your balls off, tuck your tail between your legs, and tell Pia-Caesar-Sabel you can’t deal with the real world. Don’t forget who told you not to leave her in the first place.
I said, That’s because you think I can make her worship you. We tried that. It didn’t work. She’s still an Episcopalian.
Whoa, dude. You think you’re done? Mercury smacked my shoulder. Did Amelia Earhart give up just like that? You gotta go back and try harder.
I said, I don’t think Earhart’s the best example—
Mercury said, C’mon, brutha, get your shit together and do what’s right for Jenny.
Rafael tugged my arm. “You saw what evil deeds the Knights of Mithras are willing to commit, yet you would endanger your friends?”
“Well, uh.” Now that he mentioned it, that would be a tough ask: Oh, hey, Ms. Sabel, I’ve only been self-employed for three days now but I’ve already failed and am being pursued by vicious killers—can I camp in your guest house?
An older Chinese lady with gray hair in a loose braid and relying on a walking stick strolled toward us alongside a tall, skinny young man. They stood out as an odd couple. She was sixtyish and he was early twenties. As we passed each other, the young guy said, “Buenos días.”
We responded and kept going. Behind me, I could feel the Chinese lady stealing a glance my way.
“What do you recommend?” I asked Rafael.
“Keep the artifact with you—and keep moving.”
At least he hadn’t noticed I’d swapped the Stone for Seven-Death’s used altar. Cherry never asked why I was walking the jungle with the backpack. So far, so good.
“What about you?” I asked.
“Young man, I will remain by your side. I would never abandon you. Before you think I’m acting heroically, it is anything but. Indeed, my fate is intertwined with yours until someone prevails. I see you are anxious to contradict me. Hold your tongue a moment longer. To forge my own way would render me an open target. I would suffer the same fate as Hidalgo in their pursuit of you.”
He had a point. Hidalgo didn’t know anything, and they killed him. Same for his people. Rafael and Cherry were in just as much danger. And like the Stone, they were now my responsibility. Great.
We made our way to the open-air restaurant where the women waited for us. The sun rose over the lake while we discussed options. Jenny advocated for returning home and putting our faith in Pia Sabel. Rafael refused. Cherry stayed quiet. I created a hybrid plan from all the options but didn’t tell them what it was. I didn’t want any arguments until her flight left.
Lieutenant Soto raced in, out of breath and ghost white. He bubbled up a lot of Spanish while staring at me with bulging eyes.
Everyone at the table responded at the same time then turned to me as if I understood.
Rafael raised a hand and said, “I will escort him.”
He rose and gestured for me to follow Soto. As we walked through the maze of buildings to the front desk, Rafael said, “Lt. Soto was instructed early this morning by his headquarters to continue the interrogation.”
I found it odd the officer wouldn’t look at me. Last night, when he was in charge, he eyeballed me as best he could. I pulled his elbow, forcing him to face me. Rafael pulled up behind us, curious about what I wanted.
Soto still wouldn’t look at me. He twisted away, heading for his pickup. His official vehicle was parked diagonally at the back of the parking area, half of it obscured by trees. His uniform was disheveled, as if he’d slept in it. He seemed like the kind of guy who took pride in his rank and therefore the uniform that distinguished it. He had dirt in his ear but was clean shaven. His cop-belt was missing. He was alone.
“We’re renting a car,” I told Rafael. I grabbed Soto by the collar and pulled him back. “I’ll drive. Explain it to him.”
I went to the desk to make arrangements. Two minutes later, an attendant pulled a new Toyota Agya to the entrance. We squeezed in. Soto didn’t make a peep. When he thought I wasn’t looking, he stole glances at me. He looked afraid. Of me to a certain extent, but certainly about his future.
“Tell him I know what’s going on,” I said to Rafael.
The professor was in back. He didn’t question me. He simply spoke to Soto in reassuring tones. He patted Soto’s shoulder. The cop didn’t look soothed. The old man had no concerns. He wasn’t nervous. His stint as a revolutionary had prepared him well.
We took the long way around, up a series of backroads to the main drag between Tikal and El Remate. Soto reluctantly guided my turns. We reached the outskirts of town in the opposite direction from what anyone at the station would expect. Driving down the two-lane paved road, we passed shops opening for the day. Owners swept the dirt floors clean. Closer in, the houses and stores had cement floors. A restaurant owner set plastic chairs and tables on his stone patio. Four small children clung to each other and their mother on the back of a motorcycle.
I shoved Soto into the footwell and slowed as we neared the police station. In the light of day, it was dirtier than I expected. Rain sloshed mud on the walls near the ground. The tin roof was just as rusty as every other roof on the street. I counted ten men within twenty yards of the building. None of them fit the local profile. They were the Knights of Mithras I’d seen at Hidalgo’s dig. In daylight, the Turkmen tattoo, the size of a large watch, stood out. One guy bore a striking resemblance to Joseph Stalin, walrus mustache and all.
The other official pickup was parked out front, unmoved since we arrived last night.
“Those are the Knights?” I asked Rafael.
“It would appear so,” he said. “How did you know it was an ambush?”
I explained how the dirt in Soto’s ear told me the man had been shoved to the ground at some point after he’d shaved. His rumpled uniform came from being roughed up. I said, “I’m guessing the Knights met him when he arrived for work this morning. Our hotel ruse last night pissed them off. They forced him to find me. I’m guessing there are at least two gunmen waiting to ambush me from the bushes back at the hotel. That’s why his truck was parked funny. Damn, I should’ve figured it out quicker. We have to get back. Check all that with him. And tell him to call his deputies. Tell them to stay away from the Station. And get backup.”
I tossed my phone to Soto, figuring the Knights had taken his.
Rafael confirmed everything as I raced back to the hotel.
Jenny had served six years in the US Navy and could handle herself in tough situations. But the Navy doesn’t do a lot of close-quarters combat. The Knights weren’t amateurs. Which meant the women were in trouble.
Soto called the police headquarters for the Department of El Petén in Flores. It was on the far end of Lago Petén Itza. They sent everyone they had. All twelve officers on duty were piling into vehicles to make the hour-long drive. All we had to do was survive the next hour.
I called Jenny while Rafael called Cherry. Neither answered.
We pulled into the hotel parking lot. Soto’s truck was gone.
CHAPTER 10
I ran along the path between the buildings to the hotel’s restaurant and stopped before crossing to the palapa. I could see a waiter and busboy standing at an odd angle behind a serving bar. They looked like their feet had been nailed to the floor. They were too stiff, their gazes locked on a distant horizon.
With a snap of my fingers, I caught the bus boy’s eye. I pointed at my eyes, then around the floor. He tilted his head to th
e wall next to me, indicating a hidden Knight. I twisted back to the right, stuck my left toe out around the edge of the wall until I sensed my attacker’s movement. I stepped forward, untwisting my body, and leading with my left elbow. As I snapped blindly around the corner, my upper arm slammed into the bridge of a man’s nose. His head hit the wall behind him. He went down with a groan.
The waiter and busboy exhaled. Rafael asked if this was the only man. They told him there were two more who had chased the women.
Jenny’s phone lay on the floor. I scooped it up and ran for our room. Rafael followed right on my heels.
Mercury matched me stride for stride. You ever notice the old man, bro? He’s older’n your dad and he’s kept your pace. Thirty-mile jungle jog, no sleep, racing around this morning.
I said, Could you tell me something useful? Like, where the fuck is Jenny?
Mercury said, I could tell you that, sure. But what’s more interesting is wondering how long ol’ Rafael was a revolutionary before he gave it up for teaching school.
I said, If you don’t tell me where Jenny is, I’m calling the nearest imam and going Muslim.
You? Do something disciplined like pray five times a day? Sheeyit, dawg. Who you kidding? You hang with me because you’re too lazy for anything else. Would you walk to temple every Saturday morning like an Orthodox Jew? Would you spend two years knocking on doors for the Latter Day Saints? Go ahead, call the imam. But first, quit thinkin’ about your own self and go to Rafael’s room.
I changed course for Rafael’s room and rounded a building in time to see two men in hot pursuit of the women.
One of them grabbed Jenny’s wrist and yanked. She pushed off backwards, toppling both herself and her pursuer. A good but risky defense strategy to remove his advantage. Cherry stopped and shrieked. The man pinned beneath Jenny wrapped an arm around her to keep her from rolling off. That was the risky side to her maneuver: countermoves. As I raced toward them, he raised a large hunting knife, ready to strike.
